#2 pièces

[theworkshopmann]

Pièce de Résistance

Somewhere beyond the sea..

Type: Cosmetic

Class: Heavy

Paintable: Yes

Accepted in game: No

This cosmetic was made by Steam user Earl De Darkwood, Zorakirby and NAZO SAMBA. Posted on November 25th 2023, you vote for this here!

[journalofanobody]

Pièces de viole, Book 2, Suite in D Minor: XX. Couplets de Folies (Les F...

[misericordieux]

Mon appart dont je suis la propriétaire est trop beau genre *gagged* il est vide pour l’instant mais le charme de mon appart purée, en plus il est super bien isolé. Meilleur appart de ma vie entière, et j’en suis la propriétaire

[moinsbienquekaworu]

I'm going to Give The Fuck Up

[marjoange34]

Sims 2 Je crée ma pièce favorite@SimsetteGirl

[lolochaponnay]

Toto rentre de l'école : -Maman , regarde! J'ai trouver une pièce de 2 euros. -Hum...répond Maman. Es-tu certain qu'elle était perdue? -Bien sur. Même qu'un monsieur la cherchait aussi de son côté !

[francecoupons]

(via Ensemble jupe longue vintage 2 pièces pour femmes a vendre sur internet en France a 8€ avec livraison gratuit - Meilleures vente France)

[interludebloom]

quand je dis famille de merde vraiment je le pense.

[solxamber]

Hello! I humbly request Skully J. Graves for the spooky season, please and thank you! (Ps, I LOVE YOUR VILLIANESS SERIES SO MUCH. if you put him in the series, I would love it. Thank you.

Frights and Fancies - Skully J. Graves x reader

I've finally finished the first part of the Halloween event story and here we go! Skully J. Graves for the spooky season!

(this was written before part 2 of the event was out so it might be ooc)

It was almost Halloween, and the Ramshackle Dorm looked like it had exploded in pumpkins, cobwebs, and fake skeletons. Well, not fake enough for Skully, who was currently trying to rearrange a skeleton to perfectly mimic Jack Skellington’s iconic pose.

“This is it! This is exactly how Jack looked when he stood atop Spiral Hill!” Skully beamed, leaning back with a gleeful twirl. “I could cry!”

“Please don’t,” Grim muttered, slumped on the couch like a cat who’d had enough of life. “I’ve seen way too much Halloween today. I’m exhausted.”

You stifled a laugh as Skully pranced across the room, his long coat flowing behind him dramatically. He stopped by a cobweb you’d just hung, delicately adjusting it with reverence. “Ah, this is a masterpiece! The precision, the artistry—oh, Jack would be proud!”

“I bet Jack has a restraining order,” Grim mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

Skully didn’t seem to notice the sass. “You don’t understand, Grim! Jack Skellington is the Pumpkin King! He is the very soul of Halloween! Imagine... if I could bring him here, right to this very dorm... oh, we would throw the greatest Halloween party the world has ever seen!”

“You’re throwing it right now, and I hate it,” Grim muttered, pulling a pillow over his head.

Skully, undeterred, rushed over to the pile of pumpkins by the door, holding up the largest one like a trophy. “This one’s going to be the pièce de résistance! I’m going to carve Jack’s face into it—oh, the precision, the skill! It’ll be a tribute!”

You were barely able to stop yourself from laughing as Skully started sketching an intricate face into the pumpkin. It was hard not to get caught up in his excitement, even if it was a little... obsessive.

“Hey, uh, shouldn’t we maybe, I don’t know, check the snacks or something?” you suggested, trying to save Grim from further mental collapse. “We’ve got a whole room full of sweets to prepare.”

“Oh! Of course!” Skully jumped to his feet, pumpkin forgotten. “We must create a feast worthy of Halloween Town itself! Grim, you’ll love this—there will be so many sweets, you won’t be able to handle it!”

“Sounds like my personal hell,” Grim groaned, finally sitting up. “Do we have to? I was kinda hoping to nap.”

Skully was already halfway to the kitchen, humming some eerie tune under his breath. You shot Grim an apologetic look, but he was too busy glaring at the ceiling like he was making a pact with some unseen force to end Halloween forever.

The kitchen was soon filled with the smells of spiced pumpkin and sugary treats. Skully was in his element, flitting around like a Halloween-obsessed ghost, talking nonstop about Jack Skellington, the Pumpkin King, and all the Halloween traditions from his foggy village.

“And no one here at school even knows about Jack!” Skully was saying for probably the twentieth time. “Can you believe that? It’s like they’ve never even heard of Halloween!”

“Maybe they’re lucky,” Grim grumbled, stuffing his face with a pumpkin tart.

Skully either didn’t hear him or didn’t care. He had already moved on to decorating cookies, carefully icing tiny skeleton faces onto each one. “Jack’s elegance, his charisma! He’s the epitome of what Halloween should be.”

“Jack this, Jack that...” Grim sighed dramatically. “If I hear that name one more time—”

“I could name the pumpkin Jack,” Skully suggested, completely serious.

“No!” Grim snapped. “Let the pumpkin live its own life! Let it be free!”

You snorted, almost dropping the tray of cupcakes you were setting out. Skully blinked, confused for just a moment, before smiling his usual charming smile. “Ah, Grim, you always know how to liven things up.”

“I’m this close to being a ghost myself,” Grim muttered.

By the time the evening rolled around, Ramshackle Dorm had been transformed into a veritable Halloween haven. Cobwebs draped across the walls, pumpkins lined every surface, and the faint glow of eerie lights filled the air. Skully stood in the center of it all, arms wide open as he surveyed his masterpiece.

“This... this is the Halloween of my dreams,” Skully said softly, his voice full of awe. “I couldn’t have done it without you two.”

Grim gave a halfhearted wave from his spot on the couch, already half-asleep again, but Skully’s gratitude was genuine. You smiled, watching as he twirled around one more time, completely in his element.

“Well,” you said, “if Jack Skellington could see this, I’m sure he’d be impressed.”

Skully’s face lit up like a jack-o’-lantern. “You really think so?”

“Absolutely,” you replied, adjusting a crooked pumpkin. “You’ve done Halloween proud.”

Skully gave a deep bow, flourishing his coat as if he were addressing royalty. “Then, in Jack’s name, I thank you both!”

From the couch, Grim groaned. “I’m gonna need a vacation after this…”

As Skully danced around the room, humming Halloween tunes and praising Jack Skellington, you couldn’t help but smile. Sure, it had been a lot of work, but seeing Skully so happy—and hearing Grim’s constant complaints—made it all worth it.

This was going to be a Halloween to remember.

Masterlist

Also I'd love to add him the the villainess series, but I'll wait till atleast part 2 of the Halloween event to completely understand him before I do!

[munson-blurbs]

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

Summary: Conflict arises with Harris's new teacher, filling Halloween with more tricks than treats. But it's nothing a visit with Ms. Sweetheart can't fix.

Warnings: allusion to Reader and Eddie's one-night stand, panic attack, Reader's grandma has dementia.

WC: 5.6k

Chapter 6/20

Scruffy!Eddie edit credit to @eddiemunsons-missingnipple Divider credit to @saradika

Guns N’ Roses t-shirt: check. Goodwill jeans with makeshift holes in the knees: check. Bandana tied snugly around his forehead: check. Arms littered with an assortment of temporary tattoos: check.

Eddie grins as he assesses his son’s costume, reaching into the thrift store bag as he pulls out the pièce de résistance: a denim jacket, only two sizes bigger than Harris would usually wear. It was a bit over what he’d been hoping to spend, but he’d reasoned with himself that it could also be worn after Halloween. It was an investment, he’d decided, not a splurge.

His smile falters when Harris indignantly stomps his foot, crossing his arms over his chest. While Eddie had hoped his son would go with more badass tattoo options, perhaps a skull and crossbones or even a snake, he had insisted on a Sesame Street theme. Cookie Monster munches on his signature treat as Harris pouts.

“No, Daddy!” he whines, twisting away when Eddie holds the jacket closer to him. “I can’t wear that!”

“C’mon, Har,” he tries, scouring his brain to come up with a convincing enough lie. “Axl Rose wore jackets all the time!”

Harris doesn’t just shake his head; he swivels his entire body back and forth in protest. “I don’t care! No one’s gonna be able to see my tattoos!” He holds out both arms in front of him; nearly every square inch (besides the section blocked by his cast) is covered. Eddie had spent most of last night diligently applying them precisely where Harris had asked, lest there be a tantrum. There was, unfortunately, a headless Elmo from when Harris had asked–no, demanded–that he try by himself. Still, Eddie figured that only one casualty was a win.

“Those are some sweet ol’ tatties,” Eddie muses, biting back a laugh at the two-dimensional Big Bird on his son’s forearm. “But wouldn’t it be cool if you wore the jacket into school and then–BAM!--took it off and surprised everyone with them?

Harris appears to consider this, mouth tucked into his cheeks. “Can I show Ms. Sweetheart?”

“Sure, bud. We’ll stop by her classroom when I pick you up.” Whatever gets us out of the house in weather-appropriate attire. “But first, show me your most metal pose.”

The boy opens his mouth wide and sticks out his tongue as far as it extends, scrunching his face dramatically until the corners of his eyes crinkle. His middle and ring fingers press into his palm, thumb crossing over them, with his forefinger and pinky raised in the quintessential rock ‘n roll symbol. 

Eddie swoops down and smacks a wet kiss to Harris’s cheek. “That’s my boy!”

Standing among the crowd of parents at pick-up, Eddie opts out of making banal small talk and instead chooses to look at the bulletin board. The previous art project that had been hanging against the faded blue paper–”self-portraits” that the students had made on the first day of school–have been replaced by finger paintings of orange blobs that vaguely resemble pumpkins. There wasn’t one for Harris because he was in Ms. Sweetheart’s classroom then, so it’s his first art project in his new class. He eagerly scans the board for Harris’s, frowning when he can’t find his name. 

Maybe it’s still drying, he tries to convince himself, imagining his son over-saturating the paper with globs of paint. It wouldn’t be entirely out of character.

Ms. Marion’s classroom is a sea of costumed children. A boy dressed as one of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles stands by his mom. A Cinderella, a black cat, and a Thomas the Tank Engine surround Ms. Paula. As soon as Eddie spots Harris, he smiles and waves him over, hurriedly scribbling his signature on the sign-out sheet.

He expects Harris to zoom past the other kids, fueled by the standard Halloween diet of sugar and chocolate, but he just kind of…mopes to the doorway. His shoulders slump dejectedly, and though he keeps his gaze low, Eddie can still see the film of mist staining his innocent eyes.

“Har, what’s wrong?” He waits for an answer, and when he doesn’t receive one–an oddity for his perpetually chatty son–he tries a new tactic. “Wanna show me where your artwork is? I must be gettin’ old, because I couldn’t find it on the board out there.”

“‘S not there,” Harris mumbles, scratching off a flaking piece of the Rosita tattoo on the back of his hand. “I didn’t get to finish.”

Eddie watches as the tears start to slip down his cheeks, and he brings him into the hallway before Ms. Marion or Ms. Paula sees what’s going on. He can’t be certain, but his paternal instincts tell him that they’ve contributed to Harris’s sad state. “Why not?”

“I-I t-tried, but M-Ms. Mar-Marion and Ms. P-Paula got m-mad at me.” The words come out between choked sobs. “‘C-Cuz I c-couldn’t sit d-down.”

“What do you mean?”

“I k-keeped st-standing up, ‘cuz m-my legs wanted to st-stand.” The explanation tumbles out of him so quickly, as though he’s trying to beat the clock. “And they s-said if I did-didn’t sit down, I c-couldn’t do art. But I k-keeped f-f-forgetting, and th-they t-taked away my pay-pay-paper and said, ‘sit in the c-corner!’”

Eddie’s breath hitches, and he has to clear his throat before speaking again. “Did…did that happen in Ms. Sweetheart’s class? The legs thing?” 

“Mhm,” Harris manages, “b-but she let me stand and d-do ju-jumps to get the wig-wiggles out. She just t-t-telled me not to do ju-jumps with s-s-scissors, ‘cuz of s-safety.” His breathing increases to a rapid pace, face flushing red as his chest heaves. “B-But Ms. M-Marion ye-ye-yelled at me!”

Eddie’s brows pinch together, and he gently presses his calloused palms against Harris’s narrow shoulders, desperate to prevent him from hyperventilating. “Harris, you gotta calm down. I can’t understand you when you’re crying like this!” Despite his efforts, his frustration bleeds into his tone, and he winces when the latter sentence ends with an unwanted snap. “Shh, it’s okay. It’s just an art project.” 

“Harris?”

The sound of your voice draws the attention of both Munsons. You let out a small oof as Harris flings himself against your legs, and though he practically flew the five foot distance between his father and you, now is not the time to remind him about using his walking feet.

“Hey, hey, what’s going on?” You crouch down, taking his hand in yours, and notice his quick, shallow breaths. “We’re gonna breathe together, okay? Eyes on me.” You demonstrate inhaling for three seconds, holding for three seconds, and exhaling for three seconds. “Now let’s do it together.” 

He hesitates but ultimately follows your lead, and you guide him until his breathing slows enough for him to sputter, “I t-tried to sit, b-but I c-couldn’t.”

You haven’t the slightest idea what he’s referring to, but Eddie fills you in. You feel the heat of anger creeping through your body, not just for the way your co-worker treated the sweet boy, but for her insolent approach to teaching as a whole.

“We can go to my classroom,” you offer, silently sighing in relief when the boy nods in agreement. “I don’t know if I have the supplies to make the same project as Ms. Marion, but if you have a few minutes, you can draw something now. I bet Mr. Will would love to help you; he’s a super-duper artist.”

Just as you’d predicted, Will jumps at the opportunity to help Harris with his impromptu art project, encouraging him to draw something that makes him happy. While he does that, you comb through the mess left behind from the Halloween party you’d thrown. You’d sooner toss one hundred cupcake wrappers in the trash before attempting a conversation with Eddie Munson. He’s simply too unpredictable; kind and thoughtful one day, harsh and guarded the next.

One of the wrappers in your hand drops to the floor and you reach forward to pick it up, pinching the pleated material between your pointer and middle fingers. You can feel Eddie’s eyes on your form, the way the backs of your thighs are slightly exposed when you bend over, and you stand up quickly. 

“Are you the Magic School Bus lady?” He takes in your lavender dress with planets and stars stamped all over it. Oh. He wasn’t checking you out; he was just trying to figure out who you’d dressed up as. Good. Anything else would be inappropriate.

So why does a twinge of disappointment radiate through you?

You glance at your costume; with all of the commotion, you’d forgotten you’d even been wearing one “I mean, would I even be a teacher if I didn’t jump at the chance to be Ms. Frizzle?” You motion over to Will, decked out in green from head to toe with two yellow horns glued to a headband atop his mop of brown hair. “Have you met my trusty sidekick, Liz the Lizard?”

Eddie laughs. “Yeah, Byers actually used to play in my D&D club back in high school. Made some pretty sick art pieces to liven up that dingy excuse for a room.”

You look between the two of them, trying to do the mental math. “Will, didn’t you say you’re twenty-four?” And if Eddie is thirty, that means…

“I, uh, had a little trouble graduating,” Eddie sheepishly admits, ruffling the back of his hair and offering a tight grimace. “But I got there eventually. Class of ‘86, baby!” 

“Worked out for me,” Will shrugs with a grin, looking up from Harris’s drawing. “You were the best DM Hellfire ever had. Although, rumor has it that Erica Sinclair gave you a run for your money.”

Harris picks up a yellow marker, furiously scribbling a circle in the left-hand corner of his paper. You try peering over to see the whole drawing, but he presses his whole body against the table, successfully thwarting your plans. “No peeking!” he warns, not putting his feet back on the ground until you’ve averted your gaze. “‘S a surprise.”

You put your hands up in surrender. “All right, all right. I’ll be surprised.” You raise your eyebrows at Eddie, who shares a similar response in return.

“Dunno when he got so bossy,” he snorts before calling out to his son, “Har-Bear? Five more minutes. We gotta get home to trick-or-treat with Grampa Wayne.”

“Ooh, that sounds like fun!” you echo as Harris grabs a purple marker from the box. “What’s your favorite candy?”

“Hmm.” Harris uses his free hand–the one with the cast–to tap his chin, continuing to color with the other one. “M&Ms. But only the plain ones. Daddy doesn’t let me have the peanut ones ‘cause he says I could choke.”

You shoot a sly, knowing look at Eddie. “I’m sure that’s the only reason. Such a selfless father.” You cross your arms over your chest and cock your head innocently. “And what do you do with all of these confiscated peanut M&Ms, Mr. Munson? Donate them?” 

Eddie tucks his lips into his mouth to mask his grin. “Listen, the jig is gonna be up at some point,” he mumbles out of the corner of his mouth, loud enough so you can hear but soft enough that Harris can’t. “Let me enjoy my free candy while it lasts.”

“No judgment here,” you say with a small laugh, “they’re one of my favorites, too.”

“TA-DA!” Harris shouts, startling you, Eddie, and Will. He holds up the construction paper and smiles widely. To anyone without kids–or who didn’t teach preschool for a living–it would look like a bunch of colorful scribbles. But you can tell that he’s drawn a group of people standing by a tree (or a really, really tall flower) underneath the sun.

“Wow, Harris! That’s amazing!” you clap your hands together to punctuate your enthusiasm. “Who are all those people?”

Harris’s pointer finger travels left to right across the paper as he names each person: “That’s me, Grampa Wayne, Daddy, you, and Mr. Will!” The stick figure that represents you has a purple scribble on it, which you realize must be the costume you’re wearing. “An’ we’re all smiling because we’re happy!” Sure enough, each person has a curved red line at the bottom of their face. But there’s something else that catches your eye.

All of the people have a small space between them, except for you and Eddie. The circle that Harris drew to represent your left hand overlaps with the circle that is Eddie’s right. 

You glance at the real Eddie, and if he notices, he doesn’t give any indication. “I love it, buddy.” He takes the drawing and inspects it closely. “Yup, this one’s definitely going on the fridge when we get home.” He flicks the paper for good measure. “Go clean up the markers so we can head out, Axl Rose.”

Among the noise of markers clattering back in the bins, you lean in to Eddie, inadvertently inhaling the scent of his cigarettes and cologne. For a brief moment, you’re transported back to the night fate had led you to cross paths; the thought of his lips on your neck in the stairwell has you clenching your thighs and swallowing thickly as you murmur, “I can ask him to make a new one with just you, him, and his grandpa.”

Eddie shakes his head. “N-No. I like this one.” He lets one hand drop to his side and it grazes yours. His rings brush your knuckles, and you instinctively draw back at the sensation of the cool metal and the zing of heat that pulses at his light touch. “Sorry,” he mumbles, not making eye contact.

“S’okay.”

He blinks a few times and redirects his attention to his son. “What do you say to Mr. Will and Ms. Sweetheart for letting you do your art project?”

Harris’s little chest swells as he inhales deeply, storing up as much oxygen as he can fit in his lungs before bellowing, “THANK YOUUUUUUU!”

Eddie brings his palm to his ear canal, rotating his forefinger as though trying to repair a punctured eardrum. “Love the enthusiasm,” he says through gritted teeth. “Seriously, though. Thank you both so much.”

“Of course,” Will says warmly, picking up the marker bin and placing it in its space on the shelf.

“Anything for Harris.” You smile, motioning towards the little boy already by his father’s side. “Have fun trick-or-treating tonight, bud! I can’t wait to hear about all the yummy candy you got.”

Harris scrunches his nose in contemplation. “Are you going trick-or-treating, Ms. Sweetheart?”

“Nah,” you laugh, “I’m gonna stay home and give candy to all the kids who come by.” And pray that Grandma doesn’t curse them out, you silently add.

“Oh.” Harris pauses, grabbing his dad’s hand. “Okay, bye!”

Eddie chuckles as his son pulls him towards the door. “That’s my cue. Um, Happy Halloween,” he adds awkwardly, waving once before disappearing down the hallway.

There’s so much more that he wants to say: you’re the best; you saved the day; you should be my son’s teacher instead of that old, bitchy bat. But he didn’t have time. Maybe another day. At least, that’s what he tells himself. 

Wayne arrives just a few minutes after Eddie and Harris get home. As soon as his gruff voice comes over the intercom, Harris excitedly buzzes him in. “Grampa Wayne’s here!” he yells, even though Eddie’s standing right next to him. He grabs the pillowcase from the couch; it was originally white, but after Eddie accidentally threw in a red sock with the white laundry, it’s tinted light pink.

No sooner does the older man cross the threshold into the apartment, Harris is trying to drag him out again. “Let’s go, before all the good candy is gone!” he whines. His eyebrows pinch together and he drops his grandfather’s hand. “Oh, wait, I gotta show you something.” He scampers off into the kitchen, and Wayne winces when he hears the rattle of magnets falling to the floor.

“I’m okay!” Harris calls out, running back with a piece of paper in his hand. “Look what I drawed at school today!” He gives Wayne the rundown of who’s who.

Wayne analyzes each person in the picture, stopping at the overlapping circles between you and Eddie. “This is great, Har-Bear,” he muses. “Are, um, are Daddy and Ms. Sweetheart holding hands?”

“Mhm,” Harris casually confirms, taking the drawing back. “‘Cause they’re married.”

Eddie chokes on air as Wayne does a double-take. “Congrats, Ed,” he jokes, clapping a hand to his nephew’s shoulder. “Gotta say, I thought I’d at least get an invite.”

“Shut up,” Eddie grumbles, rolling his eyes. “Harris, why do you think that Ms. Sweetheart and I are married?” He wracks his brain for answers, but he can’t come to a logical conclusion. Did I talk about her in my sleep? Oh, shit, what if it was when I had that dream—

“Because you gived her a present,” Harris says, eyes innocent and wide. “And when grown-ups love each other, they give each other presents.”

“Oh, he gave Ms. Sweetheart a present, huh?” On the surface, Wayne’s words are as innocuous as Harris’s, but Eddie hears the teasing buried just beneath. 

Harris nods. “Mhm. He gived her a tape!”

“It was the Toni Braxton one that she came into the shop for…that day that, uh…” Eddie raises his eyebrows at his uncle, who nods in acknowledgment. He brings his focus back to his son. “It doesn’t mean that we’re married. People have to go on dates and fall in love before they get married.”

The young boy absorbs this information. “So you should go on dates and fall in love with Ms. Sweetheart!” His face lights up at the idea of it, and it breaks Eddie’s heart to let him down. 

So, he doesn’t. 

“Why don’t you hang that back up so we can get outta here and get you some candy, huh?” He forces a smile and watches his son scamper into the kitchen before turning back to Wayne and shaking his head. 

Harris peels a magnet off of the fridge, the one Eddie bought him on their Daddy-Son day. It has a sea lion balancing a beach ball on its snout, with HAWKINS ZOO printed in bolded letters along the bottom.  

Lowering his voice to a whisper, he speaks directly to his drawing. “When Daddy and Ms. Sweetheart fall in love and get married, I’ll finally have a mommy.” He presses his hand flat against the paper as though he’s sealing in the wish. He stays like that for a moment until his dad calls his name, and he clutches his pillow case as they head out the door. 

Eddie assumes that the love and marriage talk is done for the evening, but the feeling of relief doesn’t last long. The trio of Munson men is halfway down the stairwell when Wayne starts instigating. “Hey, Har, is Ms. Sweetheart pretty?”

“WAYNE!” Eddie grits his teeth and shoots a sharp look at his uncle. The last thing he needs is for Harris to get his hopes up about a blossoming romance between his dad and his former teacher. 

“Oh, yeah!” Harris gleefully agrees, oblivious to the mounting tension. He grips the railing and jumps from the second to last step onto the tiled landing below. “Super pretty! Like a princess.”

The eldest Munson turns to Eddie. “Didja hear that? Pretty like a princess.”

“I heard him,” Eddie replies tersely. 

“Daddy?”

No. Don’t ask me. Harris Wayne Munson, do not ask me what I think you’re going to—

“Do you think Ms. Sweetheart is pretty?”

Although he anticipated the question, Eddie still freezes. If he disagrees, Harris will inevitably want to know why not. And if he’s being honest with himself, he can’t name a single ugly thing about you. 

He does think you’re pretty. He thinks you’re beautiful. Gorgeous. Stunning. And even though he’s literally seen you naked, fully on display for him–a memory he revisits more often than he’s willing to admit–it’s the thought of what you did today that solidifies your beauty. The way you’d effortlessly calmed Harris down without Eddie even having to ask. The frown on his face almost instantly became a smile, the flow of his tears ceasing and turning into the giggles that brought sunlight into Eddie’s life. You did that.

Any woman can be sexy, but you? In that moment, you were perfect.

Fuck. 

“Daddy? Hello?”

At the sound of Harris’s voice, Eddie realizes that he physically hasn’t moved from his spot on the stairs. His hand is gripping the banister so tightly that it leaves an imprint in his palm. “Yeah, buddy,” he manages through his Sahara Desert throat. “I think Ms. Sweetheart’s pretty.”

“Like a princess?” Wayne’s eyes twinkle mischievously. It’s been a long time since he’s been able to tease his nephew about a crush, and he’s not passing up this limited opportunity. 

“Yeah. Like a princess.”

Education outsiders might think that Halloween is one of the worst days to be a teacher. The lethal combination of sugar and excitement barely contained in tiny costumed bodies seems like a recipe for disaster. But any teacher worth their salt will tell you that there is a day far, far worse than Halloween: November 1st. 

On Halloween, there is the expectation for fun. There’s a costume parade, classroom trick-or-treating, and even a little party. The kids are out of control, but who cares? It’s Halloween. 

But on November 1st, there is work to be done. And you’re expected to teach the months of the year to 10 four-year-olds who are suffering from candy hangovers and won’t stop asking why they can’t go trick-or-treating again today. 

You and Will are preparing for battle as students trickle in, excited to show off the candy stashes they acquired the night before. Abby Carver cries because she ate her Reese’s cup and now she’s sad that it’s gone. Joshua Harrington is continuing to “sling webs” at the other kids despite your incessant reminders that he is no longer Spider-Man. A fight over a KitKat bar breaks out not even five minutes into the day, and you confiscate it before someone causes serious bodily harm. 

Two fingers lightly tap on your shoulder—too high up to be a kid—and you whirl around with an irritated, “what?”

“Whoa,” Eddie says, concern etched into his otherwise soft features. He takes a small step back, nearly tripping over a rogue Lego that somehow made its way out of the toy area. He stumbles but catches his balance easily. “Everything okay?”

“‘S a warzone out here,” you try and joke, but you feel it fall flat. You’re too tired for humor. Grandma may not have yelled at the trick-or-treaters like you’d feared, but she did get increasingly angrier with each knock on the door. After the fifth time of her snarling at you to “shut the hell up” (like you could simultaneously be on both sides of the door), you’d relented and just put the candy bowl on the welcome mat, scribbling “TAKE ONE” on a yellow sticky note, adhering it to the plastic container. 

Two decades earlier, Halloween at Grandma’s house had a completely different connotation. She’d have a little pizza party all set up for you, and she’d buy a big bag of your favorite candy, in case you didn’t get enough during your door-to-door quests. And she’d always let you watch whatever spooky movie your heart desired, regardless of your parents’ rules. 

“That’s what grandmas are for,” she’d said with a wink, and the two of you curled up to watch Little Shop of Horrors. Her demeanor matched the hokey magnet on her fridge that read, If I knew how fun my grandkids would be, I would’ve had them first. You’d stay like that until you both fell asleep, only being roused by your parents arriving to pick you up. The good old days, before Grandma waking up involved watching the confusion in her eyes as she tried and failed to place you.

“C-Can I help you with something?” Your guard goes up immediately when you notice that Harris isn’t with him. The time you’d spent together after school yesterday had been nice, fun, even, but you couldn’t trust that today would be the same. Not after what happened a few short weeks ago. 

“I, um…I just swung by to give you this.” He reaches into the inner pocket of his denim jacket; it’s the same one that he lent to Harris when he’d forgotten his at home. A flash of yellow paper catches your eye, and he unfurls his palm to reveal a small bag of peanut M&Ms. “You said they were one of your favorites, right?”

You look at the treat, not willing to reach out and grab it. What if it’s a joke? An elaborate ploy to reel you in, just to shout “gotcha” when you finally let your walls come down?

“Are they poisoned or something?” you quip, crossing your arms over your chest. “Did you spike them with Ex-Lax?”

Eddie’s lips part in surprise before he collects himself. “Guess I deserve that,” he mumbles. “But, no. They’re not. I swear on James Hetfield’s life.” He drags his fingernail over his heart in an X-formation. 

You take the bag, inspecting it for any sign of tampering, but you come up short. The edges are sealed, and there are no pinpricks as far as your eyes can see. “Dipped into Harris’s stash for me?”

“Hey, these bad boys are technically mine for the taking until he figures out that he can eat them without dying.” Eddie chuckles lightly, peering at you through impossibly long lashes. “But, yeah, I was hoping you’d accept these as part of my apology. Or apologies, I guess. For, uh, for not calling when I said I would, and all of the awful shi—awful things I said to you.” His voice is barely above a whisper as he steps closer and says, “I am so fucking sorry.”

You make a small tear in the bag, tapping it against your palm until an M&M falls out. Popping the blue candy in your mouth, you allow the shell to start dissolving on your tongue before crunching on the peanut, hoping you can process what he’s said by the time you’re finished chewing. 

This is what you’ve been waiting for—an actual heartfelt apology. His brown eyes reflect nothing but shame and remorse, and you can tell by the way that he’s fidgeting with his rings that he’s anxiously awaiting your reply. 

His vulnerability softens you slightly, and considering you haven’t keeled over after ingesting the candy, you throw him a bone. 

“This fun size bag covers the ‘not calling’ part, but I’m gonna need a lot more candy if you want me to forgive you for what you said at the music store.” You keep your tone light; teasing, even, but there’s a layer of truth to it. He can’t merely waltz into your classroom with a gift and expect you to forget his hurtful words. 

Eddie nods, his frizzy curls brushing the tops of his denim-clas shoulders. “I know. I’ve said some pretty terrible things in my life, but that might’ve been the worst. And, um,” he fumbles his words, desperately searching for the right ones. Semantics has never been his forte. “You didn’t deserve that. It’s not true; your grandma didn’t want to forget you. And…neither do I.” When you raise your eyebrows, he starts to backtrack. “Because you’re so great with Harris; like, you understand him and stuff. He’s always talking about you.”

Daddy, do you think Ms. Sweetheart is pretty? The question replays like a song he can’t shake from his head, its melody familiar but the notes still keeping him on edge. Pretty like a princess, only instead of saving her, I’m the one who needs to be rescued. So much for Prince Charming, huh?

The M&M melts in your mouth while you formulate a response to his candid admission. Sweetness seeps into your taste buds as you try to straddle the line between careful consideration and overthinking. Speak too quickly and you might say something you’ll regret. Take too long and you’ll make this even more awkward.

“W-Well, I’m glad to hear that.” Short, simple, to the point. Your words are slightly slurred by the candy obstruction, but what else is there to say? You could add that you forgive him, but you’re truthfully not sure that you do. His words scarred, had taken your already mangled self-worth and snapped it into pieces, and so did his reasoning for hurting you. Despite the love and kindness you’d shown his son, Eddie had fully believed that you were responsible for spreading personal information that would wound him. It was exactly as Jeff had said: Eddie struck below the belt at the first sign of conflict, so determined to protect himself that he didn’t even realize that he was attacking the people on his side.

The sound of books clattering to the floor snatches your attention from him, and you whip your head to your little classroom library to see two kids standing over a pile of fallen books, guilty looks stamped on their faces. “I’ve gotta go,” you blurt out, dashing off to assess the damage. You’ve never been so grateful for your students causing mischief.

The hour hand crawls to the number two; at one point, you swore the clock was moving backwards. The chaos of the morning was only a preview of the rest of the day’s fiascos, but you and Will had navigated as best as you could.

“Jesus,” he murmurs once the kids have all been dismissed, gingerly rubbing his temples, “that was brutal. I can handle the day after Halloween; I can handle Fridays, but when they coincide? Nope, never again.” He slumps into a chair dramatically, letting his arms drape over the sides.

“Gonna have a glass of wine when you get home?” you joke, wiping Play-Doh residue from a tabletop.

Will nods. “Or a whole bottle.” His focus shifts to your desk, and he nods his chin in that direction. “I see you have something to look forward to tonight, too.”

You follow his gaze, widening your eyes when you see the object he’s referring to. A bag of peanut M&Ms–much bigger than the one you’d inhaled this morning–sits on top of your desk calendar; resting next to it is a cassette. You walk over, curiosity getting the better of you. The cassette is Guns N’ Roses’ Appetite for Destruction; you recognize the iconic cover as soon as it comes into view. It’s not your usual music choice, but you’ll listen to almost anything.

There’s a piece of paper taped to the giant yellow M&M bag, folded in equal triads. Messily scrawled across the front in black ink is Ms. Sweetheart. You gently pull the adhesive loose and open the letter, nervously running your forefinger across the irregular edge where it was obviously torn from a composition notebook.

Fun size mistake=fun size bag of candy

Family size mistake=family size bag of candy

I’m really good at fucking things up, but really bad at fixing them. I wish I could say that I didn’t mean to hurt you, but we both know that I did. 

You don’t have to forgive me, but I need you to know how sorry I am. 

-Eddie

P.S. Not sure if hard rock is your thing, but I saw this at work and it reminded me of the kindness you showed our favorite little Axl Rose yesterday.

“Who’s it from?” Will asks, breaking into your thoughts. “A secret admirer?” He brings his clasped hands to his cheek in mock dreaminess.

You manage a laugh as you fold the note back up and tuck it under the calendar. “If it is, he’s really bad at it, because he signed his name.” When did he even sneak in here to do this? Kind of scary that someone could walk in and you didn’t even notice.

“Aha! So it is a guy!” Will pumps his fist triumphantly, though you’re not quite sure what he thinks he’s won.

“Just Eddie Munson, thanking us for letting Harris draw here yesterday.” 

It’s not a total lie, but Will sees right through it. “Uh-huh. Thanking us? So that note is also for me? Can I read it?” He starts towards your desk, outstretched hand reaching towards where you’d tried to hide it, but you playfully swat them away.

You glance at the clock and frown. “If you leave a little early, I won’t tell anyone.”

Will flips you off; over the last two months, you two had developed a sibling-esque relationship that came out more once the kids had left for the day. He grabs his backpack from the supply closet and slings it over his shoulders. “You’re lucky I’m exhausted, or I’d stick around and keep bothering you.”

“Yeah, yeah.” You roll your eyes, knowing full well that he’s itching to leave regardless. “Gotta save up your energy for when Marshall visits.”

Will blushes at the mention of his long-distance boyfriend’s name. He still wasn’t out to many people, but when you’d casually mentioned the date Jess had with a girl named Robin, he’d felt comfortable opening up to you. “I can’t wait!” His grin is so wide you swear it’ll stretch right off of his face. “Thanks again; you’re the best.”

That leaves you alone with your gigantic bag of candy, a Guns N’ Roses cassette, and an apology that you have no idea what to do with.

Once again, Eddie Munson has given you more questions than answers.

--

taglist:

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[seiwas]

i think kirishima comes home from the barber’s one day with the ugliest haircut you’ve ever seen on him ☹️ and he’s bouncing around sooooo happy with it, you just don’t have the heart to tell him it’s terrible ☹️🥲

he refused to show you any of his pegs, 100% positive you would love it. bless him because all he really wanted was to surprise you 🥺, hyping it up the weeks leading to the day, too—

“it’s gonna look so good, baby, can’t wait for you to see it,” he kisses you, right as he’s about to head off for his appointment.

you didn’t know it then, eyes sparkling and absolutely smitten as you reply, “looking forward to it.”

so now, as he turns around in front of you, arms open wide as if showing off the pièce de résistance; the absolute cherry on top, he asks, “what do you think? d’you like it?”

and you give it a good look, raising your eyebrows in an effort to look pleasantly surprised (but truthfully just shocked). you can feel the corners of your lips twitching, muscles turning nervous at giving away how you really feel about it.

you take a deep breath and blink, stepping closer to him as you reach up to run your fingers up the nape of his neck and through the strands of his freshly styled hair.

he waits, anticipatory.

two truths sink in at this very moment:

1) it’s just hair. it’ll grow back.

2) you must love him. a whole lot actually, because—

“i love it, it brings out your smile,” you look into his eyes, catching how he beams at you. a sparkling red.

you’ll find a way to let him know about it eventually.

[amirasainz]

heyyy, I’m loving the baby Sainz content with my whole heart! I’d loooove to see the grid acting and planning something for baby sainz birthday! maybe them freaking out wanting to make something special for her as she’ll be spending it with them during race weekend?? THANK U AND LOVE UUUU

AND I LOVE YOU! I really loved writing this request and I hope you all will enjoy this. My requests are always open. I also focused a bit more on Kelly and Max. Enjoy!

-XoXo

@willowpains

¡Feliz cumpleaños!

Today was finally the day. Amira Sainz turned 21! She couldn’t believe it. Even though she was so young, she had already accomplished things that most people could only ever dream of. She knew that this birthday was going to be something special. Not only was she now legally allowed to drink in the US, but she would also celebrate her birthday at the race track. So, like any normal birthday girl, she slept in.

While Amira was lost in her pretty pink dream world, the drivers and their significant others (wags) were already at the race track, meticulously planning the perfect party for their beloved princess. They had been organizing this grand celebration for the past three months, leaving no detail untouched.

George and Carmen took charge of the cake, ensuring it would be a delicious centerpiece for the festivities. Alex, Charles, Carlos and Rebecca worked tirelessly to decorate the entire Ferrari garage, transforming it into a vibrant and festive space with the help of the staff. Lily 1, Lily 2, Alexander and Oscar were given the delightful task of adorning the gift table, making sure each present was beautifully presented. Pierre and Kika handled the catering, ensuring that everyone would enjoy scrumptious food and drinks throughout the celebration. Lewis took it upon himself to select a fabulous outfit for Amira, making sure she would shine on her special day. Meanwhile, Lando , Daniel and Fernando collaborated to set up the DJ booth, ready to keep the party going with an electrifying playlist.

Max and Kelly certainly had the most entertaining roles in Amira’s birthday celebration Max, with a mischievous grin, took on the role of the silent observer. He sat in the background, sipping his coffee, and relishing the unfolding drama in the group chat. The messages flew back and forth, filled with excitement, anticipation, and perhaps a hint of playful teasing. Max knew that this was going to be a memorable day, and he was content just soaking in the chaos. Kelly, on the other hand, was the ultimate distraction artist. She tiptoed into Amira’s room, carrying a tray laden with a scrumptious breakfast. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and warm croissants filled the air. Gently, she woke Amira, who blinked in surprise at the unexpected treat. Breakfast in bed. After breakfast, Kelly whisked Amira away to the hotel’s spa section. Soft music played, and the scent of lavender hung in the air. Amira sank into a plush robe, her worries melting away as skilled hands worked magic on her tired muscles. Kelly chatted with her, distracting her from any thoughts of the impending birthday surprises. Kelly’s next mission was to enhance Amira’s natural beauty. She sat Amira down in front of a well-lit mirror, brushes and palettes at the ready. With gentle strokes, she highlighted Amira’s eyes, adding a touch of glamour. The makeup artist in Kelly emerged, and she reveled in the transformation. Amira’s reflection now radiated confidence and excitement. And last but not least, the pièce de résistance—the outfit. Lewis, with his impeccable taste, had chosen an ensemble for Amira. Kelly helped her slip into the dress, its fabric soft against her skin. Amira admired herself in the mirror, unaware that Lewis had played a part in her birthday attire. Kelly beamed, knowing that Amira would turn heads at the race track .And so, while the rest of the crew buzzed around, setting up decorations, preparing food, and ensuring everything was perfect, Kelly (and Max) worked their magic behind the scenes.

However, the people in the paddock started panicking. Apparently, Pierre and Kika chose the wrong dishes. The cake was not big enough, and the DJ booth didn’t connect to the sound boxes. Max was reading the quite amusing message from Carmen when all of a sudden, the girls stepped out from the bedroom. He quickly abandoned his phone to get a better look at his two pretty girls.

“Schat and Schatje, the two of you look perfect.” And truly, Kelly and Amira were stunningly beautiful in their dresses. Kelly passed Amira her bag and asked, “Ready to go to the track?” Amira nodded, and the three of them went on their way. Max absentmindedly sent a message in the chat that they were coming, being too starstruck by the two girls who walked with linked arms towards the elevator. While Kelly and Max were enjoying their last minutes with Amira, chaos broke out in the paddock.

Carlos and Charles were quickly decorating the walls, while Alex and Rebecca did the rest. Oscar and Lilly put the final touches on the gift table. Couples were heard arguing, Fernando calling the modern technology every name under the sun, and George and Carmen were desperately searching for a way to make the cake appear bigger. In the middle of the room sat Roscoe, who just chilled and watched the adults turn into demons.

Before war erupted, Lando arrived breathless and shared the news of spotting Max, Kelly, and their birthday girl at the entrance. Faster than a Red Bull pit stop, the drivers and their significant others (wags) scrambled to hide. When Amira finally arrived, they all burst out, singing “Happy Birthday.” She was delightfully surprised and took the time to thank each person individually, a process that lasted over three hours because no one wanted to release her from their well-wishes.

As the fans looked on, they witnessed the joy on Amira Sainz’s face as she celebrated her birthday surrounded by her favorite people

[valve3nthusiast]

Ough,,, secretary Soundwave is so hot. I need more please….

*Handwaves a vague office setting*

Secretary Soundwave accidentally answering a call while getting dicked down by his boss and remaining flawlessly professional the entire time. This definitely makes Megatron Feel a Certain Way

Megsy is the one most often taking advantage of Soundwave's short skirt and disinclintation to file complaints with HR, but Starscream makes his appearance as #2 biggest sex pest solely to try and piss off Megatron

Starscream's greatest achievement in this regard is probably fucking Soundwave on top of Megatron's desk, which he only talked Soundwave into because Megatron denied Soundwave's vacation and he was feeling extremely petty about it. They left Soundwave's soaked panties on the desk as a final pièce de résistance

Completely unrelatedly, Megatron tried to fist fight Starscream in the company parking lot the next day

[chic-a-gigot]

Le Petit écho de la mode, no. 39, vol. 16, 30 septembre 1894, Paris. 1. Toilette pour dame d'un certain âge. Ville de Paris / Bibliothèque Forney

(1.) Toilette en cheviotte noire pour dame de certain âge. — Le corsage formant veste figaro devant est à basque godets dans le dos, il est ouvert sur uu plastron en moire mousse, serré à la taille par une ceinture fermée par une boucle de jais. Collet ondulé terminé en pointe devant sous le col revers, arrondi dans le dos. Manche d’une seule pièce ample du haut, étroite du bas. Jupe tout unie formant godets derrière.

(1.) Black cheviotte dress for a lady of a certain age. — The bodice forming a figaro jacket in front has a basque with godets in the back, it is open on a plastron in moiré mousse, tightened at the waist by a belt closed by a jet buckle. Wavy collar ending in a point in front under the lapel collar, rounded in the back. Sleeve in one piece, loose at the top, narrow at the bottom. Plain skirt forming godets in the back.

Matériaux: 6 mètres cheviotte, 0 m, 60 moire.

—

(2.) Toilette de ville de forme polonaise en drap gris et moire blanche. — Devant croisé avec revers de drap posé sur un revers de moire, boutonné sur le côté par un gros bouton et retombant en gracieux coquillé jusqu’au bas de la jupe. Dos sans couture avec jupe godets formée par l’ampleur partant de chaque petit côte. Col droit, manche volumineuse du haut, étroite du bas.

(2.) Polonaise-style city dress in gray cloth and white moire. — Crossed front with cloth lapels placed on a moire lapel, buttoned on the side with a large button and falling in a graceful shell to the bottom of the skirt. Seamless back with godet skirt formed by the fullness starting from each small rib. Straight collar, voluminous sleeve at the top, narrow at the bottom.

Matériaux: 6 mètres de drap, 1 m, 50 de moire.

[thunderandsage]

hannibal fic recs

(in honor of my first ever fandom… yea i get the implications of how that makes me look 😂 anyways, i tend to like the hannibal fics that are closer to the tone and content of the series vs some of the more popular ones jsyk, and i’m putting the more “same characters, different vibes ” fics in the bottom section. my absolute favorites recs are the ones with red titles)

SEASON 1 ERA/VIBES

Pièce Montée, 3k words, episode-style case fic with well-written original characters and plot, sympathetic killers, would kill (ha) for this to be an actual episode on the show

where there is smoke, there is fire, 3k, georgia madchen character study, reading experience comparable to the joy and dread of watching sparks catch on kindling

Foreplay, 1.5k, despite the title not a smut fic but is actually a hannibal character study which takes the premise “seeing people as meat” and seeing how he does/doesn’t view people’s humanity

SEASON 2 ERA/VIBES

Salome, 6k words, tension, delves into the dark obsessive side of oscar wilde’s work, excellent hannibal pov

As Smoke to Flame, 3k, wherein the seduction does include fucking and predictably doesn’t make anything better, focuses on the inherent angst and betrayal of will’s ploy

Trotline, 7k, takes the fluffy-sounding premise of “will takes hannibal fishing” and makes it uh hannibal, an incredible take on hannibal’s sadism/cruelty, gorgeous looming sense of dread

each according to its own kind, 192k, after getting released will ditches the fbi and leaves for the other side of the continent, a love letter to the pacific northwest, the best will graham interpretation i have ever seen, slowburn character study, bonus points bc hannibal gets decked not once but twice in glorious detail, john steinbeck vibes, one of my favorite pieces of writing ever

pitiful things sometimes born in hospitals, 8k, daemon au where will has yet another difference, not a hannigram fic, beverly/will vibes, bittersweet and tragic

your heart is a vast stone desert, 10k, a conversation goes left field and enters the thorny splendor of psychedelic imagery and the most sinuous dialogue you’ve ever read, takes inspiration from ives’s play venus in fur

SEASON 3 ERA/VIBES

Silver Springs, 2k, a Dolce “let’s make this worse,” non-linear writing, heavy angst but god it hurts so good, gorgeous feels from the eponymous song

Tenderest touch leaves the darkest of marks, 6k, a short scene in the BSHCI, what it means to be loved gently by a monster, grotesque and tender at the same time

highway 190, 10k, will graham growing up as a queer man in the deep south and beyond, religious trauma, prose as vivid and striking as a poisonous snake

Churrasco, 2k, leans into the avant-garde vibes of the show, all characters start out using false identities and you get to see them revealed slowly

Au Natur, 9k, a bleak but beautiful imagining of post-fall hannigram, fully embraces will graham’s manipulative tendencies

forgiveness, 1k, a poem-with-footnotes format as Will attempts to explain what his life has become to his father

Sins of Omission, 15k, Jack Crawford’s perspective on the development of hannigram, regret, very good outsider pov

VIBES-ADJACENT (aka fics that don’t “feel hannibal” or are vy AU, but are vy good nonetheless)

Adrasteia, 96k words, Kitchen Nightmares AU, nsfc (not safe for chilton), a hilariously sarcastic and done(tm) will graham, the first long hannibal fic that i read

Black Swan, 10k, as per the tags “all serial killers are birds, some birds are serial killers,” a cracky Swan Lake AU

Separately to a Wood, 13k, a “love at first sight” leads to “proposal during the breakfast scene,” soft

They Came to Florence or: Plagiarize This Fic, 5k, hannibal is a huge fan of will graham’s novels and becomes incensed when someone plagiarizes them, the author was apparently inspired to write this after someone plagiarized one of her fics and i respect that

Poppies, 5k, wherein it is acknowledged that for all the horror she’s been through abigail is just a teenage girl and is allowed some soft moments

their beaks not yet turned red, 134k, magical realism au where the baby does miraculously save the marriage, includes hilarious takes on the inherent absurdities of hannibal’s trial

Be Your Dog, 4k, a rock band au that adapts will graham’s proverbial “descent to the dark side” with an ominous intensity

Sagittarius, 13k, a salem witch trials au where will seeks to avenge abigail’s death by any means necessary, dark but cathartic

a siphon; to pass through, 71k, will has type one diabetes and hannibal is an infuriatingly smug vampire, crack but extremely well-written

[marjoange34]

Sims 2 Je crée ma pièce favorite@SimsetteGirl