#this is in 1989 not long after they met

[leahaart]

Soon after his escape, Edwin starts to learn about the things he’s missed.

[gojonanami]

𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘 𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐄 - 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎

summary: it's gojo's birthday, and he can't help but reflect on what birthdays have meant to him over the years, especially the year you decide you don't really want to do anything for his birthday (but it turns out you do).

contents: angst then fluff, i promise there's a happy ending, you just have to earn it, shibuya does not happen in this timeline, instead we celebrate gojo, slightly angsty, reflections on events of jjk 0, crack, all of gojo's students (aside yuta and hakari and rirara make an appearance), mentions of sex/pregnancy, innuendo

word count: 2,821

December 7, 1989. 

A day that had changed the balance of the jujutsu world irrevocably — the day Satoru Gojo had burst onto the scene. 

But to Satoru, the anniversary of that day had meant nothing to him for most of his life. It was another day in the calendar — the caretakers from the Gojo clan cared not for his birthday, as they did his development as the head and face of the Gojo clan. He had received the best of everything — the best foods, the best training, the best room in the compound. 

At least, the strongest sorcerer had. 

Satoru Gojo had barely received anything more than reverent bows, averted gazes, and hushed whispers — and he saw them all, with the six eyes he never had asked for. And Satoru Gojo had grown up without affection or anything of the sort — to the point where he had thought he was simply beyond that — love, compassion, or friendship — no, the only thing he had was duty. 

And birthdays only served as a marker that he had lived another year. 

Until they meant something more — when he had met Suguru, Shoko, and you. And then it had meant something for a little while. It meant a celebration with his friends — with a cake that you and Suguru had hastily made after a mission, while Shoko hung decorations (with the help of one of Suguru’s curses reaching the high points). It had meant forcing Nanami to wear a party hat against his will (Shoko and Haibara’s doing), and Satoru inevitably smearing cake on your face to start an all out food fight (which only ended with Satoru getting scolded and smacked on the head by Yaga, even on his birthday). And it meant you, Suguru, and Shoko giving him his first real birthday present — something he had never received in fifteen years of living. It meant something more. 

Until it didn’t, again. 

Because, now, it was another year he had spent without his best friend. Another year he watched other sorcerers die. Another year he had to spend apart from you and Shoko because you or he had been sent on missions while Shoko was stuck in the infirmary or the morgue. 

And now, this year it was the first time he had a birthday that Suguru wouldn’t age. He would never age again. He would stay 28 forever, and Satoru — he didn’t know what age he’d turn. He hoped he would die before old age or disease took him — he rather not live long enough for that. Although you and Suguru always joked that he would be even better looking as an old man. 

But all Satoru could think about was growing old alone — without anyone else around him. He was the strongest after all, how could anyone else survive? People around him were killed off one by one — and he was left all alone. And maybe that’s why he didn’t like birthdays — it was just another year, another year older — another year marking who had left him. 

And so many did. 

And how many birthdays would pass until he lost another? Would it be one of his students? Would it be Nanami? Would it be Shoko? Would it be you? 

You…you were someone he couldn’t bear to lose. He had already lost you once. Pushed you away after Geto defected, pushed himself into work until he was burnt out, and pushed away any thoughts that he had of you. It didn’t last. It wasn’t a year until you had battered at his walls and his actual door, forcing your way back into his life. 

And he was thankful you did, because he didn’t know if he would have found his way out of the hole he had dug himself in — before the dirt covered and buried him. 

You — you would never let his birthday go. You never let him go a year without making him feel special, in one way or another. Last year, you had baked him his favorite cake, took him on a trip to a hot spring, and made arrangements to make sure the two of you weren’t disturbed the entire weekend (which was a feat of miracles on par with his six eyes and limitless itself). 

“C’mon, just tell meeeee,” 

And the strongest sorcerer’s snatching your gradebook out of your hand for the millionth time, and you surely look unamused, brow knit together, as you rub your temples, “You know living with you is worse than a child,” 

“Wanna test your theory? I could fill you up right now and nine months—” 

“I’m going to murder you,” and he only shrugs, all too smug. 

“You’d miss me too much,” and he adds, “plus I know you’re strong, but you couldn’t—” 

“Finish that sentence and you’re sleeping on the couch all week, I don’t care if it is your birthday tomorrow,” and he meets your gaze, and you’re unwavering, as he sighs, and hands over your grade book. 

“We really aren’t doing anything?” your husband asks, raising a single eyebrow curiously, “you always have something up your sleeve, sweetheart,” 

You frown, setting your grade book aside, “I just thought with everything going on — Yuji’s appearance, the special grades running around — I don’t think we should be away right now, and I thought we could do something small, just you and me,” 

He nods slowly, a smile shoddily crafted and pasted on his lips, “Yeah, bet if I leave, the higher ups may try to pull something on Yuji,” he sighs dramatically, leaning his head back on the couch, “what a curse to be the strongest,” 

“Heavy is the head that wears the crown,” you press a kiss to his forehead, “you sure you’re okay with not doing anything?” 

“Of course,” he finds your lips in a kiss.  

But why wasn’t he? 

He wasn’t one to care for things like this. He thought he was beyond caring about things like this. But all he could feel was the festering urge of disappointment seeping into his thoughts. Even the next day, the universe seemed to be against him, sent on a wild goose chase mission to hunt down a supposed special grade only to find two grade A curses that he took care of with ease. 

He trodded back home to you — lips still in a pout that he couldn’t even enjoy his morning with you on his birthday. He didn’t even get to enjoy cuddling with you — woken up to travel across the country to deal with some curses he didn’t need to handle. 

It didn’t used to be like this — sent off to do missions alone. Again and again. Heavy was the head that bore the crown, but no one had mentioned how lonely it was. Lonely even surrounded by those who tried to understand him — and he had you, he had you, but how could anyone truly see him for who he was — when he didn’t feel like he knew who he was anymore. Suguru’s question still rang in his ears — was he the strongest because he was Gojo Satoru, or was he Gojo Satoru because he was the strongest? 

And all these years later, he still didn’t know the answer. He didn’t know if he would ever know the answer. 

But he didn’t have time to linger on his thoughts as he spotted his home in the distance, but that wasn’t all he saw — there was a lot more cursed energy at home than usual — multiple people in his home, and his lips curled. 

He sneaks up, diminishing his presence to nothing, as he pressed his ear to the door, and he could hear them — 

“Too high, Itadori, lower!” Nobara barked, and Yuuji groaned, “come on, how long is it gonna take you to do this?” 

“Then why don’t you get up here and do it?” he snaps back, and Nobara scoffs. 

“I’m supervising, that’s why,” 

“EH? Who else are you supervising besides me?” 

“Stop messing around you two, and get the banner hung,” Megumi sighs, and Satoru could imagine him scowling, “Inumaki-senpai, do you need more balloons?” 

“Salmon,” 

“Maki, hurry up with cutting those strawberries, Nanami is almost done frosting the cake,” Satoru could hear Panda chewing and then a distinct THUNCK. 

“THEN STOP EATING THEM YOU DAMN ANIMAL!” 

“Alright, alright, stop fighting guys,” Satoru heard you sigh, “Nanami, I hope the frosting and cakes I baked were decent — I followed the recipe you gave me to a tee,” 

“You did a good job from what I could tell, but I’m pretty sure you could feed that idiot a plain cup of sugar, and he’d like it just the same,” and Satoru pouts, hearing Shoko laugh as well. 

“Especially if it’s from you,” Shoko teases you, as you scoff playfully, “can’t believe you two got married still — won’t be long until there are little Gojos running around, if Satoru has his way, with the way he’s been railing you,”

“Can we change the subject?” Nanami asks, disgust evident. 

You only chuckle, “Well, he’s insisted that we start trying once things settle down, saying it never hurts to practice, but—” and then your phone chimes, “Yaga said Toru’s on his way back for a while, he should be close.” 

There’s a mad dash and scramble as they put everything in its place, and Satoru leans against the side of the house — they even put up a curtain to hide their cursed energy on the inside, prioritizing invisibility. 

And Satoru grins  — all this for him? 

“Let me video call him and see where he is — I think I can distract him enough,” and he teleports down the road from his home, as your phone call comes through, “hi birthday boy, are you almost home?” 

“Almost,” he hums, “need something, sweetheart?” 

“Just my lovely husband home so I can cuddle him,” you smile, and he can see you’re walking into your shared bedroom now, sound of the door closing behind you, “got a surprise on for you under this dress,” 

And he’s pausing, “is that right?” And the party ebbs away from his mind, as your fingers slid the straps of your dress down, and teasing the baby blue and white lingerie set underneath, “my perfect birthday gift — all ready for me to unwrap?” 

“As soon as you get home,” and all blood flees his brain and heads southward, “I’ll be waiting,” 

And you disconnect the call — and he’s rushing now, party be damned. He would have you in bed, even if he had to sneak away with you upstairs for five minutes. 

He unlocks the door, and hears several bangs from poppers, as all of his students, colleagues, and friends shout “surprise!” And he smiles, glancing around at the birthday decorations, the birthday cake precariously balanced in Yuji’s hands, and you — grinning right at the front of the group, holding a bouquet of red roses. 

Everyone is stepping up to wish him a happy birthday, even grumbling happy birthdays from Megumi and Maki, as his arms curl around you after, “did I fool you?” 

And he only smiles, “I’m always a fool for you, sweetheart,” and his lips find yours, only yielding disgusted groans from most of your students, “and don’t think I forgot about my present,” he whispers, while pressing a quick kiss to your cheek, “I have a feeling I’ll be tearing off the wrapping soon enough,” he winks. 

You roll your eyes, “Party first, presents later,” your hand finds his as you take him to mingle. 

Satoru doesn’t get his wish of a secret rendezvous with you — but he does get several other gifts from his students — a blue ray of Human Earthworm 4 from Yuji, Crocs from Nobara (“they’re as tacky as you are”), Megumi gives a gift card (Yuji: “No creativity,” Nobara: “Seriously how boring,” and Yuji earns a fist to the head from Megumi). The second years’ pitched in and bought him a book on ‘how to date’ (“it was Yuta’s idea — he’s not sure you know how to date even after getting married”). 

He’s being pulled over to cut the cake that Yuji miraculously only dropped once (but Maki had luckily caught), you at his side, as everyone crowds around for him to cut it, and he thinks, maybe he doesn’t need to be understood as the strongest — maybe he can just be understood as Satoru Gojo, and that can be enough. 

And he blows out his candles, as your fingers interlaced with his, and he’s cutting a particularly big chunk to feed you, nearly smearing it over your lips, “What did you wish for—umph—” and he’s kissing you, the sweet frosting didn’t compare to the sweetness of your lips, your fingers finding his shoulder, and he barely hears the groans of his students, parting as you softly pant, beautiful smile spread on your face, “Toru—” 

“I have everything I could wish for,” and he’s pressing his forehead to yours, before you kiss his nose, only to drag some frosting across his cheek, “oi!” 

“That’s for smearing cake all over my face,” you brush the crumbs from your chin, and he only grins wider. 

As he’s pulling you close with an arm around your waist, his breath warm against your lips, “Will you help clean it off?” and you roll your eyes, as his students grimace at his words, booing him. 

You only give a small smile, and kiss his cheek, whispering, “...after they leave,” and they do soon enough, after everyone enjoys their slice of cake and a few drinks (Yuji sneaking a glass of wine when Nanami isn’t looking), they leave to go back home. 

Satoru collapses on the couch first, and then you toss yourself beside him, throwing your legs over his lap, “Tired?” you curl yourself against him, your head finding his shoulder, nose brushing against the warm nape of his neck. 

“Was that mission earlier your doing?” 

“Well how else would I get you out of the house with all your pestering? And knowing you, you would have kept me in bed all morning,” and he laughs, as his arm wraps around your waist, pulling you properly into his lap. 

“How’d you see my birthday wish list?” and you scoff, as he presses sweet kisses to your neck, “you still have one more gift to give me, one that you teased me with earlier,” and his fingers are creeping up your bare thigh, squeezing teasingly at your flesh. 

“Two more, actually,” and he’s tilting his head, as you grab the bouquet of flowers from the coffee table where he had left it, “you missed something in here,” 

And he’s smiling, as he pulls a small box nestled in the middle of the roses, “What’s this—” and his fingers are too quick for his question, as he’s met with your gift. 

Positive. 

He stares — stares if it would disappear before his eyes, that somehow the six eyes were wrong this one time — the one time it mattered. 

“Are you really surprised with all the practice we’ve been getting in?” and he gives a brief chuckle, shaking his head, as you chew your lip at his relative silence, “wow, have I rendered the great Satoru Gojo — the man who never shuts up even when he should — speechless?” he still says nothing, “Toru? Say somethin—” 

And his arms are wrapping you in a hug, pulling you fully into his lap, as he engulfs you in his warmth, burying his face in the crook of your neck, “Are you sure I’m the father?” 

You snort, “Satoru, I swear to god, I’m going—” 

And his lips find yours in a sweet kiss, palms cupping your cheeks, as his blue eyes swim with a happiness you’d rarely seen before, as he presses kisses all over your face, until he’s kneeling before your stomach, pressing a sweet kiss to it. 

“You better look like your mom or I’m going to demand a re-do,” 

You huff, “Satoru, we aren’t having another kid for at least three years—” 

“We didn’t mean to have a kid right now, but we are,” he gives a devilish smirk, before you cross your arms, unamused. 

“I swear, we have another kid before three years are up, and I’m sleeping in a separate bedroom,” and his arms are looping around your waist to pull you close. 

“You can’t resist me for that long,” and he’s pulling into a kiss again, your arms wrapping around his neck, as your lips part. 

“Try me,” and he pouts before you laugh, tugging him to the bedroom, “come on, birthday boy, I believe I owe you one last present,” and his lips are curled again as he follows you eagerly, your dress over your head and on the bedroom floor before he’s two steps into the room. 

December 7, 2018. 

A day that changed the balance of Satoru Gojo’s family life — for the better. 

a/n: this was supposed to be pure fluff but turned into angst / fluff - as always. i can't write anything w/o angst.

tag list: @merzel69695, @senseiigojo, @forest-fruits-jam, @forest-hashira, @amanemisamisa, @ririthedevil, @a1is0n-png, @chosomoso, @hawkwithsocks, @aliyalala, @icecubesaredelicous, @sugurusdiscordmoderator, @acewoo, @sodoney,

[wordsinhaled]

i want to know so badly how edwin and charles went from “what if i stay here for a bit with you, instead?” “then you will always be running from her” to “you ever think, what if death did catch us? she’d force us to go to the afterlife and split up” “i will make sure that never happens”

when did the shift happen? how soon was it? they met in 1989 and started the detective agency in 1990 so pretty soon after they met it was obviously pretty clear to them that charles would be staying long term

but when did edwin realize that “for a bit” really means “forever”? that charles doesn’t mean to leave him? when did he realize that if charles ever decided that he’d had enough of gallivanting around together and made the choice to move on without him, something fundamentally important would be gone from him for ever (love)?

when did charles first begin to feel comfortable voicing things to their adversaries like “you want to take him, you’ll have to go through me” without feeling like it was Too Much? how long did charles worry in the back of his mind that edwin would decide he didn’t like having him around and jettison him off to the afterlife?

and all the while with edwin continuing to be kind to him and teach him the ghost rules and let him in, when did edwin pick up on charles’ misgivings and try to communicate that for as long as charles wanted to stay, edwin would never send him away?

was there a first case they took that almost separated them for good, and there was no other person there for them back then, no crystal, no niko, nobody else to help save the day, and it was such a near thing that then and there they decided they never wanted to feel that type of horror again?

when did they start speaking aloud their devotion and dedication to each other? when did being split up become a greater fear than moving on in itself? when did they start allowing each other to see that they are choosing each other over and over and over for the rest of time?

god, they make me unwell

[mrs-kmikaelson]

01| The Grey Area

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x reader Summary: You meet Aaron Hotchner and he makes you see everything in colour; he makes you feel like you're the only girl in the room. But then, as you find out that you're not, you realize the colour he actually makes you see the most is grey. Warnings: emotional and physical cheating, forbidden love affair, reader is in government, cm level violence, r is a bitch at first, hotch is a jerk, based on olivia pope and fitzgerald grant Words: 3.8K

Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Part 2

a/n: is this based on scandal by shonda rhimes? yes. why? bc that was peak television. making this a series bc i need to learn how to make things other than long fics (be proud of me).

1989

For as long as you could remember, life was slow. Everything was black and white: your surroundings, your activities, your beliefs. 

And then you met Aaron Hotchner, and you started seeing things in colour.

"I'm sorry, is this seat taken?"

You barely looked up at the person, just shaking your head and continuing to twirl your pen on your desk. He sat down right after.

You didn't expect him to talk to you. In fact, you were sure your disinterest was written all over your face in bold red letters. 

"I'm Aaron. Aaron Hotchner." He held his hand out; you only saw it because he held it over your desk, not because you actually looked in his direction. 

You stared at his hand plainly before looking up to the front of the class where the professor had just stood up. "And I'm not interested," you said. Presumptuous of you, maybe, but this was Georgetown, and it was your second year. Everybody was competition, and nobody actually wanted to be your friend unless they were looking for something a little more.

It was like you could hear his frown. "I— we can't be friends?" 

Finally, out of just pure exasperation, you looked at him, and boy were you taken aback. Aaron Hotchner, as he so formally introduced himself, had dark, dark brown hair, almost black, and a jawline that wasn't too sharp nor too round. His brown eyes looked at you expectantly, confusion swimming through them. Briefly, you thought he was perfect, but that wouldn't change your stance.

Despite your short-lived awe, you deadpanned, "No, we can't."

Aaron went to open his mouth, but then the professor started speaking and it cut him right off. You looked toward the front and didn't back at him once, listening intently. You were determined to succeed above all things, and no boy would get in the way of that.

Your first lecture of the semester went fine after that. You packed up your things at the end and you were gone before Aaron could try again. You went to one more class then got ready for work without another thought of him.

During nights, you were a bartender at this place near the campus. It wasn't just college kids; it was also frequented by businessmen and other big spenders who tipped well so long as you smiled and laughed at their jokes.

The excessive flirting wasn't ideal, but the job paid the bills, and since you were doing this all by yourself, that was exactly what you needed.

You rarely saw people you knew. There were regulars, and every once in a while you might've seen a kid from one of your classes, but it wasn't something you expected often.

You certainly didn't expect to see the hot guy from Advanced Legal Research.

"Hi there, what can I getcha?" You weren't looking at the customer, busy cleaning a glass and simultaneously passing someone their drink while you spoke to them.

"Hey, you're the girl from my LAW-J 301 course"

You paused at the person's voice, both at their enthusiasm and familiarity, and looked up. When you did, you couldn't help the groan that left you. "Seriously? You, again?" Each word was enunciated slowly, accurately demonstrating your annoyance. However, you got back to what you were doing, taking your eyes off him. "What, are you stalking me, Hopscotch?"

"It's Hotchner."

This time, your sigh was accompanied by a pointed eye roll. "Duuuude." You looked back up. "I do not care. Now, what do you want?"

He snorted. "Do you talk to all your customers this way?"

You flashed him a sarcastic smile. "Just the ones that can't take a hint." He opened his mouth for a sharp rebuttal no doubt, but you redirected the conversation. "Your order, Hopscotch. Or else you're gonna have to kick rocks."

He acquiesced like it was such a hardship you were asking of him, like you weren't in a bar that he came to specifically to order a drink. "Fine. Whiskey, neat."

That, you could help him with. You grabbed a bottle of Jack Daniels and poured some into a glass for him, all the while making conversation. He wasn't special; you did this with every customer. "What are you doing here?" When you got no response, you glanced back up to see a confused expression on his face. You elaborated, "Doesn't seem like your scene." You would've said no offense, but who were you kidding? You were already abrasive to begin with.

But he didn't look offended. If anything, he looked curious. "How so?"

You slid his drink across the counter, cocking your head at him as if telling him it was stupid to even ask. "You introduced yourself with your first and last name, extended your hand for me to shake, then just now, you referred to our class with the course code." You raised a brow then. "A little formal, don't you think?"

Now he looked a little offended. "Formal? I don't think so. I'm a little old fashioned at most."

For the second time that day, you deadpanned. "You're at the bar in a suit and tie. You couldn't have made it any more obvious that you don't do this often."

He got a little red then. You think that, if he could've, he would've loosened his tie, but he just picked up his drink, taking a swig. You'd give him a little credit, though; at least he looked like he could take his liquor. "Fine," he admitted, "my friends dragged me out."

"Ah," you chuckled, "common occurrence here at GWU. You'll get used to it soon, freshie."

He furrowed his brows. "How'd you know I was a first-year?"

You grinned. "You just told me, Hopscotch."

He groaned, making you stifle a laugh. No, you wouldn't laugh at him; that'd make it seem like his presence was growing on you when it wasn't. 

You didn't need new friends, and you certainly didn't need suit-and-tie-wearing, formal Aaron Hotchner.

But he stayed there. He stayed there and talked you as you served other customers, asking you to refill his drink every now and then. You wondered where his friends were, but by the time closing came 'round, you assumed they were long gone.

He talked to you all night, you realized. 

And you didn't totally hate it.

Aaron visited you at work the next day, too. That's when you told him your name. Then you started talking to him in class. Then, before you knew it, you exchanged numbers and he was visiting you at work nearly every day.

But you were right in your earlier reservations. You and Aaron Hotchner couldn't be friends.

You just learned that too late.

2005

"Tallie, tell Gretchen that I need the files on Henderson's case by the end of the day, please."

You walked with your assistant at your side, heels clicking against the floor as you went through all the day's administrative business. Every day, Tallie went over your schedule with you as soon as you entered the building. Time was of the essence in your job, and you had none of it to waste.

"Yes, ma'am, and— if I may—"

"Oh, and contact the President's Chief of Staff. I need to meet with him by the end of the day to discuss the recent terrorist attack in London again. We need to communicate with the British government without overstepping."

"Done, and—"

"And could you please get Rob Burton on the line for me?" You turned down the hall that led to your office. "He said he has an inquiry for me."

"Well, ma'am, um—" You had just reached your office when Tallie stopped, sighing. You looked back at her, raising a brow. Sheepishly, she pointed ahead of you. "There's that."

Your brows knitted together. You turned, following her gaze to see a dark-haired man standing in your waiting room, eyes on his watch. As if he felt your presence, he looked up, and as soon as your eyes locked, you realized why he looked so familiar.

Tallie cut off your thought process. "I kept telling him he didn't have an appointment, but he said you knew him and would let him in, that it's urgent."

You let out a sigh of your own, muttering under your breath, "Somehow, I don't doubt that." It had to be urgent if Aaron Hotchner was at your office. You glanced back at Tallie, giving her a tense smile. "Thank you, Tallie. We'll raincheck that phone call with Mr. Burton?"

She nodded, giving a "Yes, ma'am," before she walked past the man in your waiting room to her desk.

Like old times, you couldn't hold back another sigh, but you got your exasperation under control before you walked up to him, if not just to be professional and keep up appearances.

"Agent Hotchner," you greeted, a faux smile on your face. "It's... nice to see you." It was like the words stung coming out of your mouth, and that was because they weren't true. If he was half as good of a profiler as you thought he was, then he'd know that.

If he knew you as well as he thought he did, then he should've known that regardless.

You didn't bother waiting for his greeting; you didn't care for it. "Let's talk in my office." Not a question.

He complied, following you into your office and shutting the door on the way in. With your back still turned to him, you momentarily closed your eyes, willing yourself to have the strength to sit through whatever it was he had to tell you.

When you had it, you turned back around, dropping all the pleasantries now that you were away from prying eyes. "What is it that's so important you couldn't say over the phone?"

He didn't answer. Deep down, you both knew it was because he could've. He didn't need to be here, but instead of agreeing with you, he nodded to the two chairs in front of your desk. "You're not going to offer me a seat?"

You scoffed. "If I did, would you take it?" You're met with silence, another answer in and of itself. It'd been six years, yet you could still read Hotch's tells like a children's book. He didn't like to say anything when he knew you were right.

You took that moment to examine him. He looked the same, just as you left him. Maybe a bit more worn, a bit more tired, and a bit more cold, but weren't you all?

Briefly, you wondered what he was thinking about you.

He got to the point, as he always did. "I have a suspect for the murders of 12 women in D.C. spanning over the past six months," he told you. "His name is Eric Clark. He's the founder and CEO of a new tech start-up here; they're calling him the new Zuckerberg." The sarcasm in his voice when he said that last bit was evident, shining through his monotonous persona.

You were aware of the murders he spoke of, and you were aware of who Eric Clark was. He was invited to some state dinner you just went to. But you didn't say this. Instead, you shrugged like it didn't matter to you and asked him, "So why are you telling me?"

If your nonchalance bothered him, he didn't voice it. He simply explained, "I need a warrant." A warrant, he said, like that sentence stood alone. What he was realling saying was, he needed a warrant, and he needed you to get it for him. More than that, he expected you to get it for him.

That forced a chuckle out of you, even though you didn't feel any humour at all. So that was why he was here; six years go by without any contact, but now that he needed something, here he was. 

You felt a strange sense of déjà vu. Hotch needing something and claiming that you were the only one who could give it to him.

"You need a warrant," you echoed, splaying your hands out in front of you. "So go take that up with a judge."

You saw a sudden crack in his calm composure. His eyes narrowed just the slightest bit, so slightly you wouldn't have noticed it if you didn't know what to look for.

But you knew what to look for.

"Come on, Y/N." He said your name like you were just old friends, like this stop by your office was a normal occurence. "Everyone knows you have pull in this city."

You did have pull in this city. In fact, you had pull in just about every city in America; being the U.S. Attorney General gave you that kind of power.

So yes, you had pull, and now Hotch wanted you to pull some strings for him as if you owed him a favour, as if you owed him anything.

You didn't say this, but you were sure that your next words said enough for you. "Where's Gideon? Normally, he's the one to come knocking on my door when the BAU needs something." You found it highly unlikely that he'd ever send Hotch, of all people, on his behalf.

Hotch pursed his lips. "He's on leave."

You made a clicking sound of realization, but it was more mocking than anything since you already gathered as much. That meant he was unit chief now, and that was why he was here. So that's what it took? you thought. All it took was a promotion, obligation, and now he was here.

He was here, checking his watch in your waiting room, marching into your office and shutting the door, clenching his jaw and pursing his lips like he was the one with the right to be mad. 

You'd give it to him: Aaron Hotchner sure as hell had guts.

You circled back to the original topic. "Yeah, Hotch, that's not happening." He went to cut you off, but you stopped him by raising a hand. Your were firm as you asserted, "If you're here with me instead of with a judge, that means you have insubstantial evidence. So how about, instead of ambushing me and wasting my precious time, you go back to the drawing board?" It wasn't a suggestion as much as it was an insult.

His jaw tensed, his eyes hardening as he stared at you. "I am sorry to waste your precious time, but precious lives are at stake." Condescending as ever.

"I undersand that, but you clearly have no probable cause." Or did you forget what that was? you wanted to add, but you kept that part to yourself.

You thought, if he clenched his jaw any harder, it just might break. "I have a profile—"

"Which clearly isn't enough—"

"You of all people should understand the importance of a profile, Y/N."

You took a sharp breath through your nose. It was low of him to say that, and it was also such a profiler of him to say it, mostly because he knew it'd get you.

You weren't always the Attorney General.

Perhaps this is why you agreed. "Fine. I'll go talk to a judge for you."

He sighed, "Thank you." He said it without looking at you, then he was opening your door and walking out, and you nearly thanked him for it.

Six years had gone by.

Yet you wouldn't have been able to tell with the way your heart was racing.

You went on with your day after Hotch left, going through paperwork and dropping by the White House. You had a meeting with the President that day, the President of the United States, the most important person in the whole damn country. That was little old you that did that.

You weren't the same girl he remembered, not that girl from Georgetown who rolled her eyes at every one of his corny jokes, and he wasn't the same guy who'd sit and wait for you the by the bar, either. He was the unit chief now. And you were the Attorney General.

Things were different now. 

Or maybe they weren't.

Because Aaron Hotchner came striding into your office just later that night.

Your door flew open, Aaron walking in thereafter with a stone cold frown and determination etched onto his face. It wasn't like the Aaron you knew to frown so much, but that wasn't what you were focused on.

You immediately shot up from your chair and rounded your desk, baffled by his behaviour. "Hey! What the hell do you think you're—"

You didn't get to finish your sentence. Before you could berate him, Aaron's hand was on the back of your head and his lips were slamming into yours. Slamming was the right word. This was fervent, almost violent, like he wanted to bruise you, like he wanted to permanently mold his lips into yours.

Your eyes went wide. You should've pushed him away—you really should have. But it was like you weren't thinking. Like you were on auto-pilot, your hands automatically went to his hair, your lips moving in unison with his.

This was muscle memory. God, how could you have ever forgotten what this felt like? Like ecstasy, and butterflies, and all good things in the world. Kissing him felt like everything all at once.

But everything meant that it came with all the bad in the world, too.

Your senses came back to you as you pushed him away, stumbling backward. You were sure you would've fallen, had your desk not been right behind you. You were heaving, and he was no different.

Fuck. What did you just do?

Your eyes darted to the door, alarm flashing through them. "Tallie—"

He finished your thought, assuring you, "She's gone. I sent her home."

Relief flooded your body. She wasn't here, she didn't see anything. That was good. But then what he said actually hit you. Your eyes narrowed into slits. "You did what?" He rolled his eyes, opening his mouth to retort, but you kept going. "You sent my assistant home?"

"Yes."

You scoffed. He sent your assistant home, and he was just admitting it proudly like it was nothing. Maybe nothing was different after all if Aaron was still here, barging into your life like he owned it, like he owned you.

And perhaps he did.

"You can't— you can't just—"

"I can't what?" he cut you off then took a step closer. "I can't come see you?" Another step. "We used to see each other all the time."

You were already cornered, right against your desk. "That was before," you responded. "Before—" the rest of your sentence got caught in your throat. You had glanced down momentarily, catching sight of his hand in the process. There, something glinted in the light. A golden band.

A wedding ring.

Your chest tightened, your voice getting smaller. "Before that." Even if he wasn't a profiler, it was impossible not to notice the crack in your voice.

You didn't know how you didn't feel the ring when he had his hand on your head.

Confused, Aaron followed your line of sight, right down to his hand. When he realized what you were referring to, he sighed, "Y/N, it's not what you think—"

A humourless chuckle left you. "It never is, is it?" You could count the number of times he'd said that to you. "God, I can't believe it." You chuckled again before your laugh faded into something angrier. No, not angrier. You were furious.

You didn't know if there was even a word in the English language that could describe how furious you were.

"You—" you took a deep breath, stopping yourself from yelling. "You're doing this to me— again?"

"Y/N—"

You slapped his hands away when he tried to put his hands on your arms. You didn't want to feel that fucking ring touch your skin. "Again?!" you seethed. "What, two times wasn't fucking enough for you? You had to go and do this a third time—"

"Please, just—"

You refused to let him get a word out. "No! I don't need any more of your excuses, Hotch!" Lord knew that if you heard them, you might just believe them.

You nearly did the first time.

To think that he had just been in your office hours earlier, acting like he didn't know you, like he didn't break you down just to build you back up and do it all over again. 

He could've at least given you the courtesy of leaving you alone, but it appeared that he couldn't even do that. Still, he was defending himself, false conviction lacing through his voice. "Haley and I are separated—"

"Separated?" That forced another chuckle out of you. "Sure, and I'm the Pope."

His glare at you hardened, like he was mad at you "I'm being serious."

Another laugh. He couldn't figure out why the hell you were laughing.

"Haley, haley, haley." Your voice raised. "It's always about fucking Haley." Even when he was with you.

Especially when he was with you.

His jaw locked. "We're not together right now."

You snapped, "Tell that to the fucking ring on your finger, asshole." 

It was laughable, really. You were the Attorney General of the United States of America. You sat in one of the highest offices of the land. Yet Aaron Hotchner still had the ability to turn you into putty in his hands.

The Attorney General didn't play second fiddle to anyone.

But you'd always be second to Haley Brooks.

"Get out, Hotchner." 

"What?" He had the audacity to look hurt, confused. You didn't understand what there was to be confused about. 

You managed to wriggle yourself out of the space where you were stuck between him and your desk, walking to your door and nearly yanking it open, holding it for him wordlessly.

He scoffed. "Y/N, come on—"

You shut him down. "No. I did what you asked earlier. I got you your warrant, therefore we are done. Now get out."

You didn't meet his eyes but you felt them burning into you with the same heat that'd make an unsub crack. It was the same heat that'd make you crack, too, which was precisely why you refused to look at him.

After what felt like a lifetime of staring at you, his footsteps sounded. You didn't look up until you watched his shoes pass you. Immediately, you closed the door, locking it.

Your hand fell around the door handle, your forehead resting against the door. Briefly, you wondered what the sensation in your eyes was, until you realized it was tears.

You hadn't cried in so long.

But whenever Aaron Hotchner came around, tears seemed inevitable.

taglist: @c-losur3

[us-the-voices-and-more-voices-2]

Jason with his time in the league of assassins

Talia walks into the small modest room where Jason is livening in while he gets back on his feet, having a bunch of brain functions recovered takes a while to get used to. he's been doing physical therapy and occupational therapy for the last couple months, his dexterity isn't exactly back yet.

Talia: Jason? what are you doing?

Jason: well there's this thing I always wanted to try called stop motion animation, and well you got some lego's for Dami but he's a bit too small for them so.. I took them and have been animating. I was bored in-between everything, you don't have any good books I haven't already read.

Talia: well that is an acceptable pass time, what are you making?

Jason: oh it's a weird comedy spoof for kids about batman and the joker being nemesis's, I wanted to make it for Dami since well he doesn't know much about him or the other ones and he's only 3 and well it doesn't seem like much but the time I'm done he'll be 5 and be able to enjoy it. i don't know talia I'm bored and want to make something for him.

Talia: very well, if you so wish. I can get some people in to help you make it if you wish.

Jason: really?

Talia: yes, I can. it does sound like a nice gift.

Jason: oh thank you!

Many months of therapy complete, he starts to retrain and regain all the fighting skills he lost and learn some new ones. in the meanwhile, Jason and 3 other people have been making a complete feature film for Damian who's just turned 4, they were about halfway done and it was looking good.

Talia: so how's it coming along?

Jason: it's been hard and hurts like a bitch, but I'm getting better at flips!

Talia: no. not that, I mean the movie?

Jason: oh it's halfway done! me and the one man and 2 women are doing great we reshot the opening, and we are more than 68% done! so it will be ready by Dami's birthday.

Talia: he will enjoy it I believe.

Jason: of course he would, it's his first ever kids movie!

Talia: why yes it is!

many many many more months pass and it becomes Dami's 5th birthday and Jason and his crew had wrapped up, the voice acting was done mostly by himself, and the crew but he asked some of the league for other voices. eventually after scoring and mixing they met the deadline. they set up the league theatre and put the movie on.

lego batman: [voice over] Black. All important movies start with a black screen... And music... Edgy, scary music that would make a parent or studio executive nervous... And logos... Really long and dramatic logos... Warner Bros. Why not "Warner Brothers"? I don't know... Hmm... Not sure what LOA does, but that logo is macho. I dig it... Okay. Get yourself ready for some... reading. "If you want to make the world a better place, take a look at yourself and make a change. Hooo." No. I said that. Batman is very wise. I also have huge pecs and a nine-pack. Yeah, I've got an extra ab. Now, let's start the movie.

Dami: momma? what's the movie about?

talia: your father

lego Alfred Pennyworth: Were you looking at the old family pictures again?

lego Batman: At the what? The old family... Oh, yes! I see what you mean. Look at that! The old gang. Yeah. No, I wasn't.

lego Alfred Pennyworth: I see. Sir, if you don't mind my saying, I'm a little concerned. I've seen you go through similar phases in 2001 and 2006 and 2008 and 2005 and 1997 and 1995 and 1992 and 1989 and that weird one in 1999. Do you want to talk about how you're feeling right now?

lego Batman: I don't talks about feelings, Alfred. I don't have any, I've never seen one. I'm a night-stalking, crime-fighting vigilante, and a heavy metal rapping machine. I don't feel anything emotionally, except for rage. 24/7, 365, at a million percent. And if you think that there's something behind that, then you're crazy. Good night, Alfred.

lego Alfred Pennyworth: Sir, it's morning..

Talia: *laughs*

Dami: *chuckles*

Jason: *smiles with accomplishment*

lego Batman: [Batman's song] Who never skips leg day?

Chorus: Batman!

lego Batman: Who always pays their taxes?

lego Batman, Chorus: Not Batman!

Talia: *wails with laughter*

Dami: what are taxes?

Jason: you'll know when you get older don't worry about it

The lego Joker: Are you seriously saying there is nothing, nothing special about our relationship?

lego Batman: Whoa. Let me tell you something, J-bird. Batman doesn't do 'ships.

The lego Joker: [Confused] What?

lego Batman: As in "relationships." There is no "us." Batman and Joker are not a thing. I don't need you. I don't need anyone. You mean nothing to me. No one does.

Talia: that is your father's arch-nemesis the joker

Dami: oh okay

Jason: please kill him for me

dami: okay Jason, i will avagange, e-venge, avenge your honour!

Jason: you have no idea what that means to me buddy *wipes away a tear*

Lego Robin: My name's Richard Grayson, but all the kids at the orphanage call me Dick.

Lego Batman: Well, children can be cruel.

Jason: when I first heard dick's name I unironically thought everyone was just calling him a dickhead so much that the name dick stuck, but nope turns out it's short for Richard. he even changed his name to dick, I personally would never. but he pulls it off flawlessly. *chuckles*

talia: I did not know mr Grayson preferred to be called Dick.

Dami: who's dick then?

Jason: oh he's your older brother.

Lego Robin: What? [Sees Batcave]

Lego Robin: It's the Batcave! Ohmygosh ohmygosh ohmygosh ohmygosh ohmygooo-! [Bumps into Batman]

Lego Robin: Batman, woah!

Lego Batman: You're darn right, woah!

Lego Robin: Wait, does Batman live in Bruce Wayne's basement?

Lego Batman: No, Bruce Wayne lives in Batman's attic.

Talia: *DIES OF LAUGHTER* oh Jason this is amazing.

Jason: I wish to impress!

Lego Robin: Hey, I was thinking. If I'm gonna be a superhero, and go on awesome superhero missions like this one, can we use code names? Mine can be Robin.

Lego Batman: I'm sorry, say that again?

Lego Robin: Robin.

Lego Batman: As in the small, Midwestern frail bird?

Lego Robin: Yeah, and I already have a catch phrase. Tweet, tweet, on the street.

Lego Batman: Hard pass.

Lego Robin: And a song. [singing]

Lego Robin: Fly, Robin, fly.

Lego Batman: Harder pass.

dami: *laughs so hard he coughs*

talia: habbibi careful, don't laugh so hard you will hurt yourself

Jason: honestly yeah you can hurt yourself badly.

LegoRobin: Wow! Look, it's the Bat-Sub!

Lego Batman: Wait, don't touch that!

Lego Robin: Over there! It's the Bat-Space Shuttle!

Lego Batman: Please keep your hands off that.

Lego Robin: Look, it's the Bat-Zeppelin!

Lego Batman: Don't touch that, either!

Lego Robin: It's the Bat-Train!

Lego Batman: No!

Lego Robin: It's the Bat-Kayak!

Lego Batman: No!

Lego Robin: It's the Bat-Dune Buggy!

Lego Batman: No!

Lego Robin: It's the Bat... Shark Repellent?

Lego Batman: [pause] Uh, actually, you can touch that. It's completely useless.

Talia: shark repelent is actually a quite useful invention why is bruce beloved not recognising it's full potential?

Jason: keep watching

Dami: does father have all those things?

Jason: sure does!

Lego Batman: We are gonna steal the Phantom Zone projector from Superman.

Lego Robin: [frowns] Steal?

Lego Batman: Yeah. We have to right a wrong. And sometimes, in order to right a wrong, you have to do a wrong-right. Gandhi said that.

Lego Robin: Are we sure Gandhi said that?

Lego Batman: I'm paraphrasing.

Talia: *laughs*

Dami: *laughs so hard he starts coughing AGAIN*

Jason: ghandi so said that btw.

lego Jim Gordon: [sees Robin for the first time] Who is that?

lego Robin: Hi, police man!

lego Jim Gordon: Is that your son?

Lego Robin: Yes, I am!

Lego Batman: [laughs nervously] Is that my son? No, that's just weird.

Lego Jim Gordon: It's weirder if it's not your son.

Jason: this interaction is based off an actual interaction between jimmy and Dick.

[batman and robin arrive at the fortress of solitude]

lego Batman: Hey, kid!

lego Robin: Yes, sir?

lego Batman: You're super nimble, right?

lego Robin: I sure am!

lego Batman: And small?

lego Robin: Very.

lego Batman: And quiet?

lego Robin: [whispering] When I desire to be.

lego Batman: And 110% expendable?

lego Robin: I don't know what that means, but okay!

Jason: bruce really did not know how to deal with a 11 year old child hellbent on murdering a mob boss, so he kept bringing him along on incredibly dangerous missions, it was always fine in the end but this sort of situation happened once.

Talia: really?

Jason: the expendable part was from a wayne tech family event, and they crushed it. but dick had to sacrifice himself to help bruce win, it was so funny. I was there.

Lego Batman: White. All important movies end with a white screen.

Talia, jason, the other 70 league of assassin members and Damien break out into applause for the movie.

Jason: THANK YOU ALL, but special thanks to Gerald, and lily and Rin!!!! I WOULD HAVE NEVNER FINISHED IT WITHOUT YOU THANK YOUUUUUUU

the audience bursts into a large uproar of applause.

Prev | current | Next

[laufire]

I listened to "Batman: The Lazarus Syndrome" for the second time; it's an audio drama from 1989 and here are some Jason mentions in it that make me want to chew glass:

Barbara: I could try to tap into his computer... it may still have my voice print on file, unless he trashed it when the Joker put me in this chair Gordon: Now Batman may seem a cold-hearted son of a gun, but I don't think he'd ever erase Batgirl from his files. Barbara (whispering): Yeah, I wonder... he's tried hard enough to forget Jason.

//

Dick: Jason's left him a hell of a legacy. First he throws himself into his work with a suicidal intensity, and now he's- he's planning to quit? Alfred: Um, Master Dick... Nobody knows that anything has happened to Robin. You know- I often think back to the sight of you both leaving to go on patrol- Dick: No! Never again! Alfred: He always seemed happier with you... Dick: Things are different now. I can't make this a fairy tale with a happy ending. Even if I came back, would that wipe away the pain of what happened to Jason? I can't change what's happened, and now that I've got my independence, I'm not sure I want to.

//

Bruce: Happiness isn't what I seek. Gotham city is where I belong! Where I'm needed! Maybe Jason was the only one who really understood that. Talia: Jason? The other boy who worked with you? The second Robin? Bruce: He knew Gotham city the way I do. He was a petty thief; he used to hang around here stealing the wheels off cars. On the day I met him, he was trying to boost the tires of mine. He'd been orphaned, like me. But whereas my parents' money shielded me from starvation, he had to live by his wits. I knew if I left him here I'd find myself running him in later on for something more serious... so I took him back with me, gave him a home, trained him the way I trained Dick Grayson... seemed logical. Nobody had guessed the original Batman-Robin team split up. Once Dick left to go to college, we drifted apart. Then Jason came along. He was young, fit, eager to learn... and apt student. For a while it was as if I'd never been without a Robin. But there were undercurrents; he had a dangerous amount of aggression to work off, he became moody, resentful, reckless! I began to realize I'd made a mistake. (flashback) Alfred: I've noticed some disquieting things about Master Jason myself. The lad never mentions his parents, yet I've come across him crying over his old photographs. Being your partner is hardly the best situation for a teenager still adjusting to such a loss. Bruce: Then I must try and rectify the situation. Jason's going off active duty immediately. Jason: And I don't have a word to say about it, huh? Bruce: How long have you been hiding there, Jason? Jason: You can't be serious about this! Bruce: I am. You've got a lot of anger and pain inside of you. Jason: I can handle it. Bruce: We can work this out. Jason: You want to talk? Talk to Alfred. (end flashback) Talia: The poor child... and both parents long dead... Bruce: So I thought. But then Jason discovered that his late father had remarried. His real mother was still alive. He used the computer to track her down, and set off after her, alone. He never thought she might be involved with the Joker; never guessed it might be a trap. By the time I got to him, I'd lost him. He was beaten half to death and then blown up trying to save his mother's life. Talia: You mustn't blame yourself. Bruce: He'd still be alive to day if I'd left him where I found him! In Crime Alley... Talia: How can you say that? You saved his life, my love. You delivered him. Bruce: I delivered him- right into the hands of the Joker. I've got to pay for that.

enjoy :)))

[likeadevils]

talk more about taylor lying to make a cleaner story! i also find it hilarious but am only aware of a few examples (love story, i wish you would). are there others that you can elaborate on?

yeah! a lot of these are going to be splitting hairs a bit, and i understand her reasoning for all of these, and also this is by far one of my favorite things about her like i love every time she does this.

speak now:

famously, taylor said originally speak now being solo-written was an accident, because she was spending so much time alone in hotels and writing at werid hours of the night. this is not true, she's said many times she lied about this and did it to prove that she was writing her own songs and not getting pity credits or whatever

(THIS IS THE MOST SUBJECTIVE AND OUTSIDER PERSPECTIVE ENTRY ON THE LIST) back to december makes it seem like taylor had much deeper feelings for taylor lautner than she did. i dont think they were ever exclusive; she wrote both enchanted and ours about other people while her and taylor were ostensibly dating. i think taylor squared just went on a couple dates and when lautner tried to make it exclusive in december, swift turned him down

the secret message to mine is 'toby', which is the name of the guy who starred in the music video. i have heard persistent rumors that mine is about a college guy she dated in early 2010, and his name might be toby, but at the very least she's trying to trick us

red:

taylor told this to the la times: “I knew I wanted to bookend the album with 'State of Grace' and 'Begin Again' because they're inspired by the same person who inspired a few songs on the record. I wanted to start and end the album with the first and last song I ever wrote about that relationship." i can't definitively say state of grace wasn't the first song she wrote about that relationship (though she has said all too well is the first song she wrote for the album), i can definitively say she wrote wanegbt four months after she wrote begin again

taylor said this about red: "When I'm writing a record, I kind of don't listen to much music [...] the only artists that I really listened to were Snow Patrol and Ed Sheeran, and that's the reason why I wanted to collaborate with those people on the record." taylor gave many updates on what she was listening to throughout writing red, most notably the arm lyrics on the speak now tour. she gave occasional shout outs to what she was listening to on twitter and instagram into the spring of 2012, and various artists have talked about her complimenting recently relased songs at the time. this is one of my favorites like this made me laugh out loud when i first read it

the secret message for everything has changed, a song she wrote in may, is "hyiannis port", implying that it is about her relationship with connnor kenedy, who she met two months after writing the song

every single time she implied ikywt was about harry in 2013. i don't think it's a complete lie, but she did start writing the song about three months before she met him. finished it after the first time they broke up though

1989:

while taylor (as far as we know) did not have a long term boyfriend in 2013, she did go on dates (funniest one is with tom odell, who wrote this song about her), and it seems like some of those dates were with the intention of finding something more permanent (hence her disappointed "Dating is awful. Love is fiction/ a myth. I’m over it all.").

this and many, many interviewers where taylor says that she got the idea to make a 80s album after losing album of the year at the grammy's (she tells a lot of different stories about that night). bonus points if she says she had “accidentally” been incorporating 80s synths before that. it seems like taylor had the idea to make an 80s pop album around may of 2013 (to many little sources for this one, check my 1989 timeline), and taylor explicitly requested ryan tedder to make 80s pop for her before the grammy's where she lost album of the year.

taylor did not move to new york until after 1989 (at least non-tv) was finished

taylor didn't move from nashville to new york. she largely moved out of nashville to LA in early 2012, and spent a good portion of 2013 split between LA and rhode island.

reputation

taylor: "'I Did Something Bad' I wrote after Arya and Sansa conspire to kill Littlefinger." that episode aired in august of 2017. we have video proof of her writing idsb in october of 2016. now, filming for that season did begin in august of 2016 and lasted for another 6 months, so she could've been receiving insider information? but in the same article she said she was avoiding spoilers and she seems to be unaware of the upcoming events in season 8. i don't know what's going on here i love it

various sessioners have reported that taylor said she wrote all the songs on reputation for reputation, not years in advance. it seems like she had some lyrics for ready for it, dress, and new years day written years in advance. this is the most nit picky entry on this list and i’m annoying myself just by writing it

lover

taylor: "I posted [the seven palm trees] the day the I finished the seventh album." taylor did not finish the album in february, she definitely added death by a thousand cuts after april 24, and likely added london boy in july, something she knew at the time of giving the interview.

this interview about the making of lover (the song): "Interviewer: [Jack] was calling that the Paul bass, is that Paul McCartney? Taylor: Yeah. [Two seconds later] Jack: It's not a true Paul bass at all."

folklore and evermore

the statement that inspired this post, that folklore was the first time taylor wrote non-autobiographical songs! not true! large swathes of debut, fearless, and speak now are about made up scenarios! best believe taylor swift, born in 1989, did not meet bobby on the boardwalk in the summer of '45!

this interview with paul mccartney, where she says there is a song on folklore about "a pioneer woman in a forbidden love affair" (ivy, a song on evermore), and when asked what books inspired her on folklore, named Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier, the book that inspired tolerate it (another song on evermore).

edit cause i forgot: those joe credits on folklore are. so funny. no he did not. like i generally take taylor at something approximating her word but i'm gonna need some proof on this one. exile and betty i buy everything else is ridiculous. queen shit though

as for midnights-on, only time will tell. she also just does less interviews now so there’s less opportunities to catch her flubbing

[teejaystumbles]

Against all odds (a dreamling drabble)

(a 1989 comics AU where Dream does not go meet Hob despite being free)

Dream stares at the sleeping form of Hob Gadling and feels guilty.

He hadn’t gone to their centennial meeting. Despite having escaped Burgess’ cage and having recovered his tools, Dream has not met Hob at their appointed date at the White Horse.

He knows Hob waited for him. Waited until the day had gone and turned to night, after the clock had struck midnight and announced their date over. Dream knows this because he had stood, watching, for as long as the man waited inside the White Horse Inn.

He is not proud of this.

If he examines his reasons for not entering the Inn, keeping watch from the other side of the street instead, he draws a blank. 

Dream does not know why he did not go inside, he knows he froze at the sight of the closed door, the cramped space indoors he could see through the glass (glass, why so much glass everywhere). He had stepped back and waited for his unease to lift, and when that did not happen he had waited for Hob to leave so Dream might meet him outside, but the man did not leave the Inn until the owner practically threw him out on the street, long after midnight. Dream had stepped forward then, only to watch his old acquaintance break down against the building wall and sob. 

Why did Dream not go to him then? Why did he step back into the shadows and watch Hob drag himself up to his feet with a whimper and stumble down the street, hand trailing the wall for support. The only answer Dream can come up with is a supremely uncomfortable one.

He is a coward.

When it comes to relationships, Dream’s track record is disastrous, a fact that he is very aware of. He left Hob in 1889 with cutting words and no promise to return. Hob should by rights be angry at Dream, should be less trusting that he would show. But still the man waited for him at their next appointment, as if he had known Dream’s words to be products of his rage and not vows he would keep. Even if he doesn’t know it, Hob was right to expect Dream to not simply terminate their arrangement. Because here Dream stands, at the foot of Hob’s bed, watching the man sleep, too scared of a smug ‘I-knew-you’d-see-sense’ to dare approach him while awake.

Hob had slowly made his way home, unaware of Dream following him, drawn to him like there was a string tying them to each other. By then Dream felt like the point where he could make himself known had passed, but he hadn’t been able to leave. He kept trailing after Hob, into his small two-room apartment; had watched him shed only his shoes and then stood in the shadows of his curtains while Hob took out a small leather-bound book and pen and started to write. Dream had felt like a ghost, a nightmare watcher haunting his victim. He had carefully reigned in any stray trickles of his power to not make himself known or Hob uncomfortable in his invisible presence. After a few minutes Hob had stopped writing and sighed. Then he wiped his hands over his face tiredly and went to bed, not bothering to get out of his clothes.

Dream stands beside the table with the book now. The pages are still open. His eyes seek out the words unbidden, unable to resist the pull of the written word. He knows he is breaking a lot of taboos this evening. He is invading his friend’s privacy most thoroughly. The knowledge does not stop him from reading what Hob has written.

June 7th 8th, 1989

He didn’t come. The bastard really didn’t come. I can’t believe it. I was so sure he would show. That he was just angry, prideful and stubborn as he is, but surely a hundred years would be long enough to calm down?

Apparently they weren’t. I sat there, at our table at the White Horse, drinking one whiskey after the other, waiting like an idiot until they threw me out, and he didn’t show.

Do you even remember me? Or did you cut me from your memory, like you promised to cut all our ties, the night you left me standing in the rain? Have I left any impact at all on your immortal life that is probably much longer than my own? Surely it must be obvious to you that you have impacted my life more than anyone else. You are the only one who knows me, who knows Hob Gadling, the rough, foolish mercenary who bragged about never dying. Who raised himself from the dirt of the poor just to fall back down again, deeper than ever before. Rise and fall, and rise again only to be put in my place by you again - and rightfully so. 

In 1889 I had finally managed to find some middle ground, feeling safe enough to finally be honest with you - at least partially. And it all blew up in my face.

I should have known, really. Your relaxed smiles for the last centuries were too good to be true. I shouldn’t have trusted my gut and spilled some of the beans. But it had been lonely the last few decades and I thought we had reached an understanding. I thought I knew you, if not as well as you have to know me by now, but enough to take that leap of faith.

I leapt. And you let me fall I fell again. I should be used to it by now, one might think. But when it’s you nothing is simple and the stakes are so much higher.Do you know what you mean to me? Your name is written on a wall inside my heart and I don’t think that any amount of alcohol can wash it away. And I don’t even know it. I don’t know your name but it’s in there, and it’s not coming off. I know. I tried. Although it hurts that you stood me up, I believe that you’ll come back to meet me one day. I will believe in you, no matter what. I have to, for there is no other constant in my life but you. I have to hope.

‘You’re the only one who really knew me at all, and you coming back to me is against all odds, but it’s a chance I’ve got to take’, like Phil says.

Dream does not know who Phil is, but a quick glance at the general human subconscious reveals the quoted words as part of a song by an artist Hob seems to be referring to. Dream perceives the song’s lyrics and its general feeling and swallows heavily. It appears to be an apt choice for Hob’s current emotional state. He reads the last few words while the notes of the song linger in his mind.

So I’ll be here when you’re ready. I hope you know how to find me when they inevitably tear the old place down, but I guess you do. I hope so. I really hope so. I just want to know that you’re okay. I need to know that I’m not alone. There are others like me, I’ve met some. But it’s not the same. No one is like you. No one is as

Please come back

The words cut off abruptly, Hob having clearly been too tired to write more. Dream’s newly reclaimed powers put everything in much sharper relief. Shutting off the flow of emotions from the subconscious comes both easier and harder somehow. Pulling himself back into this singular humanoid shape at Hob’s bedside takes a particular effort he had forgotten since he furnished his ruby. It is not hard, but a task he has to accustom himself to again. Dream pauses for several minutes, quite literally collecting himself, unsure of his next actions.

He looks at Hob again. His face is slack in his sleep, relaxed and calm. Dream only glances at Hob’s dreams to ascertain if they are calm or troubled but finds nothing too upsetting. He does not want to intrude further than he already has so he keeps himself from viewing his friend’s dreams. 

His friend. Friend. The word that had sent Dream running in affront a century ago. Despite himself, struck by a sudden urge to talk to Hob, Dream inhales sharply and silently sits down on the chair in front of the open notebook. He carefully picks up the pen and sets it to the empty paper below Hob’s own words.

My friend.

I apologise for missing our meeting 

I owe you more than one apology. You were correct in your assessment the last time we met. I was am lonely. With one word you dismantled my defences and left me too vulnerable to bear at the time. I was rude to you, and I regretted my words as soon as I had left you. However, as you well know, I am a prideful, stubborn being. Strange, to be able to admit it so easily now. I’ve always known it, and you’re not the first to call me out on it, but of course I would never have allowed anyone who talked to me like that to speak to me again. So I told you I’d leave you, not able to accept that you were, ARE, my friend.

And that I need you, like you need me

I have not forgotten you, Hob Gadling. I do not forget anyone. You are cradled in the vastness of my being like every other mind, your story preserved for all time. This, of course, you cannot know, as I have never introduced myself to you. Again, something I’d like to apologise for. I will, however, endeavour to give you my name in person, and soon.

I would have done so today yesterday, but. For some reason I cannot name I felt unable to approach you or enter our usual meeting place. I know you waited and I am deeply sorry for troubling you.

You have indeed made an impact on my life. Maybe not in the same way I did on yours, but nonetheless our meetings have become something I look forward to. You surely wonder why I never told you who I am. I was not able to admit it a hundred years ago, but to meet you, who knows nothing of my role and my duties, is freeing in a way nothing else is in my existence. You look upon me as your friend, and nothing else. You cannot imagine how much I enjoy the time spent in your presence, listening to your accounts of the last century.

I could not

I was unable to experience much of human history over the last century. This has left me with a certain uneasiness in regards to humanity. I would humbly ask for your patience, once again. As I am trying to gather the courage find the time to gather the courage to meet you in person. Perhaps this book can provide a form of communication, for the time being.

Sincerely, your old friend

Dream drops the pen like it’s burning his fingers and rises swiftly, stepping back from the table and notebook before he can rip out the page he has written in a fit of panic. He has revealed far more than he intended to but it is only fair to leave Hob these words, after what he has put him through.

Dream allows himself one last look at Hob, still sleeping peacefully, before returning back to the Dreaming. There is much to think about. His reluctance to interact with humanity cannot stand if he is to perform his function. Walking with Death has helped him put things in perspective again but he still fears. What? What does he have to fear? He has no need for humans liking him. As he examines his feelings and his earlier short interactions with humans on his way to the White Horse, Dream realises that he does not care about all humans. He only cares about how Hob perceives him. 

Perhaps knowing that he had to introduce himself this time, clearly owing it to his friend, Dream had been afraid of losing Hob’s easy camaraderie. Surely exposing himself as Endless will have a pruning effect on Hob’s relaxed and friendly demeanour. Dream does not want that. But perhaps… No. He will wait for Hob’s reply in his notebook, if it comes. Should he choose to answer Dream, he will then decide how to proceed further. Surely any speculation right now is fruitless.

Trying to put the matter out of his mind for now, Dream goes to resume his work. He is aware enough to know that fear of Hob’s reaction was not the only reason he didn’t enter the White Horse. He needs to work through some things. Perhaps some new nightmares made of planes of suffocating glass will help him put some things behind him.

[Spoiler: of course they won’t, oh honey 🥺]

Part 2

[harrisonarchive]

George Harrison and Tom Petty at the Long Beach Grand Prix in 1989 and 1994. Photos by Richard Creamer/Celebrity Photo, © 1989 Celebrity Photo Agency and courtesy of Genesis Publications.

“We had an immediate connection. We were really good friends and our families were friends. […] [T]he kids formed lifetime friendships. It was a nice thing. Adria used to stay with George and his family at Friar Park. He told her something that he had never mentioned to me, which is that he had a cousin from Florida who reminded him of me. Before George was really settled at Friar Park, he and this Florida cousin would sleep in every room in this, well, this castle, trying to figure out which one had the best vibe and ought to be the bedroom.” - Tom Petty, Runnin’ Down A Dream (2007) “George came along, and we just got so close; it was like we had known each other in some other life or something. We were pals within minutes of meeting each other. I remember him saying to me a couple of days after we’d known each other — he’s just hugging me, holding me, saying, ‘Tommy, you’re in my life now whether you like it or not.’ It was like I’d been sent the very person I needed. He healed a lot of wounds.” - Tom Petty, Petty: The Biography (2015) “‘Almost as soon as we met them, we spent more time with Tom and Jane Petty than with anyone but the Keltners,’ says Olivia Harrison. ‘They were family. We had Christmases together. They came to Friar Park. We’d just hang out, for hours and hours, with Dhani and Adria and Annakim playing together, staying up way too late, probably. Tom and George playing guitars and ukuleles. Between George, Tom, and Jane — a lot of cigarette smoke. But we had fun. We got very close. I think it was a lot of fun for Tom. And George had never met anyone quite like Tom. George with his Liverpudlian accent and Tom with his drawl, there was something connecting them, some common element.’” - ibid (x)

[lex-loudestwoman]

The Whole Story

Before we begin, a disclaimer: I believe that Taylor Swift and Karlie Kloss are in a romantic relationship together. I've come to this conclusion carefully by reading all the signs Taylor has given us through her lyrics, media presence, clothing & jewelry choices, marketing, visuals, and interviews. This is all a theory of what I think has gone down between Karlie and Taylor since 2013.

2013 & Earlier - The Beginning

VS Fashion Show 2013: The first official meeting of Karlie & Taylor was at the 2013 VS Fashion Show.

This may not have been their true first encounter (s/o @sophietv for her amazing work about this, she outlines all the times Kaylor interacted prior to the fashion show in 2013!).

According to a Teen Vogue interview in 2014, Taylor and Karlie were introduced to each other at the same time that Taylor met Emma Stone by Andrew Bevan of Teen Vogue. That was in 2008 at the Young Hollywood Awards.

After that first meeting in 2008, Taylor attended a number of fashion shows that Karlie walked in: Tommy Hilfiger Spring Show (9/16/2009); Rodarte Spring 2012 show in NYC (9/13/2011); Jean-Paul Gauthier in Paris (9/30/2012), Elie Saab Spring/Summer 2013 Show (10/3/2012).

Karlie & Taylor also both attended Roberto Cavalli's 40th Anniversary Party (9/30/2010) and the Met Gala in 2011. Teen Vogue included a quote from Karlie about the Met: "Taylor Swift. I was introduced to her at the Met Gala, and we joked about having a baking date!"

January 17th, 2012: The iconic Twitter interaction between Kaylor finally happens! Taylor's cover story with Vogue includes a quote about Karlie: "I love Karlie Kloss, I want to bake cookies with her!" Karlie tweets at her the same day the cover releases.

2013 Victoria's Secret Fashion Show

By the time the 2013 VS Show rolled around, I think they were already dating in some capacity, and the fashion show was a PR move. If Taylor & Karlie were going to become "close friends" in the public eye, they needed a high-profile, highly documented story about how they met to avoid questions about the nature of their close relationship.

Taylor performed I Knew You Were Trouble (Red) for the show, and she danced with Karlie on stage while 'snow' fell.

"So it goes, you two are dancing in a snow globe round and round." - You Are in Love, 1989

Karlie later revealed in an interview that she had gotten a dramatic haircut during a Vogue shoot just before the VS Fashion Show began. This haircut was a big deal- she changed her look completely without talking to anyone about it, and Vogue asked her to keep it a secret until the shoot dropped. So she showed the VS Fashion Show like "surprise! New hair!" which drew up quite a buzz. Taylor's hair was pretty blonde and long at the time, not fully bleached but certainly lightened up in comparison to her natural hair color.

"flashback when you met me, your buzz cut & my hair bleached" - Dress, reputation

Karlie posted a ton of pictures from this event (most of which were of her and Taylor) on her Instagram. She also starts posting really sappy Instagram posts about being in love.

I think that the November 14th, 2013 post about receiving your favorite flowers from the person you love is about Taylor Swift, but who's to say!

Then, on Friday, December 13th, 2013 (Taylor's 21st birthday, which I think she references in an interview sometime when she's talking about why she loves the number 13) Karlie posts two sugarplum fairy-related photos, capturing the scene in The Nutcracker where snow falls from the sky as delicate performers dressed in white dance along the stage. This is super Taylor-coded, giving YAIL, dancing in the damn snowglobe again.

Interesting caption there, Kar. "#flashbackfriday to the good old days as a sugarplum fairy myself (aka the day I peaked)"

On December 14th, Karlie posts a solo shot on instagram and tags Josh with photo credit (this is hilarious that we let them just tell us whoever took their picture with absolutely no questioning whether they might be lying???). For some reason, I get the feeling that Taylor took this photo for Karlie the morning after her birthday when they were still together from celebrating the night before.

2014 - You're My Best Friend

Taylor buys her massive Tribeca, NY Penthouse apartment in April 2014. The home was actually TWO penthouse apartments next door to each other, and then she bought a third townhouse unit next door in 2017, and in 2018 she bought an additional 3-bedroom unit in the same building. Go off NYC Real Estate Queen! Taylor moved into her iconic Cornelia Street apartment during a round of renovations at her Tribeca home in 2016.

Big Sur Trip

VS Fashion Show 2014

Vogue Cover

BEST Best Friends

1989 - October 27, 2014

"The inspiration that I found in that [New York] city is kind of hard to describe and hard to compare to any other force of inspiration I've ever experienced in my life." - Taylor Swift, discussing the importance of NYC in an interview with ABC News given on 10/20/2014 ahead of a 1989 promo single release for Welcome to New York (1989). That quote actually reminds me of a lyric from 1989: you understand now why they lost their minds & fought the wars, and why I've spent my whole life trying to put it into words (You Are in Love, 1989).

2015 - Hiding in Plain Sight

1989 era so many public appearances blah blah blah they were girlfriends in public kissgate gay whatever, everyone agrees that Karlie & Taylor were dating in 2015 during 1989 World Tour etc

2016 - Beards or Bust

Politics and Jared Kushner

The unfortunate reality of 2016 was that Donald Trump really did get elected president, and then he really did take office and become the President of the United States from January 2017 - January 2021. (Sadly, none of it was a nightmare or even a collective hallucination, all of this actually happened in the good old U.S. of A., yeehaw!!) The sociopolitical climate in the US is charged, fraught, uncertain, and divided. Even worse for Taylor & Karlie is their closeness to Jared Kushner, Josh's older brother who is married to Ivanka Trump. Jared served as a senior advisor to Donnie Boy for his entire term, and he did such a good job being Don's accomplice in negligent, ethnocentric, homophobic, misogynistic leadership from the White House that he was made the Director of the Office of American Innovation (this entire office was created by Trump in March 2017 and dissolved by Biden in January 2021).

I think (and this is JUST speculating, I have no real evidence compiled yet to back this up, but I'll look for it eventually) Jared Kushner & Ivanka Trump are also in a queer-bearding relationship contract. I'm not going too far into it now, but there's stuff out there for both Jared and Ivanka, like former Trump staffer Noel Casler's allegations that Jared is gay and in an "arranged marriage" with Ivanka, who doesn't care about his sexuality due to her own sexual opportunism and likely queer identity.

If Jared and Ivanka really are queer and in a non-monogamous, mutually beneficial public relationship that allows them to co-parent their three children, then their involvement in the Trump administration makes things pretty damn unsafe if they ever were found out. So, I think that when Trump was elected, the entire Kushner family had to be super locked down to keep both Jared & Ivanka AND Josh & Karlie (and Mikey and Taylor) safe from any unwanted allegations.

Since the Kushner and Hess families hold international influence, wealth, and power, if all these billionaire men were suddenly outed as gay there could be serious economic and political consequences across the globe.

Not so coincidentally, Karlie and Taylor's last public event together was Lorde's birthday on Monday, November 7th, 2016. The 2016 Presidential Election took place on Tuesday, November 8th, 2016, which sealed the fate of the Kushner name to be attached to Donald Trump's Presidency. I believe that if Trump had not won (which no one expected him to do) Karlie & Taylor would not have started this Love Blackout.

This photo is the end of Kaylor's public friendship, and the start of their Love Blackout (shout out to @sophietv again for being the BEST!!)

Joe Alwyn - A Perfectly Palatable Person

I'm sure when the team realized Trump might actually win the election, they started looking for an acceptable beard. Joe really was a great choice for Taylor's life: he had features similar to Karlie's (light eyes, tall, blonde hair), he didn't have much going on with his own reputation, he had a sparkling clean dating history - because Taylor was his first ever girlfriend, he was a fellow artist and was already media trained, and he was gay, too!

Met at the Met - May 2016

red herring lyric (tied to VS 2013 show)

First Reports - May 16, 2017

The Sun broke the news of Taylor Swift and Joe Alwyn dating on May 16, 2017. According to Tree Paine a source, they had been secretly dating for months. It's later assumed that they started dating a few months before January 1, 2017, (revealed in a Lover journal released in 2019). Some sleuthing swifties connect a lyrical swap in the acoustic cover of "September" by Earth, Wind, and Fire as performed by our girl Taylor (Friday, April 13, 2018) to the diary entry and determine their anniversary was probably September 28, 2016.

Supportive Boyfriend Award? - December 8, 2017

Joe does something of heroic power. He goes to a concert with his popstar girlfriend. He apparently attended Taylor's performance in the iHeartRadio JingleBall in NYC and "stayed for the whole show and they later left together as well." lmao wut, okay, lots of people stayed for the whole show, this is such a boring relationship roll out, especially for Miss Extra!! (lovingly)

Toe is Officially Official - May 8th, 2018

Joe finally takes his instagram off private mode and posts a picture of himself, alone, next to a big cactus. Taylor also posts a picture of herself, alone, near the same big cactus. Alright, I guess that *technically* counts as giving the public some confirmation that you two know each other, but I bet Tree was mad as hell when that was their "official instagram announcement."

Then, Joe joins Taylor at the opening night of the Reputation Stadium tour in Glendale, AZ. He wore a baseball cap low to cover his face and "stay incognito" (Joe, babe, no one knows who you are...but like okay i guess, be weird about your fame that you literally wanted and signed up for). But during the song Gorgeous apparently Taylor pointed at Joe in the VIP tent, while he proudly filmed her.

Taylor travels around the country for the Reputation Stadium Tour from May-November 2018. The Rep tour is SO, SO GAY, like Jesus Christ Lesbian Jesus save us from all the rainbow and bisexual flagging!! Check my twitter thread for a full analysis of how gay the Dress performance is.

Reputation Promo:

Taylor Swift socials

Karlie Kloss socials

Reputation, The Album

Reputation was released on November 10, 2017.I consider Reputation to be Taylor & Karlie's "I'm so in love that I might stop breathing" album. This is the honeymoon, this is the up all night, can't stop, won't stop, I need you more than air kind of love.

This album is all about the pining and desperately waiting, hiding their anticipation, hands shaking from holding back from touching each other where anyone might see them. Much like Taylor's own media presence & public interactions in the Reputation era, Kaylor had gone dark, nobody heard from them for months, but they're doing better than they ever were.

2018 - Desperate Measures

The honeymoon phase ends in 2018 as shit in America gets worse for queer folks. The sociopolitical climate is getting more dangerous now, and Trump's constant attacks on LGBTQIA+ rights & safety is making matters much worse. Jared Kushner & Ivanka Trump are in the media a lot now, which means all eyes are on Josh, too.

Toe is Officially Official - May 8, 2018

Joe finally takes his instagram off private mode and posts a picture of himself, alone, next to a big cactus. Taylor also posts a picture of herself, alone, near the same big cactus. Alright, I guess that *technically* counts as giving the public some confirmation that you two know each other, but I bet Tree was mad as hell when that was their "official instagram announcement."

Then, Joe joins Taylor at the opening night of the Reputation Stadium tour in Glendale, AZ. He wore a baseball cap low to cover his face and "stay incognito" (Joe, babe, no one knows who you are...but like okay i guess, be weird about your fame that you literally wanted and signed up for). But during the song Gorgeous apparently Taylor pointed at Joe in the VIP tent, while he proudly filmed her.

Taylor travels around the country for the Reputation Stadium Tour from May-November 2018. The Rep tour is SO, SO GAY, like Jesus Christ Lesbian Jesus save us from all the rainbow and bisexual flagging!! Check my twitter thread for a full analysis of how gay the Dress performance is.

Instead of hosting her usual big 4th of July Party at the Holiday House in RI, Toe goes on vacation to Turks & Caicos to celebrate the holiday. They call Backgrid to take a few pictures of them "frolicking" at the beach together. I'm so convinced, they're in LOVE!! Can't get enough of each other!! They totally hold hands all the time, this feels so natural and not weird at all!

Karlie posts a few photos in a row about the 4th of July this year. First, she's in her Anti-Hero colored pajamas with her left eye closed in a wink, sitting on a few suitcases, captioned "Kissin Paris Goodbye. *kissy face emoji*"

Then, another post on the 4th itself is of a WMAG stylized photoshoot where Karlie is a cowboy, for the Wild West with Cowboy Karlie campaign. It's captioned "Going into the 4th like *cowboy emoji* @/wmag" EXCUSE ME. "You're a cowboy like me, perched in the dark, telling all the rich folks anything they wanna hear like it could be love I could be the way forward only if they pay for it"

The implications of a Cowboy Like Me reference and this photo's timing has on their engagement story has me dead. I'll do a whole lyrical analysis and tie in of it soon.

And then she posts this pic of her swimming in an unidentifiable body of water. Could it be Turks & Caicos? Maybe!

Joshlie announces their engagement on July 24, 2018 while the two are on a vacation in XYZ? People Magazine reports that the proposal "took place a few weeks ago during a romantic weekend together in upstate New York." So they got engaged sometime in the beginning of July, right?

On July 10th, she posts a video of herself voguing down the runway with "This Kiki is Marvelous" playing in the background during Paris Fashion Week in September 2013. Her performance was considered one of the highlights of Paris Fashion Week. She captioned the video: Mood. @/jpgaultierofficial.

Quick question for Karlie, why do you feel the same way you felt before you went on stage for a make or break performance out of your comfort zone? You performed incredibly but it could have easily turned out very differently. Why would you be feeling like that right around the time of your engagement to Josh Kushner?

Karlie's instagram post on July 16, 2018 captioned "bestest of weekends with my bestest of friends" included group photos and a video of her & four girlfriends from her childhood.

So she got engaged and then spent a weekend with her friends, who then commented on instagram pictures from the weekend saying "remember, there's nothing better than old friends!" Why the heck are they talking about friends so much!? She literally just got engaged to Jo- ohhh.... Oh, right, he's gay, and she's gay. Old friends. Ahhhh.

Taylor responds to the engagement news breaking by having special guest, Haley Kiyoko aka Lesbian Jesus, join her for the Rep show at Gillette Stadium on July 27, 2018. Taylor specifically requests to sing Curious with Haley, which is a song about a lesbian woman singing to her ex-lover who is now dating a man, asking her ex if she lets him touch her the way she used to. So gay, so timely, Taylor is a petty bitch & I love her.

Do the girls back home touch you like I do? Delicate (Reputation)

The Wedding, October 18, 2018

Karlie wears her custom Dior gown and very amicably marries Joshua in someone's backyard, it looks like. Things seem perfectly pleasant, almost like watching a wedding scene featuring two actors with no sexual chemistry whatsoever.

2019 - Every Time I Don't, I Almost Do

Lover Promo is all very gay, very loud, very comingoutlor.

ME! out now! on Lesbian visibility day, April 26, 2019.

YNTCD music video out on June 16, 2019.

The Wedding, Part Two: Cowboy Karlie and Her Cowboy, Her Man

Karlie Kloss and Joshua Kushner celebrate their wedding again with a private group of friends from June 20-23rd, 2019 in Wyoming. It's cowboy themed, for whatever reason.

This wedding into a honeymoon in Africa would have been a wonderful strategy to keep the spotlight off of Karlie in Taylor Swift's immediately impending plan to come out on June 30th, 2019. Go read @sophietv's incredible post that details the failed coming out (fuck Scooter Braun).

<timeline jump>

2020: The Great War

January:

February: Karlie is in Paris, Taylor is advertising The Man MV (out February 27).

March: Quarantine begins March 16th & Taylor starts writing folklore almost immediately, which means that the events in folklore have already happened before COVID begins.

MORE ON THE WAY! I've got:

What happens when Karlie gets back to the US?

How does the Lover era go?

Lover social media & marketing presence

8.24.2019 - Blue

9.9.2019 - Lover in Paris performance

10.7.2019 - Sad Girl SNL

10.11.2019 - Sad Girl TinyDesk (& ring)

Continued sus social media from TSwift

Miss Americana

2020: The Great War (3.16.2020, Quarantine begins)

Lonely Millennial Woman Covered in Cat Hair

folklore

evermore

Karlie's Pregnancy

2022: Go Viral (Midnights, Red TV)

2023: Midnights, Eras, Speak Now TV, Broken Toe, 1989 TV, Kaylor Renaissance

My Predictions

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Nikolai tells Alejandro about the day he met Price for the first time.

cw: none.

The safehouse that sat just outside Chicago was pretty tidy, all things considered. The sofas had stuffing in them, there was a pool table with most of its balls and three cues, and there was a kitchen stocked with an adequate number of pots, pans and miscellaneous utensils. Miscellaneous, because the only three things Soap ever saw fit to use was knife, fork and spatula. The cutlery was optional.

Unlike Nik, who had been holding out with his previously undisclosed talents, and was currently whipping up dinner for the three senior officers. Gaz, Soap and Rudy had ordered pizza from a decent looking joint in Chicago town, and the four empty boxes and half drunk Pepsi bottles still sat scattered on the low coffee table as they watched Price, Alejandro and Nik chatter in the kitchen.

Ghost was asleep on the sofa, one arm slung over his face as he dozed before his meal. The fact that he had stolen several slices of pizza as well had surprised precisely no one.

After some fiddling, Alejandro managed to get the small stereo on the kitchen counter to work, the crackly voice of Madonna rising above the sound of sizzling garlic and onion with ‘Like a Prayer’. It was back in the charts thanks to some new superhero movie in the cinema.

“I remember when this was released,” Nik said. “March 1989. A few months later the Berlin Wall fell and I had my first kiss with a German girl from the west, an American radio station was playing in the background, this.” He chucked a handful of peppers into the pan, stirring them into the onions.

Price grinned fondly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Always a hopeless romantic. Couldn'ta had any hairs on your chin even, Nik.”

“I was fourteen. Almost a man.”

“Ha, I was four. I always forget...”

Nik winced. “Oozush, you make me feel like a… what is it you say?”

“Cradle snatcher.”

“Yes, that,” Nik said, deadpan.

“Did ya kiss random girls in the street a lot, or was the fall of the Soviet empire a special occasion?”

“You make me sound like a pervert…”

“Ahh, ignore him, Nikolai. These young officers have no concept of romance and the… emotional power of revolution, of history in the making,” Alejandro chimed in, “a kiss exchanged on the cusp of a new dawn, it is a powerful thing.”

“Thank you, colonel.” Nik slapped Price’s hand as he reached for one of the cherry tomatoes on the edge of the chopping board, and weathered his baleful gaze with a placid stare. “Has the captain ever told you the story of how we first met?”

“Oh, bloody hell, Nik, I really don’t–”

“No,” Alejandro said, grinning. “I would love to hear it.”

Nik raised his eyebrows at Price, who covered his face with his hand, groaning into his palm. “Not my finest hour…"

Nik cut open the mince and passata before he continued; revenge was best extracted at a leisurely pace so it could be enjoyed. “I was sitting in the Prince of Wales after my shift had ended at the embassy, minding my own business, when this young, baby-faced man sat on the stool next to me and ordered a pint of bitter.”

“Nik–” Price warned, but without heat; the embarrassed smile made his whiskers twitch.

“He was wearing his beanie, his civilian clothes, but he had British military written all over him. He might as well have arrived in his parade uniform. I knew MI6 would be sending someone to meet me that day, but a young man straight out of Sandhurst was a surprise. He was trying so hard not to look at me and I decided to see how long he would last.”

“Two years out,” Price corrected, his cheeks reddening in preparation for what came next.

“‘Ow’s yer English?’ he asks,” Nik’s impression of Price was perfect and Alejandro chuckled into his beer, “and I reply–”

“--how's your Russian?” Price added, pained. "It was bloody nonexistent, wasn't it? What a wanker."

“The flush was enough. I was not sure whether MI6 intended me to provide him with intelligence or take him to bed, I am certain either would have satisfied their goals at the time.”

“I was trained as a soldier, not a bloody spy. You were my first big mission in that area...”

“A honey trap,” Alejandro said, knowingly, and Price's face turned a darker shade of red.

“Da. A very sweet one, with such serious eyes for such a young face. But they had done what I asked; sent a soldier I could talk to, not a spy to manipulate me. We talked for hours, and every time I tried to bait him, he remained stalwart and honest to his mission. It was impossible to say no. It is for John Price that I turned informant.”

Price tipped his beer in a toast and then necked the rest. Perhaps to hide the look in his eye from Alejandro, but the colonel was far too shrewd to have missed it. He was also, however, a gentleman and didn't push for any further acknowledgement.

Nik finished up the bolognese with fresh pasta, some mushrooms, tomato puree, spices and red wine, before serving it up onto four plates. “Lieutenant!”

Ghost rolled off the sofa, kicking Soap's feet out of the way, and dragged himself up to a kitchen stool. “Smells good,” he grumbled. “Wassis about you bein’ a honey trap, sir?”

“Thought you were asleep,” Price murmured, shaking salt and pepper over the top of his meal. “It's classified. Strictly need to know.”

Ghost hummed as he rolled his mask up to his nose and tucked into his dinner. He would ply Nik with bourbon for the intel later, because he absolutely needed to know.

Nik pulled up the stool closest to Price’s side, and they sat shoulder to shoulder as they had fifteen years before in the Prince of Wales. Back then, Nik had been full of fear and uncertainty, his conscience a writhing mess inside his chest, the spectre of depression darkening his eyes.

They had tried to turn him in Copenhagen but he had resisted. He had known they would try again when he was stationed in London and he had been ready to resist unless they met a specific set of his criteria. Nikolai had thought it unlikely, until Lieutenant John Price, young, completely out of his depth despite being so clearly brilliant, but so determined to get it right, had talked him into believing there was hope after all.

Nik's hand found Price’s knee under the table, his thumb stroking over the top, and the backs of Price's fingers passed back and forth over his weathered knuckles in return.

Nik had bound his destiny, his soul, to John that day. He had only realised it some years later when his head had cleared enough to listen to his heart, but since then, he had never looked back.

[madelynraemunson]

HEY MADDY, WHAT’S ON TV? 📺

𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐭 (…𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬) part 1/2

🥡 steddie x freaky friday fanfiction • RATED: NC-17 🥡

SUMMARY: Dustin’s science experiment goes horribly wrong and his two ‘bickering besties’ have to suffer the consequences.

WORD COUNT: 11.4k words

CONTENTS CONTAIN: (EASTER) EGGS, WHEAT, METAL, PARALLELISMS, A PINCH OF COMEDY, ANGST, AND LOTS OF SWEARING

ALLERGENS: CHEESY, CORN(Y), SHELLFISH (sorry eddie)

author's note: might put this on ao3 idk this one's a big boi.... hey y'all! i’m a little late to the steddie body swap train, but have arrived nonetheless! also i’m so stoked that jamie lee curtis and lindsay lohan are currently working on a freaky friday 2!! one of my fave childhood movies and i can’t believe we’re getting a parte dos :,) also, jake alan = corroded coffin in this AU

🥠

“Jesus Chr— what did you do to my hair?!”

“What did you do to MINE?!”

Perhaps a rewind is necessary. Metaphorically, of course. Time travel’s not real! ;)

      ◄ ◄ ◄  R E W I N D  🎞️

The year is 1989. Camp Knowhere. And since it’s the last year before he ages out of summer camp, Dustin Henderson is determined to 'WOW' everyone with his newest invention.

“They’re kinda like boner pills.”

“Oh...! WOW...?”

It’s not the weirdest thing Steve's heard come out of Dustin's mouth. In fact, he's practically immune to insanity at this point, having been surrounded by hormone-driven teenagers for a month and a half straight.

“Look I know, it sounds crazy,” Dustin pleads. “But imagine being able to walk a mile in someone's shoes just by eating a cookie. They'd be like the Viagras of empathy!"

Again, not the weirdest thing Dustin has said. 

And for as long as Curly keeps hanging out with Eddie Munson, his Other Older Male Friend (O.O.M.F.) constantly like he has been all summer, it certainly won’t be the last.

Being a volunteer camp counselor hasn’t panned out as expected for Steve Harrington. 

For the past six weeks, Dustin has spent most of his time locked in his cabin trying to perfect his new creation. But he's been MIA for so long, Steve hasn’t been able to teach him how to start a fire, pitch a tent, or even pick Dustin's brain about being his guest for Show and Tell. 

Making s’mores. Canoeing. Telling scary stories in the dark. Dustin and Steve are missing out on actual summer activities. The real reason he signed up to be counselor in the first place. 

But you know who has been able to spend time with Dustin?

"Eddie and I spent almost every night trying to come up with good fortunes," Henderson boasts.

Not the counselor, but the Certified Loiterer.

Steve bitterly kisses his teeth. “That’s awesome, man! But hey, speaking of spending—"

"They are so clever too. You gotta hear 'em!"

"I'm sure they are! But now that you're practically finished, I was sorta hoping—"

“AND,” Dustin adds. “if you get a good one you can add ‘in bed’ after for some comic relief.”

Steve crosses his arms as he finds himself fading back into silence.

“You are destined for great adventures…in bed,” Curly smirks, waving a fortune in Steve’s face. “You will be met with great luck this week... in bed. You are a pleasure to have around…in bed.”

“Agh, please tell me one of Harrington’s lays said that,” comes a voice. “Otherwise this interaction is very concerning.”

Dustin gasps. “EDDIE!”

Speaking of The Devil.

Like nails on a chalkboard, in walks Eddie Munson with his fucked up voice, fucked up rep, fucked up hair, and a fucked up sense of humor to match.

“Hey, Henderson,” Eddie gives a curt nod. “Hey, Steve.”

“Munson.”

“I was just telling Steve about my fortune cookies,” says Dustin. “I can’t wait to win people’s hearts over at Show and Tell, along with my spotlight secret weapon.”

“What’s your spotlight secret weapon?” Steve inquires.

“You’re looking at him,” Eddie quips. “I’m Dustin’s music act for his Show and Tell.”

There’s a pang in Steve’s heart that he wishes wasn’t there. All summer, the Retired Cub Scout had been secretly hoping that Dustin would ask him to be his Show and Tell buddy. He had so many survival skills up his sleeve that he wanted the little twerps to know before they age out. 

But the stars had other plans, he supposes.

“My friend’s friend’s dad is a music scout for Cardinal Records,” Dustin explains. “If he shows up and sees Eddie play, Corroded Coffin may have a chance!”

“Yup,” Eddie nods. “We’re performing our new song Take Me Away.”

He hands Steve a piece of crinkled paper from his back pocket, to which Steve reads after clearing the lump marinating in his throat.

“Don’t wanna grow up, I wanna get out. Hey, take me away,” Steve reads.

“Aren’t the lyrics so metal?!” Dustin beams in admiration.

“They’re uh, very edgy…” Steve shrugs.

“And incredibly fitting, when you consider the circumstances. Just wait ‘til you hear Eddie and his band perform it!”

“I think I’ll be busy with camp duties...” Steve grimaces, handing the sheet back over to Eddie. “Sorry.”

“No worries, they will just perform in your garage. They still gotta practice. Been needing another place to do so too."

Steve's eyes widen.

“What?!” he shakes his head. “Absolutely not. When did we agree on this?”

“Uh, beginning of summer?" Dustin points out. "You said you’d be willing to accommodate any of my needs. Especially since my mom’s gone to her spicy book retreat and basically threw away keys to the house.”

Steve now recalls telling Dustin that. But nowhere did it say babysitting his replacement would be in the cards.

"I'm sorry Harrington, I know I'm kinda butting in…" Eddie acknowledges.

Finally, something he and Steve can agree on.

"But we're kinda desperate at the moment, so it would mean the world. You won't even know we're there."

“It’s still no!” Harrington blubbers. “Okay? With the loud music and Eddie’s screaming, I’ll have the Loch Nora book club moms with pitchforks at my door. We have a reputation to uphold.”

“Who’s to say the Loch Nora moms don’t want in on all the angsty fun?” Eddie smirks. “Corroded Coffin’s an acquired taste, but I’m sure your… progressive… neighborhood wouldn’t mind.”

"It's not that," Steve shakes his head. "Even though we’re ‘progressive’, my neighborhood is still very much suburban-families-with-young-kids. They'd call the cops on us, for sure."

But Loch Nora was just a decoy for Steve’s true feelings. If everyone sees how cool Eddie is, they’re going to make him their Comfort Grown Up. Then where would Steve go?

Especially if they caught a glimpse of those big, brown eyes and the way they glisten in the amber sunset. And apparently Dustin’s caught wind of this Munson Magic as well; because not too long after, he’s imitating Eddie, the coercion-via-cuteness factor ramping higher on his part. And how could Steve say no to his lil face?

“Just this one time, Steve?” Dustin begs. “Please, please, pleaaase?”

“Dustin…” Steve shakes his head. 

“Pleaaase,” a pouty Eddie chimes in, slyly gazing up at Steve through his long, batty lashes. “We’ll behave, Stevie. We promise.”

But Harrington is standing his ground. Eddie already stole his best friend away from him. His gig. His spot at the Cool Adults table. Did he want Harrington’s life too?

“NO!” Steve insists. "NO!"

“YEAAAH!” Eddie croaks into the microphone while he seductively strums at his guitar. “YEEEEAAAHHHH!”

Performing in Steve’s garage was a YES-go after all. Especially if free bud has anything to do with it.

"This dude and his band are pretty good," Argyle comments as he takes a long, savoring drag from his hefty blunt. "Corroded Coffin, man. They're gonna be big one day."

"Just wait til you hear his guitar solo," Jonathan adds. "Eddie's been working on it all summer for Dustin’s show.”

The walls of the Harrington household are forced to withstand a migraine-inducing bass while everyone — but Steve —  jams out, losing themselves in a song about wanting to stay young forever.

“Don’t wanna grow up, I want to get out. Hey! Take me away…”

Jealousy festers within the host as he watches, taking in the sight of an awestruck Dustin playing his air guitar alongside Eddie, resonating with the lyrics the way he passionately yells,

“I wanna shout out, ‘take me away…away away away’…”

“Someone take me away,” Harrington’s inner monologue spews.

But it’s not that Steve hates the song, nor is he having a miserable time with everybody. It’s not that he hates Eddie or his stupid raspy voice, or the way he makes the guitar sing with every calculated twiddle of his fingers and every provocative buckling of his knees. In fact, it’s the opposite. Steve just didn’t want to admit that Dustin’s O.O.M.F. — and the other members of Corroded Coffin — were actually… pretty cool. 

And judging by the fact that Eddie was most likely Dustin’s first choice for the talent show, there was a cornier, more ominous second thing that Steve isn’t willing to admit: it’s that the exclusion really hurts him.

“Same old SHIT,” Eddie sings. “Never ends.”

“WHOA!” Harrington exclaims, waving his disapproving hands in the air.

The band stops the song immediately, the negative feedback from the amp plaguing the air while they stare around in confusion.

“What?” Eddie demands.

Any chance there was for Steve to try to humble 'The Freak', he took. And clearly this time around, there was no hesitation.

“You’re not really gonna say the S word when you perform at Show and Tell, are you?”

“The S word?” Munson retorts. “What, is this preschool?”

Ba-dum-tss! goes the drummer.

"Gareth," Eddie scowls.

Gareth Emerson digresses with a sheepish shrug.

“No," Steve shakes his head. "But it’s still a summer camp for kids.”

Eddie chuckles at this. “Come on, Harrington. Don’t act like YOU weren’t cussing up a storm at their age. The kids are all in their rebellious phase anyways. They’re gonna love it.”

Eddie’s known Steve since elementary school. This is the same guy who held swear contests, who cussed because he thought it made him look ‘mature’. The same guy that used to call women “bitches”. The same guy who almost got suspended because he and Tommy H. were yelling out slurs during an assembly, but luckily his superintendent mom was there to pull some strings to simmer it down to one afternoon of detention.

Harrington couldn’t possibly choose now to care about profanities.

“I’d rather you not bend the rules of Camp Knowhere.”

Bend the rules?!

It doesn’t take too long for Eddie to figure out that the issue goes beyond Camp Knowhere. In fact, both of Dustin’s O.O.M.F.s know that. 

 “Why the sudden change of character, Harrington?” Eddie crosses his arms. “Huh? After all these years?”

"All these years, what do you mean all these years?"

"You know exactly what I mean."

Captivated, nosy eyes bounce back and forth between the two as they argue... on and on and on and on.

“This happens every time,” Jonathan hisses to Robin at a low whisper so that they don’t hear. “Do you think they ever get tired of it?”

"I actually don't know what you mean," Steve counters. "And quite frankly, I feel like you don't seem to really know me at all."

“Hey, I’m just following your lead,” Eddie shrugs. “You never took time to get to know ME when we were in school. Unless I had something you and your friends wanted of course.”

“So all of this is MY fault?”

“I never said it was.”

It’s almost ritualistic at this point, the arguing. 

Just then, Gareth starts up again, issuing a theatrical drumroll to ease the tension. It only seems to make it worse, judging by how Eddie and Steve hiss at him immediately.

“GARETH!” “EMERSON!” 

The drummer refrains once more. 

Steve is quick to pick up where they left off. “I can read between the lines.”

“Crazy thing to say for someone who’s paid people to write his book reports.”  

“I’m just…looking out for everyone, okay?” Steve snaps, reverting the conversation back to the kids. “The children might not care, but it may look bad on the counselors. And I like my summer gig, spending time with my best friend. I don’t wanna jeopardize it.”

A self-serving response. Eddie knew to not put it past Harrington.

Regardless, Eddie chooses to comply. Not to give Steve what he wants, but because Dustin's happiness is on the line. And if his best friend is happy and Corroded Coffin gets a record deal, then Eddie wouldn’t have to deal with Steve Harrington or Hawkins much longer. 

The band starts up again and, this time, remains uninterrupted. 

Meanwhile, Steve sulks back in his seat, unable to pinpoint why he felt like the issue wasn’t resolved. But he soon realizes that for as long as Eddie Munson is part of the equation, the problem will remain a constant.

“Same old stuff,” Eddie bitterly corrects himself. “Never ends.”

“Fortune cookie, anyone?”

Two hours feel like days when everyone is stoned. And given that everyone’s too tired (and high) to drive themselves home, a sleepover at Steve’s quickly becomes inevitable. 

“Did we get the same fortune?” Jonathan asks Argyle.

“No, we didn’t,” he shakes his head. “Guess we’re not feeling sorry for each other tonight.”

Dustin chuckles.

“What are we feeling tonight? I’m thinking pizza.”

Leaving everyone else to decide on munchies, Steve and Eddie appoint themselves as the Designated Clean-Up Crew, searching for and rounding up any trash they see laying around.

“So, what are you up to nowadays?” Steve questions. “Since we graduated high school.”

“Oh, same old, same old,” Eddie offers a tense chuckle. “Still in The Biz, but the money’s good. Thankfully this time I’m doing it without my pops around.”

It strikes a nerve in Steve. He’d give anything to have his dad around. 

He also wouldn’t be proud to be in the same position as he was in high school. Didn’t Eddie want to grow as a person?

“That’s amaziiing.” Steve lies.

Uncomfortable now, Eddie clears his throat, shifting his attention back to Steve so that he can eat his own words.

“What about you? What’s The Hair been up to?”

“I work at Family Video and then help out at camp right after.”

“Try bringing that to the career fair,” Eddie scoffs jokingly.

“Sorry?”

“I said great gig you got there,” Munson perjures.

Their gazes meet for a brief, charged moment before quickly averting. 

Eddie watches Steve with both curiosity and disdain. 

This is who his best buddy is seeing on the side? It’s hard for Eddie to think of anything Dustin and Steve could possibly have in common. What would they even talk about? Maybe the new Brook Shields movie, hair gel, and their favorite ice cream flavors, but that’s just about it. And Steve Harrington doesn’t seem like the best influence for Dustin anyways.

Steve’s eyes flicker towards Eddie, trying to hide his scrutiny behind a thinly veiled expression of disinterest. 

He notes the way Eddie’s band tee has seen better days, the sleeves ripped and the print faded, and the way he absolutely reeks of Mary Jane and indistinct rubber from a Spirit Halloween store. If Dustin brought Eddie home to Mrs. Henderson, she’d probably stroke out. 

Just then, a very intoxicated Robin chimes in.

“Duuude, Eddie. It’d be awesome if Coffin got this gig.”

“Oh, I know right?” Eddie lights up immediately. “We’d be out of this rugged town once and for all and living life in the big city.”

The distaste for Eddie only amplifies with that statement. 

All of Steve’s life, he’s had nothing but good experiences in Hawkins. To have a “rough” upbringing, you had to be looking for trouble. Which is something Eddie and his father, Al seemed to have been doing since the beginning of time. 

“What’s so rugged about Hawkins?” Steve challenges Eddie.

“Wouldn’t you like to know…” Eddie mutters.

“I would, actually,” Steve taps his feet impatiently. “Go on, tell the class, Eddie. What is so rough-and-tough about this part of town?”

Eddie knows Steve is trying to set him up. He thinks for a moment, carefully crafting his words before speaking.

“There’s just…” Eddie says with trepidation. “A lack of equal opportunity to succeed. Always has been. But in the city, opportunity is everywhere. For everyone. Indy would be a perfect, clean slate for us.”

It’s like a sock to the face. 

Lack of opportunity? Eddie is most definitely looking for problems now. If he wouldn’t consider Steve being nice enough to lend him his garage — even when he didn’t like him — an ‘opportunity’ to succeed, then what would he consider?

“I mean, sure. Hawkins has issues like any other city, but I think there are equal opportunities for everyone,” Harrington protests. 

“Very rich coming from you, Suburbia.”

“Uh oh,” Dustin mutters.

Now Steve is pissed. 

Does Munson think that just because Steve lives in a nice house he’s never had problems in his life? With that logic, Eddie isn’t going to get himself very far. It’s very evident now, given where he currently is.

“Why can’t you accept the fact that life comes for others too?!” Steve spits. “Life is also hard for me, you know!”

“Guys…” Dustin starts.

A bitter laugh expels from the pit of Eddie’s stomach.

“Life is hard for you?!” Eddie exclaims. “It’s hard for you? How can life be that hard? Hey, I’m Steve Harrington. My life consists of Daddy’s money, wearing hair pomade to the ceiling and getting rejected by girls!”

“Hey, why don’t we play that one song again!” Jonathan suggests. “You know the take me away, away, away, away, away!”

But Steve and Eddie are way too locked in, committed to tearing each other to bits because the other one started it. Eddie wanted to play that game huh?

“Well all YOU know is complaining about the consequences of your own actions!” Steve spews in return. “Oh look, I’m Eddie Munson, I’m painfully self-unaware, I’m inconsiderate of everyone around me, and I commit petty crimes then wonder why the cops hate me. AND I still live with my uncle – AT MY BIG AGE.”

“YOU STILL LIVE WITH YOUR PARENTS, HOW IS THAT ANY DIFFERENT?”

“AND! You’re as loud as your guitar. NEW-NEW-NEW-NEWWW. How about you evaluate your priorities if you want a good life, Munson? And make sure you at least have some ammo under your belt before coming for me.”

“Wow,” Eddie laughs. “I don’t know anyone more tone deaf. You think my walk of life was a choice?! Not everyone was handed everything on a silver platter, Steve. Not everyone’s lives are perfect like yours!”

“Sweethearts, anybody?!” Robin butts in, desperately waving the candies in the air. “You are what you eat, and everyone in this room is VERY, VERY SWEET!”

But the boys are only getting started. If this is Robin’s version of sweet, she was about to know what sour is real quick.

“You think my life is perfect?! At least you have a father figure.”

“I want you to assess the room we’re in, Harrington,” Eddie implores. “Family must love you a lot if they’re letting you throw parties and use drugs that a loser like me was nice enough to hook you up with.”

“Leave what I do outside of camp out of this! You know, as a counselor I’m not sure I like my kids hanging out with some loitering criminal all the damn time.”

“Not sure I like them hanging out with someone who acts like an overbearing, insufferable parent.”

“At least I have parents.”

Simultaneous gasps fill the room. 

The color drains from Steve’s face when he realizes the damage he’s done. He watches as Eddie seemingly deflates, shrinking himself down at the shoulders, and then sulking in place. A blank stare overcasts his eyes, lips desperately trying not to quiver while in front of an involuntary audience. 

“That was not cool,” Steve breathes. “I’m sorry.”

But Eddie is past the point of forgiveness. And caring. Steve’s already embarrassed the fuck out of him, so what’s Dignity at this point? Steve won. Whatever game he was playing.

“You’re right, Steve,” Eddie nods, bitterly. “You have everything I want. So why can’t you just give me this one thing?”

Steve really fucked up this time. He doesn’t even know why he even said that. It isn’t necessarily a brag that Steve has parents if they aren’t active in his life. Did he really want the last word so badly, he willingly let his anger steer the direction of the conversation? Sure, Eddie has backed off now, but the thick veil of suppressed tears did not make it worth it.

“Here,” Eddie quips as he chucks Dustin’s invention at Steve’s chest. “You win. You want a cookie for it?”

Before leaving the room, Eddie helps himself to one as well. Steve watches ashamed as Eddie storms away, not seeming to care who he bumps into on his way out. With the intention to make amends, Steve darts after Eddie, following him to the bathroom only to have the door slammed in his face.

“Eddie!” Steve knocks. “Listen, I’m sorry, okay? I thought I’d gotten over my anger issues and pettiness, so I don’t know why I said all that. It’s something I need to work on, for sure.”

No response. Steve tries again.

“You guys sound really good…” he musters. “I wish I had the courage to put myself out there like that.”

Steve gently taps the door with two fingers now. 

“Eddie?”

On the other side of the wall, Eddie is angrily wiping away his tears, upset at himself for letting someone who wears women’s hairspray and Tiger Beat cologne get under his skin. 

Giving up now, Steve sighs to himself and turns around to prop his back against the door. And in case Eddie decides to come back out, Steve decides to wait a while longer, reading the fortune from his fortune cookie in the meantime. 

“A journey soon begins, its prize reflected in another’s eyes. When what you see is what you lack, then selfless love will change you back.”

“What could that possibly mean?” Steve thinks to himself as he takes a bite from the cookie. 

And at the same time on the other side, Eddie also cracks open his cookie. A nice little dessert with some kind words are sure to make him feel better. He reads his fortune.

“A journey soon begins, its prize reflected in another’s eyes. When what you see is what you lack, then selfless love will change you back.”

“…in bed,” he adds with a chuckle.

Just then the ground begins to rumble. 

The sudden JOLT causes Eddie to drop his cookie and latch onto the sink for stability. Meanwhile, Former Cub Scout Steve who knows everything about Stop-Drop-and-Roll dives for the nearest piece of furniture, crawling underneath to protect himself from any debris that may fall onto him.

“EVERYONE GET DOWN!”

“JESUS CHRIST!” Eddie yells.

Hawkins doesn’t get many earthquakes. But according to the news, Roane County was due for a big one. This could well be it. 

But as fast as the earthquake happens, it fades away. And next thing Eddie knows, he’s taking deep breaths, gathering his composure before he swings open that door. 

“Shit — Harrington, are you okay?”

Steve scans the room, looking around for any debris that may block his plight towards safety. 

“Yeah I’m fine, thanks Munson,” Steve gulps. He allows Eddie’s firm hand to hoist him up. “Just a bit shaken up. Are you okay?”

Eddie nods his head rapidly. “I’m fine too,” he insists. “I’m just worried about everyone else.”

Running back over to the garage now, a frantic Steve and Eddie call out to their friends to make sure they’re okay. But when they arrive, they’re shocked to see everyone conversing, laughing, and ordering pizza, almost as if nothing had ever happened.

Steve coughs to make his presence known. “Did you guys feel that?”

Everyone turns to them.

“Feel what?” Dustin inquires.

“There was an earthquake.”

“No, there wasn’t?” Robin cocks an eyebrow.

“Yes there was!” Eddie insists in agreement with Steve.

“Are you sure?” “An earthquake?”

“There wasn’t an earthquake.”

“What earthquake?”

“A chicken bake?” Argyle questions, clearly high as shit.

“An earthquake,” Jonathan repeats for him.

“An Earth Cake?!”

“QUAKE!” Jonathan hollers. “EARTHQUAKE!”

“EARTHQUAKE?!” the startled stoner yelps.

“No no no!” everyone yells out, doing their best to contain Argyle’s panic. “No, no, no!”

———

“You’re an asshole, Steve Harrington. I wish I could hate you.”

Eddie winces as his neck partially kinks, due to the fact that Steve was too short-fused to get him a pillow for tonight.

At least the futon is comfortable. After flopping around like a fish out of water for a few minutes, Eddie finally feels completely relaxed. And as he flips through his mental catalog of Dream Scenarios, the aspiring rockstar begins to drift off to Dreamland, envisioning his guitar solo and jamming out with his favorite herd of sheep.

Meanwhile upstairs, Steve is too emotionally uncomfortable to hit the hay.

“Get a grip, Munson,” Steve grumbles, angry at the thought of the freeloader below him. “If you stopped thinking the world is out to get you, maybe you’d actually see some progress in your life.”

After one last fluffing of his pillow, Steve reaches into his drawer and pops a gummy into his mouth, bracing himself for more Camp Knowhere shenanigans that lie ahead and having to deal with the Freakazoid-With-a-Victim-Complex in the morning. 

12:00 MIDNIGHT

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ [insert creepy, grandfather clock noises here]

8:00 AM

Obnoxious, fluffy duvet covers stir Eddie awake.

Maybe Steve did come with some goodies after all.

Munson begins to execute his morning routine: a gangly-limbed stretch followed by an exaggerated bellow and blissful smacking of his lips.

BONK.

A lamp on the nightstand interrupts his ritual. It is then that Eddie realizes.

He’s in a bedroom. 

“What the—” Munson mutters.

Sitting up slowly now, Eddie takes a moment to assess the room around him.

Trophies and medals. Cologne and hair gel. A work desk with a basketball net over it, and a Tommy Hilfiger pop-up shop in the closet.

He’s in Steve’s room.

But where is Steve?

Curious about the time and day, Eddie instinctively goes to consult his watch that normally rests on his wrist.

It’s not there. 

Eddie then looks at his hands…his palms… Not a single blister, callous or hangnail. Those are not his hands.

“Those aren’t mine…” he thinks to himself.

Eddie then runs some stressed fingers through his hair, only to discover that its length is half of what it was when he fell asleep last night.

“That’s not mine either.”

Eddie shoots up immediately. When he finds himself standing, Eddie notices his food belly is gone, and that six pack abs have taken its place. Eddie then stares down at his feet, which are now exponentially larger. And hairier. And his thighs, now they’re a lot bulkier.

Suddenly Eddie’s hands explore his thighs, grazing his quads shortly before going to grope the two plump mounds of tissue behind him, both cheeks comparably twice the surface area of his palms!

“That’s DEFINITELY not mine.”

Absolutely panicked now, Eddie releases his grip on the butt that isn’t his and dashes out the room.

It appears that he is somehow not in his body. And the only person in Loch Nora with a dump truck for an ass — that Eddie knows of — is Steve Harrington.

But if he's Steve, then where is Eddie’s body?

The couch.

Eddie bolts over to Steve’s living room in search of his corpse. And to his surprise, he does find himself there, the chest that was his – but not his – at the same time rising and depressing as he watches himself sleep. 

“Christ if that’s not Steve in there, then I’m dead,” Eddie thinks to himself. “And quite frankly, I don’t know which one is worse.” 

Eddie clears his throat.

"H-hello? Steve?”

Nothing.

“Steve?” Eddie attempts again. “Hey. Steve. It’s Eddie. Wake up!”

Nothing.

“This is an emergency, Steve. I need you to wake up now, please.”

He gets a good snore out of the entity. Completely frustrated now, Eddie does not hold back.

"This is alarming, Steve! WAKE UP!”

Eddie unearths the bottom half of Steve's…his… body by pushing the blanket aside. When he tugs at his legs, Presumably Steve retaliates, grabbing onto the arms of the sofa to keep him in place.

“EARTH. TO. KING. STEVE!” Eddie screams.

"Whaaat, dude?!" the host in Eddie’s body grumpily demands.

"Aha! So you are Steve!"

"Duh, who the fuck else?" It demands. "Are you still high?"

"If I was, then that would better explain this."

Steve must’ve really done too much last night. Because for a while there, the person who he assumed was Eddie sounded a heck of a lot like him.

"That’s fucking weird," Steve shakes his head, turning over to look at Eddie. "For a second there, you sounded a lot like m—AAAH OH MY GOD!"

Palms clasping his… (well, Eddie’s) mouth now, Steve can only gasp in horror.

"WHO are you?” he demands. “WHAT are you?"

"It's me! It's Eddie!" Eddie gulps. "I'm... I’M INSIDE OF YOU!”

There’s a pause.

“I don't like how I worded that,” he admits.

"Yeah, neither do I..." Steve agrees. Suddenly he squints. "Is that a zit on my forehead?"

He reaches to swat it but Eddie swats him away. Through Steve's gritted teeth, Eddie hisses,

"THAT'S what you're worried about right now? What in the sane hell is happening?!"

“This isn’t the first weird dream I’ve had after taking an edible,” Steve remarks.

“Harrington, this ISN’T a dream. Okay? This is real life.”

“Yeah, okay Munson,” Steve scoffs, finally hoisting himself off of the couch to pace around. “I know a dream when I’m in one. I just gotta… pinch myself or slap myself around and I’ll be awake.”

But Eddie wastes no time.

“OW!” Steve yelps. “You just pinched my nipple!”

“You mean my nipple?”

He does it again.

“OW! Quit it dude, that’s harassment.”

The two make their way over to a mirror in the living room. To test out the impossible, Steve raises his right hand. The mirror shows Eddie doing it. Eddie begins to touch his face. The mirror responds with Steve doing it. 

It’s the confirmation they were too in denial to come to terms with. They somehow switched bodies.

“Oh god, I’m…” Steve stammers. “Wow…”

“Oh…GOD!” Eddie shrieks. He inches closer to the mirror. “I’m like an off-brand George Michael!”

“HURTFUL—”

“Harrington!” Eddie exclaims, turning back around to face himself. “What was the last thing you remember from last night?”

“Uhh,” Steve stammers. “A-all I remember was us arguing during dinner time and going separate ways after. And then there was a big earthquake that everyone insists that they didn’t feel. And then…we all went to bed, and I forgot to get you a pillow.”

“It’s okay, I’m over it,” Eddie pants. “Way bigger issues than a pillow right now.”

“And now we’re here.”

The two frantically pace around the living room. How can something like this possibly happen?

"Okay,” Eddie exhales. “Yesterday we were here with everybody. All of us were seemingly having a good time until we got pretty into it. Then the earthquake happened, we went to bed, and woke up sober… but in different bodies. Is this like…a rare phenomenon…some kind of medical emergency?”

“I don’t know, dude,” Steve shrugs. “This has never happened to me before. There has to be a scientific explanation for this."

Suddenly their two brain cells click.

"Henderson," they utter in unison.

“It was probably Dustin’s Empathy science experiment,” Steve infers. “Although I'm not sure how a fortune cookie would take walking-in-another-person's-shoes so damn LITERAL."

"God, we’re cooked!” Eddie groans. “And we can’t tell anyone but our friends about it or else we’re REALLY gonna end up as test subjects!”

Eddie starts biting his new nails and frantically pacing back and forth. Meanwhile, Steve centers in on his breathing before emotionally responding to the situation in front of him.

“Okay…” Steve exhales. “Let me just gather my thoughts… You’re in my body and I’m in your body.”

“...Right,” Eddie nods, annoyed since they’d already established that. “Does it seem less scary now that you’ve said it out loud?”

“No,” Steve shakes his head.

“Alright, cool,” Eddie shrugs. “Just checking.”

They look at each other, absolutely petrified of the reality that has now sunk in. And before they seek any other forms of help, there was one more final thought the two needed to share alone… one O.O.M.F. (Other Older Male Friend) to another, in the comfort of Steve’s living room.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

[cue panicked guitar rift here 🎸⚡️]

“This is so not cool, man, this is SO not cool!”

Argyle, Jonathan, and Robin are the first ones at the scene. Along with Dustin, of course, who is now evidently spiraling. 

“I need some air,” Dustin sighs. “Oh my god oh my god oh my god.”

The scientist darts outside for a very reasonable and private mental breakdown. Meanwhile in his absence, everyone else attempts to get their Thinking Caps on.

“I mean…” Argyle pants. “It’s one thing to have a funky acid trip, it’s another to have an out-of-body experience…but this is…this is…”

“Freaky,” Jonathan finishes for him.

“It’s FREAKY!” Argyle agrees. “And it’s not like we can go to the cops, I mean, they'd never open their minds to something like this. They'd just ship us to the Kerley County KOOK HOUSE.”

“Or worse,” Eddie gulps. “The Lab.”

The room is drowned with frantic rambling once again as all the young adults talk over each other.

Will this be the new normal? A head-banging Steve and a preppy Eddie? It sounds like pure nightmare fuel. A disaster waiting to happen. And Dustin only programmed his fortune cookies for this… unintentionally. He didn’t program a way to undo it. 

Everyone is running out of ideas. That is until…

“Wait!” Robin exclaims. “What if you guys just…combined?”

The idea is met with retaliation.

“I beg your finest pardon?” “WE WHAT?!”

“Wait!” Eddie exclaims. “No, no, yeah! I get it. What if we… what if we just… RAN… into each other and the force will be great enough to switch us back?”

“Right! Right!” Steve frantically agrees. “Right, the greater the force, the greater the impact, and we’ll be back in our bodies in no time.”

Steve and Eddie are on opposite sides of the room before anyone else can register it. Kicking his foot around like a bull, Eddie warms himself up while Harrington takes deep breaths, grounding himself before the ordeal.

“Are they really about to…” Argyle begins.

“Sh.. sh..” Jonathan stops him.

“I really wanna see how this goes,” Robin adds.

“Okay,” Eddie huffs before he lets out a battle cry. “EN GUARDE!”

“OH GOD!” Steve shrieks.

“AHHHHHH!” 

“AHHHHHH!”

SMACK! PLOP!

Luckily the floor breaks their fall. The commotion grabs the attention of Dustin, who had just finished his meltdown. But at the sight of seeing his two friends attempt to combine, he could feel himself being launched into yet another one. 

“Okay,” Dustin sighs as he walks back in. “What the hell?!”

———

“Language, Dusty!”

The next brainiac to consult on the list is Suzie, Dustin’s girlfriend. Spawning from the Mormon Capital of the world (Salt Lake City, Utah), Little Miss Beauty and Brains is known to have a solution for just about anything. Until now, it seems.

 “I’m sorry for the language, Suzie. I’m just freaking out,” Dustin blubbers. “It’s not every day my best friends switch bodies and I have no idea how to change them back.”

“So let me get this straight…” Suzie sighs. “Steve is inside of Eddie, and Eddie is inside of Steve.”

“Okay, can we please stop wording it like that?!” Eddie pleads.

“Sorry, Steve.”

“I’M EDDIE!”

“Jiminy Cricket, this is so confusing.”

And what a sight for confused eyes it also is.  But as painful as it is to admit, it’s interesting watching “Steve Harrington” stomp at the ground muttering “Jesus H. Christ!” while “Eddie Munson” nitpicks everything about his hair in the mirror.

“Okay, let’s start from the beginning,” Suzie suggests. “How did this start? What did you use for your ingredients, Dusty Bun?”

“Passionfruit and cohosh,” Dustin answers firmly. “Well-known, NATURAL stimulants of oxytocin.”

“And you said they ate the cookies containing these ingredients?”

“Yes, and they got the same fortune which I programmed for them to feel empathy for each other when it happens. Their bodies should’ve released an immense amount of oxytocin. Instead, they uh well, they switched bodies.”

“Dusty Bun… there is no such thing as an oral oxytocin!”

“Why not?” Steve questions.

“Because it would just get destroyed in the GI tract,” Suzie explains. “Meaning there wouldn’t be any ‘stimulants’ to absorb into the bloodstream.”

“Meaning oxytocin would’ve never been released in the first place,” Eddie’s breath hitches.

“It’s also notorious for being unable to cross the blood-brain barrier,” Suzie adds. “Something always happens before it’s able to. This may as well be that something.”

“But… if it gets destroyed in the stomach…” Dustin wonders. “Then how the hell did Steve and Eddie still end up switching bodies?”

Suzie shoots Dustin a dirty look.

“How the heck…” he corrects himself.

Suzie softens up immediately. “I don’t know. Our Heavenly Father works in mysterious ways. This may have happened for a reason. I’m not sure what it is yet, but I’m sure it serves a Divine purpose.”

“Well, can it SERVE a little faster?” Eddie grumbles. “I’ve got a Show and Tell to practice for and Harrington’s got children to babysit. We obviously can’t do that for each other. People are going to think we’ve gone crazy.”

Suddenly a light bulb goes off in his head.

“Wait. Henderson! Give us a couple more cookies. Maybe if we get the same fortune again, we’ll switch back!”

“NO! No more cookies!” Steve butts in. “Who’s to say you won’t end up inside another person whose body you didn’t wanna be in?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Okay…” Dustin stops him, disgusted at the fact. “Enough.”

“Dustin is right,” Suzie nods. “Enough arguing for now, and no more fortune cookies with matching fortunes until we can find out what’s wrong!”

The boys watch as Suzie walks back towards her desk and returns with some papers and pencils.

“Here. My homework for you two is to write down every little detail there is to know about each other. This includes your day-to-day, your hobbies, and even habits. No one can know what is really going on behind the scenes.”

“Whoa whoa whoa, wait,” Eddie shakes his head. “I don’t like what you’re implying. We don’t have to… live life as each other… do we?!”

“In the meantime, yes. You do.” Suzie confirms. “And it will be uncomfortable, I’m not going to lie. But what else can we do?”

“Uh, go through all of Dustin’s fortune cookies until we find a pair so Steve and I can ingest THOSE!” Eddie points out.

“Yeah, and there goes BOTH my Show and Tell items!” Dustin hollers.

“Dusty, don’t worry,” Suzie speaks again. “You will get to showcase your friends and fortune cookies at Show and Tell. I’ll be doing my own research to ensure that this happens. This includes talking to some monks, priests, and rabbis. We WILL get to the bottom of this.”

The three leave Suzie’s cabin feeling absolutely defeated. 

Of course this would happen the summer Steve finally got his hair under control. And of course this would happen the moment Eddie has a potential record deal at the palm of his hands. Any other circumstance would have been okay, despite the freakiness factor. This was just shit timing if they ever did see it.

And if Suzie can’t fix it, they’re screwed.

When they get far enough away from the girls' cabins, Steve excuses himself to the nearest water fountain. In contrast, Eddie shows himself to the closest Porta-Potty, the safest place for him to have a conversation he wouldn’t be caught dead having.

“Hey God,” Eddie grumbles. “Me again.”

———

Adapting to each other’s lives certainly wasn’t easy.

It started with switching cars.

Steve’s BMW has sensitive brakes. Eddie’s beloved van, Halen, on the other hand requires more force, more aggression, something Eddie believed Steve would bust his toe doing.

And Eddie can only hope that when Steve is running around town as him, he doesn’t embarrass him all too much. He’s already not off to a good start, with a stupid Thundercats t-shirt on and his hair up in a bun.

“And when you’re outside with the kiddos, make sure they wear sunscreen,” Steve advises him. “You're a camp counselor, after all.”

“Got it.”

“And that an epipen is with you at all times,” Steve adds. “Some of the kids have bee and nut allergies and those reactions can be lethal.”

Make sure this. Make sure that. It’s odd for Eddie to be hearing it all in his own voice. Has Steve always been this annoying?

Eventually Eddie gets tired of it and consults his Walkman, blasting “Take Me Away” through his headphones to drown out Steve’s rambling. Rambling on and on and on and on… on and on and on and on….

“Eddie!” Steve shouts. “Are you listening?”

“Don’t wanna grow up I wanna get out,” Eddie sings. “HEY! Take me away.”

Eddie was listening. In fact he listens and pays attention more than Steve knows. He just doesn’t want to give him that satisfaction.

“I’m gonna get you a real job,” Steve says to Eddie.

“A real job?” Eddie tuts. “My job is real. I sell real drugs and bring in real money to help my Uncle afford our really real rent.”

“But I’m not gonna be the one doing it.”

“Sure you are. You’re me.”

“Munson, no!”

“Harrington, yes.”

“I’M NOT SELLING KETAMINE TO MINORS, EDDIE.”

“Aw. But you fit the stereotype,” Eddie smirks, rather cheekily. “Now chop chop, Rick’s expecting royalties on said sales.”

“Maybe I can land you a hospitality job. Or maybe a front desk job. Something that comes with benefits. Something practical.”

“A Munson with a normal job in Hawkins?” Eddie can’t believe his ears. “Yeah, good luck with that.”

Perhaps there is a silver lining in all of this. 

For the average Hawkins resident, getting a job is no issue. It was never a choice for Eddie. Given his father’s less-than-cookie-cutter reputation – and Eddie being an involuntary extension of him – he couldn’t believe Steve couldn’t grasp that getting a conventional job is hard. And Eddie always thought Harrington needed some humbling. This is the perfect scenario for it.

“Take your feet off your dash,” Steve grumbles. “Steve Harrington doesn’t do that.”

“AyAy, Captain.”

“And stop head-banging in my body, will ya?” Steve begs. “You’ll break a sweat and un-pomade my hair.”

“God, you’re so anal about everything, Steve!” Eddie scoffs. “I feel sorry for those kids, I really do.”

If Eddie’s going to be walking around in Steve’s body, he at least wanted to relax first. But even that was impossible, given that Steve is a talker and alleged goodie-two-shoes-who-discovered-empathy-on-drugs-and-that’s-all-he-preaches-now (with the rules of a mother whose son was allergic to everything but water).

The car ride is more tense and quiet as the two approach Knowhere. Eddie is quick to scurry out when Steve approaches the drop-off curb, a little speech already prepared from the first nerve Harrington managed to get on in the morning.

“Loosen up that manbun,” Eddie commands once he’s out of the car. “You look like the Buddha went thrifting in Chicago. You also need to unclench your asscheeks a bit more if you wanna be me. And to put more fiber in your diet. How’s that for advice?”

SLAM! goes the door. Steve normally would’ve been pissed, but since he’s driving Halen, he’s lenient about it. So he watches Eddie walk away, in a stride that looks like he's constantly got a wedgie, over to the camp and towards the kids he is to watch until Show and Tell Day.

“WEAR SUNSCREEN!” Steve hisses, one last time. “…I don’t play about my skin.”

———

“Hey, Steve!” a group of campers greet Eddie as he makes his way into Knowhere.

God, this is so weird.

“Hey…kiddos?” Eddie greets them in return.

“We’re gonna go diving in the lake, just letting you know.”

“Thanks for the invite,” Eddie tuts. “Sounds like a lot of fun. Just uh, wear sunscreen.”

“Well, we try to invite you but you never wanna come with us.”

“Says who?” Eddie demands. “It’s summer, everyone goes to the lake.”

“Everyone but you,” a kid points out. “You turn us down every time.”

“I do?”

“All the time,” another kid confirms. “You say it ruins your hair.”

"I was...joking," is all Eddie can come up with.

"Really? Because it doesn't sound like you were," another child counters. "You already don't like that the UV rays have the potential to damage your hair cuticles, which aids in your fear of dryness and breakage. Furthermore, swimming in a lake filled with miscellaneous, unidentified bacterium is another concern, apart from the warm water having the potential to dry your hair out even more. Also, at windy temperatures of about 80 degrees, typical for a Hawkins summer, your hair when damp will start to frizz. Which is where your pomade and Farrah Fawcett spray come in handy. And on summer days, you give your hair 32 hours before the next hair wash rotation, to which the cycle starts again. We know the drill, Steve. You've explained it multiple times. And we get it now that you don’t like the lake."

Even the kids think Harrington's insufferable. Eddie can only shake his head in disbelief.

"I'm not who I was a day ago," Eddie shrugs. "...literally."

"Huh?"

"You gonna let me join or what?"

Suddenly, the kids’ eyes begin to light up. Steve Harrington joining them at the lake? It was going to be the most fun day they’ve ever had!

"Sure!" the kids cheer excitedly. "Al-right! Steve is joining our party!"

Eddie smiles to himself, proud of the reaction he got from the eager children. Excited cheers? Smiling faces? Now THAT is how you Camp Counsel.

And now that Eddie thinks about it, he realizes something. He’s spent most of his youth in survival mode that he never got to let loose and have fun. And while he has Steve’s body and physical activity levels, he is certainly NOT about to let that go to waste. Pomade? Eddie thinks to himself. Meet Trash Can.

“Hey guys! Wait for me!” Eddie calls after the campers. “CANNONBALL!"

Meanwhile Steve sets off to find Eddie a job.

A real job.

He tries Hawkins Mart. The roller rink. The movie theater. The coffee shops. Something that involved social interaction and hard work. 

"Hi there," Steve grins politely. "I'm Eddie Munson, and I'd like to apply for a job."

But Hawkins is anything but receptive to it.

"No."

"Nope."

"Sorry."

"Munson, eh? You related to Al Munson?"

"NO!"

Apparently misdemeanors and run-ins with the law make it impossible to land a good gig. It was no wonder now why Eddie stayed where he was comfortable.

Though, it's unconventional.

Steve is just about to lose hope when those looking for help didn't even want him.

But he wasn’t giving up. There has to be something Steve can do to increase Eddie's chances of landing a good job.

Just then, he realizes. 

Maybe it’s not Eddie’s past, but his demeanor. The way he carries himself. If he didn’t dress like a vessel for Satan every single day, this conservative town would probably take him more seriously.

It's one of life's twisted games. Steve didn’t make the rules. And he sure as hell can't change it. 

But there is one thing he can help Eddie do. He can help Eddie play the game. Master it.

And that’s when Steve sees the scissors.

———

So you can say sunscreen is the least of everyone’s worries.

“Jesus Chr— what did you do to my hair?!”

“What did you do to MINE?!”

“I had to let her breathe man,” Eddie explains. “God, Harrington. No wonder you’re always in a mood. Holding your hair up with so much gel, MY HEAD FELT HEAVIER THAN A BOWLING BALL.”

“Oh yeah?” Steve challenges him. “Well your hair was so greasy, I could’ve pat it down with a paper towel like it’s PIZZA.”

The two are at it again, reaching at each other’s hair and then swatting each other away like flies. Suddenly Robin butts into the quarrel, emerging from the kitchen with amusement spread all across her face. 

“Oh…my…god…” she says.

Steve and Eddie simultaneously stop their bickering and pan their gazes over to her. Unable to contain her laughter, Robin releases a hearty chuckle in front of them.

“Holy shit, this is the greatest thing since disposable cameras,” Robin tsks. “On that note, let me go get mine.”

“NO!” both Steve and Eddie refuse.

“This is so humiliating!” Steve whines. “I look like someone literally mopped the floor with me!” 

“You're embarrassed?!” Eddie exclaims as he points to his own, original body. “Whose Peepaw died?! Why am I wearing a grandpa sweater sourced from the crusty back bins of Goodwill?!”

"I thought it'd be fitting attire for your library job that I got you."

"You got me a job at the LIBRARY?!” Eddie shrieks. “Out of all places?"

"No other place would hire you!"

"Can’t say I didn’t warn ya."

“And why does my hair LOOK LIKE THAT?!” Steve demands. “You went into the lake with the kids, didn’t you? DIDN’T YOU?!”

Eddie shakes his head at him, baffled. “God forbid, I – the camp counselor — do camp counselor things! I did exactly what you told me to do.”

“WHERE DID I SAY YOU COULD MESS UP MY HAIR?”

Steve takes a moment to mourn his glorious mane. Meanwhile, Eddie starts brainstorming how he’s going to rob a high end salon for all their hair growth serums. 

Just then, Robin reemerges from the shadows with her camera, panning it directly at the two of them, as if she were some eager journalist fighting for her spot on the front page of National Geographic.

“Say cheese, freaks!”

———

Eddie was having a hard time being Steve.

Being Hawkins’ most desirable male apart from Billy Hargrove was harder than he thought. Because while women worshiped the ground Steve walked on, it was hard for flight-risk teens to take the Pretty Boy seriously.

“Christopher!” Eddie hisses. “I told you to stop domesticating the raccoons, you little shit.”

Living in the trailer park, Eddie’s no stranger to those feral, yet adorable, beady-eyed beauties. And while they were cute, holding your hand, refurbishing your trash, and performing for crackers, there was an unspoken agreement when it came to those kinds of animals: you are to never take them in.

“But it’s for research!” Christopher pleads.

“I wouldn’t care if it was for the Nobel Peace Prize,” Eddie scolds him. He places his angry hands frustratedly on his hips. “Those things can be rabid, violent, and aggressive when you least expect it. Trust me on this. Raccoons are better left alone in the wild. They can’t live with people like us.”

A low, miserable groan furls at the base of the boy’s belly. He kicks at the dirt beneath him.

“Ugh, you ruin all the fun, Steve,” Christopher whines. “Eddie Munson would never treat us like this.”

That statement just about nipped Eddie in the soul. Was this what being a buzzkill is like? Little did Christopher know that it’s actually Eddie scolding him. And that the kids were not only hurting Steve’s feelings but his as well. 

Meanwhile Steve wasn’t having a grand time being Eddie either.

“HEY! WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING BOY?!”

He almost died. Quite literally. And if it hadn’t been for Wayne launching himself across the room to stop it from happening, the odds of he and Eddie ever switching back would’ve gone from unlikely to zero.

“What?!” Steve demands.

“What do you mean, what?!” Wayne demands. “You eat that thing you’re going to wound up in the hospital! Again!”

Steve’s eyes trail down to the delicious shrimp tacos he had bought for takeout from Estrella’s. 

Eddie is deathly allergic to shellfish. And with just a single bite of that shrimp taco, he would be in the back of an ambulance with hives and a closed-up throat. And judging by the fact that Eddie and his uncle didn’t necessarily bring home the ‘big bucks’, an invoice from Hawkins Memorial Hospital wouldn’t be an ideal situation to put him through.

“We’re already two months behind on rent,” Wayne grumbles. “You eat those tacos, kick the bucket, and rack up them bills, I may as well join ya six feet under.”

No tacos, no time and a half at work, and no solution to the problem at hand. No wonder Eddie was always an angsty mess. It definitely showcases in those lyrics too.

———

“Take me away, away, away, AWAY”

A killer guitar solo rips through the Harrington garage as Eddie strums away at the chords. 

In hindsight, it looks like Steve is the rockstar. But the feral energy is unmistakably Munson’s, to which Dustin can’t help but get lost in, dancing along as a one-man-mosh-pit to the brilliance of Corroded Coffin’s discography.

“Same old stuff, it never ends.”

“The song sounds so cool hearing it in Steve’s voice,” Dustin beams. “And I can’t believe you put him in a crop top.”

“It’s like dressing up a Barbie doll,” Eddie jokes as he puts his guitar away. He then turns his torso towards Henderson’s field of view. “Look… Harrington’s an innie.”

Dustin cackles at the sight.

“Hahaha, no way!” he cheers. “I’m an outie.”

“Me too.”

The garage lets out an insulated hum as Steve strides in with the tacos. He cocks an eyebrow, confused at the sight of Dustin and Corroded Coffin comparing navels with each other. 

“What did I just walk into?”

Eddie’s eyes light up at the sight of Steve.

“Ooh, is that Estrella’s I smell?” he inquires.

“All yours,” Steve grumbles. “Found out today that I can’t have shellfish.”

Eddie smirks at the realization.

“But I can,” he sings. “Because I’m Steve Harrington.”

Eddie rushes over to Steve to acquire the food. Steve goes over to greet the rest of the boys and to issue Dustin a long-awaited high five.

“Mmm…” Eddie coos. “Take a good look at these washboard abs, Innie. They’ll be gone for as long as I can have these tacos.”

Steve makes a face. “I can’t believe you put me in a crop top.”

“I can’t believe you cut my hair,” Eddie shrugs.

But he seems to have gotten over the fact. Hair will grow back. There were larger issues at hand today. Like how exactly Eddie is going to perform with Corroded Coffin at Show and Tell.

“Listen,” Eddie wipes his mouth. “Harrington. I have a favor. If worse comes to worst and we can’t switch back on time, I need you to perform as me for Show and Tell.”

“And why exactly would I do that?”

“Because it’s our one shot to make it big.”

“Again, why would I do that?”

“Because you love me,” Eddie sneers.

But his face drops when Steve doesn’t return the energy. 

Nowhere in the fine print did it say ‘Steve Owes Eddie’. So why would Steve bother? It’s a lot for Eddie to ask of someone he’s openly mocked for years. But now that he needs something, suddenly Steve is the coolest person in the world? It doesn’t work like that. 

“Hey…” Eddie begins. “I know you don’t like me, okay? Whatever animosity you have towards me, I hope we can move on from it one day.” 

Steve refuses to meet Eddie’s eyes.

“If you do this for me, I’ll be eternally grateful,” Munson adds. “And maybe just maybe — when Corroded Coffin makes it big and we start touring around the world — I’ll be out of your hair forever. Literally.”

“Seems transactional.” 

It leaves a bad taste in Eddie’s mouth. It was always ‘Terms and Conditions’ with Harrington. Never has he ever considered the other person’s feelings. Never has he ever done anything out of the goodness of his heart. It was always, “What do I get out of it?”. Always some sort of fucked up business move. Just like his father.

“You view everything as a transaction, don’t you?” Eddie scoffs. 

“Why would I do favors for someone who’s done nothing but disrespect me? I value my time and energy. I’m not wasting it on you.” 

“But you can waste it on being a camp counselor, right? The kids aren’t so hot about you anyways, so I don’t know why you keep showing up.”

“Because Dustin is there. Because I’m a good friend. You wouldn’t know sacrifice and loyalty if it hit you in the face.”

“Ah, there it is. The performative activism in plain sight. We all know that this is about Dustin. AAAAlways been that way.”

“Of course my summer is about Dustin,” Steve argues. “You’ve had him all year. Spending every second with him and breathing down his neck.”

“I’M the one spending too much time with him?” Eddie scoffs. “Breathing down his neck?! You’re the one who got a gig to be closer to him.”

“Does it register with you that it’s because I DON’T SEE HIM MUCH AT ALL ANYMORE?” Steve shouts. “He’s always at your stupid D&D games and never wants to hang out with me! You’re taking the spotlight, like you always seem to do!”

“That’s IT!” Dustin barks. “I have HAD it with you two fighting all the time.”

Finally, it’s quiet. And normally the two would be stoked about it, but seeing Dustin on the brink of tears does not make the last word worthwhile at all.

“Not even a life-changing catastrophe will make you guys stop! You’re in each other’s bodies for Christ’s sake and still going at it like cats and dogs.”

Dustin starts back towards the house, kicking at the chords beneath his feet that are blocking his dramatic exit. All Dustin has ever wanted from those two – and quite literally every adult in his life – was co-existence. A notion so easy, yet no one has ever been able to give him that. Not even with his damn empathy cookies.

“It all makes me feel like a failure. Locking myself in my cabin for six weeks to have my fortune cookies yield THESE results? My last year at camp too.”

“Dustin–”

“And if you guys keep this up, then I don’t wanna spend the rest of my summer with either of you. How’s that for compromise?”

“Hey. Buddy…” Steve starts again.

“Henderson!” Eddie calls at the same time.

But it’s already too late. Off Dustin goes, Camp Nowhere notebook in his arms, walkie in his pocket, and car keys jingling furiously around his fingers. Nothing worth displaying at Show and Tell if the grown ups were going to act younger than the campers there. And if Dustin’s anger wasn’t already prominent, the way he backs out of Steve’s driveway is a dead giveaway, judging by the screeching tires and the pop of the engine as he steps on the gas.

“Damn,” Jeff comments. “Taco ‘bout a tough crowd…”

Ba-dum-tss! the drum sounds.

“GARETH!” Steve and Eddie growl.

"Scott Clarke."

Hearing that name nearly gives Eddie whiplash. Especially because it came out of Steve’s mouth.

"Huh?"

Steve repeats himself. "Scott Clarke? Our middle school science teacher?”

Steve is perched at the bottom of the stairs, wading aimlessly around in guilt. Eddie watches as he props himself against the rails of his fancy staircase, almost as if to serenade him with an apology song of sorts. 

"When we were kids, he headed the Hawkins Middle AV Club,” Steve recalls. “Nancy was in it, and so was Mike and so was Sinclair, Baby Byers, and Dustin.”

“Go on…”

“Well…whenever they ran into trouble, Mr. Clarke was always there to help,” Harrington shrugs. “Always been very personable, non-judgmental, and most of all, he’s knowledgeable.”

“Okay…”

 “And with his degree from MIT, he’d be the one most likely able to get us out of this mess,” Steve emphasizes. “Just in time for Show and Tell.”

“What makes you think he’d want to help former students like us?” Eddie demands. “We weren’t in the AV club or anything.”

“Because he cares, Eddie. Current students or not.”

There’s a pause.

“Remember that one time you came into homeroom with a black eye?” Steve reflects. “And Clarke made you stay after class so he could ask if everything was okay at home?”

Attempting to mask the mushy feelings underneath, Eddie simply shrugs. Steve persists.

“Other teachers would have assumed you got in a fight or something. Even if that was the case, none of them cared to look further into it. No one except Mr. Clarke.” 

“Yeah,” Eddie admits, choked up now. “Yeah, I almost forgot about that.”

It actually was a fight that happened that day. Some random kid at school. But there were also times Eddie has gotten in scuffles with his father, typically when Al Munson stumbled home too drunk for his own good and tried laying a hand on either him or Uncle Wayne. And Mr. Clarke, having grown up with Al, knew what he was capable of. Meaning it was his unspoken civil duty to look out for (Munson) Junior.

“And,” Harrington sighs. “I’m kinda really desperate here. I want you to be able to perform at Dustin’s Show and Tell. You and the band have a shot at this. I wholeheartedly believe that. And I don’t have much faith in my ability to perform as you. Neither does Dustin, it seems.”

“Steve…” Eddie begins. 

“And sure, I was upset about not being Henderson’s first choice for a while,” Steve rambles. “But I’ll be okay. The kids can learn survival skills another time. ”

Grateful tears start to form in Eddie’s eyes. He’s never seen this side of Steve before. 

“My hopes and dreams don’t depend on Show and Tell,” Steve mumbles. “And if it means a producer from Cardinal Records is going to be there, then getting Wayne and yourself out of debt does.”

Their eyes meet again.

“I can’t take that away from you.”

Suddenly the rocker feels his knees buckle.

It feels as if Eddie’s soul is about to leave his body. Or Steve’s in this sense. Struggling to keep his composure, the ever-so-rugged Eddie Munson clears his throat.

“…I didn’t think you paid attention to any of that, Steve.”

“I pay attention more than you think,” Steve counters. “And if my observations are right, Mr. Clarke might have the answer.”

Steve shrugs, dangling the keys to Eddie’s van around his fingers. He hula hoops them around as Eddie remains floored, pondering above him.

“Well?” says Steve. “You just gonna stand there and gawk, ‘Harrington’? Come on.”

Perhaps walking and gawking would be more productive. Without further hesitation, Eddie races down the steps and follows closely behind Steve before shutting the door to the house.

“Wipe your feet,” Steve commands as he unlocks the doors to Halen.

“What do you mean wipe my feet?” Eddie snaps. “It’s MY van!”

“Yeah, but I’m the one who’s been driving it,” Steve counters with a glare. “And I’m saying wipe your feet.”

Nonetheless, Eddie sighs and does as he’s told. But he’s not happy about it. 

Never in a million years did he think Steve Harrington would tell him how to run his own van. Nor did he think Harrington would actually end up being a good dude. Both were very humbling experiences. And while King Steve drives them off to Hawkins Middle, willingly blasting Metallica and doing his best to head-bang, Eddie crosses his arms and stares blankly out the passenger side window.

“I’m never eating anything Dustin makes me again.”

———

"So..." Eddie prompts. "Can you fix us?"’

“If it isn’t broken, then do not fix it,” Mr. Clarke advises. 

There was only so much that could be disclosed to their former teacher. Being an educator also meant being a mandated reporter, and it’s without a doubt government officials would bust down the doors of Camp Knowhere and run a freak raid on Dustin’s science experiment had they known the truth. Steve and Eddie had to gloss over practically everything.

“I appreciate and am honored to know you two trust me with your dilemma,” Mr. Clarke nods. “That being said, it is normal for gentlemen your age to go through an identity crisis after experimenting with recreational drugs. It will subside, but only if you don’t fight it.”

A decade can certainly change things. Steve and Eddie never expected their most logic-driven teacher to embrace his heart, dressed in a brown linen robe, as he calmly kept them on standby with soothing, meditative “Ommm”s while they spiraled into desperation in his ‘BACK TO (S)C(H)OOL’ classroom.

“But what is the science behind this?” Steve demands. “Is something happening in the…the… what did Suzie call it? The blood-brain barrier? Why would… Harrington and I both feel like we are living the life of the other person?”

“To question everything is to not know peace,” Mr. Clarke soothes them.

He’s saying this while criss-cross-apple-sauce on his desk, by the way.

“Sometimes, it is best to simply let things be,” the educator warns. “By going against the grain of the water, you are blocking the potential you can reach if you had been in a flow state.”

“Good God, you choose NOW to go on a spiritual retreat?!” Eddie hisses. “When we need science and your genius mind the most?!”

“If not now, then when?” Mr. Clarke mumbles. “If not you, then who?”

For the first time in his life, Eddie feels plagued with academic regret. He wishes he paid attention in Clarke’s class. Meanwhile Steve is considering having a word with his superintendent mother, because no way in hell is some barefoot, most-likely-vegan lunatic about to indoctrinate the future kids of America. 

“If not you… then who?” Clarke repeats. “If there's one thing I learned during my time in research… and mindful meditation…  it's that sometimes the answer is right in front of you. Or within."

Steve and Eddie look at each other.

"The world is full of obvious things," Mr. Clarke says. "...which nobody, by any chance, ever observes. Sherlock Holmes."

Accepting the absolute bust, Steve and Eddie storm out of the door and back down the stairs of their prepubescent alma mater. 

“Son of a bitch,” Eddie curses under his breath. “The damn hippies got to him before we did.”

As the two walk down the stairs, Steve sneaks a few quick glances Eddie’s way. Seeing him upset didn’t necessarily make him feel so hot. The answer is clear: they need to venture beyond a Mormon child and a middle school science teacher. They need to consult the big dogs. 

“We can go to the Indianapolis Science Center,” Steve suggests. “And maybe ask some people there. There’s also the university. If we flag down a professor from the physics or chemistry department, maybe they can offer us some insight. Or…”

“Just give it a rest, Steve,” Eddie surrenders.

“What?” Steve questions. “No! We’ve got to figure this out before Show and Tell. It’s in a couple days.”

“What’s a couple days?” Eddie demands. “We’ve been like this for nearly a week. What makes you think it won’t last another week? Or indefinitely.”

Eddie kicks at an empty carton of orange juice at his feet while Steve watches with an overwhelming sense of guilt. He didn’t want Eddie to give up. Not yet, at least.

“Hey I’m not going to let you blow this shot, Munson,” Steve demands firmly. “I know how much this means to you. This could finally be your ticket out of Hawkins. You guys were meant for the Big City.”

“No,” Eddie disagrees, absentmindedly. 

Eddie’s gaze veers off to the side, a sadness in his eyes so profound that Steve almost starts tearing up as well. 

“All… the answers… point…to no,” Eddie continues. “Can you imagine what the world would be like if everyone followed their dreams? We’d have no one doing the conventional jobs. It's not in my cards, I fear. Maybe I was always meant to stay in Hawkins, being everyone’s weed man and no one’s first choice.”

“Eddie…”

“But thanks for trying though, Harrington. Doesn’t go unnoticed.”

———

To be continued…

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[tianasficrecs168]

The Sandman Fic Recs

Magnolia35: Moonflower (Hob/Dream) • "Hob has to do a double take because Dream is crying; big, ugly, hiccuping sobs that wrack his skeletal frame to the point where Dream looks like a leaf in the wind. The raven that’d been following the man the last time they met— Mike or Martin or Matthew or something— pecks at the guys shoes. The story of how Hob Gadling starts a pub, beats up a god, stares down Death, falls in love with Dream of the Endless, and amasses a small army of fidget cubes. Not necessarily in that order.

TinyButFierce: "Into Darkness and Howling (I'll Keep Him From Drowning)" (Hob/Dream) It was beginning to sound like Roderick Burgess had something or someone trapped in his basement. Hob was starting to wonder if he should do something about that.

MonstrousRegiment: “The Uses of Adversity” (Hob/Dream) What led Hob Gadling — at the time known as Robert Stranger, because he’d been in a permanent state of pettiness from 1889 to about 1904 and now he was stuck with it — to the dank, cold, and dark basement of the Burgess house on March of 1957 was not so much coincidence or fate as it was curiosity. Yeah. Cats isn’t the only thing it kills. Alright, wait. Back up. Let’s start from the beginning. It was 1957 and Hob Gadling was, by no action or choice of his own, sort of — it’s a bit embarrassing — a criminal master. Not mastermind! He hadn’t planned any of it. Honestly.

CeruleanHeart: - “Darker, Still” (...) (Hob/Dream) When Dream doesn't show up for their appointment in 1989, Hob decides to devote a part of his immortality to looking for his mysterious friend. He is dedicated not to wait and hope for another century for the slim chance of seeing him again. Even if he has to bribe, lie and steal, use every trick in the book he's learned in the past 600 years, he will find him. After over a century, Dream has almost given up on the hope of ever escaping his prison when help finally shows up in the form of someone least expected, compelling him to re-evaluate the nature of his interest in an old acquaintance.

Snits: - “Country Roads (Take Me Home)” (Hob/Dream) • Hob and Dream go back to Hob's for a nightcap. While they're there, they address some trauma, and Hob finally learns the name of the man(-shaped being) he's known for seven hundred years.

Sonhoedestrazao: “These days of dust” (Hob/Dream) There is something different about him, though his appearance is identical. The curious part of Hob Gadling, the one that ensures that his wish to live persists through the ages, can’t wait to figure out what it is exactly. (Or: the New Inn encounter continued.)

Sonhoedestrazao: “Stuck in a season” (…) (Hob/Dream) Hob Gadling opens his eyes in the year of our Lord of 1889, in a tavern that he somehow knows no longer exists, among people long dead. Alone at a table for two, he leans over and says to no one in particular, “He’ll be back. You’ll see.” (Or: how to deal when your nameless friends keeps appearing in dreams and a talking bird approaches you with dating advice.)

Majestickasztan: “Painted by sorrow” (Hob/Dream) • When Hob looked up and found his oldest friend looking back, he was, one could say, taken aback. But when you're immortal and things go according to your expectations, life gets very boring very quickly, so he couldn't bring himself to complain. Not that he wanted to. He was pining for this guy since 1489, after all.

KatieKat527: “Perchance to” (Dream/Hob) • Hob Gadling muses on modern advancements. Only as they pertain to a sleepy morning in bed with his “stranger.”

Newfandomnewpseud (Broodthaers): “A Mug’s Game” (Dream/Hob) Hob Gadling teaches history, flirts with Death, gets a boyfriend, and accidentally breaks the laws of the universe.

Brackets (…) means it's still being updated/not done/WIP – and I'm paying close attention to it

Zeros with a strikethrough (000) Disappeared off the net (I still have a doc of it saved somewhere)

A black dot • means it's a one-shot

Ship with + means it's either time travel or dimension hopping – something along those lines

A heart ♡ means it's focused on Sexy times (it's pure filth PWP)

[tayloralisonswift]

What are some of the songs you think are most likely about Karlie?

Ooooooooooh i love this question sm! thank you 🫶

i’m gonna break it down by album ! this is gonna be a long post lol. disclaimer that this is my interpretation of the songs and if it's not yours, that's ok! but this is my post.

also disclaimer i'm gonna use the term 'motif' loosely.

1989 /

welcome to new york (the beginning of the new york motif; you can want who you want)

you are in love ("on the way home" caption; beginning of the best friend in love motif)

new romantics (switch sides like a record changer; uses the same plural first person pronouns as wtny)

now that we don’t talk (totally influenced by a fic i read last night that said the 'do you feel anxious though, on the way home' was about being anxious that people saw them together; can't pretend it's platonic)

reputation /

end game (joe didn't have a big reputation before they met. he just didn't)

don’t blame me (daisyyyyy; is it a sin to love you motif; everyone thinks that they know us but they know nothing motif)

so it goes (cages motif! gold motif! wear her like a necklace!)

king of my heart (boys never did it like you did motif; trying on clothes; love is a secret)

dancing with our hands tied (this could be about dianna, too - it's about a relationship that's over now imo, ripped apart because it's queer)

dress (best friend motif; everyone thinks they know us motif; so much secrecy and pining)

lover /

cruel summer (unsure if karlie is the devil or the angel but she's present in this for sure; love is a secret)

paper rings (i'd marry you with an imaginary ring, i'd choose you in every lifetime including the one where our love is a secret)

cornelia street (new york motif!!!!!!!!)

false god (new york motif!!!!!!!; it's a sin to love you motif; everyone thinks that they know us motif)

it’s nice to have a friend (best friend motif)

daylight (i don't think daylight is DIRECTLY about karlie. i think it's more a coming out song, even if it's a coming out to yourself song.)

folklore /

the 1 (rose flowing with your chosen dinner with the kushners)

cardigan (gold cage motif; you broke me worse than they did)

exile (like he's just your understudy???????)

my tears ricochet (wedding motif; about karlie's betrayal; you broke me worse than they did)

august (other woman motif)

illicit affairs (other woman motif)

peace (love is a secret)

hoax (you broke me worse than they did, new york motif)

evermore /

champagne problems (i personally think this was written from karlie's pov. taylor was putting herself in that perspective to better understand it imo) (all of this is imo)

gold rush (gold motif; hair falling into place; it just is about karlie this is a fact)

happiness (hope you and your baby are happy motif!!!!!!! it happens twice but i'm calling it a motif anyway)

coney island (failedcomingoutlor, apologizing to karlie)

ivy (other woman motif; cheating on a male partner; it's about gay sex)

cowboy like me (another one that could be about dianna too - definitely a girlfriend)

closure (oh she was mad mad)

right where you left me (hope you and your baby are happy!!!!, hair pin drop????????)

it's time to go (the twin lyric hits hard after down bad)

midnights /

maroon (best friends motif; new york motif; lips so scarlet?????)

bigger than the whole sky :(

paris (where the culture's clever???)

glitch (best friends motif)

hits different (boys never did it like you did motif, the karrrrr lyric that exists only in my daydreams) :(

ttpd /

my boy only breaks his favorite toys (best friends motif; boys never did it like you did motif)

down bad (LIKE I LOST MY TWIN?? also everyone thinks that they know us)

loml :(

imgonnagetyouback (closets? bubbly? this one could go either way - karlie or matty - but i prefer the kaylor interpretation)

thank you aimee (explanation here)

i look in people’s windows (secrecy and pining) :(

peter (secrecy and pining, reference to dwoht with 25; closets mention)

[im-not-corrupted]

A little 2.7k words long Dreamling drabble I wrote for @samsalami66​, using the prompt ‘please, never apologise for wanting to be loved’ from this prompt list

Edit: Now also on Ao3!

----

He found out on their third meeting in as many months.

(Three meetings. In three months. Hob was…well, he was having a bit of a hard time believing that, even if he was present during those meetings. Three meetings in three months, after one hundred and thirty three years of silence and what he thought to be avoidance. Three meetings in three months, when the two of them had only seen each other once a century.

Once a century. Every one hundred years. How had he ever been content with that?)

(He hadn’t. He remembered how it felt, before. The crushing weight of loneliness with every day that came after their centennial meetings, prompted by the knowledge that the only person who truly knew him for what he was, instead of what he was that century, was what prompted him to call his Stranger a friend in the first place.

Still. While he certainly yearned for contact outside of their centennial meetings—he was mostly content. He was alright, to sit and wait. That was what he did.

Now—now, he had monthly meetings. Monthly meetings with his Stranger, who he knows now as Dream. With Dream, his friend. He didn’t know how he’d ever coped with anything less.)

Found out perhaps wasn’t the right word. Hob…didn’t have anything to do with it, really. He didn’t go digging for information. He merely invited his friend inside for a drink, some food if he felt like it, without expectation.

Dream looked tense, the day he brought it up. Shoulders coiled tightly, jaw clenched so much it looked almost painful, eyes somewhat distant. That was enough to worry Hob, who had never seen his friend distant before. At least, not that he could recall.

And in the end, Dream merely turned to him without prompting and told him, voice severe and terribly serious, “I would’ve returned to you. In 1989.”

And—and that made something in Hob ache. He waited so long, the day of their meeting, only to be met with silence and absence. And then he waited another thirty three years, because what else could he do? He was Hob Gadling, with almost seven centuries to his name and therefore far more patience than any typical human. Waiting felt like the only natural response at the time, and, indeed, it paid off, because Dream sat beside him. Because Dream returned to him, walked across the threshold of The New Inn and called Hob a friend.

Such a simple word, that. Enough to change the rest of his day, though. The rest of his century, even—friendship with Dream was a high he knew he’d ride for decades to come.

He’d tilted his head, curious and somewhat terrified. I would’ve returned to you, Dream said. And yet he had not. And yet Hob Gadling spent that day alone, drinking away his sorrows and waiting for a friend who wouldn’t return for three decades later.

”Then why didn’t you?” Hob asked, his heart in his throat. His eyes stung and he scowled, blinking the tears away. Truthfully, he thought he was over that by this point. It had been thirty three years. More than enough time to nurse the wounds of being thoroughly abandoned on the 7th June, 1989. The sting lessened even further when Dream called him friend, when he apologised for his absence.

(It returned on occasion, usually when he least expected it. It liked to…to wait in the wings, until the moment Dream turned his back on Hob to leave. He’ll return, Hob told himself, because he would now. All he saw in his head was the sight of Dream’s back turned away from him in 1889, though, as the rainfall fell around them both but didn’t touch his friend in the slightest.

It came back in those moments, and he often found himself swallowing a question. You’ll come back, right? or Would you stay a little longer? or Might I be selfish and request more of your company tonight?

Dream would not abandon him again. He knew that much. His heart and his stomach seemed to be taking a little longer to get the memo, however, and the dread that accompanied Dream’s leavings was often irrational.)

Ocean deep eyes stared at him. They were shadowed, those eyes, full of ghosts Hob couldn’t hope to understand. He could drown in those depths easily, and even then wouldn’t understand his friend in his entirety. “I was…captured,” he said, after some hesitation. “By a magician named Roderick Burgess.”

There were many things Hob could’ve said in response to that small and ugly revelation, and all of them would’ve been appropriate. All of them no doubt would’ve been various ways of saying What the fuck, are you alright? and Do you want me to kill the bastard? Because I will.

In the end, Hob didn’t say any of that. Instead, he focused on the frustration that hid underneath the layers of forced calm, the rage that lurked beneath the surface of Dream’s voice, and he ached. He ached, because Dream had been captured.

He didn’t need to know anything more than that to pull Dream into a hug.

A light one, because captured echoed inside his head like it was an empty cavern. It was the only thought he found himself capable of thinking. He didn’t know what it entailed, but—captured. God.

They could’ve hurt him. Hob wasn’t sure Dream could be hurt—Endless seemed rather important, even if he didn’t know what it meant properly—but the idea was terrible enough that he had to force himself to keep his arms around Dream loose, had to force himself to concentrate on his friend instead of the anger bubbling in his veins on his friend’s behalf.

In his arms, Dream tensed further. Hob…hadn’t thought that possible, after seeing how tense he was before this. Immediately, guilt struck him like a blow. His friend had been captured, and he didn’t bother to ask if a hug would even be alright.

Before he could pull away, apologies and pleas for forgiveness ready to spill from his tongue, Dream moved faster than Hob thought should’ve been possible. His arms found themselves around Hob’s waist, clinging tight enough it knocked the air right out of his lungs, but that was alright. He didn’t mind, not when Dream clung on so tightly. Not when he seemed like he needed it desperately, like he hadn’t been offered such a thing before.

He ignored that thought, for it made him ache with a desperation he hadn’t felt before, a desire to make sure his friend knew he was loved, and ran a soothing hand down his friend’s back. He pretended he couldn’t count the knobs of his friend’s spine even through his coat. Dream had always been lithe, yes, all elegant limbs and graceful movements—but this. This, he thought, was tangible proof of his friend’s hurt. This was what captured meant.

After—after Dream released him, slowly and carefully like he truly didn’t want to, like he wished to remain in the circle of Hob’s arms for the foreseeable future, which Hob wouldn’t have had a problem with, not at all—this, somehow, became a regular thing.

Dream continued to appear once each month. The day and the week varied, but it was always once a month. Hob didn’t know when to expect him, but that certainly wasn’t a problem—Dream didn’t turn up when he was teaching, and every other second he had to his name was his to take up. He could take up all of Hob’s time, and Hob thought he wouldn’t even care. Not if it was Dream.

And, with each month, Dream would touch him. Hug him. Tentatively, at first, like the motions were unfamiliar. Like gentle brushes of skin against skin and little nudges, touches so casual that they were easily a part of Hob’s every day life, were strange to him. Like he didn’t know what to do with it, with touches that were made for the sake of contact.

Even after a couple more months, the touches were still hesitant. Always, always, there was something holding Dream back, some of that old reserve returning and keeping him from taking what he wanted.

Hob didn’t push.

He wanted to. God, he did. He wanted to lay everything he had—time, the ability to provide contact, conversation and space and every amount of money he had to his name—at Dream’s feet and announce, Yours, it’s yours if you want it. If you want to take it, you can. It’s yours.

That—that would be too much. He refrained. He kept the questions at bay—refused to say the words Is this enough? and Do you want more? and You know I’ll gladly give you everything you ask, you know?—and he continued to tell stories in an attempt to make Dream smile faintly, to perhaps make things…easier to deal with. And, gradually, the hesitance bled away into something a little more like confidence, and Hob was glad for it.

After all of that, Hob somehow found himself sat on his couch a year later, with Dream’s head in his lap as the two of them watched a movie. Lord of the Rings, naturally—Sorry, you haven’t seen it? Hob had said last month, and despite Dream’s protests that usually took the shape of I am the Prince of Stories, I do not need to watch it to know the story, he decided they’d watch it together the next time Dream appeared.

He tried not to think too hard on the way Dream appeared so comfortable. He took up the rest of Hob’s sofa, boots and coats abandoned, loose-limbed as though this was where he belonged. There was no tension in his body, at least that Hob could see, and a part of him ached at that knowledge. He did that. He made his friend comfortable, gave him a safe space to take up room. He was the one who Dream let himself relax with, and wasn’t that a fucking thing? A glorious, wonderful thing. Tangible and real proof of their friendship.

Hob…Hob didn’t know how they got to this point, not really. He didn’t know how he managed to bridge the distance that always felt so terribly large so easily, to the point where Dream felt comfortable enough to use his thigh as a pillow. He didn’t know when the idea of threading his fingers through the strands of his friend’s raven hair became a temptation he had to resist, but he wouldn’t change it for the world.

At some point, Dream ended up sitting up. Hob missed him immediately, the absence of his weight on Hob’s thigh almost a physical pain.

A frown tugged at Dream’s lips slightly, and his eyes narrowed. “You are…thinking. Loudly.”

Hob, who still wasn’t sure Dream couldn’t read his mind—he didn’t ask questions, for all he really wanted was a name—blinked at him and offered a small smile. “Sorry,” he said with a shrug. “It is just. Strange. To see you like this. After we spent so long meeting only once a century.”

This, naturally, had the undesired affect of making Dream tense. All of that loose-limbed ease disappeared as though it was never there in the first place, only for his lips to purse and for Dream to look away from him. “I. Apologise,” he said slowly, carefully, as though he’s committed some terrible offence. “I did not mean to make you. Uncomfortable, in any way, or to take more than you were willing to give.”

He almost laughed at that, but managed to hold it back. His heart was a thing of yearning and daydreams of finding out of Dream would kiss him softly or with fire, if Dream’s fingertips would caress his skin gently or a little rougher, if Dream’s voice would sound just as lovely and velvet-soft uttering the words I love you as it did anything else. ‘More than you were willing to give’ didn’t exist to him, not for Dream. Never for Dream, who owned his heart entirely.

What he did instead was shake his head. He made to take Dream’s hand but thought better of it, letting his own fall onto the sofa between them. An invitation, if Dream felt like taking it. “Dream,” he said gently, and his friend’s eyes flooded with silver tears he didn’t allow to fall. “What are you apologising for? You didn’t make me uncomfortable. I don’t have a problem with any of this, I promise. The opposite, in fact. I would’ve told you, if I did.”

Dream didn’t look at him again. He said, voice low and carefully even, though that wasn’t enough to disguise the pain underneath it, “I have often been deemed. Too much. When it comes to offering affection.”

Affection, Hob thought, I am worthy of Dream’s affection. “You’re not too much.” He never could be.

This time, his gaze did return to Hob’s, ocean eyes cutting like steel. “I am,” he announced, and the heaviness, the certainty, with which he said it made Hob ache anew. “And I. Apologise. For inflicting my own desires upon you.”

”Oh, Christ, love,” Hob said helplessly. He did take Dream’s hand this time, clinging on for dear life, and was thankful when Dream didn’t pull away. He thought about the way Dream seemed so surprised when Hob hugged him the first time, the way he continued to hesitantly continue with small and casual contact over the last year. He thought about the way he seemed comfortable with such things, the way he seemed to need that first hug so much. Did he have nobody else who would offer him a fucking hug?

Surely he did. Surely Hob was not his only friend. As much of an achievement as that would be, he couldn’t cope with that idea. His friend deserved to love and to be able to love without—without worrying about being too much. “Please,” he said softly, and Dream stared at him with an expression he’d call blank if he wasn’t aware of how much sorrow there was in his gaze, “never apologise for wanting to be loved, Dream. This—hugs, you laying on me, whatever the fuck else you’d want—all of that, you can have. I don’t mind. I offer it freely, because I want to. Because you deserve to have that, okay? You’re not too much for wanting to be touched, especially after everything.”

Dream tensed further, somehow. His brow furrowed, as if this baffled him entirely. Christ, and Hob thought he made himself and his feelings towards Dream obvious. “You. Do not mind,” he repeated slowly, like that was a foreign concept.

Hob had half a mind to find whoever made him decide that wanting something as human as contact and ask them a couple of questions. With his fists. And maybe a knife.

For now, he just shook his head. “Not one bit,” he promised. “You can lay on me any time you like. Understood?”

For a couple more moments, Dream simply continued to stare, before he swallowed audibly. Hob thought he didn’t need to do that. He wondered if that small play at humanity was another product of his capture. “I believe,” he said slowly, voice hardly loud enough to be heard over the movie still playing in the background, “that I might be. Beginning. To understand.”

Hob smiled, relieved. This, he thought, wasn’t the end of it. And it didn’t have to be—he would assure Dream that he was never too much time and time again, if he had to. “Good. Good. I’m glad, love.”

And after another momentum’s hesitation, Dream wound his arms around Hob’s shoulders. His movements were stiff, almost awkward, but Hob hardly cared.

Perhaps he’d have to bring it up later. He’d like to. He’d like to bring this up again, to show Dream that Hob could be just as much when it came to his own affections, that he had been exercising every amount of self control he had over this last year. He’d like to show Dream that, for Hob, he—he was it. His closest, oldest friend. His longest love. Dream could take as much as he wanted, and Hob still wouldn’t care. It was all for him anyway.

For now, Dream pressed himself against Hob’s side and sighed softly. He didn’t unwind his arms from around Hob’s neck.

For now, that was enough.

------

Edit: find a part two here :)

[rip-quizilla]

Impossible to Hate You ~ Part 1

Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!Reader

Summary: An enemies to friends to enemies to lovers story. Slow-burn love story based on the film "When Harry Met Sally"

Word Count: 5.7k

Tags for Entire Fic (from AO3): Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Inspired by When Harry Met Sally (1989), Slow Burn, Romantic Fluff, eventual smut, Good Friend Robin Buckley, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Eddie Munson Lives, Alternate Universe - No Upside Down (Stranger Things), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, no one dies, Reader-Insert

Divider was created by the lovely and talented @hellfire--cult❤️

“The first time we met, we hated each other.”

“No, you didn’t hate me, I hated you.”

“The second time we met, you didn’t remember me-”

“I did too, I remembered you!”

“The third time we met, we became friends.”

“We were friends for a long time.”

“And then we weren’t.”

“And then we fell in love.”

Part 1

The first time you met Eddie Munson, he was dressed as Jason Voorhees.

It was Halloween, so the mask wasn’t completely out of the blue. He was 13, his hair was buzzed, and you had never (to your knowledge) spoken a single word to the boy.

The year was 1979. You and your best friend, Robin, had made the executive decision that you were too old for trick-or-treating, opting to stay home and watch scary movies in your bedroom instead. Deaf to the rest of the world, the two of you had holed yourselves up in the darkness of your room, huddled together in front of your TV set under a patchwork quilt your grandmother had made as you watched Carrie go on a blood-soaked killing spree. 

Both of you swore up and down that you weren’t scared, but that didn’t stop either of you from screaming like banshees when a tap at your window revealed Jason’s hockey mask and a plastic knife. 

Though you were only 13 yourself, you’d furiously thrown open your window, jammed your bare feet into a pair of sneakers and launched yourself into a high-speed chase after the stupid, stupid soul who had tried to make a fool out of the wrong girl.

It hadn’t taken you long to catch up to him; the masked menace had slowed down once he’d thought he was far enough from your house. You could see him up ahead, laughing with his friends and reenacting your terrified screams as he waved the prop knife in the air. 

You never stopped running, waiting until you were just about thirty feet from pint-sized Jason before yelling, “You’re dead, dipshit!”

Even though he was wearing a mask, your adversary’s body language spoke for itself- from the way he froze, then turned in the direction of your voice, then took off running- you could tell that he hadn’t expected you to race after him. His friends watched, dazed as you shoved them aside in pursuit of the punk in a mask that you were gaining on with every stride. When you finally caught up to him in the grassy field beside the neighborhood playground, you grabbed the back of his jacket and yanked as hard as you could. 

The kid hit the ground with a loud “Oof”, throwing up his hands in surrender as you stood over him and took the lapels of his denim jacket in your two clenched fists. You could see his big brown eyes behind the mask, wide with terror that matched the shrillness in his voice. 

“Whoa whoa whoa, hey hold- HOLD ON!” He raised his hands out defensively in front of his face. “I’m sorry, okay? Jeez, you caught me, I’m caught, I surrender!”

You paused, glaring at the little heathen for a second before shoving him back on the ground. As soon as you let go, you heard a muffled sigh of release behind the mask as the terror before you unmasked himself. You recognized the kid’s face, but couldn’t quite place where you knew him from.

“Do I know you?” you asked, hands placed on your hips. You took a couple of steps back, allowing him room to push himself off the ground.

The kid looked at his feet, avoiding your eye contact as he huffed out a humorless laugh. “Of course.” he muttered to himself before answering your question at normal volume. “Yeah, uh, Eddie Munson. We have history together.” 

You watched him, unmoving, raising an eyebrow. When he looked up and saw your skeptical expression, his eyes widened and he practically hopped up off the ground. “Class! History class!” He brushed his hands on his jeans before shoving them in his pockets and looking back down at the grass between his sneakers. “We’re in the same history class.”

You nodded slowly, still struggling to place him in your memory. “Cool.” you replied, face expressionless. “So you snuck over to my window in a Jason mask… why? Exactly?” Your tone was sharp and accusing.

The kid- Eddie- looked at you confused, as if he hadn’t heard you right. He looked around, gesturing vaguely to the various trick-or-treaters, plastic pumpkin heads and candy-filled pillow cases held in each sticky little fist. 

“It’s Halloween,” he replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I’m going to everyone’s windows.” 

“Just to scare people?” You asked, the accusatory tone of your voice impossible to miss. “You have nothing better to do?” 

He shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest as he defensively avoided your eyes. You waited a moment in silence before huffing out a breath and stomping past him. Robin was still sitting in your bedroom, undoubtedly on the verge of a nervous breakdown after being scared half to death and abandoned soon thereafter. 

“Whatever. Stay away from me.” you left him with those parting words and marched back to your house, Ready to go back to school on Monday and thoroughly ignore him in history class. 

The second time you met Eddie Munson, you were at the Hawkins High Winter Formal, circa 1982.

You were clip-clopping angrily in your satin heels and ignoring the obnoxious way they echoed in the eerily empty tiled hallway. “Tyler, hold on.” you bit out, struggling to keep the desperation in your chest from seeping into your tone. “Tyler, wait!” You reached out and managed to grab your date by the crook of his elbow, but he shrugged you off. 

“Forget it, I’m going.” he grunted, not even bothering to face you. “I never wanted to go to this dumb dance anyway.” 

The cool chill of December night air hit you hard as he launched the exit doors open. Your arms flew up to shield your bare shoulders from the icy breeze, heels crunching against the uneven concrete as you stepped through the open doorway.

“Tyler, this is so stupid! Just come back inside, it’s freezing!” 

He just shook his head, making a beeline for his beat-up baby blue pickup. You’d matched your dress to that pickup. You had searched every boutique in Hawkins to find the perfect shade of baby blue… and now he was leaving you to drive away in it. 

Tyler continued to ignore you as he opened the driver-side door, hopped in, stuck his key in the ignition, and pulled out of the parking lot. That left you standing in the cold, shivering in silence- completely alone.

Or so you’d thought.

“Trouble in paradise?”

The taunting question came from behind you, some twenty feet or so down the wall. You turned to see who had witnessed your embarrassingly loud spat with your date, and immediately gave a sigh and an eye roll when you saw who it was. 

Eddie’s hair had grown long over the years, dark curls now coiled past his earlobes, just shy of brushing the shoulders of his black leather jacket. The way it framed his face in the warm lamplight- it struck you that Eddie Munson was actually kind of pretty. Certainly easier on the eyes than he had been with that ridiculous buzzcut. You were surprised to see him here- dances didn’t seem like his thing. Obviously, he didn’t know the meaning of the word formal, judging by the absence of any clothing items that might deserve the word. He leaned casually against the dimly-lit brick wall, hands in his pockets and eyeing you curiously.

“Mind your business, Munson.” You scowled, turning to grasp the handle of the door- and felt your heart plummet when you realized the door was locked. 

“All the doors but the ones by the front office are set to lock from the outside.” Eddie supplied you with an answer to a question you hadn’t needed to ask. “You’ll have to go all the way around.” 

You huffed out a frustrated, humorless chuckle. “I wouldn’t say I’m all too eager to go back in there in the first place.”

Silence hung in the air between the two of you. Weighing your options for a moment, you settled on postponing your inevitable embarrassment by joining Eddie Munson in leaning against the painted brick wall. You knew the way your friends talked about Tyler; how they’d tell you he was always an asshole and they’d told you such since the beginning of your relationship. 

You’d rather deal with the school outcast right now.

Eddie’s eyebrows stayed raised on his forehead for nearly a full minute once you took up your spot next to him on the wall. You didn’t say anything, not for a while. Finally, the silence was broken when you let out a loud, involuntary shiver, hands clutching your shoulders and rubbing up and down your upper arms in a desperate attempt to warm up.

Eddie glanced over at you, rolling his eyes at how pointedly you were avoiding his eye contact. Letting out a heavy sigh, he asked with the least amount of enthusiasm possible-

“Do you want my jacket?”

You looked up at him, a look that mixed incredulity and disgust painted across your expression. “Well not when you ask like that.”

Eddie scrunched up his nose, dropping one eyebrow while the other stood its ground. “Like what?”

“Like it’s an obligation.”

“Like what’s an obligation?”

You huffed, “Offering me your jacket!”

Eddie chuckled humorlessly, “Now why,” he spoke your first and last name as if it were a pompous title like ‘Grand Duchess’ or ‘Queen of Sheba’,  “-would I feel obligated to offer you my jacket?”

You huffed. Again. The sound of your heels crunching once more over the pavement as you turned to face him tore through the silent winter air. You couldn’t believe you were explaining this to him, as if he didn’t already know. 

“When a girl is cold, and she doesn't have a jacket, boys are taught that they’re supposed to offer that girl their jacket.”

Eddie nodded as you spoke, as if he were an eager student learning something life-changing from his favorite professor. “Fascinating, fascinating… and who teaches this to boys?” 

You crossed your arms over your chest defensively, wishing he would just give up the bit and hand over his jacket. “Seriously?” 

He waited, smiling eagerly. You couldn’t stand this guy.

 “Ugh, I don’t know, fathers, I guess?”

“Ahh, well you see-” Eddie muttered, waving his pointer finger in the air as if he were about to shout ‘eureka’. “-I didn’t grow up with a father, so where did I learn it then?”

You knew he was trying to make you feel bad. Trying to make you uncomfortable so you left him alone. You wouldn’t play his game, though. 

Giving him a haughty smile and shaking your head slightly, you replied, “Well maybe your mother knew to teach you anyways and you learned it from her.”

Eddie sucked his teeth, making a sympathetic hiss to accompany the wince on his face. “That’s the thing, my mom’s dead so I don’t have one of those either.” 

You came up short after that one. Remorse weighed heavy in your chest, realizing that the game you were playing may not be worth winning.

You were both silent for nearly a minute before you spoke-

“Does the offer to take your jacket still stand?”

“What if it doesn’t?” His retort was bitter and immediate. 

You sighed heavily, closing your eyes and hanging your head in defeat. “Then I would understand completely, due to my being a bitch.” 

He looked at you, took in your pitiful, shivering form, and rolled his eyes again. “Jesus Christ, here-”

Eddie shrugged off his leather jacket and placed it over your shoulders. You immediately felt yourself relax into it, feeling the warm satiny lining melt like butter onto your gooseflesh skin. You tugged it tight around yourself and slipped your arms into the sleeves. 

“Thank you.” you said warmly, giving him a grateful and apologetic smile. 

Silence settled over the two of you again, and you were curious if he felt the elephant in the room trumpeting as loudly as you did. You decided to test the waters. 

“So… what did you do this Halloween?”

You nearly jumped when Eddie clapped loudly, spinning in a circle and grinning at you like a kid who’d just beat their high score at the arcade. 

“You remember!” He laughed, elated and grinning at you so largely that you couldn’t help but grin in return. 

“Remember what? The heart attack you almost gave me, or the look on your face when I tackled you to the ground?” You were laughing with him, pride and nostalgia painting your smile with colors that matched the glee in his eyes. He’d remembered that night for years, he couldn’t get it out of his head if he tried. 

“How about the way it made you remember my name?” His eyes sparkled, cockiness written on every inch of his face.

You gawked, a little bit impressed by his forwardness. Was Eddie Munson flirting with you? That was the last thing you’d expected out of tonight. You decided to play along. 

“Well yeah, how else was I going to report you to the police for public disturbance?” 

“You could’ve just given them a physical description and they’d’ve known it was me, disturbing the public is a favorite pastime of mine.”

“It was dark, I couldn’t see you well enough to give a thorough description.” 

“You can see me now, what would you tell them?” 

Eddie was quiet, patient…waiting for you to take the bait. You were just about to, before you were interrupted by the rev of an engine at the end of the parking lot. It snapped you out of your trance. 

Glancing up toward the source of the sound, you felt a wash of relief when you identified it as Tyler’s pickup truck. Quickly, you slipped out of Eddie’s jacket, shoving it into his arms and rushing to meet Tyler at the curb. You stopped after a few steps to look back at Eddie. 

“That’s Tyler, I need to go talk to him. Thanks for letting me wear your jacket, and I’m sorry about-”

Eddie hissed out a sharp laugh, digging into his pockets and retrieving a cigarette and lighter. He shook his head ruefully, muttering a “Just go. Have fun at the dance.” and that was that. You were dismissed, conversation over. 

Which was a good thing, right? Tyler wouldn’t like you hanging out with “The Freak”…  This was better. You took a few more steps forward, stopped, then looked over your shoulder one more time at Eddie. 

He was staring straight at you. Your heart rate accelerated exponentially. 

BEEP BEEEEEP!

Tyler was parked at the curb. 

Plastering a forgiving smile on your face you rushed to the truck. “Coming, I’m coming!”

Eddie watched you climb into the car. He looked away when Tyler the asshat glared daggers at him. He pretended to be more interested in his cigarette than the fact that this guy treated you like garbage, yet you still ran to him like a lost puppy. He ignored the wishful thinking that someone might ever look at him the way you’d just looked when that truck pulled up to the curb. 

Your dress matched his car. Had you done that on purpose? If he had asked a girl to the dance, would she have found a dress to match his van? That would be a horrible idea, his van was dingleberry brown and laminate countertop yellow. Eddie was pretty sure those weren’t going to be colors featured in the latest Gunne Sax catalog. 

Tyler’s baby blue pickup parked in the back of the lot. Eddie watched the lights shut off. Neither of you got out of the truck.

He took another drag from his cigarette.

The third time you met Eddie Munson was in the theater department during your junior year. 

You’d joined theater because you needed the fine arts credit. Thus far in your high school career, you hadn’t signed up for choir (your voice sucked), band (you didn’t have time to practice with your part time job at Scoops Ahoy), or drawing & painting (you couldn’t draw for shit). Ergo, theater was your only option. Unfortunately for you- and for the theater director, Mr. Chavez- you soon discovered that you have horrible stage fright. 

In lieu of forcing you to play a part onstage, Mr. Chavez said he would award you credit for the class if you agreed to be stage manager for this year’s spring play. That was why you were in the theater department late into the afternoon on a Friday, gluing fake moss to a fake tree.

You’d been warned that the Dungeons &Dragons club had their sessions in the theater on Friday nights, so you weren’t surprised when Eddie Munson and his band of merry nerds waltzed into the auditorium. 

Eddie, however, was surprised to see you.

He paused mid-sentence when he was greeted by the sight of you, hot glue gun in hand, bent over a long piece of cardboard cut to resemble a cartoonish-looking tree.

“Uhh,” he started, “Hellfire has the auditorium on Fridays.” 

You nodded, glancing up at him as if you’d just noticed his presence. “Yeah, I’ll stay out of your way, just working on set pieces for the play. You won’t even know I’m here.”

Eddie crossed his arms over his chest, eyeing you suspiciously. “I doubt that.” he muttered, but it was loud enough for you to hear. You took the high road and chose to ignore it. 

You stayed focused on your half-finished cardboard tree while Eddie and his cronies began setting up for whatever Dungeons & Dragons was. You were pretty sure it was a board game or something, you hadn’t heard much about it other than it was another thing that everyone made fun of Eddie for. 

Time passed. You held true to your word- as more Hellfire members showed up and sat down to begin their game, you continued to mind your business and silently work on your set pieces. You remained quiet as a mouse, but as time continued to tick on, you couldn’t help but catch bits and pieces of Eddie’s narration as the game progressed. You’d finished your work about forty-five minutes after the game began, but you’d become so engrossed in the story that Eddie was spinning for his friends that you pretended to be busy until their playing drew to a close for the night. You could see why these kids loved the game when they had someone like Eddie leading them through the storyline- he was a very immersive storyteller, unafraid to use a different voice for every character, transforming every aspect of himself to suit the needs of the story. 

When they all began to pack up, you did the same and busied yourself with gathering your belongings into your backpack. To your surprise, you noticed a pair of Chuck Taylors out of your peripheral walking toward you. 

“You uhh…” Eddie said, bending a knee to help you gather your things. “...you get all of your work done?” 

You gratefully accepted your composition notebook from him. “Um, everything I needed to finish tonight, yeah.” You replied, offering him a smile. “That game actually seems cool, you’re a good storyteller.”

That seemed to flatter him enough to elicit a genuine smile. “Yeah? You liked it?” you nodded, grin slipping further until it showed your teeth. Eddie tucked his head down shyly, but still unable to hide the obvious satisfaction on his face. “So when’s the play?”

You sighed. “Not for about three weeks. I’m the stage manager, so I’ve got my work cut out for me… pretty sure I’ll need to keep staying late on Fridays until then if I’m going to be ready in time-”

“You can’t work on it any other day of the week?” He interrupted.

You balked. Well, at least he isn’t beating around the bush… but still, rude. 

Eddie, who winced the moment he’d spoken, seemed to read your mind. “Shit, that came across ruder than I’d meant- I just meant that I didn’t realize you were so busy every other day.” 

You eyed him suspiciously. Yeah, sure. Nice save. 

“Well,” you sigh, “I tutor on Mondays and Tuesdays, work on Wednesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays, and-”

“Where do you work?” Eddie interrupted… again. 

You tried not to let your frustration seep into your tone. “I, uhh, I work at that ice cream shop at the mall, Scoops Ahoy.” 

Eddie’s smug smile was slow as it crept across his face. “Wait… is that the place with the little sailor outfits?”

You rolled your eyes; you’d walked right into this one. “Yes, it is.” 

He bit his lip, like he wanted to say something but was holding it back. “Geez, they better pay you well if you have to wear that monstrosity.”

You chuckled, zipping up your backpack and pulling it over your shoulder as you stood up. “Yeah, pay’s not too bad. It’s enough that I should be able to pay to get my car fixed by the end of the school year, so that-”

“What happened to your car?”

You huffed, annoyed. “God, Munson, you ever heard someone finish a sentence before?”

Eddie’s eyes widened, his open mouth clamping shut. Your angry eyes softened- your tone had been a bit harsh. 

“Sorry-”

“Sorry-”

You both apologized simultaneously, followed by a chuckle from the both of you. After a beat of silence, Eddie smiled tightly and gestured for you to go first. 

“I drive an old car, and it needs a few parts replaced before I can take it back out on the road safely… so until then, I’m a perpetual pedestrian.” 

Eddie frowned, arms crossed over his chest. “You’re walking home?”

You nodded, not seeing the problem. “I don’t live far, it’s only a ten minute walk.” 

He didn’t seem satisfied by that reply. “It’s pretty dark out, you want me to just drive you home?” 

You opened your mouth to decline his offer, but no sound came out. He had a point- the path home wasn’t very well-lit; some might even consider it dangerous, since there wasn’t a sidewalk for most of your route. You gave him a slightly apologetic smile. 

“You’re sure it won’t be any trouble?”

He shook his head, eyebrows scrunching as if it were ludicrous for you to even ask the question. “Nah, don’t worry about it.” Gesturing to the table- which was now deserted by the other members (when had they all left?)- Eddie said, “Just let me get all my stuff together and we’ll head out, cool?”

You nodded, smiling gratefully. “Yeah, cool. Thanks, Eddie.”

He waved you off, busying himself with the multitudes of papers and little plastic figures strewn across the table.

Once you were both ready to leave, you followed Eddie out to his car- er, van. It was a very large van. Once inside, the smell of weed was unmistakable. Eddie realized this the moment you sat down. 

“Sorry about the, uh…” he began, wincing and gesturing to the air around him. 

“...weed smell?” you supplied, smirking.

He barked out a nervous laugh. “Yeah. Didn’t know if you’d recognize it.”

You feigned offense, placing a dramatic hand over your heart as he turned the key in the ignition. “Edward Munson, are you drawing the conclusion that I’m a prude who can’t place the smell of marijuana?” 

He laughed- a real laugh, haughty and unbridled. “Well for starters, people who smoke marijuana don’t call it marijuana.” You felt the shocks working beneath your seat as he shifted the car from park to drive, pulling out of his parking space and exiting the lot. 

“Okay, you blew my cover.” You giggled. “What do you call it, then?” 

Eddie made a show of thinking it over. “Oh, lots of things- weed, mary jane, grass- the devil’s lettuce is my personal favorite.” 

You snorted. “That’s one I haven’t heard before.” 

“I love teaching people new  things.” Eddie smiled, taking his eyes off the road a moment to flash another smile in your direction. 

A comfortable quiet settled over the van, breaking only for you to advise Eddie on which turns to take on the way to your house. 

After a few moments of silence, Eddie spoke up.

“So are you still dating that guy… Timmy, Tucker…?”

“You mean Tyler?” you supplied.

“Yeah, that’s what I said.”

You let out a bitter laugh. “God, don’t remind me I ever dated that asshole.” smiling ruefully, you shook your head. “No, he was bad news. A whole three months of my life wasted that I’ll never get back.”

Eddie whistled. “Damn, guy really did a number on you, huh?”

You shrugged. “I think I was so obsessed with the idea of being with someone like him that I missed all the red flags that were so obvious to everyone else. It hurt for a while after I finally broke up with him, but I got over it.”

He was quiet, contemplative as he nodded to your words. You turned to face Eddie completely. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“I’ve never heard about you going out with anyone.”

Eddie snorted. “Even if I was going out with someone, I doubt you’d hear about it.”

Your brow furrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean my love life- nonexistent as it is- isn’t exactly the hot gossip of Hawkins High.” Eddie’s eyes never wavered from the road ahead as he turned into your neighborhood. 

You raised your eyebrows at that. “Actually, if you dated someone I think a lot of people would talk about it.”

Eddie looked at you, confused, almost like he didn’t believe you. 

“Seriously,” you confirmed, “When somebody dates all the time, no one really cares who the next person they date is. But when somebody who never dates starts dating somebody, everybody talks about it.”

His expression remained unchanged as he digested that information. After a moment, he sighed, replying, “In that case, I’m never dating anyone until I’m out of Hawkins.” 

“What? Why?” you pointed out your house at the end of the street.

“Because I wouldn’t wish school-wide gossip on anyone, it’s taken me a lifetime to get used to it.” He gave you a snarky smile and shook his head. “Most people aren’t as strong as I am, they’d crack under the weight of infamy.”

You countered his snark with disbelief, but couldn’t hide a smile at his reply. “Well I’m glad you have such a high opinion of yourself, Eddie, but I think you need to give people more credit. The right person wouldn’t care about the gossip, they’d care about you more.”

The van jolted as it came to a stop in front of your house. “Well if I ever find someone who fits that description, I’ll let you know,” Eddie replied, “but until then, I think I’ll let people keep gossiping about me for the normal reasons.”

You unbuckled your seatbelt, hauling your heavy backpack onto your lap. “Such as…?”

“Devil worshiper, white trash, spawn of satan…” Eddie made a show of counting them out on his fingers. You giggled. He grinned. 

“Well, in all seriousness-” you said softly, “I think you’re selling yourself short. I mean don’t get me wrong, you can be annoying as all hell,” You gave him a pointed glance, silently laughing a bit at his wry side-eye, “but from what I can tell, there’s a nice guy hiding underneath all that rockstar hair.”

“Rockstar hair, huh?” You nodded and his grin grew wider, now accompanied by a blush that Eddie hoped you wouldn't see if he looked down at his lap and let his ‘rockstar hair’ form a curtain around his face. You caught it anyway. “While calling me ‘nice’ is very… generous of you, you don’t really know shit about me so I’m not sure that you’re a qualified source-”

“I know you’re the kind of guy who gives his jacket to girls whose dates leave them at dances, and doesn’t embarrass them with questions about why the date is leaving.” It was your turn to interrupt him now. “And now I know you’re also the kind of guy who cares enough to give someone a ride home because it’s dark enough outside for him to fear for their safety.”

 Eddie was quiet, smiling tightly but refusing to meet your eyes. “Well…” he drew the word out until it was three-syllables long. Shyly, he looked up at you through his dark brown curls. “...that’s what friends do, right?”

The smile that bloomed across your face was so sudden, it surprised even you. “We’re friends now, huh?”

He mirrored your smile, back to his devil-may-care brashness that you’d come to expect from him. “I said no such thing, now get out of my van.” His words did nothing to dampen the joy evident on his face.

You laughed in response, pulling the handle of your door to do just that. “Don’t lie to yourself, Munson, I know what I heard!” Your smile was kind, but your eyes said something along the lines of na-na na-na na na.

He said nothing for a moment, just smiled back at you before shaking his head. 

“Bye, friend.” 

Your shoulders shook in a gentle laugh, and you replied, “Bye, friend.” before closing the car door and walking up the concrete walkway to your front porch. Eddie waited until you were inside before driving away. 

That day, four years and five months after you’d initially met Eddie Munson, was the first day of one of the strongest friendships of your life.

That friendship would last for about one year.

Part 2