#Bulk Plastic Beads

[diyjewelry013]

silicone beads

[trashmouth-richie]

𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐬 

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟓: 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧’𝐭 𝐠𝐨 𝐨𝐧, 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧’ 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠

𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲:  𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬, 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐰𝐡𝐲 ���𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝 ��𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐬?

𝐭𝐰: 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭, heavy angst! 𝟏𝟖+, 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐝𝐫𝐮𝐠 𝐚𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐞, 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝 𝐚𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐞, 𝐚𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 

𝟔.𝟐𝐤 — my goal was 10k let’s all laugh masterlist

a/n: good morrow cousin, don’t mind me just vibin’ anyway— pls ignore the lack of formatting, google docs… count your days. this story still means so much to me, i won’t jump ship on it, and i hope you understand the mental headspace i get in while writing and how 🥰draining and crippling🥰 it truly is 🥲 BUT I DO IT FOR YOU MY LOVERS! ♥️😵‍💫

Sweaty hands were clamped in a bone aching constriction around your steering wheel the entirety of the drive to the club. Watching the whispy curls of dust from the gravel color the powder blue sky, you mutter to yourself.

This was so stupid.

Magenta hued beads hanging from the rearview mirror sway and clack together as you pull the car sharply into the your designated spot towards the back of the parking lot. Flitting a quick glance in the mirror to see if Eddie was still following, you tear your eyes away when the jet black steel of the fender catches the sun's rays, sending a blinding wink into the side mirrors as he approaches, parking alongside you.

This is crazy. This is insane.

Wiping your palms hastily on the ruby stockings pinched to your thighs, you wonder when the nerves in your chest would settle. If your stomach would ever stop churning with the rapid wings of a swarm of angry bees?

Why were you nervous? It was just Eddie.

Your knee bounces of its own accord as you remind yourself of just that. The dry swallow of the tablets you took before he could notice would start working in no time, and then you’d be able to stomach what you were getting yourself into.

Eddie Munson. A childhood friend. Taking a few deep breaths, you open the door into the shared space, and are met with that shit eating grin he never lost.

Here we go.

Green lensed aviators are nestled onto the bridge of his nose, a black bandana snug on his head that you definitely didn’t watch him tie back at your apartment as he straddled the bike before revving the engine and shooting you a daring smile.

Crunching gravel beneath his boots, he stands with hands in the back of his pocket.

“So…” he asks, hooking a thumb over his shoulder towards the club, “when did the Hideout go belly up?”

A sigh leaves your mouth and you turn to get the laundry from the backseat of your sedan, voice muffled, “eighty…-three, I think..” you say strangled like, as you struggle with the bulk of the laundry basket. The strap of your purse is slung over your shoulder when you finally emerge from the car and stand upright to face him.

“Here,” he offers, holding his hands out in offering his help.

Puzzled, you look at everything in your hands, deciding against thrusting the basket of sheets into his awaiting arms, you nod your head towards the car and step out of the way, “sure, my shoes from the back? I just gotta find the keys.”

Switching the basket to your hip you dive into the depths of your purse looking for the keys to unlock the club doors.

Eddie’s fingers curl around the straps of your high heels. A look of bewildered awkwardness coloring his brow. The aching reminder of his actions that damned you to this life were held between his fingers. Cheap leather material, a small brass buckle, plastic.

He slams your door in defeat, hating himself more with each day of being back in Hawkins.

Your hand finagles the key, jingling it out from the mess of your purse. When you look up with a sly little quirk at the corner of your lips for your triumph…Eddie has planted a fake smile on his lips… one that was buried within him before you can see the sadness in his eyes.

“Ready?”

Mrs. Click rattled on and on about WWII, sounding more like the adults in a Peanuts episode every second that ticked by. A loud yawn escapes Eddie’s already slack mouth as he doodles in the margins of his paper, a blue smear on his hand from the ink.

A crumpled ball of composition paper lands on his textbook skidding across the slicked pages and finding home against the wire of his notebook.

Without looking around Eddie already knows who the note is from. A simple scrawled sentence with big loops on the letters and a smiley face after the question mark.

“Lolly wants ‘sketti’ for supper tonight… you in? :)”

His dimples well deep in his cheeks as he scribbles a reply, stealing a glance your way. When Mrs. Click’s back is turned to scratch a hiss of powdered chalk into the board, he lobs the note back to you, hitting your shoulder lightly.

A slow smile creeps across your face as you flatten the note with your palms and read your best friend’s scratched handwriting.

“Hell yeah!”

…

The halls were quiet, Hawkins High students busying themselves with tests and worrying about grade point averages. Not even the janitor Sal was squeaking down the halls.

“If Ms. Judy catches us…”

“She won’t.”

“What about Higgins? I can’t get detention again, my dad will slaughter me.”

“Clove…” Eddie grumbled, stopping his task of picking the lock to look at you with the deepest sincerity, “I promise, we’ll be fine, okay?…just, shit, keep your eyes peeled, I’m almost… there…”

A wicked sliver of a grin plays on his lips.

“Yahtzee, baby! C’mon”

The door to the school kitchen swung open beneath his hand. The smell of Comet cleaner and fresh baked bread invade your nose.

The blade of his knife is closed with a clink on his hip as he bends low with a bow for you to go in first, “let’s go shopping.”

“Set them wherever,” you say nonchalantly, pupils adjusting to the darkness as you step through the threshold into the club.

Walking to the counter and shifting the basket on your hip tossing the keys on the bar, you wiggle off your purse, and turn around to see him standing by a barstool, looking slightly out of place, like a lit Christmas tree in the summertime.

Seeing Eddie in the club, in the depths of sweat and sin was gut wrenching. The club was accustomed to pleasuring pastors and preachers, cops and school teachers. They had all traipsed across the wood floor in their Sunday best, shoes shined to godliness… leaving with lipstick stains and reeking of alcohol. Sin on their breath and in their Hanes.

No, him being here made you feel like your skin was crawling, and that you were about to scream at any given moment.

Heaving the basket onto the nearest table, you take a wounded breath, holding it for longer than necessary to squish your toes along the muddy depth of Lover’s Lake. You spin to avert the lingering glances from Eddie, his eyes burrowing into you like hot steel to butter.

Slotting yourself behind the bar you holler over your shoulder, “park it, I’ll get some drinks.”

Lights flicker and hum an exhausted tune as they slowly shine light to the grim bar, just enough to not be cast in complete darkness.

Eddie grabs the stool in a swift all too cool motion, sliding his long frame over it, the chain on his hip jingling against the wood as he sits, “just water for me…what?” he laughs.

You’re turned facing him with a furrowed brow, holding two of the cleanest shot glasses Queens had in one palm, the other steady on your hip, an annoyed look on your face, “don’t make me drink alone, Slim.”

He laughs again, a loud abrupt sound as he shakes his head, tucking his sunglasses in the neck of his shirt. A modest blush pinking his cheeks as his tongue runs over the sharp edges of his canines.

You haven’t budged, and Eddie finally looks up to meet your stare.

His eyes are glassy, dark and almost a sheen of velvet to them under the shadow of bandana, and the comical yellow rubber of the bandaid.

If eyes were the windows to the soul, you were familiar with his scenery, this particular essence was hurt like you, wounded in the same ways. The past showed through the forlorn strangeness of the last few years like a weathered map with all too familiar paths. Looking into his pools of deep darkness felt soothing in a crippling ached breath.

Features could change but eyes couldn’t, they kept you anchored to him stuck in the void of his mud.

It’s a game before you realize it.

A stare down… in dim light, eyes drying by the second, but it’s Eddie who folds first, no cards left to hold, or rather letting his opponent win. Like old times.

“Always such a headache, huh? Fine,” he exaggerates with a petty eye roll, “you win.” The crooked smirk on his lips gives him away, matching your own.

The two stout glasses clink together against your palm, a bottle of Jameson held by its neck in your other hand, “Not much has changed I see,” you quip, setting them down and pouring the whiskey into the first one, “you still suck at games.”

Eddie cringes as you pour the second, “trying to kill us? Do you not remember what happened on your fifteenth birthday?”

You erupt with laughter, tossing your head back and giggling in that little way he hadn’t heard since you were kids, “oh please,” you snort, thinking back to how drunk the both of you had gotten, “you don’t either.”

Eddie smiles, “probably not the greatest idea I’ve had.”

Sliding a glass towards him you hold yours up, the lights coloring the dark amber into a caramel pool of regret, “to us.”

“To old friends,” Eddie follows, in a grand accent, holding his glass next to yours, “burying the hatchet, stitching old wounds..”

“Alright Shakespeare wrap it up.”

“.. to you.” he says barely above a whisper, his eyes scanning your face, and you shudder involuntarily before tipping the glass against your lips and swallowing the liquor.

It burned on your tongue, hot and unwelcoming, sliding like lava down your throat. Eddie winces, making a sour face as he slaps his glass down on the wood top of the bar.

“Fuck, that's horrible.”

“Ah,” you say, pulling a lever on the tap and putting a tall frosted mug under the spout of draft beer, “it’s not that bad.”

He watches as you pour another beer walk around the bar with one in each hand. His cheeks pink when you smile at him, and he quickly pulls out a stool for you.

Leaning your back against the counter you sip your drink. The bar is empty but the roaring waves of silence crash loud in your ears. It’s strange. Being here with him, would you ever get over seeing him after so many years?

“I won’t lie, Clovie, ’m not much of a drinker.” Eddie admits, rubbing his thumbs along the frosted mug.

“Well,” you say, holding your beer up to your lips, and looking over the edge to meet his gaze, “today you are.”

Taking a generous sip you smile when he follows suit.

“Eddie Munson, back in Indiana,” you tease, elongating the vowels of the state, “never thought I’d see the day.”

He shrugs, tossing long curls behind his shoulder, “missed the scenery.”

You scoff, “yeah the luscious rolling hills of the trailer park really get me feeling like Julie Andrews too.”

He cringes, raising his brows for emphasis, “Those hills have eyes.”

“Eww..” your nose crinkles, “Craven outdid himself with that one, I still won’t watch it.”

Eddie takes a pull from his beer before adding nonchalantly, “that’s cause you’re chicken shit.”

Blowing a raspberry with your lips, your eyes narrow as you spit an insult. “This coming from the guy who slept with his lights on after watching E.T.”

“When he turns white by the river?! Fucker looks like a crushed powdered donut!”

It was easy falling back into the throws of jokes and banter with Eddie. You both giggle like kids talking about movies that had shredded horror as kids but now made you cringe with how poor they were done.

After a particularly long laugh about whether or not you still carried around your security blanket, Eddie sighs, “I thought this was gonna be weird,” Your nerves had calmed at the expense of childlike humor and talks of times long ago, that you finally slide on the stool he had pulled out for you. “us…. this place… Hawkins,” he bumps your elbow with his, “ shit I mean, we’re drinking in a bar, legally! Who would have thought?”

Your grin warms his heart like honey in a cup of tea, “somehow the beer doesn’t taste any better once you’re old enough to drink it.” The sip you took from your frosted mug was far from ladylike.

“You’re right,” he agrees, following your lead and taking a big gulp, “something forbidden always tastes better.”

Right now you felt like Eve, enjoying the fruits of company from Eddie Munson, and your cheeks heat. Rick hadn’t crossed your mind since he drove down the driveway this morning, and you’d like to keep it that way.

“…a motorcycle, huh?” you say changing the subject, “honestly didn't think you were the type.”

He shrugs nonchalantly, a little dimple pitting in the plumpness of his cheek, “Type? Like I need to be a colossal douche to drive one, hell…it’s good on gas, real fast. I got a buddy who fixed it up for me, owed me a favor for a cover up I did on his back.”

“Cover up?” you ask, eyebrow quirked, “like…a tattoo?”

“Yeah,” he says, swiveling on his barstool to face you, rolling his sleeves up past his elbow showing off his tattooed arms in the space between you both, “did these myself, just something I do for fun.”

His skin is embellished more than it is bare. Dark swirls of onyx branched out along his left wrist and up to the rolled fabric of his shirt, and you wonder if it disappeared up to his arm, around his torso? The marks seemed to flow like a river, connecting, gathering, forking this way and that, etching more pages to a story of an unfamiliar tale. You hoped to one day know its origin.

Without asking, your fingertips trace the outlines of the black ink, delicately following the path.

They circled around a rose covered in heavy dark thorns, dripping with blood. It had bloomed in a grassy knob made of lyrics from songs you had never heard. The inscriptions continue to channel along to a long silver dagger with a jeweled embellished handle of pretty emeralds that were shaped in irregular patterns. The dagger sunk into his skin and poked back out, shredding tendons and marrow in its wake… all exposed, coming to a point at his wrist.

It was as if he created his own armor, each intricate drag of the needle serving as a steady reminder that he would overcome. You can’t help the smile spreading on your lips, you had never seen anything more beautiful in your life.

“Should have guessed you’d end up being some sort of artist, Eddie, these are really lovely.”

He smiles, warm and inviting as he reaches for your hand, angling it towards him to get a proper look at the stick n poke tattoo he did years before.

A rough thumb sweeps along your skin, and the whiskey coloring of his eyes pour into yours, “I could fix this for you, make it look better.”

“Absolutely not,” you falsely gasp, “I love it just the way it is… besides you didn’t cover yours up either,” you point to the tattoo on his left hand. The small heart and clover were faded and blown out, a stark contrast difference against the shadowed dark lines around it.

You grin and meet his eyes. “Do you remember how hot it was that day?”

Eddie had always kept that memory at the surface, remembered as if it were yesterday, thinking about it often. As if your hand was still sweating in his, he could practically smell the peanut butter in your hair, feel the dampness on his shoulder from your tears.

“Yeah,” he says with a sad little smile, “I remember getting our asses chewed because we burnt supper.”

The light leaves your eyes and your smile fades, venom on your tongue as you spit, “should have poisoned them both… could have saved ourselves a world of trouble.”

Eddie’s stomach rumbled at the empty hollow feeling it used to play on repeat, if it weren't for you, he would have starved indefinitely.

“Juvy couldn’t have been that bad, THREE meals a day? Shit, practically a cake walk.”

“Yeah, lucky bastards,” you admit, a small lost look on your face as you drop his hand, mind wandering to the long forgotten childhood you were abandoned in. If your dad wasn’t screaming at you and raising a fist it was the neighbors ignoring the hollering and groaning of furniture snapping against thin walls from the Munson trailer. Never a silent hour in the park.

It’s quiet for a few beats as you drink your beer, finishing it a few swallows and leaning over the bar to grab the bottle of Jameson, pouring another round.

“So, the motorcycle, tattooing… you must be fighting off the ladies.”

Eddie laughs, his eyes darting across your face with a quirked brow, “not hardly.”

Rolling your eyes you sip at the bitter drink, “don’t be prude Munson, tell me.”

He scoffs and moves hair from his neck, suddenly interested in the bottom of his drink, “I’m not telling you the woes of my love life, thanks.”

“C’mon..” you pout, showing your bottom lip, “we never got to have talks like this!”

Eddie snorted at the pathetic pout you showed, “yeah and we aren’t gonna start now because there’s nothing to tell.”

Your eyes narrowed into slits as you scowled at him. “You’ve always been such a bad liar, bet your ears are red,” you reach for his hair in a feeble attempt to reveal what you both already knew to be true.

“Quit!” Eddie yells playfully, batting your hand away, “alright yeah, I’ve had a girlfriend or two,” he shrugs, “never anything serious.”

You grin at him lazily, elbow on the counter and your chin in your palm, even though your heart sank a bit at the thought of him loving someone, “ahh, see? That wasn’t so bad.”

Eddie blushes under your stare, “speak for yourself.”

He looks down, rubbing condensation from his mug with his thumbs. “And you? d’you uh… got a boyfriend?”

Your smile fades and you try not to shiver in disgust as you pour another shot. Slapping the glass down hard on the counter as you drain it, “I wouldn’t exactly call him that… it’s more of an… agreement.”

His face breaks into a jigsaw puzzle, “what does that mean?”

“Dont wanna bore you with ‘my love life woes’…” you interject, ignoring him, putting the tip of your finger in his glass and dragging it towards you. Tipping in more Jameson and sliding it towards him.

The buzz was tickling your fingers, a lightness took over your head as the alcohol seeped into your blood.

“Down to the meat and potatoes Slim…why are you home? I mean it’s not as if this shithole holds any happy memories.”

He brought the shot glass to his lips, sipping it down as you pour yourself another.

How did you not know that the only happy memory he had of Hawkins was you? He didn’t know how to tell you that it was the memory of your smile that kept him company when the nights were cold and he didn’t know where his next meal would come from.

He takes a deep breath, “my uncle died,” he squints with a puckered sour face at the burn from the liquor shaking his head, “Al is either dead or on another bender so…” he claps his hands, “here I am… met with his girlfriend today actually.”

You frown, reaching for his folded hands, tapping his knuckles, “‘m sorry, Eddie. Wayne was sweet, respectful, a regular here… to the bar, not the club.”

Eddie rolls his shoulders, trying to untie his tongue to ask the question that burned in him, “when did you um... start working here?”

Your stomach drops at his question, and your nails clack around the Jameson bottle again as you dump yet another splash into your glass. Your answer is muffled behind a choked swallow.

He frowns, racking his brain, “wait.. isn’t that…”

“My birthday,” you fake cheer, eyes too wet for normal conversation, “big 1-8.”

“Jesus...”

Eddie’s eyes shut in horror and your doomed fate. He covered his mouth with a fist to shield you from his quivering bottom lip. It was a far fucking cry from what he could have even imagined.

His eighteenth birthday was no glorious day either but he wasn’t forced to work in a strip club. His stomach churns, making milk into butter at the thought of your naive innocent eyes, and how they had almost hardened to steel in his absence.

The whiskey is working its magic now you’re feeling a little hot behind the ears, fuzzy in your head, dizzy eyed.He stares for a while over at you, watching in disappointment as you get clumsy with the pours, spilling a little on the counter and wiping it away with your bare hand, as you slug down, yet another, shot.

You stand suddenly, stumbling behind the bar and to the chip stand. Your fingers miss the clips in your attempt to release the snacks but they finally find home and you grab a bag, flinging it to him before opening one for yourself.

“Cool right?” you say, struggling to open it, tongue poked out in drunken concentration.

“Y’know I think most kids get a car,” the bag opens sending a confetti of salted crumbs and chips scattering to the counter to be crunched at your feet. Trying not to meet his eyes you talk to the ceiling, “maybe a crisp hundred dollar bill for their eighteenth. Clove? Blisters, a couple of bruises.. oh, and my name! Carved on the bathroom door, for a good time call…”

He’s struck dumb. Shell shocked and blinking back tears. Eddie clears his throat and reaches across the bar for your hand but you pull away from him, instead grabbing for the bottle.

“Welcome back.” you muse before pressing the mouth of the bottle angrily to your lips… foregoing the glass entirely.

Tipping your head back the now tasteless liquor slides down your throat with ease. An expert at coating the agony, you wait for your brain to lose oxygen and beg for an intake of breath, silently hoping you’d drown instead.

Years have passed of you dulling misery with anything you could get your hands on, liquor, pills, a little bit of nose powder… you’d tried most of the things Rick sold. And it worked until you needed more and more. It was a vicious cycle you were chasing.

But with Eddie here? It was nearly impossible to breeze over the truth.

When the bottle, in its near emptiness, slapped against the counter… a pair of dark eyes stare up at you, wide and sad, glossy with tears of shaming guilt.

Eddie couldn’t have guessed that your life was going to end up this way. He was naive in thinking that. Fucking stupid. He should kick his own ass for leaving the way he did, but his options were limited. Still, he’d wear the brunt of this mistake on his shoulders like a heavy cloak.

Your eyes were empty, lost, and he couldn’t handle it anymore. He shook his head slow, voice gravely.

“I owe you years worth of apologies, Clove.”

You’re more than tipsy at this point, and suddenly you can’t form words as your breath is trapped in your throat.

He was practically in tears as he tried his hardest to explain himself, tried to right this wrong.

“I was young, so fucking stupid..”

“Eddie..” As much as you wanted to know what happened it suddenly felt like too much, like your brain would implode, unable to process the heartache any further.

“Just listen, okay? Please?” He’s begging for your attention and you would rather melt into the floor. “I never told you, I never told anyone.”

Thicker than thieves. Eddie knew you like the back of his hand and likewise with you, so what the hell was he talking about?

…

“Check the back, I’m sure the canned stuff is there.”

The kitchen was eerily quiet, filled with sleepy rays of the afternoon sun, loaves of bread set out on the counter fresh from the oven for tomorrow's lunch.

You pad on tip toes to the back room lined with shelves of aluminum cans, and dried goods. You didn’t know where to start.

“How many should we take?” you whisper yell over your shoulder, “Two? Three?”

Eddie’s using his shirt as a basket, filling it full with small cartons of milk, shoving apples in his pockets, “Look for the big ones, then we won’t have to come back for a… oh fuck yeah, come to daddy.”

“Ew, Eddie!”

“Found some cheese!” he cheers, “we could make garlic bread!”

Label after label your fingers skimmed over the cans. Peaches, tapioca pudding, green beans, lima beans, and finally… in a can larger than your head, crushed tomatoes.

“Jackpot,” you whisper grabbing the cans and adjusting them one under each arm, “ready?”

Eddie’s frame fills the doorway, arms bundled with an assortment of goodies, a fresh loaf of bread in a plastic bread sack between his teeth, a joker’s grin wide on his face, “let’s roll.”

…

It was pure dumb coincidence that an exit was next to the cafeteria. You were surprised at the fact that Eddie's jeans didn’t fall down to his ankles from the extra weight of food heavy in his pockets as the two of you ran to his van and sped back to the trailer park.

“We made out like bandits, gonna eat like kings tonight, Clovie.” Eddie’s smile is spread wide as he helps haul the looted school food into your trailer.

Years of yellowing stains from tobacco use shown on every surface, a permanent haze of smoke lingering in the air, baking in the sunlight. Dishes littered the sink in standing dirty gray water, gone ice cold.

“Sorry for the mess,” you explain, reaching into the sink to pull the stopper, “I fell asleep before doing them while reading Lolly her library book.”

Eddie opens a drawer looking for a can opener, “and your dad didn’t come unglued? You must be Irish with that kinda luck.”

“He was passed out, I could have lit the place on fire and he wouldn’t have known, and he was gone before my alarm went off this morning.”

Peeling back the tin lid after pinching it open with the can opener, Eddie grunts, “yeah, my dad left early this morning too, said something about keeping my ‘filthy fucking hands off his stash’ and that he’d be gone for a few days.”

It was an enormous relief when it was just you and Eddie to fend for yourselves. Most teens could barely use the stove to make popcorn, but you had been taking care of yourself and Lolly for years. It was what you preferred.

Reaching for the one good aluminum pot that was stashed above the fridge, you pull it down and remove the magazine clippings of recipes you wanted to try or things that looked easy to make with the very little your cabinets held. “Good, glad they’ll be gone.”

Eddie sucks a tomato sauce covered thumb into his mouth, smiling in a way that made your cheeks heat, “almost like you read my mind.”

He’s hesitant now, fumbling over his words and brushing hair from his neck.

“I, you know I always talked about leaving Hawkins…practically had it all figured out by the time we were thirteen.”

You remember how serious his face was when he cupped your arms in the kitchen, his words branding themselves in your skull like a prisoner counting down days.

He swallows roughly, running hands through his hair, “I… I wanted you to… firstly…I need you to understand that I didn’t want to leave… not without you.”

Playing coy you brush off his serious tone, “.. stop.”

“I’m serious,” he sighs, reaching for your hand and your stomach flips when his calloused palm clamps tight on your knuckles, “you were everything to me.”

“.. c’mon Eddie, that’s just the liquor talkin’ now.”

“t’s not… and with me,” his eyes seem to grow in size as his sincerity leaks through them, “I’d never tell you something like this while drunk.”

You swallow dryly and nod, accepting that whatever he was about to say was true and real.

He takes a sharp intake of breath, as if this particular memory hurt him more than any other. His eyes were growing dark. solemn, and he squeezed your hand as he begins.

“I think it was about a year before I left… we made spaghetti with shit we stole from the cafeteria…”

A pain in your chest blossoms with a thought you hadn’t remembered until now when he reminded you. The taste of cheesy bread in the oven and salty tomatoey spaghetti invade your mind.

“I still can't eat spaghetti.”

A quick smirk dances in the corner of his lip and he meets your eyes, “yeah… me neither, I stayed over on the floor of the bathroom.”

You nod, remembering the sounds of Eddie retching into the toilet while you laid in your bed, a popcorn bowl keeping you company, thankful that Lolly hadn’t gotten sick. Even though you had gotten screamed at for being sick yourself when your dad and Al came back earlier than expected.

“Well, I was awake when they came home. They didn’t know I was there or even awake, and they were talking ‘business’.. you know those trailer walls are so fuckin’ thin, couldn’t not hear them.”

His eyes pinched shut like you would on a rollercoaster when it’s too scary, shaking his head, his other hand clamped over the one he held yours in, rubbing as if he could possibly buff out the callouses.

You can’t do anything but stare at him. Frozen in place. Scared to move, not even breathing.

“They had been talking about how some of their new “talent” wouldn’t be ready to go right away but… goddamn…” his voice cracks and he shakes his head before his demeanor falls and his voice gets quiet almost mute, “they had someone in mind to fill in in the mean time…”

No.

It shouldn’t have been a shock, shouldn’t have gutted you on the spot, usingyour intestines as a jump rope, but somehow, hearing this from Eddie’s mouth made it worse than if you were to hear it from them yourself.

You wanted to run away, to hide and never come out of a dark hole.

“… I hoarded away any nickel I could find, because we were going to leave. Together.” he squeezes your hand on the last word, possibly trying to bring you back to life as you stared ominously at the counter next to your conjoined hands.

The stagnant air is cold between you, and you aren’t sure if you’ve taken a breath within the last two minutes or not. Cold sweat formed on your lower back and any high you were feeling was dull, a competition to fight with your lucidness. Eddie took a few deep breaths before continuing.

“I replay that day over and over… how my dad came home, screaming about how I was a man now, needed to start helping with the family business stop freeloading like my mom… y’ know somethin’ Clove, to this day I’ve never touched that shit, and that was the one and only time I’ve ever seen heroin.” He hangs his head and you shift on uneasy feet.

“Telling him no was my first mistake, But I had to stick up for myself, had to let him know that I wasn’t gonna be like him,” he spoke now through gritted teeth as he admits, “but instead he swung on me,” Eddie chuckles despite the gravity of his words, “got a few good jabs in before he pulled those brass knuckles out.”

Your hand flies to cover your mouth before you realize it’s open in horror.

“I packed the van when I heard him leave, pocketed the cash I had saved up. This was it, we were getting the hell out. You and me, Lolly too… fuck I can’t even imagine how crazy I looked covered in blood,” he sighs then, shuttering like, voice shaking, his eyes wet.

Your heart broke for him. Broke for his demons that followed him around like a shadow. “I… I didn’t even get a knock in on your window before I felt a gun pressed to my head …”

It’s your turn to take a shaky breath, and you can’t hide the burn in your nose or the way your mouth tingled from holding in tears.

His voice is low, broken, “… I didn’t have a choice. It wasn’t just me they were threatening. He made it more than clear how easy it would be to get rid of two kids nobody wanted to begin with.”

Slipping in and out of present time, you imagine how scared Eddie must have been. The look of terror on his face as a grown adult held him at gunpoint. How his own dad hit him until he bled, how he tried to get to you, tried to save you. You were a fucking fool for hating him when the one you should have been hating this entire time was yourself.

“… he followed me to the van… told me he’d fill me full of lead if he ever came back.”

You pinched your eyes shut, imagining him driving away from the only home he’d ever known, from his life, from you.

His voice fades in and out, as he works through the emotions wavering in his body. “I should have come back for you, should have, I dunno.. I’m sorry, Clove.”

It’s quiet as you process everything Eddie has said. The pain you’d shoved down for years is raging towards you like a bull. Red, angry, demanding to be felt. But you would hide from this terrorizing house of horrors for as long as you could, and you step out of the bull’s way, deflecting.

“Music!” you screech out of nowhere, through the thick haze of sadness, “we need music.”

Standing abruptly, sending the now empty bottle of Jameson clattering across the counter, Eddie tries to steady you from across the bar, his cheeks damp.

“Whoa, hey.. you okay?”

“I gotta,” your hands roam over yourself in search of pockets, “…hey you got a quarter?” The floor seemed to move as you teetered toward the jukebox, keeping your eyes on the colorful lights as you walked towards it like a moth to a flame.

“Wai…” he takes a step forward reaching for your hand but deciding against it, hand going limp by his side, his eyes searching inside your own.

You desperately want to break against him, to throw yourself in his arms and let him hold you until the tears dry on your cheeks, but you can’t let yourself be so vulnerable. Not in front of Eddie, not in front of anyone.

“Clove…” his voice is tender, concerned, “c’mon, you need to sit down.”

“No change? That’s okay, Slim,” you squeak, cutting him off in a rush, forcing a fake smile as you silently curse yourself for sounding so derailed, “Gotta change anyway.”

Spinning and nearly tripping over a stool in your attempt to get to the dressing room, you avoid the swelling brown of his eyes like the plague.

“Larry or Kenny should be here in a few, tell ‘im you’re on my tab and you can eat all the wings you want for free tonight, ‘kay? I’ll be back!”

The tears slid before you could stop them, hot pools that stung your eyes like acid. Maybe you shouldn’t have asked…no you definitely shouldn’t have pushed to know the reason why he left.

The bar was still spinning, waves of heat hitting you like an oven.

You prayed that your Eddie would come back to you, come home to save you and take you away from this life, but he’s here now and it’s entirely too much for you to deal with.

Vomit rose in your throat before you could swallow it back, and walking down the ruby carpeted hallway, your stomach empties itself on the floor before you can find a trash can, the wall holding you up as you crumble against it. Heart bruised and battered, despite Eddie’s efforts to mend it.

He stood in the open bar, soul empty and hollow. So many confessions left unsaid were formed but couldn’t quite fall from his lips. The conversation he wanted to have was not the outcome he had hoped for. He yearned for you, how close the two of you used to be and how it was torn away too soon. Time was a thief and the years spent apart ate at him, and all he can think of is the small manila envelope he kept of letters that went unread, addressed to you.

thank you for taking the time to read 💋 i know this chapter has taken for fucking ever to come out but i hope it was possibly worth it🥀

♡tag list: @dashingdeb16 @emxxblog @mopeymopeymouse @pretendthisnameisclever @mommybaby-witch @tlclick73 @figmentofquinn @eddies-stinky-battle-jacket @whenshelanded @micheledawn1975 @3rd-conchord 😭 @leelei1980 @browneyes8288 @emilyslutface @mmunson86 @josephquinnsfreckles @eddiesxangel @elegantkoalapaper @corrodedcoffincumslut @sidthedollface2 @winchester-angel l @mrsjellymunson @joannamuns9n @mewchiili @spacedoutdaydreamer @emxxblog @maybeisthemoon @str4ngergirlw0rld @insertcoolnameherethanks @kellsck @prestinalove @mandyjo8719 @onegirlmanytales @veravee-blog @taintedcigs @eddies-acousticguitar @oeuryale @kthomps914 @bangaveragewhitewine @lil-quinnie @definitionwanderlust @madaboutjoe @eiightysixbaby @writinginthetwilight @jessisacarica @ali-r3n

[sniffanimal]

I've had fly tying on the mind (notes on design below!)

What pokemon would you use as a lure?

Magikarp I imagine uses a lot of body tubing and epoxy resin to form the body. The side fins and tail are cellophane plastic.

Barboach uses a pipe cleaner fo the bulk of its body and also cellophane for the tail, potentially a metallic one.

Spewpa uses tulle for the main body and a large bead for the head. Sequins are glued or sewn into the tinsel.

Wiglett is a sillicone worm sewn onto the hook with a pompom on the end. Lol.

[psychicpanic]

good morning! ^_____^ the kids want me to have friendship bracelets with them (like <10 kids) but ik if i whip out bracelets one day then they will all want one and thats a lotttt of kids. esp bcs they’re the plastic/glass bead bracelets, they’re lowkey expensive in bulk. im gonna pray for clarity on what to do

[flapjackthekandikid]

omg can I know where you got the fry and block beads from this https://www.tumblr.com/flapjackthekandikid/29541971736/some-more-kandi-i-made-this-week-i-was-super post?? or just where you get your beads in general! sorry if you've gotten this question before!

the fry charm was a plastic hairtie I got in a big pack of them in the wholesale wig and salon supply district of dtla, and the cube beads I got in the craft district in a big sack of them and I just put dollarstore stickers on the sides and coated them with clear nail polish after haha.

most of my stuff either comes from dtla with a wholesale license or I now import a lot of stuff in bulk direct from suppliers in guangzhou with a TIN for various little toys and clothes/etc. imports haha. I have considered doing a little shop online though for weird beads I can only order in bulk weights at some point. The majority is just in-person finds though

[breelandwalker]

hi!! so i live in a small place and was wondering if you had any advice on herb/crystal storage and altar space in small places. i want to set up an altar and have storage for my supplies but i can’t seem to find anything that could work or won’t take up a lot of room!! do you have any advice? if not, totally cool, just wanted to ask :)

Ooo yes! I used to have to work with limited space as well, and tbh even now that I have a house, storage is at a premium. I would suggest getting some shoeboxes or craft storage bins and a bunch of small jars. These are usually lightweight and inexpensive and can fit into small spaces.

Work the extra space under your bed or dresser with flat storage bins and cardboard dividers (you can make them from leftover shipment boxes). Use clearly-labeled sealable plastic bags or small jars for your herbs. I suggest finding some 3oz. plastic spice storage containers, they hold a lot and can be purchased in bulk. Some of them even come with labels. Bead storage bins with dividers are great for small items and crystals too. Raid your local craft store and see what you can find.

If you can store things openly, get a storage unit that hangs over a door and use your bedroom or closet door as a vertical storage space. Install some small shelves if you can - you'd be amazed how much difference just a few extra square feet makes. (Also make sure you use wall screws rated for 50lbs or higher if you're going to be storing books, jars, or statues on them.)

As for your altar, make a small portable one inside a small box, pencil case, or mint tin. It doesn't take much, just a devotional image (printed, drawn, or sculpted) and maybe a space for a small offering or a tealight candle. Then you just set it up when you want to use it and store it away when you're done. You could also use a small floating shelf for this purpose if you wanted. Just make sure you're careful with candles and oil warmers if you're using a shelf or a flammable box.

Hope this helps and Happy Witching!

[capekelpie]

Mareiarty Update!

My little crime horse has been chugging along on and off in the background. She takes a backseat to commissions and academic stuff so progress has been slow but I'm learning a lot from her!

When we left off, I was bulking her out with Free Form Air putty. Once that was done, I switched to Pratley Putty for refining. The putty is not intended as an art medium, but I'm learning to work with it. It's the most readily available putty of the sort for me since it's produced here in South Africa! The bead I used for her eyes are slightly too big. They were the only ones I had in the house at the time but they were later sanded away.

I got a bit enthusiastic with the wrinkling on her neck, which was later redone. I like the stylised look, but not for this sculpt. She's supposed to be realistic. I am very happy with the muscling on this shoulder though. It still needs sanding and refining, but its definitely on the right track.

In November, this was her. Her foot had been snapped off because it didn't quite align with the leg, and I was keeping it on with tape so I didn't lose it. Her neck had been smoothed out (still a long way to go). I was still blocking out the face, and forgot to fix the fish lip before the clay cured, so that had to be dremmeled later.

I chopped off two of her legs for repositioning. Poor girl couldn't stand for a while. I'm very glad I didn't lose her legs, cos they would have been a pain to remake.

At the start of 2024, this is where she was at. I'd left her alone for a couple of months and come back with fresh eyes and decided that I didn't like the position of her head and hindquarters. So she was scheduled for plastic surgery (hence the dotted lines)

I don't have any photos of her immediately post surgery. But I started properly sculpting the details on one of her legs. I'm pretty happy with how this one turned out, though the scale is a little off and it will probably have to be redone. I'm finding Pratley's to be a fairly good, versatile putty, though the large grain size (as it's not intended as an art medium) is causing some grief.

SHE HAS A FACE Not a great face, but still. This was the first version of her eye. It wasn't perfect but I learned a fair bit about both the anatomy and the medium, and the fact that Pratley was not intended as an art product became very obvious at with such fine detail. But it buffed fairly well with the metal tools and even though this version of the eye was drilled off, I still think it was worth it for the learning.

And now we reach the present day! Last night, I resculpted her eye, and it came out waaay better. I think I've gotten better with the medium and the anatomy and expression are a vast improvement. It still needs a couple of touches but I hope to be able to do those without having to resculpt the whole thing. Still considering switching to a Milliput Superfine for the very fine details but that'll have to be ordered in so we'll see. So that's where she is! The Marengo of crime, the arch nemesis of Sherlock Horse and Doctor Trotson...Mareiarty!

[kavehpilled]

Bracelets are good! I've seen people also hand out temporary tattoos or those plastic bead necklaces they sell in bulk.

THANK YOU 🙏🙏🙏 i didnt know if bracelets were normal or not 😭

[whetstonefires]

I've recently mostly been learning techniques (regarding specific software, video game optimization, animation, and fiber art) and am not to the point I can share them condensed into fun facts (or fish facts). So instead, if you wish, questions: do you practice any crafts? And do you often have to translate scenes into written form that you think of first or better in another medium?

I am sure you have facts!

But okay, yeah. I do. I'm not great at most of them! But I whittle and I sew a bit and I knit and I throw pots and I work with beads, things like that. I studied weaving in high school but I haven't touched a loom in years. I attempted dyeing I don't have the correct sort of patience. (There are so many distinct types of patience.) I got into spinning as a kid but I'm allergic to wool.

I also draw and paint but I think those are arbitrarily on the 'art' side of arts and crafts. I do a very little bit of carpentry. Is that crafts.

As for translating...maybe a little? Diana Wynne Jones advised that when setting a scene you should fix an image of as much detail as possible in your head and describe that, as if it was a real thing you have under observation, to avoid accidentally retreating into abstracts and gestures and therefore cliches, and she was so right.

And when it's heavily kinetic things like a fight scene, you are at a severe disadvantage if you're not doing your sketch at least partially in the physical.

But it rarely feels like translating, which is a word heavily freighted in my opinion with epistemological limitation; the treason of our minds in that one thing will never wholly become another, that the second version may be a fine thing in itself but can only approximate its original.

I'm comfortable with words as a medium, they're definitely the one I'm smoothest with, and the prior imagined version is only ever of my conjuring, specifically for the purpose of giving me something to set down in text, and doesn't exist in any larger sense, so I mostly experience this transcription process as quite an adequate capturing of the essence of the idea.

Even when it isn't satisfactory, it tends to feel more like when your linework comes out worse than the sketch somehow, if you know what I mean? Not like if you saw something beautiful and then your painting of it was shit. These are two distinct flavors of frustration.

If I was prone to like, tripping out on mushrooms for inspiration I would probably have that problem more. But my cognitive processes don't really run off ahead of me very often in a creative sense, except in terms of how fast I can type and if I lose my thread in the time it takes to get a pen or a keyboard ready.

For the most part, the bulk of the work is situated within the process.

This is also reflected in which crafts tend to work well for me; clay has always been nice because you can feel your way along and figure out the route as you get there, but the clay doesn't tend to have strong opinions about what you can do with it beyond its basic characteristics like plasticity, which is information you can detect with your hands.

[chimaerabutt]

I feel like I’m going crazy looking for these beads.

I have clear , tiny, plastic Star beads. They look like this except clear.

I can’t find them anywhere online. And they are TINY. Like smaller than 5mm tiny. I used them in my most recent pair of earrings (with a coat of UV resin to tint them)

Anyway I really want to buy a big bulk bag of them because I am 100% not interested in molding and casting and then having to drill a hole in something THAT SMALL without a jeweler’s vice.

So if anyone knows where I can find teeny tiny acrylic Star beads

Halp

[saiakv]

Unrequited. Satoru doesn't love u. Suffer.

[UNREQUITED]: a starter where my muse has unrequited feelings for your muse ( every starter I write for you is such a starter uwu ♥ ) — indulgent prompts.

The death warrant was plastered in every crevice of sorcerer society; yet Suguru Geto's dorm room has been left intact on the wake of his straying.

Pushing the door open would offer a glimpse into the occupant's psyche these last few months; deterioration evident in the muck caught on sticky coffee stains over his desk and the pile of laundry on the corner of his bed. It wasn't made. The sheets smelled of smoke and sweat. It added to the general musty reek in the room, like it had been left shut for some time. The water boiler was still half-full, a raw packet of ramen was dumped beside it as if it had been opened and then discarded over a change of heart.

There were a few empty over the counter dramamine pill cartons on his nightstand, alongside a crumpled up prescription for anti-depressants that hadn't been punched to validation. A brief sift through his things would unearth a lot of empty Mevius packs, ash and plastic cups used for makeshift ashtrays when his pocket one had been full.

The repurposed shoe box they pulled out from beneath his bed has been left unopened. Dust has thinly collected on the lid. A variety of items rattles inside; from bottle caps to movie tickets, a rabbit plushie won at some arcade and a folded poster for an all-you-can eat event at Haibara's favorite restaurant. Buried somewhere within the mementos; a friendship bracelet with a white fish pendant dangling amidst azurite beads. And under it, Suguru's personal diary bulges with a number of torn papers, pictures and magazine cut outs all cramped together under its pages. Merely picking it up would have the bulk of it crumble and open on a certain entry. It's fairly spaced out from the one before it, with nearly a month of silence in between.

14.04.2007 We went stargazing on the hilltops tonight. It was good to remember my hometown at a time like this, even if there was no nostalgia. The grass was wet and we forgot to bring a blanket, so our jackets got drenched after a bit.

Some kanji mixes into Suguru's hiragana then, written on the sides or over doodles of starry skies and a surprisingly detailed drawing of the mountain side evidently made with a black ball-point pen. He's shaded the grass blades in a scratchy fashion. There's a crispy spot somewhere on the paper like something had dripped over the writing.

Your face was beaming. You said the world was beautiful with a tone to your voice I have not heard in some time. That makes me think I miss having moments like this. I watched your hair fluff up like watagashi in the wind and I envied the breeze. You spoke with a pure, childlike excitement when you pointed to the Orion and the Ursa Major. I felt embarassed when I realized I was staring at you instead and I could not keep up with your thoughts. But you saw everything around us in vivid color, and again I slip past your sight unnoticed. I'm very tired, so I can't feel angry at you for looking everywhere else for small comforts anymore. Seeing you like this was a small comfort for me in exchange.

There's smaller notes crossing over that part of his writing; a repetition of the sentence 'write it down' like some mantra, scratched out kanji containing the meaning for 'hanahaki' and a piece of bamboo paper ( the special kind one would use to write their heartfelt wish on during festivals ) taped to the page that covers the final part of Suguru's deepest thoughts.

I'm sorry, Satoru. That night, you wanted to share with me the beauty of the stars. But I couldn't face the sky without feeling small. Selfishly, I wanted you to lie beside me, on the earth. I was overcome by a desire to be one with the soil, if only to be the thing that cradles you. I wanted my arms to be the place that holds all your wonder, because I know that I will never be a star.

[ethereousdelirious]

Sicktember 2023 Day 17

Prompt: Alt. Forehead Kisses

Fandom: Ac.e A.ttorney

Characters: V.alant, Th.alassa

Wordcount: 1,109

Notes: No major plot spoilers for Ap.ollo Ju.stice, but also probably won't make much sense unless you've played it

Summer found Troupe Gramarye on the county fair circuit, sweltering in a cramped RV when they weren't melting onstage with cheap microphones screeching feedback at the audience.

Zak and Magnifi took turns driving, leaving Thalassa and Valant the permanent occupants of the back, with its wood paneling and shag carpeting. The weak yellow lightbulbs did the interior no favors, nor did any natural light that filtered in through the gaudy floral curtains.

As the RV rounded a corner, Valant sat up and declared "63!" at a volume only slightly lower than his stage voice.

"Shh," came the reply. Thalassa did not bother to look up from her book, but nodded in the direction of Zak's sleeping form. He'd passed out shortly after they'd stopped for lunch at some dour rest area. Valant had a sneaking suspicion he was hiding a flask somewhere on his person, though he had no hard proof.

But who could sleep so soundly in such unpleasant conditions? Even with the windows cracked, the interior of the RV was nothing short of stifling. Valant had already loosened as many of his shirt buttons as propriety allowed, and was strongly considering throwing a tantrum to see if he could get Magnifi to pull over somewhere with proper air conditioning.

"63," Valant repeated, slightly quieter. He didn't give a damn if he woke Zak, but Thalassa would chide him for it, and then he'd have to fight for her attention.

Thalassa set her book aside and humored him. "63 what, Valant?"

"There are 63 flowers on this hideous throw pillow." Valant held it up so Thalassa could see. The pale, noncommittal yellow spoke of nicotine stains, the brown floral pattern of spilled coffee. A bead of sweat rolled down his back and he squirmed, heat rolling through him in waves. "And I am about 63 seconds away from melting."

"It's not that hot," Thalassa said patiently, as though Valant hadn't been complaining about the heat all summer.

Another wave of discomfort crawled, sticky, along Valant's skin. He shuddered and swept his hair back, frowning when it clung to his temples. It was that hot, enough that he felt on the verge of genuine illness if he didn’t get some relief. He huffed out a scalding breath and eyed Thalassa curiously. She did look remarkably placid, sitting in a T-shirt and capris without any telltale sweat stains.

"You really don't think so?" Valant asked, hating how thin and plaintive his voice sounded. He looked around for the water bottle Magnifi had thrust at him when they'd stopped, but it had disappeared.

"Come here," Thalassa said, shifting. "I'll help you put your hair up."

Valant couldn't stop himself from whining. Everyone in Troupe Gramarye knew that he hated tying his hair up, refusing to do so even when its length posed a potential danger onstage.

Even now, when it snaked around the back of his neck in damp coils, when rogue strands itched on his cheeks and forehead, the thought made him miserable.

Valant Gramarye was a man who knew the value of appearances, after all.

He bit his lip and followed the line of one of Thalassa's stray curls to the braided bun atop her head. She really did look comfortable.

And she was offering, offering him something she would never offer to Zak (if only because he didn't have the hair for it).

So Valant got up.

He'd intended to quick-step across the narrow expanse of hideous brown carpet separating them, but had to stop and steady himself against the countertop when all the color abruptly ran out of the room. He blinked white dots away, acutely aware of the dryness in his mouth and the tingling of his skin.

Spying a cheap plastic water bottle crushed between Zak's bulk and the back of the couch, he snatched it and drained it so quickly that rivulets of warm water leaked from the corners of his mouth and drew tingling trails down his jaw and neck.

"Are you alright?" Thalassa asked, or perhaps she'd asked it when he'd stumbled and he'd only just now noticed.

"Fine," Valant gasped and staggered over to sit in front of her. His breath came heavy over his lips and the short-sleeved button down he wore sat heavy on his skin. Something wasn't right.

So why had he lied?

The RV walls were closing in, spiraling closer and closer and the air burned so hot he couldn't breathe it and he wanted wanted wanted to be fine.

Thalassa's fingers breached his hairline and she gasped, following the shape of his skull all the way to the back of his neck. "Valant, you're burning up!"

Her words flowed slowly through the thick air. Valant's chin dipped toward his chest and only the sting of his matted hair pulling against Thalassa's fingers made him lift it again. He managed a thready "wh-what?" and let his head come to rest against her knee, eyes falling shut.

"I think you have a fever," Thalassa said, working her fingers over his temples and forehead. "Lie down on the couch; put your feet in Zak's lap. I'll have Daddy pull over."

"No." Valant opened his eyes, all thoughts of whining far behind him. He already knew Magnifi would ban him from performing when they finally reached the fairgrounds. Any delay on Valant's behalf would only make him angrier, more resentful. "I only need the kiss of a beautiful woman. Then I shall be well again."

Thalassa cocked her head at him, the concern fading from her face just as he'd wanted. "I'll let you know if I see one," she said. Like she wasn't the most perfect woman ever to grace the Earth.

Valant managed to get back to the couch without wobbling too much. He curled his legs in at first, but no amount of scrunching himself up would allow him to position himself in such a way that the armrest didn't force his head into a painful angle. There was nothing to do but slide down and plant his feet firmly in Zak's lap.

"Do you need anything?" Thalassa asked, looming over him suddenly. She looked like an angel, dappled in sunlight, freckles on her cheeks.

Valant's chest ached. Heedless of Zak's proximity, he stared at her with helpless adoration and all the want and hunger that lived in the hollows of his chest. "I told you already," he breathed. Thalassa's perfect face swam and rippled and a drumbeat pulsed behind his eyes.

Thalassa chuckled. Reality warped and a pair of cool lips brushed Valant's burning forehead: once at either temple, once between his brows. "Feel better, Valant."

[beardedmrbean]

To the incontinence anon, abdl diapers have a much higher capacity than medical ones, and with a plastic backing they don't usually leak as often. It is not uncommon for incontinent people to resort to them instead of medical diapers for this reason. That said, they are incredibly noisy by design. This can be mitigated somewhat by wearing underwear that fits snuggly over them. You can buy sample packs from most retailers for a couple bucks, that includes two. As well I hear the Northshore Megamax (a medical product) has similar capacity and comes with color options and has cheap bulk prices. Northshore also sells samples of some major abdl products.

Also to incontinence anon, make sure you are activating your incontinence products (basically just fold them and twist them lightly to loosen the absorbent beads to enable them to swell easier (Also I might have forgotten anon on that last one(not sure), please make sure my identity is protected for obv reasons)

Thank you, and no need to worry about it if you'd forgotten anon on both I would have just made it a post all it's own not gonna out anyone for anything like that.

[dwtdog]

Not that I need to spend any more money on beads, but where have you been getting yours from? A lot of mine are from Michaels and (regretfully) Hobby Lobby because that's what's close to my house, but I feel like your bracelets feel a lot more like the playful friendship bracelet kind of vibe I want to go for and I don't know what to look for :/

-dreamonminecraft

most of the beads i use the most are from joanns! i have some from walmart as well, they have some bulk kits that are really affordable. i also just got a ton more (i’m addicted it’s so bad) from michaels

the ones i feel like really help make some of the bracelets look good are little plastic pearls i got from walmart, they look good with like every kind of bead it’s awesome

i really like how yours look though! they have the like classic friendship bracelet feel and they are super adorable

[evelynjohn001]

How To Remove Caulking From Brick: A Step-by-Step Guide

Caulking is an essential material used to seal gaps and joints, but over time, it can wear out, crack, or become unsightly. Removing old caulking from brick surfaces is a task that requires care to avoid damaging the bricks. Whether you’re preparing for re-caulking or simply restoring the brick’s appearance, this guide will walk you through the steps to remove caulking from brick effectively.

Materials You Will Need:

Utility knife or razor scraper

Putty knife or caulking removal tool

Heat gun (optional)

Caulk softener or remover solution

Stiff-bristle brush

Wire brush (for tough spots)

Gloves

Safety goggles

Plastic drop cloth (optional)

Step 1: Prepare the Area

Before starting, make sure the work area is clean and free of debris. You may want to lay down a plastic drop cloth to collect the old caulk as it’s removed. This will also help protect the surrounding area from damage or mess.

Step 2: Score the Caulking

Using a utility knife or razor scraper, carefully cut along the edges of the caulk where it meets the brick. Make sure to do this gently to avoid damaging the brick surface. The goal is to break the bond between the caulk and the brick.

Hold the blade at a low angle to avoid cutting too deep into the brick mortar.

Score both sides of the caulking bead to loosen it from the surface.

Step 3: Loosen and Pull the Caulk

After scoring, use a putty knife or caulking removal tool to pry the caulk away from the brick. Insert the tool under the caulk bead and gently pull it out.

If the caulk comes off in pieces, don’t worry—this is normal. Continue loosening and pulling as much as you can.

Step 4: Use a Caulk Remover Solution (If Necessary)

For stubborn or aged caulk that doesn’t come off easily, you may need to apply a caulk remover solution. These products soften the caulking, making it easier to remove. Follow the manufacturer’s instructions for application, usually by applying the solution and waiting a few minutes for it to work.

Always wear gloves when handling chemicals to protect your skin.

Avoid using excessive amounts, as it can seep into the brick pores.

Step 5: Apply Heat (Optional)

If the caulk is still not coming off easily, you can use a heat gun to soften it. Move the heat gun in a circular motion over the caulk to avoid overheating and damaging the brick.

Safety tip: Keep the heat gun at least 6 inches away from the brick surface.

Once the caulk softens, use your putty knife to scrape it off.

Step 6: Clean the Residue

After removing the bulk of the caulking, there may be residue left on the brick. Use a stiff-bristle brush or a wire brush for tougher spots to scrub away any remaining material.

For delicate or decorative brick, avoid using a wire brush as it can cause scratches. Stick to the stiff-bristle brush instead.

Step 7: Clean the Brick Surface

Once all the caulking and residue is removed, use water and a mild detergent to wash the brick surface. This will remove any remaining dust, grime, or caulk particles.

Allow the brick to dry thoroughly before applying new caulk or any other treatments.

Tips for Success:

Work in sections: Removing caulk from large areas can be time-consuming. Divide the task into manageable sections.

Test a small area: If you're using chemical caulk remover or a heat gun, test on a small, hidden section of brick to ensure no damage occurs.

Be patient: Removing caulk from brick is not a quick job, but taking your time will ensure better results.

When to Replace Caulking

Once you've successfully removed the old caulk, you can inspect the joints to see if re-caulking is necessary. If the gaps between the bricks are large or the area is exposed to moisture, applying new caulk can prevent water infiltration and maintain the brick’s integrity.

[jolinjoestar]

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