#what DOES it matter if they go ape shit???

[ririrules60]

Undertale sketches??? About an undertale COMIC??? In 2023???????

More likely than you think... (help girl ive been consumed by my hyperfixations)

#SO #I HAD A COMIC IDEA #LIKE #TWO YEARS AGO #and i sketched out the main prologue right #which is basically me projecting my murder hobo tendencies in videogames onto frisk #like what if frisk was actually a Murder hobo as a way to Cope because their actions have no consequences #so like #what DOES it matter if they go ape shit??? #they're more of an early teen here ngl #at least now that i think the story up it makes more sense for them to be a teen #so basically instead of player manipulates frisk narrative (which i love) #im like OK BUT WHAT IF THEY'RE MURDEROUS AND EDGY #*holds gently* theyre so traumatized your honor #so i have kind of an idea??? for a comic????? ill definitely post the prologue at some point because i already have the storyboard #but ill see about actually making the comic #just????? #edgy characters with trauma. #my beloved #using murder to cope with your issues: a story by frisk #or this frisk anyways #ALSO #chara is there #and theyre #a fucking bully #i love them sm #theyre like oh look everything went to shit i wonder whos fault that is hee hee #undertale #frisk #chara

[unpretty]

:O can you tell us about your How To Do My Job document? I need to make one and I have no idea how to break it down

keep in mind that my advice is very specific to my very specific job, which for many normal people with normal jobs reads like going back in time to an age before computers. it's stupid. so how applicable is this to other people? i don't know.

i have a onenote binder full of notes which i also print out and keep in a physical binder that says HOW TO DO MY JOB. i write everything as if i might wake up tomorrow with amnesia and need to hide this from everyone. my goal is that if i disappear into the woods tomorrow a sufficiently competent person could pick up right where i left off. if they can't find a sufficiently competent person that's a them problem.

step one is to break your job duties down into categories (for example mine are accounts payable, payroll, receipting/reconciliation, general ledger, and The Website)

second, break them down into how often they need to get done

actually wait, opposite of that maybe. i don't know. i don't think the order matters. the categories are for your actual notes/binder, the dates/times are for the breakdowns.

i have a master "to do list" page that i keep on hand that looks like:

Daily:

Check voicemail

Check email for invoices

Check bank accounts for entries for the reconciliation sheet

Check for EFT receipts

Enter deposit slips into the reconciliation sheet

Sort invoices

Enter ready invoices into AP system

Weekly:

Monday: AP (first and third), Payroll (every other), EMS reports

Tuesday: AP Filing, Payroll

Wednesday: Payroll

Thursday: Payroll Filing, Reconciliation

Friday: Building Schedule, Agenda

Monthly:

Print Statements [1st]

Utility Ledger [approx 5th]

etc etc etc very boring whatever i just want to give you an idea of what my list looks like. it includes shit that seems obvious like 'check voicemail' because i will absolutely forget to look at my phone. especially if i'm busy with a specific task that does not involve phones or email. an easy way is to just go through your day and write down every single dumbass thing you do if it's something you have to do regularly.

then in my to-do app i have each item broken down into a summary checklist, even the things that don't seem like they should need a checklist. i'm talking like

Check voicemail:

If the light is red on the phone, hit the voicemail button

The password is XXX#

Write down anyone that needs a call back

To forward a voicemail hit the forward button and then the extension number

Delete anything you don't need ASAP or it will sit there forever

Check email:

Open Thunderbird

Check for urgent emails from department heads requiring a response

Download any invoices and print two copies, one to hold and one to forward to the correct dept head

etc etc etc boring stuff, i didn't do these all at once, i'd pick one at a time to add checklists to while i was doing them because that makes it easier to figure out what the steps are.

THEN in onenote i took those checklists and added even more clarification wherever possible, such as screenshots of software at each stage of the process, copies of different reports and forms with different colored highlights to indicate which reports numbers go where on which forms, etc

for instance on my payroll checklist i might have one item be "check that the first employee is still present", which on my extremely detailed checklist looks like this instead:

so i'm not just explaining what i'm doing, i'm explaining why i'm doing it, and the reasons if applicable. sometimes my reasons are 'you don't actually have to do this is you're not worried about the above'.

or like, that above one about deleting the voicemails, i might have a sub-point of "our phone system is old and busted and the supervisor never deletes his voicemails so it's up to the rest of us to keep storage from filling up". because understanding why you're doing things is important.

shift+win+s to copy screenshots of software and then pasting them into onenote is a lifesaver

the cover of my binder also specifies that there is a more up-to-date resource in onenote on my profile but the chances of anyone at this particular employer being able to use that are nil

#original #boring work stuff

[adawngswife]

dating sean diaz hcs pt 2

- before esteban fixed up a car for sean, u guys would always take the public bus around seattle

- his favorite dates r the ones where u guys go into random small stores and thrift shops

- both of u guys cackle REALLY LOUD at tacky shirts with stupid sayings and get looks from people 😭

- ur fav thing is to go “i found something ud like” and watch sean look up from the racks in excitement to see an overly patriotic shirt that says “don’t touch my truck”

- his face drops into a frown and he picks out something 10x uglier and say it looks like something ud wear

- sean secretly buys what u say is cute but u cant afford bc thrifting is so expensive for no reason these days

- “guess what i got” and he slithers it out of his bag with an evil smile 😭 suddenly him dissing u for an hour straight doesnt even matter anymore

- once esteban texts sean for dinner u guys hop on the bus back home. he never asks sean to come home for dinner alone though! common courtesy to invite the gf

- sharing wired earbuds on the bus ride home always. sean plays little love songs bc he only listens to music that he relates to in that specific moment 😭 corny but cute. he def has songs in his head that he thinks are ur guys’ songs and plays them every chance he gets

- when u first started eating with the diaz family it was so painfully awkward

- though he kind of likes it now, he did not want his girlfriend to get to know esteban or daniel too well LMAO he didnt want to be embarrassed by anything they possibly could say

- still, even when he tried so hard to avoid it, daniel and esteban still found their ways

- estebans the kind of dad to bring up embarrassing stories about sean when he was a kid bc he KNOWS how much his son would hate it

- “y’know (y/n), im surprised seanie boy over here even managed to get a girlfriend in the first place”

- “why is that, mr. diaz?”

- “i remember he thought girls couldn’t poop until he was in middle school! i had to break the news for him—he was in denial for weeks. his voice was shaking when i told him and everything!” u can see sean pause mid-chew in the corner of his eye 😭 “and please, call me esteban”

- you just awkwardly nodded and tried to not bust out laughing. sean notices and kicks u under the table which makes u ACTUALLY bust out laughing

- esteban and daniel knew from there u were one to be trusted

- “i bet (y/n) doesn’t poop” daniel randomly said when u left that night. seans immediately swiveled his head around 😭

- just like with lyla, daniel seemed to have a crush on u as well. the only difference is that sean tries to shut it down REALLY quick.

- “she shits all the time. sometimes i wipe her ass for her bc she shits so much”

- daniel’s “eww…” is like music to his ears

- u always playfully punch him when he does this in front of u and ask why he makes u look bad in front of him

- sean never admits its bc hes jealous of a little kid 😭 he just changes the subject and kisses u bc he thinks hes sneaky

- over the summer he randomly got a buzz and didnt say anything to anybody

- he just opened his front door standing there bald as if nothing happened and ur eyes wld just kind of widen

- u wld eventually tell him it looks good tho bc it DOES he pulls it off so well

- that summer u wld always randomly start feeling his head because the texture is so interesting

- it got to the point where hed just sit on the floor in front of wherever u were so ud get to feel his freshly mowed head

- he always ends up dozing off bc its so comforting and u wld feel his head pressed on ur inner leg.

- u also get the privilege of cutting/buzzing his hair 😋

- sean doesnt trust himself so u guys sit for 40 mins watching a brad mondo video before u start going ape on his hair

- he gets kind of nervous when u get close to his face and does that thing where u switch between a persons right eye and left eye while smiling awkwardly 😭

- surprisingly it turns out good!

- i feel like ud be super nit-picky on ur work, thinking its total ass. he wld just say its perfect over and over again

- he always stares at any reflective surface and smiles like a dork in front of it. even if u did do a shit job, he probably wouldnt notice or care all that much bc he loves blindly ❤️

im on winter break so i get to be cringe and free for endless hours thank u to like the 3 other people who also like sean diaz. u r all real ones

#life is strange 2 #sean diaz x reader #sean diaz #daniel diaz #sean diaz hcs

[vashtijoy]

on forgiveness: best girl haru okumura

OKAY LET’S TALK ABOUT how most people’s idea of Haru (besides her being axe crazy or some shit) begins and ends with the first half of this line to Akechi. And also babble about how everyone reacts in the engine room for a bit:

Just to be clear here: Akechi murders Haru’s father. Not only that, he murders him after his change of heart, at the point he has a chance to turn around and do better and stop being, y’know, kind of a tremendous asshole. Would it have worked? Haru will never know. Akechi stole that from her.

However. Haru is also not a tremendous asshole. I know, I know, y’all want her to go crazy ape batshit with vengeance and her axe. However, Haru doesn’t believe in vengeance (that’s Akechi’s gig, and maybe Ann’s). She does believe in redemption and giving people chances, and she (besides Joker, who like, doesn’t have lines) is the Phantom Thief who embodies this most in regard to Akechi.

so let’s take a look

Let’s start with the second half of that line. “I sympathize with you”. And let’s put it together with the next line:

Haru understands why Akechi might have acted as he did. And when Cognitive Akechi arrives, she’s the one who tells Akechi it isn’t too late:

Because, make no mistake, Haru is also a child of a terrible father. A father who used her to advance himself. Haru relates to Akechi. She sees what she could have become in him—someone just like her father.

This becomes clearer later on in the scene, when the bulkhead door comes up—and let’s just take a moment here to see what “unforgivable” looks like.

Here’s Ryuji banging on the door as it comes up:

Here’s Yusuke:

And Makoto:

Now note that Haru and Futaba (and Morgana and Ann) have not come forward at this point. But what’s Akechi’s response, by the way, when you tell him you’ll hang on to the glove and keep your promise?

He fucking smiles. Tiny little smile. Sad, barely there, but a real smile, behind the bulkhead where nobody can see it. I swear, people are like “oh, he only dies to save you because it’s the only way left he can get revenge, it’s all part of the manipulation” no, get out of my hair with that shit, I will literally eat you all. He passes up his revenge. He starts his arc as someone who has nothing but revenge to live for, and he ends it (for now) passing up that revenge for someone who matters to him. That’s important.

And that’s level 10: incidentally this is when he gets Endure, “survive an otherwise fatal attack with 1hp remaining”

After this Cogkechi and Akechi face off, and that is when Haru comes forward:

And Ann:

... and then the gunshots, not quite in unison. Bye, kids, we’ll miss you. But note that it is Futaba who only speaks up now—to do her job, not to express any concern for Akechi. It’s Futaba who gives him a far harder ride in Mementos later in the third semester than Haru does. And yet I feel like I see Futaba easily forgiving Akechi all the time and Haru almost not at all?? idk.

so what happens next?

Well, here’s Haru when they resolve to leave:

She’s sad they couldn’t save him. Like her father, Akechi will never have a chance to do better.

what about the third semester?

So in the third semester Akechi comes out as an axe crazy killer and also kind of an interpersonal asshole, but he does seem to have laid off the hired killings, so that’s, uh, good?

This understandably impacts the way the engine room fell out: nobody wants to admit what went on there. Akechi doesn’t; Akechi wants to keep all of them at an emotional radius of ten thousand kilometres, for reasons of his own. The PTs certainly don’t, because third semester Akechi is an immense pain in the ass. and about as friendly as a porcupine on PCP.

Still, he comes back on the team for reasons, and Haru and Futaba understandably have feelings about this. Here are Haru’s:

But this isn’t all that goes on. What about all those Mementos chats?

Akechi doesn’t talk to the other Phantom Thieves—if they say anything, he doesn’t respond. (Sumire also doesn’t, which gives me an image of her, Akechi and Joker stuck next to each other speaking only in Royal Trio in-jokes.) But he’s not saying anything unless he chooses to say something—when the others respond.

And who responds how? Well, there are moments of connection—more than a few. But responses to Akechi often range from passive-aggressive through mocking to outright aggressive. And this is perfectly fair: make no mistake, these guys are not friends.

How does the count stack up?

Yusuke has the lowest number of responses to Akechi—he has five. Ann and Makoto each have seven. Futaba, Morgana and Ryuji each have eight. And Haru?

Haru has nine chats in response to Akechi. She has more than anyone else. And the reason she has more chats than anyone else is that there is one chat that only she responds to:

Yeah. Akechi is not someone who enjoys being cooped up in the back of a catbus. And when he complains about it, it’s Haru who’s the only one to reply. The Japanese is not that patronising, by the way

Haru is trying. She doesn’t want to sit down and hang out with him—she won’t join him in the Thieves’ Den, for instance. But her responses to him range from passive-aggressive through conversational. They are hard to interpret—she’s not comfortable with him; she’s keeping up her mask. She’s not necessarily concerned for him or welcoming—she’s saying the “right things”, making conversation; she joins in when they all laugh at him for bouldering. Haru’s mask has a lot in common with Akechi’s many masks. But she also has that one chat that only she replies to.

Here are her nine responses to various things Akechi says:

Haru: I think this [outfit] fits you better, after seeing how you fight. Haru: I've heard you don't actually need to be that strong to boulder. Maybe I should give it a shot. Haru: It's pretty hard to imagine a group of phantom thieves successfully getting around on bicycles. Haru: Well, the car does have ears and a tail, so I wouldn't say it's impossible to tell... Haru: Well, no one gives them orders, so it appears they just wander around. Haru: As long as you're fighting alongside us, we're happy to have you. Haru: Thanks for the concern. You should stay mindful of your health, too. Haru: I wonder... You can't underestimate the Tokyo subway system, though. It's pretty long. Haru: Then what say we take a little break when we reach the next rest area?

and what’s the takeaway here?

Pretty much this: forgiveness in P5 is complicated. The story is all about responsibility and redemption and the harm you do others. Even if you can’t forgive someone, that doesn’t mean you can’t work with them. It doesn’t make them not part of your group. It doesn’t mean you can’t take an interest in them. The Phantom Thieves have a bond with Akechi regardless of what he’s done. Regardless of whether they’re “friends” or “forgiven” or whether they will ever be close. That bond doesn’t have to be pretty, or fun, or even something most of them want too much to do with, but it is there. He is, in the end, as close to being one of them as you get.

And Haru does take an interest in Akechi: more than any of the others bar Joker, Haru is the one who seems to relate to him. Haru doesn’t model judgement (that’s Futaba)—Haru is modelling understanding, and reparative justice. She doesn’t want to be Akechi’s friend; they’re hugely unlikely to ever be friends. Any relationship they have is likely to be distant, based primarily on mutual obligation. But she understands him, to a degree.

Let Haru be the wonderful human being she is. #theend

#persona 5 #haru okumura #goro akechi #p5 meta #engine room #the squad #okumura haru #akechi goro

[scoupsahoy]

leaving like a father, running like water

[crossposted to ao3]

It’s 1991 when Steve finally does what his father’s been telling him his entire life, which is: he grows up. Hawkins is stuck in time, a ticking time bomb, a place that’s never really needed him.

That’s okay. People needed him to stay for a while.

Robin needs him. Stuck to his side, constantly over his house, hardly going back to her own. He hears fighting from the inside for a while before he stops taking her back. Violence and vitriol and venom. And he needs Robin, too, needs her to be by his side, needs her to put him back together after the town splits down the middle.

It’s mainly her.

The kids needed him for a while, but they were always stronger. More magical. He was a piece of shit when he was their age, didn’t understand a single fucking thing, and they just knew. They’d lived entire lives right under his nose. They’d fought and won and lost and lost and lost and won, and they were always smarter than him anyway. More resilient.

And Hawkins can hardly be called a place anymore. It’s gray and rotten and barren, and the kids live there because they grew up on its streets and underneath them, but Steve. Steve has only been beaten down by this place, realizes he has to grow up somewhere else.

His parents give him the house and he sells it immediately. No one’s buying land in Hawkins, but it’s land, the town will take it, they’ll take anything they can get, and so will Steve.

They drive west until they hit Las Vegas and they get hitched at one of those sleazy casinos so people stop asking questions.

Steve dips Robin low and kisses her on the cheek behind a veil and the drunk witnesses don’t notice that her cackle is at the ridiculousness of people ever thinking they could be together. And hopefully in a while she’ll be one of those girls on the news wearing a shirt that says Lavender Menace but she could never have been that girl in Indiana.

And Steve. Well.

Before they really decide to leave, Steve gets drunk and hooks up with a guy he’s never met before and never seen again, a drummer in a little metal band playing just outside Indianapolis when he was convinced he was just testing a theory, and then Alexandria Brown, who had a fucking tongue piercing, just to make sure girls still get him off, and then Ronny Jackson, who was in AP Calc and a huge loud weirdo but otherwise gives him the best orgasm of his life. And he otherwise chases what Robin lovingly calls “the Munson High” until it clicks for him.

He leaves because without the kids to take care of, because he can’t play mother hen forever, Hawkins is nothing but a rotting open grave.

So they drive farther and hit San Francisco with ring pop rings and get a nice two bedroom apartment from a landlord who doesn’t ask questions, and that becomes home.

Steve is twenty four when he decides to grow up.

The problem with growing up is the growing part. Stretching his limbs and pounding at his muscles and working long hours lifting heavy boxes onto wobbly shelves for nine hours a day. He sees ghosts in the grocery store and monsters in dogs on a walk and it’s hard out here pretending this has been his only life. But at least there’s beer.

“Steve,” Robin flies through their front door, crumpled flier in hand, right when Steve cracks the can open. “Put that down.”

“Why?”

“We’re going out tonight. This was in our mailbox. I think it’s a gay club.” She smacks her hand on the counter, spread out over a piece of paper, probably too excited to realize there’s no way Steve would be able to read it.

He puts his beer down anyway before asking what should be an obvious question, because he actually isn’t trying to turn into his father, and because he’s a good friend. “Why would someone slip a flier for a gay club into our mailbox?”

“I think Addie and Rose from down the hall put it in there. Doesn’t matter. Go with me.”

And. Steve stares at his beer and the tiny television they got when they moved in so they wouldn’t die of boredom. They were going to watch Turner Classics or something because that’s what they always do on the weekend.

He looks back at sweet, hopeful Robin and sighs. “One of these days I’ll say no to you.”

“No you won’t,” she says, bright and shiny, runs into her closet of a room to get dressed and shouts through the apartment. “Also, for the record, you need to get laid!”

“Say it louder, I don’t think Addie and Rose heard you.”

“Don’t say that unless you mean it, because we both know I will.”

So Steve puts on real clothes, nothing too nice, and runs a comb through his hair. It’s a bit longer now than it was when he was a kid, long enough to give him hat hair at work, short enough that he’s not immediately clocked as a freak.

On the walk there, Steve decides his primary goal is to make sure Robin has a good time. His secondary goal is to make sure neither of them get into too much trouble. And the third, if the first two goals go well, is to get head in the bathroom, or, if he’s really lucky, give head in the bathroom.

They haven’t been in San Francisco for very long, considering how long they stayed in Hawkins, but there are regulars in their neighborhood, people he recognizes from work, people he recognizes from the store. It’s like they’re making a life here, almost.

The bartender is a guy who’s jogging route passes in front of their apartment most mornings on their way to work. His grizzled face breaks into pleasant surprise when he gets his eye on them.

“Oh, I recognize you two,” he says, pointing two fingers at them. His voice has a midwest twang to it. Kind of reminds him of home, not that he needs reminding. “That married couple up by that one deli. You guys lost?”

“We’re not.. really married,” Robin says, in that ridiculously un-subtle way she tends to.

Steve shoots her a look. “We’re legally married.”

“Yes, but as friends,” she emphasizes, shakes her naked ring finger at the bartender before leaning both elbows onto the bar and resting her head on her fists. “Tell me, do women frequent this establishment?”

If anything, despite the anxiety burning Steve’s ears red, the bartender at least seems amused. He nods over to a corner of the club closer to the stage and she’s immediately off in that direction, leaving Steve alone on a barstool with a man who knows way too much about him now.

Most of the rest of the bar is empty. Being a club, most people are on the dance floor or in dark corners or against the stage. Steve’s always been the kind of guy to sit by the sidelines. At least, since he graduated.

“She seems quirky,” the bartender says, no malice in his voice, pouring a drink for another patron and sliding it down the bar.

“Yeah, try living with her.”

He heaves a belly-laugh that makes Steve make real eye contact with him for the first time since getting in. “I’m Ricardo.”

“Steve.” They shake hands, firm and friendly.

“Not lost, then?”

“Nope.”

“Thought so,” Ricardo says, though Steve does a quick check of his hair and his clothes, see if anything gives him away. And he must be tense, because he continues. “Hey, relax, let me make you a drink if you want. We don’t bite.”

That shocks a smile out of him, enough to ask for a rum and coke. And Ricardo nods, and Steve tries to remember how to be social again like he hasn’t spent the last five years exclusively hanging out with teenagers and Robin. “That’s a shame. About the biting.”

“Don’t you worry about that. I could introduce you to a friend. He’ll do anything if you ask nicely enough,” he laughs, handing over the drink.

Steve squashes down how flustered that makes him. Robin’s right. He does need to get laid.

“It’s kind of funny, actually. Thinking about it, you’re exactly the kind of guy he usually goes after.”

“What’s that mean?”

“You know. Athletic. Good hair. Very normal looking,” Ricardo makes vague gestures at Steve’s general likeness and he tries not to take it personally. “He usually comes by on Saturdays. In case you were curious.”

“What’s his name?” Steve asks, even though he’ll probably forget, by the amount of rum he can taste in his drink and the way a man with more than one tattoo on his neck looks at him from down the bar.

He does manage to remember, because it’s kind of a weird name. And pretty quickly Steve decides that hooking up with someone in a bathroom isn’t too much trouble to get into at all, and Robin is loud and excitable across the club and he shouldn't worry about her too much anyway. So Jacob with the neck tattoos drags him into the bathroom by the hair at his nape and pushes Steve to his knees and the roughness of it gets him off without even being touched.

And his jaw is sore and his knees are bruised and he thinks about the guy named Winn who usually comes in on Saturdays, who likes guys that look like Steve, who will do anything if Steve asks nicely enough.

On the way out Robin has another girl’s lipstick on her teeth so she can’t say anything too scathing, but she does give him the Munson High stare.

He climbs into her bed that night because he has dreams about monsters and bats and open graves. He thinks about Eddie Munson after five years of him being gone, after only really a few days of knowing him, never knowing what he tasted like and chasing it anyway.

•

It was 1986. Eddie Munson died.

•

It’s 1991, deep into summer, and Steve sweats through his work uniform every single fucking day, takes twice as many showers as he can probably afford the water for, and sometimes it’s so hot in California that he starts to think he might be seeing things.

Robin tells him he’s been hit in the head too many times, which is objectively true, and if he were more self-preserving he’d probably benefit from going to a doctor about it. His father would call him crazy, he knows that, too.

Sometimes at work he’ll see a new-hire with Dustin’s curly hair, the style he had it in years ago when there was a chance he could grow up normal. And Steve will go home on those days and call the Henderson home phone until someone picks up and tells him he’s safe.

And lately, on Friday afternoons after work, when he goes straight from work to the grocery store to pick up whatever he can for dinner, he swears he catches a glimpse of Eddie. Just for a second. Like he’s a ghost.

And there are things wrong, always, the hair, his style, the walk, it has to be a hallucination.

Eddie’s been dead for five years, dead in a different state, in a different universe. And there’s no one to call when he gets home.

The feeling of it sits in his gut and festers like a poison. He doesn’t know why it’s getting worse since coming here. Chasing the Munson High.

They don’t go back to the club very often. They probably should. Robin needs to get laid just as badly as Steve does, but he’s never been the type to let loose when he felt responsible for someone else, not since Nancy. San Francisco is big and gay and new and it’s not quite home yet, and they’re from smalltown Hawkins, Indiana. He doesn’t know how to let his guard down.

But.

“We’re going out tonight,” Robin tells him, sitting next to Steve on their little couch with a sandwich and swinging her legs across his lap as a table.

“We are?”

She nods, smiles, speaks with a mouth full of food. “Yep. We’re going back to the club. And I’m the designated driver.”

“You don’t drive,” Steve blinks. “And we walk there.”

“Then I’m the designated walker. I’ll cart your little drunk self back home. Unless you go home with someone else, of course.”

“What the hell are you going on about?”

Robin smiles her little Robin smile, the one where she’s clearly feeling pity, which she knows Steve hates, and will not apologize for it.

She puts a hand on his shoulder. “Your nightmares are back again. You’re worrying too much about me and everyone back home,” back in Hawkins, she means, their old home, “and it’s Saturday night and as your wife, I’m forcing you to go out and get drunk and get laid and stop worrying about other people for once.”

“There’s plenty of things to worry about, Robin,” Steve points out, even though it’s a losing battle.

“I’m a big girl, Steve. The apocalypse isn’t coming to San Francisco, and I’m pretty sure if it did I’d be able to handle it until you sobered up.”

She’s right. He knows she’s right.

Fuck. He knows she’s right.

So he lets Robin eat her sandwich and he gets changed into something that won’t make him die of heatstroke (because if he survived the past eight years and throws it all away in the basement of a club, he’s going to march into hell pissed off). And he makes himself look good and he wonders if Jacob with the neck tattoos is coming tonight, or maybe a drag performer, or maybe Winn who knows Ricardo.

They come up with a game plan on the way, because Steve is nothing without a game plan, basically the only thing that’s kept him alive this long. He’s going to get as plastered as he likes, and Robin is going to hopefully hook up with a drag king, and they are going to check in at midnight. And if Steve goes home with someone, he’s going to let her know before he goes, and he’s going to have a good time (this, she is adamant about), and he’s going to call her if he plans on spending the morning in bed.

Robin tells as much to Ricardo when they get in, orders Steve shots before setting his watch to go off at midnight like he’s fucking Cinderella. She looks Ricardo right in the eyes and demands him, “make sure he gets plastered.”

And get plastered Steve does.

“I was wondering when you’d be back,” Ricardo says. “Not really your scene?”

Steve leans an elbow on the bar. “It’s not that. I like to be careful. I know that this is San Francisco, but still. We’re from Indiana.”

It’s a half-truth, at least. Indiana itself was part of the problem, it always was. Not safe for Robin, not safe for him. Steve always had to pick the safe option. Tonight is really the first time he’s not going to worry about it.

The world is a scary place, even without all the monsters. Ricardo must understand that. Steve takes another shot.

“Illinois.”

The liquor burns down his throat this time, hits him like a punch, “What?”

“I’m from outside Chicago,” Ricardo says, which explains the midwestern accent.

Steve breathes, the buzz starting in his chest. “How long did it take for you to get used to this?”

“Kid, we’re all still getting used to it.”

He takes another shot at that. He thinks about the things he’s getting used to, the new place and the new world and the way the world spins. The way the ground here isn’t cracked and rotten and part of hell. The way he doesn’t have to worry about getting an annual concussion, hopefully, if he watches out, if he follows his rules.

He thinks about Eddie, which is a bit funny, because he doesn’t think he’s tried to think about him in a long time. Sometimes it happens like that. You know about someone for years and then you know them for a few days and then.

Impact.

And if he’s being honest, he’s never going to get laid like this. Sitting miserable at the bar. It’s a club. There are people and performances and men that he doesn’t have to be afraid of.

Steve has to do more than just survive, now. It’s been eight years of surviving and he gets to live.

So he gets plastered. Sloppily so, finds Robin and kisses her wet on her forehead and lifts her up for the girls by the stage and wingmans until she’s giggling and slapping at him and threatening divorce.

He gets bullshit drunk, chases his Munson High, grinds against a man with lots of eyeliner, hair so long he’s pretty. He tells him so against his lips and his hips. Doesn’t learn his name before he’s sitting back at the bar, a moment that hardly sobers him.

He sits for a while and breathes and people-watches and talks to Ricardo, and there’s a man with sunglasses down the bar, staring right at him. His hair is cropped short and he’s covered in tattoos, and Steve flags Ricardo down.

“Am I really drunk or is that guy staring at me?”

Ricardo smiles, response sloshing around in Steve’s brain. “He’s definitely staring. I told you that you were his type.”

“Oh shit,” he says, “that’s Winn?”

Steve doesn’t stick around long enough to hear anything other than the confirmation. And if Winn gets tense, Steve is too drunk to notice. He wants to drink and he wants to make out and he wants this guy to do whatever he wants with him. He wants to flirt and get in his pants and go home with him. And he’s a reckless drunk and he’s okay with it.

“Hey,” he says when he sidles up, rests his elbows on the bar.

“Hey.”

His voice is gruff and deep, surprisingly so. And he looks out into the crowd for a bit, so Steve can peek behind his sunglasses to see what they’re hiding. “I was wondering if you were planning on buying me a drink.”

Winn smiles, and it’s bright, even if it isn’t huge. It looks shocked, unused, awkward in the lips like they’ll crack open. Steve wants to get bloody on them.

“Now why would I do that?”

“You’ve been staring at me all night,” Steve says, even if he doesn’t know that it’s true. It’s true enough. “And Ricardo told me that I’m just your type. Was wondering if you’d ever make a move.”

“Wow. And you couldn’t make a move of your own?” His voice wavers a bit, a teasing jolt, something familiar, weirdly.

Steve drags his eyes down Winn’s body, his plain black shirt, and dark wash jeans, and the lean muscle that sits underneath. “What do you think I came over here for?”

“You’ve got me there. But I don’t think I was staring at you.”

“I’m pretty sure you were.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m wearing sunglasses, so I could have been staring at anything,” Winn says, turns his shoulders towards Steve’s, like they’re closing in on each other.

“You’re looking at me now, at least.”

“That’s true.”

“Any chance you’ll be looking away any time soon?”

It’s fun. Their back and forth. He can tell Winn likes it too, cheeks red, even when the lights change to flash yellow and blue and green. His voice cracks higher for a half second. “None.”

There it is.

“Good,” Steve says, curls his fist into the front of his shirt and pulls Winn down to him. He can feel the snag of chest hair in his hand, swallows the little groan he lets out into his mouth. He wants to get drunk on that, too.

He knows how drunk he must be, out in the open like this. He knows how selfish this must be, and he couldn't give less of a shit about it. Steve wants.

Winn hesitates for a fraction of a second, the kind of second that drags on when you’re drunk, and then kisses back the kind of kiss that empties your entire mind. His tongue is hot, licks into his mouth like fire, and he doesn’t taste like liquor. It’s just cigarettes and sweat and Steve wants to drown in it.

It turns out that Winn is the take control type. The do whatever you want if you ask nicely enough type, if he’s remembering correctly. He’s solid and bone-crushing and not nearly close enough. Steve is desperate and hungry in a way he hasn’t let himself be in years, doesn’t care about the consequences, wants Winn to make a mark on him that won’t go away.

And Winn gets them both drinks, gets Steve just what he likes, takes his own shots like they’re nothing. He downs them like water and Steve stares at his throat like he wants to build a home inside of it.

There’s a little bit of talking, but mainly making out, and a lot of touching hip bones and exposed biceps and the tender skin at the juncture of Winn’s neck, and ordering drinks and feeling reckless and not giving a shit.

And then his hands are in Steve’s hair, pulling, kissing him again and again, and his knees nearly collapse right there.

“Take me home,” Steve finds himself saying. “Your home. Take me to your place.”

Winn laughs, a sharp sound, “You’re a little drunk, buddy.”

“Sober me up then,” Steve says, slides his free hand up Winn’s leg. He tests a theory. “Please?”

And that does something.

He is pretty drunk, and otherwise his blood isn’t particularly focused on his brain function as much as his dick, honestly. But still, Winn makes Steve dizzy with it, with want and need.

It’s quick and reckless. Steve tells Robin he’s going home with Winn, that he’ll call a cab in the morning, and she salutes him on his way out.

The air outside is just as stale and hot as the club, and Steve leans into Winn’s arm while they walk.

“I hate how hot it is here.”

“You might have come to the wrong place, big boy,” Eddie says. Or, well, Winn says it, but Steve stops short in his tracks, feeling like a tape getting rewound, cranked slowly. It’s five years ago all of a sudden, just for a second, and Winn catches Steve by the bicep and if Steve were feeling more like himself he might have flexed or flirted or something. “You alright?”

And he’s back in the present, skipped ahead with a scratch. “Yeah.”

“Don’t die of heatstroke on me. I have water at my apartment. It’s not far.”

It really isn’t far. Winn keeps his sunglasses on even though Steve can hardly see a foot in front of him as it is. He wonders for a second if Winn has real eyes, or if he sees through his lenses like screens. Or maybe he can’t see at all. That seems unlikely.

He wonders if Winn has Eddie’s eyes, too. Big and brown like he’d never seen before or seen since. The real Munson High: not a guy with long hair and rings and tattoos and weird interests, but a guy who looks at him like that, like Eddie did. Intense and sure and determined and unafraid.

“You remind me of someone,” Steve says, sloshed, uninhibited.

For all accounts, he should keep his mouth shut. Steve is actually trying to sleep with this guy, and he can’t imagine that comparing him to his admittedly life-changing but violently dead friend from five years ago is going to be appealing.

And this guy is cool, Steve tells him so. His style and his walk and his demeanor and how he tastes like cigarettes, the kind you roll yourself.

He thinks, maybe, keeping it lighthearted will be best. If this is the final destination of the Munson High, it doesn’t have to be a bad thing. Or scary the way seeing the ghost of him in his grocery store is.

Winn keeps him talking, though. “Someone nice?”

“Oh,” Steve blinks. He isn’t quite sure, which seems unfair, but he doubts Eddie thought Steve was all that nice either. “Maybe. He was nicer than me, maybe. He was good, I know that. We had a lot going on back when I knew him, but you have the same kind of smile. And manner of speaking. All that.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Steve is too drunk really to read into the way Winn’s posture changes, maybe it has something to do with the fact that they’re at Winn’s apartment already. It’s not far at all. In fact, Steve could probably make it back home in fifteen minutes if he wasn’t so far gone.

His apartment is small and a bit messy, and it’s quiet and a little impersonal. Not much on the walls, no pictures of family around. And sometimes it’s like that here, he’s learned. Not everyone has a Robin. But at least Winn has a Ricardo.

The entry space isn’t too warm. It’s actually nice and cool. Cooler than the club, certainly cooler than the outside. Like, Winn must have good air conditioning. “Jesus Christ, are you rich or something?”

“I can’t believe that you of all people would ask that,” Winn says. Steve doesn’t bother asking what that means but he wonders. He looks for hints in Winn’s sunglasses or the familiar weight of his hands.

“I feel like I can breathe,” Steve takes a deep breath and spins, almost topples over, and Winn catches him by the shoulders. Firm hands. Familiar. They’re familiar. “Woah, thank you.”

“Not a problem, dude.”

There it is again. That tone of voice. Steve has got to be fucking hallucinating, honestly, all of a sudden overcome by this pulling in his chest.

“Is dude really an appropriate thing to call someone you’re trying to sleep with?” He flirts, the only cylinder in his brain that’s firing like this. Everything else is fighting drunken confusion and Eddie and trauma. And it’s not fair that this is happening now.

Winn’s sunglasses are still on. “You’d be surprised, Stevie.”

He stumbles and trips over a cable and it feels like 1986 again and 1985 and 1984, and it’s a black and slimy vine, something that will slither around his neck and ankles and choke him out. And the next few hours are a confusing haze, because he collapses in Winn’s arms. He gets taken to the couch, a fucking ugly thing, and he can’t breathe and it’s humiliating.

It’s been a while since an episode like this. The first few weeks in San Francisco were like that, peeking around every corner, distrustful of every shadow. And the feeling of being back there mainly sticks to nightmares, something he can blame on his dreams.

But he got used to it. He got used to San Francisco and normal problems like being broke and hating your parents.

Steve knows what’s real and what isn’t. He’s smart. He hasn’t gone insane. He’s not crazy, except, he definitely looks crazy to this guy. This poor guy. Not-Eddie. Eddie’s not real. Or, not anymore.

He never should have come here. He should be with Robin. She knows what’s real too. She can talk him down. She’s good at it.

He can’t see for what feels like an hour or what he knows is realistically only a couple of minutes, and then he can, because Eddie or not-Eddie rubs circles into his back and puts a glass of ice water in his hands and tells him how cold it is. He narrates the droplets of condensation that track down his skin and into his watch, which still hasn’t gone off yet.

This is the longest night of his fucking life and that’s saying something, it’s saying too much.

“You’re okay, man,” Eddie or not-Eddie says, calm like he’s used to this feeling, when nobody could be. Nobody but the group of them who fought monsters in alternate dimensions, who were nearly killed off and then paid off by government organizations. It’s why Steve and Robin came here in the first place. To get away from it. Somewhere where no one would know. So they wouldn’t have to see the effects of it every day and breathe the awful polluted air.

A chill runs up his spine. The air conditioning whirrs. A thought comes to his mind: he likes it cold.

And he thinks he’s hyperventilating again, he must be, because Winn is concerned and takes off his sunglasses and Steve gets a good look at his eyes and they’re Eddie’s. Like he took them from him. Like the world is fucking with him, like they never won at all and this is Steve’s fucking ticking clock. Like the last five years weren’t real, like nothing is real.

By some grace of God, that’s too much for his brain to handle, and he passes out right there on Eddie’s couch in Eddie’s arms in San Francisco in 1991.

•

It was 1986. Eddie Munson almost died.

•

It’s 1991, and Steve wakes up hungover in a room he’s never been in before. It’s dark still, and his head is pounding, and he’s sure it’s from the alcohol. But it centers around his eyes like he’d been crying, something he doesn’t let himself do all that often, and it floods back.

His eyes barely adjust and there’s an old Metallica poster on the wall and a stack of books in the corner of the room and a guitar pick necklace hanging from the corner of a mirror and nothing else.

Nothing else recognizable, at least. Nothing else personal, not that Steve can really say he knew Eddie personally. It’s nothing like Eddie’s room at home five years ago, the one he had to clean out because Wayne and Dustin were too heartbroken to do it themselves. With his guitars and posters and fliers and lyrics and chord progressions. With his drugs that they threw back into Rick’s house. That he and Nancy made sure to keep far away from the kids, because God fucking forbid they touch them.

It’s too dark to tell if this is the Upside Down or one of those clock hallucinations or if it’s just night.

There’s no reason Eddie Munson should be alive.

There’s no reason, really, that Steve should have been thinking about him for so long, anyway. For thinking of Eddie as this special thing to him, a high he’s chased for years, a person he recognizes pieces of in strangers on the street. That must be what this is. Punishing him for not letting him go. When he hardly fucking knew the guy.

But that’s not right, either.

He’s shaking, and the bed creaks with it, and the door opens slowly, and he holds his breath until Eddie walks through.

Because Eddie walks through. His hair is cropped and his neck is scarred and his face is older. There aren’t rings or patches or buttons on leather and denim. He looks different and exactly the same, and the light from the other room floods from behind him like a halo, like he’s a ghost.

Steve knows that this can’t be his imagination, though, can’t be the effect of some spell or hypnotism or post-traumatic stress, because he’d never imagine Eddie like this. Barren.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Eddie says, like it’s a normal thing to say, like this is a normal thing to do, and Steve kind of wants to kill him again.

The light flickers on, bathes the room in an ugly yellow. “What did you do?”

“What?” Eddie stops short. Water spills over the rim of a glass Steve didn’t notice he was holding. “You had a panic attack and passed out. I brought you to a bed.”

Steve shakes his head. “You died! You died five years ago! What did you do? Did you make a deal with Vecna? With the guys at the lab?”

“Jesus, no!” Eddie steps forward and Steve tenses. His eyes flash, and they’re just as big and swirling as Steve remembers, but they’re dark, and he holds his other hand out, placating. Is he a vampire? Is Vecna even dead?

“Was any of it real? Is any of it over?”

Exdie crouches, and he takes off his shirt, and Steve must still be a little drunk because he stares at his chest and the curls of hair scattered around. But behind that, more clear now than it was in the club, is scarred, discolored patches of skin, poorly stitched together, healed but slowly. Painfully. The scratches and scars run lightly up his arms and his chest, up into deep pinks and reds at the base of his neck.

“I didn’t die,” Eddie says, patient, practiced, like he’d been prepared to be found out. Which begs the question: what was the fucking point? “I nearly died. I thought I died. But I didn’t.”

Steve fumes and he tries to follow and he stares at Eddie’s skin, thinks about all the people he couldn’t protect.

“We mourned you. Dustin was,” Jesus Christ, it hurts to think about, “torn in half. You let us all think you died, but you let him think you died. We would have helped you.”

Eddie stares like he’s brokenhearted, and Steve is done talking. His throat hurts and his head hurts and he’s too fucking old for this. He dares Eddie to explain himself.

•

It was 1986. Eddie Munson didn’t die.

He really did think he was going to. He’d already accepted it, and if Dustin got to live, he would have done it over and over again indefinitely. He would have relived the pain forever, and he knew it even when it was excruciating and he tasted blood and venom and whatever else.

The only thing he wouldn’t relive was Dustin’s face, dirty and tear-tracked and sobbing.

Eddie faded out and faded back in. He couldn’t open his eyes, but he heard the others come back, heard them tear Dustin off of him, heard the rumbling of thunder and the splitting of earth.

One thing Eddie learned when he was young, when his dad put his mom in the hospital, was that hearing goes last. The last moments wrapped up in loud silence.

He didn’t know if he believed in heaven, but the screams and the cracking and the laughter from Vecna sounded a lot like hell, especially when it didn’t stop. When it kept going. When he thought he was dead.

But hell seemed to spit him back out.

Didn’t want him. Go figure.

He was hardly alive, though. Alive in the sense that he was sometimes conscious and his heart was chugging, pushing blood around his body.

And eventually, in Hawkins, real Hawkins, he crawled until he ended up in the Hendersons’ backyard. He’d heard a story once, right before he died, that Dustin had taken in a little monster until it could live on its own.

It was a long shot, but he was hoping the kid would be willing to do it again.

He was.

Eddie bled sludge onto the concrete of Dustin’s cellar, and Dustin stole antiseptic and gauze and painkillers from where they were keeping Max in the hospital and from the donation drives and wherever else, Eddie never knew. He soaked needles and string in hydrogen peroxide and sewed him up in the really gnarly gashes that wouldn’t scab over, placating Eddie with whatever was in his mother’s liquor cabinet.

And it was fucking hell.

He will never remember most of it.

But as soon as he could stand upright he cut his hair short and hitchhiked to Indianappolis and took a one-way bus to California and didn’t look back.

There was no way he could. Every step was a miracle. He was a man on the run.

But nobody except his uncle knew that his name was Edwin, that his mother’s maiden name was Langley. Nobody except Rick, who’d made him a fake ID before he got sent to prison so he could run off to San Francisco after he graduated, or after Wayne got sick of him, or after shit got really bad.

And well.

It killed the poor kid, he knew it, but he hoped that knowing he was alive would lessen the blow. Even if he swore him to secrecy. The kid was loyal. Could keep a secret.

Dustin is nothing if not stubborn. Packed Eddie’s bag with a note with his home phone number and a radio frequency and a threat, a promise, to tell the police exactly where he was if he didn’t confirm proof of life at least once a month.

An extremely charming scribbled note on a piece of paper he would keep in his bedside table that read: I WILL MAKE ELEVEN FIND YOU. LIVE.

So Eddie Munson – if you asked his ID, Edwin Langley – if you asked anyone else, Winn the Mechanic – didn’t die in Upside Down Hawkins, Indiana in 1986. He laid low for five years in San Francisco, a place where people run to all the fucking time and don’t ask questions, didn’t make too much money, didn’t make too many waves.

He got rid of anything that would identify him. That was the hard part. All Eddie Munson had was his identity. Was his band and his music and his club and his loud personality. And he’d never held himself back for anyone.

He figured, though, if he was going to hold himself back for something, it would be for the teenagers who fought monsters. Maybe, he thought, this way he’ll win. There’s no other way for them to win.

Eddie knew his odds. Every day was a stealth check. And for five years he rolled high enough. It helped staying mainly sober and playing the new performance of being mysterious and quiet. Like that was a new game in itself.

And then, one day, a drunk and traumatized Steve Harrington rolled high enough on investigation to crumble the whole thing down.

•

It’s 1991. And Eddie Munson didn’t die.

He was alive when Wayne and Steve organized a pathetic little funeral for him with sticks and pins and guitar picks buried into the ground on the right-side-up of where he got attacked by the bats. He was alive when Steve and Lucas spent nights in Dustin’s room, giving them a break from the hospital room and making sure they were doing okay.

For Christ sake, he held Dustin while they mourned.

Eddie was alive when Steve sort of pieced together why he was so heartbroken. When Robin asked why he kept Eddie’s jean jacket hung on the back of his desk chair, why he didn’t bury it or give it to Wayne. He was alive when Steve was confused and tired and drove out to Indianapolis and went down on some drummer with long hair and big eyes who called him baby and pretty and gave him a warning before coming down his throat.

When Robin coined the term Munson High.

And Jesus Christ, Steve is exhausted. He’s nauseous and dizzy and hungover and his mouth tastes like shit. He’s only pretty sure this whole thing isn’t an elaborate mind game.

“I don't understand, dude,” Steve says, running the palm of his hand flat down his face.

“What don’t you understand?”

Steve kind of wants to kill him again. “Why did you have to be dead? Why didn’t you tell the rest of us? Why didn’t you tell me? We were friends!” He clears his throat. “And why the fuck did you take me home tonight knowing damn well who I was?”

Eddie counts the questions off on his fingers, formulating his thoughts, and it’s infuriating to watch. Knowing that Eddie has had five years to think about this, and Steve is falling over on himself like a fucking idiot. Blindsided.

He speaks, and for some reason it sounds the exact same as it has in Steve’s memory, and it hurts. “The town wanted me dead, man. There were people coming after me with pitchforks, no questions asked, there was no saving me. Not after Jason died. Not after it broke national news. I couldn’t be missing or sent to jail or any of that shit. I had to be dead or they would kill me. And if they couldn’t kill me, they’d kill you guys for keeping me alive.”

Steve clenches his jaw and it sends the violent sting of a migraine into his eye. “We would have done it. We needed you–”

“That’s why you guys couldn’t know. You would try to fix it. If you knew I lived, you would patch me up and take me to your magical girl’s friends with the government and they would wave their wands, but I would be public enemy number one, and that was never going to change or get better,” Eddie says, a crack in his voice like he’s frustrated, like he has a right to be. “I’ve been public enemy number one since the kids in Hawkins found out who my dad was. It never fucking changes.

“I told Dustin because I knew he wouldn’t ask me to stay after I’d already made up my mind. I didn’t tell you because I knew you would. You would have asked me to stay and I would have done anything for you back then. And now, too. I just can’t say no to you, Stevie.

“But,” he finishes, “you needed to focus on the bigger picture. If you thought there was any shot I would make it, you would have taken it, and you would have gotten yourself killed.”

Steve breathes. He can’t do much to argue with that, but the parts of it that were personal, that made Steve feel like stained glass or the open mouth of a cave, like he was something Eddie could really see, those parts are hard to swallow.

“And?”

“And,” Eddie says. “I haven’t seen you in five years and I never got to kiss you back then, I never even thought of it as a possibility. And my cover was broken and I was drinking even though I don’t do that anymore, and you asked to go home with me, Steve. I already said I can’t say no to you.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” Eddie relaxes into a position more familiar, barely. The ghost of a posture Steve recognizes from five years ago. He wonders if he’s still the same or different in Eddie’s eyes. “And I wouldn’t have slept with you under false pretenses, I just figured you’d rather not be in a dark little gay club when you realized I was Eddie.”

He’s a little too tired for this. A little too broken. It’s a little too much.

Steve wonders if he would feel his heart stop if it did. Or if it would just feel like the same dull ache he’s been feeling for five years. More than that. Since his world turned upside down.

“You’re stuck with me, now. You got that?”

Eddie smiles, and it’s something so massive and heart stopping and sickening that Steve worries if it’s real at all. It’s just different enough. Five years older. Relieved and real.

“Yeah,” Eddie says, waterlogged and broken and also whole.

Steve would hate to break this, but he glances at the clock and feels a tension about a fifteen minute walk away. “You’re going to have to deal with Robin, though. And Dustin is going to have to deal with me”

•

In 1996 there’s a wedding in Hawkins, Indiana.

•

It’s 1991. Steve unlocks his apartment, cramped and kind of ugly, and full of life.

“Hey Rob?”

Robin calls from her little closet room. “No honey I’m home? Where has our love gone, Stevie?”

“Uh,” he shifts by the door. “I ran into someone last night.”

“I thought you went home with that Winn guy. Did he fuck your brains out? I should have told him about your history of concussions before I let you leave…” Robin trails off when she turns one of the snug corners of their apartment and makes eye contact with them.

And Steve can only imagine how they look to her, considering everything. Steve bringing home a man who looks more like Eddie Munson than is probably healthy for him. Looking exhausted, his eyes are chapped and red from last night. And Eddie looks kind of terrified, which he should. It’s a blessing that Nancy is on the other side of the country, because Eddie would be dirt in the fucking ground, probably.

“Hi,” Robin looks Eddie up and down with so much intensity that Steve can feel the heat of it. “I’m sorry. I’m Robin. I need to steal Steve away for just one minute.”

“Robin,” Steve manages. She looks away from Eddie and gives Steve a scathing Munson High stare. It quiets him.

Eddie speaks, though. That same old voice. “Robin.”

It’s pleading, almost. And it works. Steve and Robin joke about being able to read each others’ minds, but it’s like something really happens then. Exactly how he thought she’d react: confused, and then suspicious, and then almost angry.

“What is this?”

She doesn’t give either of them a chance to respond, just walks up to Eddie and pulls on the collar of his shirt. Steve looks too: the smattering of scars, years healed over but still gnarly, raised, skin crawling over itself like veins.

There’s this little quirk in the scars on Steve’s stomach, marks that never faded, speckles of black, like shards of venom from the bats stuck inside him. They play just underneath the pale scars on Eddie’s neck. And Robin’s face breaks.

“What the hell is this?

“I’m–” Steve thinks there’s going to be an apology from Eddie, half-formed, scared and desperate in a way that tears Steve’s heart in half even though it’s only just been mended. But Robin launches forward, unsteady on her feet, wraps both arms around his neck.

“You were gone,” Robin croaks into his skin. “I saw it.”

Eddie rubs her back, and Steve’s heart lurches at the memory of her and her brave face when they found Dustin hovering over his body.

“I’m sorry.”

“How are you here? Did they–” the government, the Lab, the Russians, the creatures, “did they take you away? Are you under witness protection? Who’s Winn?”

Eddie’s voice shakes while he explains it again, and Steve shakes while he hears it again, and Robin watches and listens with her usual intensity, careful and horrified and spinning cogs in her brain while she puts the pieces together. She’s always loved a mystery. A puzzle. She asks the right questions, gets the right answers.

“You’re not going to run away again, are you?”

Steve watches Eddie’s face. This beautiful thing. It crumples the tiniest bit, and Steve’s always been attuned to these non-verbal signs, these warnings. So for a second, there’s a wet anguish in his eyes, and Robin’s fingers curl hard into his shirt like a threat, and Steve worries that whatever comes out of his mouth will be a lie.

It’s too much like 1986 and Eddie’s smiling at him, curly and beautiful, promising that he’s not a hero. Like it’s 1987 and Dustin is sitting at Eddie’s grave like he doesn’t know where he is. Like it’s 1988 and Steve on the phone with his parents, telling them things are fine. It’s 1989 and Steve is telling Robin that he’s fine. 1990: this town isn’t sucking the soul out of him, he can stay for the kids, he deserves one more year as a kid himself, he still has something to offer.

It’s 1991, and Steve knows how to lie, and he’s never been afraid of being lied to. He’s only ever been afraid of the truth.

–

In 1996 there’s a wedding in Hawkins, Indiana. There’s no big white spectacle event at the town’s once-gaudy now-dilapidated church, no priests or preachers. The bride never believed in all of that, and the rest of them haven’t bought into it for at least a decade.

It’s a small ceremony. Steve walks Max down the aisle. He whispers to her that Lucas started crying the moment he saw her, Max says she knew he would, and Steve laughs, delighted.

He drops her off and falls back into Lucas’ groomsmen line, punching him in the shoulder on the way, lands his hands on Dustin’s shoulders and squeezes.

He catches Robin’s eye on the other side of the aisle. She’s still wearing their wedding ring, but she’s playing with the lace on Nancy’s shoulder, and Nancy’s smiling in a way Steve’s never seen from her.

It’s been a decade free of evil in this town, and Steve doesn’t often come back, but it’s moments like this where Steve remembers that this was his home, once. There aren’t towns like this in California, smattered with woods, filled with people who have always known him, who he doesn’t have anything to lie about to.

Eddie’s there. He hasn’t been to Indiana since he crawled out ten years ago. He’s sitting, playing with hair he’s been growing back out for five years.

There’s a tattoo on his ring finger, now, black and sprawling.

Steve stares at it the entire time.

–

It’s 1991, and Steve is back in Eddie’s apartment. There’s a nice radio in the closet, and the two of them sit on the cool ground in front of it.

Steve hasn’t taken his eyes off of Eddie in hours, what’s felt like years. He edges closer, like Eddie is a stray, like he’ll scamper away. And Eddie at least seems to understand. Press back, knowing there’s fear that he won’t.

He’s warm. That’s one of the most jarring things.

He still remembers how cold he felt, years ago, bleeding through his clothes, through Steve’s hands.

And now he’s warm and alive and Steve wants to be burned by him. Seared. He wants Eddie so close he leaves a mark.

Eddie turns to look at him, raises an eyebrow, “ready?” And he waits for Steve to nod before he turns on the radio and plays with the frequency.

“Obi-Wan to Luke checking in…” His eyes flicker up to Steve’s. “Over.”

Steve smiles. Of course Dustin is Luke. He’s almost surprised he isn’t Han.

It takes a few seconds for Dustin to respond, undeniably him, attempting to hide his excitement in the way he’s never been able to pull off. “Luke to Obi-Wan, confirming check-in. Is everything alright? We just spoke last week. Over.”

“Just peachy, young Skywalker. Though I do have a visitor. Over.”

“Are you compromised?” Dustin’s voice crackles with his natural intense panic. “Over.”

“No,” Steve leans into the microphone, keeping all points of contact with Eddie like he’ll float away. “But you are. Over.”

There’s a bit of amusement that Steve can see in Eddie’s eye, a smile that he can’t look away from. It makes this whole thing feel less massive. Everything’s felt massive for almost ten years, and Eddie just dissipates the whole thing. Like magic. Eddie’s fucking Houdini.

“Shit.”

“You didn’t say over. Over,” Eddie says, voice light.

It’s ridiculous, all of a sudden. Easy. Even though everything is an awful disaster, it’s easy.

“Shit… Over.”

–

In 1996 they stay at the Motel 6 on Cornwallis after the reception. They slow dance in the little space next to the bed, entirely sober, both of them. Drunk off each other, almost.

They don’t sleep, because they fuck like rabbits, and because Hawkins is still a little too haunted to get real rest, and because the Motel 6 is still a piece of shit even after rebuilding it in the 90’s.

The sun rises and it stays there.

#steddie fic #steddie #stranger things #stranger things fic #tumblr fic

[shakirawastaken]

dsmp if...they were teachers part 2

ANON I ACCIDENTALLY DELETED UR REQUEST IM SO SORRY IM GONNA CRY BUT here it is :D with techno too :) please people send in some requests for meee check out part 1 here!

techno: english (with 1 mythology class for seniors): - hates his english classes wishes he could just teach mythology - would make all the students do a little project on a greek mythology story - rivalry with mr soot  - “ill give u each 10 dollars if u go to mr soots class tmrw talkin about how im a better teacher” - supports each and every kid no matter WHAT even if its not english related - holds detention in his room cause no one wants to fuck with him - like dream he doesnt anyone to get fucked over his english class so he hosts after school office hours like its college - has read all the classic novels and makes his classes read them. he wont move to something else unless some kid IS REALLY passionate about it - “ranboo we will not be reading the diary of a wimpy kid series even if you resonate with greg heffley on an emotional level” - BUT for his english classes he makes them do a general book report project so he can see and appreciate his student’s taste in books  - albeit not the biggest fan of romance novels but knows it ends with us for some reason - brings all the projects home and keeps them in a big storage bin. he loves showing them off to future classes and even you - light. acadmeia. dresses formal, long sleeves, hair tamed, glasses on the bridge of his nose - “tommy please stop swearing. tubbo calm down?” - hold detention with him cause no one fucks with mr blade

phil: principal - best principal ever - has a great relationship with all the staff tbh  - wilbur and techno and tommy arent his sons wdym - no ones rlly scared of getting sent to the principals cause like yk theyre like “oh phil??? hes nice”  - everyone calls him phil - ok i lied everyone BUT tommy isnt scared of going to phils - “I DONT WANT TO GO TO PHILS” “tommy calm down-” - hates the school board, lets the teachers teach what they believe is best for the students - can deal with the consequences - once wilbur got him to play a role in on of the school’s productions - big year for the dsmp high thespians tbh - is married to the guidance counselor kristin - who by the way is a GOOD COUNSELOR - actually does guidance - phils whole office is green - always wears his bucket hat tbh - besties with the other school’s principals

foolish: architecture/woodworking - i think this one was another “duhhh” one - builder man teaches builder children - starts the year with teaching them the basics of everything and then sort of lets them go wild  - is so scared some kid is gonna get hurt - has goggles in every corner of his room, gloves, whatever safety stuff  - loves it when kids work together to make some big project - IN YOUR GUYS’ HOME YOU HAVE A SHELF full of little sharks all the kids made for him its so cute - he makes stuff for you in class and uses it as an excuse to teach  - wears muscle t-s or normal t-shirts never dresses formal  - “it would get in the way of the wood?? duh” - id want to be in his class - is besties with mr jacobs and mr punz the random coach who shows up just to coach basketball in the winter - another teacher everyone simps over - once refused to teach tommy cause he didnt want to “catch a case”

i kinda want to write for the bench trio so here’s STUDENT EDITION

tommy: junior in high school, ta to mr wastakens math class  - tommy signed up to TA for wilbur but then wilbur said “absolutely not” so he got put into dream’s introduction to stats class  - but he also has dream for the period after that for his ap stats class - so hes stuck there for like 2 and a half hours  - dream groaned when he saw who his TA was - makes tommy grade papers and stuff but never tests  - he doesnt trust him with that - tommy is a good kid and usually doesnt disrupt class but when he does its hilarious - expect mr blade doesnt give a second shit about tommy in his class  - tommy is rlly good at drama and math (even though hed never admit hes good at math)  - his locker is a mess  - besties with tubs and ranboo ofc - phil is his father dont tell anyone - he is so adamant on walking home bc he doesnt want people to know that his family works there - always has his red jacket on  - never gets school lunches says they are cursed

tubbo: junior in high school, ta for mr quackity’s spanish class - tubbo likes quackity so he signed up to ta for his class - he isnt good at spanish tho- - quackity knows that but likes tubbo so he lets him be  - sapnap ADORES tubbo for some reason - “TOBY!!! WHATS UP!” “hi mr sapnap” - sapnap thinks tubbo is such a good kid - but  - mr notfound knows tubbo is a menace - “good morning toby” “good morning mr notfound *innocent*” “sit down and get started please” - SO FUNNY LMAO  - tubbo is a menace - pulls a bunch of pranks on the teachers but then the blame always ends on tommy somehow “wHAT- TUBBO DID IT” “no he didnt” - besties with tommy and ranboo ofc - tubbo is rlly good at science but isnt so hot at english - but mr blade is rlly nice and takes him time to help tubbo  - tubbo appreciates it so he gets mr blade a gift at christmas - mr blade teared up - runs thru the hall dragging tom and ranboo behind him no regrets - “STOP RUNNING THROUGH THE HALLS” “no” ranboo: junior in high school, ta for mr blades mythology class - lOVES ta-ing for mr blades class - mr blade kinda lets him chill in the back, stapling papers - no interaction whatsoever - he also now cant wait to take that class next year - mr blade refers to him as my protege a lot  - i hope i used that word right - besties with tommy and tubbo - all the teachers are nice to ranboo and kinda sorry that hes friends with tommy and tubbo LMFAO  - “hi ranboo u doing ok” “yes thank u mr jacobs” “RANBOO! LETS GO! PUDDING DAY IN THE CAFETERIA” “thats my cue mr jacobs” - ranboo usually doesnt get into trouble when he does oh boy its good - not pranks on teachers but school wide pranks - is shy but when someone picks on tommy and tubbo he GOES OFF - attacks them through words - when he gets comfortable in a class he lets out these small comments that get the whole room laughing - so not the class clown but people know hes funny and people respects him 

#technoblade x reader #philza minecraft x reader #tommyinnit x reader #tubbo x reader #ranboo x reader #dreamwastaken x reader #sapnap x reader #georgenotfound x reader #quackity x reader #karl jacobs x reader #wilbur soot x reader

[linkspooky]

Alright so I sent this a few days ago but since tumblr ate it here it is again: Do you think Megumi has ever lived for himself? Personally I'm in the camp that he hasn't. If you think about it he's always lived for someone else (Tsumiki) or told what to do all his life (Gojo). I am a corrupt!Megumi truther and I was wondering what your take was on this since I think if the corrupt allegations are true, Megumi's gonna go fucking ape shit with all of that in mind personally.

I love reading your analysis so i'm really curious to see your take on this!

Hello to a fellow corruption megumi truther!

The short answer for this is: No, he hasn't.

I assume you want the long answer though, which will take awhile to answer. To begin with though let's define what "living for yourself" is. There's two two possible definitions I can come up with off hand.

Number One: Living for yourself is having agency. Basically it means having the power over your life to make your own decisions. Is Megumi in control of his life? Does what he wants matter?

Number Two: Living for yourself means being selfish. In this context it would mean is Megumi truly entirely selfless in his devotion to both Tsumiki and Yuji or is there an element to selfishness as well?

I'll answer both of these underneath the cut.

EGO

Megumi's stated motivation is to selfishly save others. On further elaboration in the Origin of Obeidence arc what he means is that he became a sorcerer to protect a few loved ones like Yuji and Tsumiki because he does not want to see good people suffer.

Even in the end of the Hidden Inventory flashback, it's shown to us that Megumi made the decision as a child to go with Gojo rather than the Zen'in Clan on the basis that Tsumiki would be miserable in the Zen'in. He made that life altering decision for Tsumiki's sake rather than his own.

He even says in his flashback dedicated to Tsumiki that he finds the idea of saving people as a Jujutsu Sorcerer stupid. In an interesting inversion to Geto in Hidden Inventory, Megumi doesn't really feel obligated to protect weaker people out of some higher minded ideals. He doesn't believe it's his duty to help everyone, he'll even argue against going out of their way to save strangers if they're pressed on time.

Which is why he's chosen to elevate Tsumiki and Yuji over everyone else and dedicate himself to saving them instead. That is Megumi's motivation, his choice, he's choosing to save the few out of the many. His reason for being a Jujutsu Sorcerer ties to this as well, because he's not motivated by getting stronger like Gojo, he's not out to save as many people as possible like Yuji. Being a Jujutsu Sorcerer is just something that will give him the ability to protect his loved ones.

I bring up Megumi's motivation to emphasize that Megumi is making choices. Agency is the ability to make your own choices and take control in your life. Even if I'm not going to elaborate on how Megumi is someone who's basically been handed off to different people and has had little say in what he wants to do his whole life, he's still capable of making some choices of his own.

When he requests for Gojo to save Yuji, Gojo interrogates him about if that's what he personally wants and Megumi confirms it. He's going against what Jujutsu Society considers right and instead making his own selfish choice in the matter.

He says the same to Noritoshi more or less, that he's trying to follow his internal conscience rather than what other people think is right. THis is to contrast him to Noritoshi who's specifically trying to be the ideal heir for the Kamo Clan elders, so he can inherit the clan and then make it a place where his mother can belong.

Megumi is capable of making his own choices and deciding for himself, however the vast majority of time he does not do that. The panel ahead is another example of that, when the more complex politics of the Jujutsu World is brought up Megumi mentions he doesn't care.

He's capable of being decisive, but tends to be indecisive and flippant about a lot of things. One of the exmaples I bring up is how much he dismisses the possibility that Sukuna might be after him, because he cares more about Yuji's life than his own. Therefore when Yuji insists it's dangerous for Megumi to stay near him, Megumi ignores it.

Megumi is someone who has had a lot of decisions made for him in his life. He didn't choose to be a sorcerer. Gojo offered him a choice that wasn't a choice. Either he goes to the Zen'in and be a sorcerer but they'll treat Tsumiki horribly, or he goes with Gojo but Tsumiki might have a chance at a normal life.

His decision isn't made on the basis of his well being but his sister's. Gojo also walked up to a five year old child and had them make a choice that would affect the rest of their life. Not only that he exorted labor out of that child as collateral for uh.... giving that child money so he doesn't starve to death.

Megumi wasn't raised as a child, he was raised as a sorcerer. He was raised with the implicit idea that he owed Gojo and that he'd be a future return on Gojo's investment in him. Neither of these things make Megumi inclined to make decisions about his own life... because when have his opinions mattered? When has he ever been in control of anything?

He's essentially a foster child passed between different homes that has no permanent place of belonging or family. Toji not only left him alone so often he can't even remember his father's face, but then he remarried Tsumiki's mom and abandoned both children permanently. Afterwards he finds out his father sold him, and the person who apparently "rescued" him from the Zen'in only did so to come into his life to take advantage of him.

Megumi had little control over any of that. Which is why late into his teenage years he still doesn't try to make decisions for himself or assert himself because he's had so many choices of his taken away before this. He's not allowed to do what he wants he has the massive responsibility of being a sorcerer thrust on his head because he owes Gojo for not letting him starve to death.

This results in Megumi putting little to no value in himself, and even being shown as suicidal at several points going out of his way to try sacrificing his own life. Gojo comments on his tendency to sacrifice bunt rather than swing for the fences but he doesn't properly diagnose the reason why.

Megumi tries to match the others around him and downplays his own strength, because that's what he's been doing his own life. He doesn't live according to his own wants, but what other people (Gojo) want for him and how they cane use him.

IT'S OKAY TO BE SELFISH

On the flip side despite the fact that Megumi lives primarily for other people, he can actually be quite the selfish character. His habit of pedestalizing both Tsumiki and Yuji isn't as good or noble as it seems. In fact Megumi romanticizes his own devotion to Tsumiki in particular into a sort of sleeping beauty and her knight protecting her fantasy. You could even say he's white knighting her...

Even in the story itself we never learn who the real Tsumiki is. We don't know what her thoughts or opinions are. We only ever see her through Megumi's eyes, we only know what Megumi feels about her. Megumi has obviously made her out to be some sort of perfectly innocent suffering victim.

She is sleeping beauty on her bed. The thing about sleeping beauty is she has no agency. She can't argue with you. She can't say cruel things to you. She can't ever leave her bed. She's just the perfect princess always asleep and in need of someone to rescue and take care of her.

I don't think Megumi wants Tsumiki to stay asleep forever in bed though, part of his motivation is saving her from whatever curse she's affected by. However, by making Tsumiki the princess to his knight he's actively taking away a lot of her agency. He's not taking her opinions or what she wants into consideration. When you decide to put someone on a pedestal like that, the one-sided nature of that viewpoint robs the pedestaled of any agency in the relationship.

I do think Gege is deliberately paralleling their story with sleeping beauty, almost every time she's mentioned she's shown as either asleep or associated with flowers that are symbols of innocence and purity. She's cited as his model idea of a good person. He has her up on that pedestal. The one time that we see Megumi interacting with Tsumiki after she wakes up (though it's actually Yorozu) he tells her to go back to sleep.

It's like Megumi wants to wrap Tsumiki in bubble wrap and put her somewhere where she's safe, so he can continue to live out his fantasy of protecting her. While I don't doubt Megumi loves his sister considering he basically sold himself to Jujutsu High for her sake there's a twisted element to this as well.

I'm going to reference Tokyo Ghoul here. There's a scene where Eto outlines that Kanae a character who's been desperately trying to get their cousin / love interest (I know, gross) Tsukiyama to recover from their sickness and leave there bed that all along they didn't really want Tsukiyama to recover. As long as Tsukiyama stayed in his bed then Kanae would have total control over him and he'd never be able to leave her, or love someone else.

That Kanae's feelings towards Tsukiyama aren't pure love and devotion, but rather a possessiveness that arises from her fear of being alone. Which is likely the same for Megumi, if he loses Tsumiki he has no one therefore he lives his entire life for protecting her.

Megumi is deeply motivated by his own abandonment issues and his fear of being alone, which is why to him his own life matters absolutely nothing in comparison to losing either Yuji or Tsumiki permanently. At the same time his protectiveness of Tsumiki can cross over into possessiveness considering his unhealthy viewpoint of her and his habit of putting her on a pedestal, making his feelings more one sided. Tsumiki being in that bed gives him a person save, a reason to live, someone to fight for.

On top of that Megumi pretty regularly disregards Tsumiki's feelings. The one thing we ever se of her in his flashback is how much she hates the fact that Megumi's constantly getting into fights.

Megumi not only completely ignores that, but he also starts using Tsumiki as an excuse to be violent. In the culling games he commitss unnecessary violence in her name.

When he enters the culling games he says (i'm paraphasing here because it's funny) "I don't know about Yuji but I'm TOTALLY WILLING to kill people." Then he goes on to show that it's true.

Megumi hears the announcement that Yuji has completed his side of the mission and that he can transfer points between players, meaning it's no longer necessary to kill people. Immediately after that he goes out of his way to finish off a man who's already on the ground and prone in the most brutal manner possible. He doesn't need to kill that guy, Megumi just does, and then he justifies it as saying it's a part of helping Tsumiki break free from the culling games.

His brutal takedown of that man is a pretty clear parallel to the way that Toji took out Gojo at the end of their first fight. If you're being paralleled to Toji then that's definitely a bad sign.

Megumi is someone who's had little control over his own life, and one way he exerts that control is through violence. The flip side of picking and choosing who to save, is picking and choosing who lives and who dies. Megumi's shown he's perfectly willing to make judgements on who's worthy of salvation and who's trash that needs to be thrown out.

He almost violently attacks this girl later on and the only thing that stops him is the idea that Tsumiki might disappear. Megumi lashes out in violence on a pretty regular basis, but it's understandable because the only thing he's been taught his whole life is that he needs to get stronger. That's what he's been raised for, his potential to become someone on Gojo's level because of the cursed technique. THat's what he's been told his whole life is the solution to every problem, get stronger, get stronger, get stronger.

THe Zen'in only cared about strength and so abused Toji all of his life until the only thing that mattered to him in life was proving that he was stronger than the sorcery world that rejected him. Which turned Toji into an incredibly violent person who kills others with little remorse.

Megumi similiarly had his whole childhood taken from him, because someone wanted to raise him as a weapon against the elders due to the cursed technique he was born with. Megumi's only value as a person is his strength, so he falls back on violence. In order to try to exert control over his life he lashes out in violence and desperately tries to get stronger.

Which is why the Megumi corruption arc conspiracy theories exist. Megumi hasn't broken away from this violent cycle at all. He's gotten stronger and more confident in using his abilities, but in every other way he's just growing more violent over time and more willing to kill others to get what he wants. He is a character that's selfless in his motivation and at the same time blind to his own selfishness. Because he is unaware of it he can't really do anything to fix or improve upon it which is why we see him steadily getting worse.

So if Megumi's violent behavior is a negative reaction to the trauma of his life then you can just imagine how he's going to react when he finally regains his body and has to live in a world where Tsumiki is dead. I doubt it's going to be pretty.

#jjk meta #megumi fushiguro #fushiguro megumi #tsumiki fushiguro #toji zenin #toji fushiguro #satoru gojo #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen theory #jujutsu kaisen analysis #metasks

[petrichor-idyllic]

HI i love ur writings for minho so much oh my god they keep me thriving. i was wondering if you’d be up for doing like a modern highschool au with minho where he keeps trying to ask the reader out, and she keeps saying no because she thinks it’s joke, until she confronts him and he gets all serious and tells her it’s not a joke and then there’s a little bit (a lot) of spice at the end🤭🤭

Ooo okay okay, my first AU story, this is definitely going to be a bit different.

Again, assuming fem!reader because pronouns used in the request.

HIGH SCHOOL NOT-SO-SWEETHEARTS

MASTERLIST | MINHO MASTERLIST

SUMMARY: See above. Fem! Studious! High-school! Reader x Popular! High-school! Minho.

WARNINGS: Inappropriate language, the American education system which I simply do not understand or what is taught in American classrooms, spicy content, terrible teenage flirting, kinda of insecure reader, guilty pleasure high school drama tropes, I do not condone Minho's constant questioning of the reader- no means no, guys. No Glader slang here, folks- they ain't stuck in the Maze now.

You are not a popular person.

Not that you mind. You have your small circle of friends and staying out of the typical teenage drama really is a blessing, especially during your Senior year.

It's not like you're disliked, you're just not someone most people pay attention to, and you like it that way.

You get to focus on your studies, your family and your close friends, which is more than enough to keep you happy.

Well, it would be if you weren't kind of a hopeless romantic. No matter how many times you tell yourself you don't want a boyfriend and that you don't need one, you spend a lot of time fantasing about what it would be like to be in a relationship. Like going on dates, having cute inside jokes, meeting your partners parents, and... other things.

In typical horny teenage fashion, you do spend a lot of time thinking about the more intimate parts of your desired relationship. But, alas, you simply do not have anyone interested in you, nor do you have the time.

(You totally do have the time; you're way ahead of your classes and are passing with flying colours- but you tell yourself that.)

Except that's actually not quite right.

"Dude, I am totally fucking up this titration, are you gonna help me or not?" Gally mumbles from behind the desk of the chemistry lab. How Gally and Minho got into AP chemistry is beyond me, and the teacher, and the whole entire class.

Probably to do with them cheating on their mid-terms. But that's irrelevant.

"Minho, dude," he shoves his friend, who has been casually leaning on the desk staring off into space, as per usual.

Well, not into space exactly.

"What? Huh? Oh, right, yeah." He clears his throat. "Acid in the... tube thing and we put that in the base and bang, shit changes colour- it ain't that hard."

"It's an acid-base titration."

"So?"

"So, we're seeing how much base it takes to neutralise the acid- the acid goes in the beaker!"

"What's the damn difference?"

Gally pauses.

He does not know.

"Whatever, the titrate is already in the shitty tube and now we gotta drip feed it in."

"Sounds like you know what you're doin', then." Gally frowns at the boy.

Maybe it wasn't a smart idea for them to both cheat when the only thing they have in common is being friends with Siggy (aka Frypan, the groups best, and only, cook.)

"Yanno, maybe if you didn't spend half your time staring at your nerd crush, then we might actually get past this with a C."

Minho glares at his friend. His crush on you is very much a teasing point in his friend group.

It started when he was struggling with an equation in Sophmore year. He'd just sprained his ankle after a training session with the Track-and-Sprint team and was particularly stressed about it. So, anything remotely out of his academic field was bound to make his day worse.

It's not like Minho is dumb. He's actually incredibly intelligent. He has a great memory and can understand people with little to no effort- anything scientific really isn't his thing though.

So, when you felt bad for him, watching him anxiously tap his good foot and spin his pen in his hand, you slipped him your answer sheet. He was stunned, especially since you'd never spoken before. But, when you smiled at him, giving him a reassuring nod, he never really got over it.

"Shut up, man."

"You know, actually, that's not a bad idea."

"What?"

"Yo, (Y/N)!" You perk your head up, flashing a concerned look at Harriet, your lab partner, as Gally shouts you. "Could you help us out? You're like smart, right?"

"Gally! Dude-" Minho whisper-yells at the boy, ducking into himself when you respond.

"Uh, sure," you walk away from your perfect set up to the chaos of the boys'. "What's up?"

You stand with your hands behind your back, looking between them. "Minho," he nudges his friend, "tell the girl what's wrong."

Minho blinks. "Well, uh, I don't know- you're the one who said there's a problem."

Gally scoffs. "The fucking thing won't change colour- ain't it meant to go pink?"

You glance between them, suddenly feeling very small.

You're not popular, which means guys like these have often teased you or do things like this because they think it's funny. It's gotten better over time with age, but you still feel like the scared little freshman that would get teased by older boys.

"Well, did you put the phenolphthalein in the beaker?"

They both blankly look at you. So, you pick up the small, dark bottle. Shaking it at them, you open the bottle, letting the liquid fall from the dripper and into the clear acid, which immediately turns a bright fusia.

You pull your lips into a thin line as they both stare at the beaker, no thoughts behind the eyes.

"Ah." Gally says after a couple of seconds.

"Yeah." You respond.

"Uh, thanks," Minho awkwardly stands up properly from his leaning position over the lab table.

"No problem."

You turn to walk away, but as Gally makes shifty eyes at his friend, Minho finally takes the hint. He's been crushing on you forever, he might aswell do something about it.

"Uh, wait, hold on," you turn to face him as he walks around the desk. "I gotta ask you somethin'."

"I'm sure your titration's fine, just don't pour it too quick or the results will be wrong."

"No, uh, not that." Gally snorts, not at you but at Minho's awkwardness, but it still makes you feel very insecure. "I was wondering if you wanted to hang out maybe, sometime?"

"Hang out?"

"Yeah," Gally laughs, covering his mouth and turning away, "Gally, shut up, bro." Minho is quick to snap at him. "Like... a date, maybe?"

You scoff, anger swelling inside of you. This isn't the first times it's happened, but probably the worst because you actually like Minho.

Sure, he hangs out with douchebags like Gally, but you thought he was cool. Say, you may even have a slight crush on him. He's handsome, funny, and, for the most part, kind.

Well, you thought he was at least.

"Real funny, asshole."

You walk away, returning to a very confused Harriet.

Minho stands in stunned silence. He's never been rejected before- nevermind like that.

Gally bursts out laughing.

"What just happened?" Minho asks no one in particular, visible confusion washing over him.

"You just got fuckin' rejected, bro! Ha!"

"No, that was weird." He's never heard of anyone being rejected like that before.

"Well, try again, then, pretty boy- it's nice to see someone knock your ego down a peg." Minho gives a sarcastic grin to Gally before shoving him. "You gonna help me with this damn titration, now, or what?"

"Dude, what was that about?" Harriet whispers as you immediately go back to your third reading.

"Minho just asked me out." You state, matter-of-factly.

"What?" She says a bit too loud, making multiple heads look at her. "What?" She repeats, quieter.

"It was a joke- Gally was laughing the whole time. I hate guys like that."

"Are you sure?" You glare at her. "I'm just sayin', I didn't think Minho was that typa guy, that's all."

"Yeah, neither did I."

"Pricks."

You scoff before she smiles at you.

You finish up the lab session, and you're quick to leave, meeting Sonya and Aris at the door as you all share history together.

"Hey, (Y/N)!" You keep walking, ignoring Minho's voice from behind you. "Yo! Hey! Wait!"

"What?" You snap, turning around suddenly to face him, making him jump as Sonya and Aris exchange glances.

"Did I, uh, did I do something? 'Cause back there you-"

"You think you're funny, huh?" Harriet butts in, defending you. "That's a sick joke, yanno; give it up now before you become even more of a dick. C'mon." She grabs your wrist, pulling you away from him, your other friends left even more confused.

Later, in the cafeteria, Minho sits with his friends, silently picking at his food.

"Okay," Newt finally breaks the tension, "what's going on? Why are you sulking?"

"He got rejected by his long-term crush," Gally sneers, earning a glare from Minho.

"Holy shit, (Y/N)?" Teresa leans forward in her seat. "You actually asked her?"

"Yeah, and he got completely rejected."

"What? Why?" Thomas pipes up.

Minho shrugs. "She called me an asshole and walked away. Tried to talk to her after, and Harriet dragged her away."

"What?" At least three people ask.

"Yeah, so, that's three years of my romantic life wasted."

"Nah, man, you gotta ask again," Frypan says between mouthfuls of his homemade pasta, which is worlds better than the cafeteria food.

"What?"

"Keep askin', you'll either get an explanation or she'll say yes."

"I don't know if I agree with that," Teresa mumbles.

"Yeah, me neither," Newt mutters, and Frypan shushes them.

"Trust me, bro, chicks dig a guy that doesn't give up- ain't that right, Gally?"

"Oh, yeah," Gally agrees, sarcasm dripping in his voice. "That'll work."

And, for some God forsaken reason, Minho actually listens to this.

So, every day, for the next two weeks, Minho asks you out.

You think it's some kind of unruly on-going inside joke, and Harriet is practically frothing at the mouth, ready to rip Minho to shreads the first chance she gets. Minho, at the point, would just like a reason.

Not that he's owed one. But, Teresa and Newt's voices of reason keep getting drowned out by the other dumb boys, so he's still going.

That is until you have literally the worst day ever.

First, your Mom's car broke down, and she normally drops you off at school on her commute to work, so you arrived at your first period late. It also means she can't pick you up, it's not like you can't drive, but you don't have your own car, and now she doesn't have a car either.

And now it's throwing it down.

You then dropped a whole beaker of hydrochloric acid down your leg in chemistry. Which meant you had to borrow Sonya's PE shorts because you can't wear dangerous chemicals all day.

Then you left school- forgot you were tutoring Winston for extra credit, and had to run back to school, soaked, to spend another hour there.

Unbeknownst to you, Minho has extracurricular activities being captain of the Track team- which is taking place inside the hall because of the weather.

So, when you're walking through the parking lot, dressed like a drowned-rat and Minho pulls up beside you, you've just about had enough.

"(Y/N)?"

"Piss off, Minho! I won't tell you again!"

He slowly drives alongside you from his beat-up, old range rover, the window rolled down but he still has to shout.

"Okay! Okay! Dude, you're drenched, wearing shorts, okay? I'll give you a lift home-"

"No way- I'll walk."

"You're gonna get sick, man- I'll shut up and just take you home, alright? I'm not letting you walk in this- I'll feel like a dick."

"You don't already feel like a dick?"

He groans, tapping on the steering wheel. "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable- I didn't mean to. But the weather's shit, and you can't play top-student if you're off 'cause you're ill."

You pause. He makes a good point. You turn to look at him, sighing. He puts the hand break on when you start to walk around the side of his car, dumping your bag at your feet as you open the door.

"What's your-"

"I'll give you directions."

"Okay..."

The ride is mainly in silent, with some old-school songs playing on the radio. Minho taps the steering wheel to the beat of "Eye of the Tiger" to try and distract himself from the awkwardness.

Your phone buzzes; it's Harriet calling you.

"Shit," you mumble.

"You good?" Minho asks you.

"Yeah, Harriet's calling me- we're meant to be figuring out our history project tonight but I forget to tell her I was tutoring."

You swipe across, pressing the phone to your ear. "Hey, man."

"Dude, you were meant to call me half an hour ago- we gotta brainstorm."

"Yeah, yeah, I know, I'm just on my way home, now."

"Did your Mom sort her car then? Doesn't sound like you're walking through a storm."

"No, I, uh..." You trail off. "I got offered a lift, I'm fine, I'll be home in like five minutes."

"A lift? Off who? Sonya has work so she couldn't of?" You hesitate. "Dude?"

"Uh, Minho, he caught me in the rain and offered to take me home."

"What?"

"Yeah, I know-"

"You're fucking with me, right?"

"Look, it's fine, I'll call you when I get home."

"You better." You hang up the phone, taking a deep breath.

"Sounds like she doesn't like me," Minho attempts to say.

"Yeah, I wonder why."

"Do you have a problem with me, or some shit? 'Cause I thought we were cool and then you just started acting like I was a dick."

"Because you are a dick!"

"What?" He looks at you for a second before returning his eyes to the road.

"Doesn't matter; pull over, it's my house on the left."

He does as he's told. There's no car in the drive so your Mom must've managed to get someone to take care of it- which means you've got an empty house.

Thank God because you're going to need to de-stress after the day you've had.

You immediately get out of the car, slamming the door behind you. But Minho is quick to follow you.

"Hey!" He shouts as you march up your front door steps. "Hey!" He grabs you wrist and you turn around, pushing him.

"What's your problem?" You shout. "I don't get why you think this is so fucking funny! Like, sure, have your one dumb joke where you ask out the freak to make your friend laugh! But why keep going! What's the point? You don't have your little audience now, do you? What? You gonna call them after and tell them how much fun you had pissing me off on our little drive? Or is it the fact I got in your car to begin with? Is that the joke, hm?"

Minho stands there, in the rain, his brows furrowing slightly as he takes in what you've said. It's an expression you've never seen on him before, but you don't plan on sticking around to find out what it means.

You turn, fumbling with your keys to unlock your door, managing to push it open.

"Wait, what?" He stops you in the door, and for some reason, you turn around.

"What?"

"You thought it was a joke?" His voice sounds sincere, almost sad.

"You and Gally were laughing at me-"

"No, Gally was laughing at me," he sighs, dropping his head. "He was laughing at me."

"What? Why would he-?"

"Because I've had a crush on you since I was fifteen. Ever since you gave me those damn notes, a-and I guess I never got over it. I just finally got the courage to say something and Gally thought it was funny- for some reason, I don't know." He takes a deep breath. "But I- shit," he throws his head back, letting the water wash over his face. "I was never joking."

You don't know what to say. It's like your body relaxes, your shoulders dropping as you shuffle forwards.

"I get it, if you don't like me- and I'll leave you alone now. Teresa gave me some lecture on how to treat girls," he lets out a soft chuckle, "Newt sounded like he was gonna rip my head off. But I was never joking, (Y/N)- I really fuckin' like you."

"I don't get it," you mumble. "Why would a guy like you like me?"

"What do you mean?"

"You're... popular. Everyone loves you- you're hot and athletic and you could get anyone you want. I don't get it."

He smirks, his shirt is starting to stick to him thanks to the rain and his hair is starting to flatten. "You think I'm hot?" You glare at him. "Right, yeah, not the point, sorry."

He takes in a deep breath. "How could I not like you? You're pretty, and funny, and passionate- and you try so hard and you help people whenever you can. You're... incredible."

"You barely know me."

He scoffs. "Maybe. But I think I've paid more attention to you than I have any of my classes. I know you're good at science, but you hate physics, even though you're good at it. But I know English is your favourite subject. I know that you became friends with Sonya and Aris because Harriet made you after you sat next to her in history. I know the only class you've ever skipped is PE, but I don't know why 'cause you'd actually be pretty decent on the girls' basketball team. And I know you're tutoring Winston after school because he doesn't shut up about it half the time."

He pauses. "I know about you- but I want to know you."

You're completely stunned. The fact that he's paid so much attention to you, and knows all of this makes your stomach flip and your heart rate speed up.

When you don't respond, Minho sighs, rubbing his forehead with his hand. "Sorry," he mumbles, "this is dumb; I'll leave you alone."

He steps away, turning around when you step forward. "Minho," you grab his wrist, making him turn around to face you fully. "I, uh, I have a crush on you, too."

He blinks. "What?"

"I thought you were cool, and I think I was only so upset that I thought it was a joke... because I actually like you, too?" It comes out as more of a question as you avoid his gaze. But when he doesn't say anything, you look at him.

He's smiling. It's a genuine and earnest expression. "Yeah, you actully-?"

"Just shut up and kiss me," you don't know where the surge of confidence came from. Maybe you can't take this sappy talk anymore, or that Minho looks too good being soaked wet through.

Stepping closer, he brings his hand to your cheek, brushing his thumb across your lips as your faces are inches apart. Finally, he leans in, closer the gap and kissing you.

Your hopeless romantic heart can't take it. Kissing the popular hot guy in the rain after what was basically a love confession? It's like something straight out of a movie.

He breaks the kiss for a second, eyes fluttering down at you before his kisses you again. This time, it's hungrier, pushing you back as you grab his shirt. Pulling him back and into your house, he slams the door behind him as you drop your bag on the floor with a heavy thump.

Almost immediately, he grabs you again, pushing you back into the wall of your hallway. You hum into his mouth, his hands coming to your waist, yanking your body closer to his. You're both damp and in uncomfortable clothes, but neither if you could care less as you drip on the floor.

Feeling more bold, you pull on his bottom lip with your teeth, making him grunt slightly before your tongues brush against one another.

Make out session is quick to become more heated as you graze your fingers over his abs through his shirt, which is sticking to him like glue. He senses your want for more, moving one of his hands to lift his shirt (struggling because wet clothes suck) before firmly pressing your hand to his mid-drift.

He breaks the kiss, his eyes flickering as you gently touch his bare skin, your eyes on his chiselled form. He sucks in a deep breath, his chest rising and falling.

It's almost like a drug. You're barely doing anything but he's never felt like this before. It's not like Minho is inexperienced due to a few hook-ups at parties. But, this is new.

He's literally getting drunk off of your touch. And you can tell.

Having Minho reduced to putty in your hands sends a flush of heat to your core. Dangerously lowering your hand, you brush against the V line poking out of his tightening trousers.

He mumbles your name, a rasp to his voice, almost like he's in some kind of pain as he speaks into your mouth. He dips towards you, but instead of kissing you, his lips come to your neck.

You exhale, the air shaking at it leaves your lungs. He moves lower, your free hand coming to back of his neck and playing with his wet hair.

When he reaches your collarbone, your phone starts buzzing again.

Harriet, again.

He pulls away, raising an eyebrow at you as you pull your phone out of the baggy pocket of the gym shorts. "Sorry," you mumble, "I gotta..."

He nods. "Yeah, go ahead."

You inwardly cringe as you pick up the phone.

"Bro, are you alive?" She says the second the line connects.

"Yeah, I'm alive, Harry- I'm home now."

"Great, well I was thinking we can do out project of the Battle of the Somme, or maybe-"

"Wait, I'm, uh, I'm a bit busy- can I call you back?" You definitely have to have that interesting conversation with her, but hopefully you don't have to do it in front of Minho.

"What? Why? Why do you sound like you've ran a marathon? What's going on with you?"

"Look, I'm fine. I'll call you back."

"Wha-" you hang up, taking a deep breath as you lean back against the wall.

Minho chuckles. "We should, uh, probably take things a bit slower."

"Yeah," you clear your throat, "you're probably right."

"So, about that date- you down?"

You smile, nodding. "Yeah, that sounds great."

"Cool. I should probably get your number, huh?"

"Yeah, that would be smart."

You exchange numbers, making some small and slightly awkward small talk when the door opens.

Your Mom, who looks like she's just had the worst day, freezes. Her eyes flickering between you and Minho.

None of you say anything for a good thirty seconds as your mother takes in the scene of her daughter and this random boy dripping in her hallway, both clearly flustered whilst Minho's shirt is still slightly raised.

And where are your pants?

"Hi, Mrs (L/N)," Minho gives an awkward wave to her.

"I can explain." You say.

"I don't want to know," she brushes past you, going further into the house, leaving you be.

Both you and Minho exchange looks before bursting out laughing.

Maybe Minho wasn't joking, but you have a feeling that this specific moment is definitely going to be in the future.

This was actually very fun to write, and I actually got to use my actual science qualifications to use for a change. It's nice to change up things now and then.

I hope you guys enjoyed :))

#🌿 petri writes #🌿 petri writes tmr #🌿 petri tmr minho #🍃 petri tmr #tmr fanfiction #tmr minho #minho tmr #minho the maze runner #minho tmr x reader #tmr imagines #minho maze runner

[ghost-party]

I wrote these while substitute teaching. 😂 This is pretty much a shitpost, so please don’t take anything seriously. I definitely didn’t.

Eren: has a strong disdain for the current state of the educational system // always butts heads with admin // the loud teacher (when he’s quiet, be afraid) // will fight anyone who talks shit about his students // keeps extra hair ties in his desk

Armin: keeps the most meticulous notes and lesson plans // really puts his all into his classes // almost too passionate when it comes to public speaking, can sometimes get a little scary // has a classroom goldfish // most parents’ favorite

Jean: hates when students talk while he’s talking // the “hot” teacher, but he hates when his coworkers tease him for it // sarcastic, but he really does care // cries every year when his students graduate, but DON’T BRING IT UP

Connie: the goofball teacher // goes all out on spirit days and holidays, has a whole costume closet // his sub plans consist of watching movies // one of the biggest troublemakers in the faculty, absolutely will prank you

Marco: the sweetest overall, but he doesn’t let kids walk all over him // remembers students’ names and their likes/dislikes and extracurriculars years later // keeps small plants on his windowsill // Jean is his anger translator

Levi: the no-nonsense teacher // always trying to get his coworkers to clean the fucking teachers’ lounge // doesn’t give homework but expects work to get done during class // adopts a stray cat hanging around the staff parking lot

Erwin: the very professorial teacher // owns a ridiculous number of sweaters // always misplacing his reading glasses // teaches honors and AP classes // writes daily inspirational quotes on the board // can silence a room with a look

Hange: the “mad scientist” teacher // prioritizes students’ safety over their own // forever over-caffeinated // prone to rambling tangents // always prepared to go on a field trip // has a truly baffling organizational system, is never caught up

Miche: the laidback teacher // has the coolest ties, one for every occasion // kids call him “Mr. Z” // probably coaches a sport, maybe soccer // encourages good hygiene because teenagers because of his keen sense of smell

Moblit: anxious but highly organized // constant imposter syndrome, no matter how long he’s been doing this // has a hard time saying no when asked to help with after school activities // would do anything for his students // incredibly helpful

Nile: the grumpy teacher // NOT a morning person // never knows how to fix the printer, usually jams it // his pet peeve is texting during class // there’s a stick-figure drawing of him on a boys’ bathroom stall, probably with devil horns

Kenny: does not give a single fuck // smokes in his car during planning periods and lunch // seems like a total slacker but somehow stays on top of things // has to duck under doorways // keeps a swear jar on his desk, and it’s always full

Reiner: the cool teacher // big mental health advocate, always reminding students to take breaks and not stress // coaches a sport but also advises the writing club // a former jock with a sensitive side // always gets the most gifts

Bertholdt: the quiet teacher // very good at what he does, but public speaking makes him feel nauseated // keeps antacids in his desk // cozy sweater collector // tries to go to all his students’ sporting events and plays // never forgets lunch

Porco: doesn’t tolerate any kind of disrespect // overly competitive, even with students // acts tough but is actually great with kids // try to fight his students, and he’ll fight you in the parking lot (or at least try to) // keeps a comb in his desk

Zeke: the pretentious teacher // was (and still is) a hipster // strokes his beard when mulling over a question // sometimes sounds condescending even when he doesn’t mean to // stays up too late // please check his travel mug for whiskey

#attack on titan #aot #attack on titan headcanons #aot headcanons #eren jaeger #armin arlert #jean kirstein #connie springer #marco bodt #levi ackerman #erwin smith #hange zoe #miche zacharias #moblit berner #nile dok #kenny ackerman #reiner braun #bertholdt hoover #porco galliard #zeke jaeger

[baiwu-jinji]

I think your comparisons of Ximang to Hualian/Wangxian are so interesting. When I first started reading 2ha, I felt like it was a much grimmer take svss (mostly bc I didn’t realize how big of a genre uh…”shizun-fucking” was at the time) so much that I felt like svsss and 2ha were two works in conversation with each other. Each felt like a parody of the other. Yuwu also reminded of Wangxian. Gu Mang and Wei Wuxian have many similarities. Their mischievous and laid back natures, their impressive genius, their lower-class status (although wwx doesn’t face discrimination on the scale that Gu Mang does), and obviously their eventual fall from grace. Mo Xi actually feels like a mixture of Lan Wangi and Jiang Cheng to me. He posses that cold countenance but also that terrible temper. His regret that he didn’t stay by Gu Mang’s when he was suffering but also his intense hatred at his betrayal. All this is to say, at times meatbun’s novels feel much more realistic and tragic compared to mxtx’s but they often share similar themes and it’s interesting how their two of the most popular danmei authors (at least in the western fandom). I never thought comparing Ximang to Hualian though, and it’s very interesting. Compared to Mo Xi and Lan Wangi, Hua Cheng is less concerned with certain societal and moral viewpoints, so he’s able to devote himself to Xie Lian entirely not matter what path Xie Lian walks. Obviously, the fact that they didn’t support the one they love in their time of need is something that Mo Xi and Lan Wangi both regret later on…but I think that Mo Xi and Lan Wangi’s upper class status compared to Hua Cheng’s lower class status plays a role in how they react to their beloved, for lack of a better term, going ape-shit.

Hi! :) Thank you for sharing you thoughts, and you certainly formed some interesting connections between novels and characters that I never thought of. It never occurred to me to compare 2ha with svsss because of their entirely different tones, like the former is all about shoving the depth and magnitude of the sufferings in your face while the latter is about hiding the tears and blood with irreverent humour.

As for Mo Xi, I keep thinking about him in comparison with Chu Wanning - not least because they both have a temper, and that's because they don't know how to express their emotions so every emotion comes out in the form of anger. But Chu Wanning has led a much more sheltered life than Mo Xi because of his extraordinary talent, which secured for him an untouchable position in the cultivation sect so he can just focus on his geeky inventions. Whereas Mo Xi had to fight through his family's downfall, start from the bottom, and survive the cut-throat palace intrigues etc.

The comparison between Ximang and Hualian that anon mentioned refers to this post I wrote - and I agree that with the romance side of things, meatbun's couples feel more realistic and tragic compared to mxtx’s. I think mxtx's strength is in exploring broader moral questions and philosophical themes, and she could do it in a natural, nuanced, and engaging way. Meatbun's attempts in this regard feels somewhat forced and meagre in comparison.

#kind of hope this post will interest more people to read Yuwu?becasue it's underrated and as anon said you'd find many parallels with mxtx #yuwu #remnants of filth #tgcf #svsss #mdzs #2ha

[street-lamp-orange]

Hii :33 I hope you're having a great day or afternoon or night hahdahshsjsh I'm so funny

May I request an Azul, Riddle, Vil, and Malleus with a mischievous energetic reader? Prob has ADHD and absolutely hates doing nothing so they make chaos instead??? Romantic hcs ofc. Thank youuu!!!!!

☀ Chasing Sunlight ☀

Note : This took so long because classes have been kicking my ass right from the first day, and we had summer school 😭 Business studies is turning me more socialist than I already am lol

Azul

🐙 You are simultaneously the best and worst thing that has happened to him 🐙 On the one hand, he loves how full of life and energetic you are 🐙On the other, you add fuel to Floyd's perpetual fire, which causes him great distress 🐙Floyd takes great joy in goofing off with you, which in theory could keep him in control, but putting the both of you together somehow makes everything worse. 🐙Floyd's hobby of causing Azul copious amounts of distress aside, he really does love the way you are. 🐙Please, PLEASE drag this man outside. He works too much, he needs to give his poor brain a break. 🐙He probably buys you a few fidgets to keep your hands busy in class.

Riddle

🌹 At first, he was pretty annoyed with you 🌹 He really didn't like how mischeveous you were, and you causing chaos really didn't help his view of you 🌹 Of course, as he gets better with his on views on rules and strictness, and he did see the good in you with time 🌹 He loves how much light you bring into his life, although he does force you (mostly gently) to sit still long enough to get work done 🌹 However, he begs you to stop fucking with him with your miscelanneous pranks. Please (keep doing it 😈) 🌹 Please, you can't keep running off with fistfuls of hedgehogs at a time (no matter how cute he thinks you look)

Vil

👑 You two do not get along at first 👑He wants to be unstressed to prevent pimples, while you want to go ape shit 👑And your inability to stay still long enough to do any form of work is pretty irritating to him. 👑BUT THEN 👑 You two find common ground by sassing people around. 👑 Your words are the bane of nrc's student population 👑 It's glorious to watch Vil's ruthlessness with the playful way you absolutely demolish any poor soul on your warpath 👑 It would be in your best intrest to not prank him though, he does not take kindly to it. 👑 He does not have time for it, and you will find a 13 cm heel swiftly making contact with your head (/j)

Malleus

🐉 You remind him a lot of Lillia, so he's pretty used to being around someone like you 🐉 He's so sweet with helping you out with classes and stuff 🐉 He asks Lillia about helping you a lot, he's literally taking notes 🐉 And it comes in handy! Your school life gets about 10 times easier after he helps you out 🐉 He loves your pranks, and he's really impressed that you had the bravery to pull that with him. 🐉 He has literal heart eyes no matter who you are and what you do, he's just so in love with you <3

I will be slow with answering requests now as aforementioned, school is really kicking my ass. I will still try to write, and requests are still open, so please do send them in. Have a great day, and hope you enjoyed this!

#twst x reader #vil x reader #twisted wonderland #twst headcanons #malleus x reader #riddle x reader #twst #azul x reader

[four-bastard-bustle]

I've been like slowly going completely ape shit as I've reread nighted doors and thought more about Matt and his character and the whole personality shift he had and the old self vs new self and brawrawrawrawraw clutching my head and screaming in agony

In its purest form.... In a canon accurate form if you will... It's so good it's so fucking good and compelling and powerful that it makes me foam at the mouth. There was this guy who was super grumpy and sulky and he was wearing black and all that and even though he was growing a bit out of it that doesn't matter. Because he died. He died as a petty bitter asshole. He died except he didn't. He came back. But he didn't. He isn't back in full. Something... Happened when he was resurrected. And now there's this other guy in his place. This peppy childlike overexcited person. And that's not him. Except it is, now. He's gone. Does he even know what he lost? Whom he lost? Does he ever get the sense that his personality has changed drastically? That his mind has shifted to this degree? If he knows, do you think he ever sees his old self? The bitter rotting grief and maggot infested corpse that he left behind when he was resurrected as a happier bouncier more agreeable version of himself?

Like. Surely you see how fucking good this is how awesome and compelling

And i would honestly LOVE to take that into my HC AU

But that would mean most of my AU would be overtaken by a legacy Matt personality. And we all know i could never fucking do that. I prefer classic too much. I need him to be a cunt. But the died and came back wrong trope. But the loss of his cunty old personality. But the "wrong" is that uwu guy and he IS wrong, he's so wrong. But how to fix something like that. But it's so compellinggggg. But the loss of cunt. But AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH (bangs my head against the wall until I draw blood)

#talkin #Honestly nighted doors my beloved #What a fucking brilliant character study through the lense of horror and gore <3 #But also fuck this AU for making me over think matt to this degree (not actually mad about it)

[howhow326]

Harlequin AU: villain Maribug

This idea just popped into my head: what if Miraculous was a villain origin story? What if all the times where Marinette got treated like dog doo doo by her friends, society, and the narrative actually mattered?? What if all the times Marinette got needlessly traumatized were actually a prelude to a more dramatic mental break, a la Scarlet Witch??? What if Marinette went ape shit???? Here's my idea:

Marinette's descent into villainy starts the same way every other day of her life starts: Chloe and Sabrina bully her; Lila bullies her and none of her friends stand up for her; Chat Noir borderline sexually harasses her OR he acts like all the times he proclaimed his undying love to her never happened so he can avoid going on a date with her; the usual.

As Marinette goes into her room, she gets ready to cry herself to sleep like she does every night. And then, an idea pops into her head...

"Tiki, red spots on." "Marinette, no! You can't use the miraculous for evil! You know it always ends in disaster!" "Disaster for ME!!! I'm the one that always sufferers the most for mine and every else mistakes! No more... NO MORE!!! TIKI, RED SPOTS ON!!!"

Marinette transforms, but not into Ladybug. Her trauma and her 'selfish' desire to do what's good for her mixes into a new persona: Harlequin. Her outfit is a color flipped version of Ladybug's enhanced outfit from season 4, a black body suit with red spots.

Harlequin jumps out of her house and announces herself, "Bonsoir, citizens of Paris. You used to know me as the weak Ladybug, the failure superhero." Gasps can be heard from the late night citizens, wondering why their darling would call herself that. "But from now on my name is Harlequin, the strongest superhero in Earth! And I'll prove my strength by finding Hawkmoth and arresting him! CREATION CHARM!!!"

Harlequin digs deep with her power over creation, forcing her power to work for her the same way Hawkmoth forces his power to make akumas. She creates a magic compass that points in the direction of the Butterfly miraculous, and as soon as she arrives at the Agreste mansion, she knows exactly who has been making her life hell.

Gabriel is asleep when Harlequin crashes through his window and assults him. " Oh, you BETTER wake up!" Harlequin snatches his miraculous away and beats him into submission.

When Adrien walks in, he feels like he's in a nightmare. "Ladybug, what are you doing!" The boy screams as she continues to beat a corpse. "Happy Valentine's day, Adrien! Your abusive father, Hawkmoth, won't be bothering us anytime soon." As she walks out of the room to retrieve her kwamis, she turns back to face Adrien. "And by the way, it's Harlequin now."

Gabriel Agreste, AKA Hawkmoth, is dead. Suicide by cop, of course. It's not like anyone cares. Nathile is sent to a UN jail for life after her connection to Gabriel is found out. Adrien inherents his father's company and is to be allowed to live in the guardianship of the Gorilla until he becomes 18. Harlequin recreates the miraculous and brings them back home. But it's not a happy ending. It's just the beginning.

The next day, Lila is up to her old tricks. Afterschool, Harlequin drags her into the street in font of a local news station. "Bonjour citizens of Paris, Harlequin speaking! This girl, Lila Rossi, has been bullying an innocent girl in her class room for the last year. Lila has claimed an innocent girl cheated on a test, she claimed an innocent girl pushed her down the stairs, all sorts of lies really! She even claimed to be my best friend, although there's one hole in that story... Tiki, red spots off!" As Marinette reveals her identity to everyone in Paris, Lila's heart sinks. "The whole time I have been saving the people of Paris, the whole time I've been helping my friends, this wench has been bullying me! NO MORE! Tiki, red spots on!" Harlequin swings away into the distance...

The next day, Lila Rossi disappears. The people of Paris don't care, she bullyed their savior after all. Meanwhile, the akuma class' reputation is destroyed, each one becoming a social outcast.

The day after, Harlequin finds out that the Mayor of Paris has been breaking one two many laws. She decides that he, his wife, and Chloe are all going to go to a "nice family prison".

That's what she told the public. Harlequin used the bunny miraculous to send them back in time into the French Revolution. Chloe will never bully Marinette again.

The day Harlequin becomes the new Empress of France is met with cheers. She saved the world from Hawkmoth. She erased all crime in the country. She seperated France from the UN, so that they may be their own superpower again. Longue vie la Harlequin!

"Marinette, you need to stop! Don't you see that this is crazy?" Alya pleeds to her best friend. "Tell me Alya, where were you when I was being bullied by Lila? NEVER TELL ME WHAT I NEED!!!" Alya is sent away to the camps, where everyone who dare disagrees with Harlequin is sent.

Adrien is at a crossroads. If he chooses to love Harlequin, then his life will be full of joy and madness. Harlequin forgives him for all the wrong he did to her, and accepts him with open arms. Togather, they become the rulers of France... but their relationship is one of imbalance. Just as the Ladybug miraculous is so much more powerful that the Cat, Marinette is so much more powerful than Adrien. Everyday, Adrien thinks Marinette looks more and more like his father. He never says it out loud tho... He dosen't want to be punished again.

If Adrien rejects Harlequin, Kill Bill by Sza plays. Then Harlequin actually kills him.

As Marinette lays in her bed, she still cries herself to sleep. She has everything she could ever want... and she still has nothing...

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug au #ml au #ml au idea #ml harlequin au #harlequin au #ml class salt #class salt #miraculous ladybug salt #tw facism #tw: facism #tw abuse #tw: abuse #ml villain au #adrien salt #villain marinette #villain ladybug

[sinisterexaggerator]

Okay. The whole Hondo x Aurra post, as usual very on point, but I have questionnnnnnnnnnnnns ♥

Can you make up scenarios/samples of them clashing while in a hunt or anything that lead up to Hondo either calling it quits? Cause, idk.. I feel like Hondo called it quits as opposed to Aurra, but I could be wrong?

(The Clone Wars: Bounty Hunter: Boba Fett | illustrated by Wayne Lo)

Yes, I think so too, as I mentioned earlier! I see Hondo as the one to call it quits, as Aurra would most likely use Hondo to her benefit until she couldn't anymore. HONDO is the one used to using people, so to speak, and he doesn't like a taste of his own medicine. Two, he seems to like to be in control of his own fate, and to leave it in someone's hands such as Aurra, during a job per se, is not something he wants to repeat after experiencing the way she operates in the field, most likely many, many times -- and then regretting it.

I take into account her "never asking permission for anything" and that he "bailed under her command" as per the dialogue.

One scenario might be similar to what occurred with Boba Fett. Hondo, Aurra, and others are working together on some sort of job. He even mentions that in passing before she kills Castas. "Remember dat job we pulled?" Hondo claims he used to be a bounty hunter. In fact, he at some point goes after Q'ira in "Forces of Destiny." It's a short animated cartoon!

Anyway, just like Aurra left Boba Fett to Plo Koon (yer man), and did not go back to help him once he is in trouble, I imagine the same thing happened to Hondo, and maybe more than once. He realizes he cannot rely on her, she cannot be trusted, and is only in it for herself.

Sure, she might come back with a: "I wanted to help you honey, but I would have been captured, too," all sugary sweet. For a while maybe he buys it. But, after one too many times I see it grating on his nerves. He stops putting any faith into her, and does not want to continue a working/business relationship -- even if they keep having sex on the reg.

Chances are, she tries to and does control him in the bedroom more often than not. I bet her strap game is strong. I say Hondo is a switch, so he doesn't mind being dommed or taken control of in the right situation. You can't tell me he had those restraints just for show or hostages. They were heart-shaped for crying out loud.

Anyway. I doubt she stopped there. I can see her being bossy and manipulative to the point Hondo has to cut her loose. That makes it awkward anytime she decides to drop by unannounced, though he saves face by at least being hospitable.

Hondo can be a patient man, me thinks, if the payout is big. Considering there would be nothing in this relationship of benefit to him, he has little patience, and especially if she at all tries to degrade him as is her way with others we see in canon. She even treats Boba like shit for the most part -- at least she doesn't let him drink alcohol.

As far as sex, he can get that from anywhere. Just look at those Weequay chicks hanging off him.

If you want something specific ...

---

Aurra: Where have you been?

Hondo: *Looks terrible, covered in dirt and debris, frowning.* En jail, where else?

Aurra: I thought you would have escaped sooner than this.

Hondo: Perhaps I would not be en jail en de first place ef you had waited for me! I said I was on de way!

Aurra: There were guards on my tail.

Hondo: And yet, here you sit. Et seems you got away and perhaps would have had time tu come and scoop me up. no?

Aurra: No.

Hondo: Yes, very well. All dat matters es you are safe... *Grits teeth and walks off.*

Aurra: And where are you going now?

Hondo: *Turns, agitated. Embittered tone.* Tu take a shower. Es dat all right with you, my dear?

Aurra: "Watch your tone, honey."

Hondo: Ap-ap-ap!! You know what you are going tu watch?! ME! Leaving! Never tu return! Far, far away from here I go! Do not bother tu follow me, I am finished! Through! To the depths with you!"

Aurra: *Filing her nails.* Uh-huh.

Hondo: *Pouting* I'll only be a minute.

#hondo ohnaka #aurra sing #ask #fandom discourse #my writing #scenarios and imagines

[positivelybeastly]

What do you think of Juan Jose ryp art of beast?

So, I actually had to look up which X-Force/Wolverine artist this was, because I . . . honestly don't keep a massive track on who's on what duty for these books. I haven't even capped them, which is. Telling. There's like 80+ issues of comics featuring Beast that I haven't capped because I dislike the subject matter so much.

In fact, you know what, here's some pulling back of the curtain and some statistics for you - you know the little icons that I used for replies?

These are 100x100 icons cut down to size manually after being screencapped from digital copies, for maximum resolution and quality. I have QUITE a lot of them saved up, a lot of them from back when I was first RPing back in 2013-2015.

For Human Hank, I have 208.

For classic/Ape Hank, I have 622.

For feline Hank, I have 1,018.

For modern Hank, I have 457.

For Dark Beast, I have 150.

Now, this isn't EXACTLY how much I like one form over the other, it's also determined by which one I tend to RP as most, but the two definitely influence each other - most people I write with get feline Hank, he's my default for a reason, he's the Hank I know best.

BUT ANYWAY.

Juan Jose Ryp.

Honestly, it's good art. His anatomy is good, he can capture fur texture well, he is certainly drawing the Beast that Ben Percy is asking him to draw. It's just a bit of a shame that it's the single worst version of Beast ever put to page, so I automatically see it, recognise it, and go, oh, yeah, from THAT run.

Honestly, almost any other time, this would be a scenario that would have me salivating, but instead I'm capping this, uploading it, then immediately throwing it in my recycle bin. I don't want it on my computer, straight up. And it's a shame, because the art is eminently very good. The colouring is on point, it has that underwater shine, the shading is excellent, the muscle definition is lovely . . .

I do also have to point out something, though, which. Annoys me. And I hesitate to point the finger at Ryp, because I don't know that it's his fault or not, it could be just how Ben Percy is telling him to draw this, but.

That's the wrong Beast.

I'm extremely well acquainted with every one of Hank's forms, and that is way more akin to THIS

than it is to THIS

Ryp draws 90s Beast. He does not draw modern Beast. Whether this is designed to intentionally repulse the reader, who sees the design, thinks of TAS Beast from the 90s show, and then reads him being an absolutely colossal chode, or if it's just straight up artist error, I don't know. Hank has a habit of being drawn badly or incorrectly. Don't believe me?

This art is from 2012, from issue #24 of Secret Avengers. The Avengers vs. X-Men tie-in.

Beautiful 90s Beast, right?

Except, you know.

He's meant to look like this.

Like a cat.

Aren't we meant to have, like . . . editors, and shit?

But yeah, Ryp draws 90s Beast, and it's flat out wrong. Artistic interpretation, sure, but it's just straight up wrong. Again, I don't know if he's being told to do this or not, but it's something I need to bring up, because this is not something that happens to Cyclops or Wolverine, and it bugs the living fuck out of me.

But yeah, Ryp does draw a lovely Beast, even if he's inaccurate. That being said, he's not my favourite modern Beast artist by a country mile. Cassara and Gill, who drew Beast in the X-Force books, I like more.

I also have an affection for Coccolo, just because he draws a very round and lovely Beast.

Like, yeah, he's a genocidal war criminal, but fuck, he's got such a lovely belly and thick as hell thighs and I am weak.

That being said, they are not my favourite modern Beast artists either, because this is a poisoned run and I don't like to think about these pages.

Sean Izaakse draws the best modern Beast, in my opinion. Is it partly because he illustrated the last time Beast was written in character?

But I do just genuinely think he draws an effortlessly handsome and gorgeous and animated Hank.

George Perez often said he had a good time drawing Hank, even calling him the funny little monkey man, asking his 90s collaborator Kurt Busiek if he could come back so he could draw him more, and honestly, you can see it in his art, in how much love and attention and how elaborate he gets with his work on Hank. I get that same feeling from Izaakse.

#vinial453 #outofmuffins

[chronotsr]

No. 2 - G2, The Glacial Rift of the Frost Giant Jarl (July 1978)

Author(s): Gary Gygax Artist(s): Erol Otus, Dave C. Sutherland III (cover), David A. Trampier Level range: Average of 9, preferably 5+ players Theme: Standard Swords and Sorcery Major re-releases: G1-3 Against the Giants, GDQ1-7 Queen of the Spiders, Against the Giants: The Liberation of Geoff, Dungeon #199, Tales from the Yawning Portal

On the heels of being more impressed with G1 than I expected, will G2 be similarly impressing? Time to find out!

The intro blurb is mostly a repeat of the text of G1, including admonitions that running stock is for villains. Our motivation remains: figure out why the hill giants did that, no matter how fucking dangerous it is. Interestingly, the other main objective of G1 (give 'em a bloody nose) is not relevant here, because that teleport means that the frost giants aren't a threat to the villagers themselves. In fact, the room teleportation schtick kind of means G2 is filler? Like, the big reveal that the G series leads to the D series is not really impacted by the events of G2. So, oops!

Conveniently, the magical chain teleports out outside the rift so you can once again have a secret cave HQ. I feel like you have a responsibility as a GM to have a giant counterattack to at least one of these caves.

I really like the imagery of the descent into the rift here. I mean, I don't think this illustration really does it justice, imagining the deep blue color of light barely passing through the ice and how that gives the area beneath the surface an eerie oceanic glow at all times other than noon -- that's some good vibes. Gary opts for green, which is a fair enough choice. Unfortunately, Gary is more interested in simulating the mounting climbing than vibes, which means that at least one of your party members is going to fall face first into the snow drift below. Gary "generously" caps the damage at 10d6 (avg 35 dmg) -- a level 9 fighter, to be clear, has 9d10 hp (avg 45 hp) and a level 9 magic user has 9d4 hp (avg 23), so that's not ideal. Also recall that you recover 1hp per full day of rest normally, so if you fall and survive you're probably still fucked unless your cleric has a lot of spells left. I'm also pretty sure your cave HQ is above the cliff face, so, risking the descent seems like suicide to me. You're going to lose people and even leaving to heal them back up is simply taking another chance at oblivion. Take the stairs.

If you have the audacity to slow fall down, you will be blown 75ft off course in a random direction. Very cool Gary!

Another interesting detail: monsters in classic DND have a pretty short attention span and will lose you fairly quickly if you flee around a corner. This is particularly amped up here to a breezy 4 in 6 odds of success, due to blizzards blocking chase.

Anyway, we're into the room by room, so let's do some room by room shit.

There is a kind "spiked heads of our enemies at the gates" situation, with corpses mutilated and frozen in transparent ice as a warning to not intrude. Honestly that's badass. What's not badass is if the players have the wherewithal to try and free the corpses (for loot or kindness), most routes lead to the treasure being destroyed and the roof collapsing -- probably instantly killing your squishies.

The hill giants from G1 are lolling about waiting for an audience, so points for continuity. I have to imagine they're freezing their asses off, though.

There are yetis here? Which, going on the graphic and the listed intelligence score in the MonMan, I have to conclude are sentient bipedial apes but like, NOT like the Frost Giants. Actually apparently the average yeti is smarter than the average frost giant, so I guess it's a Diogenes situation where they choose to live in a shitty cave when everyone else has a nice cave?

The 5 hill giants visiting the Jarl have 1k to 6k gold fur cloaks, which like. Imagine a 6,000 gold cloak. Not only is it got to be huge (Hill Giants are 10.5ft tall), for it to be worth 6k to a vendor that's got to be a one-piece fabric cloak off a particularly rare and good condition animal. I guess the players could use it as the world's fanciest comforter?

The official appearance of a Remoraz! These are awful creatures. They swallow you whole and then superheat their insides to cook you. Nasty side effect: its outsides become furnace-hot and destroy nonmagical items and burn people to death. Look at this horrible thing! And of course it's guarding the swankiest loot to date -- a +2 Giantslaying Sword and a 3 Wishes Ring. It's been a weird trend lately that the best loot is, not owned by the leader of the Giants? The best hoard seems to always belong to Some Guy. Naturally this awesome loot "sinks into the ice" if you use a fireball, because this adventure has an addiction to telling the wizard to fuck off. Note that the sword being lost punishes the fighter for the magic users' decision. Note also that the Remoraz going into superheat mode doesn't do the same thing? It sucks. This clause sucks. Cut it. The actual room itself is kind of neat, the implication is that the Remorhaz melted a spherical hole into the ice to make a den, which is awesome.

Another iconic Garyism: ". They have had audience with the Jarl, and after a special wassail to be held on the morrow they will depart for home with a treaty scroll." Translation: They're goin to have a drinking party tomorrow to celebrate a treaty signing.

And like, one room later, we get "leman", which means lover, and "durance vile", which means long imprisonment. The text implies that basically, she's a hot butch storm giantess being held in chains until she agrees to fuck the Jarl. Gary, simply ask a tall woman out. You don't have to be weird about it.

Rather than torches, the feast hall is lit with jarred fire beetles, which is kinda cute

There is a thick iron bar that "transports whosoever is standing on the floor to the entrance of Snurre's Hall [G3]". The iron bar is a lever, obviously, but is this a lever-operated teleporter? An elevator that goes straight down? G3 eliminates the elevator theory, since apparently you can arrive here via pegasus and there are caves one can access overhead. So it's a literal teleporter, and at least how I'm reading it makes it sound more science fiction than magic. Weird.

On the whole, G2 is a massive step down from G1. G2 lacks the factionalism of G1, punishes players for damn near anything attempted, and is broadly less imaginative than G1. It's a pity, really, because it's a far more interesting locale on paper, but the reality is that you could generate a cave like this by scribbling randomly. Meh. Next time we poke G3, and hope hope hope that it's more like G1 than G2.

#1e #chronotsr #dnd #dungeons and dragons #tsr #ttrpg #adnd