Tiny Grammar Cheatsheet: Hyphens, En, and Em Dashes
Hyphens ( - ) are the shortest and are used to:
‣ link elements in a compound word: dog-owner
‣ separate some affixes from the rest of the word: pre-election
‣ (sometimes) take the place of the en dash indicating range: pages 24-66
‣ indicate stuttering or abrupt interruption: M-m-micheal?
‣ spell out a word letter for letter: I said we are c-l-o-s-e-d.
En Dashes ( – ) are shorter than em dashes. They indicate a range and could usually be replaced with "from" and "to":
✓ I lived in New York 2015–2020. ⭤ I lived in New York from 2015 to 2020.
But: ✗ I lived in New York from 2015–2020.
Em Dashes ( — ) are longest. They are used:
‣ to call attention to the content they separate from the rest of the sentence and emphasize it
‣ in place of commas and parentheses: When he finally apologized—after four weeks of silence—she was no longer interested in hearing him out.
‣ in place of a colon, especially to summarize, explain, or expand upon the preceding clause in a dramatic manner: After months of deliberation, the jurors reached a unanimous verdict—guilty.
‣ to summarize or note the common link in a list: Sweet, sour, salty, bitter—all tastes the cook loved to experiment with.
‣ to set off or introduce defining phrases and lists: The shop's selection of three flavors—strawberry, mint, and chocolate—was never enough variety.
‣ to indicate a new direction: I agree with you, but James—he felt otherwise.
‣ to indicate hesitation: Well, I think—Yeah, I guess it is concerning.
Fun Fact: en dashes received their name because the dash is the length of the letter N, while the em dash is the length of the letter M.
Jackie Taylor did the thing that every teenager wants to do at least once — die after a petty argument so that everyone will feel fucking guilty for the rest of their lives
all mine | eddie munson x cheerleader!reader, jason carver x cheerleader!reader
synopsis. you just needed something to take the edge off, to deal with the incessant belittling brought onto you by your mother. but you didn't know it would lead to an unlikely relationship with eddie munson.
cw: mdni, f!reader, toxic mom (reader's mom is verbally and emotionally abusive and has a diet culture mindset), jason and reader are in an established relationship, mentions of drug use (weed), drug deal (reader buys weed from eddie), angst, kinda fluffy at times, canon divergence, 4.1k
note: this is a slow burn series, so, no smut yet! but trust me, it's coming! <3 and yes, i took the exact forest scene from the show. hopefully i did it justice lmao
another day, another bout of backhanded compliments and insults thrown at you by the hand of your own mother. they had started to become a daily occurrence ever since you had become head cheerleader, a title you didn’t think you deserved nor wanted. it was bad enough when you were just a regular member of the cheer squad — which you never wanted to be a part of, but were forced into because your mother insisted you follow in her footsteps — and it just got even worse after the fact.
she expected you to be exceptionally lady-like by the way you dressed, talked, and acted. however, you were anything but lady-like. you hated wearing dresses, skirts, bright and happy colors like pink, orange, blue, and yellow, jewelry of any kind; you also didn’t like wearing a lot of makeup, only mascara and a tiny bit of eyeliner. it drove your mother absolutely crazy. you were a cheerleader, and your boyfriend, jason carver, was captain of the varsity basketball team, you needed to look nice for him in order to keep his attention, as your mother had so graciously put it one evening when he was picking you up for an ice cream date. your outfit happened to be a pair of cut-off jeans with a black tank top and your worn-out black converse that had doodles on the midsole and toe-cap.
you had tried to reason with her that it wasn’t a big deal, you were just going out for ice cream, and not to some high-class restaurant.
needless to say, your efforts at squashing her protests against your casual clothing choice fell on deaf ears, and you trudged back up to your room to change into a baby pink sundress, that your mother bought for you against your will, and white keds.
each hurled insult felt like knives being pushed deep into your chest. how can a mother do this to their own child? make them feel like no matter what they do or say it’s never good enough? you do everything she asks of you, you never question her, never talk back, bend over backwards to meet her expectations of you, and yet, she still always finds an issue with everything that you do.
on this particular morning, she had started in on you about the portion of food you had eaten for breakfast. your father sat idly by while she chastised you, nose buried deep in the newspaper that had been delivered only moments prior. he was no help at all to you when she got in those moods, even when you looked at him with desperation in your eyes to just do or say something. but, like you, he didn’t want to be caught in the crossfire of your mother’s warpath, and actively chose to not get involved.
it felt like the room was spinning. your mother’s voice had started to fade off into the distance, but her words still echoed in your mind. all you could feel was rage — unbridled, raw, and overwhelming.
you had taken a lot from her over the years, stayed silent and tried to be a good daughter, but everyone eventually reaches their breaking point.
“you know what,” you said, slamming your hand down and standing up from your seat at the dining table. “i’m not doing this with you today, mom.”
“honey? i’m only try—.”
“trying to help me, yeah, you say that all the time, but you know what? it isn’t helping me. AT ALL.” you stormed out of the dining room and into the living room, grabbing your backpack from the sofa and swinging it over your shoulders.
your mom came barreling into the room, eyes wide with fury at being talked back to. “sweetie, as your mother, i’m only doing what i think is best for you.”
“no, mom, you’re doing what you think is best for you. it’s never been about me!” you picked up your car keys from the hook next to the front door. “you only care about how you feel, what you want, what you need. news flash mom, the world doesn’t fucking revolve around you!”
she looked at you incredulously. she couldn’t believe the atrocities spilling from you. she tried to speak, but you held your hand up, shaking your head.
“i have to go to school. don’t want your perfect daughter to be late, now do you?” with that, you walked out of the house, slamming the door behind you.
“what’s wrong with you?” your friend, rebecca, asked as she walked up to the lunch table you all always sat at. “you look like your dog got run over.”
you looked up from your lunch, having been poking around at it with your fork rather than actually eating it. “it’s nothing,” you lied. “didn’t get enough sleep last night. i’m exhausted.”
“uh-huh,” she eyed you carefully as she sat across from you. “i know you well enough to know that’s a bold-faced lie. but it’s okay! if you don’t wanna tell me, i won’t press you.”
you sighed deeply, closing your eyes for a moment before opening them again.
“it’s my mom…she…we got into it this morning,” you admitted.
“oh shit, i’m sorry,” rebecca said, frowning softly. “is it the same stuff?”
rebecca was the first person you had confided in, besides jason, about the issues with your mother. not because you felt she was a good enough friend for that, you had barely spoken more than a few words to her outside of cheer practice, but because she had witnessed your mom berating you after a football game in the parking lot when you thought nobody else was around.
turns out, rebecca was well-versed in the art of having a toxic mother, as her own put her through the same treatment yours did with you. the two of you became close, and you liked having someone you could vent to, who would understand you and your feelings when things got too hard to deal with.
especially since jason didn’t understand any of it. he always thought you were being too hard on your mother. that you just needed to hear her out because she loved you and was only looking out for you. it was easy for him to make that judgment, considering his own parents worshiped the ground he walked on and he could do no wrong in their eyes. he was their golden boy, the poster child for perfection, just as he was to everyone in hawkins.
“i think she wants me to be exactly like her and that’s never gonna happen. i’m not her!” you dropped your fork onto the plastic tray with a sigh.
“maybe you should tell her about how you feel,” rebecca suggested.
“yeah, like that’ll change anything,” you scoffed. “i’m tellin’ you, beck, she’ll just say that i’m being ridiculous and misunderstanding her.”
rebecca gazed at you solemnly. “you’re probably right, but at least you’ll have some peace of mind knowing that you got it off of your chest.”
your throat tightened, and the sting associated with tears welling in your eyes made its presence known. you quickly glanced away from her, wiping the few tears that managed to escape with the sleeve of your sweater.
you spent countless nights wishing your mother was different. wondering why she couldn’t just be proud of you, regardless of whether or not you’re a cheerleader, or in band, or played sports, or joined an academic club, or just didn’t give a shit about any extracurriculars. because at the end of the day, you’re her daughter, and her love for you should supersede all of that useless shit that won’t matter once you graduate from high school in a few months. she should want you to be happy, should lift you up and support you, not tear you down and make your formative years hell.
“you know…you should definitely start smoking weed,” rebecca said, breaking the silence. “i’m telling you, it works wonders. it helps me when my mom starts her shit. it’ll help you, too.”
“i can’t do that,” you shook your head. “my mom would kill me.”
“she doesn’t have to know,” rebecca countered. “you have that shed in the back of your house, right? the one your dad never uses? you can smoke in there if you’re afraid to do it inside. i promise you, it’ll make everything so much easier.”
the thought does sound nice in theory. being able to shut your brain off? even for a moment? to deal with the unnecessary pressure your mother put on you? to deal with her constant judgment?
rebecca watched as the wheels turned in your head; a look of consideration sweeping across your tired features.
“okay…but…there’s only one problem. i wouldn’t know where to like, i dunno…get it?”
“well, it’s your lucky day, because i know just the person for that,” she grinned. “patrick’s guy he usually would get from moved out of town a couple weeks back. he was all bummed about it, but one of his buddies on the football team told him where he gets his. it’s actually pretty good shit.”
she talked really fast, almost like she was trying to hurry before someone walked by and heard her talking about her boyfriend’s drug habit.
“who does he get it from?” you asked slowly, brow raised as you glanced at her.
“eddie munson.”
winters in hawkins were the absolute worst. snow still covered the ground from two days prior and more was set to fall in the coming week. you hated the cold and everything that came with it. the dark, gloomy days, the freezing temperatures, the snow, etc. if you could snap your fingers and have it be spring all year ‘round, you definitely would.
especially right now, that you were standing outside by the side of the school, with no cover to shield you from the biting wind. your hands felt frozen, despite having gloves on, and the pockets of your winter coat didn’t do much to help. you silently cursed at mother nature for creating winter to begin with.
you weren’t sure how long you had been standing out in the cold. you glanced at your watch, which read 3:45pm.
fifteen minutes. he had said to meet him at 3:30.
you scoffed, rolling your eyes as you shoved your hand back into your coat pocket. maybe he had lost track of time? or maybe he didn’t take you seriously? or he was playing some kind of prank on you? whatever the case, you were fed up with being in the cold, and wanted to go home to the warmth of your bed.
you kicked at a rock before turning to head towards the parking lot when you smashed face-first into a solid mass, letting out a yelp of surprise.
“whoa! hey! sorry! didn’t mean to scare you,” a voice, soft, yet full of amusement chuckled above you.
you pulled back, coming face to face with the man of the hour, himself: eddie munson.
he was panting a little, like he had been running or something, his curly hair was even more wild and unruly than it normally is, his black combat boots wet with shards of grass sticking to them. he was wearing two jackets, a light, black one underneath his signature leather jacket, his denim vest overtop, and dark denim jeans. wasn’t he cold? it didn’t look nearly warm enough to keep him comfortable in the frosty breeze.
eddie noticed the concerned look on your face, leaning in a bit closer, brown eyes furrowed as he carefully asked, “you okay?”
“uh, yeah, yeah, just—didn’t expect to literally bump into you,” you chuckled through your nose. you glanced around you, suddenly feeling a bit awkward and nervous.
“right, okay,” he shook his head. “so, um, we can do this in my van? if you want? ya know, to get out of the cold. you look like you could warm up some.”
you hadn’t realized you were practically shivering; the wind having picked up suddenly and out of nowhere.
“sure,” you nodded, giving him a small smile.
he lead the way to his van, which surprisingly wasn’t that far of a walk from where he had asked you to meet him, thankfully. he opened the passenger door for you, a charming smile plastered on his features as he dramatically gestured to the empty passenger seat. “welcome to my castle on wheels.”
you giggled, slinging your backpack off your shoulders and tossing it onto the floorboard. eddie watched as you hopped up into the van, waiting until you were completely situated before closing the door and hurrying to the driver’s side. he got in quickly and turned it on, then put the heater and blower on the highest setting.
glancing around the van, you couldn’t say you were surprised by what you saw. cassette tapes were strewn everywhere, most of which were bands that you had recognized and some you didn’t, a few receipts were also scattered on the floorboards in the front and the back, an empty cigarette pack laid next to your feet; a denim jacket was laid out in the backseat, though it wasn’t covered in patches and pins like his vest, along with his backpack that sat right next to it, unmoved.
you knew of eddie, since he was in your english class, but you didn’t know him very well, if at all. the only thing you really knew about him was that he was theatrical, eccentric, had been held back twice for failing a majority, if not all, of his classes, and that your boyfriend couldn’t stand him at all. you always felt bad for him whenever jason and his buddies picked on him. you had stood up for him, demanded that jason cut his shit out and leave him alone, only to be met with, 'he’s a freak, babe. people like that deserve to be made fun of.'
eddie cleared his throat and you were pulled from your thoughts, shifting in your seat like you had just been caught doing something you weren’t supposed to.
“sorry,” you said shyly, wringing your hands together in your lap as you looked down at them.
“don’t be,” eddie shook his head. “i know it’s a bit of a mess in here.”
“oh no, that’s not what i thought at all,” you stammered. “really.”
he looked at you with a raised brow, almost like he didn’t believe a word coming out of your mouth.
he didn’t.
“right,” he scoffed, opening the black metal box he had sitting in his lap. he took the bag of weed out and held it up for you to see, his brown eyes fixated on you. “anyway, i’ll do you a half ounce for, uh…twenty. whaddya say? plenty of bang for your buck. should last a while.”
a group of students walked by, all laughing rambunctiously, and you turned your head in their direction. your chest was heaving slightly, and your eyes were wide with anxiety as you scanned the crowd. a small part of you was worried it was jason and his friends ⎯ that he had come looking for you and would find you here with eddie. you didn’t care about what he would say to you, but more-so what he would say and do to him. the thought made you shudder.
“hey, uh, we don’t need to do this,” eddie rolled his eyes, putting the baggie back inside the metal box and closing it up. “just give me the word and i’ll walk away. or, you can walk away.”
he was annoyed. why did he even agree to sell to you in the first place? he wasn’t in dire need of money ⎯ he had made more than enough earlier in the day when trevor mcclendon bought over a hundred dollars worth of cocaine for the party he was throwing that upcoming saturday. and even if he was, he definitely didn’t need the money from jason carver’s girlfriend. of all people.
“no, no! i-i don’t want that,” you flicked your gaze back to him.
eddie turned to look at you at the exact same time, meeting your gaze. his hardened exterior faltered the second he looked into your eyes. you were scared. no? anxious? no. desperate? that seemed more like it. not desperate in the way that you had gone a long time without weed and needed a fix ⎯ no, he had seen that look one too many times to know that isn’t what was going on with you. it was one that called for help, that begged for it, and it left him wildly intrigued.
“have you ever felt…forced to be someone that you’re not?”
your voice was low, barely above a whisper, and eddie may have missed it had he not been watching you like a hawk.
everything about your body language screamed that you were uncomfortable with even talking about it. your hands were fidgeting in your lap, you kept shifting in the seat, chewing on the corner of your lip, your eyes quickly darting to look anywhere but at eddie. he didn’t expect this coming from you. not that he knew you well enough to say that this was completely out of character for you ⎯ he just didn’t think the ‘queen of hawkins high’ would ever be pretending to be someone that she wasn’t.
“uhh, well, i used to,” he cleared his throat. “back in like middle school, and shit? but uhh…then i realized it didn’t do much, ‘cauuuse i got shit on anyway, so i just said ‘fuck it’ and started doin’ my own thing. been a looot happier ever since.”
the memories of that time in his life come to the forefront of his mind. of when he got teased a lot for having long hair (though now that he thinks about it, it wouldn’t have been considered long compared to how it is now), when the other kids would laugh and call him poor because his shirts had a hole or two in them, and, of course, for being into dungeons and dragons.
he remembers coming home one day, his little eyes red and puffy from crying. he couldn’t understand why the other kids were so mean to him. all he did was keep to himself, aside from the few friends he had made who happened to like metal just like him. wayne listened to him, held him, as he cried in his lap, begging to just be like everyone else. that maybe, just maybe, they’d leave him alone.
that night, he asked wayne to cut his hair, and even though wayne tried to talk him out of it, eddie was persistent. so, wayne grabbed a pair of scissors and the hair clippers, and did as the kid wished.
he shudders at the thought, shaking his head as if to rid it completely.
you don’t know how he does it. how he can just be himself despite everything that he gets thrown at him. the other students wouldn’t dare confront him, all being too afraid of what he’d do to them, but you know what they say behind his back. devil worshipper. cult leader. freak. weirdo.
sitting here with him, in his van, and seeing the slight vulnerability he’s sharing with you, you start to think maybe eddie isn’t as bad as everyone makes him out to be.
you must have been silent for some time, lost in a train of thought, because eddie’s voice pulls you back into the present.
“you know, this isn’t the first time we’ve, um, hung out.”
“no?”
“you don’t remember?”
when did that happen? you tried to wrack your brain for when you had ever hung out with eddie munson.
“uh, i’m sorry,” you chuckled awkwardly, shaking your head.
“it’s okay. i wouldn’t remember me either,” he said in a funny voice, making you giggle.
“you really don’t remember me?” he asked, looking at you like he couldn’t believe you, his arms crossed in front of him.
“i’m sorry!” you giggled, putting your hands over your face playfully, trying to hide from him.
“middle school talent show,” he said and you took your hands off of your face, listening to him intently. “you were doing the cheer thing that you do? which was kinda cool, actually.”
he made a high v and diagonal motion, though it was really bad and made you chuckle. suddenly it hits you, the memory of that day, and you gasp in realization.
“oh my god, yes! you were with uhh, your band…uhh,” you snapped your fingers several times, hoping it would come to you. “corroded coffin!!”
“yes!” he punched the air excitedly, clapping. “you do remember!”
“jesus,” you laughed, beaming as you looked over at him. “i shared my french fries with you that day! how could i forget?”
it all came to you — sitting next to eddie backstage before your performance, striking up casual conversation with him that turned into the two of you giggling uncontrollably, sharing the french fries that came with the burger meal your father had brought you.
“i dunno, maybe i wasn’t as memorable to you as i hoped i’d be,” he admitted, chewing the corner of his lip, brown eyes still trained on you.
he had the tiniest crush on you back then, though it was extremely short lived once he realized that day at the talent show was all it would ever be between the two of you. you had your circle, he had his — your worlds were never meant to collide.
“no, it’s just you looked soo..diff—.”
“different? yeah,” he chuckled. “well, my hair was buzzed and i didn’t have these sweet ol’ tatties yet.”
giggling, you glanced at where eddie had pulled down the front of his shirt, noticing the black ink barely poking out, a stark contrast against his creamy skin.
“you played guitar, right?”
“yup,” he nodded, beaming with pride. “still do.”
“i remember thinking you were pretty good,” you admitted, the memory of watching him play with his band from the side of the stage flashing in your mind.
eddie’s smile grew. that same feeling he had all those years ago, when you first sat next to him backstage at the middle school talent show, came crashing back to him like a tidal wave.
“uh, so, in other good news, flattery works with me, so…twenty-five percent discount for the half,” he said as he flipped open the black metal box and took the bag of weed out again. “fifteen bucks. you’re robbing me blind here, ya know.”
“oh god, eddie, no,” you shook your head. “no, you don’t have to do that.”
“really! it’s no biggie,” eddie insisted, reaching over the middle console to hand the bag to you.
“no!” you giggled, pulling the twenty dollar bill tucked away in the back pocket of your jeans. “i’m not gonna cut you short.”
before he could protest, you took the bag and slipped the twenty into his hand as fast as you could, tugging your bottom lip between your teeth.
he playfully rolled his eyes, but accepted your offer nonetheless. you stuffed the weed into the front part of your backpack, making sure it was safe and secure. when you finished, you turned to look at him.
“thanks, eddie,” you smiled gratefully.
“anytime,” he replied with a genuine smile.
your gaze lingered a moment longer before opening the door to leave. you hopped out first, wincing as the bitter cold hit you like a ton of bricks, then, grabbed your backpack.
“wait!” eddie called out, effectively halting your movements.
you looked at him curiously with a tilt of your head, wondering what else he could have forgotten to tell you.
“you should come see my band play,” he rushed, brows pinched together before softening his expression. “we play at the hideout every tuesday.”
a smile tugged at the corner of your lips, but you tried to hide it. “it’s not a sleazy bar, is it?”
“i mean, it’s not the garden, but you gotta start somewhere,” he chuckled, resting his arm on the middle console as he leaned over. “we usually get a crowd of about fiiiive drunks.”
you laughed, shying away from his gaze for a moment before flitting your eyes back to him. “what time?”
“eight o’clock,” he answered. he didn’t know why he was so nervous about asking you, or why his palms started to sweat whenever you took a while to answer.
you slung your backpack over your right shoulder, smirking at him as you said, “see, ya around, munson.”
having a hometown is such a fucked up concept. i grew up here so i do not want to stay here anymore. i miss it when i am away but once i am back i realise why i wanted to go away as far as possible from it. i am familiar with every corner of this place i did not realise when it slowly changed into something unrecognisable. i would probably like to be buried here but i'd rather die than live here
partially-managed mental illness is so fucking funny i'll be sitting around doing my job and suddenly think "wow i hate myself" and immediately get confused because, like, that's not TRUE! i love myself so much. who are you to talk to me like that
all mine | eddie munson x cheerleader!reader, jason carver x cheerleader!reader
synopsis. you just needed something to take the edge off, to deal with the incessant belittling brought onto you by your mother. but you didn't know it would lead to an unlikely relationship with eddie munson.
cw: mdni, f!reader, toxic mom (reader's mom is verbally and emotionally abusive and has a diet culture mindset), jason and reader are in an established relationship, mentions of drug use (weed), drug deal (reader buys weed from eddie), angst, kinda fluffy at times, canon divergence, 4.1k
note: this is a slow burn series, so, no smut yet! but trust me, it's coming! <3 and yes, i took the exact forest scene from the show. hopefully i did it justice lmao
another day, another bout of backhanded compliments and insults thrown at you by the hand of your own mother. they had started to become a daily occurrence ever since you had become head cheerleader, a title you didn’t think you deserved nor wanted. it was bad enough when you were just a regular member of the cheer squad — which you never wanted to be a part of, but were forced into because your mother insisted you follow in her footsteps — and it just got even worse after the fact.
she expected you to be exceptionally lady-like by the way you dressed, talked, and acted. however, you were anything but lady-like. you hated wearing dresses, skirts, bright and happy colors like pink, orange, blue, and yellow, jewelry of any kind; you also didn’t like wearing a lot of makeup, only mascara and a tiny bit of eyeliner. it drove your mother absolutely crazy. you were a cheerleader, and your boyfriend, jason carver, was captain of the varsity basketball team, you needed to look nice for him in order to keep his attention, as your mother had so graciously put it one evening when he was picking you up for an ice cream date. your outfit happened to be a pair of cut-off jeans with a black tank top and your worn-out black converse that had doodles on the midsole and toe-cap.
you had tried to reason with her that it wasn’t a big deal, you were just going out for ice cream, and not to some high-class restaurant.
needless to say, your efforts at squashing her protests against your casual clothing choice fell on deaf ears, and you trudged back up to your room to change into a baby pink sundress, that your mother bought for you against your will, and white keds.
each hurled insult felt like knives being pushed deep into your chest. how can a mother do this to their own child? make them feel like no matter what they do or say it’s never good enough? you do everything she asks of you, you never question her, never talk back, bend over backwards to meet her expectations of you, and yet, she still always finds an issue with everything that you do.
on this particular morning, she had started in on you about the portion of food you had eaten for breakfast. your father sat idly by while she chastised you, nose buried deep in the newspaper that had been delivered only moments prior. he was no help at all to you when she got in those moods, even when you looked at him with desperation in your eyes to just do or say something. but, like you, he didn’t want to be caught in the crossfire of your mother’s warpath, and actively chose to not get involved.
it felt like the room was spinning. your mother’s voice had started to fade off into the distance, but her words still echoed in your mind. all you could feel was rage — unbridled, raw, and overwhelming.
you had taken a lot from her over the years, stayed silent and tried to be a good daughter, but everyone eventually reaches their breaking point.
“you know what,” you said, slamming your hand down and standing up from your seat at the dining table. “i’m not doing this with you today, mom.”
“honey? i’m only try—.”
“trying to help me, yeah, you say that all the time, but you know what? it isn’t helping me. AT ALL.” you stormed out of the dining room and into the living room, grabbing your backpack from the sofa and swinging it over your shoulders.
your mom came barreling into the room, eyes wide with fury at being talked back to. “sweetie, as your mother, i’m only doing what i think is best for you.”
“no, mom, you’re doing what you think is best for you. it’s never been about me!” you picked up your car keys from the hook next to the front door. “you only care about how you feel, what you want, what you need. news flash mom, the world doesn’t fucking revolve around you!”
she looked at you incredulously. she couldn’t believe the atrocities spilling from you. she tried to speak, but you held your hand up, shaking your head.
“i have to go to school. don’t want your perfect daughter to be late, now do you?” with that, you walked out of the house, slamming the door behind you.
“what’s wrong with you?” your friend, rebecca, asked as she walked up to the lunch table you all always sat at. “you look like your dog got run over.”
you looked up from your lunch, having been poking around at it with your fork rather than actually eating it. “it’s nothing,” you lied. “didn’t get enough sleep last night. i’m exhausted.”
“uh-huh,” she eyed you carefully as she sat across from you. “i know you well enough to know that’s a bold-faced lie. but it’s okay! if you don’t wanna tell me, i won’t press you.”
you sighed deeply, closing your eyes for a moment before opening them again.
“it’s my mom…she…we got into it this morning,” you admitted.
“oh shit, i’m sorry,” rebecca said, frowning softly. “is it the same stuff?”
rebecca was the first person you had confided in, besides jason, about the issues with your mother. not because you felt she was a good enough friend for that, you had barely spoken more than a few words to her outside of cheer practice, but because she had witnessed your mom berating you after a football game in the parking lot when you thought nobody else was around.
turns out, rebecca was well-versed in the art of having a toxic mother, as her own put her through the same treatment yours did with you. the two of you became close, and you liked having someone you could vent to, who would understand you and your feelings when things got too hard to deal with.
especially since jason didn’t understand any of it. he always thought you were being too hard on your mother. that you just needed to hear her out because she loved you and was only looking out for you. it was easy for him to make that judgment, considering his own parents worshiped the ground he walked on and he could do no wrong in their eyes. he was their golden boy, the poster child for perfection, just as he was to everyone in hawkins.
“i think she wants me to be exactly like her and that’s never gonna happen. i’m not her!” you dropped your fork onto the plastic tray with a sigh.
“maybe you should tell her about how you feel,” rebecca suggested.
“yeah, like that’ll change anything,” you scoffed. “i’m tellin’ you, beck, she’ll just say that i’m being ridiculous and misunderstanding her.”
rebecca gazed at you solemnly. “you’re probably right, but at least you’ll have some peace of mind knowing that you got it off of your chest.”
your throat tightened, and the sting associated with tears welling in your eyes made its presence known. you quickly glanced away from her, wiping the few tears that managed to escape with the sleeve of your sweater.
you spent countless nights wishing your mother was different. wondering why she couldn’t just be proud of you, regardless of whether or not you’re a cheerleader, or in band, or played sports, or joined an academic club, or just didn’t give a shit about any extracurriculars. because at the end of the day, you’re her daughter, and her love for you should supersede all of that useless shit that won’t matter once you graduate from high school in a few months. she should want you to be happy, should lift you up and support you, not tear you down and make your formative years hell.
“you know…you should definitely start smoking weed,” rebecca said, breaking the silence. “i’m telling you, it works wonders. it helps me when my mom starts her shit. it’ll help you, too.”
“i can’t do that,” you shook your head. “my mom would kill me.”
“she doesn’t have to know,” rebecca countered. “you have that shed in the back of your house, right? the one your dad never uses? you can smoke in there if you’re afraid to do it inside. i promise you, it’ll make everything so much easier.”
the thought does sound nice in theory. being able to shut your brain off? even for a moment? to deal with the unnecessary pressure your mother put on you? to deal with her constant judgment?
rebecca watched as the wheels turned in your head; a look of consideration sweeping across your tired features.
“okay…but…there’s only one problem. i wouldn’t know where to like, i dunno…get it?”
“well, it’s your lucky day, because i know just the person for that,” she grinned. “patrick’s guy he usually would get from moved out of town a couple weeks back. he was all bummed about it, but one of his buddies on the football team told him where he gets his. it’s actually pretty good shit.”
she talked really fast, almost like she was trying to hurry before someone walked by and heard her talking about her boyfriend’s drug habit.
“who does he get it from?” you asked slowly, brow raised as you glanced at her.
“eddie munson.”
winters in hawkins were the absolute worst. snow still covered the ground from two days prior and more was set to fall in the coming week. you hated the cold and everything that came with it. the dark, gloomy days, the freezing temperatures, the snow, etc. if you could snap your fingers and have it be spring all year ‘round, you definitely would.
especially right now, that you were standing outside by the side of the school, with no cover to shield you from the biting wind. your hands felt frozen, despite having gloves on, and the pockets of your winter coat didn’t do much to help. you silently cursed at mother nature for creating winter to begin with.
you weren’t sure how long you had been standing out in the cold. you glanced at your watch, which read 3:45pm.
fifteen minutes. he had said to meet him at 3:30.
you scoffed, rolling your eyes as you shoved your hand back into your coat pocket. maybe he had lost track of time? or maybe he didn’t take you seriously? or he was playing some kind of prank on you? whatever the case, you were fed up with being in the cold, and wanted to go home to the warmth of your bed.
you kicked at a rock before turning to head towards the parking lot when you smashed face-first into a solid mass, letting out a yelp of surprise.
“whoa! hey! sorry! didn’t mean to scare you,” a voice, soft, yet full of amusement chuckled above you.
you pulled back, coming face to face with the man of the hour, himself: eddie munson.
he was panting a little, like he had been running or something, his curly hair was even more wild and unruly than it normally is, his black combat boots wet with shards of grass sticking to them. he was wearing two jackets, a light, black one underneath his signature leather jacket, his denim vest overtop, and dark denim jeans. wasn’t he cold? it didn’t look nearly warm enough to keep him comfortable in the frosty breeze.
eddie noticed the concerned look on your face, leaning in a bit closer, brown eyes furrowed as he carefully asked, “you okay?”
“uh, yeah, yeah, just—didn’t expect to literally bump into you,” you chuckled through your nose. you glanced around you, suddenly feeling a bit awkward and nervous.
“right, okay,” he shook his head. “so, um, we can do this in my van? if you want? ya know, to get out of the cold. you look like you could warm up some.”
you hadn’t realized you were practically shivering; the wind having picked up suddenly and out of nowhere.
“sure,” you nodded, giving him a small smile.
he lead the way to his van, which surprisingly wasn’t that far of a walk from where he had asked you to meet him, thankfully. he opened the passenger door for you, a charming smile plastered on his features as he dramatically gestured to the empty passenger seat. “welcome to my castle on wheels.”
you giggled, slinging your backpack off your shoulders and tossing it onto the floorboard. eddie watched as you hopped up into the van, waiting until you were completely situated before closing the door and hurrying to the driver’s side. he got in quickly and turned it on, then put the heater and blower on the highest setting.
glancing around the van, you couldn’t say you were surprised by what you saw. cassette tapes were strewn everywhere, most of which were bands that you had recognized and some you didn’t, a few receipts were also scattered on the floorboards in the front and the back, an empty cigarette pack laid next to your feet; a denim jacket was laid out in the backseat, though it wasn’t covered in patches and pins like his vest, along with his backpack that sat right next to it, unmoved.
you knew of eddie, since he was in your english class, but you didn’t know him very well, if at all. the only thing you really knew about him was that he was theatrical, eccentric, had been held back twice for failing a majority, if not all, of his classes, and that your boyfriend couldn’t stand him at all. you always felt bad for him whenever jason and his buddies picked on him. you had stood up for him, demanded that jason cut his shit out and leave him alone, only to be met with, 'he’s a freak, babe. people like that deserve to be made fun of.'
eddie cleared his throat and you were pulled from your thoughts, shifting in your seat like you had just been caught doing something you weren’t supposed to.
“sorry,” you said shyly, wringing your hands together in your lap as you looked down at them.
“don’t be,” eddie shook his head. “i know it’s a bit of a mess in here.”
“oh no, that’s not what i thought at all,” you stammered. “really.”
he looked at you with a raised brow, almost like he didn’t believe a word coming out of your mouth.
he didn’t.
“right,” he scoffed, opening the black metal box he had sitting in his lap. he took the bag of weed out and held it up for you to see, his brown eyes fixated on you. “anyway, i’ll do you a half ounce for, uh…twenty. whaddya say? plenty of bang for your buck. should last a while.”
a group of students walked by, all laughing rambunctiously, and you turned your head in their direction. your chest was heaving slightly, and your eyes were wide with anxiety as you scanned the crowd. a small part of you was worried it was jason and his friends ⎯ that he had come looking for you and would find you here with eddie. you didn’t care about what he would say to you, but more-so what he would say and do to him. the thought made you shudder.
“hey, uh, we don’t need to do this,” eddie rolled his eyes, putting the baggie back inside the metal box and closing it up. “just give me the word and i’ll walk away. or, you can walk away.”
he was annoyed. why did he even agree to sell to you in the first place? he wasn’t in dire need of money ⎯ he had made more than enough earlier in the day when trevor mcclendon bought over a hundred dollars worth of cocaine for the party he was throwing that upcoming saturday. and even if he was, he definitely didn’t need the money from jason carver’s girlfriend. of all people.
“no, no! i-i don’t want that,” you flicked your gaze back to him.
eddie turned to look at you at the exact same time, meeting your gaze. his hardened exterior faltered the second he looked into your eyes. you were scared. no? anxious? no. desperate? that seemed more like it. not desperate in the way that you had gone a long time without weed and needed a fix ⎯ no, he had seen that look one too many times to know that isn’t what was going on with you. it was one that called for help, that begged for it, and it left him wildly intrigued.
“have you ever felt…forced to be someone that you’re not?”
your voice was low, barely above a whisper, and eddie may have missed it had he not been watching you like a hawk.
everything about your body language screamed that you were uncomfortable with even talking about it. your hands were fidgeting in your lap, you kept shifting in the seat, chewing on the corner of your lip, your eyes quickly darting to look anywhere but at eddie. he didn’t expect this coming from you. not that he knew you well enough to say that this was completely out of character for you ⎯ he just didn’t think the ‘queen of hawkins high’ would ever be pretending to be someone that she wasn’t.
“uhh, well, i used to,” he cleared his throat. “back in like middle school, and shit? but uhh…then i realized it didn’t do much, ‘cauuuse i got shit on anyway, so i just said ‘fuck it’ and started doin’ my own thing. been a looot happier ever since.”
the memories of that time in his life come to the forefront of his mind. of when he got teased a lot for having long hair (though now that he thinks about it, it wouldn’t have been considered long compared to how it is now), when the other kids would laugh and call him poor because his shirts had a hole or two in them, and, of course, for being into dungeons and dragons.
he remembers coming home one day, his little eyes red and puffy from crying. he couldn’t understand why the other kids were so mean to him. all he did was keep to himself, aside from the few friends he had made who happened to like metal just like him. wayne listened to him, held him, as he cried in his lap, begging to just be like everyone else. that maybe, just maybe, they’d leave him alone.
that night, he asked wayne to cut his hair, and even though wayne tried to talk him out of it, eddie was persistent. so, wayne grabbed a pair of scissors and the hair clippers, and did as the kid wished.
he shudders at the thought, shaking his head as if to rid it completely.
you don’t know how he does it. how he can just be himself despite everything that he gets thrown at him. the other students wouldn’t dare confront him, all being too afraid of what he’d do to them, but you know what they say behind his back. devil worshipper. cult leader. freak. weirdo.
sitting here with him, in his van, and seeing the slight vulnerability he’s sharing with you, you start to think maybe eddie isn’t as bad as everyone makes him out to be.
you must have been silent for some time, lost in a train of thought, because eddie’s voice pulls you back into the present.
“you know, this isn’t the first time we’ve, um, hung out.”
“no?”
“you don’t remember?”
when did that happen? you tried to wrack your brain for when you had ever hung out with eddie munson.
“uh, i’m sorry,” you chuckled awkwardly, shaking your head.
“it’s okay. i wouldn’t remember me either,” he said in a funny voice, making you giggle.
“you really don’t remember me?” he asked, looking at you like he couldn’t believe you, his arms crossed in front of him.
“i’m sorry!” you giggled, putting your hands over your face playfully, trying to hide from him.
“middle school talent show,” he said and you took your hands off of your face, listening to him intently. “you were doing the cheer thing that you do? which was kinda cool, actually.”
he made a high v and diagonal motion, though it was really bad and made you chuckle. suddenly it hits you, the memory of that day, and you gasp in realization.
“oh my god, yes! you were with uhh, your band…uhh,” you snapped your fingers several times, hoping it would come to you. “corroded coffin!!”
“yes!” he punched the air excitedly, clapping. “you do remember!”
“jesus,” you laughed, beaming as you looked over at him. “i shared my french fries with you that day! how could i forget?”
it all came to you — sitting next to eddie backstage before your performance, striking up casual conversation with him that turned into the two of you giggling uncontrollably, sharing the french fries that came with the burger meal your father had brought you.
“i dunno, maybe i wasn’t as memorable to you as i hoped i’d be,” he admitted, chewing the corner of his lip, brown eyes still trained on you.
he had the tiniest crush on you back then, though it was extremely short lived once he realized that day at the talent show was all it would ever be between the two of you. you had your circle, he had his — your worlds were never meant to collide.
“no, it’s just you looked soo..diff—.”
“different? yeah,” he chuckled. “well, my hair was buzzed and i didn’t have these sweet ol’ tatties yet.”
giggling, you glanced at where eddie had pulled down the front of his shirt, noticing the black ink barely poking out, a stark contrast against his creamy skin.
“you played guitar, right?”
“yup,” he nodded, beaming with pride. “still do.”
“i remember thinking you were pretty good,” you admitted, the memory of watching him play with his band from the side of the stage flashing in your mind.
eddie’s smile grew. that same feeling he had all those years ago, when you first sat next to him backstage at the middle school talent show, came crashing back to him like a tidal wave.
“uh, so, in other good news, flattery works with me, so…twenty-five percent discount for the half,” he said as he flipped open the black metal box and took the bag of weed out again. “fifteen bucks. you’re robbing me blind here, ya know.”
“oh god, eddie, no,” you shook your head. “no, you don’t have to do that.”
“really! it’s no biggie,” eddie insisted, reaching over the middle console to hand the bag to you.
“no!” you giggled, pulling the twenty dollar bill tucked away in the back pocket of your jeans. “i’m not gonna cut you short.”
before he could protest, you took the bag and slipped the twenty into his hand as fast as you could, tugging your bottom lip between your teeth.
he playfully rolled his eyes, but accepted your offer nonetheless. you stuffed the weed into the front part of your backpack, making sure it was safe and secure. when you finished, you turned to look at him.
“thanks, eddie,” you smiled gratefully.
“anytime,” he replied with a genuine smile.
your gaze lingered a moment longer before opening the door to leave. you hopped out first, wincing as the bitter cold hit you like a ton of bricks, then, grabbed your backpack.
“wait!” eddie called out, effectively halting your movements.
you looked at him curiously with a tilt of your head, wondering what else he could have forgotten to tell you.
“you should come see my band play,” he rushed, brows pinched together before softening his expression. “we play at the hideout every tuesday.”
a smile tugged at the corner of your lips, but you tried to hide it. “it’s not a sleazy bar, is it?”
“i mean, it’s not the garden, but you gotta start somewhere,” he chuckled, resting his arm on the middle console as he leaned over. “we usually get a crowd of about fiiiive drunks.”
you laughed, shying away from his gaze for a moment before flitting your eyes back to him. “what time?”
“eight o’clock,” he answered. he didn’t know why he was so nervous about asking you, or why his palms started to sweat whenever you took a while to answer.
you slung your backpack over your right shoulder, smirking at him as you said, “see, ya around, munson.”
