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maedesculpaeusoubi · 8 months ago

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this broke me in inexplicable ways

Your Graduation

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Eddie didn't remember much of his first senior year. But he remembered you. Now, after finally graduating, he just hoped you'd forgive him for the way that first year ended. Warnings: Bullying, self-esteem issues, anxiety, blink and you'll miss it parent issues, maybe a vague mention of Hawkins being Hawkins; anything else, let me know and I'll tag it. Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!Reader Word Count: 9.8k

Eddie Munson couldn’t remember much of his first senior year.

The whole thing was a blur, a barely there flash of moments he was glad to forget, but he remembered how rough it was. Some things hadn’t changed - taunts still followed him and so did the name calling - but it was worse then, hurt more when the torment came from people his own age, people he’d known most of his life and once naively pretended were his friends.

Back then, Eddie was still settling into his own. He knew who he wanted to be - or, more accurately, who he didn’t - but he still stumbled. Hellfire was in something of an infancy, only a year or two old after he’d dragged it from an informal gathering with a handful of people to an official school club, and Corroded Coffin was just starting to become a serious pursuit. It was before they began playing at The Hideout on Tuesdays and he’d fucked up his hair with black boxed dye so badly that he’d been tempted to shave his head again. At that point, he’d only just begun dressing the way he really wanted and his skin wasn’t quite as thick; had no ink and no armor to protect himself from the teenage bullshit.

Things hadn’t changed very much, hadn’t gotten much easier, but it was more tolerable; better. He was better.

It was difficult to remember the classes he skipped, the books he thumbed through, the assignments he ignored, the dances he was never invited to, but Eddie had a handful of memories that all centered around one thing; you. In fact, the only thing he really remembered from his first senior year - and the only thing he never wanted to forget - was you.

Eddie considered himself to be a man with few regrets but his biggest was that he hadn’t taken the leap and gotten to know you sooner.

For years, until August of 1983 - the first week of classes, the first week of what should’ve been his year - you never really ran in the same circles. Eddie was the freak, an outcast among outcasts, and you were beloved by all. There were only a handful of people who would be caught dead speaking to him but it seemed as if everyone wanted to speak to you.

The basketball players, their cheerleader girlfriends, the swimmers, the football players, the pretty girls who couldn’t be bothered to actually attend gym, the burnouts, the theater kids, even the terrified freshmen; you somehow fit with them all, alternated sitting at their tables or stopping by to say hello, and always received bright smiles in return.

Sometimes he wondered how you did it, floating around the school with a smile as everyone just let you in without hesitation, but then you turned your charm on him.

Every time you caught his eye in the hall or across the crowded lunchroom, you smiled at him. If a teacher stuck you with him for a project, you never huffed and puffed in the same way so many others would; you simply slid your chair a little closer to his and smiled, bright and pretty, as you asked him what he thought about the topic at hand. There was never a sneer on your lips at his presence, never so much as a wary look, and you never cowered in fear if he brushed a little too close in the hallway, always on accident. You were nice to him, even when you didn’t have to be, and he appreciated it.

You and Eddie weren’t friends but you never made him feel as if there was a reason for that.

The day that changed, the day you became friends, was nearly the clearest day in his memory of that first senior year - overshadowed only by the day he kissed you for the first time.

Eddie found you in the woods on a Thursday, sat at the picnic table he’d claimed as his own, after a particularly rough pop quiz. The eyeliner you wore had been scrubbed away, harshly chipped at by soft fingers desperate to rid your face of the evidence, though a few wayward streaks stained your skin in a way that confirmed you’d been crying.

Everything always seemed to easy for you, so fucking effortless, and Eddie remembered his surprise when you admitted that some things - math, mostly, and science; classes that weren’t English, not rooted in some kind of thoughtful analysis that allowed you to delve into thought and feeling and intention - left you struggling.

That soft laugh, a little deflated and a little self-deprecating but entirely devoid of humor, you offered when you acknowledged how stupid it was to get so worked up over a grade still rang in his ears if he sat quiet for long enough. The beginning of that conversation was a little watery - you sat with your bottom lip quivering, eyes rimmed red and falling to the table in a display so shy it took him by surprise - but he understood. You were trying to get out of Hawkins, trying to make something of yourself, and a scholarship was the only way to do it.

In an effort to lighten your mood, Eddie did all he could to take your mind off it. He grabbed a handful of tapes from his van and introduced you to his favorite bands. He played Black Sabbath and Dio and Metallica, laughed when you wrinkled your nose and grinned when you got into the rhythm of one of his favorites. He spent the afternoon hiding in the woods with you, drawing little bits of your personality out piece by beautiful piece, and he’d give anything for one more day, just like that one.

That was the first time you’d ever cut class, the first time you’d broken the rules, but - perhaps more importantly - it was the first time Eddie shared thoughts he’d only ever dreamed of breathing aloud. It was your first attempt at chipping away his walls and you didn’t even notice.

Eddie always thought you were pretty, a true vision even in garish green and gold as you wandered the halls of Hawkins High, but that day really sealed his fate. He saw you then, up close and personal, and could still see the details permanently etched into his field of vision if he concentrated hard enough.

The shape of your lips, rounding around soft admissions and breaking apart in delighted laughter at his stupid little jokes; the twinkle in your eyes, warm and so bright in the late afternoon sunlight, sparkling as you glanced at him from beneath your lashes; the softness of your cheeks, puffing with feigned annoyance when he teased you for admitting your love for disco.

Everything about you was beautiful, bright and warm and brilliant, and all Eddie wanted was to bask in your glow.

After that conversation, when night began to fall and early fall sun began to give way to an Indiana night, he drove you home and thanked every deity he could remember when the scent of your perfume lingered in his van the next morning. That conversation was the confirmation he’d dreamt of - confirmation he’d feared - as it told him your soft smiles and pretty eyes weren’t shown to him in pity.

Though he’d never admit it to anyone - except you, maybe, if you ever pressed - he’d been afraid. Not of you, never of you, but of falling for you. He always knew it would be easy, almost alarmingly so, and that it would end in a broken heart on his behalf. There was no other way it could go. Not for him, never for him.

That certainty made him keep you at a distance as he told himself for months that your smiles, the soft looks and quiet laughter at his antics, meant nothing. He convinced himself that you pitied him, that you simply hated the way other students talked to him because you couldn’t stand seeing anyone hurt, and that you’d do the same for anyone else in his shoes.

But that day, something bright and warm blossomed in his chest when you waved at him from your front steps. It curled around his lungs, tendrils squeezing tight every time he thought of you, and made it hard to breathe. Though fall was just beginning, the days seemed brighter somehow and as the warmth consumed him, lapped at his skin and left him floating, he began to grow accustomed to the feeling.

Eddie always wanted you to be a part of his life but never dared dream that you would want the same. Even when you made it clear that you enjoyed his presence, he never believed there was anything other than friendship on your mind. In a desperate bid to protect himself, he decided that it was reciprocity, maybe - a few hours of your time for weed, for someone to fix that rattle in your car that always disappeared before the mechanics at Thatcher’s could hear it, for a shoulder to cry on when someone better than him lost their mind and rejected you - but never could he have imagined you would want him the way he so desperately wanted you.

It was shameful to admit, a secret he would’ve kept had you not chipped away at the walls he so carefully spent years constructing, but Eddie dreamt that you would just hold his hand. For far too long, he imagined being able to hold you in his arms - to look at you, to trace the slope of your lips with his thumb before tugging you into a soft kiss that left you flustered - and he sometimes worried reality would never live up to his dreams.

With you, though, reality always seemed infinitely better than anything he could dream up. He only wondered how long he would continue to get lucky.

When you kissed him for the first time, it was both completely expected and the biggest shock of his life.

Everyone but him saw it coming.

Though your friendship took years to build, that initial spark - a flicker of sun magnified on the ash of a bad day - quickly became an all-consuming wildfire. The pair of you went from barely acknowledging one another to attached at the hip seemingly overnight. Within a week of that conversation, more often than not, your free time was spent with him.

Eddie’s bedroom consistently smelled of weed and green apple shampoo, a little patchouli cologne and cigarette smoke - coffee and hairspray, if the day called for it - but it soon began to smell of you, too. The sweet, warm summer of your perfume, the soft rose of your shampoo, the bright mint of your gum; he breathed it in, allowed it to fill his lungs each morning, and reveled in the warmth that filled the pit of his stomach. He needed it, craved it, desperate for just a fraction of your presence, and would’ve been embarrassed had it been anyone else.

Pieces of you - soft scrunchies, tubes of sticky pink lipgloss, half-empty bottles of nail polish, fashion magazines, pop cassette tapes - began to accumulate. In his bedroom, in his van, in his locker; soon, it seemed that everywhere he looked, there were little reminders of you. It was comforting to be surrounded by your presence and, more than that, eased the ache in his chest when he realized that your weekends were spent in his bed rather than in the backseat of some meathead’s car.

Still, he sometimes wondered if it was all a dream.

In fact, he nearly grew convinced that it was all some vivid hallucination right around Christmas. When you handed him a neatly wrapped package, a soft smile on your lips, he teased you for the pretty bow you’d spent too long tying. To shut him up, you pressed yourself onto your toes and captured his lips in a soft, chaste kiss. You couldn’t look him in the eye when you pulled away, soft lips curved into a giddy smile, and he couldn’t stop himself from dragging you back in for another kiss.

That day was simultaneously the best and worst of Eddie’s life.

That was the day Eddie realized there could be more to your relationship, that you could love him, too - he was so far gone then, stuttering and shy and deep in the throes of his first love. It was the day he realized he could see a future with you, especially as time wore on and you grew closer and closer. Much to his surprise, your affection only grew when dragged into the light. You sat with him and the Hellfire Club at lunch, spent your afternoons studying with him in the library after practice, spent your weekends exploring long forgotten spaces hidden around Hawkins, had sporadic dinners at the diner and sat in the grass to read as he worked on his van.

There was never any attempt on your part to hide your love, to pretend that you were anything other than head over heels for Eddie Munson - reputation be damned - and everything should’ve been perfect. Eddie had everything he’d ever wanted but that didn’t matter very much.

As desperate as he’d been to make you his, to call you his girl and smirk at the jocks who thought they still had a chance, the day you kissed him was the day he realized that he couldn’t. You were his in all the ways that mattered - you slept in his bed more often than your own, slipped pieces of his wardrobe into your own and wore them for everyone to see, held his hand in the halls and kissed him before heading to class - but he could never bring himself to make it official.

In the eyes of everyone else, you were his girlfriend but not once was he able to call you that. To everyone else, it was obvious just how much you loved one another - they heard you whisper it before class, a little shy but never ashamed, and Eddie could recall every single time those three little words spilled past your lips - but he’d never been able to return them.

Eddie knew you were under the impression that he was simply nervous, hesitant to admit his feelings because he’d never received romantic attention before, but he was so far past self-preservation when it came to you that he would’ve told you he loved you the moment you kissed him had he not realized you had no future.

In October, well before he even considered he had a chance with you, Eddie realized there was no way out of Hawkins; not for him, not in 1984, anyway. He tried desperately - studied harder than he ever had, let you make him flashcards and actually used them, hid in the library and read the awful books Ms. O’Donnell assigned - but it was never enough. You built him up, reminded him that he was smart and capable, but no matter how hard he tried, his grades remained a flat line of crushing disappointment.

Not a single day passed without you encouraging him, pushing him forward with sweet words and bright smiles, but it was no use.

In late May of 1984, underneath the blistering Indiana summer sky, you walked across the stage while he watched from the bleachers.

During your time together, Eddie learned a few important facts about you. One, you would stop at nothing to encourage him; two, you were selfless to a fault; and, three, if you felt that he needed you, you would do everything in your power to help him.

Eddie knew that if push came to shove - and it had, because he’d pushed desperately to graduate and had been shoved straight back into a second senior year - you would entertain the idea of sticking around, just for a year, to help him graduate.

As much as he loved you, there was no way he was going to be the reason you abandoned your dreams.

By never making your relationship official, by never telling you just how desperately he loved you, Eddie hoped it would be easier for you to let him go. The last conversation you had was one he desperately tried to forget - one in which he yelled, the first time he’d ever raised his voice at you, that you were better off without him - but it played on a loop in his mind.

Instead of promising he would call or write, that he would do his best to graduate and join you, he denied ever loving you. He stood in your driveway and watched, cheeks stained with tears and hands trembling, as you tore out of Hawkins. You’d gotten into a school in Illinois, one you’d talked about the entire time you were together, and he’d spat that you were better off there, forgetting all about him.

Still, at first, you tried.

Eddie wondered if you’d seen right through him - you were good at that; knowing exactly when he was lying, when he was retreating into himself in hopes of protecting his fragile heart - but he felt guilty. The glassy look in your eyes, the quiver of your bottom lip, the trembling of your fingers, the soft gasp of hurt; it haunted him, lingered every time he closed his eyes, and was made worse with every effort you made.

Despite how things ended, you sent letters and postcards and even a care package. You called, spoke to Wayne a handful of times, and even knocked on his door in December when you came home for break. He knew that you were desperate to at least see his face, to try and make sense of how quickly he pushed you away, but he couldn’t. Eddie knew that one look at you would break him, would convince him that he’d made a mistake, and he couldn’t do that.

Instead, he ended up with a shoebox full of letters, all from you and all unopened. He refused to read them, refused to let himself wonder what words were hidden inside even as he lay awake at night, but he still dreaded the day they stopped arriving. Most days, he struggled to remember the date but if you asked, he could tell you exactly when the last letter arrived.

It was only a matter of time before he ran into you, he knew that. Your family still lived in Hawkins - your parents, your little brother - and when the summer after your freshman year of college and his second unsuccessful senior year rolled around, he waited with bated breath for you to return. Eddie never cared much for gossip but he listened intently for even a whisper of news about your return.

Finally, he heard that you’d decided to stay in Chicago and he decided to stay in his bedroom for the remainder of the summer.

As time passed, Eddie wondered when you would return. Soon, however, summer turned to fall and then to winter and he heard - through the grapevine, once again - that your family was headed to Chicago to spend the holidays with you. It seemed as if you were avoiding Hawkins and, truth be told, he couldn’t blame you. If he ever made it out, he planned to never look back.

However, your return was inevitable.

Eddie knew that you would be in town for the class of 1986’s graduation; that was never a doubt in his mind. Though you kept your distance, your brother was in his class, spared him glances in the hallway and told Jason Carver to fuck off any time he witnessed something he shouldn’t, and there was no way you were going to miss seeing him walk across the stage.

Whispers spread through town when you arrived, murmurs of your name filled his ears each time he wandered the halls, and he was grateful that nearly everyone seemed to have forgotten your momentary lapse in judgement. Still, he held his breath any time he was forced to enter a local building - Family Video, Bradley’s, the gas station, the diner, Thatcher’s - just in case, even though he never expected to see you in any of them.

The one place he knew you wouldn’t be was exactly where he found you.

For the first time in two years, you stood in Eddie’s line of sight and he was struck with an understanding of what people meant when they said that someone had both changed completely and not at all.

Physically, there were only a handful of minute differences. Even from a distance, he could see that a few more piercings littered your ears, your hair had gotten a little longer and your cheeks a little thinner, your thighs and hips a little fuller. The last time he saw you, you were eighteen and terrified, heartbroken and miserable; now, you looked sure of yourself, more confident and at home in your own skin.

Long gone were the muted tones and modest skirts you used to wear. In their place, you wore a dark mini-skirt that exposed most of your thigh, something he’d only seen in a magazine, and a tank top. The jean jacket that covered them both was oversized, littered with patches and pins, and Eddie wondered - only briefly - if it was yours or if you’d borrowed it from a boyfriend.

The thought of you with anyone else filled him with a jealousy he couldn’t stand. It was unreasonable - he was the one who broke things off with you, was the one who refused to keep trying - and he knew that. But as he stood at the bottom of the staircase and observed you, his heart hammered so hard against his ribcage that he fleetingly feared it might leap through his skin.

Warm light spilled from the windows and illuminated your figure, cast a dim glow about the small space that allowed him the luxury of studying you. He could see silver jewelry glint every time you moved your hands - rings, that looked a hell of a lot like his, and bracelets that jingled with every gesture - and it seemed nearly impossible to breathe as he watched you throw your head back in a laugh.

Eddie had thought about you every day since you left. Somedays, it was for hours; others, it was simply in passing. Not a day had gone by, however, that he hadn’t thought of you at least once. There was no question that he’d missed you, no question that he still loved you. In fact, Eddie was of the opinion that he wouldn’t be able to get over you, even if he tried.

He knew in August of 1983 that you were it for him but now, he wondered if he’d been it for you.

As he stood, rooted to his spot at the foot of the stairs, he watched you lean against the railing beside your brother’s girlfriend. The swaying of your body told him you were on the verge of having too much, a little looser than he’d ever seen you in public as you pursed your lips and frowned at the cup in your hand.

“He’s a nice guy,” he heard you say, words stringing together a little too quick - a little fuzzier, a little clunkier than the carefully chosen words and measured cadence he still heard in his dreams. Despite that, your voice sounded just as he remembered and, were it not for the subject matter, he would’ve been content to close his eyes and listen for as long as you continued speaking. “I just… I don’t think I could love him forever.”

Eddie felt as if his world were crashing down around him. Though he’d thought of you daily, he never once considered the possibility that you were seeing someone else. It was possibly naive of him, or maybe a selfish, subconscious wish - after all, he hadn’t seen anyone else since you left, hadn’t even tried - but the breath he’d been holding caught in his throat as he waited for you to continue.

“I don’t even know if I love him now. I haven’t found anyone that I could see a future with since -” Again, selfishly, Eddie hoped that his name was on the tip of your tongue. He nearly broke when you cut yourself off, sent himself barreling up the stairs to ask the question. Your admission was comforting in a way he knew it shouldn’t be and it was selfish, but he hoped that you were thinking about him. He hoped that you missed him in the way that he missed you, that you still loved him, but he’d never really been that lucky.

The girl beside you offered some kind of reply, words of comfort that Eddie missed as the door opened and a handful of people stepped out into the night air, and he took that as his chance to ascend the stairs. Though he’d graduated himself and should’ve been celebrating, all he’d wanted was to make a few bucks before returning to his bed.

Now, all he wanted was to go home.

Had you been anyone else, he would’ve stepped right by and walked on without stopping, slipped into the open door and hid amongst the crowd - even though he’d never wanted anything more than to stop and take a look at you, catalogue all of the minute changes up close and personal. But you called his name, soft voice wrapping around each letter just as pretty as he remembered, and his body reacted before his mind could catch up.

“I thought that was you.” The words were less slurred than he thought they should be, a little easier to understand and coherent enough, as he turned to face you. Eddie barely noticed the girl at your side slip away - barely noticed anything that wasn’t you; your eyes, your lips, your hand wrapped around a cup of spiked punch. “The hair suits you.”

Eddie couldn’t really remember what he’d looked like the last time he saw you. There weren’t many photos of him in the first place but the ones you took with him - tucked beneath his arm, grinning as he made faces; smiling bright as he played guitar, watching with such careful focus; settled on his lap, face hidden in the crook of his neck - were hidden away. They lived in a shoebox, stuffed beneath his bed and slotted right beside the box of unopened letters, because he hoped he might forget what you looked like if he avoided looking at you for long enough.

That was never really a possibility, however, when he saw your face in almost every dream he had.

He knew that his hair hadn’t been quite as long - a little past his shoulders, almost awkward in length - and not quite as unruly. Despite himself, he’d wondered, often idly, what you would think of it.

For the first time in a long time, Eddie was struck silent. There wasn’t really much he could say other than, “Thanks. Yours does, too.”

Another minute change, but one Eddie noticed immediately. Your hair fell a little longer than he’d ever seen it, had been ironed straight and teased at the roots, but Eddie liked it. It reminded him of something out of one of his magazines, the pretty metalhead girls who wore leather and should’ve starred in his fantasies instead of you, and he struggled to keep himself from staring too long.

Silence had never been awkward between you. Even in the beginning, back before you knew how to be yourselves together, silence was tentative but usually broken by giggles. It was sweet, a nervous pause between young lovers who’d never been struck that hard by Cupid’s arrow, but those days were long gone.

The silence seemed to stretch endlessly, stifling and so fucking heavy Eddie feared he might crumble under the weight of it, but he couldn’t break it. Before that moment, he’d written lists - songs, poems, actual, honest to god lists - of things he wanted to say to you, if the universe would just give him a chance.

But when he looked into your eyes for the first time in two years, nothing seemed right.

Eddie swore his heart hadn’t beat that hard since the day you left but as your eyes traced his skin, flickered over the new splotches of ink peeking out from the collar of his shirt or the scar on his chin from a fight the summer before, his chest ached with the force of it.

“Congratulations,” you finally said, breaking the horrible stalemate and drawing Eddie’s gaze back to your own. “On, you know, graduating and flipping Higgins off. It’s been a long time coming.”

If anyone asked, Eddie would say that he came up with that plan all on his own. Higgins had it out for him, always had - just because he was a kid from the trailer park who wore black and listened to music a little too loud - and no one could question why exactly Eddie would’ve thought to defy Higgins as his final act.

That wasn’t the case, however.

The idea emerged less than a month before he destroyed the best thing that had ever happened to him. He remembered the weight of your body, half atop his - the warmth of your fingertips, lightly tracing the few scattered tattoos that stained his skin; the scent of your shampoo as he buried his face in your hair, eyes closed and so content - as you lounged in his bed. The conversation faded in and out, a handful of sentences spoken between puffs of smoke, but he remembered the way your eyes lit up at the mention of his second senior year.

“I think,” you’d whispered, as if you were sharing an important secret, “you should tell Higgins to fuck off. After you get your diploma, though. Oh, or flip him off! He deserves it.”

“Yeah. I was starting to worry he’d retire before I got the chance.” The joke sounded weak in his own ears, a half-hearted quip uttered to stave off that horrible silence, and he hoped the ground would open up and swallow him whole as he folded his arms over his chest. “Eighty-six was my year, I guess.”

There was a set to your shoulders that told him you weren’t amused. That furrow of your brow told him you were thinking, seriously weighing every word you could possibly breathe aloud, and Eddie hated it. He hated that he’d ruined the ease with which you’d always interacted, hated that you couldn’t just speak your thoughts aloud in the way you used to. He hated that you stood, lips parting but silence remaining unbroken as you thought better of every word you wanted to speak.

Most of all, he hated that now that he finally had you in his sight once more, the only thing he wanted to do was run.

“I should -“

“Amanda’s probably -“

A confused cluster of words filled the quiet as you both tried to speak at the same time. Eddie’s cheeks tinted pink, warm and blistering as he felt a white-hot shame fill his chest. Cowardice had him running, looking for an exit after years of hoping for a chance to get you back, but that was what he’d always done.

When faced with difficulty, Eddie Munson ran.

So, when you gestured for him to speak first, Eddie cleared his throat. “I should go,” he declared, casting a cursory glance at the open door he no longer wanted to enter. “I was just - I shouldn’t have come, anyway.”

That much was true - Eddie had never been invited to parties, had never been particularly welcome when his stash ran out - but he likely would’ve stayed, just to make a few extra bucks if you hadn’t stopped him dead in his tracks.

Some small part of him hoped for a fight, hoped that you would argue and ask him to stay, but that hope did little to quell his surprise when you scoffed. “Jesus, Eddie, this is such bullshit. It’s so fucking stupid,” you asserted, dropping your empty drink onto the railing and taking an angry step closer. “We’re tiptoeing around one another and I hate it. I…” He waited, breath caught in his throat and heart seeming to still in his chest, as you took a deep breath before meeting his gaze once more. “I miss you. You fucking miss me. Just… just say it and let’s get this shit over with.”

Eddie expected anger, he expected your hard feelings and upset. But to hear that you missed him, to hear that you hated the uncertainty and discontent that lingered between you both just as much as he did, kicked his seemingly frozen heart back into overdrive.

Suddenly, the bubble he’d been in - the island that consisted of you and him alone - popped and he was painfully aware of where you stood.

From the corner of his eye, Eddie could see faces peering through the open windows. Familiar faces - your brother, Jason, Harrington, Robin; people who knew and maybe cared about one, or both, of you - watched with wide eyes and bated breath. The noise of the party had stalled, dulled to a murmur as everyone was reminded of your history and the question they’d asked so many times after your initial demise.

What had Eddie done to lose you?

That was never a conversation he pictured having in front of an audience, not one he wanted the friends he still couldn’t believe he had to hear, so he shook his head.

“Why does it matter? That doesn’t change anything.” Eddie sighed, arms falling to his sides as he shook his head once more. There was little his confession would do. Admitting he missed you wouldn’t change the past and it would only serve to make the future harder. So, he refused. “Just… go back to the party, okay. I’m leaving.”

There was a shimmer to your eyes that he hated, a glimmer of unshed tears in the dim glow of light filtering through windows, and he wondered just how many times you’d let him make you cry before you finally let him go. There was a roiling in the pit of his stomach, a sick feeling that made his chest ache, but that pain was nothing compared to the sting of your response.

“Aren’t you tired of running away, Eddie? Doesn’t taking the easy way out get old?” He wanted to be angry but the feeling that gripped his lungs and squeezed until he felt incapable of drawing the slightest breath was one of sorrow. You were right, but that made it hurt that much more.

“That’s not -“

“Not what, Eddie? Not fair?” A laugh, harsh and angrier than he imagined you capable of, escaped as you pushed away from the railing entirely and brushed past him to reach the top of the steps. “Yeah, well, neither was you pushing me away with some bullshit excuse and then hiding from me when I tried to figure out what I’d done.” Another scoff, this one accompanied by a defeated slump of your shoulders as you began descending the stairs with careful steps. “Whatever, it doesn’t matter. I’m going for a walk. I guess I’ll see you around.”

Eddie watched for a moment as you wobbled on unsteady legs. You weren’t drunk, but you’d had enough that he couldn’t let you leave alone. With a heavy sigh - and without a glance spared at the audience you’d amassed - he called your name and followed you down the stairs.

“Stop.” He reached out and placed a hand on your shoulder, careful not to grab, but quickly recoiled when you jerked away from him. “You’re drunk. Let me take you home,” he offered, tugging his keys from the pocket of his jacket.

“Fuck off, Eddie. I’m not drunk and I don’t need your help.”

From the corner of his eye, Eddie could see your brother moving to linger at the top of the steps - ready to step in should you need him, should you both find yourselves overwhelmed in the situation at hand - and sighed. “C’mon, sweetheart,” he urged, voice soft as he took a tentative step forward. “I’ll drop you off and then leave you alone, alright?”

For a long moment, he waited with bated breath for your response. He stood, statue still, as you seemed to weigh your options and watched as your shoulders rose and fell just a little too fast. Despite the venue, despite the time that had passed, he wanted nothing more than to reach out and offer some semblance of comfort but those days had long passed. His touch would only further annoy you, he knew that, so he simply waited.

Finally, without a single word or glance back at him or the party, you crossed the lawn to where his van sat and climbed into the passenger seat. It was a familiar sight, one he’d missed terribly, but it brought him little comfort as he tipped his head back and blinked at the stars.

With a deep breath, an inhale that barely filled his lungs, Eddie spared your brother a cursory glance. When he received a nod, permission to whisk you away - encouragement to give you some sort of closure - he crossed. The lawn and climbed into the van himself.

It was widely known around Hawkins that you heard Eddie before you saw him. Loud music, heavy and fast, often warned of his presence before his van peeled into view. Way back when, you always teased him - joked that it was difficult for you to have a conversation over the sound of Metallica - but this time, the drive was silent.

Long gone were the good old days, the days where his van was filled with laughter as you swapped stories - theories about the lives of Hawkins residents neither of you had ever met, tales of school, dreams for the future - and music you both loved. For the first time in years, Eddie’s van alerted no one of his presence as it navigated the roads that were once as familiar to him as his own route home.

The silence was stifling, overwhelming, but you were too lost in thought to speak first and nothing Eddie could think to say felt appropriate. Everything he wanted to say felt hollow, like an excuse plucked from thin air, and he knew that it would only hurt you further.

It only further broke his heart to realize just how hurt you still were. If he was honest, he sometimes worried you’d gotten over him immediately. He worried that the relationship never meant as much to you as it did to him - though he knew, somewhere in the depths of his heart, that he couldn’t be farther from the truth - but to know that you’d harbored these feelings this entire time had a nauseating combination of emotions bubbling in the pit of his stomach.

When he finally pulled to a stop in front of your house, a spot once unofficially reserved for his van, Eddie finally mustered the courage to speak. He still wasn’t sure what he planned to say but he hoped the words would come. However, before he could so much as turn to you, you climbed out of the van and headed for the front door.

Eddie wondered, idly, if he should follow. A long time ago, he would’ve known immediately, would’ve been able to read you without sparing it a second thought, but now he felt crippling uncertainty. He wasn’t sure if you wanted to talk or if you wanted to get rid of him immediately, but he received his answer in the form of an open front door.

Following was a bad idea, he knew that - knew he’d end up sharing every thought he’d had over the last few years, knew that he’d end up breaking his own heart once more to heal yours - but he couldn’t stand seeing you so hurt. So, he climbed out of the van and followed.

There was no changing the past, no undoing what he’d already done, but he knew he could offer you some sort of closure. That was the least he could do.

The path to your front door was one he’d taken a thousand times before - only a little less traveled than climbing through your window, despite your parents’ likely knowledge that he’d slept over - and he kept his eyes on the ground beneath his feet. Glancing at the driveway to his left, the one he watched you peel out of on his last visit, would only intensify the ache in his chest.

Eddie tried not to think about that last visit, tried desperately not to remember the last words he spoke to you - the way he acted, desperate to push you away in some noble attempt to make you happier in the long run. He tried not to remember the ache in his chest as he watched you drive away, tried not to remember the look on your parents’ faces as he walked back to his van and sat for a while, just to gather himself. He tried to forget it all as he stepped into the house and pulled the door shut behind him.

With tentative steps, Eddie wandered through the house. He eyed the walls lined with photos, the living room that had been redecorated since he last stepped foot inside, and deeply inhaled the scent he associated with you - with home. The place he’d once seen as a second home turned into one he’d avoided so much as driving past for years and each step he took felt heavier than the last as he finally reached your bedroom door.

Little had changed about the room he once knew so well. There were a handful of new posters lining the walls, newer photos with friends he’d never met - tacked up in the place his photo once occupied - and he felt a glimmer of warm nostalgia as he took in the overfilled bookshelf.

“That’s new.” He gestured to the duvet, a stark white replacing the old pale pink, as he eyed where you sat at the foot of your bed.

“Old one’s in a box in the attic.”

Eddie hummed, acknowledging your response as he stood in the center of the room. He was uncertain, not quite sure of what to say or where to go, but it seemed as if you had little intention of pointing him in the right direction as you eyed your chipping nail polish.

“Your parents,” he began, pausing to listen for the sounds of life he might’ve missed. “They’re not home?”

“They’re with my grandparents. Took them back to Fort Wayne. We celebrated as a family yesterday ‘cause they knew he’d want to be with friends tonight,” you reasoned, shrugging as you did.

Another hum - this one of understanding as Eddie remembered just how understanding your parents had always been, just how supportive of your lives and how welcoming they’d been when you brought him home - before he sighed and took a step closer to you. “Is this the part where you kick me out?”

It wasn’t - he knew you wouldn’t, even if you had every right to - but he still felt a mild form of surprise when you sighed. “It should be.” A beat of silence passed in which Eddie wondered if he should speak, if he should begin the difficult conversation that he knew you needed to have, but before he could open his mouth, you spoke. “I’m sorry.”

Genuine bewilderment filled him as he blinked. “For what?” Try as he might, there was nothing Eddie could imagine you feeling the need to apologize for. You’d tried, he ran.

“For what I said at the party.” Finally, after nearly an hour of avoidance, you lifted your head and met his gaze for the first time since leaving the party. “It wasn’t fair,” you admitted and he could tell the apology was genuine.

Eddie sighed as he took another tentative step closer, closing the distance a few inches at a time, and shook his head. “But it was true.”

If there was one thing he could do, he could acknowledge his faults. He’d always been a coward, choosing to run rather than face his problems head on - choosing to push you away rather than have a difficult conversation - and he knew that. It was genetic, he imagined, inherited from a father who’d run from responsibility nearly two decades prior, but he hated that you were caught in the wake of it all.

“It wasn’t,” you countered, clearly convinced in a way Eddie didn’t feel he warranted. “But, even if it was, doesn’t mean it was okay to say.”

With one final step, Eddie managed to close the gap between you. When you shifted, moved to make room at the foot of the bed, he carefully sat beside you and sighed once more. “You should’ve said worse. I wouldn’t have blamed you,” he confessed, quiet in the silence of your usually bright home. “I… I was afraid I’d never see you again.” He spared a glance at your hands, watched for a moment as you picked at the remaining black nail polish, and nearly reached out to hold them as he continued, “I didn’t want to hold you back. I ran because I didn’t want to make you give it all up just to wait for me.”

Eddie lifted his gaze to your face, uncertain but desperate for any hint of how you felt. Long ago, he could’ve read you better than anyone, knew from the most minute twitch of your lips exactly how you felt, but your face was impassive as you shook your head.

“I knew what you were doing, Eddie,” you confessed, still refusing to glance at him as you turned to playing with the rings adorning your fingers. “How could I not? I knew you loved me, I never believed you didn’t. I just… I hoped you loved me enough to get that stupid fucking idea out of your head. That’s why I kept trying.”

There’d always been the question of why. He’d always wondered what kept you pushing, calling and writing letters and dropping by on your few trips home, when he was convinced he’d sufficiently broken your heart. Eddie hoped, desperately, that you’d believed him when he’d shouted that your relationship was a mistake. It would’ve hurt in the moment, he knew, but you would’ve been better off. Believing that he never cared the way you had, he thought it would’ve helped you get over him faster.

But to know that you never believed him, that you knew what he was doing all along, surprised him.

“I love you - loved you, Eddie,” you corrected, quickly, as you shook your head. “But I was never going to give up my dreams. It would’ve been hard, I knew that, but there was never any chance I was staying in Hawkins. We could’ve called, written letters. I could’ve visited during breaks. I… I never planned to stay but I didn’t want to leave you here forever. I wanted you to join me, Eddie. I would’ve waited for you there.”

With every word that left your lips, with every confession you made, Eddie felt the knot in the pit of his stomach tighten. He was so convinced that he knew you, that he knew exactly which choice you would make, that he never thought to ask. The possibility that you would’ve left, anyway, only leaving a lifeline for him to follow after his graduation, never crossed his mind. But, looking back, it should have.

Try as he might, Eddie couldn’t think of any instance in which you’d given him reason to believe you would stay. You talked often of your plans, of the trips home you’d make and the letters you could write. Your parents bought you a new Polaroid, one you planned to use to take photos of Chicago for them - and for him. The plan was always there, out in the open for all to know, but Eddie had been so focused on his own fear that he hadn’t heard you.

When you met his eyes, Eddie’s chest ached as he realized his mistake. “Did you ever read any of the letters?”

Eddie shook his head. “No. I wanted to,” he assured you, averting his gaze for a brief moment. “I couldn’t. I knew if I did, I would’ve wanted to write you back or call you or come see you. I kept them, I just… couldn’t read them.”

“If you had, you would’ve known that I didn’t hate you.” Eddie wondered just how much he’d missed by refusing to read the letters, just how desperately you’d tried to reassure him, and decided that he’d open them when he returned home. “If you’d read them, you would’ve known that I wasn’t coming back to be with you but I wanted you to join me. I promised I’d wait for you.”

“Even after my second senior year?”

An annoyed huff escaped as you rolled your eyes at him. “Yes, you dipshit,” you snapped, anger beginning to overtake the sadness you’d been crumbling beneath. “God, I love you - loved you.” Eddie’s heart pounded in his chest, beat an uncontrollable rhythm that nearly deafened him as he heard your second slip of the tongue. He knew it shouldn’t give him hope, not when he didn’t deserve a second chance, but he couldn’t help it as you huffed one more. “It wouldn’t have mattered how long it took,” you assured him, “I still would’ve waited for you.”

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Eddie remembered the reasons he’d had for pushing you away. They’d seemed so real all those years ago, so relevant, but your conviction cast his reasons into doubt. He wondered if they were ever valid or if he’d simply been trying to protect his own heart.

Still, he felt the need to explain himself. “You deserved better,” he reasoned, though it sounded weak in his own ears. “Someone who had a future, someone who was in college and going to do something with their life. That wasn’t me. I couldn’t be enough for you,” he admitted, ashamed he’d ever thought he could be.

“Stop fucking pretending this was about me.” You scoffed, pushing yourself up from the bed and beginning to pace at the foot of it. “You knew how I felt. I told you I loved you and you swore you’d never forget it. And I know you loved me, too. I just, I thought you were too afraid to admit your feelings. Now, I wonder if you ever even knew me at all, let alone loved me. Because if you did, you would know that I saw a future with you. I saw your future!”

Eddie watched with wide eyes as you glared at him, gaze sharp and angrier than he’d ever seen. It hurt to hear your doubt, your questioning, because he’d only ever loved you. There was never any doubt in his own mind, never any question of whether his love for you was anything but real, but he supposed he could understand where you were coming from.

That seemed to matter little, however, as you shook your head. “You’re more than you give yourself credit for, Eddie, and I’m sorry I didn’t make that clear enough when we were together. But you were enough. You were all I wanted, the only person I’ve ever really wanted.” You looked at him, then, met his eyes and took a moment to search for the answer to a question you had yet to ask aloud, before you sighed. “You were it for me, Eddie, and I hate it and I hate you.”

Eddie knew that you didn’t hate him. He’d heard your slip of the tongue - twice - that told him you dreamt of him as often as he dreamt of you. He knew that you were simply frustrated, annoyed at the loss you’d deemed avoidable, and couldn’t stop himself from standing to join you.

With shaking hands, he reached for you. There was no resistance then, no fight left in you as he pulled you into his chest. Your hands gripped fistfuls of his jacket, leather putty in your hands as you buried your face in the worn fabric of his Metallica shirt. He could feel your shoulders shake with quiet sobs, soft little noises that cracked his heart in half, and he blinked hard against the light to keep himself from following suit.

For years, Eddie thought himself a martyr. He thought he’d sacrificed his own happiness to ensure yours. He felt certain, somewhere in the far corner of his mind, that he was making the right choice in pushing you away. There was no future with him, not one that you deserved. He was convinced he’d only hold you back, an anchor around your waist that kept you tethered to a life less than you deserved, but he could see that his attempt at chivalry was misguided.

Though some small part of him hoped you’d missed him, hoped you’d loved him, he hated that that was the case. He hated that you’d felt this way, hated that he could’ve kept from hurting you - kept from hurting himself - if he’d only been brave enough to have the conversation with you. He hated that the pain you’d both suffered was his own fault and all he could do was hope you’d forgive him.

“Sweetheart.” Eddie lifted a hand to your cheek, attempted to guide your face forward - searching for your eyes - but you turned your cheek.

“Don’t.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he whispered, voice cracking as he attempted to keep his breathing even. “I should’ve… you deserved better.”

“We both did.”

“I thought I was doing the right thing.” He wondered if you’d believe him, if you’d trust that his intentions were true, as he sighed. “I hoped that making you hate me would make it easier for you to get over me, let you find someone better for you. I didn’t… I thought I’d just ruin your future.”

For a long moment, you remained quiet. Eddie wondered if you were contemplating his confession - wondered if you were trying to decide if you would forgive him - and busied himself with brushing idle patterns across your shoulders.

“I don’t like it,” you finally whispered, “but I understand.” That eased a bit of the ache in his chest, made it a little easier for him to breathe as you admitted that you at least understood his rationale. “I would’ve liked to be part of that decision, though. I appreciate you trying to do what you thought was right but it was a relationship, Eddie. You can’t just choose what happens and expect it to be okay.”

There was never a clear definition of love for Eddie. He never had an understanding of what it meant to be in love and be loved in return. In his mind, love was about sacrifice. You gave of yourself to make sure the other person could thrive. It was a decision to be made alone, one that did not warrant a conversation - as a conversation would dissuade him from doing what was right - but as he thought, he realized you’d spent your relationship teaching him otherwise.

The relationship you shared was one filled with compromise, not sacrifice. Though you shared so many interests, there were moments you disagreed. Eddie never wanted to spend Friday nights at basketball games, watching from the bleachers as people who tormented him leered at you, but he dutifully sat in the stands and watched you cheer just to support you. You never loved The Hideout but you sat in the crowd and cheered louder for him than he ever heard you do for the basketball team.

Eddie knew you’d rather spend your weekends watching a movie or hanging out with friends but as the semester wore on, you’d spent night after night tutoring him on classes he still couldn’t manage to pass. And though he knew you loved him, he still found himself surprised by every date you turned down.

For nearly a year, you showed him that love was about compromise - giving just as good as you got - and he’d forgotten it in a moment of fear. Now, he only hoped he wasn’t too late as he attempted to lift your face to his once more.

“I should’ve talked to you,” he agreed, glad you finally met his eyes once more. “I… if I could do it again, I’d do things differently.”

“You can’t change the past,” you reminded him, gently. “But you can do things differently in the future.”

Eddie blinked, brows furrowing as he searched your face. He wondered if you were implying what he hoped you were, wondered if you’d be generous enough to give him a second chance, but he couldn’t help himself as he mentioned, “Your boyfriend…”

“I don’t love him. I wanted to,” you sighed, “I tried to. I just… don’t. I can’t.”

“Why?”

It was hopeful, softly optimistic in a way he hadn’t been since he last saw your face. And when you rolled your eyes, he couldn’t help but smile. “Don’t ask stupid questions, Eds. I know people suck but you’re smarter than that.”

“How long are you in town?”

Eddie knew that your relationship wouldn’t be rekindled immediately - he was a realist, after all - but he hoped that he’d have enough time to at least remind you of why you’d fallen in love with him in the first place. So when you smiled, offered him a glance from beneath your lashes, he felt a glimmer of hope.

“I’m here for the summer. My roommates graduated so we broke our lease. I couldn’t find anything for the summer so I’m picking up a new one by myself in August.” You smiled then, shrugging. “Rent might not be so bad if I had a roommate, though.”

“I hear Chicago’s nice,” he agreed, tentative but hopeful for the first time in a long time.

“I think you’d love it.”

There was more to be said, a conversation to be had, but Eddie felt a glimmer of something warm in the pit of his stomach. He could see a future once more, one in which you were again by his side, and promised that this time, he’d do things right.

_____________________________________________________

Author's Note: I spent so long on this. I'm kinda glad it's finally done. I included a few old anon requests so. Sorry it took so long. :) Also if my Modern Baseball anon is still around, here's a Modern Baseball inspired fic. :)

Taglist: @x-avantgarde-x, @thisisparadisemylove, @eddiesprincess, @slvdsjjk, @munsonlover, @tasmbestspdrman, @urofficial-cyberslut, @jxngwhore, @hopelesslylosttheway, @meaganjm, @lazuli-leenabride, @deiondraaa, @piscesmesss, @glowyskiess, @kiszkathecook, @missryerye, @solarrexplosion, @ofherscarlettwitchways, @lovedandleft-haunted, @trappedinlimbo15, @sweetiekitten, @bookfrog242, @gwendolynmary, @sage-bun, @zealouslibrariesparadiselight, @castiels-lilass, @tojis-little-brat, @emmah787, @theworldsendxx, @asuperconfusedgirl, @flores-and-sunshine, @passi0np1t, @laurathefahrradsattel, @hellf1reclub, @slut4yourmom, @niko-04, @hannirose-loves-you, @mrs-eddie-munson, @screambabe, @vllowe, @ryswritingrecord, @cheriebondy, @ryswritingrecord, @thewitchofthewilds140, @bootlegmothman420, @maruushkka, @honeymoonpython, @keenesbeans, @jess-bonn, @sammysinger04, @khaoticken21, @denkis-slut, @spiderman-berries, @lotus-es, @amortiff, @stardust-galaxies, @ure-a-sunflower, @1-800-ch3rry, @ladybeewritethings, @ynbutbetter, @hunnybunimdun, @breathinfive, @s-u-t, @s4ntacarlal0stk1d, @rae-iin, @pennamesgame, @stefans-wife, @voldieshorts, @frankie-mercury, @bbymochi1, @serendiipty, @saturnsworld01, @eddiemunson1sstuff, @valthevalkyrie-main, @crying-caro, @inglourious-imagines

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shadowsviper · 14 days ago

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Hello! Here to say hi! Your post appeared on my scroll and I noticed you have just one, so I figured you might be new around here! Welcome to Tumblr! I hope you find your crowd soon enough! 💖

In the meantime, do you mind telling me something about Jason Todd? I've never been too deep into DC, but I recognize his name. I'd love to hear your headcannons/thoughts about him! 💖

Hi! Thanks for welcoming me :) I've actually been lurking on tumblr for a while before I finally got the confidence to start writing.

Here's a short basic rundown of Jason: Jason Todd is the second person to take the mantle of Robin after Dick Grayson. Batman caught him stealing the wheels off the Batmobile in a dark alleyway one night and took him in. He was more rebellious and he didn't like Batman's moral code. Fans actually voted to kill him off in the series. Jason would be beaten by the Joker with a crowbar and left to die with his mother inside a warehouse with a time bomb. He would later be resurrected by Talia Al Ghul in the Lazarus Pit and took the mantle of Red Hood. He would use guns and violence when it came to crime fighting. When he found out that Batman didn't avenge him in any way, he felt betrayed and let his anger out on Gotham's criminals. He believed that they deserved a worse punishment.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Jason Todd Headcannons

He loves to bake, especially cookies. He'll bake other pastries every now and then, but his go to is cookies. It's something he'll never admit to his family, other than Alfred. He'll drop off some to his brothers sometimes with an insulting note; he would say they're poisoned just to mess with Tim

Whenever he has free time, he's in the library. Sometimes he'll be at the public library if he doesn't want to see his family. Other times he'll be in the Manor looking at whatever new books Alfred and Damian bought

It's actually canon that Jason likes to read books like Pride and Prejudice, and The Art of War, among many others

He loves to bother his brothers whenever he can

He loves to swing by GCPD when Dick is working just to mess with him. He might even go as far as faking an emergency just for the emergency to be him wanting to say a quick fuck you

Dick has banned him from coming within a 20-foot radius of GCPD. He also threatened to arrest him if he got close

It doesn't stop Jason. He has yet to be arrested because they technically can't arrest a dead man

He'll mess with Tim at any time. His things will slowly go missing; his mugs, coffee, important papers, you name it.

One time when Tim left his place unattended, Jason moved everything an inch to the left. It drove Tim crazy. More crazy than he already was considering he hadn't slept for the past two days. He'll get Jason back one day

What he does with Damian is a 50/50. Sometimes he'll spar with him for fun. Just a quick training exercise or he's actually trying to kill the demon spawn, who knows. Other times they're both reading silently in the corner of the library.

They won't talk about it after

Definitely broke into Wayne Enterprises way too many times

He had no reason to go in. He just wanted to bother Bruce or Tim. Or both

Definitely both

Has been escorted out multiple times with Bruce watching with his head in his hands

That man is stressed lmao

Definitely picks up Damian from school with white girl music blasting at full volume. The bass is cranked up to the point where you can feel it inside the school

Damian hates it so much because his classmates find Jason pretty cool and they keep trying to talk to him about Jason

Later banned from picking Damian up from school

#jason todd #jason todd headcanons #batfamily #batfam #red hood #red hood headcanons #red hood x reader #jason todd x reader

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dear-ao3 · 7 months ago

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Question for the mods....

HOW IN THE FUCK DID YOU MEET???

Like what???

How??

I am so god damn curious about you two. I wanna study yall under a microscope lol

Also ngl kinda envious of how close of friends you two seem to be. (Being an introverted shy af mofo sucks lmao)

I would actually probably read a whole ass book or watch a sitcom or something of the seemingly ever present weird-ass shit that seems to happen on a day-by-day basis.

/gen /lh /nf /pos

2018 newsies fandom. we weren't overly close but we bonded over race and albert a little and then katya dropped off the face of the earth for about a year.

during 2020 lockdown we both independently got into the witcher fandom and somehow ran into eachother again and had the fingers pointing OH MY GOD Y O U !!! moment in our dms. we bonded over hating jaskier. during this time we realized we were both dancers and katya was looking at dance colleges, i was already in college for dance and since it was lockdown and we couldn't go anywhere i told katya my experience auditioning at places to give him a good idea of places. and then i broke every internet safety rule known to man and said hey what if you had applied to my college but didnt know it?? and then one thing led to another and i dished out all the tea on my school. (only After that did we face reveal and give eachother our names lol) and then katya applied. mostly as a joke. until it wasnt a joke because that school gave katya a shit load of money and actually had stuff katya wanted to do. katya ended up coming to one of my zoom ballet classes and it took everything we had to not loose our shit on camera.

during this time we mostly kept eachother sane in lockdown writing witcher fanfic, and sending eachother awful thirst traps on instagram to pitbull music. one of our awful bits was using the dilf filter to make bad frat boy edits.

come august of 2021 we both moved into college. the same college. in the same building. it was wild. i pinched myself several times in shock. we went on a walk around campus with some worms on strings and were like what the hell how did we get here.

we continued to hang out and did weird insane things together. we took a class on the french revolution together where i had to put up with katya and fennec awkwardly flirting (read: making finger guns at eachother).

and then, since i was 2 years older, i was graduating and was going to stay in the area for a job and was like hey. what if we got an apartment together? and then we did. several adults agreed to this. idk why they let us. but now we live together in a real life apartment and we haven't even killed eachother yet. neither of our parents know that we met online. each of them have a different fake story as to how we know eachother and we really just hope they are never in the same room long enough to ask eachother about it. but its insane. 12/10 would recommend.

katya wanted me to include old tumblr screenshots of us talking, heres what i found from circa 2020:

we've always been like this lol

and heres some ancient greatest hits from instagram, i dont have context and trust me you dont want it:

every now and then the two of us look at eachother and go. how the fuck did we end up here??? (we have no idea)

#not a tag #from saph #storytime ig lol #sorry for the god awful quality #essentially we are basically dan and phil which is insane

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bottlehawk · 2 years ago

Text

hello, stranger! don't know if you were expecting a response but i am extremely nerdy and love any excuse to write long posts on the internet about media i enjoy. so here is my informal-style thesis defense that i am also doubling as a general defense for other "recontextualization" style analyses of homestuck on this site.

1. "the early parts of homestuck are meant to be taken less seriously, so analyzing it seriously is kind of silly."

yes. fan interaction was a major driving factor for homestuck early on, and that fan interaction was encouraged to be silly! but part of how homestuck is written (due to its very nature as a serially published webcomic, and also the shift over from fan submission to complete authorial control) is that earlier events or elements in the comic are recontextualized in the story to later expand into what is often more serious worldbuilding or interpretation. that's kind of the fun of making any serially published work, in my opinion - starting with some random bullshit, basically, and then seeing what you can make out of it. so even something that wasn't "meant" by the author at the time can evolve into something that is "meant" in later parts of the story. this also includes things the author didn't wish to intend: i.e. why we have things like the retcon arc and the game over timeline.

2. "yes, but does homestuck expect and/or encourage this recontextualization to apply to bro strider and dave?"

i'd say the discussion between dave and dirk on top of the tower is a pretty good example. but also, the development of alpha!dirk's character and his grapples with his "splinter" selves, as well as the reveal of "lil cal" as some demonic superentity sent back through paradox time-space support this interpretation of bro strider being an abusive parent by making it canonically part of a larger plot and some intensive character exploration. and obviously in post-canon there's the return of ultimate!dirk's controlling/manipulative tendencies in the epilogues, and also both dave and dirk's routes in pesterquest, but some people may dispute those as being "canonic" enough. but i would say that current homestuck encourages this interpretation.

3. "even if recontextualizing is valid, there was absolutely no basis for bro strider to be abusive when he was written at the time."

i'd say there was some pretty solid evidence, even as early on as act 3. even if it is just being played off as silly and goofy, john and rose do note that bro acts in an unnatural way for a guardian figure, and expresses that to dave. dave dismisses this when they bring it up, but it is juxtaposed with the further revealing of the strider apartment. for example, there IS no food kept in the kitchen, and any there is dave has to hide in his room. not to mention the saw puppet traps. the puppet porn. etc everything i mentioned above. and you see dave reacting to these things, almost wanting to admit that it's kind of weird, but also not wanting to think about it too hard. it's basically treated in dark humor - "oh boy well we're so glad this is just a silly webcomic otherwise we'd probably have to start getting worried at some point!" so i think it was at least AWARE of that angle, and it's pretty valid for some people to say, "hey wait."

4. "if we're going to be taking the bro strider abuse allegations seriously, then why aren't rose and john taken seriously either? why don't you talk about rose and john's unhealthy relationship with their parents since they also enter strifes with them?"

i already do (at least with rose, because i like analyzing the strilondes especially). but i suspect this was a question directed at the larger fandom in particular.

first, i'd say that the striders are more talked about as there is more canonic discussion of their unhealthy relationship near the end of homestuck (so recency bias). rose and roxy seem to be glad to meet each other, and john reacts with joy upon seeing jane's dad, who he initially interprets as his father. meanwhile dave and dirk are *very* awkward in their initial greeting, and then the tower discussion happens (which is the LAST conversation either of those two characters partake in, mind you).

the striders are admittedly also extremely popular characters in homestuck (yes, and that's in comparison to rose and john) so you're going to see more indepth fan discussion of them that will be reblogged by a lot more people sometimes. that's not really anybody's fault.

additionally, john and rose's strifes compared to dave's strife, doesn't have their guardians physically hurting them. john's dad throws a pie at him. one of those whipped cream pies. the type you use for a prank. rose's mom offers her some random gifts like a pony, and tries to drunkenly pass off a vodka martini to her, which yes is obviously pretty bad and a different form of child neglect which i again, do also talk about in other posts (and also comes up later in homestuck as a Real thing rose has to struggle with). but they come out of it unharmed, if not just annoyed. in dave's, we see his bro actually hurting him, and when he comes out of the battle, he's literally lying on the ground paralyzed because he just got thrown down a flight of stairs. so i think it's fair to say there's a pretty clear distinction here.

IN CONCLUSION: Reinterpreting homestuck in ways the author might not have originally intended is part of the fun of fandom. This specific recontextualization is considered and taken seriously by the text both early-on and late game, which gives me some canonic basis. People should talk more about Rose and her relationship with her mom. I love talking about Homestuck and I should probably touch grass.

i think that when rose figured out dave's brother is actually his father she would've been TORMENTED with wanting to know why he raised dave as a brother and not a son. that had to itch at her brain every day she was on that meteor. rose lalonde lying wide awake at night thinking "why did he do that. what was the reason specifically" can you imagine the first chance she gets to speak with dirk when they're not all high on the adrenaline of creating the universe she'd corner him like "I have some questions. pertaining to your views on fatherhood 👁️ 👁️"

#homestuck #dave strider #bro strider #rose lalonde #john egbert #child abuse #child neglect #suicidal mention #bottlehawk text #all i do is write long essays on tumblr dot com #but hey i actually broke it up into points this time! lmao #can you derail a post like five different times? i dont care my hands are speedy and i love to blab

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sasaranurude · 7 months ago

Text

Okay. I've been playing Tokyo Debunker today, since the release happened to catch me on a day when all I'd planned to do was write fanfiction. I just finished reading the game story prologue (it was longer than expected!), so here's a review type post. If you're reading this post not having seen a single thing about this game: it's a story-based joseimuke gacha mobile game that just released globally today. It's about a girl who suddenly finds herself attending a magic school and mingling with elite, superhuman students known as ghouls. If you look in the tumblr tag for the game you'll see what appears to be a completely different game from 2019 or so: they retooled it completely midway through development, changing just about everything about it due to "escalating competition within the gaming industry."

I'll talk about how this looks like a blatant twst clone at the end.

Starting with the positive: The story is charming. I enjoyed it thoroughly the entire time and am excited to read more. The mix between visual novel segments and motion comics was really nice--it broke things up and added a lot of oomph to the action or atmospheric scenes that visual novels generally lack. I like the art in the comic parts a lot. the live2d in the visual novel parts is... passable. Tone-wise, I think the story was a little bit all over the place and would like to see more of the horror that it opened on, but I didn't mind the comedic direction it went in either. The translation is completely seamless. The characters so far all have unique voices and are just super fun and cute. Of the ones who've had larger roles in the story so far, there's not a single one I dislike. It's all fully voiced in Japanese and the acting is solid. (I don't recognize any voices, and can't seem to find any seiyuu credits, so it seems they're not big names, but they deliver nonetheless.) Kaito in particular I found I was laughing at his lines a ton, both the voicing and the writing.

He's looking for a girlfriend btw. Spreading the word.

The problem is like. The gameplay is the worst dark-pattern microtransaction-riddled bullshit I've ever seen. Hundred passive timers going at all times. Fifty different item-currencies. Trying to get you to spend absurd amounts of real world money at every turn. There's like five different indicators that take you to various real-money shop items that I don't know how to dismiss the indicator, I guess you just have to spend money, wtaf. Bajillion different interlocking systems mean you have zero sense of relative value of all the different item-currencies. I did over the course of the day get enough diamonds for one ten-pull, which I haven't used yet. Buying enough diamonds for a ten-pull costs a bit under $60 (presumably USD, but there's a chance the interface is automatically making that CAD for me--not gonna spend the money to check lmfao), with an SSR rate of 1%. BULLSHIIIIIT.

There's like a goddamn thousand-word essay explaining the dozen different types of character upgrades and equippables and equippables for the equippables!! Bad! Bad game design! That's just overcomplicating bullshit to trick people into thinking they're doing something other than clicking button to make number go up! That is not gameplay!

In terms of the actual gameplay, there is none. The battle system is full auto. There might be teambuilding, but from what I've seen so far, most of that consists of hoping you pull good cards from gacha and then clicking button to make number go up. There's occasional rhythm segments but there's no original music, it's just remixes of public domain classical music lmao. I'd describe the rhythm gameplay as "at least more engaging than twisted wonderland's," which is not a high bar

At least there's a cat in the rhythm bit.

And like, ok, I gotta remark on how derivative it is. Like I mentioned in my post earlier, this game is unabashedly aping twisted wonderland's setting and aesthetic. (That said, most of the stuff it steals from twst is magic school stuff that twst also basically stole from Harry Potter, so...?) However, it isn't exactly like twst: in this one, the characters say fuck a lot and bleed all over the place and do violence. Basically, the tone is a fair bit more adult than twst's kid-friendly vibe. (Not, like, adult adult, and I probably wouldn't even call it dark--it's still rated Teen lol. Just more adult than twst.)

Rather than just being students at magic school, the ghouls also go out into the mundane world to go on missions where they fight and investigate monsters and cryptids. Honestly, the magic school setting feels pretty tacked-on. The things that are enjoyable about this would've been just as enjoyable in about any other setting--you can tell this whole aspect was a late trend-chasing addition, lmao. So, yeah, it's blatantly copying twst to try to steal some players, but... Eh, I found myself not caring that much. Someone more (or less) into twst than me may find it grating.

Character-wise, eh, sure, yeah, they're a bit derivative in that aspect too, but it's a joseimuke game, the characters are always derivative. Thus far the writing & execution has been solid enough that I didn't care if they were tropey. If I were to compare it to something else, I'd say the relationship between the protagonist and the ghouls feels more like that of the sage and wizards in mahoyaku than anything from twst. There's some mystery in exactly what "ghouls" are and their place in this world that has me intrigued and wanting to know more about this setting and how each of the characters feels about it. I have a bad habit of getting my hopes up for stories that put big ideas on the table and then being disappointed when they don't follow through in a way that lives up to my expectations, though.

So, my final verdict: I kind of just hope someone uploads all the story segments right onto youtube so nobody has to deal with the dogshit predatory game to get the genuinely decent story lol. Give it a play just for the story if you have faith in your ability to resist dark patterns. Avoid at all costs if you know you're vulnerable to gacha, microtransactions, or timesinks.

#suchobabbles #Tokyo Debunker #it's a global simultaneous release so I'm curious to see how it ends up doing in Japan #it's gonna be competing directly with stellarium of the fragile star which releases in a few days lmao. and is about a magic alchemy school #looks like the two games twt accounts have a similar number of followers #and then theyre competing with bremai releasing in may...#also adding this at the very end since i cant confirm anything:#but i found out abt this game bc it was rt'd by the former localization director/translator of A3en #i dont know if she worked on it or maybe her friend or maybe shes just hype! who knows! but i think her word (or rt) is worth something

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seiya-starsniper · 3 months ago

Note

I wish you would write a fic where...

…Hob is a little insecure about his body in comparison to Dream. Dream is wondering why his love only wants to have sex in the dark…

I need some hurt/comfort 🥹

Oh man friend, I started writing this thinking it wouldn't be super long and then 9.7k words later...😅

Still gonna post the whole thing on tumblr since this IS a tumblr prompt, but it's probably best read on AO3 for length reasons lmao. I hope you enjoy this angst train!

AO3 Link: Cruel Summer

Rating: Mature

Warnings: None

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - America, Developing Relationship, Casual Sex, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Self-Esteem Issues, Self Confidence Issues, body image issues

Also tagging @dreamlingbingo as I'm using this fill for my free space!

-----------------

The first time it happens, Dream doesn't think too much about it. There's not a lot of thinking going on period, not really. Dream's only focused on the touch and taste and feel of Hob Gadling’s body against his as they drunkenly make out against the latter’s front door.

They’d been out tonight celebrating with their friends, all of them having finally achieved some hard earned life goal. Matthew and Jessamy were engaged, and planning a marriage out on Cape Cod the following summer, Lucienne had gotten promoted as an archivist at Harvard, Mervyn had finally launched his own cybersecurity firm, and Dream had just signed a publishing deal for the novel he’d been working on for the past two years. His editing team was even based out of Boston, even if their main headquarters was in New York, which made Dream’s life much easier.

Hob…well. Hob’s celebration was more muted than the rest. He’d just landed a job at Harvard as well, working as a professor, so he and Lucienne were now technically coworkers. And while it was a fantastic opportunity with decent pay, and mostly free summers, it had come at the cost of his relationship with Eleanor, his longtime girlfriend.

Eleanor had accepted a job across the country working as a marketing lead for a lifestyle clothing brand based out of Seattle. She’d wanted the position more than anything, but Hob hadn’t wanted to move, so they broke up. Hob insists it was all amicable, and that he’d miss everyone too much if he’d actually left, but they all knew Hob had been thinking about proposing.

Dream knows all this, and yet, when it had just been the two of the left at the bar and Hob had started openly flirting with him alone, instead of just playfully flirting with every single one of their friends, Dream had decided, “why not”, and matched the other man’s energy until they were suddenly making out just outside the bar while they waited for the Uber Hob called for them. It’s still the beginning of summer and not terribly hot outside, but Dream’s still grateful for the cool AC of the car that eventually comes to get them to drive the short distance back to Hob’s apartment.

When Hob finally unlocks the door and they practically fall into the front hall, Dream messily kicks off his shoes and works his way towards undoing Hob’s belt in between kisses. Hob wrangles them down the hall and towards his bedroom and Dream thinks vaguely about turning on the lights when they finally cross the threshold. But then Hob pushes him down into the mattress and Dream stops thinking about anything at all.

-----------------

The second time that it happens, a little over a month later, Dream is helping Hob clean up his apartment after their monthly movie night with their friends. They had all decided on rewatching Jurassic Park after Mervyn and Lucienne had gotten into a debate on whether or not dinosaurs looked stupid with or without feathers. But it had taken the group some time for them to even start the movie, since they had mostly gotten wrapped up with different bits of work and life gossip. It was rare that they were all able to get together like this, so the movie was a secondary concern for them.

During the movie, however, Matthew and Jessamy’s wedding planner called them about something that needed their attention immediately, and though they said it was fine to keep the movie running, they’d paused it anyways. Not even ten minutes after they wrapped up their call, Mervyn had to take a work call from a client suffering from some server issues.

Needless to say, it was nearly midnight by the time they finished the movie, and since only Dream and Hob had nothing to do the next morning, Dream had offered to stay late to help clean up and then crash on Hob’s couch for the night.

That is, at least, the story they tell their friends. The dishes and the food end up abandoned as Hob pushes Dream into the couch cushions and palms his cock through his black jeans. Dream moans and ruts beneath the other man, wrapping his arms around his neck and pulling Hob in for a desperate, filthy kiss. They make out like teenagers for what seems like hours, the taste of buttery popcorn and overly sweet margarita mix mingled in every kiss. Dream isn’t nearly as drunk as he was that first night, but he’s got a pleasant buzz going, which really only adds to the whole illicit nature of what they’re doing. Neither of them had mentioned the first time they’d fucked to any of their friends, they’d barely talked about just between the two of them, really.

Dream had figured maybe they could talk about it tonight after everyone had gone home but well. He’d gotten distracted with Hob’s mouth.

When they finally move from the couch to the bedroom, Dream turns the lights on, but then Hob turns them right back off as Dream’s getting undressed.

“Are you one of those people who prefers to have sex in the dark?” Dream asks, laughing as Hob crawls on top of him, shedding his shirt and underwear along the way.

“Mmmm,” Hob says, putting his mouth on Dream’s neck instead of answering the question. Dream gasps as the other man bites down on that one sensitive spot just below his ear. “Don’t wanna get up later to turn them off.”

Dream hums, and that’s the end of that conversation as his mind floats away to far more interesting pursuits.

-----------------

The third time almost feels like a date. Almost. They don’t exactly plan to get together, just the two of them, it just sort of happens because Matthew had gotten sick, and Jessamy hadn’t wanted to leave him alone to fend for himself. She also wasn’t entirely sure if she was contagious herself and wanted to be safe. Mervyn was on call for a client this weekend so he wasn’t going out with them anyways, and Lucienne had decided she’d rather stay at home and catch up on some of her backlogged work rather than attend the Oktoberfest event they’d all bought tickets to.

Hob had texted Dream individually and suggested they go out anyway, just the two of them, and Dream’s heart had stuttered in his chest when he’d read the message. Hob had suggested a new restaurant that had opened up near his apartment, and while it wasn’t necessarily a first date sort of place, it was still a bit nicer than any of the places they’d go with their friends for just drinks or a quick bite to eat.

Dream agonizes for over an hour on what he should wear, before he ultimately defaults to what feels most natural to him, black jeans and a solid black polo instead of his usual band t-shirt, which he then pairs with a charcoal gray blazer, just to look a little nicer. But not too nice, just in case this isn’t a date.

Hob, much to Dream’s disappointment, is in his regular outfit of a graphic tee and sweats when Dream arrives. He’s not terribly out of place in the restaurant, but he’s clearly not dressed to impress. He eyes Dream very appreciatively though, and doesn’t comment on why Dream’s a little more dressed up than usual. What he does do, however, is spend the evening whispering into Dream’s ear about how he’d like to peel that blazer off Dream and make him wear it while they fuck.

They only make it through a single round of drinks before they leave, with Hob leaving their server behind a more than generous tip for wrapping up their bill so quickly.

Hob wastes no time divesting Dream of his blazer and tossing it down the hallway towards the bedroom before turning his attention back to kissing Dream senseless. He sinks to his knees and Dream moans as the other man then works at peeling his jeans off so he can blow Dream right in the front hall, up against the front door where anyone can walk by and hear. It makes everything that much hotter.

Later, when all Dream is left wearing is his blazer and nothing else, Hob gets up from where they’re kissing on the bed to turn off the lights and Dream frowns.

“You can just leave the lights on,” Dream says, before he coyly spreads his legs and shows off his best seductive pose to tempt Hob back to bed. Hob stares, transfixed at Dream’s posturing, before he huffs and then clicks off the lights anyways. Dream groans in annoyance and Hob laughs before he kisses Dream again.

“Sorry, just easier with the lights off,” Hob says, not sounding sorry at all. “Don’t worry about it too much.”

But Dream does worry. He doesn’t in the moment, but he does later, when they’re lying beside each other, Hob snoring away while Dream thinks and thinks and thinks. He thinks about how Hob always wants the lights off, and how he never cuddles with Dream after sex. He thinks about how they really only ever get together when it's convenient, but they've never made plans on their own, at least, not since Hob and Eleanor have broken up.

Dream realizes, with a growing dread, that maybe Hob still isn't over Eleanor, that maybe all there is between them is sex, and nothing else. It makes an awful sort of sense; in the dark, Dream can't tell if Hob’s thinking about someone else, hoping for someone that's not Dream. Eleanor and Dream couldn't be anymore different but that hardly matters to a man with a broken heart. A warm body is a warm body after all, and Dream's the only other single person in their friend group.

If Hob's a little bit confused as to why Dream is a bit short with him in the morning he doesn't show it. Somehow that makes the pit in Dream's stomach worse.

-----------------

The fourth time—there isn’t a fourth time because Dream fucks it all up.

Dream had met with his publisher earlier in the day, and the meeting had gone rather…poorly. His editor had straight up told him that he’d needed to make significant changes to the book, and Dream had argued until he was hoarse but to no avail. He’d then been told to go home and sleep on things, effectively being dismissed like a petulant child who’d thrown a tantrum in public.

Dream knew he had a good story. He also knew that some of the suggested changes were good ones, while others would fundamentally change the story he was trying to tell. But still, the sheer amount of changes had overwhelmed him, and Dream had lost his temper. He already knows, with a growing dread, that he’ll have to make some apologies the next day.

He’s about to go home, but Dream decides instead he’d like to get as drunk as humanly possible to wash the bitter taste of the day from his mind. He texts the group chat, and since it’s a Friday night, they all respond with enthusiasm to blow off some steam for the weekend. Everyone except for Hob, who says he’s not feeling like socializing tonight, but he’s sorry Dream had such a shitty day.

Dream tries not to be disappointed that Hob won’t show up. He wonders if he’d just invited Hob by himself, instead of texting their group, would he have come out, just for Dream? But they don’t do things like that, even with how long they’ve been friends. Before they started sleeping together, Hob and Dream had always just sort of existed together in the same circle of friends. Dream had actually met Eleanor first, and Hob only when they started dating. Dream has never spent any amount of alone time with Hob before now, and he still doesn’t know what sort of relationship they even have, if any at all.

Dream’s worries leave his mind when the others show up. Mervyn stays for only one round of drinks, and Matthew and Jessamy only two before they head out for the evening. They have an early appointment with the planner the next day to do some cake tastings. Lucienne stays the longest, though she really only nurses the same glass of wine the entire night. She talks Dream through his frustrations with his editors, and his overall story. She’s been with him every step of the way to getting this publishing deal, and Dream hasn’t told her yet, but she’s going to be the front page of his acknowledgements.

He’s so tempted to unload on her about Hob as well, but before he can gather the courage to broach the subject, she gets a text from someone and blushes furiously when she reads it. Dream pokes and prods until she admits she’s started seeing someone. Johanna. She’s not sure if it’s serious yet but well. They’re definitely physically compatible, and while she won’t show Dream her phone, he already knows she’s been sent something particularly provocative. So Dream lets her go, and then debates between ordering another drink or going home.

He does neither of those things, and instead pulls out his phone and texts Hob, outside their group chat. The alcohol has more than loosened Dream’s inhibitions and right now, he’s lonely and horny. Lucienne’s reserved but still elated expression as she had happily explained Johanna had made Dream miss Hob. So he texts the other man and tells him he’d like to come over.

Hob’s response isn’t what he’s hoping for: are you drunk?

Dream frowns at his phone and then his initial message: aree tou busy?? Can i comeocer?

Okay, maybe he was a little more drunk than he realized. He asks Hob if it matters, being careful this time to make sure he types everything out carefully, and then closes out his tab while he waits for a response. Nothing comes. Dream’s annoyed and disappointed, but not surprised, so he starts to make his way to the train platform to head home.

While he’s waiting, he finally gets a response back from Hob: okay. come over.

Dream changes platforms immediately and heads in the direction of Hob’s apartment.

When he arrives, Hob pushes a glass of water towards him, which Dream drinks down greedily. When he’s done, he joins Hob on the couch and crawls into his lap to kiss him, but Hob pushes him away after only a few moments. Dream lets out an annoyed noise when Hob does it again.

“Dream, not tonight,” Hob says, pushing him away when Dream tries to kiss him again.

“What do you mean?” Dream asks, now confused.

“I don’t want to have sex right now,” Hob replies, before he pushes Dream off of him and back onto the couch, going back to watching whatever crime drama he’d had on before Dream arrived.

Dream stares, open mouthed and hurt, as Hob decidedly ignores him for Netflix. He gets up angrily and stomps around the kitchen, tearing open the cabinets looking for something to eat, and also more water because now he has a pounding headache as his body struggles to sober up now that he’s no longer drinking.

“Dream!” Hob exclaims, getting up when Dream slams more than one cabinet door closed. “Come on, don’t be like this.”

“Like what?” Dream sneers, stuffing a potato chip into his mouth angrily. “I came all this way just to fuck you, didn’t I?”

“You’re drunk,” Hob points out.

“I’m always drunk when we have sex,” Dream argues, crossing his arms, chip bag still in hand. “You’ve never had a problem with it before.”

“Yeah well, I’m not drunk now, and I’m also not in the mood,” Hob replies angrily.

“Then why the hell did you invite me over?” Dream growls.

“I don’t know!” Hob exclaims, throwing his hands up in defeat. “I wasn’t thinking, obviously,” he adds, then gestures to Dream. “How was I supposed to know you’d be like this?”

Dream huffs, then carelessly tosses the bag of chips onto the counter. A few stray chips scatter across the counter, but Dream doesn’t care. Clearly Hob didn’t want him around, not for sex, and definitely not to comfort Dream after the awful day he’d had, so there was no point in staying.

“Fine, I’ll go,” Dream says, moving towards the door where he’d kicked off his shoes. He decides he’ll check the train times on the walk over.

“Dream,” Hob says, grabbing his arm before he can make it to the hallway. “It’s late. Come on. Let’s go to sleep.”

“I can get home on my own just fine,” Dream argues, raising his chin defiantly.

“No,” Hob replies, his voice stern as he grips Dream’s arm tighter. “Come on, let’s just go to bed. You need to sleep this off.”

“I can sleep on the couch,” Dream says, yanking his arm out of Hob’s grip. “Since you’re not interested in fucking my bad day out of me.”

“Dream, stop being so fucking difficult!” Hob yells, shocking both of them.

The echo of Hob’s roar hangs tensely between them, and Hob steps back from Dream with a hand over his mouth, clearly horrified at what he’s done. Dream also feels the prick of tears in his eyes as he processes just how angry Hob actually has been with him all night.

How the hell had this night gotten worse? Dream doesn’t know, but what he does know is that he needs to leave before he starts drunkenly crying in Hob’s apartment, and Hob is the last person Dream wants to see him like this.

Dream tries making his way towards the door again, but Hob seems to regain his senses and physically blocks him. Dream tries to push him, then tries to hit Hob’s shoulder to make him move, but Hob grabs Dream’s wrist to stop him.

“I’m sorry,” Hob says, his voice much softer this time, laced with regret and pity. Dream hates it. “I lost my temper, I shouldn’t have done that,” he adds.

“Fuck off!” Dream yells, and oh. No. No, no, no, no. Dream furiously blinks back the tears before they can start falling, even if he can’t stop the pained hiccups that betray his emotional state from leaving his mouth.

“Just—” Dream gasps, then forces himself to breathe, slow and deep, and then counts to five. “Let me go home. You don’t—” his breath hitches again, cutting off what he wants to say. Fuck. He couldn’t even string together a full sentence if he tried.

“Dream, please,” Hob replies, his voice practically begging now. “Don’t leave. I don’t want you going home alone like this.” Dream turns to meet Hob eyes, and his anger dissipates slightly when he sees how devastated Hob looks.

Despite how awful Dream feels, even he knows it’d be a mistake to go home in his current state. He’s highly emotional, drunk, and likely wouldn’t be paying attention to his surroundings. He could get mugged, or worse.

“Fine,” Dream finally relents. Hob lets out a sigh of relief, and hugs him. Dream doesn’t hug him back. He’s still angry after all.

But Dream lets Hob wrangle him down the hall to the bedroom, and then he strips down to his underwear to sleep, since he doesn’t have any of his own clothes here. And why would he? It’s not like they’re anything other than an occasional hookup after all.

Hob does offer Dream a shirt and pajama pants to wear, but Dream tosses them away from him without so much as a second glance. Hob sighs at Dream, and then shuts off the lights, turning away from Dream without another word to sleep. He’s clearly still frustrated with Dream too.

Dream lies there next to Hob, feeling cold and rejected and lonely. He hates everything about this. Hates that Hob let him come over and make a fool out of himself when he could have easily just told Dream to fuck off and go home instead. Hates that Hob even came onto him in the first place, all those months ago, and now they’re here, in this weird in-between state where they're together but not together.

Dream realizes too late that he really hadn’t cared if they had sex or not either. He’d wanted comfort more than anything, comfort from Hob specifically. But the only comfort he knew that came from Hob was sex. And that’s the worst part of it. Dream knows now, without a doubt, that he has feelings for Hob. That he wants more out of this than what they’re doing now, but he’s not sure Hob does. At this point, he’s too afraid to ask.

Hob’s bedroom suddenly feels like a suffocating prison as all of Dream’s feelings hit him at once. He’s going to cry again if he stays, and he really doesn’t want Hob to see him like this. He doesn’t want Hob to know just how badly he’s gotten under Dream’s skin.

Dream realizes he needs to leave. He’s stone cold sober now, having laid here in the dark with nothing but his thoughts and his third glass of water now emptied on the bedside table. He listens carefully for the evening out of Hob’s breath, then shuffles around in bed to see if any of his movements disturb the other man. When he’s certain that Hob is deep in sleep, Dream hurriedly dresses himself, checks to see that there’s still trains running this late at night, and then rushes out when he sees the next one is in just 15 minutes. Hob lives about 12 minutes from the nearest station. Dream can make it if he runs.

The front door slams loudly behind him as he leaves, but Dream doesn’t care. Hob probably won’t even notice that he’s gone.

Dream makes it to the station just as the train is pulling into the stop. As he’s getting on, he hears yelling and frantic running, the sounds of someone about to miss the train. Dream considers holding the doors until he sees just who's rushing towards the train.

It's Hob. Hob who is barely dressed, and running down the steps to the train platform in nothing but sweatpants and slippers. He catches Dream's eyes and waves frantically to get his attention. Dream’s heart flutters momentarily, and he imagines that maybe he was wrong about everything after all. That maybe there’s more to what’s been happening between them than just rebound sex.

Dream gets on the train anyways, and the doors shut just as Hob reaches the platform, and the train pulls away.

-----------------

They pretend like nothing is wrong after that night. Hob had texted Dream the next morning to ask if he’d gotten home okay, and Dream had left him on read. He had far more important things to worry about that morning, like his pounding headache and the fact that he needed to talk to his editor at some point.

When he finally fights off the last of his hangover, Dream has a much more pleasant conversation with his editing team, who he apologizes to for losing his temper. His team apologizes to him as well, which he doesn’t expect, but they reassure him it’s their job to encourage him, not discourage him from writing. They have a candid conversation about communication, and then agree on a plan to move forward with his book.

Dream happily shares the good news with his group chat, still ignoring the direct message from Hob. He credits Lucienne for talking him off the ledge the night before, and the flood of positive and congratulatory messages flows easily after that. Even from Hob.

Dream sighs when he reads the other man’s message in their group chat, then flips back to their private conversation. He really should apologize for his behavior as well, but he has no idea how to explain himself without revealing more than he’s comfortable with. So Dream turns off his phone, and goes back to working on his novel, hoping that maybe he’ll come up with something to say later in the evening.

He never does end up replying. Hob doesn’t privately message him either after that.

-----------------

It’s trivia night at the White Horse, and Dream would normally be excited to go and show off his arcane knowledge, but tonight he’s dreading the occasion. It’s been a month since he and Hob had last seen each other and he really has no idea how he’s supposed to act around the other man. Do they pretend like nothing ever happened between them? They haven’t spoken since, so things were clearly over between them.

Dream’s still trying to tell himself it’s better this way. They were hurtling towards disaster, and Dream should’ve really known better, should’ve known that he really can’t do casual after all, and now he’s probably permanently fucked up his friendship with Hob because he couldn’t keep his own feelings in check. He still hasn’t apologized, he doesn’t know if Hob even wants an apology from him at this point, or if he just wants to forget about everything that ever happened between them.

So when Dream’s sister texts him and tells him she’s in town for a few days, Dream jumps at the opportunity to meet her and cancel on trivia night plans. He receives a variety of boos and ‘we’ll lose without you!’ responses, all of which make him smile despite himself. Even Hob laments the loss of Dream’s knowledge for the evening.

When Dream arrives at The New Inn later that night, it’s not only his sister that greets him. Eleanor is with her. Dream hasn’t seen her since she and Hob broke up. When she’d moved across the country, she left the group chat and hasn’t really talked to anyone since. Dream had missed her, if he were being honest with himself. Even though Hob had said the breakup was amicable, and that Eleanor had only left the chat because she couldn’t be part of their plans any longer, Dream was still sad to see her go. He realizes he could’ve tried harder to keep in touch with her, but then everything with Hob had happened and well.

Dream wants to hug Eleanor and also scream at her. Wants to unload what a horrible last month he’s had, and also wants her to never find out he’d been sleeping with her ex. It’s not her fault that Dream fell into bed with Hob knowing he wasn’t over his relationship with her yet. It’s entirely her fault for being so perfect, however, that there’s no way Dream could ever compare, and that’s why Hob won’t look at him when they have sex.

When they had sex. Dream and Hob have barely spoken since that night, and only in their group chat. He’s pretty sure Hob doesn’t want to even be in the same room as Dream right now, for how ugly Dream had acted over what was supposed to be just a casual hookup.

“Not that I’m unhappy to see you, Ellie,” Dream says, giving both her and his sister a hug before taking a seat across from them. “But what are you doing back in town?”

“Dream—” Didi starts, but then Eleanor places a hand on her shoulder and stops her.

“We’re dating,” Eleanor says bluntly, moving her hand from Didi’s shoulder down to her hand. Their fingers interlace and Dream’s eyes boggle as he looks between them, shocked.

“When did this happen?” he asks, settling himself in for what must be an extremely interesting story.

Eleanor and Didi take turns recalling the story of how they met through a local meetup for knitters in Seattle, and how Didi had recognized Eleanor from one time she’d come out drinking with Dream and his friends years ago. Happy to have a familiar face, Didi and Eleanor had become fast friends, and they both realized they had a lot in common too.

Before either of them knew it, Eleanor was inviting Didi out everywhere as they explored their new city together, and Didi became accustomed to calling Eleanor after every shift at the hospital. One thing led to another, and then another, and now they’re practically attached at the hip. Didi even shyly admits they’ve talked about moving in together.

The two of them beam at him when they’re done with their story and Dream wants to congratulate them. Wants to be happy that his favorite sister is dating one of his oldest friends. He wants to make plans to visit them in their new home, maybe even help them move if he can work out the logistics. He hasn’t been out to Seattle in some time, and he really could use a vacation.

“I started sleeping with Hob after you left,” is what Dream says instead.

Eleanor spits her (thankfully white) wine all over Didi, who freezes in place, staring at Dream in shock. Dream stares back, horrified both at what he just said, and what followed after. He braces himself, expecting Eleanor to explode on him, to call him a slut, a bad friend, a terrible human being.

Instead, Eleanor starts laughing. Didi does too eventually.

“Oh my god, of course he did,” Eleanor wheezes as she doubles over in her seat. Their server rushes over, bringing some extra napkins and Didi excuses herself to the restroom to wipe off the rest of the wine. Dream and Eleanor are left staring at one another in silence, before Eleanor breaks the tension with another giggle.

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes. “I’m not laughing at you, really, just the whole situation. Imagine if you brought Hob with you tonight?” she practically squeals.

“I—you’re not mad?” Dream asks, more shocked than anything. Eleanor just shrugs and drinks from her water glass this time, instead of her wine.

“I mean, did Hob at least wait a day before he tried to make a move on you?” Eleanor asks. “Not that it matters really, we were broken up before I left but well, you know. Respectful turnaround time and all that.”

“I—” Dream stutters, trying desperately to recall when that first time with Hob actually happened. “I mean, I think it was a few weeks after you left?”

Eleanor snorts. “Good enough, I guess.”

“Sorry,” Dream says, shaking his head as Didi returns and sits back down next to Eleanor. “I’m still trying to wrap my head around this. Did you know he wanted to—?”

“Oh no, no,” Eleanor says then starts laughing again. “Our breakup wasn’t planned or anything, don’t worry. It’s just that, well. He told me he wanted to stay with you guys more than me, so I’m not that surprised?”

“What?” Dream says, dumbly. “But you both said the breakup was mutual.” Eleanor sighs.

“I mean,” she replies. “It was technically mutual. But Hob wanted to stay in Boston, and I didn’t. And one of our last arguments before I left was about abandoning our friends.” She shrugs again. “I love you all, don’t get me wrong, but I really love living out in Seattle more. Especially the company.” She smiles at Didi, who kisses her on the cheek. “It kind of sucked that Hob really didn’t want to move, but it wouldn’t have been fair to ask him to do it all just for me and my career goals.”

“Oh,” Dream says dumbly. “Yeah, I guess that makes sense.” Dream wouldn’t have wanted to leave Boston for any reason either, so it makes sense, he thinks. Boston is just that. It’s home.

“It’ll make double dating a little weird, though,” Eleanor adds, and Didi laughs.

“I think we’ll be fine though,” Didi adds, then turns her focus to Dream. “So tell us about you and Hob,” she says.

“I—we’re not,” Dream stammers, unsure of how to proceed further with the conversation. Eleanor and Didi’s expressions both fall.

“Oh, Dream,” Didi says, reaching out to take his hand. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to put you on the spot.”

“It’s fine,” Dream says though he feels anything but. “I don’t—it didn’t last long between us,” he admits.

“Wow, he fumbled the bag on you?” Eleanor interjects, shock clearly painted on her face. “My god, he really is an idiot.”

“No I—we had a fight,” Dream says, unsure of why he feels the need to clarify. “It was my fault really. I shouldn’t have—he wasn’t ready to commit.”

Eleanor makes a confused face.

“That—doesn’t sound like Hob,” Eleanor says after a moment, and Dream huffs in annoyance.

“You only knew him while you were dating, how would you know that?” Dream retorts.

“Because he told me he’s never done casual,” Eleanor replies. “When we first started seeing each other, he basically said just that. That’s what I liked about him, he wanted to do the whole commitment thing right away, even if it didn’t end up working out.”

“Well maybe he’s changed,” Dream says, far more grumpily than he intended. “He’s never said shit to me about anything, and still hasn’t, so it doesn’t matter.”

“Dream,” Didi says gently, squeezing his hand. “Are you okay?”

“It’s fine,” Dream insists, not wanting to go into the details of how he’d terribly fucked up his situation with Hob.

“You don’t sound fine at all,” Didi replies.

“Maybe we shouldn’t have this conversation at dinner though?” Eleanor interjects, looking concernedly at him. Dream huffs and then pouts. Eleanor was always hyper attuned to when people were upset, especially Dream.

But Dream does want to talk about it, even if it is a bit awkward, all things considered. Eleanor seems to at least be willing to hear Dream out, if nothing else.

They wrap up their bill quickly, taking some of their dinner to go, and find their way over to Dream’s apartment, where he spends the rest of the night wrapped up in a blanket while he recounts the past six months to his sister and Eleanor. There’s also, perhaps, a lot of wine involved. Solely because Eleanor had decided it was also girls night and they needed a lot of wine for a proper one.

“I’m going to murder him myself,” Eleanor says, holding up her bottle of wine when Dream finishes telling her everything that had happened up until now.

“El, no,” Dream whines. He’s really more embarrassed about the whole situation now than anything. Talking things over with the two of them had really helped, and Dream wonders if he should’ve talked to Lucienne, or even Jessamy and Matthew to start. Maybe he wouldn’t have let things go so far the way they did between him and Hob.

“Nah, he deserves it,” Eleanor replies, taking another swig from her bottle.

“It’s really my fault,” Dream tries to insist, knowing it’s useless to defend Hob to his own ex. “I knew he wasn’t over you and I—”

“No, Dream, listen to me,” Eleanor says, taking Dream’s face in her hands. “He never—” she turns away from him suddenly and then burps. Dream laughs, despite himself.

“He never what?” Dream asks when Eleanor turns back to face him. She sighs.

“He never told you why he turns off the lights, and that’s on him,” Eleanor tells him.

“I—what?” Dream says dumbly. Hob turned off the lights with Eleanor too?

“Yeah, he—” Eleanor hiccups and then starts giggling. She releases Dream’s face and then falls back onto Didi, who’s sitting behind her on the couch. “He’s sensitive, you know? About—” she gestures at her front, “All the hair he has. Hates it when people see it. I think we had sex with the lights on like, twice, at most.” She pauses and then regards Dream, her expression sombering. “I thought you knew.”

“Why would I know that?” Dream asks, dumfounded. Hob had never given any indicator that he was sensitive about any part of his body, and no one in their friend group had ever commented on it.

“Because,” Eleanor replies, gesturing wildly. “Think about it. Whenever we went to the beach or anything together, did you ever see him take his shirt off? Or at the pool at Matthew and Jessamy’s place?”

“I—” Dream filters through his memory, which is an especially difficult task considering how drunk they are. He realizes that Eleanor’s right.

“Shit.” Dream groans. “I think I fucked up.”

“No, no, he did,” Eleanor insists. “I always told him I didn’t mind all the hair,” she adds then sighs. “I mean it’s a lot, but it never bothered me, you know?”

“It’s never bothered me either,” Dream admits. He’d rather liked the differences in their bodies actually. Hob was broad where Dream was lanky, naturally tan and sunkissed where Dream was pale. Dream had never had an opinion on chest hair before, what little hair he’d had it was so fine and thin that his chest looked bare anyways. But Eleanor was right. Dream had never really seen Hob casually uncovered. And while he was always eager to undress Dream when the lights were still on, Hob almost never fully undressed himself until after he’d shut them off.

It seems so obvious now, in retrospect. But Dream had been caught up in his own insecurities to really notice that Hob had any of his own to address.

“I honestly thought he didn’t want to look at me when he turned off the lights,” Dream confesses. “That maybe he was hoping he could pretend I was someone else in the dark.”

“Okay, I’m with my girlfriend,” Didi says suddenly, a murderous look in her eyes. “I’m a doctor, I can make it look like an accident,” she adds, holding up her weird hand mixed cocktail that has hot sauce in it.

“Didi!” Dream exclaims. “No murder,” he orders, then laughs at the absurdity of the entire situation. They all start laughing, and Dream feels something unwind in his chest when they do. He thinks about texting Hob, but ultimately decides against it. What he wants to tell him, he wants to do it sober, and in person.

Dream wakes up the next morning extremely hungover, and orders breakfast for delivery. Didi and Eleanor try to insist on paying him back, but he waves away their money, and tells them they can buy him dinner when he flies out to see them move. They both hug him fiercely on their way out and make him promise to see them at least one more time before they fly back to Seattle.

-----------------

A week after his conversation with his sister and Eleanor, Dream is outside Hob’s apartment door, pacing nervously as he rehearses everything he wants to say to Hob. His apology. His request to start things over, if Hob still wants to try. How he’s really been feeling about their whole not-relationship status.

Really, he’s just stalling knocking on Hob’s door. What if Hob doesn’t answer when he sees it’s Dream? What if he tells Dream to go away without even hearing him out? What if—

Dream groans and then mentally slaps himself. He needs to stop worrying himself unnecessarily. Either Hob will want to hear him out or he won’t. But Dream needs to at least try.

He’s about to raise his hand to finally knock on the door, when suddenly he hears Hob’s voice, distinctly from not inside the apartment.

“Dream?” Hob asks. Dream turns in the direction of his voice and finds Hob standing at the end of the hall, groceries in hand. Dream realizes he’s been an idiot standing in front of a completely empty apartment.

“Hi,” Dream says, every rehearsed speech and romantic gesture he’d just been rehearsing evaporating from his mind like wisps of smoke.

“Hi,” Hob replies, his voice flat. He looks tired, but not angry at least, to see Dream. “Did you need something?” he asks as he walks slowly towards his front door, eyeing Dream a little suspiciously. Dream can’t really blame him. Their last interaction had ended rather poorly.

“I—can we talk?” Dream asks, stepping aside so Hob can put his key in the lock. Hob sighs and his shoulders droop, like he’s been dreading this exact situation.

“Sure,” Hob replies, putting on a fake cheerful demeanor as he opens the door to let himself and Dream in.

“Do you need help with anything?” Dream asks, trailing Hob towards the kitchen.

“If you want,” Hob replies, setting the groceries down onto the counter. But before Dream can start unpacking anything, he sighs again and groans.

“Actually, Dream,” Hob says, turning around and facing him head on. “Let’s just talk now.”

“Uhm—okay,” Dream replies, now feeling incredibly nervous. Hob looks at him expectantly, crossing his arms as he waits for Dream to gather his thoughts.

Finally, Dream says, “I wanted to say I’m sorry. About everything that happened last time I was here.”

His apology seems to surprise Hob, who suddenly straightens up from his leaning position against the counter.

“Oh,” Hob replies, sounding dumbstruck. “I—I’m sorry too,” he offers, uncrossing his arms and running a hand through his hair. Dream realizes it’s longer than the last time he’d seen it. “I shouldn’t have lost my temper at you that night.”

“To be fair, I was being an ass,” Dream admits, even though it pains him to do so.

“Yeah but you had a reason to be,” Hob says. “I was just feeling sorry for myself for no reason and I took it out on you.”

“I still took my shitty day out on you,” Dream replies, shrugging. “So I guess we were both not at our best that night.”

“I guess not,” Hob accepts, with a small smile. “We’re okay then?”

Dream nods. “Yes,” he says, offering a small smile himself, then stepping towards Hob. “Why were you feeling sorry for yourself?” Hob’s expression shutters closed again, and he shakes his head.

“It’s not important,” he says, turning away and refusing to meet Dream’s eyes.

“Hob,” Dream says, taking another step closer and reaching out to take the other man’s hand in his. “It’s important to me,” he adds.

Hob sighs, and then turns his eyes to the ceiling. When he meets Dream’s gaze again, he looks pained.

“I’m not good at being casual Dream,” Hob tells him bluntly, and Dream feels a sense of deja vu run through him like a live wire. “If we’re going to keep doing…this, I want there to be a commitment. It’s not just sex to me.”

It’s almost identical to what Eleanor had said about Hob to Dream a week prior. Dream suddenly feels wretched for not noticing sooner, but also indignant, because why had Hob assumed that wasn’t what Dream wanted as well?

“Hob,” Dream says, as calmly as he can manage, before he squeezes Hob’s hand tightly. “What made you think I didn’t want the same things?”

Hob’s face falls. He looks intently at Dream’s face, and whatever he finds there only seems to upset him further.

“I—I don’t know,” Hob admits, before he groans and places his free hand over his face. Dream finds it a bit comforting that he hasn’t tried to remove Dream’s hand over his other one.

“I’ve read this whole thing wrong, haven’t I?” Hob says through his hand, before slapping his forehead. “I’m a fucking idiot.”

“You’re not,” Dream says, before he takes Hob’s free hand as well. “And to be fair,” he adds, “it’s occurred to me recently that I may have, as well. We’ve never talked about—about this,” he gestures between them. “Us. We just sort of skip to the sex.”

“Well, we have been drunk every time,” Hob replies. “You said so yourself.”

“Not—every time,” Dream says. “After Matthew got food poisoning, when I thought that you had invited me out on a date, we only had one drink each that we didn’t finish.”

“Wait,” Hob stutters, his whole body going rigid. “You thought I had invited you out for a date? That’s why—,” his eyes widen suddenly. “That’s why you wore the blazer.”

Dream blushes furiously and now it is his turn to look away from Hob’s scrutinizing gaze. “You don’t have to rub it in.”

“No I’m not I—,” Hob groans again, and then, unexpectedly, pulls his hands free before dropping his head down on Dream’s shoulder. Dream startles when he feels Hob’s arms suddenly wrap around his waist shortly after.

“I had no idea. None at all,” Hob confesses, then groans again. “God I would’ve taken you somewhere nicer if I knew you wanted it to be a date.”

Dream shrugs, then reaches up to pat Hob on the back. “It’s fine. Really.”

“Not really, but we can agree to disagree,” Hob replies, before he tilts his head slightly up to look at Dream “Can I get a do-over on that then?” he asks. “Take you out on a proper date?”

Dream wants that, he realizes. Desperately. So he nods.

“I do want that,” Dream says honestly. “But—”

“Oh God, there’s a ‘but’,” Hob groans before he straightens and untangles himself from Dream. Dream already misses the warmth of Hob’s body.

“It’s not a bad ‘but’,” Dream replies. “But there’s something that’s been bothering me since we—since all this started,” he finishes. “I want to make sure we’re really on the same page.”

Hob nods. “Okay, sure. What is it?” he asks.

Dream takes a deep breath to brace himself, and then looks Hob directly in the eye. Now or never, he supposes.

“Why do you turn off the lights?” Dream asks.

Hob blinks, slow, then suddenly blushes a furious red before he buries his face in his hands.

“Aw, come on Dream,” Hob sighs. “It’s really embarrassing.”

Dream softens a bit, but remains resolute. Eleanor had told him what she thought had been the problem all along, but he still needs to hear it from Hob himself.

“I need to know, Hob,” Dream insists.

“Why?” Hob asks, then sighs again. “I mean, I don’t know, it’s pretty obvious isn’t it? I’m not really much to look at, you know,” he says, gesturing to himself.

“Not much to look at?” Dream asks, unable to keep the disbelief out of his voice.

“I know, it’s stupid,” Hob sighs, running a hand over his face. “But I mean, Dream, look at you. You’re gorgeous and I’m…I don’t know, not that?”

“I’m still not following,” Dream says, still confused but also growing more and more uneasy about what Hob is implying. “Did you…did you really not think I was attracted to you? At all?”

“No, I—I just—,” Hob stutters. “I don’t know what I thought, honestly,” he says, looking guilty. “I just—I’m not as confident as you about how I look naked,” he adds, gesturing to his front, and Dream’s heart sinks at the confirmation of yet another thing Eleanor had told him. “I thought…maybe you’d change your mind about being with me. If you saw, well— everything.”

“Everything,” Dream replies flatly.

“I mean, you know I’m really…hairy,” Hob says, before he winces. “And well, I’m not really in shape or anything like that either…” he trails off, looking even more guilty with every new word that comes out of his mouth. Like he’s only just realizing now that he pushed his anxieties about his body onto Dream, who clearly hasn't noticed any of the things Hob's insecure about.

“So…what?” Dream says, suddenly feeling indignance and hurt creep into his voice. “You just assumed I wouldn’t find you attractive unless I was drunk and we had sex in the dark?”

“Wait, what?” Hob exclaims.

“Am I really that shallow sounding to you?” Dream continues, already feeling his emotions start to get the better of him.

“No, oh god, no,” Hob replies immediately. “Dream, I don’t know what’s brought this on, but swear it had nothing to do with you. I was just stupid and insecure about myself, and I wasn’t thinking properly. I’m sorry, I really had no idea it bothered you so much.”

A somewhat tense and awkward silence falls between them. Dream mulls over what Hob has told him, feeling wretched about how deeply they’ve both misunderstood one another. But he had come here to clear those misunderstandings after all. Hob had admitted his insecurities. Now Dream had to as well.

“I actually thought—” Dream says, then takes a shuddering breath to calm himself. “I thought you turned the lights off because you didn’t want to look at me,” he finally admits. “Because I wasn’t who you really wanted to be with.”

Hob’s eyes widen, first in shock, then horror. “Wait you thought that I—”

“Was using me as a stand-in for Eleanor?” Dream finishes. He wraps his arms around himself and then looks away, refusing to meet Hob’s eyes. He feels like a coward for doing so but Dream knows he’ll lose his resolve to admit everything he’d been bottling up if he does. “The first time we slept together, I assumed you were only looking for a rebound. And when we never talked about it after, or told our friends I—”

“Fuck, Dream,” Hob interrupts, grabbing him suddenly and hugging Dream to his chest. “I had no idea, I—fuck, I’m so sorry I made you feel like that.”

Dream sniffles, wrapping his own arms around Hob, shrugging helplessly.

“I should have said something sooner,” Dream says. “But I let it—fester instead. I had no idea that you thought you weren’t attractive to me either. But Hob,” he adds, turning his head to meet Hob’s eyes again, hoping he looks as serious as he feels. “I don’t just sleep with people I’m not attracted to. Regardless of how much alcohol is involved.”

Hob nods. “Yeah. I—I’m still sorry about everything though.”

“Me too,” Dream replies, then adds, a bit more quietly. “I like the hair, actually.” Hob chokes out a noise that seems half between a laugh and a sob.

“You don’t have to say—” he starts but Dream shushes him.

“I mean it, Hob,” Dream says, before he works a hand between them to pet the small patch of hair peeking out from beneath Hob’s shirt. “I think it suits you. And I would like to be able to fully appreciate it.”

When he looks up at Hob, the other man’s eyes are a bit watery. But then Hob blinks rapidly, and sniffles, before he hugs Dream even more tightly to himself.

“Stay the night?” Hob asks. “Not for—not for sex. Just stay with me?”

Dream nods against Hob’s shoulder. “Okay.”

Hob makes a decision to order takeout instead of making dinner like he originally planned, citing that he’d rather spend time talking with Dream anyways. They still put away the groceries, which helps release a lot of the emotional tension that had built up between them, and Dream enjoys the warm, domestic feel of the activity.

Once their food arrives, they settle on Hob’s couch and talk late into the night about everything and nothing. Hob catches Dream up on what missed during trivia when he was out with Didi, and Dream shyly admits that Didi had not been the only person he’d talked to that evening. Hob stares at him, equal parts awestruck and mortified, as Dream recalls his conversations with Eleanor and Didi, and how he found out they were dating.

“So what you’re saying is, I’m lucky to have my bits still attached?” Hob jokes.

“Hob,” Dream chastises him, bumping their shoulders together. “That’s not nice.”

“You didn’t date Eleanor,” Hob retorts. “She’s terrifying, do you know how many serial killer documentaries she used to watch?”

Dream did, in fact, know this. He had been subject to many episodes of Cold Case Files growing up with Didi, and his knowledge had been how he and Eleanor had first become friends. Dream suspects Eleanor’s deep passion for them is actually one of the reasons why she and Didi get along so well.

“Hob,” Dream says, a new worry now crossing his mind. “Are you—okay—with all of this?” he waves vaguely. “With Didi dating your ex while we—?” He trails off. They still haven’t really decided on what their official relationship status would be going forward, and Dream doesn’t want to presume.

Hob nudges Dream with his shoulder, and then kisses the top of his head.

“Yeah, I am,” Hob answers sincerely. “I mean—it’s never not going to suck that we broke up,” he adds. “But we had our time, and if she’s happy then I’m happy too.”

Dream nods. “That’s good to hear,” he says.

“Are you okay with it?” Hob asks. Dream hums.

“I am,” he answers, then huffs a laugh. “I did offer to help them move into their new place, though.”

Hob groans. “Does this mean I have to help too as part of my good boyfriend duties?” he asks.

Dream’s potsticker falls out of his mouth mid chew, hits his knee, and then falls to the floor.

“Shit!” Dream exclaims, putting his food on the coffee table before bending down to pick up the stray dumpling.

“I—did I say something wrong?” Hob asks, worry now clear in his voice. Dream shakes his head and then flops against Hob’s shoulder.

“You said nothing wrong,” Dream says into Hob’s shoulder, his face now flushed with embarrassment. “I was just surprised, is all. You—you said it so easily.”

“Boyfriend, you mean?” Hob asks, now in a teasing tone. “Do you like it?”

Dream nods, feeling ridiculous about being done in by a single word. But Hob doesn’t seem to mind.

“I like it too,” is all he says, before he places a hand underneath Dream’s chin and kisses him.

-----------------

As they’re getting ready for bed, Dream feels a thrum of excitement, even though they’ve still agreed that sex is off the table for the night. They’re both far too tired and emotionally drained from the evening to put in the effort anyways.

But then Hob is holding out his arm for Dream to snuggle into, and Dream feels like a teenanger as he curls up against Hob’s chest and rests his head on it.

“Fair warning that you’re going to wake up sweaty if you stay here all night,” Hob tells him. Dream knows he doesn’t mean to sound so self-deprecating, but now that he knows just how deep Hob’s insecurities run, it breaks his heart a little.

“That’s fine,” Dream says, pressing himself even closer. He can feel Hob’s chest hair poking through the thin material of his undershirt. Dream rubs his face into it, enjoying the rough, scratchy texture against his check. Hob laughs at Dream’s actions, and Dream hums in contentment. He really did like the feel of Hob’s chest hair. It was surprisingly soft in certain places, and warm. Maybe Dream would wake up because he’s too warm in the middle of the night. Maybe he won’t. He’s just glad that now he gets the opportunity to find out.

“You don’t have to pretend to be enthusiastic about it,” Hob says as Dream nuzzles him again.

“I’m not,” Dream replies, rolling his eyes. “It feels…nice.”

“Sure,” Hob replies. “Say that again in the morning.”

Dream does in fact, say something similar to that effect in the morning. He says it while he sits atop Hob’s lap, Dream gripping the thick pelt of hair for purchase as he ruts himself desperately against Hob.

They’ve never had sex in the morning. In the bright light of day. Somehow it’s even more intimate than what Dream imagines having sex with the lights on must feel like and he loves it. Hob is looking at Dream like he’s something divine, like he can’t quite believe that what they’re doing is really happening. Dream thinks he’ll never let Hob turn off the lights again when they do this. He never again wants to miss a single second of seeing the way Hob looks at him, at how stunning Hob’s entire body looks and feels when pressed against Dream’s. His new goal, for however long it takes, is that Hob never questions Dream’s attraction to him ever again.

When they’ve both reached their peaks, Dream collapses on top of Hob, uncaring of the sticky mess between them. Hob’s chest is warm and broad, and Dream finds himself slowly drifting back to sleep. Hob groans after a while, however, wriggling beneath the weight of Dream's body, and disturbing his otherwise peaceful post-coital rest.

“Okay, this is sweet and all, but now I’m the one that's too hot,” Hob whines, pushing gently at Dream’s shoulder. Dream laughs, a brazen, awful honking noise that he’s always been insecure about. But Hob had told him the night before that he loves Dream’s laugh, and Dream can see now that the other man wasn’t lying. He’s looking at Dream softly, so full of affection that Dream nearly forgets he needs to move and just stares at Hob for a while.

“What?” Hob asks, his eyes crinkled with happiness.

“Nothing,” Dream replies, smiling back before he moves off of his boyfriend’s chest.

Hob gets up from the bed once Dream rolls off of him and heads towards the bathroom. He comes back with two warm washcloths to wipe themselves off with. When they’re both done, he tosses both cloths in the direction of the hamper, missing his target by mere inches.

“Close enough,” Hob says.

“That’ll leave a wet spot on your carpet,” Dream tells him, already seeing his prediction start to come true.

“I’ll get to it later,” Hob replies before he kisses Dream, languid and slow and perfect. “I have more important things to do today.”

#dreamling #dream of the endless/hob gadling #hob x morpheus #dreamling bingo #dreamling bingo 2024 #seiya writes #seiya writes dreamling #angst angst angst

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ofmermaidstories · 2 years ago

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there’s something so bittersweet and lovely about fanfic, at it’s core. it’s so impermeable, because it’s so individual. fics don’t get finished. fics get lost because they were typed out and sent to friends, in the 70s, and somewhere along the way someone packed it up in a cardboard box and their kids shuffled it to the attic. websites go down. archives get built, but then people lose faith in the story or the canon or the creator and delete them. you read it at like, 3am, and can’t remember the title months later when you look for it again.

the tiktok these comments are from was lamenting about the loss of a favourite fic—it (the tiktok) had 85k+ likes, and over 700 comments, mostly similar to these. people talking about downloading fics to read on a tablet only for them to disappear the next day. using the wayback machine and combing through results, just to find something they loved. i think it’s sweet because it’s so human—how easily we love something, and how easily we lose it. i used to print out my favourite fics, as a kid—i still have a binder of them, buried under yearbooks and the old journals i kept during those topsy turvy preteen years. i could tell you the overarching plot to a Cardcaptor Sakura fantasy AU i read (and loved; it became my personality for months afterwards) but i can’t remember how it ended, or if it even did. i finally broke down and signed up for an account on AO3 specifically to bookmark an old, old fic that i had read somewhere else, years and years and years ago and found again on AO3 only because i accidentally stumbled on the author here on tumblr (i had only found the fic in the first place all those years ago because of a playlist). i used the same shade of lipstick for years purely because a fic i really liked had the main character apply it (it was a limited edition one at the time; i bought my first one from a ebay seller in the UK at double the retail price, lmao) while the love interest watched them, but i can’t remember the name of it, only how it made me feel (and how, for years afterwards, i would wear that shade whenever i felt like the day had something promising to it).

one of the first anon’s i ever got, in the early days of this tumblr, was someone who asked me if it was okay if they downloaded surrender—and of course it was. of course it is. there was a point, during the final stretch when i was trying to write the last chapter, that i almost lost the entirety of what i had written for that fic—and i mean, it was on AO3 by that stage so it would’ve only set me back a chapter or so, but it goes to show how fragile things can be. how sometimes fics only last in tiny ways—because of the unfinished PDF file someone downloads. The patchy memory of someone’s who’s jumbling it and three other fics together. Because someone wore the same shade of lipstick you mentioned, off-hand, for years afterwards.

(this is a love letter to the silent readers; the silent savers. the lurkers. fandom and the internet at large is made of lurkers (eighty-five thousand likes. seven hundred comments). people who saved fics and waybacked them and will reread them, even uncompleted. telling each other we did a good job, that we liked this or we liked that is wonderful, and fun, and a great (and important) way to build a community and has also given me my current friends—but sometimes something you make will matter and live on in a way you will never, ever know. and it’s just how it is. it’s part of the fun and it’s part of the charm. it’s just how we work as people.)

#floating rubbish island: mermaid spam #shall i do a part two for the opposite end of the spectrum? the readers who tell you as they’re rereading?#the ones that come back to point out details that have stuck with them?#sometimes i worry i don’t give enough to those of us in the community who do that #today i got a comment on surrender and it made my whole day—which otherwise would’ve been spent being miserable trying to sweat out my fever #people are so sweet and i feel so empty-handed for them sometimes #because time is so valuable—people don’t *have* to comment #people don’t *have* to note the tiny details #i share these fics because i *want* to—that is a choice i make knowing that maybe people won’t like it or respond to it #no one asks me to spend the time i do on these fics and so no one owes me for it #which makes the time someone *does* spend commenting or tagging or saying hello even more precious

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zaraquinn · 1 year ago

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i wish you love.

chapter i | from the start.

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summary: you and Robert’s relationship is strictly professional—working as his assistant and all, your relationship can’t get any farther than that. But you never expected your boss, Robert Fischer to be there for you at your absolute lowest; and now this relationship is as impossible as it gets.

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tw: mentions of domestic abuse, manipulation and a toxic relationship

word count: 2.2k

female!reader x robert fischer (inception)

requested by: my dumbass

author’s notes and additional notes: because i recently watched oppenheimer when it premiered and since then, cillian murphy has a chokehold on me that proceeded with me watching the batman trilogy and inception just for him (screaming, crying, moaning). Also, seeing and reading everything i can find that has robert fischer on tumblr, they all inspired me to write something for him too! So, for the first time in a while, i’m back to writing/posting something here and making a story that does not include following the plot of a movie (i realize i tend to do that a lot—which halters me to write in general because i have to follow the movie/tv show. Exhibit A is my wattpad lmao). This is also somewhat of a slow burn, so whoever isn’t interested in that, you probably wanna skip this one. Anyway, hope y’all enjoy this

masterlist !

series masterpost: coming soon !

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Your metal water bottle reached the floor with a loud thud, while water splashed out of it, making its way into the cracks of the floorboards. You stopped suddenly at the sight before you, and your body froze. Every inch of you went cold and your heart felt like it was torn to shreds right in your chest at the very sight. Tears flooded your vision in an instant and free fell onto your cheeks.

The tight grasp on the front doorknob on one hand was the only thing keeping you afloat. And with one smooth motion, all sounds and voices around you muffled as you turned around and shut the door as quickly as you opened it. Slumping onto your front porch, your gaze found itself stuck onto the floor and your shoes. The rain downpoured onto you mercilessly, but you couldn't care less. Quickly tucking your legs to your chest, the cold rain mixed with your warm tears and you sobbed.

That was until a familiar voice broke through the muffled world around you and you lifted your head from your chest—seeing him.

———

Three subtle knocks broke Robert out of his concentration. The papers were soon turning into a big blob of printed ink and he was secretly glad that he was interrupted before going on much longer. And with those three subtle knocks, he knew who it was to always rescue him from his thoughts.

It was you, his personal assistant, Y/N L/N. you worked for the million-dollar company for a few years now and worked your way up from secretary assistant to now the highest position in your field—as Robert Fischer’s personal assistant. Your skills were very impressive, even for someone as young as your age who can juggle dates, organize events and handle tasks; even when things piled up and got overwhelming. It was show-stopping really, as your skills made your role almost to the highest position. Robert was beyond impressed, and with countless late nights spent in his office working on endless papers and contracts, he was glad to have someone like you by his side.

Since you started working for Robert, he has been pining on you since you started but he knew it would be near-impossible and also very unprofessional. With his father and the company taking over every part of his life, he wished just once that someone up in the clouds could throw him a bone and not have Fischer-Morrow take whatever personal happiness he had left. Of course, that was never an option, so he opted to keep everything strictly professional and hidden. But those late nights of sneaking glances at the way your brows furrowed in concentration while reading, or the way you twirled the pen between your fingers while reading documents, or the way your lashes perfectly framed your beautiful eyes, Robert took what he got. Even if it was just spending time with you while his heart yearned for more.

“Come in.” He said softly, leaning back into his leather chair as you stepped in ever so gracefully. My god, did he think you were beautiful. “Mr. Fischer, I brought these for you.” You said leaning over and handing Robert a folder with important documents. Your voice was music to his ears and you were the only thing that could make him smile on these long days at work. A small smile brushed his lips as he took the folder from you. “Thank you, Y/N.” you returned with a grateful smile as you returned to your calendar in your hands. “Also, please don’t forget your meeting with your uncle in an hour. He wants to discuss the future of the company but has been booked up until the evening. So you only have an hour with him, unfortunately.”

Your eyes were downcast at the mention of his father and Robert’s smile dropped. Every mention of “the future of the company” really meant what happens after his father’s passing. He looked back up at you and gave a sad smile. “Thank you for reminding me, Y/N.” You gave another polite nod before turning around to exit. “Wait.” You turned around at Robert’s voice and looked at him with wide doe eyes. “Yes, Mr. Fischer?” Robert felt a small brush of heat dust his cheeks as he looked over at you. “Will you be there?” He swallowed; his voice now a softer tone than when you came in. “No.” You said and Robert could feel his embarrassment rise. “But I can be.” You offered with a reassuring smile to your boss. His shoulders dropped and he let out a small chuckle and sigh to release any worries he had in that very moment. “Thank you.” “Of course.” And with that, you turned around and exited his office.

There was always an unspoken friendship between the two of you. It was always kept clean and professional, but nowadays after the countdown started for his father, you realized just how much he needed you. Not only were you his personal assistant, but his friend. A real friend and a real connection he had both inside and outside of work. Not everything was about work, and hell, you both knew a fair bit of each other beyond Fischer-Morrow. Staying late with him in his office completing countless documents, agreements and booking meetings slipped through pockets of Robert’s personal life. Mostly during coffee breaks. You learned about him and how he grew up as the countdown continued.

You could tell that he leaned on you for support through these hard times. You knew the way the way his hands fidgeted when he was anxious or nervous during a meeting, or when his jaw clenched when people mentioned his father’s health state. You knew that look and the bob of his adam’s apple when he was in deep thought and could do nothing but swallow his worry. Every small detail about his habits you caught on and it comforted him to know that he has someone like you looking out for him, while in the workforce, he was looking after everything else.

Truth be told, you were glad that Robert was those bosses with humanity and feeling left in them. He treated you like a friend, not a subordinate below him and often showed you kindness and compassion through his professional facade. Although you don’t disclose many details, he also took note of things you liked and didn’t, and even made a promise to always make up your over-time at the company with him. Either by getting a coffee and snack for you the next morning or paying for you during lunch while out with another man for another boring meeting. It was the least he could do.

Along with your friendship with him, you started to yearn for another life—another life with him in it, and you can feel yourself starting to develop feelings for him. But you pushed it away because of how unprofessional it is, and your home life.

Work and seeing Robert was your only escape from paradise from a rather upsetting personal life. As the home you came back to wasn’t a home at all. It was a persistent struggle with a man you know who is starting to no longer love you. You have your suspicions, but it was a turbulent relationship that made you question whether he even loved you or not. Night after night you were met with something empty, or angry, or a switch of a teasing nobody. It was pathetic really. You knew it was a situation that could turn ugly real bad after a few glasses that shattered to the wall behind you, and you were ready in a fleeting moment to run off to a hotel for a few nights while you find another house for yourself.

That’s why you chose to spend your nights late at the company, with someone who doesn’t—no; who would never treat you the same as he did. You chose to spend your late nights escaping from your home with Robert, and you were so thankful.

———

The meeting with Robert and Peter finally came by, and you accompanied Robert as you both headed to the restaurant that Peter had chosen. Robert opened the car door for you and you nodded as you slipped in, Robert following closely behind.

Shutting the car behind him, the drive began. Opening your organizer, the ride had gotten a bit bumpy, considering the endless construction in the city, a few loose papers and notes had fallen on the floor of the car. They scattered to even Robert’s side of the car and he immediately helped you pick up the loose notes. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Fischer.” You swiftly repeated. He was able to collect most of the notes quicker than you did as you shoved your organizer to the empty seat between the two of you. As you were about the reach for the last loose note, Robert’s fingers took it in his own. “Don’t apologize. It’s okay.” He softly said, sitting upright on the seat and handing the note to you. His hands brushed against yours and he quickly noticed the slight purple bruising on your hands and knuckles. His face turned to worry as he reached for your hand with a gentle touch. A flash of a fight with your boyfriend a few nights back reminded you of your bruised knuckles as you quickly took the note from his hands; giving him an apologetic smile and retreating your hands behind your organizer.

“Thank you, Mr. Fischer.” You took the rest of the notes collected on your lap and organized them accordingly. “Is everything alright at home Y/N?” The car was coming to a slow stop and they were slowly pulling into the entrance of the restaurant. You looked down and gathered the notes back where they once were and cleared your throat. Looking up at Robert, you gave a small, but false smile in his direction. “Yeah. Everything is fine.” You looked down at your lap once more, avoiding his concerned gaze. His eyes linger on you a little bit longer, his hand slowly reaching your wrist once more. The valet opened the door on Robert’s side, greeting the both of you and stepping aside for the both of you to get out of the car.

You followed Robert as he walked into the restaurant. But instead of walking behind him like you usually do, he lightly guides you with his hand ghosting your waist beside him. His hands make it back to his sides and he flashes you a small comforting smile as you both are led by the waitress to Peter on the rooftop area of the restaurant.

Peter puts down his glass and papers on the table after he sees his godchild at the doorway and smiles at their arrival. Robert looks at you for a swift moment, for some semblance of comfort and you return one, just as he has done so for you in the car.

The two of you approached Peter as he shook your hand first, before putting a comforting hand on his godchild’s shoulder as he led him down to his seat. Robert takes a glance behind him, checking on your presence as you take a seat behind him. Whether it was for himself or your sake, it was needed for the both of you.

—

The meeting had gone on as expected. The two men talk about the what are the next steps for the company, and although hard for Robert, he continues; seemingly empty or uninterested in it all. You notice this immediately, as the notes you write down quickly are all from Peter than your boss himself. You look up to see the two now get into a deeper conversation, and it's not about the business anymore.

“The clock is ticking Robert. We have to think of the future now.” “I know Uncle Peter, but—” Peter puts a hand on Robert’s shoulders. “I know it’s hard son, believe me, I can’t imagine what you’re going through. But this is what we have to do.” Robert looks up at him once then back down to the documents in front of him on the table. He lets out a defeated sigh and sits back in his chair. “Alright.”

———

The night had rolled around and everyone slowly had retired for the day and you had finished your tasks. Rising from your chair, you packed all your things and turned off your desk lamp, walking towards the elevator of the large building.

The elevator opens and you walk inside, about to press the ground floor when you instinctively stop and glance at the fifth floor, where Robert’s office was. Thinking he probably left, it wouldn’t hurt to check just in case, right? Quickly glancing at your watch, you decided it would only take a few minutes, and let your finger press the delicate button. It lights up, and you ascend.

The doors let you go with a ding and they close. Stepping onto the main waiting area, you walked through the floor; through the waiting and meeting rooms and to a hall—the path led by shiny wooden floors. You make your way to the end of the hallway to the door of Robert’s office. His name is in bold, black letters embossed on a golden plaque.

You take a breath and lean closer to the door, the three soft knocks that announce your presence.

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hope you guys love the first instalment! if you wish to be added to a taglist (i might be starting) please let me know in the comments! :3

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! masterlist !

! series masterpost !

#zarawrites #cillian murphy #cillian smut #cillian murphy x you #cillian x reader #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy imagine #cillian murphy x reader #cillian fluff #cillian x y/n #cillian murphy x y/n #inception #robert fischer #robert fischer x reader #robert fischer imagine #i wish you love: the series

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