#and there’s this girl who I’ve been friends with since sixth grade

[nwjws]

in my head - yjw

; pairing - jungwon x fem!reader

; synopsis - you’ve hated jungwon ever since you two met on the train to hogwarts back in first year; he’s self-centered, lazy, and always coming out for you. now in your seventh year, you’ve been named head girl (woohoo!). unfortunately, the head boy position was given to the one and only yang jungwon (boohoo…). with no other choice, you’re forced to face the annoyingly attractive boy and work with him for the rest of the year - if you can even last that long.

; tags - fluff, angst, crack, ravenclaw! headboy!jungwon, slytherin! headgirl!reader, rivals to lovers, enemies to lovers, hogwarts au (with a modern twist), bc they have tablets and stuff

; warnings - a little bit of swearing, a lot of hostility between yn and jw, lmk if i missed anything!

; wc - 12.9k words (umm.... have fun!)

teaser

everyone’s eyes are on you as you stand up at the front of the great hall while the headmaster - professor bang si hyuk - introduces you as this year’s head girl. looking at all the students staring back up at you, you almost feel proud of yourself (keyword: almost). 

you’d think someone would be overjoyed at being acknowledged and recognised enough to have been given such a high position, but you aren’t. 

instead, you’re silently fuming, just barely keeping your temper in check as you plaster a fake smile on your face. your eye twitches as you hear a low chuckle from-

“the head boy, yang jungwon!” the headmaster announces. cheers erupt from around the room, all clapping for their new heads. 

“i can feel the waves of anger practically radiating off of you,” he murmured quietly.

yang jungwon. 

the boy you despised so much. 

listen, you don’t really hate anyone, but you’re pretty sure that what you feel towards the boy you called ‘yang’ is close enough.

in all your six years at hogwarts, you two have constantly been at each other’s throats. arguments often broke out between you in corridors; fights wherein one would end up stupefied or thrown against the wall; even little sabotages against each other that were subtle enough that teachers could pass off as an accident or your own fault rather than the other’s. 

for example, back in third year, yang had tripped you on your way into the great hall after everyone got off the hogwarts express. you had flashed everyone behind you and scraped your knee when you landed on the ground.

although no one saw him do it, you immediately knew who the culprit was, especially when he smirked down at you over his shoulder as he walked ahead. oh how badly you wanted to slap that smile off his face in the moment.

you retaliated the next week by mixing his white laundry with red clothes, so he was forced to attend his classes with pink uniform until he got new shirts. nothing satisfied you more than the glares he sent your way throughout the first day of his pink week, you could feel him boring holes into the back of your head even when you weren’t looking.

making your way back to the slytherin table, you thought back to when you got that fateful letter a few weeks back.

you slid the window open after spotting an owl from afar flying towards your house.

the bird flew in gracefully, and dropped your letter from hogwarts on the kitchen island counter, accepting the treats offered from your hand.

“y/n, please. close the window, would you? it’s so windy outside - it’s blowing away my papers!” your mother scolded from her seat at the table.

“sorry, my bad! i just got my grades.”

“ah really? let’s see it then.”

you scanned the letter, satisfied to see an O on all your subjects. although they weren’t your final NEWTS grades, they were an indication of how you did throughout sixth year according to teachers’ assessments. 

you’d been nervous at seeing anything below an O, but your friends had told you not to worry all summer.

“you’ve never dropped from the top rank in our year ever since first year, why would you now?”

“hiyyih, it’s only because of how much i’ve studied, but what if the expectations this year are higher? what if it’s not enough? what if i spent too many free periods sitting with you guys by the lake instead of-“

“be for real, you only did that twice! you’re the only person who’s actually spent their free periods studying,” rei said.

“well that’s what they’re supposed to be used for!”

“who actually does that! besides you, of course.”

“rei’s right, even yang jungwon often spends his frees with his friends.”

“that’s why he’s number 2,” you roll your eyes. “maybe if he studied during his frees, he’d finally get that number 1 spot he's been telling me he'd get for years.”

“it’s the fact he doesn’t have to study as hard to easily get second top student in our year. besides, weren’t you just worrying about not being first this time ‘round?”

that set you off into another episode of wailing and worrying about your results.

reading the letter, your eyes zeroed in on a shiny gold badge attached to the bottom.

  dear kim y/n,  we are pleased to inform you that you have been chosen as head girl for this upcoming academic year. you will be working alongside the head boy, yang jungwon, and all prefects across the four houses. you and the head boy’s duties will be relayed to you after the sorting ceremony. congratulations once again, you are well deserving of the title. sincerely, headmaster bang si hyuk

you still remember your mother questioning you after watching your figure suddenly go from jumping around the kitchen all giddy, to sulkily dragging your feet to the table.

of course, you were honoured to be picked, but did they really have to choose your enemy as your partner? i mean, the whole school knows about your rivalry, and you guys have been told off countless times by teachers! so was this really a smart idea?

when the ceremony ended, one of the professors led you and yang to the head dormitories.

(a “benefit” of being one of the heads was getting your own room, separate from your own house dorms. but you’d still be sharing the common room with yang, so that wasn’t exactly the biggest plus in your books.)

“as you can see, you will have separate private rooms, each with their own bathroom,” the professor pointed at the doors on opposite sides of the common room.

“but you two will share this living space. there’s a little library in the corner as well. 

“now for rules..." he started listing a bunch of obvious rules - like what's allowed in the head dorms and what isn't, when you can bring your friends, etc.

“and last but not least, you aren’t allowed in each other’s private quarters,” he paused before glancing at both students. “although, i don’t think that’ll be a problem.” 

he’s right there, you thought bitterly.

the idea of even sharing the common room with the boy irked you, let alone entering his own room. you could only imagine all the stupid tricks he was planning on you right now - but you were doing the same.

after the whole ordeal, the professor finally left you two alone, but not before telling you that you should start planning out the prefects’ patrolling schedules so that you could meet up with them as soon as possible.

you and yang stared at each other for a moment, apprehension hanging in the air. this is the first time you two have directly looked each other in the eye tonight.

“so… i guess we should get to sorting out those schedules,” he breaks the silence, gesturing to the scroll of names in your hands, which the professor had left with you.

nodding, you followed him to the large table in the middle of the room, where you’d hold a meeting with the prefects tomorrow morning.

“here’s the list of all the prefects, plus their student ID numbers.”

“okay, we can use those to add them all into a group chat on hog-messages and inform them of the meeting tomorrow.”

one of the newer developments at hogwarts in recent years was the addition of electronic tablets given to every student, so they’d be able to communicate faster with each other. it had an app programmed within it called ‘hog-messages’ where students could message each other or their teachers, and create group chats, all activity being monitored by staff.

the tablets also allowed the students to be able to write notes down on it, but most teachers often preferred all homework to be written on paper scrolls anyway. 

all this was provided by yang enterprises.

yup. yang was the son of the wizard who introduced muggle electronic devices into the wizarding world, instantly boosting their family into riches and success.

the world was given to him on a silver platter, so he’s always had it easy. and unfortunately for you, the boy not only grew up snobby and privileged, but was smart too. 

coming from the muggle world, you entered the wizarding world with an open mind. despite this, you hated the ravenclaw almost as soon as you met him. 

his ego was high up through the roof way before he’d even been placed in the house, and he emanated a strong intimidating aura. as soon as yang saw you on that hogwarts train, he turned his nose up at you like you were dirt before you’d even spoken a word to each other.

nonetheless, you managed to work out a schedule together smoothly. but the lack of clashing heads for once put you on edge, you felt like something was just wrong.

“alright, i’ve sent a message to the group,” he said, staring at his screen.

“okay…” you trailed off, unsure what to say. “um, let’s be civil this year, yang,” you say instead, putting a hand out.

the boy looked up at you, before glancing down at your hand then laughed in disbelief. as if you had said you were going to run 100 laps around the castle.

“duh, i knew that when i got the letter. that doesn’t need to be said. are you an idiot?”

now it was you who stared at him in disbelief. there’s the yang you know.

lowering your hand, you scoffed and stormed into your room, which was luckily closer so you didn't have to spend another second looking at his pretty face.

you should have known nothing would ever change. you can’t believe you almost thought that yang had changed. of course he’d never grow up, maybe he was just made this way. 

on the other hand, the return of his ugly personality brought you some comfort. it was just something you were more familiar with. you weren’t used to the driven and focused attitude he had on earlier when sorting out the schedule, and you’d prefer to keep it that way. 

unpacking your bags and showering before changing into pajamas, you set an alarm for 6:30am, so you’d have time for the meeting at 7:30 and can end it before classes began at 8. you went to bed feeling prepared for tomorrow.

the next morning however, you woke up late. 

the sunlight seeped in through the curtains, and after a moment, you checked your phone for the time.

8:34am

crap.

you practically jumped out of bed and began to frantically get ready, pulling on the first shirt and skirt you could grab from your closet.

why hadn’t your alarm woken you up? you set the alarm two hours earlier. had you accidentally typed 630 into the calculator app instead from a tiring day?

however, when you check your alarm clock, you saw that it had been turned off. although, you clearly remember pressing save and checking that it was on before tucking yourself into bed.

you pause as you brush your hair, your thoughts coming to a stop.

it was yang, you realised. 

is this his idea of civil? you wonder what he's on as you slip on your uniform in panic. 

quickly brushing your teeth, you put on your tie as you ran out the room, a chill hits you when you remembered the prefects’ meeting you were supposed to have this morning.

oh my god, they probably think i'm an irresponsible head girl. there’s no doubt the bad impression being late on your first day as head girl would leave on not only the students, but the teachers as well. 

will they revoke your position? will they give the badge to another, more responsible girl? who preferably doesn’t have beef with the head boy? 

you cringed at the thought you might be punished because of something entirely yang’s fault, and he’d get away with it. as he always does. 

you ran down the moving stairs, almost slipping off the edge when it suddenly changed paths, towards your first class as you cursed out the head boy in your mind. 

but soon enough, nervousness took over as you neared the classroom.

there was only about 15 minutes left of the period, so was it even worth it to go? and besides, yang was in this class too. you’d hate to see the gloating smirk on his face when you enter and get scolded by the professor.

before you could decide however, the door opened, revealing the very boy you’d been planning revenge on all morning.

yang didn’t look surprised to see you there, evident by the grin on his face.

he faked a shocked tone though, when he announced your presence to the professor (and the whole class).

it goes without saying that you definitely had a bad morning, being held back in class for another half hour to make up for what you missed that morning. 

thankfully, you had a free period next, so you weren’t missing your next class this time.

although you hated yang jungwon with every fibre of your being, you weren’t a snitch. you wouldn’t dare expose him - mostly because it would be useless. who would really believe you, when you were already messing up so early in the year? and certainly not when it accused the school’s beloved heartthrob. 

so you took your punishment on without a complaint, pointedly ignoring yang the rest of the day, who didn’t even try to hide his smile.

you sighed as you made notes on griffin claw substitutes, all alone in the potions classroom.

september and october rolled by; even though you and yang continued your little pranks and tricks on each other, you guys managed your head duties just fine. he did his work and never slacked, so you were satisfied.

you had gotten your revenge on yang by charming his wand to vibrate uncontrollably two days later. you remember barely being able to hold in your laugh as you watched him struggle to conjure a flock of birds, an explosion of feathers popping from the tip instead.

from what you heard, he also struggled in his other classes you didn’t share, which delighted you to no end. 

“what are you skipping around all giddy about?” hiyyih asked you sceptically.

“just that yang seems to be struggling in herbology class, according to jang wonyoung.”

“what did you do?” rei eyed suspiciously.

“how could you accuse me of doing something?” you gasped.

“it’s pretty obvious - head boy and student #2 wouldn’t just struggle in a class he’s always done well in,” minji shrugged.

you rolled your eyes at your friends, but then smiled cheekily when you admitted how you’d snuck into his room that morning and cast a charm on his wand with a spell that would only stop after twenty-four hours.

“okay, that’s pretty funny. i’m gonna have to ask wony about it later,” rei laughed. 

your phone buzzed, and upon checking it, you were surprised to see a text from the one and only yang jungwon.

Hog-Messages YANG JUNGWON (ID: 78395) professor kim wants to see us

“speak of the devil,” you tell your friends and show them your screen. 

you watched as the three glanced at each other, equally surprised.

“wow, a text! from yang jungwon! and it’s not some evil curse or cryptic message!” hiyyih remarked, which you nodded to in agreement. 

rei laughed. “you guys act like he’s incapable of simple communication; he’s just relaying a message.”

“sometimes rei, i think he is,” you joked.

YANG JUNGWON ID: 78395 professor kim wants to see us

KIM Y/N ID: 78384 when?

YANG JUNGWON ID: 78395 after classes today at his office

KIM Y/N ID: 78384 ofc it’s at his office, you think he’d want to meet us in the restrooms?

YANG JUNGWON ID: 78395 i hope u fall off your broom on the pitch also come un-charm my wand or something right now.

KIM Y/N ID: 78384 can’t 🤷‍♀️  sux 2 b u

"honestly, if i didn't know better, i'd think you two had a hate-love relationship," minji teased.

"ew, anything above dislike is something i will never feel for yang jungwon," you scrunched your nose in distaste. how could minji even think something like that?

"whatever," she snickered.

arriving in front of the professor’s office door, you opened it to find jungwon already inside and seated on one of the chairs opposite the teacher’s desk. you bowed in greeting before taking the other empty seat.

“so,” professor kim started. “we need to talk about your behaviour as the head students.”

you gulped. had you done something wrong? were those threats to revoke your position on the first day real? 

looking over at your co-partner, his face was unreadable, as always. he looked perfectly calm, which infuriated you.

“as head boy and girl, you two are setting the standard for the rest of the school. you guys are supposed to be role models. but i’m sure you already know this.” professor kim paused and looked at both of you intently before continuing.

“so why is it i’m finding out that you two have not been doing your patrols together?”

oh. so that’s what this is about.

you and yang had completed one patrol session together on the first week of school, and it’s safe to say that it was… horrific. without going into too much detail, you guys had practically argued the whole two hours that night; although it was unlikely, if there were any couples making out or young students causing trouble, they probably heard you two from a mile away and hid before they were caught.

at the end of the night, you both agreed that you’d just swap your schedules and patrol with other prefects - possibly the only thing you two had ever agreed on.

“we weren’t aware that we had to patrol together,” you replied when the head boy was clearly not going to speak up first. what a pussy.

it was a lie; you guys obviously knew that head students were supposed to patrol together. having been prefects in previous years, you knew how things worked. it was why you had done the first patrol together after all. 

but you figured that since it wasn’t a specifically given instruction, you didn’t actually have to do it together.

professor kim stared at you two incredulously for a moment, his expression somewhere between exasperation and disbelief. a pool of anxiousness swirled in your stomach at the way he sighed and pinched his nose bridge frustratedly.

“listen, i don’t know what si-hyuk was thinking when he had chosen you two as the heads, given your history and all. but he chose you. so please show that you’re worthy of the title - let go of your childish rivalry. otherwise, we may actually have to find new head students.”

“you could just let go of her, professor. i’d be able to work with any other girl,” yang finally spoke up. of course the first thing he'd say is an insult.

you gasped and glared at him. 

“clearly, you’re the one who’s childish and immature here. maybe you should be the one to get replaced.”

“enough!” the teacher slammed his hands on the desk. “if you two keep this act up, we will not hesitate to replace you both.”

and so with that, you and yang left the office in uncomfortable silence. not a word was spoken between you until just before you parted ways.

“guess we’ll use the old schedule again,” he said. you nodded.

being the end of the day, you were both too tired to argue. the heavy workload that comes with NEWTS in addition to the responsibilities of your positions, you both left for your own common rooms without sparing another glance.

the dreaded patrol round came sooner than you would have liked, and you found yang waiting by the castle doors. you always seemed to be the later one, as if he’d placed a curse on you with that trick at the start of the year.

he kicked himself off the wall he’d been leaning against when he saw you, and began to walk without so much as a ‘hi’ or ‘let’s go’. you had to quickly jog to catch up to him.

the air between you two as you walked around was silent and tense, so thick that you could probably cut it with a knife.

surprisingly, yang was the first to break the silence.

“i was thinking - we should plan the first hogsmeade trip for this term.”

“mhm,” you hummed in agreement. “i think it’s best to have it after the quidditch match in november.”

“yeah, at the end of the month. and people would be able to go before the winter break.”

you fished your phone out from your pocket and opened the calendar app.

“when should we have it?"

yang leaned over your shoulder to look at your screen. “let’s have it on the twenty-seventh," he says, pointing at the date on the calendar. "it’d be good to have the week between the match and the trip free so we can prepare.”

you nodded as you listened, typing up a reminder to speak with the professors about it. 

“hey!” the head boy suddenly shouted, causing you to jump. “what are you kids doing here?”

you looked up to find he had opened a classroom, in which three students in around 4th or 5th year were standing. they stared up at the pair of you with wide eyes, like a dear in headlights.

“what are you doing?” you asked, regaining your composure. looking at their ties, you realised they were in slytherin, like you.

the students glanced at each other worriedly and slowly backed away from the two of you. you noticed them hiding something behind them on the desk.

pointing your wand at the items behind them, you summoned it nonverbally, yelling ‘accio!’ in your mind. the items flew into your arms.

“you all better go back to your common room. it’s way past your curfew,” yang warned them. “20 points from slytherin.”

the group shuffled out of the room and quickly ran back to the dungeons.

“isn’t 20 too many?” you grumbled. maybe you were a little biased since they were in your house though.

ignoring you, yang sighed as he turned back to look at the contents in your hands.

“what is it?” he asked.

upon closer inspection, it seemed to be the plannings or blueprint of a large snake puppet that moved on its own, the quote ‘slytherin slays’ painted along its body.

you held back a giggle as you read the notes on how to make the snake glare and breathe flames out when faced with a ravenclaw. yang snorted as he read them as well.

“you slytherins are always so immature when it comes to quidditch matches.” you rolled your eyes and glared at him, imagining you were breathing flames like the puppet snake.

“at least we have a strong sense of support for our house. what’re you birdies doing? painting little flying banners that the players won’t be able to read on the pitch?”

“my team doesn’t need to read our house’s support. we’re good enough and know if.”

“sounds like there’s just no house spirit.”

“say that to me when your team loses,” he challenged.

“you’ll be waiting forever then,” you retorted.

“let’s place a bet. 20 galleons that ravenclaw wins.”

“fine! if we wins, i want you to pay my monthly subscription in an online game for a year."

“what?”

“i need money," you huff, crossing your arms indignantly.

“you need muggle money.”

“well, yes. but i mean, you can convert your wizarding money into muggle money, then pay for my monthly subscription in a game so i get game money.”

“that sounds useless; for a kids’ game? and you called me the childish one?” he raised a questioning eyebrow.

“i wouldn’t need to find peace in an online game if you didn’t bother me all the time, you know," you complain. "you’re like a piece of gum i can’t get off my shoe.”

“you could just cast a spell to get the gum off,” he shrugged.

“you’re right, i’ll just cast a spell on you!” you smile brightly. “stupe-“

“oh my god, okay! i’ll pay for your stupid game - if slytherin wins, which you won’t.”

you smiled to yourself, a skip in your step for the rest of the patrol.

soon, the day of the match arrived; ravenclaw against slytherin (because of course it was). 

the morning of the match was lively as usual, everyone split between green and blue. 

you watched the large snake float above everyone’s heads in the great hall, breathing (harmless) flames into every ravenclaw’s face. 

just at that moment, you bumped into the trio of students who’d been planning the little surprise. you sent them a discreet smile.

“20 points to slytherin,” you awarded for the clever trick, but also to make up for the twenty that yang had taken.

suddenly, you screech when a flock of small origami birds flew and pecked at your hair, ruining the braid you’d put your hair in for the match. 

looking up, you noticed the small paper birds flying about the hall, pecking at every slytherin-supporter. this was definitely ravenclaw’s idea; no doubt yang had gotten inspiration from the those students you two had caught.

“you good, kim?” a familiar voice greets you. you turn to see the devil himself smirking at you, pleased with the mess you are.

“i was, until you got here.”

“maybe it’s a sign that you’ll lose today.”

“maybe it’s a sign you should shut up.”

the match started without a hitch. 

you scored the first 10 points of the match within 6 minutes, and by the first half hour, slytherin was ahead by 30 points. 

you enjoyed the thrill of being a chaser, trying different ways to get the quarrel past the keeper. in fact, you enjoyed flying in general, and being on the pitch.

that is until, you started getting pestered by the other team’s seeker.

you noticed yang seemed to be flying around you after a few laps, and sent him a questioning look.

“what are you doing, yang?”

“looking for the snitch, it’s my job.”

“well, i’m not the snitch. so keep looking!”

“well i’m certainly looking at a similar word.”

it took time to process what he meant, but when you realised, you glared at the boy.

“focus on the game- if you keep your eyes on me, you’ll be paying for my subscription soon!”

yang scoffed and looked away, searching the pitch for the snitch, sending you a glare before zooming away.

the game ended in slytherin’s favour, your team’s seeker barely clutching the golden ball in his hands before the head boy could reach it.

cheers roared across the stadium when it ended with your team’s success, students running onto the pitch in excitement to congratulate you and the other players.

“seriously, the way you threw the quaffle into the hoop while gliding through the air - it was so smooth!” minji gushed as rei nodded in agreement. 

“let’s go, there’s going to be a congratulatory party in the common room!” rei says, taking your hand to drag you.

“can i come?” asked hiyyih excitedly, who was a gryffindor.

“duh!”

you laughed as you followed your three best friends, when you caught sight of a certain person in the corner of your eye.

“wait, i have to do something real quick,” you pause to tell the girls. they stopped as well and looked at you curiously.

“what is it?”

“wait for me. i just need to talk to yang - head stuff,” you tell them off-handedly, before running off to the ravenclaw team.

“it’s definitely not about ‘head stuff’,” hiyyih nudges rei, who nods as they watch you leave.

you make your way to the losing ravenclaw team, even congratulating some of them on a good game. 

when you reach your target, you tap on his shoulder to get his attention, before smiling triumphantly up at him (wow, you never realised how much taller he was than you until now).

“what is it, kim?” he drawled with an eye-roll.

“the bet. i won.” you gloated, the smile never leaving your face, widening instead when he wore a look of disbelief.

“oh, right.” he sighed before scratching the back of his head, looking around thoughtfully. “let’s sort it out tomorrow, at patrol.”

“okay! don’t back down from your end of the bet.” 

“i may hate you, but i’m not a sore loser. see you tomorrow night, kim.”

“with my monthly subscription payment!” you say, waving tauntingly as you ran back to your friends.

“what did you need to talk to him about?” minji asked, putting her hand out to hold yours as you four made your way to the slytherin dungeons.

“we’re making monthly plans to help a student who needs it,” you say smugly.

“sounds like you’re twisting the truth,” rei laughed.

“but it is the truth!” you protested.

you found yourself happily scrolling through the game's catalog, looking to spend your newly-bought robux.

ever since your deal on the match, you found yourself slowly warming up to yang.

well, not to the point you’d consider each other friends, but you acknowledge each other in passing with a nod or quick wave instead of pointedly looking the other way like usual.

you also argued less, much to the relief of the entire school. however, they were still apprehensive, waiting for something to blow up eventually. it was simply too suspiciously calm and quiet without your voices yelling down the hall or in the corner of a classroom.

as the weeks went on, you two learned to get along better and better everyday, even willingly becoming partners in potions once.

sometimes, you would walk to the great hall together for lunch or dinner after a meeting. you even spent your free periods with yang, which you told your friends was because ‘they didn’t have any frees with you’ so you ‘might as well spend it productively’ with the head boy who coincidentally shared the same free periods schedule.

you did lots of stuff together, as expected of the head girl and head boy.

yet, you always avoided studying together.

others might think it’s because of your rivalry; how one might copy off the other’s or something.

sure, you laugh to yourself. let people think what they want.

but the idea of studying with yang again brings back memories of fifth year.

you didn’t tell anyone about it, not even your own friends. 

at the end of the year, you’d been practically glued to the library for two months, studying for your OWLs.

“mind if i sit here?” 

you turn up to see a familiar face.

“yang?”

“there’s no other free space in the library,” he rolled his eyes, making up an excuse.

looking around, you realised he was right. the only other free spots were next to students that were notoriously weirdos who everyone avoided. maybe he doesn’t want them to copy off his work, you think to yourself.

“um, okay,” you agreed hesitantly while sucking on a sugar quill, moving some of your books to make space for him. those sweets often helped you focus.

yang pulled the seat out and sat down, before beginning to study himself.

you tried to continue as you were, but had lost focus. not even the green apple-flavoured sweet in your mouth could help you concentrate.

you were hyper aware of his presence - the way he hunched over the table with his hair falling over his face. you watched him from the corner of your eye.

why had he chosen to sit with you? were there seriously no better places to go? what about his room? the astronomy tower? the little corner window by the potions classroom downstairs?

“relax. i can feel how tense you are from here.”

“does your oh-so-precious pure-wizard blood give you the ability to sense emotions like a dog?” you scoffed. he looked up sharply and gave you a serious look.

“i just want to revise for my OWLs; let’s keep our disputes outside the library, where we won’t get hexed by madame park over there.”

you rolled your eyes and kept your head down, going back to your own business.

over the course of the month, a routine slowly began wherein you would often study together in the library. 

sometimes it was you joining him instead, and you would just wordlessly take the seat opposite him. even when there were other spaces to sit, you two always chose to sit together in the corner table, hidden from the rest of the school.

a word was never spoken between the two top students. and you never told your friends about the little arrangement either.

his presence quickly became something of a comfort for you - it was easier to focus on your studies when he was there. and if you ever needed help with something, he’d give you a few pointers when you finally begrudgingly asked.

he never asked you for help though, which always reminded you why he was number 2. it infuriated you how you had to work twice as hard than him just to barely surpass the boy.

whenever you heard people talking of him in passing, he was always nicknamed ‘the prodigy boy’. what were you called? ‘the girl that was good for a muggle-born’.

he was your rival, but you weren’t his. and he’s made that clear since the day you met.

and yet, despite all the resentment you held for him, you enjoyed his company. OWLs were stressing the life out of everyone, but it felt like you could get through it with him sitting across you.

maybe it’s because he motivated you to keep working harder, to try more so you could widen the gap between your ranks. seeing him everyday reminded you of why you tried so hard. maybe you wanted to show him (and everyone else) that being muggle-born doesn’t mean you’re any less than those born in this world. 

at least that’s what you told yourself. 

but it doesn’t explain why you began to glance at his lips every time he sat across you. 

it doesn’t explain why butterflies began to flutter in your stomach when you felt the warmth of his body close to yours as he’d lean over your shoulder and point at the book when you asked for help. or why you felt giddy when you’d play with each other’s feet under the table.

until one day, he’d dropped his smart-quill on the floor, and you were quicker to kneel down from your seat to get it. 

“here,” you said, handing him the quill, still on your knees on the floor.

as you faced him, you realised the close proximity only then. 

you stared into his eyes that pulled you in, keeping you locked and unable to escape from his gaze. he stared right back, the quill forgotten in your hand, which now lay on his left knee.

you didn’t even realise the way he slowly leaned down until he cupped your cheek.

his touch was soft; you leaned into it. 

“is this okay?” you could barely hear him whisper over the rapid beating of your heart. all you could do was nod.

your eyes fluttered shut as your lips finally connected. a mix of pretty emotions burst in your stomach, filling you with a giddiness you never knew before.

it might have been just a few seconds, or it could have been hours - you didn’t know. that first kiss was everything you ever imagined it to be.

you pulled away first, finally running out of air. but he chased after your lips, kissing you again. 

the memory of your first kiss will forever be cemented in your memory. you were just two 16 year olds, softly holding onto each other in the corner of a library, hidden from the rest of the world.

you scrunch your nose at the bittersweet memory. who would’ve thought your first kiss would be with the person you hate the most in this world. 

when you returned to school for sixth year that september, yang acted like nothing happened between you two. 

he ignored you for the first month of school, not even bothering to taunt you like he used to. everyone had been stumped, including you, but he eventually went back to his usual tactics, albeit with a noticeable lack of ‘stupid muggleborn who can never be on our level’ comments. soon you two were back to your regular bickering as if he didn’t ignore your existence for the first month of school. 

as if you hadn’t shared a kiss just three months before.

now, your developing friendship scared you. you didn’t want a repeat of last time; his actions had really hurt you back then.  

you remember all the nights you spent in the library, waiting. waiting for him to come, to explain why he was acting like that. waiting for something.

thoughts ran through your mind, trying to reason why he might do this. maybe he realised he didn't feel for you the way you felt for him. maybe he went back to his room that night and wiped all the muggle germs off his face. maybe he realised he was too good for you.

you remember all the times you cried yourself to sleep, eyes puffy for weeks that even your teachers asked if you were okay. if maybe you’d eaten something bad or been cursed. that maybe you should go to the infirmary to fix it.

hiyyih, rei, and minji had no idea how to help you, because you refused to tell them what was wrong. 

and you never did. it’s simply too embarrassing. explaining that you kissed your number one enemy and then he ignored you for month and acted like nothing happened between you two was humiliating. you knew your friends wouldn’t, but surely if other students found out, they’d laugh at you.

yang probably laughed with his friends about it. you were just waiting, dreading to hear the rumours of how you’re a bad kisser and how no one should ever want your muggle-born, good-for-nothing ass. 

every time you walked past him and his friends, you’d walk faster and look everywhere but their direction. you imagined their snickers and smirks as they watched you run by like a pathetic loser.

the rumours never came however. 

no one ever looked at you weirdly, or laughed at you. you ended sixth year with a big sigh of relief, releasing a breath you didn't realise you'd been holding the whole year.

now, you found yourself standing next to the very boy who you had spent the end of your 5th year with, walking a big group of students towards hogsmeade.

you sigh as you think about your astronomy test on monday, which you’d rather spend the weekend studying for.

unfortunately, as the heads, it’s you and yang’s duty to chaperone the students on their trip to the village. 

you sigh and pull on your strap, hiking your heavy bag higher up your back. you think of the long day ahead, studying in the corner of one of the quieter cafés, freezing your toes off. it’s not preferable, but it’ll have to do.

yang watches you, eyeing your heavy bag of books.

“what the hell? don’t tell me you’re spending this trip studying.”

“alright, i won’t,” you roll your eyes at him as you two trudge behind the large crowd of students. it was 9 in the morning, and you were too tired to reply.

“wouldn’t you rather spend your time with your friends? you somehow have those,” he teased.

“well yeah,” you huff, a little irritated at his care-free attitude. “but not everyone can pass an astronomy test without needing to study like you. some of us actually have to work our butts off for good grades.”

yang stopped in his tracks, causing you to follow and look back at him questioningly.

to your surprise, he wore a serious expression, glaring forward and refusing to look at you. you must’ve struck a nerve.

“stop acting like you’re the only one in the world that has to fucking work hard,” he fumed. you’ve never seen him this mad, even in all your arguments throughout the years. 

“you’re always going on about how much you have to study this, how you need to work harder than me that - blah blah blah. 

“why do you always feel the need to undermine my work? always downplaying my accomplishments to ‘mere talent’. what about the tens of hundreds of hours i’ve poured into my own studies? the hours i’ve spent sat by a tutor since i was 6?”

surprised by his outburst in combination with your own irritation and jealousy, you couldn’t help but retort.

“are you serious right now? do you have to make everything about yourself?”

“oh because the world revolves around you? you are so fucking entitled!”

“me? entitled?” you laugh in disbelief. “you’re talking about how i undermine and downplay your work, when you’ve always been the one to yell out to the whole world how i’m a ‘stupid, pathetic muggleborn who’s lacking and can never fit in this world’!” students were beginning to notice your argument and were looking behind as they walked at you two now.

“so that’s what this is about? some shit i said two years ago?” he scoffed.

“some shit you threw at me for 5 years!” you throw your hands up in frustration.

“well maybe you’re proving me right with all your talk about just how much you need to study because you’ll 'never have it as easy as us'!” he yelled right back, mocking you. “you don’t know a thing about me.” 

you stared at him, panting heavily. everyone’s attention was now on you two, people watching instead of walking.

“kim y/n! yang jungwon!” you hear the booming voice of professor kim shout over the crowd. 

he stormed to you two, face red and veins popping out his neck.

“this behaviour is incredibly inappropriate of role model students! you two are supposed to be guiding the students towards the village, is that such a difficult task?” he scolded you and yang in exasperation.

“could you at least keep your feud behind closed doors? it’s incredibly selfish to ruin everyone’s day with your constant fights!”

you looked down ashamedly as your friends took this as their sign to finally drag you from your spot. jungwon’s friend, nishimura riki from 5th year copied their actions.

professor kim looked at the crowd which had now completely stopped to watch the show. 

“keep moving kids!” he sighed, shaking his head in disappointment.  

“park gunwook,” he called. the gryffindor jogged towards the teacher. “pham hanni.” the hufflepuff followed. “you two will take over the role of chaperoning the students, since our head students are clearly unsuitable for the job,” he instructed, throwing you a dirty look. 

the two 6th year prefects nodded and began to walk behind everyone, feeling a little awkward at being put on the spot. 

you glared at yang one more time, but was met with a different expression instead.

yang met your stare with concern written on his face, as his tall friend dragged him away. it confused you; just a moment ago, he’d been furious with you, and now he looked worried? what was he worried about? what’s with the switch up?

you couldn’t ponder on it any longer, what with your own friends shuffling you away from the crime scene.

the rest of the day was spent tucked away in a little corner of a small café you found, one people didn’t go to as much.

the girls had tried to convince you to join them on their fun, but let you go when you told them you had star charts to memorise for your upcoming test. they seemed hesitant, but after witnessing your recent fight with the head boy, they reluctantly allowed you to go off on your own with promises of saving you a butterbeer.

you busied yourself with your books, not wanting to think about the weird events this morning. from your first disagreement in a while, to yang’s mood swing - it was better to spend your thoughts on what was more important.

eventually, you woke up in the late afternoon, only realising then that you had fallen asleep. the rays of light from the sunset seeped through the window, waking you up with its blinding brightness. 

how long had you fallen asleep? you could have been revising in the time you dozed off. astronomy was your weakest subject, so you really needed that precious time.

you groan in frustration, sighing as you sit up to straighten your back. but something falls off your shoulders as you do. 

you look behind you and realise it was a jacket, which had been left on your shoulders by someone. but who?

bewildered, you pick up the jacket (which had an oddly familiar scent to it) and turn back to your table of books. but before you can return to your studies, something catches your eye.

there, on top of a pile of textbooks, lay a green sugarquill. 

had my friends stopped by while i slept?

it didn’t particularly make sense though, since you agreed to meet up with them later tonight when you headed back to the castle. 

you picked it up, then noticed the note it had been sitting on.

sorry, i shouldn’t have said any of that earlier.  found you sleeping, don’t beat yourself up. you can do this. i remember sugarquills help you focus, right? don’t worry, it’s not poisoned or anything… goodluck on monday.

your heart squeezed painfully. his short message spoke volumes.

yang jungwon wasn’t one to apologise, seeing as he either never felt bad, or never really did anything wrong (in the eyes of everyone else).

you felt guilty too, seeing as it was your fault as well. you made a mental note to apologise to him in person later.

secondly, this was the first time he ever acknowledged the time you spent together in 5th year. it surprised you, because at this point you wondered if he had forgotten about it, or if it was all some sick dream you had.

heat rushed to your face and you had to put considerable effort into keeping your composure and not kick your feet and screaming right then and there. somehow, he’d remembered such a small detail about the sweet he left for you.

maybe the whole 5th year incident affected him more than he let on. maybe there really was something that happened between you guys.

or maybe you’re just being hopeful again. 

one thing you’re sure about though, is that yang jungwon is most certainly crazy.

“welcome back everyone!” you greeted.

it’s the first prefect meeting of the term, everyone who left for the winter break having just returned two days prior.

“we have quite a bit to discuss today,” you started, before looking at jungwon to continue.

“let’s start with the more interesting news first.” he paused, looking at everyone before going on.

“me and the head girl have been planning something this winter, and with the approval of the headmaster, we can finally reveal it to you: the spring ball.”

you watched proudly as the prefects began whispering amongst themselves excitedly. you were so hyped up to be able to plan and make the event come to life.

“we wanted to give the students something more exciting to look forward to. you know- before OWLs and NEWTs completely take over our lives,” you joke, pulling chuckles out of everyone in the room.

“the idea is a formal, floral-themed event that’ll take place in the great hall. it’s only for 5th years and up, but younger years may attend if invited as a date.”

“since you guys are prefects, we’re asking for your help setting up the event. let’s talk ideas for decoration,” you say, pulling out your tablet to take notes.

as you wrote down the prefects’ thoughts and input, you were already drafting a schedule in your mind for preparations. that was until, you felt someone lean over your shoulder.

forcing yourself to keep writing, you tried to ignore the way your shoulder brushed against yang’s chest. one hand holding onto the backrest of your chair whilst the other lay on the table, next to your arm as you wrote on autopilot, your mind circuiting at the proximity. straightening your back in an attempt to compose yourself, you only push yourself against the boy more.

you were sure your face was as red as a tomato. your heart was beating so hard you were scared jungwon could hear it.

judging by the way he huffed in amusement, he probably realised the effect he had on you. 

“focus, kim,” he whispered so only you could hear, leaning lower to your level. you could imagine the smirk on his face.

“i am,” you tried to say with as much nonchalance as you could.

honestly, the moment was really reminding you of all those times he’d helped in the library. deja vu was really hitting you hard right now.

the rest of the meeting went smoothly - at least, as smooth as it could be with yang constantly flustering you as he subtly kept grazing your skin. 

now that you think about it, jungwon’s been acting strange lately. more… bold? that’s the best way you could explain it.

you don’t know how it happened, but ever since the hogsmeade trip, you two got closer. after you apologised to him, the incident in question was never spoken of again, never referred to. but it’s clear something shifted in your relationship with the head boy.

gradually, he began to fill up your everyday life, seeing him more often in the day than you used to.

in the mornings, you’d bump into each other in the common room after getting ready, and go down to the great hall for breakfast together. or, if one of you seemed to be running late after breakfast, you’d make sure to save some food and leave it in the common room for the other.

in the day, you two shared free periods, and so spent it lounging in the common room, simply doing work at the coffee table or reading a book on the couch. music would play in the background as you two sat in comfortable silence, basking in each other’s company.

in the evenings, you might come back from a late class to find him napping on the couch. so you’d shake him awake with a “jungwon, let’s go get dinner.”

you could be studying in the library corner of your shared living space, and he’d always remind you to eat. even when it was past any meal time, he’d drag you off the chair for a trip to the kitchens, where he’d get a house elf to make you two a snack. he often asked for eclairs, noticing it was your favourite.

but yang jungwon didn’t just take up your daily activities, he was always on your mind too.

thoughts of how he wouldn’t like the cold dim lights of the slytherin common room, or seeing students that he’s told you he isn’t particularly fond of floated in your mind when you visited your friends.

you even found yourself comparing him to characters in whatever series you absorbed yourself in. you seriously couldn’t stop thinking about him.

the fights stopped completely, but you two continued your flirting friendly banter all the time.

once, you managed to find time in your busy schedule to sit down and watch barbie movies. jungwon (when did you even start calling him that?) had walked in to the common room to find his bag which he had left there, only to see you huddled up in a blanket while watching barbie as the island princess magically projected onto the wall.

“what’s this?” he’d asked.

“muggle movies from my childhood. this girl here grew up on the island when one day, she was found by a prince who was intrigued by her, and brought her back to the city, where she finally learns who she really is,” you explained while keeping your eyes trained on the projection.

“and who is she really?”

“why don’t you sit down and watch, kitty?” you’d always called him by that nickname during your petty fights, since his face reminded you of a cute cat. now though, it became more of an endearing nickname for the boy.

“i have to write 10 inches on the use of the lumos solem spell by tuesday.”

“that’s 5 days away! come on, don’t you wanna know? it’s really good, i promise. we can watch from the start, and i’ll help you with that charms essay, since professor song assigned it to us to, and i already got started on it,” you asked, twisting to face him with the best pleading look you could muster.

“fine, but only because you begged," he relented with a playful smile.

so that’s how you ended up binging barbie movies into the wee hours of the morning, sharing a blanket with your proclaimed enemy on the sofa.

“you honestly look more like serafina,” you tease him.

“what? but she’s a girl! wouldn’t wolfie be a better fit?”

“but serafina has more cat-like eyes! you guys have similar eyes.”

“are you serious right now? they’re both cats!” he gestures to the movie, paused at the last scene.

“but you really look like her!” you insist, using both hands to point at each corner of his eyes, shifting closer to him. “they’re upturned.”

“didn’t realise you knew that about me, babe.” he wrapped his own hands around your wrists, as they hovered above his face. “if i’m serafina, you must be wolfie.”

“why? because we’re partners in crime?” you snorted at his suggestion. “they get married at the end and have a bunch of little kitties too. you want that?”

“if that’s what you’d like,” he shrugged, his lips pulling into a downwards smile.

you stared at him incredulously, heartbeat suddenly pounding as you looked into the growing smug look on his face. his eyes that managed to shine even in the dark never failed to root you on the spot, unable to look away.

what were you feeling? you've looked at jungwon so many times over the past 5 years, but the boy's gaze never made you feel like this way before. like you were floating on air; like you could do anything with him by your side, looking at you like that.

in fact, thinking back to all your years of knowing him, it's funny how much things have changed in the past several months.

you actually giggle a bit, sitting back, further from his warmth. you immediately miss the soft touch of his fingers around your wrists.

"what are you laughing about?" he asks, but he's laughing too.

"you. me; us."

"are we comedians now or something?"

"no, but we're definitely clowns of the circus." jungwon grinned at your statement, an amused huff escaping his lips.

"penny for your thoughts?"

"i was just thinking... how did we go from having wars in the middle of DADA in 3rd year, to watching muggle barbie movies at 2am on a saturday?" you think out loud.

"when you put it like that... we do sound like the comedy act of a show," he admits, scratching the back of his neck.

"at least i do."

"what do you mean?" you ask, shifting your position on the couch to sit up. you move your cold feet so they rest between jungwon's ankles, soaking in their warmth.

"our little feud - you know, the fights, the hexes, all that. it was all because of me."

"what? no it wasn't - i instigated a lot of them too," you say, trying to reassure him. was he feeling guilty and blaming himself?

"but, it was! honestly, if it wasn't for my stupid shallow thinking, we might've been friends way earlier." you looked at him patiently, nodding for him to continue.

"i used to think that muggle-borns were stupid and would fall behind in everything - school, work, just because you had no idea of how our world worked. honestly, i pitied and felt sorry for you guys, because i thought you could never be on our level. i know now how ignorant i was, obviously," he scoffed at himself.

"so when i met you, i thought you were an idiot. you are, don't get me wrong-" he teased you, causing you to roll your eyes, although smiling lightly. "but even though you're muggle-born, you always managed to do better than me.

"you were constantly the best student in our year- no, our school. you were faster at understanding concepts than i was, immediately getting things right on the first try. hell, even when i would go flying on the pitch to relieve my stress and then got recruited into the ravenclaw team in third year, i finally thought i was better than you at something. and then you joined your team in 4th, and was called the 'ace' of slytherin. what a blow all of that to was to my ego."

"i joined the team to annoy you," you shyly admit. "but why did you even think that in the first place?" you asked, not angry. you wanted to hear him out and finally get answers to questions you've asked yourself for so many years. you wanted to understand, and know the boy in front of you.

"well, you know that my father's company is successful. so growing up, i was given the best. my parents hired the best tutors for me, so i'd be ahead of everyone else when i started hogwarts. my teachers said i was their best student, my parents showed me off to their friends as their 'pride and joy' or something dumb like that. other parents compared their kids to me, i was that kid.

"i knew i was privileged though - that i had money and could afford to have this good education. so i made the best of it and constantly told myself that others would be lucky to have my life, so i wanted to prove i was worthy of it by working hard and pushing myself all my life.

"but with that, i developed the mindset that people who don't have money like i do can't have as much knowledge as me since they don't have access to it - and that included muggle-borns. you had zero knowledge of this world, which works incredibly different to yours. we have different moral compasses; notions of common sense; understanding of how things worked.

"so imagine how surprised i was to find that you were doing better than me in school. me, who had sat beside a tutor since i was 6, who was learning OWL content at 12. all this only for a girl who didn't even know magic existed until a month before to top me in school.

"that's why i was always angry; i was angry with my tutors for not teaching me better; at you for being better. but most especially at myself. for deluding myself into thinking that way." you two were silent for a moment.

"what changed?" you asked.

jungwon breathed in, preparing himself.

"5th year. i was finally learning to respect you, so when i walked into the library that was full of students, you seemed like the best option to sit next to."

"really? still hadn't gotten over that 'i'm better than everyone blah blah blah' attitude?" you asked, smugly tilting your head to the side.

"shush," he hid his face. "but... i got to learn how hard you really worked back then. i used to think you just had some gift for learning. but watching you with your head down for hours, i felt like i was discrediting all that with something like 'innate talent'.

"i went back home that summer confused and having a mid-life crisis at 16. my dad talked to me though, knocked some sense into me.

"he said that just because muggles don't know magic, doesn't mean they can't do anything. i mean, the whole idea of smart devices that our company is literally known for was taken from muggles! without you guys, we wouldn't have that in our world either. you created it, we just used magic to expand it.

"i was pretty shaken up after that, and was in a daze when 6th year started. it took me a while to sort my thoughts out and gather myself."

it was silent for a while, now nearing 3am.

jungwon just spilled out his guts to you, in the dim atmosphere of your common room. now you were the one collecting your thoughts.

"i'm sorry too."

"what? you never did anyth-"

"but i basically did the same thing as you. you studied for years and years, and i just always thought you were also naturally smart; that you never needed to study like i did because you already knew it all."

silence enveloped the two of you once again.

"...so i guess we're more similar than we thought, huh?" he smiled softly at you. you felt like you were floating again.

"i guess so."

jungwon unfolded his legs and opened his arms out as a gesture, which you gladly accepted and fell into his embrace.

"so, are we good now?" you asked.

"hmm, i still feel like you owe me something for all those years of endless anger and feeling like shit."

"you mean for enlightening you that we stupid muggles aren't so stupid?" you asked, face still buried in his chest, your voice muffled against his sweatshirt. "shouldn't you owe me? for teaching you a lesson?"

"but i want something," he pouted, pulling on your wrist.

"what is it? as long as its affordable."

"is going to the spring ball with me affordable?"

you turn your head to look up at him, who's looking down at you with shy eyes, waiting for your answer.

"i don't know... how much does it cost?" you play along. you already know your answer anyway.

"it'll cost you about..." he pulled out the calculator app on his phone, pretending to add up a total. "one kiss."

you laughed at him, finally pulling away from his arms.

"was that at the end of 5th year not enough?"

"no," he pouted, eyebrows knitted. so cute, you thought.

"alright then, but is it okay if i pay you that hefty price later at the ball?" jungwon sighed dramatically, crossing his arms and rolling his eyes.

"i guess... but the price might increase to 10."

"that's okay, i'll give you as many as you want, as long as the first one is special."

"i didn't know you were sentimental like that," he smirked at you, kissing your cheek. you shrugged nonchalantly, smiling at him.

"i didn't know you were so needy for kisses like that."

"touché," he laughed, dragging you in for another hug, cuddling you until you both fell asleep in each other's arms.

since that night, you and jungwon gradually learned to be comfortable each other. and with the ball preparations, there was lots of opportunities to do so.

you realised that - without the hostility between you two, it was much easier to find compromises when you disagreed on something. jungwon did things differently from you, but listened to your thoughts and offered his too.

as the weeks went on, you found yourself looking forward to meetings with him, missing his presence when he wasn’t with you.

something in the way he’d nudge you lightly when you were worried about something, wrap his arm around you and squeeze your shoulder, or simply smile at you brightly with those cat-like eyes of his - they were all comforting.

the change in atmosphere didn’t go unnoticed by your friends either.

"what was that??" rei interrogated you when jungwon pulled you aside for the nth time this week.

"oh, he just wanted to talk about putting up decor later," you answer nonchalantly, taking a bite out of your toast.

"he has the same conversation with you practically every day," minji rolled her eyes.

"yeah, and i'm more surprised that you don't come ranting to us about every interaction you two have," hiyyih agrees, eyeing you suspiciously.

"well, i just grew up and matured," you try to defend yourself.

"if growing up and maturing means developing a crush, then yeah. you sure did." rei pauses before continuing. "is there something you aren't telling us?"

technically, yes. you weren't telling them about the development between you and jungwon - at least not yet. but you didn't exactly have a crush on the boy, in the sense that it was a one-sided thing and you were too shy to confess. but you didn't really want to tell them what was going on between you two, because you didn't know yourself.

were you and jungwon friends(-ish)? yes. but were you dating? no, definitely not. there's no doubt though that your strange, blurry, undefined relationship will develop soon enough, and you'd rather wait until everything's clear before telling your friends.

"she's not saying anything - something is definitely up!" hiyyih gasped excitedly, causing rei and minji to giggle, and you to shake your head.

you had noticed that jungwon seemed to always find reasons to talk to you, even if it's little things you've already discussed before, or silly simple questions like 'how's your day going?' or 'what barbie movie are we watching tonight?'

yeah, you two often found yourselves watching barbie movies late into a friday night.

you also ended up cuddling on the couch almost every evening after a long day of duties, particularly on patrol nights. after your rounds, you two would head back up to the head dormitories, where you'd flop onto the couch, and he'd jump onto you soon after.

the others would go crazy if they ever found out, you laugh to yourself.

the next day would be the night of the ball, so you were pretty wrapped up in helping out throughout the day.

"everything's set up," haerin, a 5th year gryffindor prefect told you.

"it looks really good," you tell her, looking at the great hall. it looked great now, and you were excited for how it would turn out in the dark of the night later.

"did you manage to complete the spell?" she asked curiously.

"i did, but i'm only 89.7% sure it'll work," you say, biting your lip. you hated not being completely sure about something, like an answer, or in this case - a self-made spell.

you turn when you hear a laugh behind you.

"i like how you have a specific percentage even when it comes to feelings," jungwon says through a grin. "your brain works weirdly"

"whatever, kitty," you roll your eyes light heartedly at him.

facing the great hall again, you take a deep breath as you cast the spell on the great hall, chanting the incantation as you wave your wand.

in a moment, the hall was filled with falling petals of different colours, though they didn't litter the ground messily, simply disappearing when they reached the ground. vines reached out from between the tiled floor, wrapping around table legs and growing bright vibrant flowers of their own. small orbs of light flickered throughout the ceiling, like fairies illuminating the scene.

"wow, it looks amazing, y/n!" one of the professors helping around praised.

"it really does," jungwon says, snaking his arm around your waist, his hand clinging onto your side snuggly.

"thank you," you mumble, as you both look up at the pretty scene in front of you.

soon, night falls and you're running down the staircase with your friends, holding up the ends of your dress to avoid stepping on it.

"careful y/n! or you might trip!" you hear hiyyih call out from behind you.

"she's just excited to see her prince charming," minji laughs, but the three of them are also running, holding up their own dresses.

the doors of the great hall open, revealing the breathtakingly decorated room, some guests already having arrived at the scene.

"wow, this is amazing..." rei gasped, enchanted by the way coloured lights perfectly illuminate the hanging wisteria flowers, and butterflies fluttering throughout the room.

"you seriously outdid yourself. how did you even do this?" hiyyih asked.

"only y/n could make a spell as complicated as this," jungwon's voice says, announcing his presence. "you look good, by the way," he adds when you look at him.

a quick one-over of his look tonight does not do him justice. so you find yourself staring unashamedly at his figure.

the way his waistcoat hugs his figure emphasises his broad shoulders, something you didn't even realise you found attractive until you saw it on him. a red tie lazily tucked into the waistcoat plus the rolled-up sleeves - it all made your mind go haywire.

"you would know, having been subjected to all the spells she's made over the years," hiyyih laughs at the memory.

"didn't know you spent so much time thinking about me, kim," he goaded.

"oh trust me, she def-" you cut rei off by covering her mouth with your gloved hand.

"thanks, jungwon," you say quickly, giving him a smile and pushing your friends away.

"he was flirting with you!" rei loudly whispers into your ear.

"and what do you want me to do about it!" you say, making sure your friends couldn't see the deep blush on your face.

"flirt back!" minji huffs out exasperatedly. "i'm sick and tired of whatever has been going on between you two for years!"

"yes, please just end it tonight! whether you get together or never talk about it again," rei rolls her eyes.

"what?" you stop, looking at them.

"rei's right, although i'd prefer for you to finally get together."

"wait wait wait, what do you mean?"

"are you being for real right now? you two have clearly had a thing for each other this whole time!" rei says like it was obvious. "we've known it for years."

"go get your man!" hiyyih sighs, turning you by your shoulders and pushing you away this time.

you try not to dwell on the thought of your friends betting on your relationship with jungwon, and pretend you never heard a word come out of their mouths.

soon, the headmaster calls for everyone's attention.

"welcome students!" his voice echoes throughout the hall, the music quietening for his speech. "first and foremost, i want to thank this year's head girl and boy for organising such an event for us. give it up for kim y/n and yang jungwon!" he shouts, a spot light highlighting your two figures in the room. you quickly turn to look at jungwon, who looks back at you with a smile, as everyone claps loudly, some even whistling supportively.

"and with that, may the spring ball begin - with the spring dance, kicking off with the head boy and girl leading the first dance," professor si-hyuk ends his speech.

everyone cheers and makes way for you two on the dance floor, which magically raises up in the middle of the hall.

music begins to play as you face the head boy, who inches closer to you every second.

time slows as he places his hand on your hips, guiding your hand to his shoulders. all other noise is drowned out by the sound of your heart, pounding so hard it might come out your chest. you don't see anyone but yang jungwon.

and he's looking at you like he sees no one else but you either.

it's crazy, how you're here, dancing, in the arms of the person who you've hated since 1st year - who motivated you to work hard during all these years.

you think back to your first meeting with him.

you could imagine the sparkles in your eyes as you stare at everything in awe, still in disbelief.

last month, a weirdly-dressed person knocked at your front door, and told your parents that you were a witch.

of course, you hadn't believed her at first, until she pointed her wand at a decorative figurine and made it float upside down. you and your family had been absolutely floored and confused. how could something like that even happen?

last month, the weirdly-dressed lady described to you a world that sounded fictional, of magic and creatures you could never even imagine. she explained why you had all these weird happenings growing up, things that were simply unexplainable.

your world was turned upside down in a few moments, and now you were here, on a train, to a magical school.

of course, you were incredibly sad to be away from your family for the first time in your life, but you were assured that you still had many ways to connect with them. and so, you set off into a new world completely alone, but with a lot of excitement.

you walked around the compartments as the train set off, peering and saying hi to other students.

until, you bumped into a boy who had the prettiest eyes you've ever seen, and the cutest little dimple that had 11-year old you's heart melting.

"be careful and look where you're going," he says nonchalantly.

"i'm so sorry! i was just so excited - i mean, aren't you? could you ever believe magic exists? i won't until i try it for myself!" you ramble enthusiastically.

you trail off when you see him looking at you with a mix of pity and boredom.

"oh, so you're a muggle-born, huh?"

"what do you mean?" you ask confusedly.

"well, whatever you think, i'm not like you. i already know what you just learned, and i already know what you still have to learn," he shrugs, picking at his nails like he ha better things to do than talk to you. "sorry, i think you're going to struggle a little bit here," he simply says, and leaves you alone in the middle of the train corridor.

what the hell? you ask yourself.

snobby rich kids isn't something you thought you'd experience in the wizarding world, but i guess somethings are just universal, huh?

something about the way he looked at you; talked to you like you were below him though - it bugged you.

"i'm gonna struggle?" you ask yourself in disbelief. absolutely not, you didn't want him to be right. you'll make sure of it.

and so, you ran back to your own compartment and pulled out your books, making a resolution to study everything and make sure you knew all the content. you wanted to show whoever that kid is that he's wrong, that you're better than him.

and so, the rest of the long ride and even your first night was spent catching up on what you missed out on, making sure you were prepared for whatever this extraordinary world would throw at you.

and most especially, preparing for whatever trouble the boy, who's name you learned was yang jungwon would give you.

gradually, more people join the dance, but you're so entranced by the boy in your arms, you don't notice how he's whisked you away from the main dance floor.

now towards the side of the room, away from all attention, jungwon looks down at you with all the love in his eyes.

it's overwhelming, you can't escape your emotions anymore. you like jungwon, possibly even more. you feel like all these feelings are about to burst out of you, and jungwon's arms are the only thing keeping you together.

"y/n, i think you still owe me something," he whispered, his face dangerously close to yours.

"and what would that be?" you naturally retort, having developed the instinct to talk back when it came to him.

"don't play with me, please let me kiss you."

"i don't think so." you pause teasingly, trying not to giggle at his pout, his dimple coming out. "let me kiss you," you say, finally leaning in, sealing your lips.

it felt just like the one back in 5th year, but better. jungwon held you impossibly closer by the waist, as if fearing you would run away. but you won't, and you never will. because in his arms, you never felt as safe and comfortable in your own skin as you did then.

you finally part for air, but jungwon's eyes never strayed from your face.

"i lied earlier by the way, when i said you looked good." you raise your eyebrows at him questioningly, before he smiles cheekily at you. "you look like the stars that put me to sleep every night."

"i didn't know you were poetic like that," you laughed lightly, leaning your forehead on his chest. "you look like my boyfriend."

"that's because i am," he says pulling you in for another kiss.

you don't think you'll ever get tired of kissing him. it's an unforgettable moment, and an unforgettable night.

you never knew you were missing something until you met jungwon, and you think you can finally breathe with him next to you (and your friends passing riki 20 galleons each two tables away). 

; author's corner! hii this was inspired by all the jily fics i've read over the years (whew i didn't even realise how long i've been reading fanfiction...) LMAO anyways may irls never find out this acc belongs to me bc my realistic self barfed at what i just wrote but my delulu self was kicking and giggling while editing but i hope you enjoyed!

; taglist @wonuslust @enhacatalog @makiswrld @forjungwons @yebin14 @lovelovelovebts @amanda-archives @beomgyusonlywife @bbinwrld@em-asian @enhamysunshines @ahnneyong @jungwonscafe bold couldn't be tagged!

#·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ mi's works #k-labels #yang jungwon #jungwon #jungwon x reader #yang jungwon x reader #jungwon angst #jungwon fluff #enhypen x reader #jungwon imagines #jungwon oneshots #jungwon ff #jungwon hogwarts au #enhypen fic #hogwarts au #enhypen #enhypen jungwon #ੈ♡˳ - in my head

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

Grays

Frankie Morales x f!reader

{ Grays Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Grays Part II }

Rating: M

Summary: Frankie wants you to cover up his grays. You want to knock some sense into his salt-and-pepper head.

Warnings: Insecure Frankie in need of self-love comes with his own warning, Reader is a hairstylist and has a related nickname, no physical descriptions other than that Reader has hair that can be dyed, not-quite-friends to *respectfully looking* dynamics, mentions of hair, gratuitous descriptions of the male body, sexual innuendos, lots of teasing and banter.

Word count: 4.8k

Notes: The origin story is here if you missed it. This is dedicated to my Frankie soul sister LJ @prolix-yuy who encouraged me to write this many months ago ❤️ As always, I’m an anxious mess writing for a new-to-me Pedro boy, so please be gentle with me (cos it's my birthday week) 🥺

I have a part 2 (with smut) in mind. I love where this leaves off, but who am I kidding. I probably won’t be able to help myself 😂

The bell on the door chimes with a sweet tinkle, cutting through the low, insistent purr of the hair clipper buzzing in your grasp. You don’t look up as you spy broad shoulders and a battered Standard Heating Oil cap crossing the threshold out of the corner of your eye.

‘Are you lost, Morales?’ you drawl indifferently, focused on the task at hand. ‘I have an appointment with Pope today, not you.’

‘He booked it under his name. Thought you’d take it as a prank if I called in myself.’

You look up to meet his gaze reflected in the mirror sitting in front of Greg, your current customer. ‘I wonder why he’d think that.’

Frankie shrugs, leaning against the reception counter with his arms crossed. ‘Beats me.’

You snort. ‘Really? You’ve insisted loudly and repeatedly for as long as I’ve known you that you don’t see the point of going to a hairstylist when you can have Pope cut your hair with kitchen scissors in his bathtub.’

‘C’mon, Shiv.’

‘Oh, he knows my name,’ you gasp sarcastically. You turn to Greg, who’s clearly amused by this exchange, and loop him in. ‘He usually just grunts at me.’

At this point, Ashton - your apprentice and all-round salon maverick - makes an appearance. Clearly having caught the tail-end of your conversation with Frankie, he glances between the two of you with an arched eyebrow. ‘Are we back to chasing customers away, boss?’

‘Sit his ass down but he doesn’t get a free drink,’ you instruct. ‘I’ll get to him when I get to him.’

Ashton goes ahead and ignores your orders point blank, per usual. After hanging up Frankie’s jacket and settling him at the station furthest away from you in the far corner of the salon, you see him sneakily give him a coffee. He can never resist the handsome ones.

You take your sweet time with Greg, cleaning up his sideburns, even though you’re basically done with him - just to tick off your waiting customer.

Not that it works, and you know it won’t. He just sits there, his wide frame filling up the chair, still as a rock. The dog-eared, months-old magazines strategically placed on the table for idle reading lie untouched. That’s Francisco Morales for you.

You’ve been orbiting each other since sixth grade, as all kids in your close-knit neighbourhood do. In fact, most of your customers went to your school. 

You don’t even remember how it started - probably at a sleepover - you discovered one day that you’re handy with box hair dye. By freshman year, you were colouring your fellow classmates’ hair in the girls’ toilets after school, earning enough pocket money to keep your cabinet at home fully-stocked with new hair products on rotation.

Your ever-changing hair colour got you into trouble with the headmaster more times than you can count, who nicknamed you Shape Shifter. Your friends abbreviated it to Shifter, then over the years, whittled it down to Shiv, and it stuck.

After being gifted a set of styling scissors for Christmas one year, you started hanging out at the neighbourhood salon, hustling for an apprenticeship. You practised what you observed on your fellow students, giving out haircuts on the bleachers on non-game days for a couple of dollars (the fee waived if something went disastrously wrong).

That’s how you first met Benny - his then cheerleader girlfriend took him in for a haircut when it got too long for her liking. When you eventually opened your own salon years later, he was your first paying customer, having come home after being honourably discharged from the army.

During the early days, when you struggled to fill your appointments and he couldn’t win a fight to save his life, you made a pact. You would do his hair at a heavy discount for his posters and promotions, and in return, he would let you use his photos for the salon’s marketing.

And it worked. Well, not that you had anything to do with him turning his fortunes around on the MMA circuit, but he had everything to do with getting customers through your door. It only got busier when Santi joined the ranks a couple of years later, and even though Will only shows up when his hair gets really unruly, they both sit in front of your camera with no complaint in return for mate’s rates.

Having these guys on your salon’s social media keeps both the gents and the ladies booking up your appointments.

Frankie Morales, though, is a different animal.

When you finally appear over his left shoulder, his coffee is all gone and he meets your eyes in the mirror nonchalantly. He’s leaning his whole weight on his right elbow on the armest, his left arm outstretched and blunt nails tapping on the table, the only hint of impatience he’s giving away.

He’s good at that - he’s the laid-back one out of the boys, the one who hangs back and observes with arms crossed, but quick to crack a grin and throw in a wicked barb when the occasion calls for it. Nothing ever seems to faze him, and probably nothing does - you hear that makes a good pilot, and from what Pope lets on, he’s a damn good one.

It also makes for highly effective bait for the ladies. He’s a popular fixture on the local bar scene - let’s face it, all of the boys are. You’ve seen him in action more than once when Benny or Pope invites you along on a night out, more often than not without Will since he had a baby girl with his high school sweetheart last year. Frankie’s brooding, quiet, beer-sipping act often works better than Benny’s over-the-top flirting or Pope’s Casanova bit.

But that’s neither here nor there.

Hands on your hips, you goad him, ‘Alright Morales, how do I know you’ll pay up, you cheap bastard?’

‘Pope says to put it on his tab.’

‘Music to my ears.’ You tap him on the shoulder. ‘Sit up and off with the cap.’

With a grumble, Frankie lifts the cap up by the beak, ducking his head as he does so. He tosses it onto the table offhandedly and shifts in his seat, but you’re not fooled by his unconvincing air of indifference. From the way he plasters his palms to the top of his denim-clad thighs, as if to stop them from fidgeting, you know he’s feeling vulnerable. 

You can’t say you’ve ever seen Frankie without his headgear - now that you think about it, he’s been wearing it since high school. Heck, he might have gone through several incarnations of that blasted hat in the years in between. You’ve caught glimpses when he lifts it up to fix his hair, but otherwise, all you see is what peeks out from underneath, the longer wisps that coil around his ears and the curls at the back. 

As it turns out, there’s really nothing to hide - sure, the cut is blunt and his hair lacks shine, but both can be easily fixed. You step into his space and comb through his locks, starting at the base of his skull and working your way up the sides. 

The contact startles him - he practically jumps out of his skin, and you don’t miss the way the veins on the back of his hands pop and he digs his nails into his legs.

'Easy, boy,' you soothe with a teasing undertone, earning yourself a glower from the pilot. As much as you enjoy needling him, you do want your customers to be comfortable. So you let slip a deliberate but genuinely appreciative hum as the dark tendrils, subtly tinged with grays, part softly at your prying fingertips. ‘Wow, your curls are really thick.'

He looks up, an unsure frown on his brow. ‘Oh. Is that bad?’

‘No, Morales, it’s definitely a compliment,’ you tell him encouragingly - your bark has always been worse than your bite. ‘What do you use to wash your hair? It’s a bit dry.’

He shrugs. ‘Shampoo.’ At your insistent stare, he snaps, ‘What?’

‘Don’t lie to me, Morales,’ you warn him in a stern voice.

He huffs and gives in. ‘Fine. It’s a 2-in-1 body wash. I get it at the gas station, happy?’

You shoot him a smug grin as he rolls his eyes. ‘Well, you’re using proper shampoo from now on, and conditioner.’ He opens his mouth, a complaint on the tip of his tongue, when you hold a finger up at him. ‘Don’t argue with me, mister. I’ll throw in a couple of bottles on the house to get you started.’

‘Fine,’ he concedes. Unfailingly polite even when grumpy, he adds, ‘Thanks, Shiv.’

Your trusty swivelling stool screeches in protest when you drag it over on its wheels, before you take a seat and address the elephant in the room. ‘So - I’m guessing you’re here because of the wedding.’

You get a grunt in response. Scratching a particularly scrappy patch of his beard that has turned prematurely silver, he says, ‘My ma says I should cover up my old man grays for it.’

You snort, shaking your head. ‘Ha! And you tell your mother I say - hell no, ma’am! I will do no such thing.’

Frankie blinks at your unexpectedly adamant response. ‘What?’

‘I said, hell no,’ you repeat. Turning his head to the side with two fingers on his stubbled cheek, you comb his locks upwards to study the way the grays blend in softly with the umber, matching the ashen flecks in his beard. He doesn't start as badly at your touch this time, but there’s a telltale tick in his jaw, and you can almost hear the tension that thrums just below his skin where a late summer tan still lingers.

‘See how your grays are mainly coming out on the underside?’ you point out. ‘I like the way they just peek through the brown, it gives more depth to your curls. Natural highlights, if you will.’

He looks unconvinced and swipes at a smattering of silver with dismissive fingers. ‘Dunno. Thought the grays make me look old.’

You chuckle. ‘You’re no spring chicken anymore, Morales, and I mean it in a good way. Grays are natural - they will look even better when you start using actual shampoo and conditioner. Trust me, the salt and pepper works on you. I’m not dyeing your grays, and that’s that.’

For the first time today, Frankie turns his head and looks directly into your eyes. ‘My mother’s coming back to town for the wedding, you know. And she remembers where you live.’

You laugh. ‘Go ahead and send her my way, you know I’m not scared of her.’

He scoffs at your big talk. ‘You should be.’

Your relationship with the Morales matriarch is complicated, to say the least. She was always hard on you when you were a kid, thinking you were too wild and undisciplined. Now that you’re grown, you’re still torn between your admiration for her as a single mother who raised a good man, and the woman who never tires of dishing out criticism, warranted or not.

You give him a reassuring pat on the back, solid and warm under your touch. ‘Leave your mother to me, Morales. The grays stay, and I’ll make sure you steal the show at the party.’

‘Your funeral,’ he quips.

‘You just worry about getting yourself to the wedding,’ you retort, cracking your knuckles. ‘Now, are you ready for some pampering?’

Frankie rolls his eyes, but you see the corner of his mouth tick up in a vaguely upward direction - and you take it as a win.

‘Relax, Morales.’

‘I am relaxed,’ he insists through gritted teeth.

‘You’re about as relaxed as a cow on the butcher’s block. Unclench.’

For someone as economical with words as he is, his body certainly says a lot. Every single part of him seems hellbent on making his discomfort known. He breathes a frustrated exhale through his nose, brow deeply furrowed, his glare burning holes into the ceiling.

The leather seat of the backwash barely contains his tall build, his t-shirt stretched to the seams across his chest as he leans back into the basin. He’s bouncing his left leg irritably, the tight denim straining against his lap.

You try - valiantly - not to gape too obviously at the conspicuous bulge nestled snugly between his thighs under his belt buckle. But you can’t avert your eyes from something of that size. It’s against the laws of physics. Or something.

Even from where you’re standing, at the top of the basin peering down the slope of his body, its heft is clearly testing the structural integrity of the zipper of his jeans. Imagine the view from the other side -

Clearing your throat, you bodily press down on Frankie’s shoulders which are coiled up like the hood of an angry python, forcing them to loosen up. He jerks as if he’s a copper wire and you’re electricity. You tease, ‘So sensitive. You act like you’ve never felt a woman’s touch before, Morales.’

‘You know that’s not true,’ he growls at you, the prominent vein in his neck starting to pulse in frustration.

‘No, you’re right - I do know,’ you smirk, dragging out your syllables.

Your tone has him frowning at you, upside down. ‘What do you mean by that?’

‘I mean - I know,’ you repeat with a conspiratorial wink.

He narrows his eyes at you. ‘What do you know, Shiv?’

You wriggle his eyebrows at him suggestively, enjoying yourself far too much. ‘I own a salon, Morales. I hear things from the ladies about town.’

One large palm reaches up to shield his face in embarrassment, a pained groan escaping between the gaps of his fingers. ‘For fuck’s sake - kill me now.’

You laugh, wrestling his hand from his face to with an impish grin. ‘Don’t worry, I’ve only heard good things so far - Frankie big boy Morales.’

He blushes so hard that his ears and neck go a livid red, and for a minute, you’re actually worried that he’d pass out from not enough blood reaching his heart. Not keen on the prospect of having to explain to the emergency services that you teased the poor man into an aneurysm, you turn on the water and cut short your little chinwag with a good-natured chuckle. 

His hands are still tightly clamped around the armrest when you carefully run the shower head along his hairline and behind his ears, soaking his curls. His biceps flex from the tight grip and the lean muscles strain against the sleeves of his t-shirt. 

At least he closes his eyes when you start with the shampoo. The velvety lather froths as you patiently wash his hair, which clings to his wet curls like vanilla frosting. The deep crease between his brows eases with each gentle swipe into his locks, and the invisible force pulling his lips downwards slackens. By the time you rinse out the bubbles, you don’t miss the way the tension in his body unwittingly goes with it down the drain.

When your nails slide slickly into his hair with the conditioner, his stubborn body finally, slowly unfurls. His head tips back of its own accord, baring the column of his strong neck as he leans inadvertently into your touch. Colour returns to his knuckles when he releases his death grip on the backwash. 

You smile to yourself, scraping your fingertips along his scalp in a firm massage, watching his chest rise and fall as he teeters on the brink of consciousness.

As your thumbs trace a confident path down the back of his skull, they appear to find a particularly sensitive spot near the base of his neck, and it's as if a switch is flipped. You witness the exact moment he breaks - his back arches off the leather seat, his obstinate lips part with a strangled half-sigh catching in his throat as he yields his full weight into the palm of your hands.

If you're not careful, you could get used to this.

‘Still with me, Morales?’ you tease quietly.

He garbles incoherently, and you grin.

Frankie practically molds into the chair like warm wax when you shepherd him back to the styling station. You’re so chuffed with yourself that you don’t even feel the need to gloat at the way his eyes are glazed over and how his head lolls into the soft pressure when you run a fluffy towel through his hair. The man recoiling at the mere brush of your fingers a distant memory.

You run an assessing eye over him, brushing out his locks to gauge your game plan. ‘I like this length on you, so I’ll just trim the split ends and tidy up your sideburns. You’ll benefit from some layering too - it’s a bit heavy on top right now.’

From the way he blinks owlishly at you, you know he doesn’t catch a single word. He shrugs and says matter-of-factly. ‘You can’t do worse than Pope.’

The salon is quiet this afternoon, as it tends to be on Wednesdays. You let him enjoy the peace for a little bit and tap your foot to Ashton’s playlist as your styling scissors move over his curls in metallic snips.

‘Tip your head forward for me,’ you instruct, sliding around the back of his head on your wheels as you probe, ‘So - how are you feeling about the wedding?’

The fabric of his t-shirt bunches over his shoulders as they quirk noncommittally.

‘It’s just a few days away.’

He makes an indifferent noise. But you’re not so easily dissuaded from conversation, and he knows it.

‘Can’t be easy - watching your ex get married.’

Frankie pins you with a long-suffering stare in the mirror. ‘We broke up a year ago.’

Getting onto your feet, you ruffle your fingers through the crown of his curls. ‘Yeah, but you dated for years. She sure moved on quick.’

He huffs a sardonic laugh. ‘Thanks, Shiv.’

Swapping out the styling scissors for blending shears, you argue, ‘What? It’s a legitimate observation. I’m just making conversation here.’

‘Or we could just sit here quietly.’

Ha. As if you ever listen to him. You press on, ‘Why did she invite you anyway?’

Frankie’s sigh sounds a lot like surrender as he humours you. ‘It’s a damned if she does, damned if she doesn’t kind of situation, I guess. The whole town’s invited.’

‘You sure she isn’t trying to flaunt it in your face or something?’

‘Flaunting implies I still care. I don’t.’

You give him a juvenile nudge nudge, wink wink. ‘Well, on the bright side, you’ll definitely get laid, being the heartbroken ex and all. Chicks love that shit.’

He dispatches a side-long stare in your direction. ‘I’m not heartbroken, and that’s not why I’m going. And you know none of this is any of your business, right?’

‘You’re no fun,’ you pout.

He quips, ‘As a professional hairstylist, you really should be better at making polite conversation.’

You snort. ‘Do you really think it’s a good idea to call me rude when I have scissors in my hands?’

Frankie watches you work in the comfortable lull that’s settled between you, gliding the blades along strands of his curls pulled taut, before running a fine-toothed comb through to brush out the loose tufts. Soft coils land on the floor around his chair as you work your way methodically through his layers.

‘Are you going to the wedding?’ he asks eventually.

You shrug. ‘Maybe, depends on my schedule. I gotta say, I’m kind of curious to see how tacky it will be.’

At his eyebrow sternly cocked, you argue, ‘I know she’s your ex and all, but she’s always been a bit tacky. I mean, that remodel of your house was just tragic.’

Frankie frowns. ‘How do you know all this? You’ve never been to my house.’

You wink. ‘Benny tells me everything when I do his hair.’

He pinches the bridge of his nose. ‘Of course. Benjamin fucking Miller.’

You give him a pat on the shoulder. ‘Don’t worry, I’m on your side, if it helps.’

‘I don’t need you on my side.’

You flash him an insufferable grin. ‘Too bad, Francisco. I am and there’s nothing you can do about it.’

The hairdryer drowns out any further conversation, and Frankie quietly studies you as you cord your fingers through his hair, ruffling it as it dries.

It’s still a bit damp when you switch off the hairdryer and reach up to pull a couple of jars from the shelf above. ‘On the day of the wedding, I want you to wash your hair just before you style it. You have a hairdryer at home, right?’

He throws you a pointed look. ‘I’m not a heathen.’

You grin. ‘Down boy, just checking. Now, you’ll dry your hair until it’s still a bit wet, like so.’ Presenting the styling mousse to him, you say, ‘Then go on and grab some product - you only need a dollop.’

He dips his index finger into the pot, scooping up a generous blob. Your attention is unexpectedly piqued at the sight of his hands. 

Have they always been so big?

Realising he’s staring at you in wait, you shake yourself out of it. ‘Ok, rub the mousse onto your fingertips and run them all over your hair, combing from root to end.’

Frankie does as he’s told, face set to a serious scowl as he impeccably goes over each section of his locks, staring into the mirror to make sure he gets every strand. For the first time, you see the pilot in him up close, and you wonder if he’s this thorough about other things, like -

Laundry, your mind interrupts as it careens on the brink of the metaphorical gutter. Get your shit together, Shiv.

‘Good,’ you smile when he’s done, hoping he doesn't see the strain in it. ‘Now, I want you to rake your fingers through the roots when you dry your hair all the way.’ In demonstration, your nails burrow into the base of his thick hair, then you wriggle your fingers upwards towards the ends. ‘It will give you lots of volume and really show off this cut.’

Passing him the hairdryer, you watch him critically in the mirror. He imitates your movements, a bit clumsily and far too cautiously. Leaning down to his ear so he can hear you over the whir, you instruct him, ‘Don’t be gentle, Francisco. C’mon, harder, deeper - don’t hold back.’

He chokes and pins you with a wide-eyed stare in the mirror that glances right off your oblivious self. Along with your words, nothing about this exchange would register in your head in any other way until much, much later tonight, when you replay the conversation in your head in that limbo between sleep and wakefulness. 

It may or may not have you squealing into your pillow in latent embarrassment - and something else.

But for now, you’re happy with the way his hair has set, and you gesture for him to switch off the hairdryer. Turning his chair towards you and away from the mirror, you scan your eyes over him and make small adjustments - tucking a couple of strands behind his ear here, a couple of final snips there. 

As a final touch, you bury your fingers into his locks, dragging your fingertips through the roots to impart a final tousle so that the curls are loose and soft. You preen at the way he sways into your contact, all shyness gone, his hooded eyes half-closed - before he seems to catch himself and sits up with a self-conscious ahem.

Grabbing a small bottle from the shelf, you say, ‘Last thing - your beard is a bit dry as well. This oil will keep it nice and moisturised, just two or three drops after you wash up in the morning will do.’

Tipping his face up by the crook of your finger and opening up his neck to you, you smooth the ointment along both sides of his jaw, rubbing circles into his neatly trimmed whiskers and all the way up his sideburns. Sliding downwards, your hands seek out the closely shaved stubble tucked beneath his chin. Then, by sheer momentum, your palms continue down his throat in a slow, sticky descent, until the pads of your thumbs slot into the hollow between his collarbones, your fingers resting at the base of his neck where you feel his pulse rabbiting underneath. 

The air thickens and shifts between you. When he swallows, you feel the ripple of the moment against your fingertips. 

His eyes are on you, and suddenly he’s too close, his skin too hot under your hands. To your horror, something akin to shyness rears its head and you almost stumble backwards to put a safe distance between you.

Scrubbing the oily residue from your hands on a towel, you break the moment with a wink and a steadier smile than you actually feel. ‘You look good, Morales. Ready to take a look?’

‘As if you would take no for an answer,’ he mumbles under his breath. Fondness might be too strong of a word - but you don't think you're imagining the faint trace of amusement in his voice.

With a dramatic ta-da, you spin his chair around with a flourish.

Frankie Morales is obviously not a vain man - he most likely owns five pairs of jeans that he’s worn on rotation for the past fifteen years, his t-shirts are washed ragged, and his trusty leather boots have seen better days. He probably doesn’t use a mirror other than for purely utilitarian purposes, like checking if there’s something stuck in his teeth from his last meal.

But right now, by the way he’s holding his breath as he meets his own eyes in the reflection, you can tell that he’s really looking at himself for the first time in a long while. 

You pretend to busy yourself with tidying up the styling station as you discreetly sneak glances at him, feeling strangely bashful for intruding in this moment. When he remembers to breathe again, he tilts his head left then to the right, and back again, even swivelling his chair from side to side so he can peer round the back.

You’ve parted his waves to the side, the lighter cut allowing his curls to carry their natural shape. The healthy sheen, courtesy of the mousse, tempers his grays to a softer, burnt silver that catches the light fetchingly as he moves. Reaching up, Frankie pushes back a stray curl that falls over his eyes, and his back straightens in a quiet show of confidence.

Running a salon is hard work and often thankless. But on days like this? You know you’re meant to do this.

A dramatic gasp draws both of your attention. Ashton is clutching at his chest, backed up against the neighbouring styling station, gaping at Frankie. ‘Mister - you look good enough to devour. Look at that salt and pepper, I’m living for the grays. Doing the Lord’s work, Shiv!’

You laugh as Frankie flushes, scratching an invisible itch on his forehead. You brush the loose hairs off his shoulders with a towel and give him a nudge. ‘See? I’m not the only one who thinks you look good with the grays. You better stock up on the condoms, Morales, the ladies will be all over you at the party.’

He shakes his head self-deprecatingly as he stands up, rubbing his palms on his jeans, uncomfortable with the scrutiny. ‘I doubt it, but - thanks. I appreciate this, Shiv.’

He shrugs on his well-loved burnt yellow jacket, the one with the sleeves perpetually folded up above his wrists and grabs his cap. You hold out a paper bag with the free shampoo and conditioner you promised him, throwing in a jar of hair mousse for good measure. ‘You’re welcome, and you better not put your hat on again this afternoon after all that hard work.’

His fingers brush yours when he takes the bag from you, then, as if it’s the logical next thing to do, he leans down to press a chaste kiss to your right cheek, his stubble coarse against your skin - and you know without looking it’s the gray patch in his beard that brushes against your jaw as he draws back. You fumble, feeling heat prickle the back of your neck and blooming in your rib cage. 

He flashes you the most self-assured smile you’ve seen on him this afternoon, which has you biting your bottom lip. ‘I won’t. Maybe see you at the wedding, Shiv.’

It takes you five full seconds to regain motor functions. By the time you unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth, Frankie’s already out of the door with a spring in his step.

In companionable silence, you and Ashton watch the pilot strut - because that’s what he’s doing, he’s strutting with a confidence that becomes him - across the road through the glass front of the salon.

‘What a dish,’ Ashton sighs dreamily, flopping into a chair as if his limbs have given out. ‘I hope he comes back soon.’

You smile. A girl could always hope.

Notes: It's the first time I'm using a nickname for a Reader, but I have a real soft spot for Shiv, and I think she deserves one. I'm not sure where the fandom stands on this, does it disqualify the fic as a reader insert? If anyone has an issue with this, please let me know! For me, Shiv has no physical descriptions so to me she's still a reader insert.

I don't know if anyone expected this kind of dynamics between these two, but it's been so much fun to write with a bit of antagonism in the mix. I hope you enjoyed this, reblogs and comments are so, so appreciated as always. Thank you for reading ❤️

#frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x fem!reader #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales #frankie catfish morales #francisco morales #triple frontier fanfic #frankie friday #queue

[allthingsfangirl101]

*Naughty Dreams – Steve Harrington

Warnings: wet dreams, protected sex, fulfilling kink, language

Steve's POV

As the credits began to roll, I looked around my family room. The kids who weren't asleep were barely awake. I laughed and turned to Y/N to point it out but found she was asleep too. I carefully stood up and gently laid her down. I grabbed the blanket off the back of the couch and covered her with it.

I went around the room, gently waking the kids. They were groggy and confused.

"What's going on?" Dustin asked.

"I'm taking you home, idiot," I laughed. "Let's go."

When I finally got them in the car, I started to drive away. I had just dropped off Erica and Lucas. All that was left was Dustin.

"I know your secret," he said in an irritating tone.

"What?" I deadpanned.

"You and Y/N sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G," he sang loudly.

"Shut up," I scoffed, pushing his head to the side. "Nothing is going on between us."

"Exactly," Dustin laughed. "And it's driving you crazy."

"What are you. . ."

"You wish something was going on between you guys," he cut me off. I tightened my grip on the steering wheel, my latest dream coming back to me.

He sighed when saw me roll my shoulders. He took it a different way. Which was fine. He's only a teenager. He doesn't need to hear about my wet dreams about my best friend.

"Look," he sighed, "you and Y/N have been inseparable ever since I met you guys. I'd have to be completely naive not to notice what's going on between the two of you."

"Don't be an idiot," I said, clearing my throat. The last thing I needed was to get my hopes up that Y/N and I could be anything more than best friends.

"I'm not," he instantly defended himself. "I've seen it. We all have."

"Seen what?" I couldn't help but ask.

"You and Y/N have this. . . connection."

"We're friends," I stuttered.

"Come on," he snorted. "Just friends?"

"I mean. . ."

"Just tell me the truth," he sighed. "Do you have feelings for Y/N or do you have feelings for Y/N?"

I glanced over at him and sighed. "Yes," I said under my breath. "Alright? Happy now? I don't just have feelings for her. I'm in love with her. Every day I think about how she should be with me. How I could protect her. How I could take care of her. How I would spend every day of my life making sure she was happy."

"Then why don't you tell her?" He asked, leaning his head against the headrest.

"Because. . ." I stuttered. I sighed as I pulled in front of Dustin's house. "What if she doesn't feel the same way?"

"She does."

I snapped my head toward him. "What are you talking about?"

He turned toward me and smirked. "You really didn't know," he laughed. "Welcome to sixth grade, Steve. Best friends fall in love all the time. Especially girl-boy friendships."

"Can you stop being an ass for just one second?" I sighed. "I'm trying to be serious. How do you know that Y/N feels the same way about me?"

"It's the way she looks at you," he said finally not acting like an asshole. "It's the way she runs to you. It's the way she depends on you. It's the way she falls asleep on your shoulder."

"Falls asleep on my shoulder? What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"My mom believes that if a girl falls asleep on your shoulder it means she trusts you. Completely."

"What are you talking about?"

"When you're asleep, you're at your most vulnerable," he continued. "So if a girl falls asleep next to you, it means she trusts you to watch over her and protect her. Y/N falls asleep in your arms all the time. She trusts you."

"That could be because we've been friends since we were little," I started but Dustin's laugh cut me off.

"Come on, Steve," he chuckled. "Just tell her already. You'll both be a lot happier once you do."

                                * * * * *

I put my car in park and slowly got out. I locked it and headed into my house. I closed the door behind me and stopped when I saw Y/N still asleep on the couch. I smiled, not moving as I watched her sleep.

When I realized it was creepy, I slowly and carefully started walking up to my room. Until. . .

"Oh, Steve."

I froze.

"Keep going," Y/N moaned.

I turned around and saw that she was still asleep. My heart dove into my stomach and my stomach did a flip when I realized what was happening.

Y/N was having a wet dream. . .  About me.

"Steve, that feels. . ." She cut herself off with a moan I longed to hear over and over.

I forced myself to go upstairs. As much as I wanted to listen to her moan my name, I knew I couldn't. I was almost to the stairs when my clumsy self surfaced. It started with me trying to take off my shoes. It ended with me knocking over a lamp.

Y/N jumped awake, looking around confused. She looked over her shoulder and laughed when she saw me awkwardly holding up the lamp.

"You okay?" She asked.

"I'm fine," I said shakily.

She stood up and walked over to me. "Are you sure?" She pushed. "Steve, I know you. Something is wrong. What's going on?"

"It's nothing," I tried. I stopped talking when I saw the look on her face.

"Please," she whispered. "Talk to me."

"I heard you."

"What?" She stuttered. "What are you. . ."

"I took the kids home," I started to explain even though I wished I would shut up. "I know you haven't been sleeping well so I decided to let you sleep while I dropped them off. When I got home. . . You were still asleep but you were dreaming."

Y/N's eyes widened. She took a small step back, her breathing slowing. "What did you hear?" She asked under her breath.

"You," I answered under my breath. "I heard you. . ."

Reader's POV

I couldn't take the embarrassment. Steve had heard me talking in my sleep. I could only imagine what he heard. I wanted to run. I wanted to cry. I wanted the earth to open up and swallow me.

I turned around and started to run away. Steve didn't let me get far. He grabbed my hand and spun me around, pulling me into his chest.

"Steve," I said, my voice breaking. "Please let me go."

"No."

"Steve. . ."

"Tell me."

"What?" I gasped.

"Tell me about your dream," he said under his breath. I shook my head, trying to pull away but he stopped me.

"I can't," I stuttered. "It's too embarrassing."

"Maybe if you tell me," he whispered, not looking away from me, "I can fulfill your dream."

"You can. . ."

Before I could wrap my head around what he was hinting at, Steve gently leaned in and pressed his lips to mine. I thought about my dream and his comment made sense. I threw my arms around his neck and kissed him back.

Things escalated as our momentum knocked us back. We laughed, breaking the kiss when we almost fell onto the stairs. Luckily, Steve caught me.

"First things first," I said between my heavy breathing. "Take me upstairs. That's where it happened."

I gasped, turning into a giggle when Steve picked me up and wrapped my legs around his waist. I leaned in and started kissing his neck as he carried me upstairs to his room.

The butterflies in my stomach danced when I heard him kick his bedroom door open. He walked across his room and dropped me onto his bed. I stood up and brought his shirt with me. Without a word, I reached down and undid his pants. He slipped his fingers into his pants and finished discarding them for me.

I slipped my fingers into his boxers but Steve grabbed my hands, stopping me. He slowly slid his fingers into my under and brought them down with him as he knelt. As Steve stood up, his face was inches from my body. When he was standing, Steve put his hands on my bare stomach and pushed me back onto the bed. I giggled as I leaned back on my hands and looked up at him.

Steve reached down and grabbed my legs, opening them wide enough for him. He stood between my legs and nodded toward my shirt. He watched, chewing his bottom lip as I slowly took it off. I tossed it to the side, not feeling an ounce of insecurity as I showed him my body.

"Damn," he moaned as he started massaging my thighs. "Just as beautiful as I dreamt you would be."

"You've dreamt about me?" I asked, subconsciously sticking my chest out. He chewed on his bottom lip as he let go of one of my thighs, reached up, and gently slid one of my bra straps off.

"All the time," he said under his breath. "I constantly dream about you, baby. What I want to do. What I want to see. What I want to hear."

"And what do you want to see?" I asked.

"You," he said, not looking up from my chest. I reached behind myself and unhooked my bra. I saw the lump in his boxers tighten even more as I discarded my bra.

"And what do you want to hear?" I asked, grabbing his shoulders and pulling him so we were laying down with him on top of me.

"You," he whispered, "moaning my name. Over. And over. And over again. Getting louder with each moan."

I reached up and slowly slid his underwear off. I couldn't help but look down at what I'd dreamt about. I took a shaky breath as I forced myself to look back at his face. I slid my hands up his chest and wrapped my arms around his neck. I let go of one of his shoulders and grabbed a condom out of his bedside table.

"And what do you want to do to me, Steve?" I smirked as I showed it to him. He instantly grabbed it and tore it open. I chewed on my bottom lip, holding back a moan as I watched him slip it on.

"This," he said as he pushed himself into me. I arched my back, the moan I'd been holding back finally releasing.

"Fuck," I gasped as he pulled out of me and pushed back in. This was the start of his thrusts.

"That's it, baby girl," he said through his teeth. "Keep moaning like that."

"As long as you keep moving like that."

We both let out breathy moans as our bodies danced in bed. Just like we promised, I continued to moan for him and he continued to move for me. I closed my eyes, arching my back as he changed his pace from fast to slow to fast to slow.

I dug my nails into his shoulder blades as I pushed his chest against mine. Steve moaned as he rubbed his chest, smashing my breasts against his chest.

"Fuck, Y/N," he moaned. He smashed his lips onto mine, instantly slipping his tongue into my mouth, and began exploring every inch of my mouth. I moaned as another part of my dream came true.

Steve broke the kiss and started sucking on my neck. I reached up and ran my fingers through his hair. After a few hickeys had formed, I grabbed his face and pulled him away.

"Son of a. . ." He moaned. I shushed him as I moved him down. He smirked as he caught onto the next part of my dream I wanted him to fulfill. I pushed his face between my breasts, and Steve instantly began making out with my breasts.

"Oh Steve," I moaned as I arched my back, pressing my chest further toward his face.

I felt him smirk as his tongue played pinball with my nipple. I slid my hands down his back until I got to his bare ass. I clenched my hands around his ass cheeks, pushing him into me.

"Don't forget about your movements, baby."

"Sorry," he moaned, still pressed to my chest. "Won't happen again."

We fell into a rhythm as Steve thrust into me and I moved him so he fulfilled different parts of my dream.

"Is there anything else I can do?" I gasped after we switched our positions and Steve was guiding me down on him.

"Call me a special name, Y/N," he moaned as he watched my body. He looked up at me with a dirty smirk on his face. "One only you use when we're fulfilling one of our dreams. I'll call you "baby girl". Now you come up with one."

"Stevie," I moaned as he pushed me down onto him hard.

"Perfect," he growled as he continued. "But only you get to call me Stevie."

"And only you get to hear these noises come out of me."

"I wouldn't have it any other way."

I gasped when Steve quickly switched our positions. I looked at him, nerves flooding my body.

"Was something wrong with how I was doing it?" I asked under my breath.

"Of course not, baby girl," he said softly. "I was about to finish and all of my dreams end with us finishing with me on top. Is that okay?"

I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him closer to me. "Sounds perfect, Stevie."

He leaned down and pressed his lips to mine. Our mouths started moving roughly in sync as we pushed each other over the edge. We reached our orgasms only seconds apart.

"Oh, Stevie!" I moaned as he rolled off of me.

"That was amazing, baby girl."

I looked over at him to see him smiling at me. The way he was looking at me made the butterflies go crazy. I leaned over and kissed his cheek.

"Thank you for fulfilling my dream," I whispered. Steve pulled me into his chest, leaning my head over his heart. I closed my eyes, listening as our breathing slowed and fell in sync.

"Y/N," Steve whispered a few minutes later, "before you fall asleep, there's something I gotta say to you."

"Okay," I mumbled, cuddling into his bare side.

"I'm crazy into you," he said, sounding all sighy. "I've had feelings for you for as long as I can remember and I don't plan on not having those feelings any time soon."

"I sure hope not," I giggled as I rolled over so I was laying on him. I sat up, gently scratching his bare chest. Steve sighed as he dragged his hands up and down my back.

"I mean it, Y/N," he whispered. "I've dreamt about this finally happening between us. Now that it has, I'm not going to let anything stop us from being together."

I leaned down and gently kissed him. He pressed on my back, deepening the kiss. He let out a small moan as I broke the kiss.

"Let's make a deal," I whispered, my face inches from his.

"What did you have in mind?"

"Whenever one of us has another naughty dream," I moaned at the thought, "we tell the other about it so they can fulfill it."

I gasped when Steve flipped us over. He leaned down and kissed me harder this time. Our lips moved in sync, our tongues instantly battling for dominance.

Steve broke the kiss, both of us breathing heavily as we came down from our temporary highs. He said my name in a deep voice that sent a chill down my spine.

"Then we have a lot of catching up to do, baby girl."

#steve harrington #steve harrington imagines #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington smut #stranger things #joe keery #joe keery x reader #joe keery smut

[dadsbongos]

skipping through a john hughes' movie

8.3K words

warnings - reader has major anxiety (but it’s the 80s so people just call you insane), speedrun friends to enemies to lovers, allusions to children-having but no actual kids or anything

summary - Your Home Economics teacher assigns a project - take care of an egg for a full week and present your report on it. You assumed it would be a solo project, so imagine the surprise when your golden-girl cheerleading ass was paired with Eddie “the freak” Munson. At least your best friend, Chrissy, seems excited for you. ~~

There was one bright side to Ms. Vin’s painfully boring sixth period Home Ec. class, you and Chrissy were designated seat partners since the beginning of the year. Meaning every project - every quilt, dish, quiz, and assignment in the books - was done as a top-tier team. This one, despite being what you’ll assume is a solo project, is no different.

“So, how’re you gonna decorate your egg?” Chrissy grins, setting her chin into her palm, “I was thinking Barbie meets Madonna but on, like, a really bad bender.”

“I dunno, I might just draw whatever I want on it until time’s up,” you pick up one of Chrissy’s sparkly pens, “Mind if I borrow this?”

She shakes her head and beams at you, “Take whatever you want - my pens are your pens, doll face.”

You glare and she giggles.

“Ick,” you uncap the pen and lean back into your chair, taking the violently shiny pink pigment to your skin and doodling a flower over your thumb, “Ick, I say, Chris.”

Meanwhile, Eddie is busy braiding a section of his bangs while Gareth draws on their shared table.

“Honestly, I don’t even think I should do it,” Gareth murmurs.

“Do what?” Eddie pauses, finally realizing his poor friend had actually been talking to him.

“Were you not listening?” Eddie shakes his head, “Jesus. I was saying that my sister wants my egg when we’re done with this whole thing, but I don’t think I should give it to her. She’s just gonna put it under someone’s pillow or some shit.”

Eddie nods solemnly, watching as Ms. Vic begins handing out eggs, “At least you’ll pass, man. Knowing my luck, it’ll slip right outta my hands the second I grab it,” then he points at the table right in front of them - yours and Chrissy’s table, “Only good thing about this being a solo project is I don’t have to worry about fucking up someone’s grade.”

Since the beginning of your senior year, you’ve felt it. The stares. You’ve heard them - the whispers. And it certainly doesn’t help when people like Eddie Munson don’t shy away from mentioning it.

Chrissy side-eyes Eddie and no matter how much she may enjoy his presence, she can’t excuse him now. She lays a hand to your shoulder, “Hey, he’s, like, the only person who talks about it.”

“But everyone thinks it,” you meet Chrissy’s eyes and don’t notice that Ms. Vic is only leaving one egg per table, “Everyone’s just weird around me.”

Everyone except Chrissy.

You were always quiet in the crowd, and that’s mostly because you hate crowds. But it’s also because of the incident last year - being quieter means less people notice you which means less people talk about you which means eventually the incident stops getting brought up. Unless it’s a group as vindictive as Eddie and his band of freaks.

“So, many of you already know what this project is about, but I just want to go over it again. Just in case,” Ms. Vic stands at the front of the room, an empty carton of eggs in one hand and the other beginning to write on the chalkboard, “This will be a paired project, not a solo like I’ve been hearing!” you and Chrissy smile at one another while Eddie and Gareth share a nod (though with a lot of groaning and mumbling from Eddie), “You’ll have one egg to care for from this point until class next Monday. Then, your team will have to present to the class your method of caretaking, why you decorated your egg the way you did, any mishaps and accidents, and so on and so forth. I will then grade your pair by both presentation and how roughed up your egg is.”

She steps away from the board to reveal a list of names. And there’s something hot in your veins, freezing cold on your skin when you see your name.

You pray to God, but He isn’t there - and part of you now thinks He never was.

“These will be the pairs! Go ahead and move to sit by your partner!”

Your jaw drops and there’s a raucous from behind - Eddie laughing, “No fuckin’ way!”

“Mr. Munson,” Ms. Vic snaps, “we don’t use that language in school! I don’t care if you’re older than the other students.”

Eddie merely mutters under his breath while you put your head in your hands, “That felt uncalled for.”

Your name is right there on the chalkboard - right there, right next to Edward Munson in thick, unforgiving white chalk.

MONDAY

Your name is right there on the chalkboard - right there, right next to Edward Munson in thick, unforgiving white chalk.

Chrissy hisses as though your partner stings her and pats your shoulder, “Sorry, girl. Good luck.”

“Easy for you to say,” you groan.

Chrissy got paired with the chess club captain - Corey Watts. A sweetheart who’s the easiest, most agreeable person to work with since a corpse.

There’s a clang and screech and squeak of metal scratching linoleum, and Eddie has finally slammed himself into the seat beside you.

You straighten up and plaster on a grin, “Hi, Munson.”

“Munson?” he pouts and tilts his head, “Aw, c’mon, I know you’re all pissy about this, but don’t be so cold. We’ve gone to the same school together since we were little, I’d say we’re on a first name basis.”

“I feel more comfortable using ‘Munson’,” you grab the egg and hold it softly, “Unless you prefer Edward?”

He retches, holding his stomach, and you hate how you laugh. It’s a little too loud, you think, but Eddie seems to shine under the sound.

“How do you wanna decorate it?” you hold up the fragile egg.

Eddie holds up a pair of scissors from the table’s tin to his head, “What d’ya think, sweets? Wanna give the little tyke his daddy’s hair?”

You gasp and cradle the egg to your chest, “You will do no such thing! That’d be so weird!”

“Yeah, that’s the whole point,” he sets down the scissors and holds out a hand for the egg, “You can pretend it wouldn’t be fun all you want, I know you would’ve laughed.”

“I would’ve gagged when you made the whole room smell like burnt hair,” you point across the classroom to the counter that holds the hot glue guns.

“Fine, what about James Hetfield?” he suggests, kicking his feet up onto the table.

You swat his shin and furrow your brows, “Who the hell is James Hetfield?”

His big eyes widen impossibly further, “Oh my God,” he looks at you like you said the ocean was neon pink, “you’re so out of the loop it’s fucking insane.”

“If he’s from one of your bands then I’m not out of the loop,” you roll your eyes, “It’s just not my thing.”

“Metallica should be everyone’s thing,” he plucks the egg from your grasp, where it was still pressed gently to your chest, “I’ll show you later. Just say ‘yes’ so we don’t have to fight in front of the baby.”

“Fine, fine, but you’re gonna have to do it yourself, ‘cuz I don’t know who James Hetfield is,” you lean forward, resting your cheek on the table, “And you’re gonna show me what? Metallica?”

“Hell yeah,” he says it like you should already know the answer, “you’re missing out, sweetheart.”

“You’re nuts, Munson.”

If he were just a little more comfortable, he’d call you nuts. But Chrissy is burning a hole into the side of his head and even if he doesn’t feel that close to you, she’s his friend (even if it’s secret) and he doesn’t like hurting his friends. So he lets it slide and passes you the egg with the promise to retrieve a couple googly eyes and a hot glue gun.

He makes you glue the eyes on, not that you really trusted Eddie Munson with such a task - he might actually try gluing his hair on if you did.

But you can feel it - his eyes on you. Not your hands, but your face; your tongue between your teeth - a habit for when you’re trying to focus. 

“Why’re you staring, Munson? Last I checked, I’m not the one who reeks of cigarettes,” your eyes draw to his and you grin sardonically, “Gross, by the way.”

Eddie’s twirling a piece of hair in front of his mouth but you can see the way his lips are pulled high - the way his eyes crinkle with the tellings of a smile, “Your teeth are sharp.”

“Huh?” you rear back, laughing half in earnest and half in shock.

“Your canines,” he nudges his head towards yours, “they’re sharp.”

“Yeah, they’re canines! Obviously, they’re gonna be sharp.”

“But they’re sharp like mine,” he lowers his hair and opens his mouth as if you would inspect his teeth, “Two freaks with stupidly sharp canine teeth.”

A couple of people stare following your outburst, but you can’t bring yourself to care much. Not when Eddie’s hunched over, brows scrunched and tongue out in concentration as he now tries coloring the egg in black marker like it’s wearing clothes.

“You should probably take it home,” Eddie hands you the egg and you reach into the pile of yarn he’d gotten for hair, “I don’t trust myself to not lose it.”

“Sure,” you’re a little surprised at how down-to-earth Eddie seems, considering what all your peers had said about him, “and then switch off between classes? Just so one person isn’t doing all the work.”

Clearing a spot on the table, Eddie lays his head down and nods, “I’m fuckin’ exhausted already.”

He’s right. It’s a little too peaceful. Nothing like your usual crowd (not that you’re all too enamored with the loudmouths of your usual crowd).

“I think you should take the egg during lunch no matter what, though,” you hiss when some hot glue touches the pad of your finger and that sends Eddie sitting straight up, “My table’s riddled with jocks, so I think he’ll survive at yours. Just try not to step on him during your table rants.”

“That was only three times,” he huffs jokingly before taking the hand you burned, “Lemme see.”

“It’s fine,” you’re almost tempted to rip your hand away, but more than that - you want him to keep it. His palm is warm and, despite the calluses, feels nice against yours. Weird. 

“Just don’t want our princess hurt,” he releases your hand, “Looks fine. Shouldn’t scar.”

“Yeah, I figure,” the bell rings and you shoot up from your seat, “Uh, sorry- do you mind taking him now? My next hour is taken up by cheer practice.”

“Thought you guys practiced after school,” he’s whining but he holds his hand out for the egg anyway.

“It’s either more practice or regular gym and the regular gym coach scares me.”

Eddie hates to admit it, but the golden girl, golden cheerleader, golden little smile you shoot him would’ve made him agree no matter what.

TUESDAY

“Fiskle is a good partner,” Gareth, weirdly enough, isn’t complaining about a project as he speaks to the lunch table, “Said she’d take care of the egg the whole time, I just have to write up the presentation.”

“I’m not looking forward to taking care of an egg,” Dustin shakes his head, “Sounds nerve-wracking and boring at the same time.”

“It is,” Gareth nudges his head towards the head of their lunch table - to a suspiciously silent DM, “Eddie got paired with the psycho cheerleader.” 

Mike and Dustin glance at each other, confused, then turn to stare at the cheerleaders. 

“Oh, shit,” Jeff laughs at the freshmen, “you guys don’t know.”

“Know what?” Mike tosses up his hands, a brow quirked, “They all look normal.”

“Bland, even,” Dustin agrees.

“People don’t even talk about it that much,” Grant takes a glance at you from his peripheral.

“But why shouldn’t they?” Gareth’s eyes narrow, “‘Cuz why does she get to go around like that and it’s all good, but we just like a game and we’re nutbag cultists?”

“Well, what the fuck happened?” Mike throws a fry at Gareth, “Stop stalling ‘n’ tell us.”

Eddie sighs, loud and heavy, and finally looks up from your shared egg. He can see a smudge of glittery pink pen over the face, and he hates how it makes him think of you. And he hates that every time he thinks of you, he has to justify it - only to himself and only because he isn’t big enough to admit that he finds a cheerleader pretty. Still.

“You want to know the tale of the nutso cheerleader, young paladin?” Eddie looks at Mike, then Dustin, “It’s a harrowing story, not for the faint of heart. Or children.”

“Get on with it,” Mike jeers, throwing yet another fry.

“Get on with it,” Chrissy teases, pinching your arm, “You’re so adorable when you lie to yourself.”

“Shut up,” you huff, “I’m serious, though. Sure, Munson’s not that bad, but it isn’t like we’re gonna be friends.”

She sets you with a pointed look, “It’s totally possible, though.”

“As if.”

“Well, I think it’s for sure,” Chrissy’s eyes fly past you and an impish grin raises to her lips, “His little minions are staring at you pretty hardcore.”

If you hadn’t turned - oh, if only you hadn’t turned - then nobody else would’ve noticed. Andy wouldn’t have noticed and turned to Patrick who turned to Jason Carver.

Jason is Jason and Jason is an asshole, so he stands from his seat and squares his shoulders like he’s really about to fight a pair of freshmen just for looking at cheerleaders. You wouldn’t put it past him, though.

“Jason,” Chrissy whispers, “c’mon, don’t.”

But Jason doesn’t listen well, “What’re you freaks staring at?!”

Immediately, Mike and Dustin go pale - snapping their bodies back into their original position. Eddie’s hands settle on the table, ready to stand.

You reach out and grab Jason by the sleeve, “It’s not a big deal, Carver, just leave them be. They’re kids.”

“They’re old enough to know staring isn’t polite,” Jason’s loud enough for them to hear and you hate seeing how the boys flinch, “If I didn’t know better, I’d think they’re planning something.”

“They’re- “ you groan and stand, pushing Jason back by the chest, “It’s fine, Jason. Seriously. Leave them alone. Please.”

Jason is an ass, but he always thinks he’s doing what’s right. Sees himself as a knight in shining armor - little does he know, all the joints are rusting and everyone cowers under his fist. His brows draw and he frowns, “What if they hurt you?”

“They’re kids,” you toss up your hands in exasperation, “I’m fine, Jason. You’re just making a scene.”

Chrissy stands as well, her lithe hands settlinh on her boyfriend’s shoulders, “Yeah, just sit back down and enjoy lunch, okay? They didn’t mean anything by it.”

Jason waits. One second. Five seconds. Ten uncomfortable seconds pass before he relents and takes his seat at the table. You watch Eddie settle back into his seat and you don’t get the same opportunity before the bell suddenly rings.

Hellfire files out of the cafeteria quicker than usual and you can assume why. Jason is hot on their tale, Chrissy hot on his. You meet Eddie at his table and wave. 

He takes up his bag and holds out your egg, “Thank you, sweet princess, for extending your neck in the name of a couple freaks.”

You roll your eyes at his sarcastic tone, “Yeah, okay. I think more people should.”

He agrees. He’s only unwilling to thank you sincerely because while he does appreciate it - it’s what you should do, right? Yes, it’s kind, but there’s that undeniable part of him that grows increasingly bitter about how only Chrissy stood up with you. But it’s easier to play up the part of the freak than be vulnerable with someone like you (a stranger, a cheerleader - same difference).

“Wow, you’re a regular Josie, aren’t you?”

You tense and his eyes anxiously fly to your face, but you’re smiling. Big and bright as you hold the egg carefully.

“You good?” he tilts his head, smile nothing if not mocking.

“Sorry, I’m just…” you giggle, fit with nerves and insecurity, “I loved Josie and the Pussycats - I hated that it ended.”

“Aw,” he pouts and the two of you finally exit the cafeteria, “that must’ve been tragic for you.”

“It was. My little 3-year-old self couldn’t get out of bed. And then when I got older and rewatched it, I was just as inconsolable.”

“Oh? And when’s the last time you watched Ms. Josie and her rock band of the ages?”

“Last week.”

You like his laugh. And his smile. It’s sweeter than what the jocks pull - a whole lot sweeter.

The minute bell rings and Eddie decides to swallow his pride - a consolation prize for Josie and the Pussycats ending.

“Thanks again, I really didn’t feel like getting my ass suspended defending those little shits,” Eddie scratches the side of his nose.

You shrug off the gratitude, “‘s no big deal, Eddie,” he hates the giddy in his chest when his name flows from your mouth, “It’s fine, honestly. You know, everyone thinks I’m, like, some superficial bitch. Or whatever.”

Eddie smiles, cat-that-ate-the-canary and snarky, “Yeah.”

“Oh my God,” you grab his arm and gasp, “I thought you were against the system!”

“I am!” a spark flutters through the arm you’re holding, even under the leather jacket, “Until it proves me right.”

You huff and grin and wave him off. Your cheer skirt flutters as you turn and walk down the hall, but your voice echoes through the walls, 

“Dick!”

The bell for class to begin shrills and Eddie just watches you go. He’s ashamed of falling into the stereotype - but then again, he’s a super senior that deals drugs, so that isn’t actually new, is it?

WEDNESDAY

Five minutes. You’re trying not to freak out. You’re five minutes late. 

Sorry, Chrissy mouths, frowning.

Five minutes ago, you were supposed to meet Eddie at his van so you could take your egg home, and cheer practice was nowhere near done. Despite being captain, Chrissy didn’t really call the shots of when to end practice and you can’t blame her.

None of the girls notice you’re anxiously glancing at the clock every other second, and honestly, if they did, you doubt they would care.

Then, the doors slam open - each girl jumps and attention snaps to the jingling chains and clanking rings that storm through. A circus of boos ring around the gym and Chelsea Rivers even throws a pom-pom at poor Eddie.

But in true Munson fashion, he catches it with the hand not holding your egg and holds it above his head - muttering as if in prayer and tossing it back.

“What’d you do, freak?” Chelsea jumps away from the pom-pom, it tumbles and the tassels just barely brush her sneaker.

“Just some casual demonic ritual, don’t worry about it!” he cheers, blowing a kiss when Chelsea kicks the pom-pom away.

“He’s fucking with you,” you pick up the pom-pom and hand it to Chelsea, then calling to the rest of the squad, “Chill out, girls, he’s here for me!”

Eddie kneels as you approach, presenting the egg as though it’s a prize on a game show.

“Thanks,” you wring your hands, “Uh, practice should be over soon, but I totally get it if you just wanna leave the egg here ‘n’ go.”

“No, no,” he holds the egg to his chest when you try to grab it and sits back on the bleachers, “I will be patient and celebratory of your cheer duties, as I should be.”

“If you insist,” you bow and that’s how you know you’re starting to spend a little too much time with Eddie for the sake of a project, “then I guess I just have to give a proper show.”

Eddie’s loud as he watches you all. Every stunt - back handspring, round-off, pike, tumble - no matter how repeated, earns you a ‘woo!’ and banging on the bleacher. 

“Eddie,” you wave him off, grinning, “Seriously, you’re being distracting.”

“I’m being supportive,” he points to where the egg is now nestled on his bundled-up leather jacket beside him, “Now stop whining and be the mom he can be proud of.”

You flip him off and he gasps, covering the egg’s googly eyes.

Chelsea leans close and while Eddie can’t hear her whispers, he already knows what she’s saying. He’s been down this road and it always leads to the same dead end. She moves away, eyes flickering between you and Eddie and he can’t help but groan.

You pull back from Chelsea, eyes narrowed, “Huh?”

“I said,” she crosses her arms, “is he making you uncomfortable?”

If it were Jason here for Chrissy, nobody would be saying anything. And you’re perplexed until you remember who Eddie is to these people, and you don’t understand how they can think that until you remember you used to believe it, too. Maybe not to the full extent they do, but it isn’t like you ever approached him in the halls.

You were even initially mortified to be working with him, and now you’re giggling at his jests.

Eddie stands and you watch him until you can find your muscles again. You rush to him without responding to Chelsea and you can hear the questions that the other girls are raising behind you.

Maybe if people see how much you actually enjoy being his project partner, they’ll get over themselves.

But the most cynical part of you doubts it.

“Hey,” your hand wraps around his, your lips tugged in a frown and Eddie has to look away lest he be tempted to fix it, “you don’t have to go, y’know?”

The way you’re pouting at him is dangerous. It reminds him of sick, twisted feelings. Reminds him of the stereotype he is - where the freak falls for the cheerleader that’s nice to him. Reminds him of just how badly he wants to kiss you under the bleachers he hides under during pep rallies (‘cuz of course, who wouldn’t? You’re a cheerleader. A gorgeous, competent, kind cheerleader).

It’s dangerous because it’s unreal and it makes him overthink. If he can’t do so much as get the girl, how will any of his other dreams come to fruition?

So Eddie just laughs, “I’m not very welcomed.”

“Well, what if I want you here?” you look down at your white sneakers while he stares - wide-eyed and sweet - at you, “Hate to admit it, Munson, but maybe your hollering is good for something.”

“In that case…” he glances at the lone egg on the bleachers, to your squad, to you. You, sweet and smart and so, so unattainable, “if I must be a cheerleader’s cheerleader, then how could I ever refuse?”

THURSDAY

Ms. Vic’s sixth hour Home Ec. class has gotten more interesting since Eddie’s been your seat partner. 

“Not a single dick on this desk,” Eddie ‘tsk’s and shakes his head, “Shameful. What the hell do you and Cunningham even do over here?”

“We talk, like friends do,” you rub a thumb over the smooth shell of the egg as Ms. Vic passes out a packet to each pair, “Is that what you and Gareth do? Draw dicks all over the table like children?”

Eddie hums and leans over as if to check, “Yep. And demons. Sometimes both at once.”

“Dick demons?”

There’s a lull as Ms. Vic comes by to set down your team’s packet.

When she’s gone, Eddie nods curtly, “Demons’ dicks.”

“Gross,” you open the packet.

It seems straightforward. One column for mishaps. One for cracks. One for shatters.

Obviously your egg hasn’t shattered.

“Check for cracks, please?” you pass the egg to Eddie.

“Just mark whatever you want, it’s not like she’s actually looking at it.”

“No way, if we don’t properly do this and then later she catches us in a lie, we’re…” you shake your head and wave your hands about, “It’s just not gonna happen. I’m not lying on an assignment, Eddie. Now stop whining and inspect the egg.”

“Fine, here you go, sweetheart,” he makes a show of himself, what else is new? He hums and nods and ‘ooh’s and ‘ahh’s, “Yeah, we’re clear.”

“Har, har,” you take the egg to double-check it.

“Oh my God, do you distrust me that much?”

“Yeah.”

“Cold-blooded!” Eddie rocks his head back, “How could you, sweet princess?”

“Easily.”

Gareth watches in terror, only because he’s known Eddie for a long, long time. He’s seen Eddie get crushes and he can tell that the crush he had on you last year is striking again at full force. He’s seen the way light dies a little in Eddie’s eyes when he sees the guys you hang out with - not out of jealousy, but realization. Eddie always gets his hopes up and then remembers how different you two are. How different your circles are. He’s seen the more bold girls come and fuck with Eddie for free weed, and he’s seen how it hurts the poor bastard (not that said poor bastard would ever admit it).

Chrissy, meanwhile, watches in glee because she can see how much you’re enjoying yourself. She likes that you’ve made another friend - an actual friend - outside the circle jerk of jocks and preps. A friend who isn’t judging you for being the “psycho cheerleader”.

FRIDAY

A regional cheer competition was the talk of Hawkins High. Until seventh period, the cheer squad was gone and everyone who actually cared about where they were was overcome with concerns about if they would win. Hawkins had a reputation of flailing last minute when it came to stuff like this and Coach G was increasingly - visibly - sick of it.

Hellfire never cared for that, or at least they didn’t until Eddie was just staring at the jocks’ lunch table for something other than trying to rile them up.

Eddie finds it unrelentingly bizarre how miserable he feels. He hates the ball of muck and tar that’s collected in his chest - sticky and thick and aching. He knows you’ll be back by the end of the day, but that doesn’t mean his stupid heart doesn’t clench at your current absence any less.

Stupid, stupid, stupid…

The other guys have noticed it, too. The table is quieter than usual because nobody’s prodding Eddie and he isn’t leaping for interaction either. It’s weird.

Eddie’s not dumb, though. He knows why he misses you. He knows why it stings to see a you-sized gaping hole at the table.

Gareth knows, too, and that only makes him more nervous.

SATURDAY

“I brought the egg,” you pull the fragile thing from your shirt’s front pocket, “Figured you’d wanna see your son.”

“Aren’t you adorable,” Eddie pushes open his trailer door and takes the egg, “Thanks, Mama.”

“Don’t call me that,” you’re hot in the face and your giggle is nervous. You aren’t dumb enough to not know that he’s why.

“Aw, why?” he leans in close, lips wide and teeth on display.

“‘s intimate,” you whisper it like it’ll burn you to be uttered.

“You’re precious,” Eddie nudges his head further into the trailer, “My room’s down here.”

You see a familiar body in the kitchen of the trailer, though; making coffee for his thermos before heading off to a grueling shift at work.

“Hey, Mr. Wayne!”

He turns and waves and that’s enough from such a naturally stoic guy, “Just Wayne, girl, you know that.”

“Didn’t know you two were friends,” Eddie holds open his bedroom door for you, eyes fluttering between you and his uncle, “How’d you meet?”

“We’re not friends,” you shrug, “And we just see each other for volunteer work: cleaning up waste ‘n’ stuff. He usually gets stuck with Chrissy and I because he doesn’t bother getting into other teams and nobody likes working with teenagers.”

“Just when I thought you couldn’t get sweeter.”

Your eyes trail after Eddie as he hurriedly picks up scattered items on his floor. His shirt rises from time to time. Sometimes there’s a peek of the course, dark hair on his tummy that leads to his jeans and sometimes there’s a view of his boxers. You just try to be respectful - eyes slamming to the clock he keeps on his nightstand, then the handcuffs right by his bed.

“Volunteer work is, like, completely mandatory for the cheer squad, Eds.”

He shrugs and pretends his heart didn’t clench at the precious nickname on your tongue, “But you could volunteer anywhere, and you choose waste cleanup.”

“It’s not even that big a deal, we aren’t even doing actual work with the waste, we clean up the aftermath of other cleanups. We’re the just-in-case crew.”

“Still,” he insists, “so cute, I could eat you up.”

“Shush, hush,” you swat at Eddie and step over a twisted, tossed shirt left behind in his bedroom’s doorway, “Anyway, handcuffs?”

Eddie immediately grabs the cuffs and throws them into his overstuffed laundry basket, “You’re delusional. You never saw any handcuffs.”

“I think that’s manipulation,” you pluck the egg from his hands and look around the room. It’s still messy, but you don’t think any other room would fit Eddie, and you don’t think you’d want to be in any room that wasn’t Eddie’s.

Then you see it. Right on his desk. Next to the ashtray and dust-ridden sunglasses that look two-sizes too small for his head.

“Uhh,” you pick up the small blue box and shake it by your head, “had big plans for tonight, Munson?”

Eddie’s eyes are wide at the box of condoms in your hand. You can see endless possibilities in those baby browns - actions, words, every response he has planned. Irreverent denial, acceptance, laughter, joking insistence. But eventually, he settles to square his jaw and his eyes are back to usual.

He nods curtly and folds his arms, “Yes, princess, I brought you to my trailer after saying we should go to your house and then intentionally parade myself for an ass kicking by hooking up with the state’s golden girl.”

“I am not the state’s golden girl,” your nervous breakdown last year soiled such a title for the rest of your life.

“And why not?”

“As if you don’t know what happened.”

He does but he keeps quiet. Shrugs. Throws himself onto his bed and smiles when you kneel on the mattress next to him.

“Who cares? ‘s not like anybody important even talks about it.”

He’s instantly smacked with guilt, but then again, he’s nobody important - not at all. Not until you’re giggling at him.

“Yeah, whatever,” you lay the egg in your lap and watch it tilt, rock, then balance, “Imagine if this was a real baby, it would not be this well off.”

“I dunno, I’d think baby Munson would love watching you practice your, uh,” he blinks up at the ceiling and waves his arms out wide with flair, loose and flimsy, “jumps and kicks.”

“I think baby Munson would get used for football practice by Jason ‘n’ his goons,” you turn to Eddie as he smiles and it brings one out of you, too. You raise a hand and make it look like you’re palming a football, “His soft spot would look gnarly as hell, though.”

You like the way Eddie laughs at your jokes. Your jokes usually fall flat with your friends. 

You once heard that in order to find someone funny, you first have to find them smart enough to be capable of making a joke. And if Eddie’s enjoying himself this much at a simple jab, then he must think you’re some kind of Einstein. Or perhaps he’s just that willing to freely enjoy himself.

Either way, you like it.

SUNDAY

You know that feeling you get when you’re walking up to a group of people and they instantly stop talking, and you know they were talking about you? 

What’s worse than that?

When they don’t see you coming and don’t stop talking.

You can see it in their faces that you weren’t supposed to hear what they were saying, but they shouldn’t have been saying it in the first place.

In a handful of measly minutes, the week leading up to now was smashed and you can only watch Eddie’s cheeks flush in embarrassment. Then it drops into realization.

A handful of minutes ago, you were first walking into Eddie’s trailer to finish up the presentation you two started yesterday. The door was unlocked and you could hear him and his friends in his room - the door was cracked just enough for you to hear them when you got close. Before you get to open the door, you hear your name.

You freeze and the hum of Eddie’s guitar pauses.

“What?”

“I’m just saying,” Gareth tenses, looking between Eddie to Mike and Dustin, “you need to back off your partner,” when all Eddie does is stare like he’d heard the date of his own death, Gareth continues, “I get it, you know, she’s nice and all but come on… you know better than that. She’s a walking hazard sign.”

Eddie looks over to Dustin and Mike - for assurance, support, affirmation, he isn’t completely sure - and they only look away.

Gareth puts up three fingers, “She’s a cheerleader, it’d never work out, your social standings are way too different,” his ring finger goes down, “Even if it did work, you’ll get your ass beat by her family, like, every Tuesday,” his index finger goes down and he’s flipping Eddie off, “She’s completely mental.”

Eddie immediately snaps to attention, body rigid and stiff and hands frozen on his guitar, “She is not mental, Emerson.”

Mike butts in, “I mean… you guys don’t call her the psycho cheerleader for nothing.”

Dustin shrugs, “Not the most intense freakout, but… with all things considered, I don’t know, Eddie.”

He doesn’t know you’re there - silently begging for backup. So he sits back and bites his lip, “Whatever. Fuck you guys.”

Silent defeat.

Silent admission.

His bedroom door creaks as it opens and each head whips around to face you. Egg and papers in one hand, the other wrapped loosely around the knob.

You look defeated, sound defeated, “You what?” your eyes fall to your white sneakers and suddenly the room is just a little too hot, a little too stuffy. Your throat swollen and eyes burning, “I didn’t even think you guys cared about that sort of thing…”

Wasn’t their whole deal about the system being bullshit? 

You could understand when Eddie thought you were like the other cheerleaders before you two actually met, but now it was different. He was still actively using a name that burned you when you thought that you two might actually be able to be friends. Maybe more.

You hate that you ever hoped for more.

You hate that you already miss him.

You kick at the floor of Eddie’s cluttered room, “None of the other cheerleaders even call me that. But yeah, they’re two-faced.”

None of them can gather the courage to so much as look at you, even Eddie - who you thought prided himself on being big and loud and unafraid.

You roll your eyes just to hide the disappointment and tears and you’re trying so hard to sound stern, but there’s no way to keep your voice from shaking, “Here’s the egg. Do the final yourself, and if we fail - it’s your ass, Munson… Might go fuckin’ crazy on you or some shit,” you sniffle and laugh dryly, walking away.

Eddie suddenly finds himself and stands just as he hears you mutter a borderline acidic “stupid dick”.

Not that he can even blame you for saying it. He’s dug his grave and when you’re already driving away and he remembers he doesn’t know where you live - he knows that he must lie in it.

His best option - his only option - is to write a good presentation and apologize like hell at school tomorrow. Maybe you’ll forgive him.

Or maybe he’s doomed.

MONDAY

Eddie managed to catch you right at your locker during zero hour.

“Do you think you can just say whatever you want, Munson?” he rears back, eyes wide. You laugh, bitter and dry and only a little teary-eyed, “You think that just because you’ve been screwed over, that gives you the right to turn your back on someone because they’re a cheerleader. You think we’re all the same and you didn’t bother defending me ‘cuz I’m just another cheerleader to you,” he opens his mouth but you put up a finger to shush him, “I bet the people here aren’t even people in your head, are they? We’re just faceless masses that you lump in with the ones that pick on your friends. It’s bullshit, Eddie.”

“And what? You’re so special because you’re what?” he shouldn’t be talking like this - he should just grit his teeth and bow his head, but you’ve struck a chord and he’s never been good at backing down, “You’re… the quiet one, right? That’s your little calling card. You’re the nice one that can smile and laugh at the freak’s jokes and that makes you better than the others.”

“I didn’t say that,” you snap.

“You didn’t have to,” Eddie’s face is stone cold and it’s more unnerving than the worst horror movie, “I’m not a fucking idiot. That’s your schtick. Your gimmick. You’re the sweet one that even the losers like because she sticks up for them, but we’re not friends, and we never would’ve been.”

He should shut up. He needs to shut up. But right now there’s a burning ball of anger and hatred and it’s all at himself and the jocks and the school that would end you if you two did become friends.

“We could’ve been friends,” you stand tall, but your voice wavers just a little. Just enough for him to know you’re insecure, “We really could’ve.”

“Your friends would eat me alive and mine would eat you,” Eddie has to look away, lest he’s swayed into begging forgiveness on his knees at the sight of your crestfallen face, “It’s better like this. No little cheerleader has to get hurt, and I’m just a good memory with a bad ending. That’s how it would’ve gone anyway, now we’re just skipping to the finale of a John Hughes’ movie.”

Chrissy doesn’t recognize the boy in front of her. This isn’t the Eddie that always made her feel safe. This isn’t the Eddie that was always going to be a friend after high school was done. This isn’t the Eddie she’s proud to know.

“Fine,” you shake your head. There’s something inside you that’s screaming - shouting that this is wrong. Your Eddie wouldn’t say this. He isn’t like this, “Do you really think that, or are you just being pissy?”

“We both know I’m just being pissy,” he’s quiet. It’s odd. You hate it.

Chrissy shakes her head and tugs on your arm, “C’mon, we’re gonna be late.”

If you two leave now, you’ll actually be two minutes early, but you have no idea how to carry on and you’re sure Eddie doesn’t either. So you leave with nothing more than a “Talk to me when you get your head out of your ass, Munson.”, and he doesn’t follow.

It’s like that for the rest of the day, too. Between classes, when you’re meant to be trading the egg - he initially tried not taking it, but it hadn’t worked. Not at all.

With Chrissy, concerned and tender, you’d leave. One arm looped with your cheer captain’s and the other carefully carrying your egg. And when he returns the egg, it’s nothing different.

Only when you’re sat by each other during sixth period Home Economics does he finally get the chance to speak.

“Alright, yeah, I know,” Eddie sighs and reaches into his metal lunchbox and pulls out two slightly torn pieces of loose leaf, “I fucked up, sweets. I know. I’m sorry, really, I’m sorry. What can I do? Just say the word and I’ll do it - whatever you want.”

You take one of the papers he holds and wrinkle your nose at the resounding stench of weed, “Do you keep drugs in there or something, Munson?”

Without hesitation, he nods, “Yeah. I thought you knew.”

“I didn’t think you carried it to class!”

“Never know when an emergency will strike.”

You hate the grin that wants to creep over your face, “You’re an idiot, Edward.”

He grimaces, shaking his head so theatrically, his hair flutters around his shoulders, “I’ll literally let you stab me if you just never call me Edward again.”

“So dramatic,” you swat the boy in the arm and shrug, “And maybe I’ll forgive you, if we ace this presentation,” you hold up your paper and shake it about.

“Then thank God I’m the one who wrote it,” he grumbles.

“I believe in you, Eds,” you punch his shoulder and watch his chest puff up - big and proud.

It deflates as soon as your names are called. Ms. Vic gestures to the floor beside her desk and smiles - kindly and ignorant to the teenage angst festering between you and Eddie.

You clutch the presentation - lips pressed and hands clammy. There’s a burning, aching that lies on your heart - guts entwining and sweat breaking over your skin. Sure, you’re a cheerleader and sure, you’re technically popular, but in no way do you actually enjoy being around throngs of people.

You put up with the pep rallies and the games and the parties and the crowded lunch tables because that’s what’s best for your image. And that’s what’s best for Chrissy’s image. And Chrissy is your best friend and you just want her to be happy and you don’t want her to be stuck with you like you’re stuck in these situations.

Eyes scorch at you and you realize how long you’ve been stalling. God, they must all think you’re a freak. Your knees strike straight and you think you can feel your lunch coming up.

“Uh- “ you clear your throat, shake your head, anything to just rid yourself of this feeling, “The- so…”

Air is short and thin and there’s an overwhelming need to run. You’ve felt like this before. You know it. You deeply know it.

You’ve felt it many times - before every rally and game and party and in front of every single crowd - but only one time has it been this severe.

Last year - second semester, fourth quarter, Mr. Perry’s first hour U.S History class. The second week until the end of school, your parents took you out of Hawkins for a family emergency and just your luck - an exam was taken that day. An exam you couldn’t make up no matter how much you begged and an exam that dropped your A to a C.

When you earned the title of school psycho for flipping your lid on Mr. Perry on the last day of your junior year because you got a C+.

But nobody understood, they really didn’t. It was more. It was different. It was so, so different.

And now you’re practically hyperventilating in front of your classmates and now it isn’t even about the stupid fucking presentation. It’s about knowing that tomorrow you’re gonna get those weird stares and miserable glances. It’s about knowing that no matter what you do and no matter how hard you try - you’ll always be nothing more than Chrissy’s neurotic best friend prone to a nervous breakdown at the slightest sign of danger.

It’s about knowing that Eddie will call you crazy with his stupid friends at his stupid lunch table with his stupid smile and those stupid laughs. 

Ms. Vic leans around to see your eyes clenching shut, head turning down, but before she can - Eddie takes a rather obnoxiously large step in front of you.

He beams at Ms. Vic, hands flying to your shoulders, “A moment.”

She nudges her head towards the classroom door and calls the next group.

Once in the hall, you’ve let the tears fall. You’re crumpling the paper in your hand and nearly wailing, “Oh my God, I- I’m so sorry, Eddie.”

Eddie squats down so your downturned gaze is forced to lock with his, “Hey, no,” his hands find yours and he squeezes, rings biting at your palm, “it’s alright. You froze up, so what?”

“I could feel them staring at me,” you sniffle and whimper and hiccup, “I don’t wanna go back in there, I can’t look at them. I can’t do this, Eddie. I fucking hate this.”

This overwhelming dread whenever you’re faced with too many faces and too much judgment. This need to cry and hide and run like a child when you’re overwhelmed. This painful, exhausting, languishing need for people to just like you and be proud that they know you. 

“Goddammit,” you rip your hands away and cover your eyes with your arms, “I wanna go home.”

Eddie waits a moment and you’re convinced he left. He’s better off that way; delivering the presentation alone so that Hawkins’ local nutjob can’t fuck up his last chance to graduate. Then you feel a hand on your cheek, tender and affectionate.

“Wanna look at me, sweets?” you shake your head and keep your eyes down, “Alright, hey, don’t worry about them, baby, you got this. You’re a rockstar here, remember?” your brows furrow and you purse your lips, “Don’t let a couple dorks with eggs stop you from killing this presentation.”

“We’re dorks with an egg,” you mutter. You look away, “Do you think I’m crazy? Like your friends do.”

“No,” he shakes his head, then remembers last night, then gently brushes his thumb over your cheek, “I mean, sure, I dunno anybody else who explodes on teachers or anything, but you’re not crazy. You just do crazy shit sometimes, sweetpea, ‘s totally different. Not even that crazy, just a little odd, maybe.”

You shoot him a disbelieving stare.

“Really, honey, you’re completely fine. Got some cold feet, that’s all. We just go back in there and kick ass, right?”

“It’s gonna be so fucking weird, Eds.”

“Just don’t let it be,” he stands and you hold your head up this time, still clutching the presentation he wrote last night, “Really, I didn’t stay up all last night writing this just for my pretty partner to not read it.”

“Fine,” you jam the toe of your sneaker into the linoleum floor, “Okay. Fine.”

Eddie holds his arms out, “Hug, for my brave knightly duties?”

“Hug,” you meet him in the middle and squeeze your arms around his waist, Eddie’s arms looping around your neck - his lips dangerously close to your forehead, “Thanks, Eds.”

“Don’t mention it.”

You two return inside and Ms. Vic moves aside for you. She mouths a quick ‘are you okay?’ and no, no you aren’t, but you nod and swallow the marble in your throat all the same.

“Hi,” you do your best to appeal to the people who would throw you overboard for a misplaced giggle, “sorry.”

Your eyes flutter to Eddie and he winks. You take his hand and he squeezes yours - a loving three times. 

You keep your eyes on the paper, brows furrowing, “‘We decided to model our egg after James Hetfield, the lead singer of Metallica, and that made it all the more important that we don’t crack it’?” you shoot a quizzical look to Eddie, who only nods excitedly, “‘Our main method of egg-watching was to switch between the two of us during each passing period. That way we could both get the real experience of this project and wouldn’t let one person burden the other.”

Some of Eddie’s words don’t quite make sense where they are. Some of his wording is simply too clunky. A lot of it - most of it, in fact, is misspelled. But you’re slowly forgetting that this is being delivered to a room of other people, and you’re having fun. Weirdly enough.

You’ve had a lot of fun, actually.

Maybe forgiving Eddie won’t be quite as hard as you originally thought. 

Chrissy, as usual, cheers you on the loudest. She cups her hands so her clapping can be heard over the mild applause of everyone else - including Ms. Vic’s. Gareth gives you a thumbs up and you start to think that maybe in another universe, this is the final stretch of a cheesy coming of age movie. Written and directed by John Hughes.

Eddie releases your hand and part of you is terribly embarrassed over how much you miss the warmth of his palm on yours.

You two wander back to your seats as Gareth and Sally are called to present. You feel bad for tuning them out, but it’s forgotten in the way sunshine flits through the window and lays kisses to Eddie’s profile.

He grins suddenly, his eyes catching yours and you look away. There’s a chuckle in his throat and you feel his fingers loop with yours once again. You find the courage to stare at him again and he hasn’t looked away from you yet.

You don’t know where this puts you and Eddie, but you do know that tomorrow shouldn't be boring. No day following today will be boring with Eddie Munson.

There’s stars in his eyes as he watches you. His pretty lips whisper, “Wanna go out?”

You squeeze his hand and nod, earnestly bashful.

Because yeah, maybe going out with Eddie Munson will be a form of social suicide, but it isn’t like your standing was all that great in the first place. Besides, you had more fun this week in the sparse moments with Eddie - and your stupid James Hetfield egg - than you think you’ve ever had at Hawkins before.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson #stranger things x you #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #stranger things #eddie.🍓

[villain-school]

Chapter 3: Old Friends, New News

An old friend visits Proton, but she's unaware of his current situation...

(crossposted from ao3!)

--

It had been a few days since Caesar joined Proton and Switch’s friend group. They had all quickly gotten acquainted with each other, and now they were hanging out at the local mall’s food court.

“So, Caesar, I gotta ask,” started Switch. “What’s it like being the son of two super-famous villains? I mean, your parents are the Rogue and Maelstrom, right? That must be insane!”

Caesar shrugged at the question. “I mean… To me, they’re just my mom and dad. Sure, we have a bit of fame and more money than a lot of people, but…other than that, I have a pretty normal home life. I guess sometimes they get a little busy, being professional villains and all, but they make time for me still.” He gestured back to Switch. “What about you? You’re…interesting, to say the least.”

Switch sat up a bit. “Oh, me? Well, both my moms are scientists, and I wanna be just like them when I grow up! They actually created me in a lab all by themselves!”

That sent a shock through both Caesar and Proton, their jaws dropping.

Proton was the first to address it. “Switch, you’re a test tube baby?!”

Switch simply giggled and winked. “Yeah! Hehe!”

Proton rubbed his neck. “I mean… I guess that checks out, now that I think about it…”

“Proton?”

A voice from behind Proton caught his attention. He swore he recognized it. Wait, could it be…?

He turned around, confirming his suspicions. Standing a little ways away was a girl about their age–she wore fairly neutral clothing, including a pair of glasses and a hijab. Proton knew exactly who this was, and he lit up visibly. “No way! Winnie?”

Winnie smiled as Proton made his way over to her, and they hugged.

“It’s so good to see you!” Proton said excitedly. “I haven’t seen you since sixth grade! How have you been?”

Winnie smiled as they stepped away from each other. “Oh, you know! Just fine. I’m in town for the weekend. I’ve missed you since you moved! How have things been with you? I heard you finally started hero school!”

Proton suddenly seemed a little awkward at that, but he played it off.

“Uh… Yeah, haha! In fact, I want you to meet a couple friends I made there!” He turned around and gestured to his friends at the table. “Winnie, this is Caesar and Switch.”

Caesar nodded to her. “Hello.”

Switch gave an enthusiastic wave. “Hidey!”

Proton was very happy to introduce his old friend. “Guys, this is Winnie! She’s my childhood best friend. She moved away when we were in sixth grade, but we’ve been talking online ever since to keep in touch.”

Winnie waved back to them. “Hi there! Proton says you’re his hero school friends? What’s it like there?”

Caesar and Switch exchanged glances, and Caesar was the first to speak up. “... Uh…”

Switch chose to hold up his finger to correct her. “Well, actually–”

“Uh, hey, Switch, weren’t you working on something cool?” Proton interrupted quickly. “Why don’t you show Winnie?” He turned to Winnie. “He’s sort of a scientist.”

Winnie seemed interested. “Oh, cool.”

Switch blinked, suddenly remembering his project. “Oh, right! Thanks for reminding me!”

… He then proceeded to pull an actual for real bomb out of his pocket. It looked pretty haphazardly thrown together with mismatched parts here and there, but it also looked very functional.

“I actually built this bomb with things I found lying around the house,” he explained. “I need to go test it out before it expires. Time to find a toilet to blow up!”

As he got up and ran off to find a restroom, everyone else watched in confusion. Proton looked more horrified than confused, though…

Winnie also looked a bit concerned. “Uh… Is he going to blow up the bathroom?”

Proton tried to save face. “Don’t worry, he’s just joking! He’s the, uh, local prankster. It’s not actually a real bomb.” He hesitated. “It’s uh…a bath bomb?”

Winnie didn’t necessarily buy that completely. “It looked pretty mechanical for a bath bomb…”

Proton grimaced a little. “He’s…creative. A-anyway, why don’t I get us some snacks? I’ll be right back!” And with that, he hurriedly made his way to another part of the food court to get something to share with everyone. Maybe he could just avoid talking about this until Winnie wanted to leave.

Winnie took this opportunity to sit down with Caesar at the table. “So, how did you and Proton meet? Do you share a hero class?”

Caesar just sighed. “Not exactly.” He decided that if Proton wasn’t going to say anything, he’d have to do it. “Winnie… I think Proton’s a little nervous to tell you what’s going on, so I guess I’ll have to be the one to break it to you.”

That only served to worry Winnie. “Why? What’s wrong with Proton?”

“Nothing’s wrong with him,” he reassured. “It’s just…he’s not actually enrolled in a hero school. In fact, it’s the opposite–he goes to a villain school. All three of us do.”

Winnie was confused by this. “Huh…? How did that happen? I swear, all he ever talked about was how he wanted to become a hero. Did something change?”

Caesar shook his head. “No, actually. He’s still planning to become a hero. For the record, so am I. We both kind of got stuck in villain school one way or another. But, trust me–he’s more determined to become a hero than anyone I’ve ever met.”

Winnie frowned just a little. “Then why would he lie about that…?”

As if on cue, Proton returned with a tray of loaded fries for the table. “I got us some cheese fries!” he announced. When he saw the look on Winnie’s face, he slowed to a stop. “Uh… Is everything okay?”

“Proton, why didn’t you tell me you were in a villain school?” Winnie asked gently. “That seems pretty important.”

Proton looked like he’d seen a ghost. Then, he sighed, deflating. “Sorry, Winnie,” he apologized. “I guess I just got nervous about what you might think.”

Winnie looked a little surprised for a moment, but then she smiled warmly. “What do you mean? You’re my best friend. Anything you do, I’ll be behind you no matter what. Plus, Caesar tells me you’re still trying to be a hero even in a school for villains. That’s amazing!”

Proton looked up from where he’d been gazing at the ground. “You think so?”

“Of course!” Winnie reassured. “Don’t ever be afraid to tell me things, okay? I got your back, even if we’re far apart!”

That made Proton smile with relief.

However, that relief was short lived, because there was suddenly a huge explosion from the restrooms off to the side. Eventually, Switch returned to their table covered in debris, giving a thumbs-up. 

“It worked awesomely!” he confirmed with satisfaction. “We should probably leave now, though.”

Proton just kind of laughed nervously at Winnie, who warily smiled back at him. Caesar just covered his face in exasperation.

–

Later at school, Switch was walking to one of his classes with a tall stack of books in his arms. He seemed to be in a hurry, but he was careful not to drop any of his haul.

Suddenly, a foot jutted out of nowhere and unfortunately tripped him, causing him to drop every single book he was holding. He fell onto the ground as well, and he sat up in confusion. It wasn’t long before he realized who had tripped him, and that it was definitely on purpose.

Above him stood Cindy Rockette, the local school bully. She was smirking down at him with her arms crossed, satisfied with the outcome of that action. Behind her stood her lackeys Lizzie Evermore and Sol Draconia, who were both giggling.

Cindy stuck up her nose at him. “Going somewhere, lab rat?”

Switch nodded. “Uh… Yeah! To class!”

Cindy rolled her eyes. “It was a rhetorical question, idiot. You’d think someone with super intelligence would know that.”

Just then, Proton suddenly stepped in to defend his friend. He looked serious. 

“Hey, back off!” he said sternly. “What’s your problem, huh?”

Cindy seemed interested to see him. “Oh, there he is–the hero kid. Come to save the day?”

Proton clenched his fists. “I’ll say it again–back off, or I won’t hesitate to shock you.”

“Oh?” Cindy lifted her head in amusement. “I’d like to see you try. C’mon, give me a little static and see what happens.”

That garnered a frown from Proton, but he decided she was giving him no other choice. This was to defend Switch!

He stuck out his hand and shot a little bit of electricity at her–it wasn’t a lot, and it was just to make her go away. However, her form was suddenly engulfed in rocks, which totally surprised Proton. She had become some sort of rock creature, and Proton’s electricity had no effect.

“Don’t you know?” she teased. “Electricity can’t hurt stone.”

“But wind can.”

Everyone looked to the side as Caesar made his entrance. He stepped between the two groups, giving Cindy and her friends a threatening look. “Stand down, or I’ll erode you away without a second thought.”

Cindy scoffed, but she returned her form back to normal. “Tch! The mighty Caesar Truth defending some nobodies? I guess you really are a loser after all.” She gestured to Proton, who was glaring. “You know Sparky here is spouting nonsense about being a hero, right? You look crazy hanging out with him.”

Caesar took in a breath, which sort of made his chest puff out. “If he’s crazy, then so am I.”

He proceeded to raise his voice just a bit so that anyone in the near vicinity would hear him. “I’m going to be a hero, too!” he announced confidently. “No matter what anyone thinks!”

Everyone around them seemed rather shocked to hear this coming from the son of Maelstrom and Rogue, but Switch and Proton only looked at him with proud smiles. Cindy didn’t really know what to make of this, but she ended up backing off finally.

“Fine,” she said lowly. “I can’t wait to see your reputation crumble to dirt.” With that, she turned and walked off with her group.

Caesar let out the breath he’d apparently been holding. He was a little nervous about what would come from his confession, but he’d made his decision, and it was final. He turned to his friends and smiled at them, and he and Proton proceeded to help Switch pick up his books.

It seemed as though a new wind was blowing through the school, and these three were the source of it.

#villain + school #ch3

[queer-and-nd-coded]

Ok so someone said that in the Rebel Robin: Surviving Hawkins podcast, Robin displays a lot of autistic signs so of course I had to go check it out. It's a really good podcast and I enjoyed every second of it and, as I went through it, I wrote down every single thing that Robin did that could be interpreted as autism.

But of course this doesn't show the whole picture and I did left out some parts that felt like autism but that I couldn't quite explain why... maybe her autistic energy is too strong and it shows on everything she does. With that said, I highly recommend that you go listen to the podcast yourself if you haven't already.

So, here follows the list:

Mr. Hauser: Please sit, make yourself at home Robin: Cool. Well, I- I- I usually sit, um… but I- Mr. Hauser: [laughing] Take any seat you want, the classroom is yours for the next 25 minutes -> I think this bit of dialogue shows her hesitancy over change/doing things differently from what she is used to, not to mention that it’s a different scenario (not a class), so should she sit where she always sits or no?

Robin: [talking about Barb] She’s not like the other kids at school, she’s… weird. Mr. Hauser: How so? Robin: I mean… nevermind. -> It could be that they were hinting at Barb’s sexuality here, since Robin’s sexuality is a big part of why she feels apart from other people, but I think, if that was really the case, she’d have said “different” instead of “weird”.

Very observant of people: “You don’t have to talk to someone to know what’s going on inside their head”, among other commentaries she makes on people like Tammy Thompson and Mr. Hauser himself, analyzing their behaviors and the meaning behind them

Talks a lot about camouflaging. How she pretends to be just the right amount of uninteresting and average to fly under the radar.

Robin: Surviving Hawkins takes a special skill set.

Robin: Barb is like me. Well, not exactly like me. She- she fits better. Probably because she knows how to survive Hawkins better than most people.

[talking about how her and Barb used to be friends in sixth grade] Mr. Hauser: That was… four years ago? Don’t you think people change? Robin: Sure people change but not who they really are, fundamentally, at their core. As much as people might try to dress up in something else. Mr. Hauser: Are you the same girl that you were in sixth grade? Robin: Of course! I’ve always been the weirdest girl in Hawkins.

To the people saying that her special interest is learning languages? Yes. And classic literature as well.

She read books that are not in the school curriculum "for fun", according to her own words

Infodumps about the books she’s read

Tells her teacher that if she can go to him to talk/share, he can do the same with her, which I interpreted as her not knowing/being aware that this isn’t really “socially acceptable” or appropriate and it’s very unlikely that her teacher will take on such a kind offer

Mr. Hauser: Talking with you is… very interesting

Robin: Languages are infinitely more interesting than pop music

It seems like she has no volume control. When she gets really passionate/emotional about what she is saying, she starts to speak louder and I don't think she notices it at all.

She also starts to speak really fast in those moments

Very strong opinions 

Robin: The way you treat people, that’s what matters -> strong sense of justice/holds being kind to other people above all else

Robin: I’m a teenage girl with no friends

Complains multiple times that Hawkins is boring/says that there is nothing to do in Hawkins -> could be a sign of her having ADHD as well

Robin: If I’m totally honest with myself, I’m scared of really, truly rebeling. And it feels like I’m close sometimes, you know? Like I’m almost someone who is unique and interesting and unafraid but the camouflage is working too well and I’ll turn into someone who never fights at all because I never decided who I wanted to be [...] -> it seems to me that here she is talking about masking and unmasking

Mr. Hauser: [...] Maybe you’ll find a place where you don’t need any armor at all

Mr. Hauser: [talking about someone named Dash] You’re friends, right? Robin: Not really…

Robin: Dash, Milton, Kate… I just sit next to them in band, that’s all.

Robin: I don’t know why things need to change all the time [...] I just wish people wouldn’t change so much

[talking about Barb] Mr. Hauser: What happened between you two? Robin: I don’t know! She was in the club with Nancy Wheeler and they started to get close and Barb just… she chose Nancy. Mr. Hauser: She cut you out? Doesn’t seem like Barbara. Robin: No, she wasn’t-... it wasn’t mean or anything, I doubt it was even intentional, it was me. I didn’t wanna be the overachiever that she wanted to be. I wanted to keep dreaming about something more and… I thought Barb did too. But I guess I just… I didn’t fit anymore. Mr. Hauser: I’m sorry. It’s hard, losing a friend. Robin: Yeah… -> here it seems to me that Robin made sense out of what happened between her and Barb the best way she could, without the knowledge of autism and how it makes it harder to make and keep friends. You need to hear it when she says "I don't know!", she sounds so distressed.

Mr. Hauser: You’re always reading something.

Mr. Hauser says her work (essays and such) is restrained. On that, he also says that she is capable of more.

Robin is learning Spanish, Italian and French all at the same time

Robin: Dante wrote in Italian originally, right? That’s the language he spoke, the language he thought in, so it feels like that’s how his story should be read. Reading the English translation, it feels like something was missing. -> just a bit of Robin talking about her special interest. Sorry, I am sort of a language geek myself and I love what she is saying here

Mr. Hauser: Reading your essays, [I] feel like reading a hazily put-together translation. Like there’s some fundamental element of the work that is not being put to the page. Robin: Like I’m holding back?

Robin: I live in two worlds

Just like she says to Nancy in the show that she has no filter, we can notice that as she talks to Mr. Hauser. At some point, she says that he’s got the same look in his face of when someone says something stupid in class and asks him if she’s said anything stupid. This both shows that she has no filter and that she’s very observant of people

On having no filter, she is (almost) always speaking what's on her mind

Mr. Hauser: Isn't it tiring to have to translate yourself to people all the time? Robin: I don’t know. I’ve gotten used to it. It’s safer [...]

It seems to me that she has trouble regulating her emotions. 

She has trouble reading social cues, yes, and trouble predicting/guessing/figuring out other people’s intentions.

At the end of episode 3, there's a reading of the first chapter of the novel, in which Steve enters the History class, says 'hey people' and everyone laughs like they're a part of a sitcom. On that, Robin comments "They know they don't have to do that in real life, right?"

Robin: [rambling about her life] All of this just feels like the Universe is trying to tell me that I am really, really not supposed to have friends

Robin: I'm not sure people my own age can relate to what I'm going through

Robin: Maybe I just can’t keep friends

Robin: Maybe I'm broken. What if there's just something about me that drives people away? [...]

In episode 4, Robin breaks down and says that she always loses her friends and in every occasion, the only common denominator was her so there must be something about her that is "rotten" 

The way she mutters the word "stupid" to herself multiple times whenever she "fails" a social interaction with Mr. Hauser

Sarcasm/irony as part of masking

Feels the need to clarify that she is talking figuratively even though it wasn't really necessary and could be understood by context

Doesn't understand when Mr. Hauser is talking through metaphors and/or using double meaning

Doesn't get why Mr. Hauser has a sad smile on his face when she describes Tammy Thompson. Also, it seems like he caught up on her feelings before she did, which could be alexithymia. 

In the last episode, the whole camouflage/armor metaphor is brought up again in order to talk about hiding one's sexuality in order to fit in/go unnoticed. I think Robin’s sexuality and her autism get mixed up when she camouflages (or masks, as you wish) because if it was all about her sexuality, she wouldn't present all those other signs of autism.

#robin buckley #autistic robin buckley #autistic headcanon #autistic coded character #stranger things #rebel robin #my posts

[ashsostrange]

y’all i got stories for days lemme tell you one rn 🧘‍♀️ it’s silly but i promise you’ve never heard anything like it before.

i’m taking forensics and ngl i never know what the hell is going on in that class! anyway, today we got assigned a group project nd tell me why i have to work with my sixth grade roblox opp. she did me sooooo bad nd i’ve been holding a grudge since 😒

so what happened was back in sixth grade, i was friends w this girl. let’s call her jamie. jamie introduced me to her cousin, otherwise known as my “roblox opp.” we’ll call her jada.

so one day me and my two other friends are playing murder mystery two having the time of our lives and then jada, jamie, their two cousins, this other girl from jada’s school, and some random online friend they know joins the game.

tell me why mfs got mad bc me and my other friends kept getting murderer and sheriff but these bitches didn’t even get ts onceee 😭😭 they turned it into a wholeeee big thing. like it isn’t my fault!! anyway they were feeling some typa way so we got into an argument. then jada’s online friend who i’ve never met or heard of b4 decided to try and scare me by telling me what school i go to 😒 ouuu i’m so scared. are you frl my nigga?? jamie went there too so if that random tried to blow ts up we were both goin down 🤭🤭

i ask jamie how this random robloxian knows what middle school i go to, nd she’s gna lie and say “she probably goes there too. idk” HOW DONT YOU KNOW?? that’s ya cousins friend. 🙎‍♀️

anyway few weeks later, i text jada and jamie’s OTHER cousin and he tells me that this random online mf IS NINETEEN YEARS OLD!?!???! so i’m heated as hell and i blow up on them. i knew i sensed top tier oppery. why would you tell a grown mf on the internet what school i go to??? why are you even friends w a 19 year old at age 11. wtv bro. tell me y jamie apologized and jada never did.. ermmm!

we agreed to stay friends bc i was such a sweetie but these mfs were petty as hell. every time i’d join their game they’d leave IMMEDIATELY. like, word?? 🥱 that’s how it is now? 🙎‍♀️🙎‍♀️

a lot of time passes n we all eventually stopped talking in the gc completely cuz we grew up and grew apart. anyway, it’s been like five years, who cares?? (me bc i never got my apology)

i never thought i’d see this girl in person but she just HAD to choose the same high school as me. my counselor j HAD to put us in the same forensics class 😢 and my teacher js HAD to sit us right next to each other. and he ABSOLUTELY HAD TO DOUBLE IT BY MAKING US WORK IN THE SAME GROUP 😭😭💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔 WDF!!!

anyway it isn’t that deep at all, it’s j real awkward. like ik we’re both thinking ab that bloxy beef when we look at each other 🤷‍♀️

#ash spills 🌺 #ash’s storytime 📖🧘‍♀️💋 #this was very middle school #bloxy beef #next level oppery fr #how could she 💔💔💔 #this is bout to b the most awkward thing ever.

[whatstruthgottodowithit]

The Other Evans Girl [Part Thirty Two]

Fandom: Harry Potter [Marauder’s Era]

Pairing: Sirius Black x Original Female Character, Sirius Black x Daisy Evans, James Potter x Lily Evans

Characters: Sirius Black, Original Female Character, Daisy Evans, Lily Evans, Remus Lupin, James Potter, Harry Potter, Severus Snape, Minerva McGonagall, Alice Fortescue, Frank Longbottom, Marlene McKinnon, Albus Dumbledore, Voldemort, Peter Pettigrew, Lucius Malfoy, Bellatrix LeStrange, Walburga Black, Orion Black, Jasper Thicknesse, Barty Crouch Jr, Mulciber, Walden McNair

Word Count: 7081

Rating: Teen

Summary: Hogwarts is a safe haven, a home for many, but it’s often a place where heartache, love and complex emotions dwell and none know that better than the Marauders. Lily Evans just wants to make it out as a successful witch though the oncoming war and the ongoing advances of James Potter threaten that. Daisy Evans, her twin, has other goals. Join the Evans sisters as they make their way through Hogwarts, prepare for war and eventually find love.

Tags/ Warnings: Hogwarts, Friends, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Marauder’s Era, Teenage Angst, Babies, Weddings, Dating, Crying, Loss of Virginity, First Wizarding War, Love, Kissing, Teenagers, James Potter is a bit of a dick, Hogsmeade, 1970s, Fighting, Loss of Parents, Grief, Babies, Injuries, Gore, Harm, Christmas,  The Potter’s Mansion // Daisy’s Dress // NYE Lily’s Dress // NYE Daisy’s Dress // Lily’s Ring // Daisy’s Ring

Notes: Okay so I’ve been working on updating this and I’ve finally gone through all the chapters already written before I start writing more. It’s changed a lot so I’ve decided it’s just better to completely re-upload it.  

If you want tagging let me know

LINK TO AO3 // LINK TO PINTEREST // LINK TO ALL PARTS

Unfortunately for the sixth years the second week back in lessons didn't let up and the students were caught with an onslaught of work as heavy as the snow that had continued to fall since the weekend. And though she had tried Daisy couldn’t help but feel like her heart wasn’t quite in it. Of course she attended her lessons and did her homework as needed but there was no effort in it. Every essay or assignment was done to just over the minimum requirement and she allowed herself to shrink back in class, as if she was a fixture on the wall rather than a student. And to her surprise the teachers let her, all seeking too nervous to challenge her should she become upset, well, any more than normal given her recent circumstances. Yet it wasn’t her school life she cared about but her social life which also seemed to have taken a hit, with every single one of her friends suddenly busy. Marlene had taken to spending time with a new boy who had just transferred in from Beauxbatons for the rest of term because his father worked at the ministry. And since they had added apparition lessons onto an already crippling workload Lily had become super anxious about homework and revision and was spending more time than ever squirrelled away with just her books, and occasionally Alice, who had also been fretting about work. Though admittedly it was mainly on Frank’s behalf since he was applying to be an Auror alongside good grades required an entrance exam which he was studying for day and night.

And as for the boys they had all but disappeared into thin air. Of course, they attended lessons and mealtimes but as soon as free time rolled around they weren’t to be seen for dust. Daisy had asked what they were up to but they had fed her what she knew were lies, telling her they were helping Remus recover, though he was mid-cycle, and going over Quidditch practices which were conveniently closed to spectators. Daisy knew they were up to something but she didn't have the heart to argue with them so most evenings she ended up alone in her dormitory. 

It was where she was now having trudged upstairs following dinner which had ended with everyone giving their excuses to leave her. Whilst the boys had allegedly gone to the quidditch pitch, Alice and Lily had gone to the library, their invite to go and do charms homework declined by Daisy as she didn’t find it much more appealing than sitting alone, and Marlene hadn’t even joined them in the first place, favouring to sit at the Ravenclaw table with Pierre.  

Now she was sitting on the floor of her bedroom, surrounded by pillows and blankets as the sounds of soft rock floated from her record player. At least here she didn’t have to think about her feelings she could just let them happen, and so as the sounds of drums and the strumming of electric guitars echoed off the stone walls she found that tears fell from her uncontrollably and silent. She sat on the floor crying as her music player went through every song on the album until finally the needle let up and she was forced to open her eyes and come back to reality. The room seemed emptier once the music had stopped, her loneliness more engulfing with the absence of sound. Yet she didn’t feel like playing anything else, that would only risk being caught moping and she didn’t fancy having to explain herself so she wiped her eyes on her sleeve and packed her things away.

Once her record was tucked back in its box she pushed it and the record player under her bed yet as she it she felt her hand come across a carrier bag. Not knowing what it was she grabbed it, pulling it from where it was nestled beside her trunk, so that she could inspect it. She didn’t recall stuffing it under there yet as she undid the knot of the carrier bag and spotted the neatly wrapped packages inside she realised what it was, her Christmas presents.

She had completely forgotten about them. The last time she had seen them had been back at her house, all of them still in her suitcase where’d she put them, too sad to open anything on Christmas morning. Now it seemed Lily had taken charge of them hence why they had been safely stowed around under her bed.  She pulled them out and looked at them. There was one from each of her friends and both of her sisters.  And underneath all of them was a small one wrapped in bright red paper that had reindeer dotted all over it and her name was elegantly scribed on the tag. 

Daisy, 

Hope Santa did okay!

Lots of Love

Mum & Dad x

She ran her fingers across it hoping the feel of the writing beneath her touch would somehow connect them to her. As tears stung at her eyes once more she tilted her head, determined not to let any of them spill onto the card and smudge the ink. She held it for a moment weighing up whether it would be best to open it sooner rather than later though as she felt that familiar squeeze in her chest she found herself placing the small box down, opting to pick up a messily wrapped parcel from Peter.

After a few steady breaths she opened it, smiling as she pictured Peter trying to figure out what to get her before eventually landing on the calendar in hand which offered ‘Hexes, Jinxes and Curses of the day’. Petunia and ‘Vernon’ had gotten her a scarf, a replica of the one she’d seen Lily sporting, which she doubted she’d ever wear though it was nice to know that Petunia’s ‘get the twins the same thing although their two different people’ rule was still in play despite tragedy. Marlene and Alice had clubbed together to get her a voucher for the new wizard wear shop that had opened in Diagon Alley and Remus had bought her an ornately decorated journal which she couldn’t deny might come in handy given all the upheaval she was feeling. And as she opened Lily and James’ gifts she couldn’t help but wonder if they’d worked in tandem the albums she’d got from Lily, Fleetwood Mac and ABBA, matching the pair of headphones for her record player that James had bought her.

Finally, there were only two presents left. One from her parents and one from Sirius. Her fingers traced the paper of both wondering which to open first. Eventually she opted for her parent’s gift figuring it was going to hurt either way though that didn’t stop her from going slow, peeling the paper off a small ring box which she opened to find a small gold band inside, a small red stone set within it. She pulled it out of the velvet cushion and slid it onto her finger. Thankfully it fit even if it was a tad loose, not too much, but enough that she could fiddle with it. It looked nice on, pretty. Though as she went to shut the ring box she noticed the ring something, nestled in amongst the wrapping as if dislodged from inside the box, once hidden away. It was a piece of paper which she unfurled expecting to see her mother’s neat handwriting except to her surprise she found herself looking at her Dad’s scrawl. A lump came to her throat.

My dearest Daisy, 

I know you’re probably wondering what the hell your dear old dad is doing writing you a letter, thing is, I don’t really know either! Your mum does the talking for both of us most of the time but I figured if I was going to say anything it might as well be on your sixteenth Christmas, well fifteenth but mum and I knew we were complete even if it took you two another month to show up! Your mum figured we shouldn’t bother with a big birthday gift seeing as you won’t be spending it with us though personally I don’t see why we wouldn’t be allowed to pop up to sunny Scotland eh? 

Instead, we figured getting you something big for Christmas was better so I hope you like it. If not blame your mum! This letter may be all me but your mum has done all the picking, buying, wrapping and what have you (apparently, I had one of two chances of guessing what your birthstone is and I got neither right! It’s garnet like your ring or emerald like Lil’s so I’m told. Petunia’s is Sapphire only so I’m glad your mother didn’t quiz me there, I’m 0 for 3 on my guessing)

Anyway, I just wanted to tell you that the past sixteen years we’ve had you girls have been the best of my life. Your mother and I are lucky to have thee such wonderful kids. I know you girls are doing well at school, which I have to say comes all from your mother, and I’m happy that Petunia has found someone she loves and is embarking on a marriage and kids. Even if he does bore me silly about drills.

I don’t know why I felt the need to write this. I guess you almost dying on us last year got me all nostalgic for Christmas together or I’ve had too much sherry. Either way, no harm done. Hope you like your present and I guess this is sort of a Christmas and birthday card.

All my love, 

Dad x

Daisy’s eye’s scanned the page countless times taking in the words that she craved to imprint in her memory. She didn’t want to think about what her dad had been dwelling on when he wrote this, how scared they’d been over the Christmas she’d missed. No, she wanted to dwell on the words. That he was proud of her, that he loved her. And that was enough until she heard the sound of footsteps coming up the spiral staircase. She leapt into action, shoving all her belongings underneath her bed apart from the letter and the present she still had to open. Once they were hidden away she leapt into her bed and pulled her curtains closed listening with bated breath as the footsteps and sounds of talking came closer until she heard her dormitory door open. Lily and Alice’s voices could be heard talking about the last question on the charms homework they had just finished.

‘I don’t know,’ Alice said, ‘I think a concealment charm would count though.’

‘I think that’s too risky,’ Lily said, ‘I mean you might as well, oh…’

‘What?’ Alice asked. Daisy could hear her, standing by her bed, no doubt fumbling around her bedclothes for the pyjamas she’d discarded that morning.

‘I think Daisy and Mar have come up separately,’ Lily said approaching her sister’s cloaked four poster, as she whispered, ‘Dais?’ 

Daisy lay in the bed, the letter and present clutched to her chest, unmoving and not saying a word. Lily waited for a response and when none came she shrugged figuring her sister was asleep and therefore not replying. As Lily moved away, continuing her conversation with Alice albeit at a lower volume, Daisy allowed herself to breathe again, wondering why she had leapt into bed as she had. After all, Lily had opened her gifts she must have known what Daisy had. But in the same way Lily hadn’t broached the subject with her Daisy didn’t want to tell everyone what she had been looking at because that would allow the moment to be hers, just hers. And though her loss was joint with her siblings she didn’t want to share this last piece of her parents she had been given. So, she folded the letter neatly and placed it on her bed covers before she gently started unwrapping her present from Sirius. The wrapping was basic, plain in colour with the tag saying no more than ‘To Dais from Padfoot’ but the book inside it was far from it. It was an old book, leather bound with intricate black etchings on the front and gold lettering down the spine that read ‘Tales of Beedle the Bard’. Daisy looked at it for a moment, trying to recall where she had heard that name before, wondering if she had heard her sister and Remus wittering on about it over the summer.

On the first page was a box that simply stated. THIS BOOK BELONGS TO followed by a name written in a child’s handwriting, larger than the space but still legible now, Sirius Orion Black. 

As she turned the next page she found the title neatly written at the top of the page with a subheading below; first edition. Daisy smiled. It was coming back to her now, a conversation she and Sirius had had months ago. They had been talking about fairy tales and stories of their childhood. Daisy had told him about how her mother used to read to them every night, Petunia too for a spell seeing as she had learned to read before them. They’d grown up with Princes and Princesses and then it had transitioned to whatever Lily was reading as Daisy had forgone an interest in reading herself and her parents and Petunia had grown out of giving them a bedtime story. Sirius had told her how his mother had never shown an interest in a bedtime story instead opting to give him a book of wizarding fairytales and expecting him to see to himself. Kreacher, his house-elf, had taught him the basics and then a governess later on, and at night, when his parents had left them to it in the multistorey house Sirius had snuck down into his brother’s room and read him stories from Tales of Beedle The Bard until he had fallen asleep which is when Sirius would creep back upstairs hoping not to be spotted by either of his parents. 

It had made Daisy almost cry for him but he had assured her he didn’t care, not that she was sure she really believed him. Her sympathies hadn’t lasted long though as soon after bearing his soul they’d gotten into a debate about which were better, muggle or wizard bedtime stories. It’d gone on for a while, neither of them willing to back down, the topic only dying as he promised to show her the stories one day. 

It looked like today was the day. Except the stories didn’t interest her at that moment, she was too focused on the message scrawled at the bottom in Sirius’ handwriting.

Dais, 

I don’t know if you even remember the conversation we had about this. I mean Remus has probably already bombarded you with a new copy anyway but whatever, hope you like it.  

Pads

P.s. even if you have got a copy you should like this one more, I stole it from my mother’s library for you before I left not that she’d notice. Even if you don’t like it I’m happy for you to flog it and buy something really muggle with it. She’d hate that. 

As she read that last bit she suppressed a chuckled. Who could’ve thought that a present that came from a woman who loathed her existence could feel so good. For a moment she thought about reading it, to immerse herself in the young Sirius’ world but that would require use of a wand which would let her roommates know she was awake. And after all the emotions she’d been through this evening she didn’t quite have the energy for that and so she slipped that and the letter under her pillow hoping for an easy sleep.

✵✵✵

When Daisy got out of bed on Friday she was feeling a lot better than she had been at the start of the week because even if her friends hadn’t cheered her up her Christmas presents had. Though she hadn’t seen the boys, Lily or Alice she had managed to spend an evening with Marlene whose new beau had decided to enrol in Gobstones club much to her annoyance. They had spent the evening listening to Daisy’s new albums and talking about her friends’ new romance, which was nice for Daisy, another escape from the feelings that had been overwhelming when alone.

‘Have we got an apparition lesson today?’ Daisy asked with a yawn, fiddling with her tie.

‘Yeah after lunch,’ Lily said eyeing her sister with disapproval as she added, ‘haven’t you been revising?’  ‘What’s to revise?’ Daisy said. ‘It’s a very important skill,’ Lily reprimanded.  ‘You disappear in one place you reappear in another and try not to get cut in half in the meantime,’ Daisy shrugged, leaning down to slip her shoes on though as she fiddled with the buckle her ring slipped from her finger, hitting the stone floor with a metallic tinkle. Lily, who had been watching her sister closely, watched as she picked up the gold band and slipped it back onto her finger.

‘You opened your presents,’ Lily said, not quite stating a fact but not accusatory either. At her words Daisy’s eyes snapped up, landing on her sister’s freckled face before they dropped to her ring, her tone apprehensive as she said, ‘what? Oh yeah…I um, found them the other day…figured it was time to open them.’ ‘Are you okay?’ Lily asked immediately. Daisy looked at her sister once more finding worry in her twin’s eyes, evidently, the fear that her sister was going to break down at any moment was still going strong. ‘Yeah,’ Daisy lied reiterating with more force as her sister’s stare turned sceptical, ‘yes Lily I’m fine. Besides it wasn’t as if it was a horrible thing to find, actually, it was kind of nice.’ ‘They’re lovely rings aren’t they,’ Lily said her hand going to a chain around her neck, one that Daisy hadn’t noticed her sister had been wearing but now as she looked she could see a thin silver chain with her sister’s matching ring around it. As Daisy looked at her confused Lily said, ‘it fits I just didn’t want to upset you if…’ ‘I saw what mum and dad got us,’ Daisy finished. Lily shrugged as though it was barely a thought she’d had but Daisy knew she was probably right to do so. That if she’d have seen her gift even a week ago it probably would’ve sent her into a spiral. Thinking about it now made her stomach swirl with sadness which she elected to push out, saying, ‘I think you had the right idea anyway. Mine’s a little loose and it keeps slipping off I might put it on my chain.’ ‘Good idea,’ Lily said with a smile. 

After that the pair continued to dress in silence until they were ready to head downstairs for breakfast only they didn’t get very far as once in the common room they found Remus and James waiting for them, their quiet chatter stopping as they appeared from the stair well.

‘Morning Evanses,’ James said with a smile, his head flopping over the back of the settee so that he was looking at them upside down. Remus rolled his eyes and said, ‘morning.’

‘Morning,’ the girls replied, Daisy adding, ‘what’s got you so chipper?’ ‘It’s defence club day,’ James said as if it was self-explanatory. ‘So?’ Daisy said, poking his glasses down his nose which caused him to swat at her hand, leaping up so he was kneeling on the couch facing them. ‘Let me guess,’ Lily said, ignoring the childishness of the pair of them as she said, ‘you got some big cool spell you want to show off?’ ‘Me? Show off?’ James said feigning aghast, ‘how dare you, Lily!’ ‘Go on then, why are you all excited?’ Daisy probed, her eyes narrowing. James smirked, sharing a look with Remus before he leaned in and said, ‘now that would be telling.’

‘Oh come on,’ Daisy grumbled as he leapt up of the couch, grabbing his school bag as he headed towards the portrait hole, the others rushing to follow him.

‘Sorry,’ James chuckled.

‘You’re really not going to tell us?’ Lily asked, more intrigued than she cared to admit. ‘You’ll just have to wait and see,’ James winked and before they could question him further he dove into a story about a jinx he had been learning for the club but had yet to perfect. It wasn’t enough to completely spark out her curiosity but Daisy let it yield for the time being, too busy enjoying having her friends around her for the time being especially as James explained his attempts had caused his target [Peter] to end up with duck feet every time he tried.

‘I’ve always thought he had sort of a waddle to his gait,’ Remus chuckled. They were in the great hall by now, taking a seat next to Alice and Frank who were going over Auror Exam practice questions but waved nevertheless. ‘No he’s definitely rat-like,’ Daisy said, waving at her friend’s before looking back at the boys as she asked, ‘anyway where is the waddled one? Or Sirius for that matter?’  ‘Um,’ James faltered, the look he gave Remus no more than a second but still enough for her to clock, ‘gob stones meeting.’ ‘And Sirius?’ Daisy said knowing that they weren’t technically lying but it would only be Peter who was there.  ‘He didn’t say,’ Remus shrugged as he poured milk into his cup of tea. Daisy nodded pretending as though their dancing around the subject was normal rather than sparking that curiosity in her ten-fold.

Yet as they started another conversation she poured herself an orange juice, her mind only on Sirius. She knew they were up to something, all of them, and yet it was him that bothered her the most. Him who she was missing the most. Everyone seemed to be convinced they were meant to be but just when she thought he might like her, he’d pulled away leaving her at more of a loss than ever.

That was what she liked about Michael. She didn’t like him the way she did Sirius, not by any means, but he was a nice guy and if nothing else he’d been upfront about liking her. He’d even asked if she wanted to go to Hogsmeade together. She’d declined though only because she didn’t see the point given she’d only be doing it to see if she got any reaction from Sirius and he’d paid her so little attention the day in the attic she doubted he’d even notice her on a date with someone or worse, not care.

And she wanted him to care. She wanted him to spend time with her instead of avoiding her because being with him made her feel safe. Whenever she thought of him she thought of warmth. Around him she was herself, comfortable, open and honest and not pretending to be okay if she didn’t want to. The only problem was that she didn’t have any choice in what he did or who he saw. She couldn’t dictate him be with her all the time, even if she wanted to.  

As the other three at the table chattered away, Daisy pretended to listen while dutifully shovelling her breakfast down, and when she was done, she followed Lily to their first lesson of the day, double potions. It wasn’t a great start to the day, what with Professor Slughorn opting to give them a challenge with a complex potion as the objective, but fortunately Daisy didn’t have to do much of anything as they were allowed to work in pairs, with Lily doing all the heavy lifting while she was tasked with running to the store cupboard every so often. The only problem with taking a back seat however, was that she found herself thinking more and more about Sirius, meaning that the ache in her chest refused to disappear until she was placed in her transfiguration lesson, somewhere she had to concentrate given that if anyone wasn't going to let her slack off it was Professor McGonagall. She didn’t even allow her to as the final bell tolled signalling lunch, her nasal Scottish voice calling her name as Daisy crammed her belongings into her book bag as quick as she could. Daisy sighed but bid her friends goodbye anyway watching as they all left before she turned and walked to the front of the room where her teacher was waiting. 

‘Something wrong Professor?’ Daisy said as the last few stragglers left the class.  ‘No, well not exactly,’ Professor McGonagall said as she put a piece of parchment down on the desk in front of them both. Written on the top of the piece of parchment was an A- Acceptable. ‘Is that-’  ‘Last week’s homework assignment,’ McGonagall said, her gaze scrutinous as she continued, ‘and whilst this is an okay grade and still a pass this is not the level of work I’ve come to expect from you.’

‘Professor,’ Daisy mumbled though she didn’t know what point she was trying to make. Not that McGonagall seemed to care as he continued to chastise her, ‘you’re far more capable than this. Don’t you think?’  ‘Yes Professor,’ Daisy said though she wasn’t sure what she wanted any longer.  ‘Then you’re going to need to improve your grades in this class as well as others. From what I’ve heard from other teachers your grades are slipping there as well and why I know why I can’t help but worry. You’re better than this Daisy,’ McGonagall said. ‘I know Professor it’s just been a bit hard is all,’ Daisy said, feeling tears sting in her eyes which McGonagall seemed to notice too, sighing as she said, ‘I understand but I just can’t stand by and not mention it. You deserve to make yourself proud…your parents too. Don’t you think?’

‘Yes Professor,’ Daisy mumbled, the tears now accompanied by a lump in her throat. McGonagall smiled softly, ‘well then let’s try a little harder next time.’

‘Right,’ Daisy said, barely giving her teacher time to dismiss her before she was fleeing for the door as fast as her legs could carry her. She was down three flights of stairs before she even looked up from her feet the tears finally subsiding and her vision becoming clear. 

And as she looked up she spotted a familiar sight at the end of the corridor. Sirius. He was leaning against the wall one foot resting against it, his arms crossed across his chest. He was chuckling away, his eyes glinting in the sunlight that was just barely coming in through the hallway window, and in front of him was Penelope Fulton, laughing along with him, her hand resting on his folded arms as if propping herself up to stop herself from keeling over with laughter. Daisy’s heart sank.

‘So this is where he’s been,’ she thought, that ache in her chest returning. She had wanted to believe they were up to something, the four of them together. She had wanted to believe that whatever it was would be worth it in time and yet now she worried that wasn’t the case. She worried that while she’d been missing him, lonelier than ever he’d been continuing his romance, the thing he’d protested was just a date now actually more. It made her feel sick. He didn’t spot her and so she decided not to reveal herself and instead walked the long way round to the dining hall, that sick feeling never leaving as he never joined them for lunch.

✵✵✵

For the rest of the day Daisy was in a grim mood so much so that she debated whether or not to duck out of Defence Club, her decision to go only made when she realised the barrage of questions she would get from her sister if she didn’t. After dinner, Lily, Daisy, Alice and Frank headed towards the attic for the meeting yet just as they made it to the entrance hall they heard someone shout for them and found James, Peter and Remus rushing to catch up with them.

‘Wait for us!’ James hollered, catching the group first and throwing himself in the middle, his arms going around Alice and Frank.

‘Alright mate,’ Frank chuckled, shoving him off.

‘Better now you’ve waited for us,’ James replied just as Remus and Peter caught up, evidently not in as much of a hurry as the other boy. Daisy scanned the ensemble, looking for a familiar pair of grey eyes yet she found none, the only gaze she caught being Remus’ who smiled at her. She returned it weakly.

‘I thought you said going in small groups was more inconspicuous,’ Lily challenged, raising an eyebrow. ‘Well, what’s the damage now Dumbledore knows?’ James smiled.

‘He’s got a point there Lil,’ Frank said. To everyone’s surprise Lily didn’t challenge them, instead opting to start talking, albeit in hushed whispers, about how excited she was to resume the club. Everyone bar Daisy shared her sentiments, her chest still aching at the idea of having to attend.

It didn’t let up one ounce as they made their way up to the attic, meeting Marlene and Pierre on route, in fact it only grew worse at they made their way up to the stone staircase, finding Sirius and Penelope already waiting for everyone on the landing outside the door. Fortunately for Daisy she didn’t have to question her being there as Marlene was like a rottweiler, her tone light but her eyes menacing as she said, ‘what’s Penny doing here?’ as if she wasn’t in the room. ‘She asked if she can join I said she could,’ Sirius said purposefully not looking at Daisy.

‘And if I like it I thought I could bring my brother and a friend along. If that’s okay of course,’ Penny said, looking to the group for approval. A litany of awkward smiles faced her. Well, all apart from Frank who earned himself a small dig in the ribs from Alice as he said, ‘of course it is. More the merrier and all that.’  ‘Great,’ Penelope said awkwardly. ‘Yeah, yeah great,’ Lily said earning a snort from James who replied, ‘not boring are we Evans?’

‘No,’ Lily glared, ‘I was just wondering why we are conducting club business outside the safety of the club? Why didn’t you just go inside? ‘Ah, well about that,’ Sirius said, joined in ranks by James whose teasing was over as he said, ‘the thing is after we cleared out the space the boy and I did some thinking.’

‘What kind of thinking?’ Marlene asked sceptically.

‘That Lily had a point about making it comfortable,’ Sirius explained.

‘Yeah so we decided to do a little decorating,’ James added.  ‘Oh good god, what have you done?!’ Lily asked panicked.  ‘Nothing bad,’ James said quickly, ‘well, at least we hope not.’

‘I’d say it’s flipping brilliant!’ Peter said, joining them from the crowd.

‘Me too,’ Remus agreed from the back of the crowd.

‘Well then don’t keep us waiting,’ Frank said, earning smiles from the boys as they moved to the door and opened it.

Oohs and aahs echoed off the walls as the troupe filed in, taking in the newly transformed room. Whilst they had elected to leave the majority of it bare for practicing, the crash mats and cushions stacked up in a neat pile to one side, the edges of the room housed things that hadn’t been there before. The wall that wasn’t littered by posters, of defensive spells and muggle rock bands, was lined by a couple of bookshelves, the contents they’d decided to keep from the boxes displayed across them. And in the back of the room was what looked like a common room. There were a couple of desks with several chairs around and across from them three couches which formed sort of its own section. There was a record player in the corner currently playing some soft rock on low and in front of the couches was a coffee table, littered jugs of pumpkin juice and plates of sandwiches. It was perfect. 

As people walked around the room the boys stayed put watching closely. James in particular watching Lily, who looked awestruck as she ran her fingers across the bookshelf, not looking up as she said, ‘guys this is…’ ‘This is amazing!’ Alice squealed, Frank nodding in agreement as they took seats on the couch.

‘Thanks,’ James said. ‘Did you do all of this?’ Pierre asked the boys impressed. James shrugged, ‘it was a team effort.’

‘Well it looks great,’ Marlene smiled, following Pierre as he gestured for him to join her by the record collection. James watched everyone excitedly, his gaze going back to Lily as she approached, confusion on her face as she asked, ‘how did you do all this?’

‘Well a lot of furniture came from the room of requirement,’ James explained.

‘You’ve found to the room of requirement?!’ Lily asked agog.

‘Well, it kinda found us,’ James admitted.

‘Wow,’ Lily said with awe, ‘I bet it wasn’t easy getting everything up here.’

‘It’s nothing,’ James lied, ‘if anything it’s like Hogwarts wanted us to do it.’

‘Feels like that doesn’t it,’ Lily smiled, adding with earnest, ‘this really is amazing. Thank you.’

‘Like I said it was a team effort,’ James smiled.

Having allowed them to have a moment in private Remus and Peter had moved away from the pair, joining the others who were now crowded around the seating area. Sirius however didn’t migrate that way, instead drifting towards where Daisy was standing on her own, looking up at some of the posters on the wall though she looked towards him when she felt a presence beside her. Sirius smiled but she didn’t reciprocate it, unable to stop herself as she stated, ‘so, this is what you’ve been up to all week.’ ‘Yeah,’ Sirius said, nerves in his stomach at the lack of greeting though he explained anyway, ‘James wanted to keep it a surprise so.’ ‘You lied to me,’ Daisy accused, taking him by surprise. ‘Dais it wasn’t a lie,’ Sirius rebutted. He had sensed her being miffed at being left out but he’d figured she’d understand once she knew why they were doing it. And never in a million years had he thought she’d see it as lying. ‘You left me on my own,’ Daisy said, hurt he hadn’t expected in her voice. Upon hearing it not only guilt but confusion swirled inside him, leaving him unable to fathom how the idea he’d had to cheer her up seemed to be going so awry. He hadn’t meant to leave her out but it’d only been because he wanted to surprise her, nothing else. ‘We wanted it to be a surprise,’ he said softly, begging her to see his side as he said, ‘Dais we’ve been up here day and night.’ ‘When you weren’t with Penny of course?’ Daisy replied. It was quiet but cutting and Sirius tried to replied but her accusation had come out of the blue and he was tripping over his words and didn’t manage to reply before Daisy said, ‘thought so.’

And with that, she disappeared towards the throng of people, leaving him standing there at a loss for words. After that he didn’t get chance to speak to her as she kept her distance allowing at least three people to fill the space between them at any given time which became easier the more people that arrived. Not only that but given it was her first meeting he was charged with getting Penelope up to speed whilst the others recapped what they had done before Christmas.

It was a crash course for Penelope but after an hour or so of practice she seemed to be up to speed and she and Sirius were able to join the group that had gathered around on the couches, going through a list of spells and jinxes they’d each been researching and thought might be worthwhile. Lily and Remus of course had a list each with the others offering a couple extras here and there including a few requests from Frank who asked from some auror spells he needed to practice to be added too, earning a shiver of excitement from the room. As yawns started becoming more frequent, the come down of excitement combined with the amount of food they’d eaten hitting everyone at once, the list was completed and stuck up on the wall ready for further meetings and everyone started to pack up. Alice and Frank left first followed by Marlene and Pierre.

‘Tonight’s been awesome,’ Rudy Scrimgeour said as he and his friends left. ‘I’m gonna see if some of the girls want to come if that’s okay?’ Eleanor Vane said. ‘Absolutely!’ Lily called from where she was tidying away book and rubbish that had been left by everyone. ‘The more the merrier,’ James echoed as he helped her. They were some of the only people left now with Remus and Daisy chatting to Peter about his Gobstones tournament and Sirius was talking to Penelope by the door before she headed out. Once she had gone he turned, watching as Daisy pretended not to notice him, placing herself on the opposite side of the group as they headed out too now that everything was tidy. He watched her the entire way, not bothering to join in with the conversation or even notice that Lily and James had lagged behind meaning that when they got to the common room the pair where nowhere to be seen.

‘Where are they?’ Remus said as they walked into the deserted common room.  ‘I don’t know,’ Peter said, peeking down the alley to the portrait hole only to find it had closed behind him.

‘I thought the sound of fawning had faded,’ Sirius joked earning a chuckle from everyone but Daisy whose eyes were icy whenever they landed on him. It irked him, the way her attitude had been doing all night. Surely she knew he hadn’t meant for them to hurt her? Surely she could understand that they, he, had wanted to do something nice for her. And whatever she thought about Penelope well he could explain that if she’d just let him. Before Sirius could say anything to her though Lily and James appeared through the portrait hole.

‘Where have you been?’ Peter asked innocently.  ‘Nowhere, we were just talking,’ Lily said, her face beetroot red even in the low moonlight.

‘Yeah,’ James mumbled though he appeared in a daze.

‘Anyway ready for bed Dais?’ Lily said, her attention solely on her sister as if that would reduce the flaming in her cheeks. Daisy eyed her suspiciously and then said, ‘I’ll be up in a minute.’

‘Right,’ Lily nodded, ‘night then everyone.’

‘Night,’ the boys called watching as Lily dashed up the stairs and out of sight at record speed. The moment she was out of ear shot Daisy’s suspicious gaze landed on Jaems who was still watching the space she had vacated but snapped out of it as the blonde asked, ‘what have you done?’

‘Nothing,’ James said wincing as the back of Daisy’s hand hit his bicep, ‘honestly! We were just talking and well…I sort of asked her out.’ ‘When don’t you?’ Sirius snorted. ‘True but she sort of said yes,’ James said sheepishly.  ‘What?!’ came the reply from all. ‘Wait you’re going out?’ Remus said, ‘when?’  ‘Next week. We’re allowed to Hogsmeade for Burns Night remember,’ James said.  ‘Well, I can’t believe it. Well done mate,’ Peter said.  ‘Yeah, I’m happy for you,’ Sirius said.  ‘Me too,’ Remus agreed. As the celebrations died down all eyes fell on Daisy who had remained unusually quiet. Knowing how long he had liked her, and how much Lily liked him despite her protestations, she wanted to congratulate him but for some reason it wouldn’t come. For some reason the idea of them made that ache in her chest return.

 ‘Well, Dais? Do I get your blessing?’ James said, her silence bringing him down from the heights he’d been on at a remarkable speed. The others too felt apprehensive at the awkward silence, Sirius’ irritation turning to worry as he watched her force a smile and say, in a voice that didn’t sound quite right, ‘of course you do. Anyway I best get to bed.’

‘Oh? I thought we could-’ James started but she didn’t wait. Instead she cut him off mumbling ‘night’ before she raced up the stairs and into her dormitory. Alice and Marlene weren’t back when she got inside and from what she could hear Lily was in the bathroom, a fact Daisy was thankful for. Pretending to the boys she was happy was one thing but Lily would no doubt be able to sniff out the truth and she didn’t want to hurt her like that. So Daisy stripped out of her clothes and climbed into bed. As she lay there her mind raced about everything.

She hadn’t meant to be mean to Sirius, to push him away, but he hadn’t been honest with her. He’d pretended he’d spent his time with the boys when she knew different. More to the point he’d left her alone. He’d promised to help her through her grief, be there for her, only to disappear at the chance of a good time. That had hurt her. And what hadn’t expected was for Lily to do the same thing. For her to be there for her until she had someone else. And what was worse was that she was expected to be happy for them, how could she not be? How could she not celebrate her sister and James’ relationship? How could she not want Sirius to be happy even if it wasn’t her he chose to be happy with. That’s what hurt her more. That was what that ache in her chest was - love. Love for those who couldn’t love her back anymore.

And as that pain enshrouded her she fell back, tears falling down her face onto her pillow, whilst she pretended to sleep.

SIRIUS BLACK/SERIES TAGS

@maeisafangirl @mysteriouslydelicateface @caitlin1996 @imthebadguyyy

[addictwoapen]

then vs. now

there are two versions of my father that exist.

“you can do anything you set your mind to” dad. And “not all men” dad. 

as a child I was told it doesn’t matter what other people think or feel, I can do what I want. I can be an athlete, I can be smart, I can do whatever I want and fuck everyone that says otherwise. And while the sentiment was there, two things could not be true, or it didn’t feel like it could be anyway.

When I was a kid, I loved sports. I still do. I love playing sports and learning mechanics, and I have since forever. I was the boy my father never had with two older brothers who never quite learned how to throw a ball correctly. I remember being told I had a good arm in first grade, and how I was faster than the other boys at recess. I remember, even though it’s blurry now, thinking I could not be both a tom boy or a girly girl. How I had to choose if I wanted to wear pink or be good at sports. Even at the age of six I was aware that boys thought girls sucked simply because of my double X’s. I was aware that “boys rule” meant more than a harmless us vs. them type of pride. 

So I chose. I decided girly girls were dumb and insipid. I chose to be athletic and school-smart. I was praised and held to high standards. No Cs or you’re grounded, no tennis lessons unless I went to the gym. Because all that could be demanded of me was excellence. As a kid, I thought this was just strictness of my parents beliefs about education and hard work. As an adult, I’ve come to realize it stems from mom and dad’s insecurities. We are at the mercy of grandparents even when they’ve been gone for years. 

I hated the color pink from second grade on, and I still do to this day. I hated being called Barbie since I was the stereotypical blonde-haired-blue-eyed white girl. I hated that all I was allowed to be was pink. It felt like no matter which side I looked at, I was stuck in a box. I couldn’t be angry because it wasn’t ladylike, I received much more punishment for swearing as a teenager than my older brother did. It wasn’t until I was 20 in a Jewel Osco during Covid that I told my father to grow up and get over it. I was an adult and I would make my own decisions about the way that I spoke and behaved. 

It wasn’t until I was a bit older that I realized that girls and women had the capacity for so much more, but suffered with self-actualization and introspection much earlier than our male friends. 

When explaining the waves of feminism to my dad on a bike ride in 2021, he said “I don’t know anything about this waves of feminism shit” and I replied “must be nice”. He didn’t get it. 

The first version of my dad loved his daughter fiercely. I was daddy’s little girl who was a little spoiled but wasn’t a brat. We played catch together. We played HORSE together in the driveway where he spray painted basketball court lines for me on the ground to practice my free-throws in sixth grade. We went to the tennis courts to practice my serves in seventh grade. We traveled to Texas in college to watch me play at Nationals. He said I could do anything I put my mind to.

It wasn’t until I was an adult that he said “well...”. 

And there it was. 

The stipulation that he knew that the world would treat me different and that while it may be unfair-I had to adjust, and it shouldn’t be the other way around. When I talk of creepy men in the gym I had just started attending, it was “yeah but I don’t do that,” when I talk of 60+ year old men hitting on me and asking me out to drinks when I was 19 it was “that’s not that weird,”. It’s invalidation at it’s finest, and understanding that he will truly never get it. 

I often think of a memory. I was in elementary school. My dad and I often used to go on hikes together on the weekend in the forest preserves of the suburbs of Chicago. I couldn’t pinpoint my age but I wasn’t fully self-aware yet, so it was pre-fifth grade. He would say “no matter what anyone tells you, you can do anything you want, and it doesn’t matter that you’re a girl”. This was in reference to a woman we passed who was hiking on her own, and even at a young age, I was aware of the danger she could be in on a 5am hike in the middle of a forest with no houses for miles. I remember thinking as a young girl “why would I risk getting hurt?”. It was a memory I would come back to often throughout childhood, as I reminder that I could do anything. But as I approached adulthood, I sometimes revel in my father’s naivety. 

There are always stipulations.

As an adult, my dad still thinks I can do what I want, but if I have to work harder to fight prejudice because I am a woman, than that is what I must do. I shouldn’t cry about the injustice I have and inevitably will again face. I should suck it up and power through it. Because as a middle-age white man with a steady job, he has never faced discrimination or prejudice for things he can’t change about himself.

The latter version of my father makes no excuses for his behavior. He says “if you don’t like it, I don’t care”. Despite his secretly hidden desire to be seen, to be heard. He says he doesn’t care what others think, but I think he cares too much sometimes. We are the same in that regard, and it is terrifying. His lack of empathy towards others of different experiences is astounding when he raised a daughter that has an excess of it. His anger is often misplaced and rooted in toxic masculinity and the idea of a traditional family despite a certain lack of religious or traditional upbringing. 

There are two versions of my father that exist.

Naïve and Jaded.

#barbie #feminism #femalerage

[trashlie]

okay so i’m finally working on a post that i’ve promised for... weeks lmao that i would! BUT! it brought up something i’ve been DYING to talk about - for the life of me I can’t remember if I’ve ever brought this up but

when Shinae is teasing Alyssa very early in their friendship, she says it’s a thing kids their age do with their friends. Alyssa’s response has a weird emphasis on our age and I keep meaning to bring it up but it’s gotten lost in all my other tangents but 

It has absolutely struck me very strange - not since the first time I read it, I don’t know if I really took notice of it then - but every time i re-read this flashback arc I’m reminded of this. Is Alyssa not the same age as Shinae? Is she, possibly, even younger, given her advanced education? When I was in middle school, sixth grade to be precise, a girl joined our school who was ~2 years younger than most of my classmates, because she, too, had been homeschooled and was very advanced for her age. (We were best friends for years, so I got to hear about her her parents and the school were worried that she might struggle to fit in/make friends, because she was younger and considered more “immature” than other kids)

I don’t think this is necessarily hugely important because we all develop at difference ages and Alyssa clearly shows a lot of maturity in some ways - but when it comes to socialization she’s definitely behind. Not a surprise, given that she hasn’t really had friends her own age, hasn’t had the the social experiences that other kids have. But could she possibly be younger and that’s part of what also gives her trouble with not fitting in? Shinae has developed the tough skin due to her own experiences but - and look I never took childhood development courses - I wonder what childhood cognitive development might play into this? 

Of course, prior in this same episode, Alyssa herself says she begged her parents to let her come to public school “so I could make friends my own age” so maybe the emphasis on our later is just that she’s never really been part of a group, so the concept of us, we, our collective anything is new to her? But idk it just seems like a curious thing to emphasize, doesn’t it? 

#I Love Yoo #ILY Brainrot #Alyssa Cho #I cannot tell you how many times I've thought about this but i never end up going anywhere with it lol #because i can't tell if it's something that's emphasized but means nothing or if i'm supposed to be eyeing it lol #if she hadn't said she came to school to make friends with kids her own age i might feel more confident #(altho when people say 'my own age' it does often encompass a few years) #maybe it really is just the emphasis on being part of something of having a friend her own age like she's wanted? #anyway i'm throwing this out there in case anything ever comes of it afjkkafjakfjaf lmao #if not then welp it's just yet another thing i have overthought what's new haha

[wheezel]

transness & suicidality

obvious tw for. the above

hello. my name is max.

i’ve been going by max on the internet since like 2014 or 2015, when i’d join roleplay plots on creativefun, or maybe even before that, or parallel to that, i had some blatantly obvious self-insert OC with the same name. in every pokémon game i’ve ever owned, i’ve had an eevee named max. i don’t know why i was so attached to this name, but i don’t think i ever really foresaw it becoming Mine.

i started using tumblr “full time” in 2017. mostly for fandom stuff, especially harry potter. i’ve been max on here since the beginning of that— co-ran some hufflepuff blog under that name, and i thought it was the coolest thing.

i’ve always struggled in the mental health department. i wasn’t diagnosed with anything, but i’ve probably been contemplating suicide since the fifth grade. it didn’t start out serious, i don’t think, but throughout middle school it was a thought that never really left my head.

i’d known that i was queer since maybe the sixth grade? luckily i grew up in a general area where that wasn’t shamed or anything, so tbh it wasn’t super hard to come to terms with.

i don’t think i knew what being trans was until like 8th grade, but you wouldn’t believe that— i don’t wanna do the whole “i’ve been acting like a little boy since birth Ah Ah” thing bc i know that’s not a universal trans experience & i don’t want to make it out to be, but also.. i literally basically grew up as a little boy 😭 i was very outspoken about not liking anything “girly,” was friends with mostly guys, i’d always make my character a boy in any game i played, probably announced multiple times that i wished i was a boy or said that i “basically was.” i believe in tomboy/weird little girl rights and obv there is no “acting like a boy/girl” but. the point‘s that it was a thought in my mind.

wtv wtv quarantine hits, my friends become more homophobic/transphobic for some reason, i start looking more towards online queer communities. this makes me more active here, obviously, but also to a handful of discord servers. at this point i’m very well acquainted with transness, but still very sure in the fact that i’m just a very tomboyish lesbian— like i’d genuinely thought about it, a lot, and just didn’t ever “feel trans.” i wasn’t dysphoric, i liked my hair long, i had a lot of pride in being a lesbian, and i just. ‘didn’t mind’ being a girl.

time passes again and i start realizing that i’m not, in fact, cis. this pill was a little bit harder to swallow, but mostly because i didn’t know what i was. i played around with my identity for a while— i was pretty comfortably genderfluid for like a year or two— but i was still only out online. when i did eventually come out to my friend group at the time (shout out HS backstage crew), they were really accepting n stuff, but they’d almost exclusively refer to me with masculine terms. and like.. at first i was like ‘nooo they’re misunderstanding woe is me,’ but after a while, i got less & less comfortable being referred to with feminine terms, she/her pronouns, et cetera. some time in january, i started hanging out with a handful of people who i kinda knew but wasn’t all that close with, and i got to introduce myself as max. i danced around the topic of my gender for a while (“you can call me whatever i don’t really care”), but maybe two months ago, i resigned to the fact that i was just. a guy.

you’d think this would be about as easy as the rest of my little realizations, but. you’ve seen the news.

realizing that i now exist in a world that would blatantly rather i be dead than happy was not something that i was ready to grapple with.

i had made so much progress mentally since the beginning of this year— i *liked* who i was four months ago. i think i genuinely started loving myself.

now? i feel like i’m 12 again. i‘m so self conscious & i feel like everyone’s always looking at me funny and i can’t order food without embarrassing myself and i can’t. talk to anyone without feeling guilty that they have to know me. i’ve had this awful, heavy, guilty feeling in my chest for two months straight, and i don’t think i can get rid of it. i keep spiraling and hurting people and every time i think about talking to them about it i almost start throwing up because i feel so disgusting about myself. i shut myself out from a lot of people because of the shame. i couldn’t face them. i can’t convince myself that i belong here, or anywhere, or that i’m not actively making everything worse for everyone i know.

and you know. i almost did it.

to be honest, i don’t know why i didn’t. i still think about it all the time, if i’d actually gone through with it.

i think about the numbers all the time. i’m constantly turning them around in my head— 82, 40, 86, 56. it felt like what i was supposed to do.

though, clearly! i’m still here. i don’t have some big Ha Ha Fuck You to the world reason or whatever, in all honesty i just kinda felt more guilty when i thought about what’d happen if i did it. which stopped me, sure, but also led to me stewing in this miserable, suicidal limbo for like two weeks straight. i’ve been slowly getting better, but it doesn’t really get easier.

i wish i could make some grand statement about transphobia and society and the state of the world, but honestly? i’m just tired. i have nothing to say.

except maybe that my name is max, i’m transmasc, my pronouns are he/him, and i’m still here whether i or the world want me to be or not. because i gotta be.

#tw suicide #shrug #possibly delete later if the mortifying ordeal of being known gets to me

[statusquoergo]

more! original! fiction! (i did warn you guys.)

~*~

Out of nowhere, the air begins to smell like lit birthday candles. What if something accidentally caught on fire, what would happen then? People would run away, probably. Maybe there would be a panic. Someone might call 911.

The smell goes away after a couple of minutes. Someone's whistling; not “Happy Birthday,” it's some tune she doesn't know. It doesn't sound like something they're making up on the spot, though; maybe it's their favorite song, that person, one they listen to all the time. Maybe they don't like it too much but it's the only one they can whistle okay. Maybe they'd rather be singing, but there are too many people around and they don't want that kind of attention, or maybe they have a really awful voice and a terrible memory for lyrics.

Dea rolls over onto her stomach and sets her chin down on the back of her folded hands. Whatever, it doesn't matter.

Well. It probably does to them.

***

“I didn't want to come here.”

“Yes, I know.”

“My parents made me.”

“Did they?”

“My mom made me.”

“Oh?”

“My dad said he doesn't care.”

“How did it make you feel when he said that?”

“He said it doesn't matter if I come here or not.”

“Did that make you angry?”

“He said the first step in solving a problem is admitting there is one, but I won't admit that there's something wrong with me, so I won't get any better no matter what, and it's fine if I don't want to come here anymore because then he can stop paying for something that isn't making a damn bit of difference.”

“Did that make you upset?”

“He didn't say 'admit,' he said I won't 'acknowledge that I have a problem.'”

“Is that an important distinction?”

“I think he probably meant to say 'admit,' I think it's supposed to be 'the first step is admitting you have a problem.' I think it's one of the twelve steps they make you do in Alcoholics Anonymous.”

“Elise?”

“I've never been there, but I saw them on a poster downstairs. The twelve steps. In a list.”

“Last week, you said your mom was upset that you didn't have a lot of friends, do you remember that?”

“Yeah. But she gets upset about everything.”

“Do you think you don't have a lot of friends?”

“I used to have one, but she moved away.”

“Oh? Do you still keep in touch?”

“I was really glad she was going to be in my class, because she's the only girl in my year who wasn't mean to me all the time, but then on the first day of school, I went to my classroom and her name was on the attendance list, but I asked Mister Pruitt where she was and he said she moved away during the summer. But her name was still on the list because they just found out right before the new school year started.”

“Have you spoken to her since then?”

“So, no, we don't keep in touch.”

“How did you feel about that, when you got to school and found out she wasn't there?”

“It was the first day of sixth grade.”

“It sounds like you remember it very well.”

“Yeah, well, it was a traumatic experience.”

“Did you speak to your parents about it?”

“It wasn't really traumatic. I was just eleven.”

“What did your parents say when they found out?”

“I think her name was Stephanie.”

“You think?”

“I wanted to cancel today.”

“I know.”

“My mom made me come.”

“Did she?”

“My dad doesn't care if I come or not.”

“I see.”

“Yeah.”

“Would you like a glass of water?”

“...”

“Sarah?”

“...”

“Sarah, is William here yet for his three o’clock?”

#anna tries to be original #anyone want to guess what book i was reading when i first conceived of this plot? #based on the format of the narrative more than the narrative itself #that did actually happen to me by the way #my only friend moved away the summer between fifth and sixth grade and didn't tell me #i found out on the first day of school when i showed up and she wasn't there #i think she moved to boston? #we did keep in touch briefly #my parents took me out to visit her once #the only thing i remember about the trip is that her brother was playing pokemon crystal and having a lot of trouble with the ice cave #the puzzle where you get HM07 #and he asked me to solve it for him #and then she got upset with me because i kept going to the end of the cave before i gave it back #we lost touch pretty soon after that #not because of that trip #i think we had a pretty pleasant time other than that one incident #we just didn't put a whole lot of effort into reaching out to one another #her name was emma #i forget her brother's name

[conthesatanist]

A vent about being trans (ftm)

CW: mentions of dysphoria, misgendering myself :/, self depreciation, coming out, mentions of anxiety, me being frustrated w life.

I’m absolutely devastated right now. If you don’t know me, I’m Connor, an 18 year old trans (ftm) guy. I have been out as trans to friends since sixth grade. Since Freshman year of Highschool I have been going by Connor and he/him pronouns, as well as presenting masculine.

I am not out to my family, except for my mother, one of my cousins, and one of my siblings. I am out to all as Biromantic asexual (aceflux) and closeted as polyamorous.

I have always had doubts when it came to my identity as a trans man. I always feel like I’m acting, or that I’ve somehow convinced myself that I’m just a dumb teenager trying to push themselves to be different from the crowd. Truth be told, I’m plenty different even when you ignore my gender identity. I always go home and am called by my deadname but family and don’t bother to let it be known that what they have been calling me for the past 18 years isn’t my name. I ask my mother to call me by my birth name as well, as I feel uncomfortable when the name leaves her mouth when she refers to me.

It hurts me to think that It feels wrong because I am wrong. About all of it. Then, I get these large periods of time where I lay in bed and dream of being able to wake up without a shirt in, run my hands down my flat chest and feel my deep laugh rumble throughout my throat. I want to be able to go out and love another man like a cis man could. I want to love another man in the way I would if I was born with XY chromosomes.

I want people to refer to me as “Mr.” and “sir.”. I want to be held by another man as a man, not just as some little girl pretending to be a boy. I want him to hold me in his strong arms, with my head resting lightly on his firm chest. I want to be equally as strong and hold him in MY strong arms. I YEARN to be held and loved in this way. I feel like I’m the only one who thinks like this. I have been struggling to voice these thoughts for a while. I thought it would be easy, but as I lay here in my bed, my throat feels like it’s closing, my head is starting to pound with a the suppressed emotion, and my eyes feel heavy as I hold back my tears.

I’m so angry with the world for making me this way. I’m so frustrated with myself for being a coward. I’m so MAD at myself for thinking the things I think. My eyes are welling up in frustration. It’s so hard to put these feelings into words. I think I will head to bed now, thank you to anybody who read this through. I appreciate you.

#transmasc #trans man #transgender #trans guy #gay #lgbtq content #lgbt+ representation #lgbtqia #lgbtq community #lgbtlove #lgbtqiia+ #vent #rant #dysphoria #dysphoric #trans ftm #ftm #bisexual #biromantic #aceflux #asexual #asexuality #I want to be a real boy #faking #liar #lying

[journeydb]

May 25 2022 Boulder

I’m so proud of Lupito, whose given name is Jose Aguilar-Moreno.  I have known this boy since he was born and watched him grow into the smart, kind (mostly, except to his sister), friendly, funny, brave boy he has become.  Now he has been CERTIFIED bi-lingual!  I like to think I had a part in his ESL education, since both his parents and his uncle were my ESL students before he was born.  We even continued classes while Esmeralda was pregnant with him.  I have always spoken English to him since he was an infant, mixed with Spanish, of course, because Esmeralda and Miguel understand English but don’t really speak it well.  He had the good fortune to go to University Hill Bilingual Elementary School (UniHill) and that made all the difference for him, not only in improving his English, but also in maintaining his Spanish.

Lupito’s sister Chuyita, whose given name is Theresa, and his little brother, Manuelito, which is a nickname for Manuel, also speak English and go to UniHill, but they aren’t quite bilingual yet.  I have spoken English with them since they were born but Spanish prevails in their household and I’m not there all the time to reinforce the English.  I have tutored both Lupito and Chuyita in reading in English and although Chuyita struggles in school, she has become more fluent with time and that has helped her studies.  She looked beautiful at  her Holy Communion and she is growing into a thoughtful, caring young girl.  Manuel may be the baby of the family but he knows his mind and fights for what he wants when his siblings aren’t willing to exercise their sibling responsibility of protecting and conceding to him.

What a joy and privilege to be invited to Lupito’s fifth grade graduation ceremony, which UniHill called a “continuation”!  It was a beautiful, touching ceremony. Lupito was one of the speakers and he did SO well!  All the students were well behaved but exuberant,  excited to be moving on to middle school.

Esmeralda and Miguel have a right to be proud of themselves for raising such great kids.  It hasn’t been easy for them as immigrants from Mexico.  Miguel has worked two jobs for almost the whole fifteen years I’ve known him.  Before Lupito was born Esmeralda also worked but she took time off to care for him and then became pregnant with the twins. 

Yes, sadly, Chuyita was a twin but her sister, Paula, died right after the doctors decided that they needed to take the twins early because Chuyita wasn’t “thriving”.  Paula got an infection in the hospital and died within a few days.  It was a horrendous trauma for the family, and especially Esmeralda.  I did everything I could to help Miguel with the kids until she was well enough mentally and physically to be back on her feet, but she has never been the same.

Lupito’s name is the first on the list, because his last name begins with “A” but he’s also a leader in his class. I’m so excited for him that he has become such a scholar and someone who is respected by his peers.

It turns out that Lupito’s teacher is my dear friend Sara, whom I’ve known for many years because we’re both members of the Boulder Valley UU Fellowship!  What a small world!  She is a remarkable educator and Lupito was very lucky to have had her as his teacher this year.  I hope he is fortunate enough to have great teachers like her at Centennial Middle School, where he’ll begin sixth grade in August.

[johnnypsycho]

My mom had been telling me I should go to this party for a couple of weeks, now. She said I needed to get out of the house, for something other than work, or the mountain...I wasn’t sure I was ready, yet.

I felt like I finally looked normal, again; or, at least I didn’t look crazy, anymore. I had put some weight back on. No more dark circles under my eyes. The scabs were pretty much healed; I had some really good scars, though. One on my arm looks like I got shot...there’s a couple on my thighs that are kinda freaky, too...what was I fuckin’ thinking, doing that to myself? I don’t think anyone will notice them. It’s Fall, so I can wear sleeves, anyway.

What will I talk about?

“Yeah, so my friends and I were all dealing meth; my girlfriend was a crazy, sex addict, swinger, who had been kidnapped and tortured by a serial killer, when she was a kid. I was beating people up for money, so I could buy more drugs; I got offered a bunch of money to kill someone, but didn’t do it, and had to leave town; yeah...you still working for your folks? Still married to the same girl you were dating in high school...? How’re the kids?”

I didn’t know if I was up to small talk, just yet. For the last several weeks, all I had been able to accomplish was working, and reading. Running up the mountain almost every day, before work. Landscaping, and chopping firewood, until dark, for my mom. After work, I would head upstairs to shower, then, into the same room I lived in, when I was growing up, to read until I fell asleep. I had read at least twenty books, since I got home; I re-read King Hereafter, by Dorothy Dunnett...the historical retelling of Shakespeare’s Macbeth. I’ve probably read that book ten times, or more, in my life. I don’t know why, but, I have always owned a copy of that one...Robert E. Howard’s Conan stories; Steinbeck and Eco; Dava Sobel, and all of her awesome non-fiction works. Ellroy and Leonard; Palahniuk and the i-ching; Erich Von Daniken and my Grandma’s bible; Calvin and Hobbes and Doonesbury...I needed to keep my brain full, and occupied, at all times...I wasn’t comfortable with my own thoughts, just yet.

But, I REALLY needed to get out of the house...

Every year, one of my mom’s friends throws a huge Solstice party; bonfires, and kegs, and a band...all the old hippies, and their kids, and their kid’s kids...my mom’s friends, and my old friends...people who have known me since I was a child; my old school teachers...people who used to babysit me; and folks who are now grown adults, that I used to babysit...while I was tripping on LSD...

Judging by how far away I had to park my moms van, this was a big one. The entire time I was walking up to the house, I was fighting a battle with myself between turning around, and leaving; or putting on my big boy pants, and staying...how hard could it be, anyway?

...Jeez...So. Many. People...

I walked in the front door of the main house. Like most of the houses around here, this was an old, 1850’s farmhouse that had been built on to, and improved upon, over the years. A big red barn. A big porch. A huge kitchen, where people gathered to talk, and drink. There was a small band playing in the living room; people were sitting on the floor, listening, and talking. I saw a couple of people I recognized. A couple of people recognized me...I made myself a drink, and headed outside, towards the bonfire.

As I got nearer to the fire, faces started to materialize from the darkness; I saw several people that I thought I might know...the first person to speak to me was Chris, who was the son of the woman throwing the party. We have known each other since, at least, sixth grade. Chris and I have always had an...adversarial friendship, I guess you could say. He was a couple of years younger than me. We came from very similar backgrounds, parent-wise; although, his father was still around, back then, in one form or another...and that may, or may not, have been a good thing...while I was an angry young man, he was a little angrier; felt he had more to prove, I guess. We were friends, but we weren’t always close. As a matter of fact, the last time we really saw each other was when we were working for the circus, together, five or six years ago...

We were having a disagreement; that led to me punching him in the mouth...he had it coming, but, I shouldn’t have done it. I felt bad about it, for a long, long time.

This is the very first fucking person I run into...THIS is why I didn’t want to come, in the first place; you can’t have a conversation with someone, at one of these parties, that doesn’t have twenty years of back story and context to it...fuck...

I can tell he’s waiting for me to say something about our “fight”...

“...So, I just need to tell you that I’m really sorry about that...I’ve felt bad about it for a long time. I should never have hit you. I hope you can forgive me.”

The look in his eyes tells me that he hadn’t, until now...”Sure, man. Don’t worry about it...”

We shoot the shit for a few more awkward minutes, then, we both make excuses to wander off. I head back into the house, to listen to some music.

The band consisted of the usual suspects; the local guys that got together at every party to play...old bluegrass, and Grateful Dead covers, Gram Parsons, and Hank Williams...always fun to listen to...

During a break, I go outside to smoke a joint. I see a group of folks with the same idea, and head over. There is a guy in the group that I haven’t seen since I used to babysit him, when he was about eight years old; he’s at least twenty one, now...

This conversation is much easier than the last one; just stories and laughs, and clouds of sweet smoke...as a second joint is lit, I start to feel anxious; I start to wonder if anyone heard about me coming back, or fucking up my life so badly, or how weird and high I was for the first few weeks I was home...

Someone in the circle says, “Is that you, Chris Butler? It is...! Last time I saw you, you were pulling old people from a burning house...”

Well...that sure got everyone’s attention...so much for flying under the radar...

...We had stepped outside to smoke a joint, while the band took a break. This was one of the only bars in the area to have live rock music; there were single women, and there was cheap booze; you never knew if there was going to be a fight, or when there was one, if you were going to be in it...it was early Fall. it was nice outside. Crisp and cool and clear. The crew that night consisted of Jamie; the quietest person I have ever known, we met in high school, and were friends for a year, before he spoke a complete sentence to me. And, just that small, insignificant conversation only came about, thanks to LSD and a perfect, green, Vermont summer day, lying in a field, staring up at the clouds. I’m not kidding; he NEVER spoke. He’s dead, now, and we all miss him; but that is neither here, nor there; Eric, who had been my best friend since we shared homeroom, with Mrs. Calderwood, in the ninth grade. He came over one weekend, and stayed for the next four years. We had planned to spend a year hitchhiking around the country, working odd, cool jobs; like oil rigs, and cattle ranches, and writing a book about it...of course, we never did. He’s a Mormon carpenter, now; married with nine kids; Knight, by far the craziest of us all, who I’ve known longer than the rest; his mom used to be a substitute teacher in my grade school district. Now, he’s married; a dad, and a successful pro mountain bike rider...and, me. We had all just finished another tour with the circus. I was getting ready to go back to Atlanta, in a few days.

As we smoked, and talked, and laughed, someone said, “What’s that light?”

“Do you smell something burning?”

“That’s a fire,” said someone else...

We could hear the crackling of the flames; see the smoke, just a couple of blocks away.

Without thinking, the four of us started to run towards the growing glow...

By the time we got there, the house was already engulfed in flames; the attached barn was completely ablaze...there were a few people standing around, in the yard, not knowing what to do.

“Does anyone live here,” I asked someone.

“An old man and his mother; I don’t see them...”

All four of us ran up the front steps. I put my shoulder into the door, and broke it down. As we made our way into the house, flames were everywhere; the walls, and ceiling, were on fire; the smoke was thick...there was an old man, in a chair, in the living room. He was watching TV...He seemed unaware that his entire freakin’ house was in flames...we convinced him he should leave.

Once safely outside, we asked him if there was anyone else in the house...?

“My ma. She’s sleepin’...”

This guy looks like he’s at least eighty years old...his mother must be pushing 100...

We head back in. If it’s even possible; there are now more flames. The smoke is low, and thick; and it’s hot. Man, is it hot...We’re running out of time. We have to find this woman. I find a locked door...

I’m pounding on the door, yelling, “Ma’am! Wake up! Your house is on fire!” Nothing...I start throwing my shoulder into it. Nothing...again, I hit it. It starts to give. I see through a crack, that there’s a dresser in front of it. I can feel the flames singeing my hair. I give the door one more shot; the dresser tips over. I’m in...

Just then, Knight and Jamie came through a door on the other side of the room. Eric is right behind them. The woman is still asleep in the bed. She is ancient. She is very large. She is also naked...very, very naked...

We wake her, and, in the name of modesty, if not expediency, find her a robe. She is more than a little confused. We carry her out of her burning home, as it collapses around us. We, literally, barely escaped with our lives...

When we are sure that there is no one else inside, we try to leave. The fire trucks are pulling up. A crowd has gathered. People are thanking us. We are high, and want to go back to the bar, before the band starts playing, again. It’s so rare to find good, live music around here; and, I left my beer...

The firefighters are doing their thing; hoses are being hooked up to trucks; people are running around, shouting. The beautiful, 100 year old house and barn are a total loss. The burned out shell of the home stands in stark contrast to the roaring fire. The roof collapses... It’s amazing how quickly someone can lose everything they ever had...

We walk back to the bar.

I see that Knight is now wearing a fireman’s hat, and coat...

“Dude...” I say.

“I grabbed it off the truck when they were setting up...I think I earned it.”

I convince him to go put them back; these small town fire stations don’t have a lot of money, and that shit’s expensive. Plus, someone will probably get in trouble for losing it...

“Awww...You’re no fun...”

The news, the next day, said something about some “unidentified young men”, who rescued an elderly pair from a raging fire...

...Someone in the circle hands me the joint, and says, “That was you? I remember seeing that on the news...how cool is that? I don’t think I’ve ever met an actual hero, before...”

I mumble something about how anyone would have done the same thing; I’m certainly not a hero; right place, right time; etc...

“No, dude...if anyone would have done the same thing, those people standing around would have already done it...it was you, and your friends...”

I need to change the subject.

I light another joint, and talk about the band.

I ask the guy I used to babysit, Morgan, what he’s been up to. He’s a painter, now; art, not houses...

Someone else mentions that they are doing guitar tech stuff for Sheryl Crow, who is, incidentally, single now, after a short stint as Eric Clapton’s girlfriend; if I wanted him to put in a good word with her, for me...I tell him that would be great, thanks.

No one seems to know anything about what brought me back to The Kingdom, and I’m not ready to volunteer any of that. The weed is good. The music is good. The folks are nice, and easy to talk to. I’m glad I came out...

It’s funny; a little thing like my apology to Chris, earlier, whether he accepted it, internally, or not, lifted so much weight off of my shoulders. I didn’t even know I was carrying that around; until I addressed it, and let it go. I wonder what else is weighing me down? What else do I need to Bless and Release?

I guess, tomorrow, I need to start making some phone calls...I owe more than one person an apology...

Later, as I make my way down the dirt road, to where I’m parked; I stop, and look back at the party...the house sits up on the small hill, bathed in a warm glow. The bonfire is burning down; more smoke than flame, now. Other folks are walking to their cars, laughing; arm in arm, or holding hands. I can still hear old bluegrass music, coming from somewhere. I smell the changing of the seasons in the air; soon, Winter will be here. I wonder what Sheryl Crow is up to, and laugh...I take a deep, unguarded breath, and let a little more of that old shit go...

So, not a bad night, after all...

#meanoldbastard #greybeard #greybeardsyoungerdays #methamphetamine #recovery #redemption arc #autobiography #imfeelingmuchbetternow

[dapurinthos]

I posted 3,263 times in 2022

That's 422 more posts than 2021!

219 posts created (7%)

3,044 posts reblogged (93%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@possiblythreefourthspeahen

@forthegothicheroine

@marzipanandminutiae

@bedlamsbard

@waricka

I tagged 1,021 of my posts in 2022

#the locked tomb - 107 posts

#statement of joe spooky - 55 posts

#the dead travel fast - 52 posts

#keeping up with the skywalkers - 48 posts

#my dearest jonah - 43 posts

#nona the ninth spoilers - 40 posts

#the adventures of sewing goblin - 35 posts

#harold they're lesbians - 27 posts

#i'd love to have you for dinner - 24 posts

#time and relative dimension in space - 20 posts

Longest Tag: 140 characters

#i have an octopus cup; a lovely sistrum; a beautiful lady jug that pours water out of her breasts; and a delightful little cycladic face tha

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

congrats to the lettuce that beat liz truss and is *squints at notes* now the new pm of the uk?

86 notes - Posted October 20, 2022

#4

a family can be a myriad-year-old cavalier in the body of her dead necromancer, the necromancer and cavalier of the sixth house using the cavalier’s body as a time-share, and an amnesiac girl who wants to save as many furry friends as she can when they have to bug-out.

149 notes - Posted March 30, 2022

#3

really identifying with john gaius necrolord prime the man who became god and the god who became man emperor of the nine houses in this latest excerpt because i, too, would wage unceasing war on the descendants of elon musk and jeff bezos after they abandoned the dying earth.

193 notes - Posted June 29, 2022

#2

hey it’s out in new zealand, that’s my break and i’ve had this draft waiting for, like, two weeks.

some notes on the codenames (source x) that blood of eden uses for the lyctors

all of the blood of eden codenames for the lyctors are based on mythical weapons, the exception being source aegis (athena’s shield, sometimes featuring the gorgon’s head), but it does make sense upon reconsideration because gideon was not the person the codename was meant for, it was pyrrha, and what is a cavalier if not a protector of their necromancer? it makes much more sense for pyrrha to be the source aegis referred to as wake’s informant, especially since we learned that phyrra was the one who instigated the relationship, not gideon prime.

source piotra took me a moment because it’s a version of the name peter and i was just ??? about it because i was not exposed to anything to do with christian religion until i moved to newfoundland and had to start religious studies in the middle of fifth grade. however, there is a legendary sword that was used by the apostle peter, which is said by some to have been brought by joseph of arimathea to britain, at the same time the poznañ archcathedral (the oldest polish cathedral, settling why the name is piotra, the polish version of peter) displays the copy of the supposed blade itself, a roman gladius with a spaded end.

joyeuse for mercymorn—did blood of eden know her simply as the saint of joy first, given that mercymorn wanted their names to be forgotten and not used, and thus codenamed her after a sword containing the word ‘joy’? joyeuse itself is the legendary sword of charlemagne, the first holy roman emperor, and described in the song of roland. the blade used at the coronation of french kings is claimed to be joyeuse and has been altered over the centuries before being displayed in the louvre today.

cassiopeia continues the mythological swords theme by being named source gram after the sword of sigurd, known as gramr in old norse, which was used to slay a dragon in the volsunga saga. as for why? i’m going to go with the proto-indo-european serpent slaying myth to connect them, cassiopeia being the mother of andromeda who was staked out and left for the sea monster kētŏs (who is not a kraken, thank you very much for inserting that idea into popular culture, clash of the titans), who was also described as a sea serpent, given the similarities between serpents and dragons in greek myth.

now, as for cytherea, source chrysaor. i was confused because i kept looking at chrysaor the mythological person before smacking myself upside the head and recalling the faerie queene by edmund spenser where chrysaor is a sword wielded by sir artegall. sir artegall, the embodiment of justice, the champion of justice. and justice, to blood of eden, is ‘the vengeance of the ten billion,’ it is justice to ‘kill the emperor and burn his houses.’ in cytherea’s own words. (there is also demeter’s title khrusaôros, referring to the golden blades of wheat, and cytherea’s return to the first house is to harvest the seeds planted during the past ten thousand years, to cut down the heirs of the nine houses in the same way wheat is cut.)

255 notes - Posted September 12, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

are the lyctoral robes a descendant of lab coats, tazmuir??? are they??? did john wake up one day and go ‘you know what would be cool? if we tie-dyed our lab coats.’ ?????

661 notes - Posted September 29, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #false #love that my contribution to the locked tomb fandom are my top posts #esp. the rainbow lab coats #which i will be making soon once i decide to do battle with the iridescent rainbow polychiffon that i know will hunt my nightmares