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belokhvostikova · 1 year ago

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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤: 𝐂𝐥𝐮𝐛 𝐏𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐬

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 | The day has come when you finally return from your suspension, and Eddie is there to provide the detailed account to the tribulations that occurred, but one thing is to be noted: Eddie Munson stayed by your side through it all.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | Swearing, yelling, crying, therapy, bullying, sexist slut shaming, brief allusions to an eating disorder, slight mentions of unwarranted touching, strained parental relationship, harassment, minimal violence, mentions of domestic abuse, and mentions and childhood neglect and abuse.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 | Watched Harry Potter during writing, so I inserted a reference that totally didn’t exist in the timeline, lol. But I do wonder, do you think Eddie Munson would have liked Harry Potter, and what house is he in?! I hope you all enjoy this chapter!

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 | One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐕. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞

“I’m tellin’ you, Ms. K, it was like straight out of a movie!”

Ms. K, he had gotten comfortable. It was good. Great even. Because that Thursday morning, the entire hour-long session consisted of I don't know’s, maybe’s, and I guess’. And yes, Ms. Kelly is a licensed counselor, but she’s also human, and it was starting to frustrate her a bit. Just a teeny tiny bit. But it was progress, nonetheless, and she had let Eddie Munson know that he had her full attention and that there was no judgment. And for that, he was forever grateful. Now, she’d never compare nor expose the intimate details of other students’ tribulations to anyone, but my god, was Eddie Munson a unique character in comparison to the others. There was a switch in him, and evident one. Because that impromptu talk that Thursday morning, she had seen the hardening exterior of Eddie Munson that he casted on the daily basis. No conversation. Blank face. Vehement resentment to vulnerability. But she had studied this field for six years of her life, and she took notice of the yearn in his eyes that was telling him to just speak. Talk. Let it all out. And fortunately it came. By Friday afternoon, he had detailed the events of his life, the weakness of his mother, the ruffian character of his father, and the mistakes of his life as a result. You. Though, he chose to refrain from using your name. There was still some slight embarrassment from telling a school faculty member about his crush. The last thing he needed was Ms. Kelly grinning across the parking lot to him when you returned. And by Monday afternoon—today, the day you came—he’d spoken to her like she was his best friend.

“Was it now?” There was a lingering smile on her face, as Eddie confided about his day, completely relaxed and comfortable with speaking. No tense shoulders. No rigid posture. No nasty tone. “In what ways, Eddie?”

“Well, you should have seen the way she walked in. I mean, my god! Complete badass- oh, I’m so sorry,” He corrected his word choice, “I mean, like totally cool, like she didn’t care what anyone had to say.”

If you knew how Eddie was describing your return to Hawkins High, you would have wished it to be that glamorous. But as it’s been established before, reality is the biggest pain in the ass, and you were terrifyingly panicking in the front seat of your father’s BMW.

Ms. Kelly chuckled at his revelation. “I’ll take your word for it, Eddie.” She nodded. “But while I’m sure this particular person made their grand entrance, I want to know about you. How did seeing them make you feel after taking that needed time apart? Take me back to this morning.”

“Okay.” Eddie agreed. “Uh, this morning…”

This morning.

The crowded parking lot had been filling with the cars and bikes of students loitering before the shrilling ring of the commencing bell. Yearbooks. Yearbooks were everywhere, in the hands of teenagers eager to have their friends commemorate the ending year with the valued signature of friendship and camaraderie. It fucking disgusted him. Everyone smiling about as if they didn’t cast out the one person who dedicated their high school years to taking the very photos everyone was gushing about: the Homecoming dance, the Winter Formal, spirit week. Everything. Every memory that made the school year so great, captured by your work, yet everyone was seemingly ready to throw you away because of him.

It was why he was camping out in the grand lavishness of his van. Black Sabbath was yelling beyond the walls of his vehicle, prompting to receive the dirty looks he’d been all too accustomed to, as he sat back with a lit cigarette hanging from his dry lips. Grant Goodman and Gareth Emerson had been stationed by the bike racks, where Jeff Best had just arrived on his trusty wheels. His friends. Conversed like normal, probably waiting for the arrival of Eddie, as they did everyday, but Eddie had no plans of coming out of his car. Yet, at least. Looking a little to the left, he took notice of Dustin Henderson spewing nonsense to the once infamous "King" Steve Harrington, who once actually bumped into Eddie’s shoulder in the hallway and threw him a dirty look during their shared years. He always wondered what Dustin Henderson saw in “The Hair,” maybe he’s changed? I mean, he does seem to be the personal chauffeur of Robin Buckley, who he was once in a band with before he abruptly quit after seeing the mandatory outfits. And she was always cool. Weird, but cool. Mike Wheeler had joined their conversation, alongside Lucas Sinclair, which is when he caught wind of Nancy Wheeler rushing into school with her quiet friend, he believed her name was Barb Holland. Looking at them walk away, Eddie wondered what would be the possibility of convincing Nancy Wheeler into letting you rejoin the Yearbook Committee. Surely with the way sales were booming, more help was needed, right? And she had to feel bad for what unfolded for you, right? And with the quickest glimpse away, he followed the shy figure of Chrissy Cunningham, who walked with her books held tightly, and a talkative Jessica Lewis trailing behind, seemingly attempting to question the cheerleader. Because when Eddie looked to the other side, he saw Jason Carver longing for his leaving girlfriend with a look of dejection, and Andy McAvoy on an endeavor to hype him up. Trouble in paradise? Eddie Munson could sit and ponder on the endless possibilities of the lives of his peers, but his meaningless thoughts were adjourned under the sudden stop and stare of every student.

You.

“Hey, look at- look at me, damn it!” Your eyes peeled from your entangled fingers that sat trembling on your shaking legs, and looked over to his stern glare. He pierced his disappointment into you, drilling into the anxiety of already returning to school after everything that had occurred. “You go in there and stir up any more trouble with your school work or that filth I caught you with, you’re dead. You understand me, young lady? Huh?!”

“Yes, dad.” You mustered up a whisper.

“Go. Don’t be fucking late and ruin for your future more.” Your hand clutched the door handle, and for a second you stopped. God knows what would happen when everybody saw you. Monday’s cafeteria scene didn’t exactly leave everyone with the greatest impression of you and you knew exactly how high school students operated in a small town like Hawkins. You were branded with a title, a degrading one that was farther from the truth, but what good does the truth do when claiming that the sweetheart of a cheerleader with a bright future of success gets fucked by the satanic cultist in return for a favor is far more entertaining for the gossiping lives of high school teenager? By now, you were either pregnant with the devil’s baby or coked up with drugs on the side of the street, or both. People had their bets, the more twisted the better. But not a single thought of your pain. Not a single thought that you were hurting at the sheer size of all that went wrong, just because you were simply being nice. Because thinking of the repercussion of their words took the fun out of everything. And to them, people like you don’t deserve the time of day. You were like Eddie Munson now. And Eddie Munson deserved the pain of the world because he was… different. That was Hawkins, Indiana. That was reality. You begrudgingly pulled the handle. “Remember,” your father stopped you, “those kids say anything, just remember you put that on yourself, and you better take it as a lesson. Go.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. His words were his words, not the world’s. You had shed enough tears over the years of childhood, and his reign over you wasn’t going to continue. You could repeat that mantra over and over, and maybe in the long run it would finally cement that his words were not the truth. But for now, you could only pretend it didn’t hurt until it would eventually not. But inside, there was a little girl asking what was so wrong with her that her daddy couldn’t do the one innate job that came with parenthood: to love her. You wouldn’t know it, but a seven-year-old Eddie Munson was wondering the exact same thing.

You got out with a slam to his face that verbalized all the screaming you couldn’t do. Your eyes met his through the window, and it was different. What once used to be cordial civility, where he asked and you did, had now entered its endgame. Something so severe it lacked the chance of recovery. And maybe that was okay. Maybe that was for the best. Because like he did with his emotions, he ran. And the screeches of his tires left the remnants of a relationship that was once so profoundly beautiful when your tiny fist curled around his finger. This would be the end between you and your father. And you were ready to accept that.

You blinked any tears away, as you stood suffocated by the exhaustion of his BMW, leaving you vulnerable in the empty parking spot. Because when you peered it up, your chest heaved at the sudden realization that everyone was staring at you. Glares. Whispers. Snickers. The pointing. The so obvious pointing that your peers were conspiring against you. The ones who once smiled and waved at you. The ones who once greeted you so kindly. All of them, whispering and pointing followed by their teasing laugh just at the mere sight of you.

Everything was bombarding you so fast.

The clamminess of your hands. The constriction of your throat. The pounding of your heart. The deafening ringing in your ears. The stinging of your nails, as your hands balled so tightly against themselves, but you deserved the crescent shape burns to your palms, you deserved the pain, because you put that on yourself, you better take it as a le- no.

For years, you endured and cemented the hateful words of your father as veracity, letting his speech be the reason why so badly ached inside to perfect every endearing mistake about yourself. Thursday, you scrubbed your body with the refreshing scents of your shower routine and ate full dinners. Friday, you purged your room of any remnants of your old life—polaroids, scrapbooks, notes, memorabilia—discarded to let you know it was okay to move on. Saturday, you wake up in the early hours of the morning, long before the sun rose, and followed the path Eddie Munson once rescued from—onto the roof, over the trimming, down the trellis—and you ran, ran down the dark streets of your neighborhood until you excreted all your pain of your body through the glorious sweats of a morning run. Sunday, you swore to never accept your father’s words ever again.

You were you, and that was perfectly okay. You make mistakes, but that’s what makes you profoundly magnificent. You saw that in others, and you were going to see that in yourself.

Eddie’s head whipped in the direction of others, and through the smudges of his dirty window, his eyes melted at your frozen stature. This is what he was waiting for. He jumped out of his car, the rattle of his door echoing, following the slam he didn’t intend to be so harsh. But it got your attention from across the parking lot, and that’s all that mattered.

You met his kind eyes, ones so round and deep, you couldn’t believe they once glared at you with such seethe just last week. But they weren’t now. In fact, they creased at the corners, as his small smile plumped his cheeks. And though small, that smile was the very reassurance you needed. He looked great- healthy, even. The dark circles of his eyes were not bruised mauve from a drunken haze of staying up all night and hungover throughout the afternoon. No, they were merely there from the natural pigmentation of his skin, as the scleras of his eyes shined white with innocence. His cheeks were rosy and full, letting you know he’d stuffed himself with some needed food outside a six-pack of beer. And though it was a habit he knew many were not fond of which honestly made him want to do it even more, he plucked the smoking cigarette from his lips and put it out with the step of his foot. You recall the moment from early September, long before you knew Eddie Munson, when he stalked up to you and Chrissy with the biggest grin on his snickering face asking if you had a lighter on hand. You, the goody two-shoes cheerleader who had the healthiest set of lungs, as the idea of nicotine made your nose scrunch with grimace. You and Chrissy Cunningham would have been the last people on Earth to have a lighter on hand. While you answered him with a shake to your head, Eddie ticked his tongue in disappointment, but before he could begrudgingly leave, you softly spoke, “Be sure to be careful, don’t want you getting sick from those. That’d be awful.” You had heard the news of what led down the road of cigarette smoking. And while Eddie would have typically told anyone who tried to place their unwarranted input on his life choices to fuck off, his grin merely grew ten times its size at your consideration, “‘Preciate that, sweetheart, I’ll keep that in mind.” Eddie felt like his heart was going to lunge out after you as you walked away. You didn’t know it, but Eddie had driven himself up a wall debating on whether or not to ask you that simple question. You were always just so breathtakingly mesmerizing, it was nerve-racking.

Yes, Eddie Munson has had a long time crush on you.

Your nails released from their stabbing hold into your palms, as your hands relaxed. Eddie saw your softening composure and sighed with relief, seeing that torturing breath that nestled in your throat finally escape into the spring air. As much as Eddie Munson would have loved to tell his fellow schoolmates to fuck themselves and leave you alone, he knew his interference was the last thing you would have wanted. So in the most gentle way possible, he subtly threw you a thumbs up with a stupid grin that made the twenty-year-old metalhead look like a jolly child trying to cheer up their friend.

But it made you quietly giggle, and that’s all he cared about.

You readjusted the straps to your backpack, and took a deep breath. And though you were internally screaming inside, you strided past the gossiping clumps of judgmental teenagers, and their choice to deduce you into degrading, misogynistic names held no merit against your faux confidence. Head held high with a stern gaze to the school, you walked through their whispers with a straight face to let them know they couldn’t get to you. And it was convincing enough. Because Eddie Munson was bouncing on the balls of his feet with bursting gasconade at your powerful strut. Eddie wishes he was half as cool as you.

“So, yeah, it, uh, it made me really happy. Like, just seeing them being so… okay with themselves and not taking any of the crap that other people were saying was great. I, uh, I loved seeing that.” He lips smiled tightly into a thin line to restrain from busting out into a hearty grin, though Ms. Kelly could see it in his face just how important this moment was for him.

“That’s wonderful, Eddie. So the break was good?” She leaned over her desk to ask.

“Yeah, yeah.” He nodded his head. “Um, I’ll be honest, at first- that first day I really wanted to call them to let them know I was taking the steps to be, um, y’know, better, but I figured them seeing me now would have been more important, I guess.”

“Yes.” Ms. Kelly agreed. “That was a good call on your part, Eddie.”

“Yeah, so as much as I wanted to just talk to them, I made sure I didn’t.” He assured. “And I really liked that I held back. Um,” Eddie nervously chuckled, as he picked the threads of his jeans, “would it be stupid to say that I’m proud of myself for that? That I was actually able to work on my self-control and boundaries even if it was just something small?”

“Of course, not, Eddie!” Ms. Kelly flashed him a kind smile, which had Eddie shyly grinning. “That’s an incredible thing to make progress on, and nothing in your journey will ever be too small to recognize, okay? I want you to understand that. I know it’s difficult to acknowledge these steps as a win, and I know it’s even harder granting yourself the right to be proud, because you believe you’ve committed too many wrong to ever feel for yourself, but remember Eddie, those hesitations are merely the result of the words that were placed upon you with intent to hurt you, and they don’t dictate your life. You do. Don’t give those words the power to hurt you. You deserve to be proud.”

A fervent nod to his head proffered the understanding that he was taking in her truth with deep care. The insistent curses of his dad and the bullshit rhetoric of students or the townspeople held no value to the words in which Eddie thought of himself. And if he wanted to be proud, he should be proud.

“Yeah, um, I am proud of myself- I know it’s like the bare minimum, but I’m happy.” He smiled. “And um, it was pretty amazing knowing that they were in the same boat as me, like, while I’m trying to get better, they are, too. I know that they struggle with what other people say about them, too, and seeing them walk in with all the confidence in the world was really… it was quite literally the greatest thing ever. I’m happy they’re getting happy; that we’re working on ourselves.”

“And how’s that going with you specifically?” Ms. Kelly attentively asked. “What else have you done to progress?”

“Well, um, I took your advice and opened up more with my uncle.” He huffed a laugh at the memory. “You should have seen the look on his face when I told him that I was basically in therapy.”

She questioned, “Was he angry?”

“No, not angry. More, like, ‘I didn’t even know this kid knew what therapy was’ kinda shock. He definitely didn’t expect it when I sat him down, but he’s a good man, and he, uh, listened to me. The whole time.”

“And how was it?”

“Hard and strange.” He gulped. “See, my uncle, he’s endured a lot for me; he’s an old man who works his ass off to pay the bills and provide basic, crappy dinners and I- I honestly feel really fuc- bad. I feel really bad. That, y’know, he has to do all that stuff for me when he didn’t even want to, like, have kids in the first place.” Eddie sighed. “And, truthfully, I just didn’t want to burden him with anymore of my problems, like I did to my mom and dad. I’ve already caused enough issues with the cafeteria incident, not graduating twice, getting in trouble with the cops. I just- I just know he has to be tired of me, so I was scared to talk to him.”

“Eddie,” Ms. Kelly grabbed his attention, “do you feel that if you hadn’t acted a certain way, talked a certain way, your parents wouldn’t have… touched you as a child?”

His once relaxed composure stiffened under her sudden interrogation. His eyes bolted around the room, trying to refrain his mind from wandering into the suffocating memory of his chubby hands spilling the last of the juice that was supposed to last his family for the rest of week all over the floor. He wanted to be a simple baby who was capable of listening to his mommy's words and just wait a minute, but his tiny throat was hurting from being dry and mommy had forgotten about him when daddy came home screaming about the place being a mess. His little mouth gasped in fear, running to the counter, his short arms reached and reached and his efforts had to turn to opening the bottom cabinet that was a couple inches above the floor and provided him the extra height to finally retrieve the paper. Feet pattering back to his proliferating spill, his hands haphazardly ripped a multitude of sheets and threw them to the floor. But the juice was not absorbing as fast as he wanted, and his tiny body was beating with terror, as daddy’s voice was booming through the walls of their house as he yelled at mommy in their room. He whimpered in panic as he tried to clean and clean, but the $3 pack of store brand tissue merely bled through, the jumble ball of paper causing his sticky mess to spread. It was to no avail, and daddy soon marched his way back to the kitchen. The second Eddie heard the towering footsteps, he peered up through his neglected hair that barely made life visible over his eyes, and saw the big scary face that hurt him every day. Eddie cleared his throat and murmured, “I don’t know.”

She signed a sympathetic breath, “What your parents did to you as a child has nothing to do with who you are or your personality, and it is absolutely not your fault.” Ms. Kelly spoke her declaration with firm gentleness. “You, Eddie, were not and will not be a burden in anyone’s life. You were dealt a misfortunate hand in life, but you were nowhere near the cause of it. You merely survived.”

Rubbing his eyes before his tears could soak his lashes, Eddie sighed, and sat back in his chair quietly. “I, uh, I said it was strange, and it was, because my uncle and I don’t really talk of that matter. When I was younger, he’d tell me it was okay to just let that life go, that I was okay with him, and it did help in that moment. But I kinda feel like it just gradually grew to become this big elephant in the room that we always avoided for the sake of peace. But during the weekend, I finally got the balls to just do it, and well, it was definitely uncomfortable but in a good way. I told him what was happening with me and how I felt, and he did the same, which honestly I wasn’t expecting. I-it was good. Great even.”

“These moments of clarity are valuable, Eddie.” Ms. Kelly spoke. “These times when speaking is all you do with another person are important to have and the uncomfortableness, the rawness, of it all paves the way to recovery. And it may be disturbing, absolutely not linear, but these are the steps that matter. And you’re doing an amazing job, Eddie.”

“Th-thank you, really, Ms. K.” He nodded his head gratefully. “I, uh, I always knew I talked a lot, my friends always teasin’ me about it, but I’m really enjoying it. Talking these things out with you and others.” He smiled.

“I enjoy it, too. Wouldn’t have spent thousands studying it just to hate it.” She joked, which gave him room for a small chuckle. “Want to tell me about the rest of your day?”

“Oh, yeah,” he sat up, wiping the sweat from his palms onto the worn denim of jeans, “lunch was pretty great, too, so basically…”

That confident facade of yours had broken in the midst of third period.

There was only so much scrutinizing stares you could handle from students- even staff who had sipped their coffee and gossiped about the day of your demise, discussing how their perfect student fell under the wrong influence right under their noses. Having to hear their patronizing “We’re here to help you catch up after your… circumstance” that was seemingly always followed by a grimacing look casted by a fake smile of sympathy that made your mouth want to heat up and hurl the stew that was your breakfast.

But third period had been different. Worse.

Unlike your previous classes—where you’d been indebted for having sane teachers who let you choose your own seating, prompting you into picking the back desk in the furthest row that provided some shielding to the obtrusive scowls—your third period had not been granted that same privilege, as your third period had Mr. Fitzgerald holding the reins to the functionality of the class. A bitter bitter old man who denounced the teenagers of Hawkins High as the devil incarnate, you should have seen the sheer look of terror and disgust when he first came face-to-face with the Eddie Munson.

And that infamous look matched that of the look he gave you when you stepped into his AP Calculus class that midday for the first time in a week. “Ms. Y/N, back already?” He stopped you the second you stepped foot in his dungeon classroom.

“Uh, yes, sir-”

“I sure hope you are well aware of the fact that this Advanced Placement class holds no room for coddling, and I can assure you no one will be holding your hand through the lessons you deliberately missed during your vacation.” He pontificated in your face. Your cheeks flared in a crashing heat as your settling classmates chuckled at the spotlight he casted upon you. “Come on, front and center.” He pointed to the empty chair that was surrounded by students in the center of the classroom, and meticulously sat right next to Andy McAvoy, who was daggering a provoked face of wrath at your presence.

Mr. Fitzgerald had practically placed a dunce hat on your head for everyone to laugh at.

You shrunk in your seat every passing minute, as glares laser beamed into you from the front, side, back. Your palpitating heart had no room to rest, as Mr. Fitzgerald took it upon himself to randomly select you—every single time—to answer questions about a lesson you weren’t even present to have learned about, enabling the other fourteen students to snicker at every stuttering I don’t know you had to mutter with shame and embarrassment that flared your body with burns of embarrassment.

The ache in your head had pounded your focus into oblivion, making the numbers and letters of your worksheet blend into incomprehensible blurs that had your hand twitching with the belief that you were already failing, and that dazzling A+ that made your father pat you on the back when he demanded your report card would slip into your biggest fear: an A-. In retrospect, an A- was a highly respectable grade, but when you’ve been conditioned to dictate your self-worth on the basis of academic validation, having your grade slip seemed like the biggest indication that your father's words were the truth. You were going to fail in life. And right now, all you wanted was the thumbs-up of a particular boy to let you know everything was going to be okay.

And everything started crashing down when you heard it.

“Freak’s whore.”

Andy McAvoy had full intentions of letting everyone hear his vile conviction, murmuring for the surrounding people to hear but taking advantage of Mr. Fitzgerald’s aging ears and whispering it so it went unknown to the authoritative figure.

“Can’t believe she tried to get with me.” He smiled to Karry Koven, as she giggled and stared at you.

It was a lie. It was the most loaded lie you ever heard. For the past two years, Andy McAvoy had made it his life's mission to claim you as his own, after Jason proffered the idea of double-dating with him and Chrissy. The idea hadn’t been too bad of an offer, until you actually went, and his sleazy hands felt the need to wander your body despite your consistent attempts to keep things at a platonic level. With Chrissy Cunningham and Jason Carver coupling up, it only seemed fair for their best friends to follow suit, and such belief left Andy’s arrogant mind to believing to be entitled to your body.

“Such a gross slut, can’t even imagine what that freak gave her.”

In the last ten minutes of class, you excused yourself to the bathroom and silently cried in the lonely stall.

It was a setback. A major one. And your old self would have cursed at you for letting some meaningless words get to you, but you were allowing yourself the mistakes that came with the experience of being human, and if being hurt by the sexist comments of a jock who got a shot to his ego because a girl rejected them, then so be it. You were distraught, and words were bound to get to you. Crying was the release you needed to let yourself recuperate and continue your day.

The bell had rung for lunch, you quickly wiped the remaining tears of your face with the rough paper towels stationed at the sink, and caught yourself in the reflecting glass of the mirror. Truthfully, how embarrassing would it be to give yourself a pep talk in the grimy bathrooms of your high school? Last time you entered the lunchroom, hell had broken loose, and your image was severed with the humiliating speech of Jason Carver and the deafening punch of Eddie Munson’s fist.

But before the optimistic phrases that you gathered from every movie you ever seen could be spoken to yourself, the cacophonous laughs of a group of girls pummeled their way into the bathroom, but they were quickly silenced upon seeing your presence. You knew what would come if you stayed, and you genuinely did not need more nasty comments thrown at your face, so with grace, you flashed a friendly smile that they predictably did not return on their scowling faces, and walked past them into the bustling halls.

It was now or never.

“C’mon, you don’t even like peaches!” Dustin slumped in his chair, as his efforts into devouring Jeff’s fruit side came to bust.

Jeff smiled with pleasure. “Yeah, but there’s something about not letting you have it that just makes me really happy.” The table chimed in with laughter.

“You guys are all mean.” He huffed with crossed arms, which simply elicited more laughs. “Mean, mean, mean people.”

“Don’t pout, Henderson, I’ll be sure to have Jeff’s character fall off a cliff in this week's campaign.” Eddie chucked down a pretzel with a teasing grin.

“What?!” Jeff sat up, as the laughs turned against him. “You can’t do that, you’re totally just bluffing!”

“You might as well.” Grant chuckled. “It will make it more interesting, and we deserve interesting after you bailed on us Friday.” He sternly pointed his spork at Eddie, which quickly met the table when he smacked it away.

“I told you,” Eddie sighed, “I was busy.” One day he'd tell his friends of his therapy sessions. But at the moment, they were acting like high school boys, and today was not the day to reveal so.

“Aw, were you pretending your guitar was a girl?” Gareth snided with kissy faces, that made the boys obnoxiously laugh harder, and Eddie rolled his eyes.

“Please, Emerson, I can’t remember the last time a girl spoke to you that wasn’t your mom.” He retorted back. “And I’d be careful if I were you, Gareth the Great could have the same demise off that cli…”

Eddie had trailed his words into silence when his eyes landed on you.

There, through the heavy doors of the crowding cafeteria, you were once again making an entrance that was completely out of your control. If you had it your way, your figure would be dismissed, like a ghost people could not perceive. But that was never an option for you. Even before, happy waves and nice greetings were always following you, but the current trend in the bubble of Hawkins High was picking the next girl to surmise as a slut because you made the decision to be nice to a group of boys, and how dare you do so, especially when those boys were no good satanists who would perform human sacrifices in woods in the middle of the night? It’s funny how high school worked in the isolation of a small town.

So once again, the stares were happening, as everyone decided to switch their hushed conversations to the entertaining topic of you; laughing their harsh opinions to their circle of friends or seeing how far they could fabricate more rumors. Your eyes landed on the table you once sat at, your designated chair no longer reserved for your being, but rather piled with sneakers of Jason Carver who decided to use your seat as a footrest. It didn’t take a genius to know you were no longer welcomed within that group, their blatant stares making it beyond the realms of obvious.

But you didn’t need them. You didn’t need Jessica Lewis’ patronizing comments. You didn’t need Andy McAvoy’s unwarranted touches. You didn’t need Jason Carver’s pesting control over everyone.

The neglected half of the lunchroom table where the kids of the drama club took residence on the other end would be perfectly okay for you. Ignoring their judgmental looks, you sat quiet in desolation, as everyone around you chortled at the downfall of the perfect cheerleader.

“Eddie!” Gareth waved his hand in his face, snapping Eddie back to reality.

“Holy shit, you were totally checking out Y/N!” Mike laughed.

“N-no, I wasn’t.” His hair fervently moved with the vehement shakes to his head. “Everyone is fucking staring at her.”

“But you were staring staring, Eddie.” Jeff teased with a big grin. "Like how you stared at that one older chick with the huge boobs at the Hideout that one time."

“No, I wasn’t.”

“Yes, you were.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“Yes, you were.”

With heavy sigh, you decided the best option was productivity, and the sweetness of your precisely cut strawberries were fueling you with the needed energy to focus on the piling stack of missing work you were due to accomplish. Equations and word problems could provide enough distraction from the myriad of bullying that was hurtling against you, and in a very unlikely case, homework was easing your mind into a peaceful state. If this is how you had to finish out your senior year, then it was something you’d be okay with coming to terms with. Aloneness could be a scary thing, and you were facing it in the terrors of your dark room where you were shut in and locked away, as you held yourself while the tears dampened your pillow case. But aloneness was also a wonderful thing, where in moments like these, when it felt like everyone was against you, you could lavish in the company of yourself—food and task at hand—because you liked the way your mind worked, you liked the way you perceived the world, it was unique to yourself and it was a beautiful thing to explore on your own.

But a soft tap to your shoulder had pulled you from your studies, and you peered up, being met with a comforting smile.

“Hi.”

“Hi, Chrissy.”

“Is it okay if I sit with you?” She pointed the chair across from you.

Your agreeing nod led her to plopping down and pulling her lunch out, as though this interaction was something of normality. You looked around, the stares had intensified with the sudden movements of Chrissy Cunningham joining you for lunch. While the act of two best friends eating together was everything but abnormal, the events of last Monday had foreseen your rumored recent fuck punching her boyfriend, and the idea of you and Chrissy would have assumed to be severed.

But here she was, sitting with you without a care of the world.

You watched her dejectedly sigh at the sight of her pre-packed lunch clearly made by the hands of her mother. Green. Bland. Portioned so small it wouldn’t stuff a toddler. You pushed your tray of food to her. “Have some of mine.” You smiled, switching her plate with yours. “Maybe we can give yours to Mrs. Durberry’s pet lizard.” And she laughed that grateful laugh that you always seemed to cause whenever you’d save her appetite from the terrible choices of her mother with a joke to make her feel better. And she comfortably took the other half of your sandwich.

“Have, um, have people been saying stuff about you?” She delicately asked with a mouthful of food.

With a smile on your face, you nodded. “Yeah. Nothing I wasn’t expecting, though.” You shrugged. “Are you, uh, are you okay sitting with me? Like Jason might-”

“I broke up with Jason.” She interjected.

Looking back, you met his disbelief scowl that was certainly blaming you for the ending of his relationship. “You did? Already?”

She nodded her head. “I didn’t want to wait it out, because I knew that if I took too long I would just procrastinate, and I probably wouldn’t get the courage to actually do it. But I did.” She sighed.

“Are you okay?” Three years of a relationship, filled with young love, innocence, and first times were all gone in a matter of seconds when Chrissy arrived at the doorstep of Jason’s house. But a revelation Chrissy had to come to terms with was the fact that years together, the length of a relationship, holds no merit to the satisfaction of one’s mind and heart, and Jason Carver was simply someone he used to not be. The once skinny sophomore who sat the benches of all games had grown to be a young man with screwed priorities that came at the expense of his girlfriend’s comfortability, especially when she was becoming someone she didn’t want to be.

“Yeah.” She quietly answered. “Um, he didn’t exactly take it well, and my mom can’t seem to wrap her head around the idea that I just didn’t like who he was anymore. They both keep pestering me about it.”

“Don’t listen to whatever they might be saying.” You advised. “Really, if getting away from him is what you want- what you need, please don’t let them take that away from you.”

“I won’t.” She smiled. “Hey, are you still coming back to practice? Coach has been dying to have you back. As much as Jessica likes to think, she is not a good flyer.”

You giggled. “Ugh, I would have loved to see that. But yeah, I told my dad I’d be staying for practice. Though, I’m heavily expecting to come out with a broken leg, because those girls are totally dropping me for, you know, associating with he who must not be named.”

“Don’t worry, coach has literally been on a frenzy ever since you left, she’ll take care of them. Seriously, Y/N, as much as they’d like to admit otherwise, we have been a mess without you.” Chrissy reassured. “And um, how are things… w-with your dad. I, uh, I saw the locks when-”

“It’s fine, Chrissy, really. Don’t worry about it.” You murmured, more as an excuse to forget about it. “I’m learning to deal with it. But let's just talk about something else.” You swallowed the lump in your throat.

Chrissy agreed for your comfort. Because for once, speaking with Chrissy about the miniscule things of life felt like the stability of normalcy you had been yearning for.

“You’re totally staring at her!” Jeff laughed, as Eddie once again was caught up in the glimpses of you.

‘Wh- How many times do I have to tell you I’m not?” He slid back in his chair in embarrassment. There was only so much lying he could do to cover his averting eyes, but the truth was screaming past any attempts of delusion.

“Oh, so you were staring at Chrissy, you like her then?” Gareth smiled, as Eddie sauntered right into his trap.

“No! Not Chrissy, Y/N’s the one- ugh!” Eddie’s head dropped into the safety of his hands, as his friends’ laughter echoed around the table. While he truly had nothing to be embarrassed about—he quite literally drunkenly admitted his feelings to you already—the discomfort of letting his feelings be known was still new territory for Eddie, and building a friendship on the basis of teasing the living shit out of each other didn’t exactly make his progress any easier. Though, under that frustration, a small teetering curl to his lips and blushing cheeks were appearing behind the cover of his hands. Talking about you did that to him.

“You should totally talk to her.” Dustin reached over to hit his arm, but a switch had flipped in Eddie, and his head shot up with his hand grabbing the boy’s arm before it could make contact.

Everyone was taken aback by his sudden reflexes. “No. Absolutely not.”

“Don’t tell me you're nervous.” Dustin laughed, as he pulled his arm away with sass. “It’s not like you haven’t talked to her before. Granted you were basically an ass and she probably hates you.”

If only they knew.

“Wait,” Mike interjected, “is that why you punched Carver in the face last week?”

“And why you left lunch to go find her friend that one time?” Grant added.

“Okay, okay, okay.” Eddie sighed. “Not that this is any of your guys’ business, but yeah- and that’s all you're getting out of me, so knock it off with the interrogation, please?” He shoved a handful of pretzels into his mouth to cope with the stress.

“Why not just go talk to her and apologize?” Jeff suggested.

“Do you honestly think someone like her would like someone like him- ow?!” Gareth chuckled before a crushed can of soda hit the side of his head.

“I did apologize to her.” Eddie disregarded Gareth’s comment, answering Jeff with a mouth full of mush and crumbs. “Just don’t wanna bother her with anymore of my talking.” His denim sleeve wiped his lips.

“Well,” Dustin sighed, as he retrieved something from his backpack. “I’ll go bother her.” He smiled, and Eddie cocked his head to the now standing kid.

“What?!”

“You heard me.” Dustin affirmed. “She’s the only reason why my sexy photo is in this yearbook,” he patted the glossy cover to the infamous book, “might as well get her to sign it.”

“Wait! No, Dustin!” Eddie gritted through his teeth, but the young freshman had a goal in mind, one that his Dungeon Master could not interfere with. Even if it meant his character would be doomed with a fateful death at the bottom of a cliff that coming Friday. “Please, Henderson!”

The curly tendrils freed from the cap on his head bounced as he happily ignored the stressed calls of Eddie from the table. In truth, Eddie’s tensity came from a place beyond whatever stupid comment Dustin might make about him to you. He had spent the last four days respecting your boundaries despite his desires to talk to you, and Dustin’s presence might lead you to believe this was his way in getting someone to speak to you on his behalf—something you strictly told him not to do when he was crying hungover on your bed—he’d definitively ruin his chance at ever getting you to trust him again.

But Dustin Henderson had all the confidence in the world, something you would come to admire in the boy as you got to know him, and he placed himself at the end of the table, where you and Chrissy had resided, interrupting your talks of dinner plans.

“Uh-hem.” He cleared his throat with precise certitude. “Ladies,” Dustin then turned to you, “Hi! I don’t know if you remember me, but I’m Dustin Henderson. You took the photo of my club, Hellfire.”

“Yeah, yeah, Dustin, I remember you." You smiled.

“Awesome!” He squealed on the tips of his toes. “I didn’t actually think you’d remember me.” He giggly confessed. “But anyways, I was wondering if you’d like to, um- would it be okay if you signed my yearbook?” He opened the page to the appointed spot where signatures were entitled to, his page particularly filled with the names, messages, and small doodles of his friends.

“Oh, Dustin, I’d be so very honored.” His grin consumed his face at your acceptance.

“Oh!” Chrissy perked. “Here’s a pen you could use!” Handing over her trusty pink pen that had recently grown accustomed to the tribulations of your friendship.

Muttering a small thank you as you took her pen, you uncapped the lid to meet one of the many large spaces of white that surrounded his page. Your heart had gently ached at the realization that not many people had signed his yearbook. The sophistication you oozed defied the laws of coolness in the Dustin Henderson Doctrine. While Eddie Munson’s ability to create and personify some of the greatest campaigns of Dungeons and Dragons he’d ever seen was downright incredible, and Steve Harrington’s ability to sway any cute girl’s Friday night plans to now revolve around him was thoroughly unbelievable, your coolness was surpassing those of the men he looked up to. Maybe it was because you were a beautiful girl who was actually nice to him. Maybe it was because he knew you could play into his antics. Either way, you were ranking yourself to the top of Dustin Henderson’s Favorite People List. And if he ever found out you made way better chocolate chip cookies than his mom, he would have placed you above the woman who birthed him. Because you wrote a, albeit short, cute little message just for him:

Has't a most wondrous summ'r cutie, t's been the greatest privilege knowing thee, kind solid'r - Y/N

“Thank you so much!” He gushed at your writing, making you laugh.

“Anytime, Dustin.” You gave Chrissy her pen back. “Anything else we can help you with?”

“Ooh, yeah!” He got extremely excited at the open invitation. Your kindness was placing him at a vulnerable spot, that vulnerable spot being the potential strangling hands of Eddie Munson if he ever found out what Dustin was about to do. “So, uh, y’know, Eddie, right?”

Your burrows furrowed playfully. “Hm, yeah, I know, Eddie.”

“Well, uh, see don’t tell him I told you this, because he would totally kill me, but he kinda sorta has a crush on you.” You turned around and briefly caught Eddie Munson staring at you before his eyes went big and he snapped his head to the other side of the cafeteria as if he didn’t get caught. Ugh, he was just so-

“No way!” Chrissy gasped with fake dramatics as she squealed. “A cute boy likes you!” She sprightly spoke.

“You’re totally messing with me, aren’t you?” You joined in on her theatrics for the sake of letting Dustin Henderson believe he was the brains behind the union of his two friends—as if the confessions of last week's events didn’t happen at all. “The Eddie Munson likes me?! There’s no way, he’s way too cool!” You rhapsodized.

Oblivious to it all, Dustin jumped with excitement for his friend. “No, he actually does! He totally blushes and everything when we talk about you!”

“That’s so cute!” Chrissy effused. “You guys should, like, totally get married, you’d be so cute together.”

“Oh, totally!” You playfully giggled before turning to Dustin. “Dusty, be sure to tell Eddie to let me get my nails done first before he proposes. I can’t have my hands looking ugly for our engagement photoshoot.”

“Uh, y-yeah, okay!” Dustin shrugged along, completely heedless to the idea that you and Chrissy were just joking around, but his lack of communication with girls had him believing whatever this conversation was transpiring to be was merely the normal gist of what girl talk had to be. Also, there was a small part of you that wanted to give Eddie Munson a heart attack when Dustin returned with the grand news.

“Great, it’s settled then!” You smiled. “I have full trust that you will relay the message, good sir.” You popped a strawberry into your mouth, as Dustin swiftly shook his head.

“Yes! Yes, totally!” His curls shook with his head.

“Alrighty then, Dustin, maybe you can talk Eddie into letting you be his best man.” You smiled. “I’ll see you around, okay?”

“Yeah, thanks again for everything!” He waved you both off excitedly, eager to run and tell Eddie the good news.

Chrissy and you watched him nearly trip over his own two feet as he speed-walk to the table he had came from—not wanting to fall victim to Mr. Long’s threat of no running on the school grounds, as he monitored the lunchroom. “He’s so adorable.” You two giggled as you both watched him flee.

Dustin had plopped in his chair with a heaving chest, as his table began torpedoing an onslaught of questions, Eddie’s queries being the harshest. “Do you literally want to die?!” The metalhead slammed his hand onto the table, ignoring the stinging burn that came right after. “Why would you go up to her?! What did you say?! What did she say?!”

“She said…” Dustin huffed too long for Eddie’s thinning patiences, “she said that I was a cutie-”

“What?!”

“-and that she wants to marry you.”

“What?!”

You and Chrissy Cunningham laughed across the cafeteria at his booming voice.

“So yeah, that totally means they want me, right?”

Ms. Kelly had suddenly turned into a love coach.

“Uh, well, I’m sure the feeling is… mutual between the two of you.” She hesitantly answered, not sure how to exactly approach the love life of her teenage students, but glad enough her response made Eddie smile.

“Okay, good, I think that, too.” He giddily adjusted in his chair.

“But remember, Eddie, don’t determine your happiness on the basis of this person.” Ms. Kelly reminded. “Root that within yourself, because if things don’t… work out in a sense, we don’t want you losing that progress.”

“No, I know.” He quietly muttered, as his hand rubbed the slight stubble of his chin. “That, uh, that’s actually one of things that really scared me into getting help, I guess. See, remember those, um, terrible things I did when, y’know, they said they didn’t want me around?” She nodded her head gently to allow him to continue. “I, um- my dad would do those things. Like, whenever my mom had done something he didn’t like, he would just get plastered, say these gross things, and then, um, start…hitting.” Eddie huffed out a large breath that burned his chest. “And seeing me be that- be my dad- becoming him was just a scary reality check that I’m just like him, a-and I don’t want to be. I spent years wishing so hard that I wouldn’t be, y’know, that I wouldn’t be those kids who turned into their parents, that Wayne taught me better than that, but there I fucking was scaring her- them, scaring them. Sorry.” He cleared him through shamefully as he got worked up.

“Don’t be sorry, Eddie.” She smiled. “This is your moment to let your thoughts and feelings be known. And by hearing you, I want you to leave today’s session vitalizing the importance that you are not your father. You’re not your mother, either. Or your uncle, or anyone for that matter. Eddie, you are you. There is a pattern within you that wavers from trying so hard to stray away from hurting others like your parents did to you, to straying away from the possibility of getting hurt like your parents did to you. And it’s wonderful that you’re recognizing that, but you need to understand that you’re merely getting stuck in an endless cycle of trying to satisfy those end goals, that your mind is running in circles and blurring the line between what's working and what’s not, and it’s doing harm.”

Eddie chewed on his thumb nail taking in the revelation. “I don’t know how to fix that.” He defeatedly admitted.

“You need to not be driven by fear, Eddie.” Ms. Kelly answered. “That image of your father is a scary thing to come to terms with, and I’m not saying you’re wrong for being terrified of it, because it truly was a dark part of your life, but you need to face it rather than run from it. You mentioned that you and your uncle rarely speak of the life you once had with your parents, and that suppression- that shut in, that’s what’s inhibiting you from growing to be someone that is not like your father or mother. Your upbringing has rooted a fear in you that’s scared of being hurt, and it’s not unusual, the majority of the world is scared at the possibility of being hurt, but the majority don't acknowledge that that fear is the cause of why our personal progress is being stunted. No one wants the uncomfortable conversations. No one wants to face the reality of the world. But the truth is Eddie, it’s better to be hurt organically by the troubles of the world rather than self-destruct our minds under the guise that we’re protecting ourselves. It’s good to focus on oneself, but we need to understand when we’re crossing that boundary into self-immolation, which is far more scary.”

Eddie Munson had sat in silence for a minute to digest her words. “And that’s what I’m doing.” He whispered to himself.

“But you’re getting help.” Ms. Kelly interjected his thoughts with a delicate smile. “And that’s far more progress than most people get to.”

“I think, uh, I think it really, I don’t know, frustrates me that I didn’t understand that in the first place. Because, well, I mean, even you know I’m not the smartest person around-”

“Academic intelligence has nothing to do with this, Eddie.” Ms. Kelly assured. “Even the smartest people have difficulty understanding their problems.”

“Yeah, I guess what I’m trying to say is that… I just get angry that I can’t be smart enough to figure this stuff out. Like, I know you said this isn’t based on intelligence, it’s just that when things don’t work out the way I want them to, and it turns out my plans were actually stupid, I just get so aggravated with myself, and then I get so aggravated with the other person for not doing as I want, even though it’s not their fault.” He released a puff of air from his cheeks at the admission

“Would you say your anger has become an issue?”

Eddie huffed a shameful chuckle. “God, how much of an ass would I be if I said yes? Sorry for the language, Ms. K, but I really am such an asshole. Pretty cynical, too. And nihilistic. Pessimistic. A person even said I was a sulking asshole if the picture wasn’t clear enough for you.” He nodded with a tight-lipped smile.

And though it may have been a little unprofessional, Ms. Kelly allowed herself a small chuckle at his words. “Well, those are quite some characteristics to have.” She kindly joked. “How often do your efforts result to violence, Eddie? Is it a gradual transition from yelling to hitting for you?”

“Uh, yeah, it definitely is.” He sighed. “I mean, I think you’re aware of how many fights I’ve been pushed into-”

“Would you say you cause most of them?”

“Um, not necessarily cause, more so… provoke.” He laughed.

“Instigate for a reaction?” Ms. Kelly questioned.

And with a snap and point of his finger, Eddie agreed. “Ooh, yeah! Instigate for a reaction sounds a lot better.” He smiled before doubling down. “But, uh, totally know I shouldn’t. It’s just… kinda fun.”

“Fun?”

“Well, yeah, y’know, most people at this school don’t like me.” Eddie emphasized. "Even the teachers don’t. And, I guess, poking fun at the groups of people who hate me kinda shows them I don’t care, if that makes sense? Like I can make fun of them just as they do to me and my friends. So, I guess getting angry does kinda happen often, and it does always seem to escalate. If people aren’t listening to my yelling, then they’ll definitely listen to me fighting them, y’know?”

“Is that what happened during last week’s cafeteria incident when you hit another student?”

“Basically.” Eddie nodded. “The dude, he was just spewing a bunch of bullshit about someone, and well, when I told him to shut up and tried to “save the day,” I guess, my anger definitely got out of hand and I punched the guy. Honestly, I hate the guy, so I had no problem doing it, but I also thought that I was, uh, stopping the other person that he was talking about from getting hurt more. Like we, uh, talked about- the thing that I do. And obviously, my judgment was severely off, and well, it only made the situation worse that I only ended up hurting them, too.”

“So you’re seeing where these patterns coincide?” Ms. Kelly asked.

“Yeah.” Eddie acknowledged. “And if I’m being completely honest, I almost made the same mistake again today.”

“How so?” Her eyebrow raised.

“Uh, well, I almost hit the same guy for bothering that person, again.” He sighed. “Kinda happened right before I got here, actually. It was after school…”

The once crowded halls had dissipated into quietness, as the final bell had rung to announce the coming end of the school day fifteen minutes ago.

Stalling. Stalling is what you were doing under the guise that you were merely reorganizing your locker, and any straggler who walked by would have seen that, given that your locker never approached the definitive line of chaos. But your heart was hammering at the thought of returning to cheer practice, and the coolness radiating off the metal lockers was enough to keep your forehead from sweating. There were no butterflies in your stomach, no, those insects had turned into the pesky creatures of crickets who bounced around with an end goal of causing turbulence in your worrying stomach, like the annoyance they cause during an attempt at peaceful sleep during a quiet night.

There was something deathly petrifying about high school teenagers. Their judgment. Comments. Bullying. Rumors. You knew now why groups of adults thoroughly went through the endeavors of avoiding them in public spaces. You’d just spent an entire day on the receiving end of their hate, and it was draining.

At the south end of the hall, the familiar faces of the members of the cheer squad pummeled out of the girls’ bathroom in loud conversations and giggles. You watched them walk together, laugh together, like you once used to do before they made the ultimate decision to lavish in your reputation’s demise. But as you followed their movements into the grand doors of the Hawkins High gymnasium, your attention had diverged you from the impeding steps of an deranged man’s end goal in mind, and the sudden slam of your locker door closing left you snapping your head to meet Jason Carver’s huffing breath before he cornered you against the lockers.

Nostrils flared with heaving sighs, his forehead pressed down against yours until your head shoved harshly onto the metal. “You think you’re funny telling Chrissy to leave me?! Huh?!”

Eddie Munson had been on his second cigarette of the day, waiting in the sanctitude of his van, just as he did in the early hours of the morning before school started. But where a pervade of parked cars and students once rested, just an empty parking lot stood, and it provided him the peace of mind to gather the thoughts he want to speak about before he entered the counselor’s room and sat down with Ms. Kelly for what had become their fourth daily session. He grew to like Ms. Kelly a lot. So when the digits of watch striked green of the numbers of 3:45 p.m, Eddie put out the shortening cigarette onto the pavement of the ground, and entered the school building, so as to not be late for their meeting. He’d grown to respect her too much to contempt the time she chose to work overtime just for him.

“Get off of me!” You pushed his chest away, allowing him to stumble and put some distance between you two. “I didn’t tell Chrissy to do anything!”

“Bullshit! Everyone saw you two hanging together at lunch, and conveniently right after she broke up with me! Do you really think I’m that stupid?” His reddening face started walking closer to you, but you kept up with his movements, as the adrenaline in your system moved your feet back with every inch of him coming closer.

“Chrissy broke up with you because you’re an asshole, not because of anything I told her!” You stressed. “God, literally look at what you’re doing, what you did to me- to anyone who’s different from you, of course, she doesn’t want to be with you anymore!”

“Everything I’m doing is for her! It’s your fucking fault I have to stoop this low!” He screamed. “You wanna be a slut and fuck around with that freak, then fine by me, but I will not let you drag Chrissy down with you!”

As unfortunate as the situation was, Eddie Munson strolled in at the perfect time. Upon opening the double, glass doors of the school, he was impaled by the screaming match happening between you two. The second his eyes landed on your fraught face, that anger- that anger that seethed with vexation at the need to protect you from getting hurt was coursing through his bloodstream with a strangulating wave of worry that was going to hurtle its way through any obstacle to make sure you were okay; just as it occurred when Jason Carver ambushed you in the cafeteria, just as it occurred when your father ambushed you in your bedroom.

Eddie was desperate to ensure your safety and security.

Too distracted by the yelling words of Jason Carver, and with the jocks back turned away from Eddie’s stature, his presence went unnoticed until his ring hand clenched around the collar of his letterman jacket, and threw him up against the lockers with a bang.

“Are you fucking bothering her?” His calm voice gritted through his teeth, as Eddie pinned him to the wall. “Because last time that happened, it didn’t turn out so well for you, did it?” The threat lingered heavily in Jason’s head. The Hawkins High Tigers were paving their way through playoffs, and the championship game was right at their fingertips, but the crashing sting of Eddie Munson’s ringed fist on his face or body could hinder the basketball team's progress.

“Eddie.” Your quiet voice lulled him away from the worries of Jason, and he watched your distressed figure of cinched brows and a chewed up lip trembling feet away from the violence of angry men.

Eddie dropped his hold from Jason’s jacket, and stared down at the comb-over that peered up to him with irritated eyes. “You come near her again, and you’ll be fucking dead.” He whispered, far too quiet for your ears to pick on, and he did that with honest intentions.

But before Jason could curse the words he wanted into Eddie’s face, the heavy doors of gym opening turned everyone’s attention to Chrissy Cunningham and cheer coach, Coach Hannigan, who walked out with large smiles—though Chrissy’s dropped faster than the speed of light upon seeing the three of you uncomfortably together.

“Oh,” Chrissy squeaked with confusion, but enough pep to let Coach Hannigan believe all was good. “Um, there- there’s Y/N.” Chrissy hesitantly smiled, as that had been the entire reason why the two of them walked out in the first place, to find you.

“There’s my girl!” If there was anyone who truly showed their support for the girls of Hawkins High, it was Coach Hannigan, who dedicated her faculty years to teaching the inner workings of American Literature by day and coached her girls to be the best representative of the school, because she believed you all deserved to be seen by night. “It’s been far too long! That Higgins doesn’t know what he’s doing, am I right?” Her boisterous laugh echoed through the halls, as you, Eddie, and Jason tried to appear as normal as can be. “When I got news of what he did to you, I was like "man, excessive much." I think we’re all counting the days until he retires, ha!” She spoke enthusiastically, as she patted you on the shoulder, which is when she took notice of Jason Carver and Eddie Munson looking nervously uncomfortable. “Woah, odd pairing.” She joked to you, to which you had to join in with an awkward laugh, Eddie and Jason abruptly separated under her comment. “You lot, okay?” Her colloquial use of British slang with her deep Midwestern accent was surely fitting to the oddity that was Coach Hannigan, but my god, was it comforting in a time like this.

“Just fine.” Jason muttered. “Better get to practice.” He raked his hand to adjust the hairs Eddie had disturbed during their minor push and shove, before walking away past everyone.

“Well, I guess we should, too!” Coach Hannigan signaled over to you and Chrissy to get along. “I’m tired of seeing that dang Jessica girl tryin’ to stay steady in air, dangnamit.”

As the three of you walked away, you turned back to meet Eddie’s anxious eyes. His fears racking in his mind, wondering if he’d just done the very thing you asked him not to do, overstep. He didn’t want to scare you anymore. He didn’t want to hurt you anymore. But he believed his being was doing you more harm than good, and his stomach churned at the possibility that maybe you’d be better off if he just got out of your life and left you alone. But in a blink of an eye, Eddie watched your small hand aim him a subtle thumbs up with an ever so tiny grin. Eddie released the breath he’d been holding in.

Everything was going to be okay.

“You know, Eddie, if you’re watching someone be harassed, it’s okay to tell me.” Ms. Kelly calmly responded.

“I-” Eddie dejectedly sighed, as he leaned back in his chair. “I know I should, it’s just, y’know, they don’t even know I’m talking about them to you, hell, I haven’t even had a full conversation with them today. I don’t know how long they want to continue this “no communication” stuff, and I really don’t want to make them feeling like I’m, I don’t know, betraying their boundaries. I’ve done a lot to them already.”

“Well,” Ms. Kelly huffed, “if you do get a chance to speak with this person, just know it’s okay to encourage them to speak to me.” She smiled.

“Yeah, yeah, thanks.” Eddie relaxed.

“Can I ask you, Eddie, is the reason why you didn’t choose violence with this bully because of this particular person?”

“Uh, yeah.” He answered. ‘Like I said, last time I did, it really hurt this person because of how much the situation blew up. And, uh, I just really don’t think they like the… hatefulness that comes with hitting. Like they're scared of it, and I don't want to scare them anymore.”

“Are you scared of it? The violence?” She questioned.

“Honestly, no- the, uh, physical stuff, no, I have no issue with it. When I was younger, yeah, obviously, I was a kid, but now, um, I know getting violent kinda let’s people know not to mess with me, I guess.”

“Because it gets you your way.”

Eddie winced at the truth behind the comment. When you had hung up on him that fateful night, aggression had surged within Eddie, because you were slipping through the cracks of weakness. Doing your own thing. Making your own decision. Doing the right thing. It was great, but it was something Eddie couldn’t come to terms with. It was why he chose the inebriations of alcohol to throw him over the precipice of sanity and persuaded him to do the actions he knew were wrong. But he couldn’t do that sober. His moral compass wouldn’t allow that. It’s the only reason why he showed up to your window in a drunken haze. Because Eddie Munson couldn’t understand. He couldn’t understand his feelings. His thoughts. Why his mother always stayed with his father when that man was doing far worse, and you were choosing to give up on him so easily. Verbalizing the words in his head made him want to throw up, because he knew how disgusting it was to think like that.

“God, I hate hearing that.” He murmured in shame, as his fingers stressfully brushed over his eyebrows.

“But it’s true? At least to some extent?” Ms. Kelly delicately asked. He could only nod his head in agreement to her statements. “Your mother, Eddie, if you don’t mind me asking, what would she do whenever your father got violent?”

He sadly sighed. “She’d just, y’know, take it. Would only get worse if she didn’t.”

“Yeah,” Ms. Kelly shook her head along, as his words confirmed the ideas in her head. “Eddie, seeing that at any age, let alone as a child, can be truly detrimental to the mind and its development. What I’m evaluating is that your father’s intolerable acceptance to the word “no” has manifested onto you. Witnessing your father’s beratement and abuse, and your mother’s inability to leave has decisively skewed your perception and ego to lead you to believing you are entitled to have things- have people do as you say, and when they don’t, you lash out… like you were taught to do.”

Eddie’s stomach sank at the admission of Ms. Kelly’s findings. The truth laid in her words, and Eddie Munson was coming to terms with the fact that there were aspects of his being that truly did not make him a good person. Was there room for improvement? Yes, there was, and that was the whole purpose of Ms. Kelly’s evaluation. It was not to point the finger and ridicule him. No, it was to lay the foundation to discovering the ugly truths behind what makes us us, and unfortunately for Eddie Munson, his upbringing of hatred and abuse had developed him into an angry man yearning for what? Stability. Maybe you and Eddie Munson were a lot more alike than you both realized.

“Eddie, I’m going to revert back to what I previously said, I want you leaving today’s session vitalizing the importance that you are not your father.” Ms. Kelly reiterated, and Eddie shuttered a breath. “Your decisions may reflect his, but you’re seeking help. You’re talking about your problems. You’re ready to put the work in and make a change.”

“I’m not him.” Eddie spoke to himself.

“No, you’re not.” Ms. Kelly smiled. “You’re a good person who was left to make bad decisions. Don’t let your father take control of your life. Don’t give him that power. Face your fear of him, and don’t give him the authority to let you become a bad person. You are not him.”

Eddie nodded his head, absorbing the words of today’s session, as their hour-long conversation was coming to its last minutes. “Thank you.” He softly gave his gratitude, just as he did at the end of every meeting.

“Like always, Eddie, it’s no problem. Was there anything else you wanted to mention before you leave for the day?” He gently shook his head, spilling all that he could and digesting every truth and advice his brain could handle. Today had been a good day. And he really needed that.

“No, I think I’m okay.” He assured her with a small smile, as he stood and adjusted her chair back to its original position.

“Can I expect you tomorrow afternoon?” She asked.

“Uh, yeah, I can make it.” He answered after slight deliberation. Corroded Coffin wasn’t expected until well into the night, and he was surely certain his buzzing crowd of five drunks wouldn’t mind if the guitarist ran a little late for their weekly taste of garage metal.

With a bid farewell, Eddie left Ms. Kelly's office with a heavy mind.

Ms. Kelly had delicately put away his file before making a mental note to speak with Jason Carver first thing in the morning about his harmful actions. Eddie’s attempt at anonymity hadn’t thoroughly worked out in his favor. Ms. Kelly knew of the cafeteria incident, and who it involved. Ms. Kelly knew of Jason’s infamous reputation. She’d received a number of saddened students in her office who had fallen victim to his words. She was able to place the puzzles of his story with ease, though never announced it for his comfort. She would be sure to have a long talk with Jason the following morning. And she’d be sure to be on the lookout for you whenever you were ready to talk. Again, Eddie was quite oblivious to the obvious nature of anonymity. But at least he meant well.

Approaching the doors to the school, Eddie was already yanking his pack of cigarettes from his jacket, ready to finish the evening off with his third of the day. That was until he stepped outside, and saw you waiting at the entrance in your practice clothes, leading him to getting flushed with a wave of deja vu, as you looked exactly as you did the day you took his picture.

You turned at the opening of double doors, an endearing smile posing on your face as you saw him abruptly stop at the doorway. “Oh, hey.” You waved to him kindly. Holy shit, you were actually speaking to him. You know, Eddie Munson had dedicated the entirety of his weekend rehearsing what he wanted to say to you, the right words and everything, he’d even came up with a short script of lines as to what to say that were currently residing in the back pocket of his pants, but it was long forgotten by this point, and he couldn’t muster up a single word. You giggled at his frozen state, “You can say “hi” back, Eddie, it’s okay.”

But instead of a greeting, Eddie had walked up to you frantically. “Look, I’m so sorry, I swear I’m not, like, following you around or anything. I was just coming back from a-”

“Hey, Eddie, it’s okay, really.” You softly nodded. “I didn’t think you were.”

He swallowed thickly, unsure of what to say exactly, so he landed on a simple “How have you been?”

“I’ve been… decently okay.” You shrugged.

“Getting okay?” He awkwardly asked.

“Yeah,” you chuckled, “slowly but surely. Trying to, at least.”

“Y’know, if you wanted to, you could always talk with Ms. Kelly.” He sincerely spoke. “She’s, uh, she’s helped with a lot. I just, um- we just finished my fourth session. I’ve been seeing her since Thursday.”

You cocked your head in surprise. “Really?” He nodded his quickly. “You’ve been talking to the counselor?” You briefly spoke with Chrissy about her weekly sessions, but it had never been something you dived into for the sake of her privacy. Seeing Eddie Munson turn to therapy was exceeding beyond the expectations of what you had subconsciously set for him when you told him to get better.

“Yeah, it’s been helping me process things- my emotions n’ all.” Eddie smiled, because just last week, that would have been something he would have been embarrassed to admit.

“That- that’s really great, Eddie. I’m proud of you.” Your eyes twinkled with admiration for his effort. “Yeah, I’ll definitely think about it.”

Once again, Eddie’s brain was short-circuiting under your highlighted features that were glowing from the setting sun. You could visibly make out his eyes raking your face before quicking peering into the parking lot, as to not look so creepy. “So… uh, did practice- is practice over already? You waiting for a ride? Need one?”

“Coach Hannigan let us out early after Jessica Lewis puked all over the field.” You laughed, as he grimaced. “The school’s lunch choice of lasagna was definitely not cut out for tumbling. But, uh, I’m just waiting for Chrissy.” You pointed across the parking lot, where Chrissy was speaking with her father. “I convinced my dad to let us have dinner at Benny’s Diner, and now she’s trying to convince hers.”

“Ah,” Eddie nodded, “y’know, speaking of lunch, uh, Dustin had some pretty- pretty interesting things to say about his little visit to your table.” He smirked behind a piece of his hair that he decided to play with to ease his nerves.

You giggled at his antics. “Did he now?” You played around.

“Yeah, he said, uh- the little shrimp said you called him a cutie. Like absolutely wrote it out and everything.” He felt giddy inside that he was making you laugh right now. “And, hey, y’know me, I’m totally not the jealous type or whatever, but that little shit sure did have a blast rubbing it in my face.”

Despite the burn in your cheeks, you couldn’t stop the giggles that were coming out. “Oh, that reminds me,” you opened and dug around your cheer bag, pulling out a damn yearbook, “Nancy had stopped me before the end of the school day and gifted me this bad boy. You wanna be the first to sign it?”

Eddie’s eyebrows had creased his forehead with their sudden rising. “Really? Me?”

“Yeah,” you handed him the book with a retrieved pen from your backpack, where he began his work, “it’ll also give you good leverage over Dustin, and he’ll be begging to sign mine once he finds out you did.”

Eddie laughed, as he scribbled onto the white page of the book. “Y’know, if you need me to talk to Nancy, I could probably convince her to let you back on the committee.”

“Are you crazy?” You huffed out a chuckle. “I committed treason against Nancy Wheeler, I’ve been exiled from the land of Yearbook Committee, there’s no hope of going back for me.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” He smiled, as he continued his writing.

“Do you have a really long middle name I don’t know about?” You tried peaking over the book, but he simply scooted away. “Hey, what’s taking you so long?”

“I gotta make this special for you, sweetheart.” He grinned over to you. “Not every day a pretty girl asks me to sign their yearbook.”

You bit your lip to suppress the ever growing smile on your face, as your cheeks heated with fluster. And soon after, Eddie finally handed back your yearbook, where you were met his three-worded message, and an adorable little sketch of a pretty princess being protected by her knight in shining armor—coincidently sporting the lushes locks of a very metal hairstyle—who was saving her from the scary, large dragon:

For the prettiest princess in the land - E.M

Your finger delicately traced his harsh lines, and Eddie melted as he noticed your beaming smile shining brighter than the sun. “I, uh, I would totally let you sign mine, but see, I’m actually protesting the Yearbook Committee for the human rights violation they oppressed onto their ex-member. Totally standing in solidarity for her. And it’s definitely not because I can’t afford one.” He smirked.

“Oh, yeah, no, I totally get it.” you giggled. “Don’t worry, we’ll revolt against the tyrants of the student body government for their complicit association, and overthrow them for the proletariat.”

Oh my god, you were going to make his knees give out.

Eddie rubbed his face with his hands to get it together, but his reddening face was peaking through his cracking facade of staying collected, and you loved it.

“Y’know, Dustin had also mentioned something else during lunch… something about you wanting to marry-”

“Y/N!” Chrissy shouted and waved over. “He said yes, come on!”

You turned to Eddie with the biggest teasing grin on your face. “Oh, saved by the cheerleader. Guess we’ll never know.” You smirked.

“You little-”

“I’ll see you around, Eddie, bye-bye!” You waved him off.

“Have a good night, princess.” He smiled back.

“Be careful,” You pointed to the pack of cigarettes that lingered in his hand. “I don't want you getting sick from those. That’d be awful, Eddie!” You shouted, as you walked away to Chrissy’s father’s car.

Eddie Munson had to run away immediately, his knees were beginning to buckle.

𝐓𝐚𝐠 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 | @sierrahhh @harrysgothicbitch @niallerlover8022 @aunicornmademedoit @spring-picnics @sleepy-bunnie @eggo-segual @bambi-horror @aheadfullofsteverogers @sademoloser @freakymunson @princess-eddie @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @negativity4you @nope-thanks @allsortsedits @callingmrsbarnes @f0rgggg @hurricane-abigail @sweet-sunflower64

@redlovett @goldstars-to-all @eddiesguitarskills @goslytherin @sashaphantomhive @maxinehufflepuffprincess @emeritusemeritus @angel-upon @middle-of-the-earth @scarletwitchwhore @my-tearsricochet @pixiepaintt @ericasdumbworld @animechick555 @gewrgia-black @hookandchain @roseanddaggerlarry @prestinalove @sebismyhubby @maddsunn

@zoeymunson @corrcdedcoffin @sweetmariihs2 @thefemininemystiquee @monserat @findmeincorneliastreet @sheneedsrocknroll92 @silent-stories @batkin028 @btbabyy

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson angst #the yearbook: club pictures

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bl4nchetts-lvr · 3 months ago

Note

nsfw dom lou miller? THANK UUU I LOVE UR WORKS SM

JEALOUSY

Racer!Lou Miller x Fem!Younger!reader.

genre: smut

warnings: smut,praise(?)

word count: TBA

not proofread

Street races are quite popular for the night streets of NYC, one of the most popular racers there is Lou Miller. unlike the other racers, she doesn't really care if she wins or no,she is there for the fun of it, the thrill of driving at the fast pace,wind blowing at her,hearing screams of fangirls ..

...

it's was around midnight when the race was about to start. the woman was sitting on her bike and putting on her helmet when she saw one and only girl she actually felt attracted to,You.

many people have said that lou is a playgirl,a womanizer, they may be right,but in the depth of her heart she never really cared for any of those girls.

she falls in love very rarely, but if she does — she hides it. she doesn't want to show her vulnerable side to anyone,doesn't want her image of a cold and hard-to-get woman to get ruined.

she saw the way other racer looked at you, the way his gaze was on your chest,waist and legs. how dare he look at you this way,only she could do that .. she knew damn well you were trying to make her jealous (which was working) by the way you smirked a little when you realized she was watching you two ..

the racer's blue eyes were darted towards you two,her jaw clenching and hands gripping the helmet. (un)fortunately,she was wearing gloves, so her veiny hands with knuckles turned white from squeezing her fists so much weren't showing.

when the race started,she was determined to win this time, to show you that she deserves you,and not that fish faced prick.

her determination was bigger than the great wall of china,she put her all in and easily won the race.

everyone was cheering,fangirls all around,her friends happy for her win,but she didn't care about any of them,all she cared about was you .. did you like the race? were you happy for her win? her pale blue eyes darted all around,hoping to stop her gaze at you ..

and she did. there you were,still with that racer .. giggling from a stupid joke he told.

her blood was boiling,the jealousy and possesiveness rising within her.

she walked closer to you,excusing and taking you away. finally you two will be alone,finally she'll get to have you all for yourself.

she held your wrist,then pinning you against the wall, as she finally could see your pretty face up close.

"don't you know how much it bothers me when i see you with that bastard?" she asked,her voice quiet and raspy from her anger.

you didn't say anything,just feeling flustered that the older woman who you were attracted to had you wrapped around her finger so easily.

"come on,baby,talk to me." she said.

"haven't i told you multiple times i hate when you talk to other people? especially someone as annoying as him? or do you want me to remind you..?" she leaned in closer,her hands in leather gloves fixing your hair.

she saw the way you blushed,she heard the thumping of your heart. she loved it.

she leaned in even closer,kissing your neck and whispering some lewd stuff in your ear. she knew how riled up you were, the way you were scared someone would walk in on you two.

her kisses trailed down to your chest,she put her hands on your shirt,looking up at you to ask for permission. when she saw you nod slightly,she smirked more and unbuttoned your shirt. oh,how she loved the sight of your body,it was so beautiful to her.

she bent down,kissing your chest faintly, just to tease you more..

"i should punish you for trying to make me jealous,no?" she bit your chest "isn't this what you wanted,honey?"

---

in less than 5 minutes you were already half naked,your short down to your ankles,your shirt unbuttoned and bra messily taken off by Lou.

her jacket and gloves were off,her freezing and veiny hands all over you.

she looked into your eyes when she pushed her fingers inside of your panties,feeling the wetness. she loved it.

"so wet .." she whispered in her raspy,smoker voice.

she gently rubbed circles at the spot she knew drove you crazy. the way you shivered,the way your cheeks turned a darker red hue turned her on.

"come on,darling,let me hear you .." she said,smirking more as she rubbed your sweet spot more,feeling you tremble underneath her wrath.

she finally pushed her fingers in when she heard you quietly beg her to. she wanted to tease you,but she wanted to hear you moan her name out loud for everyone to hear more.

she saw the way your eyes rolled back when she pushed her long,slender fingers in,curling them to hit -the- spot.

she leaned in, kissing your lower lip.

"you like this,huh?" she chuckled,the sound of it making you more weak and wet,making you gulp.

when you finally felt the climax approach,you gasped softly,grabbing lou's shoulder.

"let it all out like a good girl,no? let me hear you,baby." she whispered mockingly.

you trembled and held onto her shoulder tighter,letting out a slight shreak and then a loud,long moan.

"yes,just like that." she whispered,kissing your lobe and moving her fingers deeper,making you tremble more.

"will you make me jealous again,darling?" she asked in a firm tone.

she smirked when she saw you shook your head.

"that's my good girl."

she whispered and gave you a one last kiss on your lips,before pulling out her now sticky fingers.

Zzz ---------------------------------------------- zzZ

i do NOT like this work .. but thank you for submitting an ask <3

#lou miller x reader #lou miller #oceans 8 x reader #oceans 8 #cate blanchett smut #cate blanchett #cate blanchett x reader #bl4nchetts lover #wlw

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fictionadventurer · 2 months ago

Note

Top 5 childhood memories (that you're willing to share)

It doesn't feel right to rank these, so I'll just share five memories in an unnumbered list.

-For several years of my childhood, my parents' home was along a monarch butterfly migration route. For about two weeks in September, the trees along one side of our yard would be filled with monarchs. You could put a child-sized dollar store butterfly net on any given branch and catch twenty butterflies at a time. If you ran alongside the trees, the air would be filled with hundreds of them. It was an astounding experience of wonder and beauty. We never learned why the butterflies stopped coming, but we were all heartbroken when it ended.

-Our parish festival was always a highlight of our year. My dad, thanks to connections from his job, always provided arcade games that the church could have at the festival and keep the proceeds from. The Saturday before the festival, that trailer sat in our yard, and we spent the morning playing every game as many times as we wanted, while Mom was in the kitchen making her required pie (and giving us the pie crust cookies made from the leftovers). The festival itself was our earliest experience of getting freedom in a public place. We could run around without parental supervision, spending our own money at kid's games, running up and down ramps and across the little bridge over the drainage ditch--plus we got to be bigshots to the other kids because our dad ran the arcade games. Good times.

-For a few summers when I was in elementary school, my uncle and aunt and their three boys had an arrangement where they could spend five days in a condo by a lake for very cheap, and our family shared that vacation with them. It was a blast--we could swim in the lake or in two separate swimming pools, we'd ride bikes around town, go to a cool park, go boating and fishing, and it was the one time we had access to cable TV. Our last year there, we caught a turtle in a bucket (which is a very vivid memory for some reason), and we spent a lot of time throwing bread off the end of the dock to feed the fish. Our last morning, we wanted to feed the fish one last time, but the only food that hadn't been packed up was a large bag of Skittles, so that's what the fish got. The fish loved them, but would not touch the green ones.

-A tornado hit our house when I was in elementary school. Fortunately, my dad and all of my uncles have construction experience, so for a couple of months, we constantly had family over, with kids coming on the weekends. One Saturday, someone stuck a piece of plywood on top of the monkey bars of our cheap little (only a little broken by the tornado) swingset, and we grabbed several cobs of corn from a nearby recently-chopped field, stripped off the kernels, and had a corn fight. Two or three kids sat on top of the monkey bars while everyone else was on the ground, and we all threw corn at each other. It was the epitome of pointless fun, and it's one of my most vivid childhood memories.

-For several summers, my family spent almost every weekend helping out my maternal grandparents. Mom would clean the house, Dad would help with yard work, and I'd help, but I also spent a lot of time babysitting the younger kids. We spent so much time playing with cousins. Exploring the farm yard. Playing sports. Riding bikes. A favorite game was Red Rover, even though it always ended with someone getting hurt and crying. I find myself longing to go back to Grandma's house every once in a while, and it always aches to remember it no longer exists in that way.

#answered asks

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sweetbbyshion · 11 months ago

Text

Eros' song

-> Shinichiro Sano x Reader (no pronouns or descriptions)

characters: Shinichiro Sano

genre: fluff

summary: you write a poem as a way to confess to your best friend

warnings: childhood friends to lovers, i wrote the poem so please don't be too mean or i'll cry, also DON'T STEAL THE POEM FOR THE LOVE OF GOD it will be my last reason, the reader is into books, first quote is from Kafka's Letters to Milena and the second is Edgar Allan Poe's Annabel Lee

network: @eveningatthemoviesnetwork

Shinichiro has been your best friend since your first memory surfaced. From the moment you could process thoughts and emotions, the man has been close to you. Truly, it was a matter of time until one of you fell in love and you happened to be the (un)lucky one.

You were no older than thirteen when the infamous incident happened. Shinichiro (also thirteen and with a really, really ugly hairstyle) looked at you and gave you a big toothy smile, like he always does whenever a cool bike passes by you. Suddenly, flowers exploded behind him, angels sang, the sun shone brighter than it had all day and you found yourself almost squinting and on the verge of throwing up because of the butterflies in your stomach. Metaphorically, obviously.

It was a shame, really. You nearly yelled at the universe for not giving this evil curse to Shinichiro instead but, apparently, the entities above also doomed Shinichiro to a life of rejection. So, you suffered because your best friend didn’t look at you and the man suffered because no girl wanted him.

At thirteen you turned into poetry and all kinds of literature, finding pieces that you related to a bit too much and, eventually, writing things yourself. Shinichiro didn’t understand most of the stuff you read, always questioning what words meant and what was so special about those poems that had you tear up so often. You shared that part of your life with him as well, showing the poems, drabbles, verses you came up with that were messily written in your journal. Fortunately for you and your weak heart, Shinichiro didn’t really understand that most of the things you wrote were about him.

It stayed that way until you were twenty three. You were less naive, more in tune with the feelings that made you want to throw up years ago and definitely in love with your best friend (who kept getting rejected even after changing the horrible hairstyle; the Gods really hated you both). Shinichiro had his own bike shop, a gang that supported him through everything and you. He still happily reads whatever you wrote in your journal and he still doesn't understand half of the stuff you have there but the honest praise and support makes your heartbeat a little bit faster. Shinichiro is there when you publish your very own poetry book, his name deservedly on the first page. To Shinichiro, who was always there for me. As Franz Kafka said “In a way, you are poetry material; You are full of cloudy subtleties I am willing to spend a lifetime figuring out.”

So, maybe, you were a bit too obvious with the whole ‘I love you’ deal but Shinichiro didn't seem to understand all the hints you dropped. Everyone around you seemed to find out about your little secret and some of his friends even went out of their way to let you know he felt the same but you weren't so sure.

“What you writing over there?” the smooth voice of Shinichiro pulls you back to reality, the noise in the shop coming back in an instant. It was almost dinner time and you came into the shop hoping to have a meal with your best friend before going home. Deciding to entertain yourself, you pulled out your notebook and a pen from your bag and wrote some ideas that popped in your head as you stared with heart eyes to the object of your affection.

“Nothing important.” A lie. The words that stared back at you formed, yet again, another finished love poem that you dreamed of showing to Shinichiro in hopes that he would read it and return your feelings. Shinichiro knew you were lying. Somehow he always knew. You refuse to return eye contact when he grabs your pen and doodles mindlessly next to the verses, a routine he acquired when you whined about the pages of your journal being too boring with just words in it. You look at his hands gently drawing small hearts (Shinichiro couldn't draw a heart even if it was to save his family but you grew to love the blob shapes) and a random dog with stars surrounding it.

“Can I read it?” You meet his eyes, tender and sweet, which were already looking at you. Your heart flips, turns and does cartwheels when Shinichiro gives you that toothy smile that makes him close his eyes and you can only let out a small “Sure.” before closing your mouth so you don't accidentally confess.

My soul holds a secret that my pen

Now wishes to share.

In ink-stained lines, my feelings find a home:

Untold to anyone but the Gods from above,

As I convoke Eros to help me compose a piece

That will reach your heart.

But do I dare?

Do I dare trouble the deities with a greedy tone

When I can’t gather the courage

To whisper confessions when we’re alone;

The only witness to my love

Being the moon shining high up

And the paper getting stained with passion.

So sure of my affection yet,

I hesitate.

Do you dare reciprocate these heavy feelings

That only keep me awake at night or

Am I merely a friend that consoles your ego

When things fall apart?

But it’s okay,

For I have accepted the possibility

The harsh, unwanted probability

That I’m doomed to an existence of unrequited love

And a lifeless life

Without the muse who inspires me

To write the most loveful poems and

The most sorrowful verses.

You nervously glance at Shinichiro while he is reading, noticing how his eyes squint and his nose scrunches from time to time (he does it when he doesn't understand something that is written). You pay close attention to his face, the poet in you wishing to remember Shinichiro until your last day if the worst was to happen. A part of you hopes the man will finally understand all of the things you wished to say but weren’t strong enough to. You pray that your poem reaches his heart and soul, that he sees you not only as a longtime friend but a life partner. “Wow.” He sighs, lifting his eyes from the paper to settle on you again. “I’ll never get tired of saying you’re really good.” Shinichiro stands back at his full height, murmuring about back pain after leaning down for so long. You look up at the man who has your world spinning around him, waiting to see if he says something more. He doesn't.

“Is that all?” You ask, playing with the bracelet on your wrist (a gift from Shinichiro when you turned 18). He looks at you confused. His eyes scan the paper again, rereading the verses to figure out if he missed anything. He still looks lost so you grab the pen and, in a moment of courage, you write a few words at the bottom of the poem. For Shinichiro, who I “loved with a love that was more than love”. The handwriting is shaky, giving away the anxiety exuding out of you. Shinichiro reads the additional words, then stops, then looks at you. You get up, not being able to have his body towering you that way. He is standing next to you and, for the first time, you’re not sure about the emotions revealed by his eyes. You wonder if you made a mistake confessing out of nowhere, in his shop, while his siblings and friends are hanging out and the last customers exit. You should have eased your way into the subject but what’s done is done and all you have left is to wait.

“I know I’m not the smartest person…” Shinichiro’s eyes are on you, reading your every move. “But does this mean what I think it means?” You nod, not trusting your voice. His eyes widen and, in a sudden movement, Shinichiro is even closer to you. His hands are on each side of your face, forcing you to look at him. “You wrote a poem for me. A love poem.” You nod again, your movements a bit restricted by the big hands holding your face in place. “I’m going to kiss you.”

Shinichiro gives you five seconds to step back before his lips are crashing against yours. You don't think any poem, book, word could describe what you felt the moment your lips met. It’s fast and a bit clumsy but you couldn't be more happy this happened, unable to control the smile when Shinichiro stops the kiss to look at you. You want to giggle like a young teenager when Shinichiro gives you that smile you love more than anything. “Does this mean you feel the same?”

“Yeah. Have for a while. Couldn't stand the thought of getting rejected by you though.” His thumb caresses your cheek and you find yourself leaning to the touch.

“I would never reject you.” You murmur, embarrassed at such revelation. “You know there’s a quote from Emily Brontë-”

“Tell me about her in a bit.” Shinichiro interrupts you. “I want to kiss you again.”

The next time you write a poem isn't about Shinichiro, your best friend. Instead, you dumped all of the new (reciprocated) feelings about Shinichiro, your boyfriend, and the experiences you get from living with him by your side. Most of your poems were and will probably always be about Shinichiro Sano, no matter the status he holds in your life. You get to love your muse and your boyfriend gets a lifetime supply of romantic poetry dedicated to him (as well as quotes that fit each situation).

#shinichiro fluff #shinichiro x reader #tokyo revengers fluff #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyorev fluff #tokyorev x reader #shinichiro sano #kora posts!

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anthropologyruinseverything · 5 months ago

Text

Updating the fanfic time!

“Got You” part 2 - 4k words

Jey Uso x mixed race FMC

Minors DNI 🚨 Mature content ahead! 🚨

See here for part 1

Chapter 3

Aurora POV -

I didn’t mind biking the thirty minutes from the trailer park where I lived to the nice suburb. Being alone with my music and a direction was meditative. This morning however it wasn’t as nice as usual. Unable to stand for leverage I was moving slower than usual, my injured right side making the whole process more difficult.

Janine’s latest catch, ‘Paul’, was becoming increasingly violent. I did my best to stay out of his way but the two bedroom single wide trailer was tiny, cramped and rundown. Most of my time at home was spent locked up in my bedroom, venturing out only to fix everyone dinner or use the restroom.

Not long now and I would be able to afford a deposit for a room somewhere. I let daydreams of the day I left that place forever fuel me through the pain in my ribs and ankle. I’d gotten distracted, inadvertently letting the dinner pot boil over. Paul took offense and sent me to the floor with a nasty shove before a swift kick to the ribs. I’d scrambled to my feet and limped to my room, slamming the door shut and locking it behind me. A fresh wave of anxiety shuddered through me.

I planned to ask Josh today if he would show me a few things I could do to be stronger and defend myself better. It might rouse his suspicions but I was just going to tell him a half truth, I wanted to be safe when I returned to campus someday. That was a safe and believable excuse in my mind.

Taking a deep breath I tried to force myself to walk normally in spite of the sharp pain that came with each step. Maybe I was naive to think I could disguise my injuries but I was going to try.

Answering the door rather quickly he welcomed me in and our day progressed as usual. Fortunately for me Josh had to tend to those cancelled meetings and would be busy until lunch time. I thought I had it under control with some Tylenol but was proven wrong.

Jason wanted a specific shark cup and plate set that was stored on a high shelf. Normally pulling out the little step stool and grabbing those things wouldn’t have been an issue.

Normally.

When I tried to put weight on that right ankle it gave and I yelped, falling backwards fully expecting to land hard on the kitchen tile.

Instead a strong pair of arms encircled my middle and I made contact with a hard, warm chest instead of cold, unforgiving floor. The pressure on my ribs hurt and I gasped, clutching at Josh’s forearms.

“Rori!” Jason’s alarmed voice hit my ears and I immediately tried to right myself and go to him but struggling against the hold hurt too much.

“It’s okay kiddo, I got her. Where are you hurt? Other than your foot?”

“Ribs.” It hurt to take in a breath to speak.

Nodding he maneuvered one arm under my knees and one under my shoulders, easily hefting me up into his arms. “I got you.”

I wanted to curl into a ball and never look at him again, this was too embarrassing. Settling me in a chair at the kitchen table he took a very clinical approach to examining my ankle and ribs. If I hadn’t been so upset the feeling of his fingers dancing on my rib cage would have made me dizzy. He let me catch my breath before asking the dreaded question.

“What happened Rori?” Josh sounded calm and collected as he went to retrieve an ice pack. Passing it to me he set about fixing lunch while waiting patiently for an answer.

“I tripped walking up my steps last night and fell. Nothing major, just some bruises.”

“You’re lucky they’re not broken.” My stomach dropped. It sounded like he was scolding me.

“Rori okay?”

“Yeah little man, I’m all good! Just an accident, no big deal!” I raised my hands in the air and smiled at Jason who looked relieved before going back to playing with his toys.

Josh set lunch on the table, ravioli, before collecting the little boy and depositing him in his booster seat next to me. Sitting down on my other side all of his moments were stiff. “You wouldn’t lie to me would you?”

My palms went sweaty and my heart pounded. I hoped my panic didn’t show on my face. Not trusting my voice I shook my head no and stuffed a piece of pasta in my mouth, making a pleased sound. I swallowed the food and the emotion all in one go. “No. I’m so sorry. It shouldn’t stop me from what I need to do again.”

“It’s fine. You rode your bike here yeah?”

I nodded and shoveled another bite in my mouth to avoid talking.

“Me and Jason are gonna drive you home this afternoon, once my meetings are done.”

A fresh wave of panic rolled through me. “No-no, please you don’t have to do that.”

“You’re in no shape to be riding your bike anywhere.” His voice was so cold. It made me want to cry.

“I don’t want to be a pain. I can ride the bus-“

Jason and I both jumped when Josh slapped the table. He seemed to catch himself before slamming it with full force but still made a loud noise. Quickly he looked at his son with a grin to ease any fear the little boy had.

But when he turned to me I could see it didn’t reach his eyes. His expression flattened out and it was like he was reigning himself back in.

I squeezed my thighs together as a confusing rush of emotions hit me. Fear of the consequences since I’d angered him and a strange flash of arousal that felt out of place but there it was all the same.

“Don’t argue with me.”

“Yes sir.”

—

Jey POV

Sitting through these afternoon meetings around the new Bloodline merchandise was torture. I’d never been a fan of this side of the job anyway and whatever was going on with Aurora was eating at me. Had I been a little bit of a bully and let my anger win for a minute? Absolutely but it will get me what I want which is some more information.

I was pretty sure someone was hurting her at home or she had a boyfriend. Thinking through my options I texted my twin who was also on the zoom call looking like he’d rather eat a shoe than look at yet another piece of concept art.

‘**Can yall take little man this weekend?**

I watched him respond on the call.

**’Yeah, you got something to do?’**

**Yeah**

It wasn’t often that I hid things from Jon but he didn’t need to know I was planning on essentially stalking my barely legal nanny for a couple of days. I sure as hell didn’t want to see Trinity’s face if she found out. But I had to know what was going on and figure out how to help her.

As of right now my plan was little more than to storm in, beat the ever living shit out of whoever I needed to, sweep her up and move her into my home and bed permanently. Far from foolproof but it was a work progress.

Finally the meeting came to a close. Heading downstairs I took a few deep breaths to make sure I had my temper fully back under control. It had been hard not to shake her by the shoulders and demand she tell me the truth so I’d settled on slapping the table for emphasis. I’d instantly felt like a jerk when both Jason and Aurora jumped in fear but we’d recovered.

The sounds of their laughter came from the kitchen, she was letting Jason ‘help’ her make pizza for dinner. Looked more to me like she was chasing the veggies he threw every which direction except at the dough in front of him but I enjoyed watching them together all the same. She genuinely seemed to enjoy spending time with him and he loved her already, taking to calling her “my Rori”. Clearing my throat to announce my presence I felt a stab of regret when anxiety fell over her face and she quieted instantly. Jason on the other hand clambered down from the step stool and rushed over, arms outstretched.

“Daddy! Look, making pizzas!” He waved excitedly towards where Rori leaned against the counter next to the bowls of ingredients. I tried to smile reassuringly at her but she just ducked her head, hiding her face with her hair.

“Nice, want some extra help Rori?” Jason was already trying to get down and back into the mix so I let him. It wasn’t the nicest thing, forcing her to talk to me, but she’ll learn to speak up for herself in time.

She would have to as my woman. I don’t know exactly when I decided that was going to happen but here we are.

Finally glancing up at me she bit her lip nervously. “Yes sir.”

An image of her doing that while on her knees in front of me flashed through my mind. I liked that a little too much, liked this oddly submissive behavior. It told me a lot to, her response to my anger. Fawning is what they call it, if I recalled the therapist correctly.

I stepped into her space deliberately, causing her to shy away from my hand. Persisting I gently caught her chin with my thumb and forefinger making her eyes go wide. Tempting as it was to push further and run my thumb over her abused lip I settled for making her look at me.

“M’sorry I scared you earlier.”

She blinked, her eyebrows drawing together in confusion. “You’re what?”

I snorted. “Girl I’m tryin to apologize to you. Pay attention.”

To her credit she recovered quickly. “I’m sorry, I am. I - it’s okay. Let’s get these pizzas in the oven.”

She pulled away but before I saw her pulse pounding in her neck and her eyes dilate. It was obvious she was into what I was doing. Perfect.

A little over an hour later found us loading up her bike into the back of my truck and heading down the highway. It never ceased to amaze me what being on either side of the highway could look like. Some trailer parks were nice with well kept homes, flowers and friendly neighbors. Some were like ‘Martin’s Cove’ complete with meth trailers, cars on blocks and folks toting guns in the waist bands of their jeans. I bristled at the thought of leaving her here but dutifully got out to retrieve her bike once we’d pulled up to #37.

An ugly white man stood on the porch with a stupid look on his face. I hated him. Rori’s face showed a flicker of fear when her eyes landed on him and I wanted to kill him. I had a feeling I knew who was leaving the bruises. I held onto her bike when she went to take it from me.

“Uh, Josh? I got it. Thank you so much again.” I could feel my blood pounding in my ears. The man hadn’t spoken but hadn’t looked away from Aurora either.

“Promise to call if you ever need help.” She tilted her head but must have remembered earlier today.

“Okay, I promise.”

I nodded. “I’ll pull up at eight.”

It made me physically sick to let her walk away but I did it. Once they’d both gone inside I pulled away. Jason fell asleep before we made it home so I got him tucked into bed and set about putting a bag together for his stay at his aunt and uncles this weekend.

I was too worried to sleep well, knowing full well she could be in trouble. Instead I found myself praying whatever gods or ancestors might be listening. The morning couldn’t come soon enough.

Chapter 4

Aurora POV

I stood on the embarrassingly cluttered porch the following morning at 7:30 A.M. Janine and Paul were still in bed. Much to my surprise they hadn’t questioned me in depth, instead disappearing into her room after I made their dinner. I checked the calendar, it was the third.

Ah, her disability check had come in. They’d be flush with drugs for a couple days.

Great, that usually meant they’d leave me alone. And they had. Looking back at the front door yet again, it felt as if it were going to open and swallow me. That’s how it felt to walk into this house, like I was being eaten by a beast snd may never claw my way out.

Turning back I settled on the steps, flipping through my music. “Dirty Thoughts” started playing and I felt a flush start up my neck remembering what I’d done listening to this song last night. After securing my door that lacked a proper lock I’d lain in bed playing my interactions with Josh over in my head. Mostly the feeling of his thick arms and hard chest and calloused hands.

Only a few times, mostly due to lack of privacy, did I indulge the growing heat between my legs. Thinking about Josh had made the throbbing ache there unbearable and when I slid my fingers below the elastic waistband of my underwear I found myself soaked. While still very much a virgin I’d read enough romance novels to know what my body wanted from him. My heart and mind did too but they were a lot harder to make happy.

Carefully I’d started to feel myself, fingers dipping into my wet slit to awkwardly circle my clit while my other hand cupped a breast, lightly playing over a sensitive nipple. My inexperience was a pain though and after a few moments of awkward strokes I was worse off than before I started. Annoyed at myself for struggling I switched tactics to what I knew would provide at least a little relief.

Grabbing my ancient pillow I shoved it between my legs, balled up and pressed tightly to the small bud I was struggling to figure out. Closing my eyes I’d imagined sitting on his lap, straddling one of his big thighs while his hands cupped my bottom and his voice, deep and husky with want, encouraged me to move.

“C’mon girl, that’s it. Move for Daddy.”

It shamed me to think of him that way but I was so lost to the feeling it didn’t stick. Doing as imaginary Josh instructed I ground against the pillow, desperately seeking the short but intense flashes of pleasure it brought. If I did it long and hard enough I’d get a sharp spike that would somewhat ease the tension filling my body. It was nothing like “rolling waves” I read about but it did the trick and wore me out enough to sleep.

The sound of his truck rumbling up pulled me out of my memory and I stood, checking the time. 7:40 A.M., he was early. I needed to get myself under control, this crush was a distraction I didn’t need. What I needed was to get the hell out of this place before things escalated further and finish my degree.

And yeah I wanted kids and a husband and all that lovely stuff but I wasn’t naive enough to believe that Josh was the guy. He smiled at me, opening the passenger door and ushering me in. My heart did a cartwheel in my chest.

He had his choice of anyone. It would never be me and I was alright with that.

It didn’t stop me from wishing it were though.

“My Rori!” Jason’s voice was music to my ears. It wasn’t just Josh I’d fallen hard for after all. The toddler waving happily from his car seat in the back lit up my world and motivated me to get out of bed some mornings when I was depressed.

“Hey little man!” I smiled at him before turning to Josh as he pulled out of our driveway. This felt so normal and nice it was almost enough to make me forget where we were driving away from.

“Mornin. How was your night?” I noticed the dark circles under his eyes.

I blushed in spite of myself. “It was good. How about you?”

Josh raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment on the red in my cheeks. “S’fine.”

I mulled over my idea about asking for his help while chattering along with Jason. I’d couched the idea when he was so stern yesterday but he didn’t seem angry any longer and had apologized after all. By the time we pulled into the driveway I’d made up my mind. I spoke before he could open the door.

“Hey, Josh?”

“Hmm?” He tilted his head my way.

“Could-is it okay to ask- because if not I understand-“

“It’s fine just ask your question baby.”

My brain shorted out for a split second. He’s tired, don’t overthink it.

“Can you show me how to like, get stronger? And maybe how to, ya know, throw a punch? For when I go back to campus.” I bit my lip nervously, his expression was so neutral it was impossible to know what he was thinking.

Josh reached over to give my knee a squeeze and my warmth flooded through me. It was so quick I wondered if I’d imagined it but the genuinely warm half smile said otherwise.

“Hell yeah I’ll show you some stuff.”

My heart pounded as I followed the boys inside. I have to get a grip, he’s just being nice. A single quick squeeze doesn’t mean he’s into me.

I noticed the bag of Jason’s things on the couch and my heart dropped. If he was going somewhere else I may not have work for a while.

“Is little man going somewhere?”

“Yeah, my brother’s coming by to get him later, just for the weekend. I’m gonna get some sleep but we can workout some this afternoon, if you’re up for starting now. Just have to work around what’s hurtin.”

My heart soared. “Great, thank you so much.”

——

Jey POV

It was easy to sleep knowing she was safe downstairs with Jason and I made up for what I lost the night before. In my dreams Rori was beneath me, writhing in

pleasure while her fingernails dug into my shoulders and her lips whispered my name over and over like a prayer. Her voice got louder the closer she came to orgasm and I ground into her harder and harder.

“Josh…Josh…Hey Josh?”

Her voice went from thick with pleasure to confusingly loud. Slowly I became aware of someone shaking my shoulder.

“Huh?”

There was a soft giggle from next to me as the bed dipped a little. I realized the object of my dreams was sitting next to me nudging my shoulder. At the same time I realized I had a raging hard on.

“Jon’s here, figured you’d want to say bye to Jason before they took off.”

Shit was it after five already?

I had to get rid of her so I could get this under control. “Yeah. Be right there.”

When I didn’t move immediately she jumped up and ran like she’d been scalded. Maybe she realized she may have crossed a line coming in here, even if it was to get me up for something important.

I couldn’t wait to cross a hell of a lot more lines with her in this room.

But right this minute I needed to get myself presentable, something easy enough to achieve, at least temporarily, with a few deep breaths and splashing some ice cold water on my face.

Loading Jason into the car didn’t take long, he always loved staying with his cousins. Hugging him one last time I stepped back. My brother looked at me from the drivers seat, clearly wanting an explanation. Clapping his shoulder I smiled. “Thanks, got a leak and it’ll just be a lot easier to have guys out to fix it without him under my feet.”

The suspicion in his face melted away and we said our goodbyes. I’d miss Jason but I was excited about “working out” with Aurora, all alone. Not to mention I’d finally have a good chance to question her some. She stood in the kitchen tying up her hair when I walked back in.

“You ready?”

Aurora swallowed but nodded and I noticed her eyes flicker over me. My cock twitched, it was hot thinking she wanted me too. I still needed to clarify whether or not she had a boyfriend and while I couldn’t be certain it was that weird guy at her house who was hurting her I was pretty confident that was the case.

“Good, c’mon.” Leading her into the gym I flicked the lights on.

About 45 minutes later and she flopped on the floor, panting but smiling. Turns out she could throw a decent punch already. Settling behind her on my knees I let my hands fall on her shoulders and waited to see what she would do. Aurora stiffened but didn’t pull away so I slowly began to knead the muscles.

“You did good.” I don’t know if it was my fingers or my words that did it but she moaned softly, her cheeks blushing.

“Thank you.” Her voice was soft and shy.

Continuing up her neck I was gentle as I worked the tension there, surprised at just how tight she was. I decided to get down to what I wanted to know. “Got a boyfriend Rori?”

She blinked her pretty hazel eyes before huffing out a nervous laugh. “A boyfriend? No.”

Relieved, I let that concern go. “Aight. I didn’t think that guy in the porch yesterday was him but ya know, wanted to make sure.” I dug my fingers in a little harder and she drew in a breath with a gasp. My thumbs worked their way down her shoulder blades and her eyes drifted closed. Her muscles quivered under the threadbare tshirt she wore but my eyes were trained on the wet skin of her jaw and neck. I imagined what it would taste like to run my tongue along them in a long stroke.

“Nah, that’s just my mom’s latest boyfriend.”

“Latest?” I didn’t like the sound of that and based on where they lived I doubted these were high quality men drifting in and out of their lives. Already I hated this woman for putting Aurora in danger.

“Yeah, she’s just…I don’t know. She’s got some issues.” Aurora trailed off and I debated how hard to push. This was more than I’d gotten out of her before but I didn’t want her to shut down if I asked the wrong thing. I kept massaging her neck, working my way a little lower to her collar bone and she didn’t resist.

“How’s that feel?”

“Mmm, good.” Just when I thought she was really going to relax into me her phone buzzed. I hated the way she looked panicked when she opened the message. “Oh no, it’s getting really late, I should go.”

Reluctantly I let her stand and got to my feet as well. “C’mon, I’ll take you home.”

Her nerves seemed to get worse and worse during the car ride. Every instinct in me screamed to make her stay, to not drop her off at that trailer. Something bad was going to happen and I knew it.

This time, I reached over her to stop her from opening the door with one hand and grabbed her knee with the other. “Aurora look at me.”

She was startled but did as I asked.

“You don’t have to get out of this truck. But if you do, just promise to call me if you’re in trouble.” For a second I thought she was going to stay or maybe burst into tears. Instead she took a deep breath and smiled at me but it didn’t reach her eyes.

“I promise. Again.”

I squeezed her leg one more time before sitting back and letting her go. Something screamed at me to stop her but I didn’t.

I’d regret that sooner than later.

#wwe #the bloodline #fanfiction #jey uso #jey uso fanfiction #wwe fanfiction #ucey

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batsplat · 7 days ago

Note

“So funny how again in early 2008 there’s an argument to me made that Valentino was the LEAST annoyed with him of the four” ooh what was the Casey / Jorge beef of 08?? I didn’t think those two had any!! Actually would you be willing to go thru all the Jorge beefs of that year briefly? Ik you’ve done him & Dovi and him & Vale a lot more in depth but I’m curious about Casey and Dani…ik some of the Dani stuff but I don’t really get the WHY of it hahaha

okay I've started and gotten stuck on writing a post about casey and jorge's relationship way too often by this point BUT if we're just localising it to early 2008 that's WAY more doable. jorge lorenzo early 2008 drama corner coming right up

Some people think he's - not a show off, but he's a little bit arrogant. Actually he's a really nice guy, isn't he, he needs that bit of arrogance because - when you're on the edge as he is, that's what makes him the champion, the way he is.

^Qatar 2008 commentary excerpt

just as a quick summary of the time span we're talking about. casey is the defending champion, looks scary good pre-season testing, but ducati gets a bit lost after the opening round and he has some pretty messy races. valentino has made the very very high-profile controversial decision to walk away from the tyre manufacturer that had bagged him all his premier class titles and move to casey's bridgestones, which is what necessitates the wall in the yamaha garage. if this goes wrong, if he just loses to his rivals purely on merit, it might actually be over for him. dani was the bloke who was supposed to have casey's 2007 season on the lighter 800cc bikes everyone believed would favour him, and now has something to prove. jorge and dovi are both rookies in the class, having fought it out for two years in the 250cc class. jorge won both titles, albeit on clearly superior machinery to dovi's

here's the opening few rounds (though most of this will be just about the first four):

jorge secures the first three pole positions of the season and wins his first race in estoril. after three rounds, him and dani are exactly tied in the standings - not just in points, but also in countback since they've both had a p1, a p2, and a p3. valentino had a meh first race at qatar after leading at one point, AND is overtaken on the final lap by dovi... but gradually makes progress with the tyres - and by shanghai, everything's clicked. by contrast, jorge's fortunes take a nosedive in shanghai, with a truly massive highside during practise. he rallies and manages to take a fourth in shanghai and a second in le mans (this is the podium where he's on crutches and valentino ends up sitting on his lap for the podium photo)... but after that things go from bad to worse as he has a series of painful, demoralising and confidence-sapping crashes, including one that forces him to withdraw entirely from his home race at catalunya. by this point, he is firmly out of the title hunt - and catalunya is also the race where the season swings back in casey's favour, with the post-race test doing wonders for the ducati. which is where the build-up to laguna starts in earnest

so! with all that context in mind! here's some photos from pre-season at jerez:

I'm sure the photographers just missed the extensive discussions valentino was having with jorge sitting next to him

right then. let's take them in order. jorge/valentino had quite a bit of attached hype to it, where people looked at jorge, looked at valentino, rubbed their hands and went 'surely this isn't going to go well'. (this would've been me.) this energy, right:

This was all done, of course, because Yamaha were fearing, and MotoGP fans were looking forward to, a potential clash between Lorenzo and his team mate, the equally flamboyant Valentino Rossi. But so far, all has been peace and light in the Yamaha garage, a situation possibly helped by the huge wall splitting the garage in two.

(just to give you a sense of how keen everyone was to get things kicked off between those two, the commentators are talking about valentino edging ahead of jorge on the sighting lap of qatar 2008 to take his grid slot first as "just a bit of psychology". like people were ready for these two to go to war)

and there's plenty of evidence that suggests valentino took an immediate disliking to jorge that went beyond just seeing him as internal competition. it's quite likely valentino tried to keep him out of the factory yamaha team, though probably less nefarious plotting and more 'asking yamaha to please not do it'. once he lost that particular war, however, valentino's approach was mostly just not to engage with jorge at all. no stress, no drama, limit both his levels of personal irritation and jorge's opportunities to learn from him. early 2008 valentino also had very 'we move in silence' energy, he's really just working away at getting to grips with the tyres and generating little drama of his own accord. doesn't panic at the adjustment period to the bridgestones or about how his rookie teammate seems to have the better of him in the early rounds... it's obvious by his reaction to winning the race at shanghai how much this meant to him, but he's mostly been shutting up and getting on with it. and while jorge was going on his little drama tour, he was actually at pains not to be publicly starting shit with valentino:

Lorenzo was much kinder to the man he was expected to be at war with. “I see the press and hear what people say, and they have already decided to bury him,” said Lorenzo. “He finished 5th on tires which, apparently, weren’t going very well in the conditions. I think he will be fighting for the win at Jerez, and will be winning races soon enough. I don’t believe that he has dropped his game.”

though obviously valentino won't have been particularly thrilled by jorge getting a win before he did - and I suspect jorge did secretly think he might already have the better of his legendary teammate... way more on that teammate dynamic here, including context for the dynamic headed into 2008

^Post-Estoril 2008

tbh the vibe you get from watching 2008 is that valentino wasn't really thinking about jorge all that much, even during the first few races of the season. if anything, his delight at jerez and estoril kinda makes you feel like he was still primarily preoccupied with casey's results. as long as he felt like he was making progress on the tyres and casey wasn't building up an unassailable points lead, everything else could work itself out

Some say there's bad blood between them, they both say they get on fine together - I've seen them chatting in press conferences all right, but I think there is a little bit of needle between the two of them.

^Qatar 2008 commentary excerpt

moving on. jorge/dovi didn't have anything specific early 2008, but I just sort of assume dovi had this constant low level of annoyance towards jorge - especially immediately off the back of two title fights. he beats out valentino in this list by having had more actual encounters with jorge and more time to build up genuine antipathy. reading between the lines for their dynamic that year... well, they were competing to be the best rookie in the class - and you could argue that contest was way closer than it had any right to be, given the disparity in machinery. jorge the chosen boy on a factory yamaha, dovi scrapping it out on a satellite honda (interestingly, the disparity is described here as lesser than what they had in 250cc). also, fun fact: jorge's first race crash in motogp comes when he's fighting dovi at mugello. dovi had a front row seat, wonder if he enjoyed that

on to casey/jorge. so, I'm going to present these tidbits in a sensible chronological fashion, but I just want to say that I came across them in a completely different order. very different experience. I read casey's autobiography early enough in my motogp journey that I just sort of took him at his word with way too much of what he was saying. so my initial reaction to the early 2008 jorge stuff was going 'lol jorge what a prat' and going about my business. anyways. just thought I'd mention that!

anyhow, obviously these two had already had a few run-ins in the lower categories, including that assen 2004 incident where jorge kinda runs casey off track during the last lap that casey did not take kindly to. AND perhaps the first record we've got of valentino acknowledging casey and jorge's existence!! really fond of that clip idk, something about his 'those crazy kids' energy obviously is a bit ironic with benefit of hindsight

moving on to 2008. here's casey on jorge's chances of making an immediate impact, around a week before qatar:

Ducati’s Casey Stoner, who won 10 races in a dominant 2007 season, said: “We’ll have to see what happens with Jorge. “He has proven himself very fast in 250s by being double world champion. He is obviously a very fast rider and he is learning very quickly with the Yamaha. “But I think it is also very, very difficult to beat what Dani did in his first race in MotoGP. “To finish second in your first race is truly amazing, so I think it is very difficult.”

nothing egregious, I think we can all agree. though the direct comparison with dani probably won't have been particularly welcome. but just keep this in mind when you read the next few bits!

and here, from the qatar 2008 commentary:

And Stoner actually talked about Lorenzo, didn't he, in the pre-event conference - saying, I'm not sure Lorenzo will be able to challenge for the title. He may change his opinion about that after seeing the race here today, but he felt the challenge was more from Rossi and Dani Pedrosa.

ended up being correct, but did he HAVE to say it... aged poorly for the first month or so, you'd have to say. knowing jorge, I don't feel like it's a stretch to say he was motivaed to prove casey wrong lol

as we've already established from this clip, unlike dani and jorge they were at least on speaking terms at jerez

^Jerez 2008 pre-event press conference

casey has a messy pair of races at jerez and estoril, which brings us to shanghai - where, as said at the top, jorge and dani were joint championship leaders. let's bring in a press conference clip!

The season started in Qatar. [...] points - anyway, the riders that do not have good results, they say it starts now. The riders that started good... say that, what I am saying, so... For sure for Casey, starts now.

oh no. jorge. oh you've really done it now. off-hand remark right at the end... bit of hesitation but he just can't help himself. you CANNOT say something like that about casey. he will literally never forget this

and luckily, we know that casey would never forget this - because this incident makes it all the way to his autobiography! here we go:

Despite my first impressions of Jorge in the 125ccs I got on pretty well with him during our days together in the 250cc class but after winning the World Championship in that category twice he seemed to me to have become arrogant beyond belief. I remember after Estoril he said something to Livio like, 'What happened to Stoner? A problem with the head?' He seemed to think he'd broken me in that race and that I was weak minded. He thought his success was the reason for my poor results and clearly had no idea about the problems we had with the camera, not to mention the bike. A couple of weeks later we were in the pre-event conference in Shanghai and Jorge made a smart remark like, 'Maybe the championship starts now for Stoner.' I couldn't believe it and I'd never known such arrogance before. But what Jorge didn't realise at the time was that his confidence, generated by his impressively fast adjustment to riding a MotoGP bike, was a big reason he was so quick in those early races. Confidence is an incredibly powerful tool in elite level sport but it can also be very dangerous, especially in motorcycle racing. He hadn't learnt that yet, but he would.

okay. so. obviously jorge had managed to accidentally stumble across the number one way to get under casey's skin - by implying he was mentally weak. pretty much the worst thing you can say about casey, like yeah you've found the thing he's most sensitive about. congrats. and the shanghai remark was probably not a good idea. but if you watch that clip... I mean. it's a dumb throwaway line isn't it. this is a dumb twenty year old being a bit of a brat. high on his own success in his first few races in the premier class. now just picture casey sitting next to him, thinking that he'd NEVER KNOWN SUCH ARROGANCE BEFORE. casey, he's a rookie, you're the defending champion. and you said he probably wasn't going to be able to compete with you!! HE probably thinks YOU started it

^Shanghai 2008 pre-event press conference

and as it happens, casey doesn't stop there. because this story is what prompts a couple more paragraphs on casey's feelings on the subject of confidence in motorcycle racing, essentially using jorge's rookie season as a case study of sorts into how it can all go wrong. here's how it continues:

When a rider starts to build confidence they push the limits of the bike further and further until they find speed they thought they never had, speed that other riders find it impossible to live with. It is a fine line though. The problem is that as the level of confidence continues to increase so does the level of risk and before a rider knows it he is past the limit. Sooner or later reality bites and in motorcycle racing it bites hard. This is why I am careful to be a realist. If I know I have the tool to get the job done then I can be confident, but I am careful never to ride on confidence alone. Unfortunately for Jorge, just 48 hours after he made those remarks in China it became clear he was in over his head, literally, and he suffered one of the biggest crashes I have ever seen. In the split second he hit the ground and fractured both of his ankles he also shattered the one thing that had taken him to the top of the championship. Once his confidence was gone he had nothing left to fall back on and he couldn't have copped any more of a beating than he did that season. He had crash after crash, bringing him back to earth so hard that he seemed to become scared of the bike. For a while his results were pretty ordinary, considering the equipment he was on.

... okay. I get that they're competitors, and I get that you probably get quite desensitised to crashes if you're a motogp rider. but. uh. this does read... just a wee bit satisfied that jorge had been brought 'back to earth' by way of a series of very very nasty crashes. "clear he was in over his head, LITERALLY" is such a wild way to describe a horrendous highside. you do get just a tinge of schadenfreude about the whole thing, right. slight vibe that casey thought karmic justice had come for jorge after he'd been so arrogant towards casey

should be noted that in the next autobiography passage, casey is quite nice about jorge and essentially said he'd learned from his mistakes and become more pleasant later - plus that casey felt they were both misunderstood in different ways. given all that, though, it is interesting and fun that casey in no way backs down from his initial impression of jorge's behaviour (or if this is him backing down, it's still pretty harsh). you agree he gets misunderstood, you know he was a bit of a mess back then, but you're STILL talking about him like this! never known such arrogance before uh huh

there's also one specific story I'm choosing to leave out here beyond a brief mention - because it is pretty nasty and I'm not sure it entirely passes my own standard of evidence for a story like that. the sparknotes version is that a commentator said casey told him jorge was faking the extent of his shanghai injuries in rather forthright a manner. not out of the realm of possibility given we know casey was pissed at jorge that weekend, we know casey spoke to that commentator that weekend, and we know casey can be a bit weird about his competitors' injuries. but yeah, idk, it's so completely anecdotal that I'm not going to properly include it

and here, just to round things off, is what casey said about jorge before the le mans round:

Stoner, who raced Lorenzo previously in the 125 class, said: “I’ve been racing against the rookies for years, I know they are fast. “There is a lot testing compared to the past so when you arrive at the first race you’ve already done half a season so if they are not comfortable with the bikes by then there is something wrong. Jorge has done a good job so far but I expected this.”

did you expect this?? DID YOU EXPECT THIS?? going from saying 'yeah idk jorge probably won't be able to do what dani did' to saying 'well if he WASN'T fast already then there'd be something WRONG with him' is just classic stuff. never change, casey

on jorge's end, my sense is that he really wasn't thinking all that much about casey pre circa 2010. this is just a vibe, but I kinda feel like jorge's tell for when he doesn't really know what to make of someone is when he doesn't really talk about them all that much... including in that biography of his - where casey features comically little, given how he is like. the defending champion during jorge's rookie season. dovi gets mentioned a reasonable amount given he's kinda unavoidable, but both him and casey massively lose out when compared to dani and valentino. those latter two have Designated Roles in the jorge lorenzo story, whereas jorge just... doesn't know what to do with dovi and casey

an impression I feel is backed up by how jorge frames his viewing experience of the 2008 catalunya race in the biography

Having watched the race from my room I would like to congratulate Dani Pedrosa for a great race. He rode the best from the start and had a perfect race. I also thought it was a nice touch that Dani showed his support for the anti-guardrail campaign. I had also planned to support the initiative because it is a great cause. Valentino also deserves congratulations for such a great fight back. I’m keen to fight for victory with both of them and if I manage to beat them one day, ‘mano a mano’, I will feel very proud. The pair of them are as different as they are difficult to beat.

who. who was valentino fighting for that second place. who was he fighting for basically the entire race in a repeat of their dramatic duel the previous year. who was the third person on that podium, jorge. who was the defending champion when you were watching that race. jorge. WHO WAS IT

that being said, we do get one short bit in jorge's biography about his early impressions of casey. and it's just too good not to include here:

'The first time I saw Stoner was in the CEV, back in 2000,' recalls Jorge. 'We looked down the entry list and spotted this really young Australian, riding a Honda. Since there were two groups we were able to take a look at him from the control tower at Albacete. He was really fast but at the same time he looked out of control. He was running wide but he kept on the throttle, giving it full gas, the bike swerving all over the place. He is aggressive, very brave and extremely talented, and he rides without fear of crashing. Having said that I think he could get a little more out of what he is doing if he was a bit more lively - if he was more in touch with the fans. He's like Doohan in that respect, but he's happy that way and each to his own, I guess.'

young jorge looking at young casey and going ?? why isn't he working to build his CHARACTER to appeal to the FANS ?? is just so beautifully in-character for both of them

anyway, yeah, that was their early 2008 vibe. jorge being kinda confused by casey but also wanting to prove himself against the defending champion - not as much as he did against dani and valentino, but he was way warier of starting shit with valentino and would never ever have said something like the shanghai thing about him. and casey with plenty of resentment in his heart, maybe chafing at jorge's golden boy status and how everyone was falling over themselves to praise jorge, consistently reserved in his own assessment of jorge - first downplaying his chances and then suggesting jorge had basically been doing the bare minimum. it's pretty likely that jorge would not remember that shanghai press remark if you asked him about it today, but there is absolutely zero chance casey doesn't. and for all that their later relationship considerably warmed later on, in part due to a shared antipathy towards valentino, that's not the kind of thing casey ever quite forgets

MOVING ON to the big guns. now, look, we're not going to get into a full history of the dani/jorge rivalry, it'd take way too long. here is another jorge biography excerpt about the early bitchiness in 2005, you've got stuff in this post about how the rivalry fit into the context of the puig/amatriain rivalry, dani also featured heavily in the motegi 2005 controversy, plus there's that time in early 2006 when mr zero world championships said "I am better than pedrosa and time will judge if I am right or not" and "maybe my rivals are a little scared of me". again, this isn't a full chronology, but they already obviously disliked each other headed into 2008

it's this dynamic of two young athletes vying for the love of their nation... with dani reserved and businesslike and very much influenced by his mentor puig (see also the puig description in this post), coming up against jorge in all his loud-mouthed brashness who is gagging for attention from anyone willing to provide it. the worst thing dani could do was ignore jorge, which is what he was always inclined to do... and jorge unsurprisingly never reacted well

In fact, the constant comparisons with Pedrosa had occasionally got to him. 'Why does Dani Pedrosa, with his boy next door image, get such good press yet I don't?' he'd asked Miguel Angel Violan. 'He used to hate that,' remembers Violan. Juanito Llansa has his own views on the matter. 'Jorge and Dani Pedrosa are completely different. They are poles apart. Dani is cold, impassive, while Jorge is vivacious, sometimes too extroverted. The thing is that Pedrosa started winning before Jorge did and we [Spain] had been going through something of a drought in terms of titles, so people had started watching motorcycle racing again because of Pedrosa. Naturally, the fans had taken to Dani more. When Jorge emerged on the scene, and started winning too, people had got used to Dani's character and thought that Jorge was too cocky. But that's just the way he is! The fans already had their hero, but then somebody totally different came along. Now the fans had to be shared out between the two.'

^Excerpt from Riveras Tobia's 'Jorge Lorenzo: My Story So Far'

'boy next door image' hm

which is how we get to early 2008, where jorge starts off his premier class career by securing pole position. and then follows that up by beating (an injured) dani to second place in the race. at which point dani commits the grievous insult of not shaking jorge's hand (x)

So it came as no surprise that Lorenzo fanned the flames of old divisions this week, complaining bitterly to the Spanish daily AS.com that Pedrosa refused to congratulate him on the podium at Qatar. “I have no interest in causing controversy,” the Spaniard told AS.com, without a hint of irony, “but if I see something that’s wrong, I say it publicly, without hesitation. I don’t like the fact that he didn’t congratulate me, but each man must do what he thinks is right. If I’d been in his place, I would have congratulated a rider who had managed to finish in 2nd place in his first race. But then, I’m not Dani Pedrosa.”

'without a hint of irony' lol get him again

and here from the biography:

ER: Jorge, you were on the podium with Dani Pedrosa. Did you say anything to each other? Did you shake hands? JL: In Qatar everybody who saw me on the track - mechanics, riders and race officials - congratulated me on my performance. But Dani Pedrosa didn't. He didn't say a word to me, didn't look my way, didn't congratulate me. He didn't even wave or hold his hand out at the end of the race. ER: And do you think he was supposed to be congratulating you and not the other way round? JL: When somebody finishes their first MotoGP race on the podium, the least he can expect is a wave. I'm not talking about friendship, just a simple raised hand. It's a question of good manners. Everybody is responsible for what they say and do. If I was him I'd have been congratulating a rookie who finished second. Dani Pedrosa disappointed me.

dani DISAPPOINTED jorge :((

which is how you get to jerez 2008, second race of the season, and ofc the presser from which this clip stems

^Jerez 2008 pre-event press conference

by which point the qatar handshake thing had obviously become a big controversy. here, again from the biography:

A mere handshake had become a matter of national debate. Everybody had an opinion on the subject — and since Lorenzo was the only one prepared to speak publicly about it, with Pedrosa opting to state his case silently, Jorge bore the brunt of the pressure. Even members of his own team were telling, him to take the sting out of the situation as soon as possible, 'it always seemed that it had to be him who took the first step,' says Javi Ullate. 'I also made the mistake of thinking that it was down to him to sort it out. It was another unnecessary problem. It was a ridiculous situation, that wasn't getting anybody anywhere. I asked myself, if rivals can't greet each other, then how is it that Pedrosa can greet other riders? He is civil with Rossi and Stoner, but not with Lorenzo.

all this over a HANDSHAKE mind u

jorge once again secured pole position at jerez - but this time dani took the win well ahead of jorge, whose expected race pace had failed to materialise. jorge ended up finishing third behind valentino

which was obviously followed by the infamous moment where the spanish king forces the two of them to shake hands:

really fond of dani looking at his hand like it doesn't belong to him while jorge sucks at his lollipop

the pair of them have obviously discussed this moment in a great amount of detail since, which we're not going to cover in full. but just to give something closer to the time, here's more from jorge's biography:

'Yeah I'd do it again because I believe that it gives off a bad image when two riders from the same country, representing millions of people, can't get on. Trying to shake hands with Pedrosa isn't a bad thing. It is a good thing, for the sport and for the country. At the time I thought it was pretty unpleasant that he didn't want to shake my hand but it's not the biggest worry in my life. I would like our relationship to be cordial because we're both putting our lives at risk on the track, we're battling fairing to fairing and yes, it is good that there's a rivalry on the track, but off it we should be presenting a picture of the good sportsmen that we are. '

he goes on like this at length. SO committed to the image of it all, to being honourable, respectful competitors... he wants blood in his rivalry but also DIGNITY, man-to-man taking each other on in the heat of battle... again, a dozen films playing in his head, all of which are of extremely little interest to his irritable rivals

anyhow, it's a podium with fun awkward vibes. you've got dani and valentino palling around:

and jorge and dani existing in each other's vicinity:

just continually refusing to acknowledge in each other's presence

which gives us what I find a tragically ignored funny dani moment where he like?? visibly seems uncomfortable with the idea that he's only got jorge close to him before the podium photo, looks over to valentino (currently engaged in extensive shenanigans with the nearest camera), beckons him over, eyes fully glued on him as he makes it to the top step of the podium, leaves precisely fuck all space for jorge, at which point jorge physically pushes dani to the side a bit so that he can stand on the podium without in any way standing close to dani

I'm sorry but this is comical. why does nobody ever talk about this. what are they doing

and lastly we get to estoril, the final race before jorge goes on his injury spree. as stated up front, it's jorge's first win, leaving him tied with dani at the top of the standings. there's not any real CONTROVERSY here beyond the continuation of the general wretched vibes. this time it's dani who looks like he's been force fed half a dozen lemons while jorge is enjoying life to the fullest

and valentino remains proudly committed to Just Vibing

but this race had to get a mention primarily for the follow-up to the jerez podium photo. where valentino is once again the last to stop faffing about, which unfortunately leaves him in a bit of an awkward position when he realises jorge and dani are standing like. a metre apart. and just ends up having to get very close to jorge to make it work. which gives us a very evenly placed podium photo

the beauties of third-wheeling a feud. finally valentino too gets to experience having to navigate two people who loathe each other

anyway! that's your lot. one little baby rookie who has many of his rivals wanting to strangle him after four race weekends. 'flamboyant' 'arrogant' whatever you want to call him... but. y'know. I am obviously a little bit of a jorge lorenzo defender for this time period, and not just because I feel very strongly that he needed a responsible adult in his life and maybe also a hug. dani could have shaken his hand!! casey could have been a bit more chill!! valentino could have spoken more than two words to him!! but that's the fun of it... jorge was annoying, so were his rivals, what a great constellation of irritating blokes. just this little brat rocking up to the premier class and immediately making an impact by pissing off everyone around him. really spiced up the early 2008 season too, gave everyone something to talk about before valentino got back into the plotting and scheming business. we thank jorge for his service

#see this is the kind of post where in retrospect i feel like i should have split it up #but i only had that realisation when i was so deep into the dani section that i was like. fuck it. whatever #idk i do think sometimes it's important to engage with a TIME PERIOD and the VIBES from several different angles #rather than just the individual relationships as if they're cut off from the entire network of *gestures* what they had going on #like the casey thing is funny but it's even funnier when you remember there was a guy who found jorge even MORE aggravating #also the early vibe of the jorge/valentino rivalry really has an extra special something when you remember that contrary to expectations -#- that was really really not where the tension was coming from during that stretch #valentino focusing on spiritually communing with the bridgestones while he lets his baby teammate handle the drama quotient #//#brr brr #alien tag #batsplat responds

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theomnicode · 1 year ago

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Spirit of heroism

We see many types of heroism in the latest chapter, some of which are not so clear. The most obvious type of heroism displayed is defeating monsters so they do not cause chaos. Saitama is most apt in this type of heroism, defeating enemies with one punch.

Another type of heroism is recognizing what is right and wrong. Mad devil yankee used to be a delinquent, but he's shaped up to be a decent lad. Gambling on hero lives and rigging the matches is like OPM version of squid game and he calls it out as it is.

The worst part is that despite idolizing Mumen rider, Mad devil Yankee does not see himself gain any support nor see himself in the same light as the hero he wants to become, despite showing his heroism in more than one way. Instead he's blackmailed into doing what he believes is wrong.

(sheesh, that's a heartbreaker)

He became a hero so he could get his mom into the Hero hospital with the benefits of being a hero, a very noble deed. Being a hero is not an easy job and he's already risen up to B-rank. Shame someone like McCoy got wind of this and pushed him into partaking one of his games.

It is one thing to face against the evil, knowing you cannot win with full support of the populace on your back, than knowing you have zero support while partaking in morally ambiguous sport of kicking down overgrown, experimented on chihuahua monster who feels threathened enough to strike back. He knows this, yet he has to stand and fight back.

I sure do feel bad for this guy but I also feel bad for the monster who had to be put down like a rabid dog it was, because of schemers like McCoy.

Saitama fortunately comes to save the day and puts the monster out of it's misery.

Another type of standing up for the spirit of heroism is when Child emperor shows up. He wants to make sure that the dark roots of the association are dug up and cleaned up and he stops McCoy on his tracks and makes sure that the credit goes to the actual hero who defeated the monster. Credit goes where credit is due and Saitama rises in ranks from 39 to 29. He's sincere when he says he also feels bad when he doubted Genos before.

(McCoy keeps taking L's haha, sucker)

Moving onwards, in a most classical Mumen rider style, he performs his heroism by taking Mad devil yankee to the hospital on his bike. But he's more than just his actions of standing up against evil villains and being spiritually very heroic, doing what is right despite the odds and always in the thick of things making sure people get out alright.

(Mumen is such a nice guy, you gotta love mumen)

Pick-me-up for the people who really need encouragement is also in the spirit of heroism that Satoru is known for.

Words can be wielded just as any weapon or in this case, ointment for the wounds in Yankee's own spirit of heroism that suffered a major blow in thinking losing his life was the divine punishment for his wrong-doings.

Lastly but not least, we have Saitama but not in the way you think.

It is one thing to keep punching things in classic Saitama fashion and be very heroic in doing so, saving people in the nick of time like so:

(We love it when Saitama suddenly just appears to punch the monster)

It's another to go against your own desires, depression and lack of wealth when offered easy money by gambling and coming out on top against the temptations of the dark side of Hero association squid game. And recognicing the dangers of potential root for addiction such as gambling when depressed and when short on money.

Saitama embodies the spirit of heroism of the self in this chapter, by overcoming the temptations and doing what is right instead and not gambling for easy money. He's one of the few heroes who could even catch Formula 1 car by foot.

The temptation to join the illegal gambling because the odds are stacked against him is massively high and he could easily get bucks by betting on himself, but he chooses not to and stays on the good side. It is not the last time Saitama's moral compass is seriously being tested with money and will not be the last time.

A hero of his own life, so to speak.

(bets it was a fake jewel anyway and not worth much, with his luck)

He's not a hero for the money or the fame, he's just a hero so he can help people like this poor lady whos purse got snatched.

All the needs is a thank you, so he can get the sense of accomplishment from doing a good job.

(Ironically, the only one who got "divine punishment" in this chapter was probably McCoy)

#opm #one punch man #opm meta #mad devil yankee #saitama #child emperor #mumen rider #mccoy #heroism #long

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letapollojusticesayfuck · 1 year ago

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@buried-stars oops

Crossing That Bridge When We Come To It (or, there must have been worse dates)

Apollo Justice doesn't go on dates, not really. For one, he hasn't really had the time. Pushing yourself through law school and working various minimum-wage jobs on the side so you have the money to push yourself through law school doesn't exactly lead to much time for leisure. He also just can't imagine what you're supposed to do on a date. Sure, there's all the movie staples of going to a restaurant, going to the movies, getting coffee...but Apollo can't quite piece together how any of that is supposed to lead to a definitive decision to be in a relationship.

This is why, when Klavier Gavin had asked, quite offhandedly, if he'd like to go on a stroll around People Park and get some food afterwards, "as a date, ja?", Apollo had been startled enough to automatically agree. It was only around ten minutes later, once he'd finished packing up his briefcase and organizing his post-trial paperwork, that he'd realized exactly what he'd agreed to.

Trucy had, of course, utilized her impeccable sense of comedic timing to get a photo of his oh shit I said I'd do what? face.

Now, five minutes before he's supposed to head out the door, Apollo steels his nerve and takes several deep breaths and prepares to reassure himself in the customary way---

Knock, knock

Thrown off-balance, Apollo lets out a startled yelp and grasps at whatever's closest that he might theoretically be able to use as a weapon against whoever's decided to show up on his doorstep. He's gotten a little more paranoid since law school--especially with everything his first few real cases entailed.

He cautiously opens the door, cursing once again the lack of any sort of peephole. Apollo's prepared for a sales pitch, for a pair of missionaries, for anything, almost.

He's not prepared for the person outside his door to be Klavier Gavin, looking cool and casual but dressed just noticeably nicer than usual.

Apollo curses under his breath. He'd thought he would have more time before he'd have to contend with a date-ready celebrity prosecutor!

"Hallo, Apollo! I know we agreed to meet at the park, but as I was driving over I remembered that your apartment is right on the way, and thought I would offer a ride!" Klavier grins, all perfect teeth and camera-ready enthusiasm. Apollo bets he's been on plenty of dates.

"Uhhh..." he manages. Come on, get it together! "Sure. That would be...cool."

Wow, great job, idiot.

"Fantastich! Then let's be off, into the sunset!" Klavier wraps his hand around Apollo's wrist and pulls him out of his apartment. He's just about able to grab his wallet and keys from his side table, but leaves his phone behind completely.

"So, you said you drove here?" he asks, to make conversation. Klavier busies himself with extracting a set of keys from his pocket as they descend Apollo's apartment building steps.

"I did--I live slightly too far from the center of town to be able to walk. Fortunately, that means you'll be able to experience the wind in your hair the way I do every day!"

Apollo's still processing that statement when his eyes land on the motorcycle.

"Oh--your bike? I'm not sure...maybe I'd better walk." Backpedaling this quickly into a date probably wasn't the done thing, but Apollo's trying hard to ignore the fear bubbling in his stomach at the idea of something that goes at highway speeds but offers about as much protection as his own bicycle.

"We all have to face our fears eventually, Herr Forehead. And I was exaggerating about the wind in your hair. It'll all be under my spare helmet." Klavier's reached the bike now, rummaging around in a storage compartment Apollo hadn't even noticed. He tosses a sturdy helmet to Apollo, who catches it on instinct.

"If I thought you would be in any way unsafe, I would not offer," Klavier says gently, meeting Apollo's eyes. "But if you're truly uncomfortable, we can walk from here."

Apollo bites at the inside of his cheeks, then takes a deep breath. He looks at the bike. He looks at Klavier.

"No, I'll...I want to try it. I know the bike's important to you."

Klavier's true smile lights up his face in the way that his rehearsed, stage-face smile doesn't.

"Then climb on, and we'll be away!"

---

The ride isn't as bad as Apollo had expected it to be. Klavier sticks studiously to the speed limit all the way to People Park, and he's an almost frustratingly careful driver. By the time they're climbing off the bike at the familiar gateway to the park, Apollo's almost complaining about the ride not being exciting enough.

Furthermore, he's discovered that Klavier's opinions on pizza toppings are just entirely wrong, and that's given them something to talk about, falling back into familiar patterns as they wander through the location of their first crime scene together.

"You can't seriously be advocating for pineapple on pizza. That's more of a crime than anything we've seen in court."

"Ach, and here I thought you were a man of taste! It's senseless to rehash this debate, it's been had for as long as people have had access to pineapples and pizza at the same time."

"Okay, but consider: you're wrong about that and about sweetcorn as a pizza topping."

"It's a classic!"

Apollo scowls. "Where?"

"Germany, of course." Klavier's boots scuff the gravel path, and he turns towards the small stream that divides the park in two. There's an ornamental bridge linking the sides, and they step onto the red-painted wood together.

"I don't believe you. As a matter of fact, I don't believe you're even German! I think it's all just a publicity stunt!" Apollo knows he's being inflammatory, but he can't help it. Something about being with Klavier brings out a need to debate everything he says.

"Objection!" Klavier shouts, on instinct, flinging his arm out--and everything goes downhill from there.

Specifically, everything goes down--Klavier's arm collides with Apollo, who's mid-step, halfway across the bridge. Already off-balance, Klavier's accidental shove is all that Apollo needs to go tumbling over the low bridge railing and to land, ass-first, in the water.

There's a few seconds where they just look at each other, frozen in various states of shock. Klavier's mouth is hanging open in comical surprise, and Apollo's hair drips into his vision. He's not hurt, the drop was far too small for that--but he's soaking up the decorative river and attracting attention from the koi who call the water home.

Then, as though a switch has been flipped, they spring into motion. Klavier jumps down into the water, too, his boots causing a secondary splash that just soaks Apollo more. Apollo starts to laugh, incredulously, unable to believe that this is actually happening. Even as Klavier helps him up and steers him back to dry land, Apollo feels like he's in a dream.

It takes a little while before he notices that Klavier's spewing a stream of apologies and asking after his wellbeing. Apollo's been preoccupied with wringing out his hoodie and lamenting the state of his second-best pair of jeans, but he grabs Klavier's arm as he tries to fuss over him, and tries to reassure him the best he can.

"Klavier! It's fine. Yeah, I'm kind of annoyed, but honestly, seeing how guilty you looked right after I fell in pretty much made up for it."

Klavier frowns deeply. "So you're saying that you're glad I feel bad about pushing you in?"

"No!" Apollo sighs. "I've just...never seen you not be completely put together and composed. It was kind of reassuring that you can be caught off-guard by something too."

"Oh," says Klavier. "But, Apollo...surely you knew I was worried that I'd do something to screw this up spectacularly from the start?"

"You were what?" Apollo thinks back on the past couple hours. Yeah, maybe he'd noticed that Klavier's smiles were a little strained, that he'd had a spare second helmet ready to take Apollo on his bike despite supposedly being 'on the way' to the park...but Apollo himself had been too preoccupied with trying to anticipate what the date would be like to notice.

"I was nervous! Practically trembling! Ja, I've been on a few dates before, but I didn't want to do something to scare you, specifically, away."

"...huh," Apollo remarks. Then he takes the scene in again: him, soaking wet up past his waist; Klavier, his custom black boots mud-splattered and his ripped black jeans sodden, the audience of koifish and bemused park patrons wandering by.

"Guess that ship's sailed, then. I don't know of anything worse that could happen besides being accidentally pushed off of a bridge."

Klavier winces. "I didn't mean it! I was simply a little too caught up in our debate."

"Let's cut our losses and skip the 'going out for food' part of this date, if you don't mind? I can't imagine anyone would let us in their restaurant looking like this."

"Ja..." Klavier says, wincing. He sounds as dejected as he'll let himself be. "Let me at least drive you home, schatz. To make up for the...pushing."

Apollo's mind is still whirring, though, because this isn't how he'd wanted this to end either. He'd been having a good time up until this point--surely there must be something he could do to fix this.

Unless...

"Sure, I'll let you drive me home. But...do you want to stay and have dinner with me? I can't promise anything fancy, but there's a good handful of takeout places around."

The difference in Klavier's expression is staggering--and for the second time today, Apollo sees his genuine smile come through, and realizes why so many people want to kiss this man.

He just hopes that Klavier will let him get the opportunity to do so before he pushes him in any more rivers.

#lucy's thoughts #OOPS #my writing #klapollo #ace attorney #klapollo fanfic #how long is this. i didn't check. i wrote it all in tumblr #guess this'll be coming to ao3 at some point #this was supposed to be short #shorter than this

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thecoolerlucky · 5 months ago

Text

I Got Roped Into Being A Hero

Chapter 1: Kidnapped by The Hero

Contents (Warnings/Mild spoilers): Introducing Matchbook and how he became a sidekick to one of the strongest hero in the world.

Wordcount: 3,300+

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Some believed everyone's sudden gain in unique powers or features was due to the next step in evolution. Others said it was a crazy attempt at making a zombie apocalypse. The work of gods, a meteor that changed their biology, or the results of a secret alien invasion.

No one really had an answer. As far as everyone knew, it just happened.

It sent the world into chaos, and it took a long time for it to be calm again. Not that it was without turmoil, but they had systems in place for that. All mighty heroes watching over the cities all over the world, helping take down those that decided to use their powers against the less fortunate like...

"Hey, Match, can you give me a light before you go?" The grungy, pot bellied guy with a toucan head said as he wiggled the cigar in front of him.

You can't even use them right.

"Sure," Matchbook sighed as he let go of the sandwich shop's back door. The heavy weight of it slammed it shut behind him.

He put his fingers together and in a single snap they created a flame atop his middle finger. He offered it to Little Oscar's cancer stick.

Little Oscar chortled the best he could and lifted his cigar to meet it. "I get it, you hate me asking." He jested, poking fun at the lad.

"It's the easiest finger to light," he explained and saw himself explaining hundreds of more times in the future.

After Little Oscar lit it and nodded gratefully, holding it between his beak, Matchbook left.

He shook his hand to put out the tiny flame. He couldn't make flames bigger than that of a match hence the nickname he had since elementary school.

He wasn't as gifted as his parents or sister. His mom was a fire manipulator and conjurer, while his dad could heal from injuries at a near instantaneous rate. And his little sister was a fire breather.

She created sparks much like their mom, except in her mouth. They learned this when she accidentally sneezed as a kid and set Matchbook on fire.

On the same day, he learned he was immune to heat, just like his mom and sister.

He kicked up a pebble as he strode the sidewalk. He struck it as much as he could on his way home, avoiding the construction specialist setup repairing a damaged city block from a recent villain attack. Most people didn't have too many powerful abilities, but those that did didn't hesitate to make a mess.

He lost the poor pebble on the way when he kicked it into the fresh and still drying cement. He picked up his pace after that.

It was a long hour walk before he saw his apartment in the distance. If I still had my bike I'd get home so much faster. He recently lost it during a jelly Villain attack and the collateral claim had yet to go through for a replacement. I should move closer.

Matchbook worked at that shop for a year and enjoyed the mundane task of making sandwiches. It made it easy and gave him time to think about-

"HEY!" A feminine voice shouted far behind him.

He thought about looking back until a nearby RuuMmbBBleEe of the destruction told him to head home instead. He subtly picked up the pace. I'm not getting caught outside during a fight.

"HEY, SIR!"

Sir. I'm barely 22. He pretended he didn't hear them but they were getting closer. He wasn't good at power walking. I can't break out into a full sprint.

A hand firmly gripped Match's left arm to seize his motion.

Oh great. He turned around, holding a forced friendly half smile like he wasn't trying to ignore them a second ago.

“Oh sorry, I didn't…” He trailed off.

She let out an exasperated huff in front of him and hunched over to catch her breath. The parts of her blond bob cut hair that didn’t stick to her face from sweat fell forward as she did.

It wasn't that hot outside, it was a crisp cool sixty degrees, with a light breeze through the buildings. Has she been chasing me for a while? I didn't hear her.

His eyes drifted to the notepad in her one hand, and as she lifted her head, she smiled. Her glimmering determination reminded him of his little sister.

“Are you alright?”

She nodded, stood up straight, and adjusted her white blouse. “Yes, sorry, sir.” Do I really look that old? You look the same age as me! “I’ve been chasing The Hero around all day, and lost him, have you seen him?”

“Which one?” He mentally kicked himself when he asked. Why did I ask which one? I hadn’t seen a hero all day.

She pinched the bridge of her nose and shook her head, “this always happens. Why did he pick such a vapid name?” She removed her hand from her nose, “The Hero is his superhero name.” Matchbook heard the hint of disdain for that hero's name. Although he recognized it, he didn't keep track of any other hero's besides his mother and sister.

She rolled up her sleeves, unintentionally drawing his attention to her forearms. He took note of her muscles. More defined than I ever had. She’s in pretty good shape for a journalist? If that’s what she is.

He guessed by her question and notepad.

“He's one of the strongest heroes in the world, the one who..." she curled her fist, and much like an elderly man complaining about his lawn, shook it at the sky. "Somehow has a backstory that can’t be traced back past surface level research. A person born with a power like him would have been talked about for years, glorified in the media, but it’s like he appeared out of thin air."

She continued her spiel and Matchbook bobbed his head, trying to think of the best way to get out of this conversation. He didn’t know this woman, he barely said a sentence to her and she explained all the inconsistencies with The Hero’s story. I’m not big into hero scandals.

Regardless, Matchbook politely replied. "It sounds like you have a vendetta against him." I want to go home and relax, no matter how nice you seem.

"I do." She held up her notepad, "I have been chasing that idiot all over the city! So again, have you-" There was another loud bang, and turning back, the two could see the furrow of smoke not that far away. "seen him…?"

He glanced back at her. She looked ready to run toward it.

She's going to get herself hurt. He tugged her attention back, "I haven't, but by the sounds of it, if you don’t live nearby you should get to a shelter.” He noticed the few people on the streets were doing just that. There wasn't one that far from his apartment.

"No way, it might be linked to the hero!" If she’s willing to run into danger, she probably has a power to back herself up.

He lifted his hand and the next eruption stole his chance to say goodbye. On the fifth floor, overhead, an object crashed straight through the building and partially into the one next to it. They both instinctually ducked at the noise, Matchbook covered his head and saw whatever the object was, it brought some of the second wall down with it and landed in the alley a little bit further back from where they currently stood.

The woman’s arm whipped up and grabbed at his shirt. She got him by his uniform and yanked him into her. She threw them both back. Neither of them fell, only stumbled as a few pieces of the apartment came down. They fell into the sidewalk where he once stood, exploding into dust upon impact near his shoes.

That wouldn’t have been a fun trip to the hospital.

The streets were empty, everyone either got home or went to a shelter. He looked up, seeing that was his apartment. So, unfortunately, he didn't have a room to hide in. He ran around her, expecting to hear her steps behind him. She didn’t follow.

You gotta be kidding me. “Lady, we should get to a shelter! If there’s a villain we can get hurt!” He wasn’t quite running yet—he was slowly moving toward the direction of the shelter a few blocks away.

She ignored him. She went toward the alley. What is she doing!

He followed her. His objective was to pull her like she did him.

Matchbook barely caught her whisper. “Which hero is that?”

He felt his eyes drawn to the entity standing there. The man was in a luchador wrestling outfit, adorned with a sparkling cape. Though, Matchbook tore his eyes away as it looked very very ‘form fitting’ bright red suit. That's a colorful outfit, he's probably some hero?

The man smiled, leaned at them, and threw himself forward and into the woman. Matchbook couldn’t track the speed he moved. Nor did Match move fast enough to get out of the girl's way when she went to dodge.

The man got the woman with both of his meaty hands. He squeezed at her waist and she ordered him to let her go. His muscles and body looked to swell the longer he held her. His uniform threatened to tear at the seams.

He cackled as he shook her like a toy. “You're gonna be my little hostage.”

What should I do? I can't fight him, he's huge. He was bigger than most body builders, muscles the size of Matchbook's head.

When he got close enough to her face, she threw a punch. It connected with his nose, making him coil back and cuss.

She whined as he squeezed tighter.

He might kill her. Matchbook thought, his heart pounded in his head, along with a giant whistle from farther behind him. What if it's another Villain? He didn't want to turn around and find out.

I don't know her. He heard the woman whine out again as the man laughed, ignoring Matchbook's pathetic presence completely.

He threw himself forward, snapping the fingers on his right hand, and moved his tiny flame near the villain's cape. It didn't take long for it to catch fire.

He jumped back and shouted, "OH NO, Your cape's on fire!"

The fire spread faster than Matchbook expected, bringing that man's attention off the woman. She took her opportunity while being dropped to hit the hulking guy with a firm blow to his crotch.

The man hollered, weakly undoing his cape from the ground.

The whistling behind Matchbook got louder, he ran to her and got her arm. “Come on!”

She followed his tugging and the two could hear the villain getting up. “YOU BRATS!” He shouted.

His feet pounded against the street like he grew with their fear, or at least Matchbooks.

“TO YOUR RIGHT!” A voice yelled.

They ducked to the left as another being slammed into the paved streets. His palms collided with it first and he ran on his hands for a few extra feet, making humongous hawk wings that protruded from his bare back melted quickly and rejoined his flesh. The helmet clad, muscle ripped individual threw himself up and into a standing position.

He stood much taller than the average hero, more the size of a villain. He dusted himself off, unscathed after his theatrical landing. He pressed a button on the side of his visor, staring directly at the woman and Matchbook, as them and the Villain were motionless during the escapade. His eyes were a vibrant, shimmering purple with meshes of pink.

He walked calmly to them.

“Are you two citizens, alright?” His voice carried the same sweet sincerity as a grandmother who happily overfed her grandchildren.

Match nodded.

"The Hero! I need to talk to you." She declared, forgetting about the trouble behind them. Not that Matchbook was any better.

The villain snapped out of his trance. Matchbook didn’t look back in time for the hunched man to hook his arm around his neck. He brought him up, “you stay back or I’ll kill him,” He flexed his much smaller muscles. Dangled up, unable to move out of fear that the grip would crush his windpipe, he felt small and helpless.

The Hero put up his hands and didn’t move. “Put him down.” He advised, keeping his eyes tracked on Match. I gotta do something.

Matchbook snapped his fingers again and put the flame to the man’s arm. He had never used it against someone like this, but he didn’t see much choice. The man cried out, dropped him, and the Hero snatched Matchbook up and brought him to the woman.

“Is your throat okay?”

Once Matchbook was safely on the ground, he rubbed it. “I’m okay.” He was lucky the Villain didn’t put too much pressure on it.

The Hero sighed with relief, “good. Now, you two, stay back.” His eyes shifted, though his head barely turned. His pupils looked to expand as they twisted in the villains direction. “I’ll handle the villain.” The tonal shift made him jump.

The Hero’s face rose in a smile, revealing sharp incisors that Match didn’t see before. The wrestler, or villain dressed as one looked thinner. Matchbook didn’t know if it was because he was being compared to the Hero, or because of something with his ability.

“You destroyed property, attempted robbery, and threatened a civilian’s life.” The Hero’s voice boomed, silencing everyone's hearts and breath. His statement was followed by an air vibrating laughter.

It knocked the man on his butt. His muscles were reduced so much that he looked like he had been starving for two weeks in the tundra.

“I’m sorry- I’ll g-go quietly.”

The Hero grabbed his helmet, he tossed it off. It bounced on the floor like a toy as his own size increased. His white hair flourished in the open.

“You’ll go quietly?” The Hero mocked as he swayed like a drunkard.

The fear-stricken villain tried to rise to his feet, he bumbled to stand.

The Hero stood over him, crouched down to grab him. He got the villain picking him up with one hand, wrapping it around his waist.

“They’re never quiet.”

The villain pushed desperately at his hand as the steadily growing Hero brought him close to his head.

Matchbook’s eyes couldn't look away when The Hero's mouth opened wide. It made the villain frantically yell, and it was quickly silenced by The Hero's tongue at his face. It partially coiled around the man's head before bringing him inside his maw.

Matchbook’s mind was blank. He could only watch The Hero swallow down the villain, his throat expanding as he did, and what was left outside flailing helplessly in the air.

The act disturbingly reminded him of a nature film, where a snake slowly, surely, and efficiently gulped down its prey.

Except this man was very much alive. He kept struggling even though he was pretty much fully inside him.

Match didn't know how long he watched. It felt prolonged but in reality it took a minute. The last bit of the villain vanished and The Hero exhaled into the air afterward.

The Hero’s previous devilish demeanor dropped and he smiled, childishly. He glanced down at his middle, "Secured.” He said a loud, while his midsection was lively from the movement within it. “Calm down, Villain, I'll take you in soon."

Villains eat people. Not Heroes. Matchbook thought still awestruck by disbelief.

His shoulders then rose when he saw The Hero was walking to him again.

The woman's voice, slightly perturbed, but determined to talk to him rushed forward, "YOU'RE GOING TO ANSWER MY QUESTIONS THIS TIME!" She bravely stomped to him, disregarding the massive height difference between them now. She barely came up to his knee, if at all.

She got within a few feet of him, so his stomach wouldn't obscure either of them from seeing the other. How can she even talk to him like that? Did she not see him eat someone? Does she not see the human-like shape inside him?

Matchbook took the opportunity to start walking backward from the madness.

The Hero put up his hands, as if she held power over him and his smile wavered anxiously. “I think you have mistaken me for someone else…” He poked at his stomach, “and even if I was the right one, I need to finish talking to my sidekick and get this criminal to the authorities.”

“Sidekick?”

The Hero looked over at Matchbook and so did the woman, he froze once they did. Why are they looking at me? Why is The Hero looking at me!

Matchbook hunched inward, afraid of the approach. He stumbled over the curve and The Hero loomed over him. He dropped into a squat, used to the moving weight, and harmlessly smiled at Match.

They were nearly level with one another—it didn't stop Matchbook's eyes from continuing to trail away from his face.

“I saw your heroics while I was overhead trying to find this dastardly Villain.” Matchbook didn't need The Hero to gesture anything. “You did great.”

His hand reached out to pat Match’s head. The best he could do was tap it with his finger tips. “Are you another hero’s sidekick in training?”

He heard his question, his attention was too drawn to the woman who willingly tugged at the pant leg of his stretchy costume. Why is she okay with this? It’s not like he hadn’t heard about another person getting eaten but never had he seen it outside of shows.

“HELLO?” The Hero waved his giant hand before Match’s face. “You didn’t get hurt did you?”

The concern shoved Matchbook from his thoughts. “N-no.” His brain processed everything that had been said. “To both questions.”

The Hero’s hands slammed onto the ground, eagerly. “That’s perfect!” His hand came up and grabbed Matchbook before he could react. “I’m in desperate need of a new sidekick!” The Hero, leaving little room for Match to rebuttal, threw him over his shoulder and held his hand over him securely.

What is he doing?! Matchbook could barely wheeze out a, “huh,” as the ground was farther from him.

“Don’t you dare run off again!” She said, as The Hero hunched back down, his body tensing as he did.

“Now, citizen, please stand back.”

The Hero nudged her with his leg and she complained further. “Quit it!”

Matchbook’s vocabulary returned, “Hold on, I didn’t agree to be your-” The next thing he knew, the air was knocked out of him as they shot upward. Matchbook couldn’t hold in his scream as the contents of his lunch threatened to come back up.

He sealed his lips, still held and feeling the incredible force against his body. His eyes, barely open, saw the beautiful city they flew over. Something he would have admired if he was looking at it through a computer screen on the GROUND.

He squeezed his eyes shut tight, clutching as hard as he could into The Hero’s flesh. Please, please, PLEASE put me down nicely!

The wind whistling fast past his eardrums slowly dissipated and he finally heard The Hero’s voice. “Whoops, I overshot the docks again!”

He opened his eyes, squinting, as they were across the water. The docks were in the distance and they were flying much slower now.

“Just fly us back there! You have wings!” Matchbook whimpered, still clutching what he could.

The Hero laughed, “Ha, you’re right!” Then the force shifted and Matchbook felt his body being pulled upward, away from him as they were falling. “How do I do that again?”

“WHAT!” Matchbook shouted. They were rapidly approaching the water.

The Hero twisted himself and Matchbook in the air, He swung Matchbook in front of him, pushed him with whatever force he could, and got his back ready to strike the water.

And the last thing Match saw before they struck was The Hero mouthing the word, ‘sorry’.

…

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed!

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I Got Roped Into Being A Hero!

#superhero stories #writeblr #fiction writing #story writing #fantasy story #creative writing #writers on tumblr #writing #writers

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