#GAWH HES SO

[mikalovesmusic]

LAWWWWDDD

[rose-void-789]

Get yourself a man that looks like this when he thinks of you

[jvten]

I JUST PROCURED ONE OF THE MOST SEXIEST FUCKING SCREENSHOTS OF BOROMIR

baby. honey. love of my life. please. one chance 💍🧎‍♂️

also yes i fuckin watermarked it cos. fuck you /aff /j

[taeyungie]

Y Y YOOONGIIIIIIIIII

[s-ccaam-era-crepe]

okay time for bed we're doing great

[kromeihl]

Hii! Can i request a drabble of ken sato being japan’s spider man ? (Of the scenario given below)

(It’s like peter parker and gwen kinda of love, where the reader is like gwen or whatever you would like to present her c: )

That one scene where peter is injured and gwen sneaks him in her room and then tends to his wounds while peter is just downright SMITTEN and distracted like omg 😩. And then they discuss that he should stop the lizard (in this case the kaiju) etc etc. like that scene! (I hope you know this scene from the amazing spider man- 😅)

IM SO SORRY IF THIS REQUEST IS TOO LONG— i just love your work! And i got inspired to request this because of that post where you were like “omg imagine he was spider man—“

Anyways- love you lodes ! Xoxo

Omg I love the amazing spider man?! Seeing you guys request literally brings joy to my heart. 🫶🏼 Don’t apologize for a long request you can keep it coming, honey. ☺️ Reqs are always open! I’M SORRY IF IT DIDN’T TURN OUT THE WAY YOU WANTED IT TO BE😭 (Wanna read a Kenji fic on wp?👀 -> Bloop. Yes, I am promoting myself. Header by @/cafekitsune. IF YOU GUYS HAVE ANY IDEAS ON POSTING KENJI SATO IN A SPIDERMAN SUIT OR WHATEVER IN THIS STORY INSPIRED YOU TO DO IT, TAG ME RIGHT AWAY IF IT’S ON TIKTOK GAWH DAMN TAG MEMEME @kromeihl)

TRUTH BENEATH THOSE SCARS

-> SPIDERMAN!KENJI SATO X READER

WARNING(s): NOT PROOFREAD, Mentions of injuries, blood, a bit of cursing, a lil’ suggestive ;)

I type away in my laptop, finishing a project I was given, to publish soon. It was a newspaper article about Spiderman, of course. I couldn’t help but laugh silently knowing I have to act suspicious about his identity as I type down words.

I hear a loud tap coming from my window, I shook my head knowing it’s probably just some birds, continuing to type. After a few seconds a knock came back, a little louder this time.

I sigh, turning my chair to look, noticing it was him, Kenji Sato. I smile, turning my chair back as I continue to type. “The window’s open, Ken! Come in, I’m just finishing off this article.”

You hear the window open, no response from him. That was weird, he’d usually reply after you speak, cracking a joke or distracting you from your work.

“Ken?” You call out, about to look but still typing, feeling a bit weird from the silence. You hear a small thud, making you stop typing, looking at him as he struggles to sit on the couch. You notice the blood on the side of his forehead.

He could go back home to get tended but of course he chose to come to you. Is he really there for you to help him or something..More?

You quickly rush to him, hitting your leg on the chair in the process, falling on the floor. Kenji couldn’t help but laugh, feeling the pain on his chest making him wince.

“Stop laughing!” You say, embarrassed, quickly getting up to check up on him. “What happened?” You look at him worriedly, seeing the big scratch on his chest, that tore up his suit. “Kaiju attack..” He struggles to say, leaning his head back on the arm of your couch.

“Why the heck can’t you just sit properly?” You mutter, your hands shaking at the sight of his bloody injury. He chuckles, “You’re really scolding me right now? I need some help, ya know?” He teases, moving his hand to your wrist.

“I’m okay, stop shaking.” He smiles softly, earning a sigh from you as you tried to calm down. “Right.” You say, before hearing a knock from your door. I curse silently, searching for my mini refrigerator.

I quickly run to it, opening it as I grab a cold can of soda. “Here, uhm.. Maybe it’ll stop the bleeding for a while?” You panic, giving him the can of soda as he quickly moves away from the couch, hiding, just incase the person that knocked will come in.

I walk up to the door, glancing at Kenji before opening the it slightly. “Heyyyy, Ami!” Kenji furrowed his brows at your greeting, right, you were best friends with Ami Wakita, the person that interviews him way too much when he’s out with his other job, a famous baseball player.

“Chiho wants to play with y—“

“Sorry. I can’t I’m busy!” You say, slightly raising your voice, after an awkward silence, you lean your body against the door frame, one hand holding the door behind for it to stay in place.

“I mean..The project you gave me is just sooo difficult! I just need to work really hard and think. I need to publish it as soon as possible!” You say, trying to sound convincing. “I’ll play with Chiho tomorrow morning! I can babysit her, if you want.” You smile sheepishly.

Ami gives you an amused look, “Uhm, okay.. I’ll be in the kitchen. Do you wa—“ “I don’t need anything!” You quickly cut off, laughing awkwardly afterwards. “I could just bring it into your room—“ “Nope! All good, thanks Ami!” You smile, earning a nod from her.

“Uhm..No worries, [Name]. Good night.” She smiles before leaving. “Good night!” You close the door after, locking it. You glance at Kenji who was still behind the couch, now drinking the can of soda.

“Kenji!” You scold, going to him as you try to grab the soda which he swiftly moved away. “What? You gave me a soda, might as well drink it.” He shrugs, drinking the can again as you pull away.

“Seriously? Drink water!” You huff, walking to your cabinet, finding a cloth, towel, bandaid, and some ointment. “Says the one who drinks anything but water.” He retorts, sitting back on the couch improperly.

“Yeah, yeah.” You sigh, grabbing a chair as you place it in front of him, placing the things you got on your lap. You brush away his hair, holding it in place as you grabbed the wet towel and gently wiped the blood off his face. He winces from the pain, closing his eyes.

You can’t help but stare at his face, he’s incredibly handsome.. And knowing he was a famous baseball player, surely a ton of pretty girls would agree. Your train of thoughts cut off as Kenji smirks, making you realize that you’ve been staring for too long.

“Like what you see?” He teases, earning an eye roll from you. “No.” You say after, “Then you probably love it then.” He chuckles, making you deepen the towel on his head. “Owww!” He whines, grabbing your hand as he pulls you in making your upper body, lay on his chest.

“Don’t do that.” He says in a stern voice, making your cheeks heat up. “Gosh,” You clear your throat, sitting back up as Kenji moves his hand away from yours. “Come on, let’s hurry. You need to defeat that Kaiju.” You say, putting the ointment then placing a bandaid on his scar.

“Yeah. yeah.” He says, removing the upper part of his suit so you could tend his injury. You pause for a moment, taking in the sight in front of you, he slowly puts his hand on your head. “Come on, you could see more of that later.” He teased.

You slapped his hand away, grabbing the towel as you softly wipe away the blood. He sigh, feeling relief, yet pain still present as you move the towel around his bloody chest. He stares at you for a moment, your messy hair, pretty face, your hands so gentle as you help him.

“You’re gorgeous..” He mumbles, earning a glance from you, “Hm?” You say, gaze back on his wound. “N—Nothing.” He stutters, before clearing his throat. There was a peaceful silence between you, the sound of you wiping was the only noise present.

He felt his hand move towards your face as you start putting ointment on his wound, gently putting a strand of hair behind your ear. You freeze, shivering at his touch. He slowly puts his hand back, continuing to stare right at you.

You notice his longing gaze, yet continue, to finish tending his wound. After a while, you were finally done, him wearing his suit properly again. He groans, adjusting himself on the couch. You put away the things as you gave him small glances.

“Thanks, [Nickname]. You’re the best.” You felt your heart beat fast, walking back to the chair as you smile softly. “No problem, just.. Be more careful, okay? I don’t want you sneaking in my room all injured again.” You huff, earning a soft laugh from Ken.

“You should go.” You say sadly, “I don’t want to.” He declines. “You should. The city needs you.” You look away, feeling disappointed of how you were pushing him away now. “I need you.”

You felt your heart drop at his words, mouth agape as you couldn’t find words to speak. He has that signature cocky smirk of his, plastered on his face as he gently sits up, slowly moving his face towards you. You felt a hand on the back of your head as he caresses it gently.

“N—No. You need to go back to the city. The kaiju will— I mean, it might—“ You stutter feeling him slowly closing in the distance between your lips, his other hand gently placing it on your chin, his thumb brushing your bottom lip softly.

“Let the KDF handle it for a while, I need a reward for being such a great superhero. And you need one for being so good to me.” He says before closing in the gap between your lips. You melt into his touch, feeling your hand snake around his neck as he pulls you in closer.

It took a while before you both pull apart, panting for air as he moves away your hair from your face. “Bug boy” you mutter, smiling at him. “Hm?” He smirks, his arms slowly moving on the sides of your chair, leaning down as you move your body backwards.

“Pretty girl.” He smiles, making your cheeks heat up. You both hear the Kaiju screeching, making you both wince from the loud sound. Kenji groans, making you laugh. “Great timing, I was just getting started.” He sighs, standing up as he walks to the window.

“Stay safe, Spiderman.” You smile, earning a grin from him, he pecks your lips one last time. “Lucky charm.” He winks before putting on his mask, spiderweb coming out from his hand.

“I’ll be back.” You look at him surprised before he leaves, making you look at his figure, slowly disappearing into the city.

“See you, Ken.”

[yoshiitheyoshii]

Sum goin on I know it

I was in Genshin bored asf so I decided to go to liyue to bring back som memories

I had xingqiu on my team and as I was going walking around lookin for somthing interesting i look to my boi and he’s makin a face

JUDGE I HAVE PROOF

Bye I dont remember having beef with him but wuteva 😒

MABYE it’s bc I didn’t heal Chongyun right after fighting a hilichurl squad

My badd Broo👉👈

Either way I ignored it and said Srry.

then I went to liyue harbor bc y not😪

I was walking around

I Saw a doggo and got excited

So I sat there for like one min talkin bout dat dawg

And I guess he didn’t like that or sum cus he made that face again😔 (was he jealoussss???)

But like he was staring at the dog so I was like ‘lemme take a pic real quick’

AS SOON AS I TOOK THIS PICTURE DUDE SNAPPED HIS HEAD TOWARDS ME SO FAST-

AND HIS FACE INSTANTLY CHANGED TO NORMAL

BRO SCARED THE SHIT OUTTA ME TOO

After that he just stared into my soul oh my gawh

Still caught his ass in action🤳

[fox-daddy]

Mc x M6 headcannons; 4 facts each ship.

Kyle x Asra

The shop and upstairs is always messy. Neither of them clean, neither of them even think about cleaning until Kyle has no clean clothes and Asra can't find a specific item.

Cleaning day? time to invite Muriel over. Without Muriel keeping an eye on them either Asra or Kyle will take a break and the other will join. Then they'll just stop cleaning.

Since they both have a love language of touch and receiving physical touch lots of cuddles. So many cuddles. Kyle knows the best way to massage Asra's back and Asra knows the best way to scrach Kyle's head.

The bed is overstuffed and covered in blankets and plushies. If Kyle gets a new plushy and hasn't named it Asra will do it themselves. Which is why they have amazing plushies like 'Sir.dragon the third' and 'Sir.dragon the first' dont ask about Sir.dragon the second their gone. 'Watermalone the walrus' and Kyle's favorite 'piggy goat gruff' his piggy bank that looks like a goat. Okay I lied Kyle's favorite is actually 'Emeruled and Ruby a pair of dragons one that's red with green eyes and one that's green with red eyes.

Kyle X Nadia

Oh mah gawh Kyle is tiny. Something she did not expect is how much Kyle actually enjoys being picked up. When alone will occasionally just scoop him up in a hug knowing he enjoys it.

Will get into playful fights about random stuff using logic. I.E does everyone see colour the same way and even if they didn't how would you know?

Will happily share with Nadia something they learned that day, from as insignificant as the fact worms breath through their skin to more intresting ones like the fact a tiger can't purr for the same reason Pepi can't roar. Theirs a bone in the throat that determines if they can roar or purr. Tigers instead make a chuff noise as a greeting... and he's ranting about animals again.

On the occasion they have nothing they have to do no events or people waiting for an important chat. They cuddle on the veranda with a glass of wine and cider. (Cider for Kyle obviously)

Hunter x Muriel

Hunter being touch avoidant at the start and Muriel not being used to touch meant they learned how to navigate normal touch with eachother over time. The biggest test being sharing a bed but Hunter initiating it helped put them at ease.

Hunter isn't the best with animals. Not bad but out of Mc's in general in the lower half. Has been bit, scratched and hissed at by countless animals. Still tries, even when Muriel tells them not to and has the 'I told you face' when Hunter inevitably gets hurt.

After a while Hunter tried to pick up on carving leading to Muriel teaching them how to hold the knife away from them. So they dont accidently cut themselves and slowly lead into him teaching them how it's done.

During those especially rough days the other will do more of the work and offer them some comfort. For when Muriel is having it rough this is usually Hunter giving him some space, sitting nearby but not too close as they get him to show them how to carve again. For when it's Hunter usually it's Muriel making them a warm drink and trying to convince them to go for a walk. Inanna knows during these times not to try and cuddle them.

Hunter x Portia

Bake off? Heck yeah why didn't they think of this soone- HUNTER, NO YOU CAN'T USE TWO CUPS OF VANILLA EXTRACT!!! THAT STUFF IS STRONG AND EXPENSIVE!!! NO! YOU CAN'T BAKE THEM AT 4,000 DIGREES FOR A MINUTE THAT'S NOT HOW THAT WORKS- (needles to say Portia does the cooking.)

They play a game when they can't sleep where Portia points at a scar and they make up the most ridiculous stories. The scar on their arm? Oh right! That was from the time they traveled back in time and punched a T-rex in the face before falling and cutting their arm on a rock.

Play fights. They'll walk away with bruises and laughing as if they had stolen Lucio's golden arm. Portia is hard to knock off her feet but Hunter is hard to keep down once down.

Whenever Hunter has a nightmare Portia will gently sing them back to sleep and whenever Portia can't sleep from stress Hunter returns the favor.

Hunter x Julian

The biggest way they stop eachother from getting in trouble 'sure, only if I can also do that' fastest way for Julian or Hunter to not do something stupid.

Have had at least one drink off that ended in a tie and Asra having to take them both home.

They both have such bad sleeping habits that the only way to get them to sleep is with the other one joining them. Usually this turns into a small argument that either ends with them both staying up or going to bed. Solid 50/50

Despite being touch avoidant at first Julian's constant small touch helped, holding hands turned into linking arms into hugs. For as stern as Hunter can seem they can match Julian's dramatically leaving them both performing a dramatic goodbye outside Mazelinka's house as she drinks her morning drink like

Bluebell x Lucio

Bluebell is in charge and Lucio knows it but he also knows how to do puppy dog eyes.

Bluebell also has studied medicine and makes sure Lucio is looking after his scar, making sure he isn't overusing his prosthetic, that it isn't hurting any of the skin around it, making sure it isnt hurting, and Lucio isnt complaining about the extra attention on him. Even if he would prefer they were focused on his abs and not the amputation.

Lucio deals with most of if not all the social interactions having a surprisingly good charisma. Bluebell stays nearby to help incase Lucio pisses anyone off but that's rarer than you think when he's only around long enough for business.

Bluebell always finds it hard to leave their clinic to travel around but knows it's in good hands. Always excited to visit. Lucio less so but overtime visiting has helped Lucio's reputation and has helped Bluebell stay away for longer. Also Lucio helps with Bluebell's tendency to overwork and not play enough.

[kiarazuri]

Chapter 16: Eya

Ding! JJ groans. Turns over. Eya rouses at the movement, accepting it without hesitation when JJ shimmies back into his arms (arms that barely even reach around the man’s massive chest) and bumps his butt against Eya’s pelvis.      He settles in as the small spoon with a happy sigh.      Eya gives a single amused snort, lays his head between JJ’s nape and shoulder blades, and settles back in as well.      DING!      This time JJ’s groan is accompanied by frustrated muttering and half-asleep hand-searching in and around the bedside table. When he finally finds the offending phone it’s with a self-satisfied curse, followed by a long stretch of silence. When he next speaks, his voice is half-asleep and slurred. “Lottie? When… when’d he give me his number?” He asks to the world at large. “The fuck’s a sorcher?”      It takes Eya a minute for his sleep-addled brain to figure it out.      “That’s my phone, Babe.”      JJ grunts and passes the phone overshoulder, pressing it gently against Eya’s cheek for him to grab. Eya unwraps himself from JJ and grabs it, turning onto his back as JJ turns back around to face him.

sent at 7 AM L♡ttie: D’you have any luck, sorcher?

Eya hums. “What should I tell him?”      JJ answers without hesitation: “The truth.”

Eya: My luck pulled through!

“No, wait.”

Eya: Yeah. Is it true that—

“No no no, that’s lame.”

Eya: I can’t wait to see the factory. You think you can—

“Gawh-AH!” Eya groans, throws his phone on his stomach before covering his eyes with his hands. His glasses are still on the nightstand, so he presses the butt of his palms to his eyes. “What the fuck should I tell him?”      “Tell him you want a date.”      Eya’s head whips around so quickly he thinks his neck might break.      JJ is watching him with knowing eyes and an open, happy face. “You know you want to.”      They hadn’t really talked it all out the night before.      Eya pulls up Lottie’s text again. And hesitates. “Lottie’s in the Cakerie till noon, yeah?” JJ nods. “Maybe I should…”      “Go on, I’ll stay back,” JJ urges with a wide smile. “It’ll give Lottie a day to miss my face.”      One-on-one time with Lottie.      How could Eya pass up the chance?      He couldn’t. Which is why he’s now standing across the counter from an amused, gorgeous DuCiel.      “Could’ve just texted me back,” Lottie’s voice is sugar sweet and honey thick.      It makes shivers run down Eya’s spine. “Wanted to talk in person.”      “Did you now?” His smile is full of fang. Again. That really shouldn’t be so hot. “Well then since you’re here, tell me:” He leans in close… and a ripple of magic encircles the witch. The same magic he’s felt twice before. Eya’s hard-pressed to ignore the odd feeling of… of… satisfaction(?) that the rush of magic brings. Something about Lottie wanting to be alone with him, wanting him inside the obscuration spell this time around, making him feel special—like one of the chosen ones.      Lottie’s elbows are on the counter and his eyes are focused squarely on Eya. No distractions. No eavesdroppers. Just the two of them. Like a real date.      It’s fantastic.      “You have any luck?” Lottie finally asks, echoing his morning text.      Eya shakes himself out of his satisfied stupor and pretends to hem and haw over his answer. “Wouldn’t telling you be a conflict of interest?”      Lottie’s eyes narrow slightly.      He knows, Eya thinks, but doesn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he’s won.      “You’ll just have to wait till the day of truth like everyone else.”      “Or~” Lottie sing-songs. “I could bribe you.”      Eya swallows, and tries not to show just how much those words affect him. “Bribe me?”      “With cake, of course,” Lottie announces, putting his chin in his hands. “Any kind you’d like.”      “Got any…” Eya trails off, his brain freezing with a smile still on his face. His mouth catches up faster than his mind. “Funnel cake?”      Lottie’s eyes widen. Actual shock on his face as he blinks, mouth gaping like a fish. “That… isn’t a cake.”      Eya smiles. “Then why’s it called a cake?”      The way Lottie’s eyes narrow, the glint that flickers in his eyes, and the static that ripples out through his glamour like the edge of a serrated blade reminds Eya just how much he doesn’t know about the DuCiel.      But the feeling of danger emanating from him is there and gone within seconds—      Replaced by a wide, victorious smile. “Well then, monsorcier. Why don’t you follow me?” He pushes off from the counter and the magic around them dissipates like a curtain falling, thrusting them back into the world at large.      He crooks his finger at the witch and steps towards the cash-register and the kitchen beyond.      “I’ll make you the best funnel cake you’ve ever had.”      Eya blinks owlishly at him.      Butterflies swarm in his belly.      Oh. Oh.      Eya has just enough wherewithal to be embarrassed about nearly eating face tripping over his own feet following after the tempter, but not enough to feel hurt when Lottie’s melodic laughter fills the room—his amused smile and warmth the best balm to any hurt ego he may have gotten.      Oh, I am so fucked.

To Be Continued in Chapter 17 💗

[borom1r]

Omg a troll of Westley!!!

omg!! omg;;;;; ok:

name: Westly Garren

trolltag: trepidatiousCorsair

blood caste: Bronzeblood

lunar sway: Prospit

classpect: Mage of Life

extended zodiac sign: Taursci (the sign of the convalescent)

Bronzebloods are warm and generous, though may initially come across as withdrawn. They have an affinity for animals and are very open-hearted.

Prospit dreamers are, again, adaptable and tend to work with the world around them instead of fighting against it (Westley rolling with becoming the Dread Pirate Roberts, etc).

The Mage of Life is “one who uses Life to the betterment of others but detriment of themself,” and Life in this case is quite literal. Life players are healers, empathetic and concerned with positive changes. Though I considered Knight as a class (“one who serves Life”), Knights tend to serve whatever their session is lacking— no one is necessarily lacking Life, however Westley consistently makes sacrifices and decisions which put himself in danger in order to protect the people he cares about (therefore, using Life to their betterment but his detriment).

Interesting to note as well that a convalescent is someone who is recovering from an illness or operation, which certainly fits Westley at the end of the movie (I’m noting this because the extended sign is the last thing I determine, so it’s cool how well the descriptor fits)

Westly is obvious; “Garren” (gawh-wren) is a bastardization of “gårddreng,” the Danish word for farm boy (chosen because Florin is described as being between Germany and Sweden, which would mean it neighbors Denmark)

[kromeihl]

This man has a chokehold on me y’all

Bruh imagine if he was spiderman HELP that’s so random but gawh damn anyways,

cutely puts a fanfic from wattpad

-> https://www.wattpad.com/story/372279946?utm_source=ios&utm_medium=link&utm_content=story_info&wp_page=story_details&wp_uname=kromeihl

Reqs are open ;)

[mmunson86]

Eddie do not start a pillow fight if you are not willing to loose because you will go down BB. Gosh he is soo flipping cute! But watch out because here comes a handful of candy😂 this whole scene here is wholesome i love seeing Eddie just become more comfortable around us, gives me butterflies not going to lie. Uhh sir the only reason you have “gone through alot” is because you were drunk off your butt & that was not our fault😂

Eddie if you are cold why didnt you say so! You handsome man you! BB we got you! Ahh this dialogue has me kicking my feet and twirling my hair because gawh i am falling hard. Honey we dont care what other people have to say know that we care about you & Eddie you are not damaged/twisted life put you through the ringer you are fine we wouldn’t be settling for you i think we would be the luckiest girls alive if we had you by our side💗🥹

I cant get enough of how we were able to pull him out of his deep thoughts and get him to open up ! Its true we care we want to be there for you Eddie you deserve the world😭💗

But then he goes off and breaks me, Eddie listen what happened to Chrissy was messed up but that was not on you, you are here for a reason. I just want to hug this man he has gone through hell and the fact that we were able to get him to just relax & trust us makes my heart swell🥹

Well Eddie i am glad you like our pie soooo you must come to Thanksgiving with us now eeek! This whole back and fourth has me smiling like a darn fool 😅

Gosh i loved this chapter sooo much you did such a great job! I loveee the dialogue too ! This entire chapter was perfection love seriously!💗

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 | Ch. 8 |

Smoke Signals

Chapter Eight - Sweet as Apple Pie

W/C: 6.9K

Eddie x Fem reader - Grumpy!Bartender!Eddie x Shy!Reader

Honesty ensues well into the quiet hours of Halloween.

A/N: this chapter is so full of dialogue....do y'all prefer a lot of dialogue throughout chapters or more scenery descriptions? Or a good amount of both?

Masterlist

Prev |

The living room was only illuminated by the flashing, gory scenes from the TV playing A Nightmare on Elm Street.  It wasn’t your first choice and you had made that clear as you talked your way through the intense parts, keeping your focus on the popcorn bowl in your lap as you scavenged for a melty M&M.  You preferred something more lighthearted but your unintentional guest insisted that with it being Halloween and all, it was ‘like the law’ to watch a horror movie.  Perhaps you were somewhat okay with it, at least you didn’t have to pretend to have fun at a party and you were in fact cozied up on the couch watching a movie while eating your Halloween candy like you’d longed for in the first place.  The only difference was the blood and violence playing out on the screen that you hadn’t planned to endure.

“You’re not even paying attention.”  Eddie tosses a pillow your way, sending popcorn and M&Ms tumbling all over your lap.  

“Eddie!”  You scold.

When you glare at him, you’re met with an expression that can only be recognized as the kind someone exhibits when doing all they can to contain their laughter.  Crinkled eyes and pursed lips ready to explode in a fit of boyish giggles.  He wasn’t drunk anymore, no longer able to escape your incessant teasing should you choose to hold it over him.

A handful of popcorn mixed with candy is flung at him, a piece successfully clinging to his hair and several M&Ms rolling down his chest into the crevices of the couch that would never see the light of day again.  There’s no ignoring the adorable pout on your lips and the way you’d become such a stubborn thing from the smallest inconvenience.  

“Haven’t I been through enough tonight?”  He frowns, dramatically picking the snack out of his hair to toss it toward you, landing somewhere on the rug below for you to some day clog your vacuum with.

Ignoring his question, the bowl is abandoned on the coffee table, movie long forgotten about as you bring your legs up to your chest and shift your eyes directly to him.  Beneath his remaining eyeliner, you can make out the exhaustion forming under his eyes, bags growing more intense with every waking hour, his chapped lips parted ever so slightly as the light from the TV flashes over his features. 

You begin to feel selfish for changing into your fluffy pajamas earlier, your pants a checkered orange and black pattern while you opted to wear a well loved gray t-shirt with faded letters that could barely be made out anymore.  Eddie remained in his black jeans and tattered cut off, his jacket that previously adorned your shoulders hung snugly on the hook near the door.  

There was no way you had anything that would accommodate his long legs although you could probably get by with offering him one of your larger shirts.  You wonder if his skin is covered in goosebumps or if he tends to run hot and remain unbothered by the chilliness of your home.  Embarrassingly so, you hadn’t learned how to use the fireplace yet.  Blankets were a necessity and you found yourself cuddling up with nearly five at a time as the weather grew more frigid.

“I meant to ask, what is your costume?  Yourself?”  You question.  An attempt to ease into offering him something warmer to wear as well as genuine curiosity.

“No?”  He leans forward laughing, his attention bouncing between you and the movie.  “Ozzy.  Ozzy Osbourn.”  He states proudly.

His tattoos draw you in as he brings his arms up to cross over his chest, his posture uncharacteristically comfortable on the opposite end of your couch.  You were sure he was almost sober so it must have been sleep deprivation allowing him such luxury.  A laugh bubbles in the back of your throat as you process his costume, something so convenient as it was practically his actual wardrobe, only a tad more revealing than what you were used to him wearing.

“What, so you just smudge some eyeliner on and you're Ozzy?”  You giggle.

“Oh.”  He scoffs.  “And you put your hair in pigtails and you’re Dorothy?”

“Um, no?”  You cock a brow.  “A lot of work went into my costume.  It just looks like you shredded up your poor shirt and smudged black all over your eyes.” 

A giggle vibrates through his body, an actual giggle, almost a squeal as he buries his head in his hands.  Another postcard for the space in your brain that was becoming larger with each interaction.

“Also, aren’t you cold?  I’m fucking freezing and I’m covered in layers–”

Eddie continues to laugh, the image of a slap happy boy becoming clearer and clearer.  His heavy hand makes contact with his thigh, deep chuckles following as you study the crows feet forming at the corner of his eye.  Extra prominent tonight.

“I am–I’m fucking cold.”  He throws his head back.

It’s contagious, the energy lingering in the air as you join in.  You’re unaware of what’s so funny; it seems the mundane act of being alive is hilarious.

Tears threaten to spill, the kind that don’t come around very often; the kind that hold pools of joy, seas of dopamine longing to spill down your cheeks.  A salty mess that would paint the prettiest memory, glossy eyelids and parted lashes more immaculate than any piece of art Eddie could imagine.  Before you can allow him to indulge in such a sight, fat tears of euphoria are sucked back in, any excess wiped on the pads of your fingers.  

“Do you…want a shirt?  I-I dunno if I have any that’ll fit comfortably but…if you’re cold?  Or I might have a sweatshirt!”  You hop up, recovering from your fit of laughter in your moment of realization.

You don’t give him time to answer, immediately retreating to your room.  His heart feels as if it's gnawing through his chest at the way you worry about him; the fact that you would even be concerned for his well being is still something he would never get used to.  Not many people have offered him that courtesy throughout his life, always equating his family name to something undeserving of any friendly gesture.

When you return, an oversized navy blue sweatshirt in hand with a grin on your face, he swears his heart convulses on the spot.  And when your fingers brush against his as you offer it to him, his lungs are rendered breathless, the desire to linger a little longer pulling him in like gravity.  Your soft skin against his rough fingertips is enough to mess with his brain chemistry, reducing him to a useless man at your mercy, though he’d never admit it.  Not because he didn’t want to but because he was him, and why would someone as delicate and kind hearted as you ever settle for someone as damaged and twisted as him?

Someone so dainty, so lovely, would never in a million years look at him and find him desirable.

When he thanks you, it comes out as an ungrateful mumble, his eyes suddenly glued to his lap in insecurity.  That look on his face that you’d come to recognize, a look of absence.  His mind fed on him and sucked him dry of emotion, eyes blank and devoid of the life that just seconds ago they were so full of.

“You okay?”  You ask, a gentle approach, voice velvety soft with hints of concern.

He doesn’t give you a verbal answer, only nodding while his gaze stays on his lap, the sweatshirt held weakly between his ringed fingers.  His silence is reason enough to believe that it was a lie.  You just couldn’t put your finger on what exactly had happened in the time you’d left the room to you handing him an article of clothing.

“Do you want…to go to sleep?”

The question pierces his doughy brain, stuffed with self depreciation and alienation, only a smidge of room available to process your words.  But even as the words puncture his thoughts, the self hatred won’t deflate fast enough.  So he stares.  He stares at you, those big chocolatey eyes dipped in sadness and self loathing, the ambience now melancholy.  An ache seeps into your chest, traveling up your throat and stinging your eyes at the sight of such a sorrowful man who had just moments ago blessed your ears with his deep laughter and looked at you with such glee.  Suddenly he was gone and once again, he was chasing his inner monologue, you could tell by the way he stared off into the distance, how he had removed himself from the room momentarily.

“Hey, what’s going on?”  You crouch in front of him, the blue light from the TV the only thing allowing you to map out his features.

“Nothing.”  He whispers, snapping out of his trance.

His irises warm up, only slightly, but you can still make out the muted glaze cast over them leftover from his moment of despair.  He isn’t out of the woods yet.

“I-I’m fine.  Sorry, was just…thinking.”  He mutters, slipping the sweatshirt over his head, the material fitting comfortably over his torso, hair now frizzier than before.

“What are you thinking about?”  

You almost lose him again, thoughts swallowing him and nearly drowning him right before you.  But the touch of your hand over his pulls him out, a token of your kindness.  A wordless reassurance that reels him back in.  

“Everything.”  He sniffles, head shaking as if to ward off the waterworks.

Eddie doesn’t let any tears fall, withholds them.  Forces them back into his tear duct, regretting the vulnerability he was further pushing onto you.

“Like what?”  You gently push, thumb stroking over the back of his hard working hand.

Moments follow your question, contemplation behind his gaze while he hesitates.  The world seemed to never be patient enough for him.  So you would.  

For him, you would.

As the gap of silence grows larger, you only give him more encouragement in the form of your thumb continuing to stroke his knuckles, your stare soft on his profile.  There was no rush, not when he’d just hours ago welcomed you into his tortured past.  Not when his nose crinkled as his eyes grew wet again, lashes coated and lip bitten between his teeth anxiously.

“Um–”  He chokes out, not a single tear allowed past his waterline.

You offer a squeeze of your hand, sympathy pouring from your touch into him.  He only tenses up at the sentiment, its effect foreign to him.

“I should go.”  Dragging his hands down his face, he’s puzzled when you stop him from standing.

“Eddie.”  You maintain eye contact with him, even as his eyes dart around the room, you attempt to keep him focused on you.  “I don’t know what’s bugging you but…it can’t be anything crazier than what you’ve told me tonight.”  

Uncertainty pools in his dark irises, honey hues nearly gone in the almost-dark room.  The TV lighting only offers you the tiniest crumb of espresso and swirling caramel that usually brought him to life.  Though, you aren’t entirely sure they’d even be there had you turned the lights on, his grim demeanor clearly yanking away any happiness he had experienced moments prior.

“I-I–why…why are you trying to help me?”  He struggles to get the question out, appearing to be engaged in an internal battle, almost as if he was blindly attempting to make his way back to you, his mind holding him hostage.

You can’t hide the surprise taking over your face, the utter horror at the fact that he would ask such a thing.  Maybe he regretted sharing everything now that he was allegedly sober again?  But that didn’t change your feelings on the topic, you cared.  Whether he word-vomited due to his scattered brain thriving off the alcohol or whether he was stone sober, his feelings mattered to you and you wanted him to know it.

“Because you’re a person, Eddie.”  You begin, once again taking his reluctant, clammy hand and draping your touch over his knuckles.  “Any person deserves compassion.  So what’s bugging you?  I won’t judge.  Promise.”

Holding your pinky out, an empathetic smile paints your lips.

“Pinky promise.”

Within seconds his eyes go from dark discs of despair to those famous honey pools of fondness.  You take note the way he doesn’t hesitate to wrap his pinky around yours, warmth blossoming in your chest and spreading all throughout your body.  And if he needs another moment of quiet after that, he doesn’t communicate it but you gladly welcome it.  

My feelings.  My feelings are bugging me.  Taking me hostage.

It’s what he wants to say but realistically he shoves the dreadful words into the back of his throat as he comes up with something else, another way to convey his thoughts without simply outing himself, making a fool out of himself that you would surely laugh at.  

“I-uh, I’m not very good at this.”  Eddie tries to escape the conversation.

To be fair, he did the same thing with his therapist, it wasn’t anything personal.  It was his own flaw.  But you may have better luck than his therapist, he regrets.  Simply because he would become something he didn’t want you to see him as: an emotionally stunted boy with too many complicated feelings, love drunk on the first girl who had given him more than the time of day.  Just because you were nice to him, didn’t entitle him to reciprocated feelings.

“That’s okay.  I don’t think anyone is.”  You whisper.

Eddie’s eyes shut tightly, his thoughts too painful to voice yet he forces them out–or rather they claw their way out of his throat the second he looks into your begging eyes.  Wordless pleas reach out to him as his brain threatens to shut down any and all communications.

“I just–I don’t…I shouldn’t even be here.”  He sighs deeply.  “I-I don’t deserve to be here.”

At his admission, you find it difficult to voice anything comforting.  Any words you had waiting for him were swallowed at the raw emotion he was displaying.  The look on your face forces him to continue, he needs to fix the situation but he fears he may just make it worse and chase you further away.  He had been digging his own grave for some time now, never learning when to just stop and lay in it.

“Chrissy–um, Chrissy.”  He whispers, eyes fluttering shut.

None of it made sense and he was trying his hardest to wrap things back around and allow you to make the connection in your head.

“You–you remind me of…C-Chrissy.”  A tear trails down his cheek, his hand rapidly wiping it away as he pathetically attempts to repair the conversation.

Instead of offering another squeeze to his hand, you make your way onto the couch next to him, thigh dangerously close to his as you run a hand up and down his back.  You expect the discussion to end there but he only continues.

“And–and that scares me.  Cause, it-it should’ve been me, I should’ve been dead–I should be dead!”  Eddie’s face grows more red, the topic clearly weighing heavy on his heart.  “I can’t–I can’t do it again.”  More tears flow down his tinted cheeks, uncontrollable at this point.

“It feels–it feels l-like it’s going to–to happen again.”  He becomes more and more worked up, barely breathing while he rushes the words out in one breath.  “Like–like the universe or some shit i-is gonna punish me.”  

Your eyes sting, that uncomfortable frown beginning to pull at the corners of your mouth as you watch him self destruct before you.  Something you’d never ask of him though he was voluntarily spilling the contents of his bleeding heart into your hands.

“Okay, okay.”  You begin to soothe.

“I d-don’t get good things.”  “G-good things don’t–don’t happen to me.”  He hiccups.

“Shhh, you don’t need to get upset with yourself.”

Bravely, you go to use the corner of a nearby blanket to blot at the tears trailing down his face to which he flinches away, shaking his head.  That alone would normally be enough to send you to the other side of the couch, bashfully avoiding eye contact until he took the initiative.  But something within you realized that he shouldn’t be left to take the initiative.  Not when he was displaying such pain, such vulnerability that you were convinced not many people had ever seen.  

“God, so pathetic.”  He utters under his shaky breath.

“Hey.”  You softly scold, hand wrapping around his forearm.  He doesn’t flinch at your advances this time.  “You are not pathetic.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Eddie.”

“Don’t throw me a pity party.”  He grits.

“I am not throwing you a pity party.  Stop that.”

It’s out of character, the way you stand up to him.  If it were anyone else you probably wouldn’t have made it this far into the conversation but you can feel your blood boiling as he dismisses his emotions.  You can’t sit by and allow him to continue throwing punches at himself.  Your sudden anger appears to silence him, his glassy eyes glancing at you in disbelief but still obeying your demand.

“I’m being a hypocrite but I-I just…stop.”  You whisper, the devastated look on your face enough to bring him to his knees if he were standing.  Instead he remains seated with his focus solely on you.

“I know…”  You search for the right words.  “I know what it’s like to feel like you don’t deserve good things.”

Eddie doesn’t interject your speech, only listens intently with sad eyes and wet cheeks.  He doesn’t deserve the time day let alone your dedication to his sorrows and worries.  

“I, um, I grew up practically raising my siblings.”  You begin to explain.  “And, um, that responsibility really makes it feel like your needs come last.  And it just gets worse and worse as the years go on because…it’s hard.  Feeling emotionally neglected while tending to everyone else’s emotions.”

His gaze doesn’t once wander, completely devoted to you, to your story.  There’s not an ounce of judgment seeping out of him.  The familiar feeling you were so used to when you opened up every once in a blue moon where you felt deeply misunderstood and silently criticized was nowhere to be found.  All you could make out was pure empathy.  Compassion.  Curious brown eyes searched into your soul, not just scraping the surface but fully diving into the depths you so willingly lead him to.

“I-I don’t know what it’s like to lose someone like that–like you did Chrissy.”  You tread carefully, as if you were afraid to even mention her name.  “I mean–I lost my dad recently but…I didn’t witness anything and it was because of health issues.  We weren’t close and I actually…really hated him.”  You nod, staring meanly into the carpet.

“But, I, um, I know what it’s like to keep people out.  It’s not fun but it’s all we know isn’t it?”  You chance a laugh, earning you the tiniest upturn of his lips.  “And I mean, things are fine with my siblings and my mom, I guess.  But it still feels like I need to shut them out.  To protect their emotions.  And for some reason it just…makes sense to leave them out of it?  I dunno.”  Your voice trails off, confidence wavering.

“It does make sense.”  Eddie speaks up, voice scratchy.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”  He bites his lip, canine digging into his own flesh before releasing it to speak again.  “Feels like they wouldn’t get it.  Or they shouldn’t have to.  At least that’s how it feels with Wayne.  I know I can tell him anything but…why bother him with all the shit going on in my life when the man has already gone through hell because of me?”  

He takes in a deep breath before sighing and continuing.  “Fuckin’ had to raise a kid that wasn’t even his.”

There’s a certain disappointment to Eddie’s tone, a condescending scowl splayed across his face, only directed at himself as he twists his rings around his fingers.  

“Um.”  He pipes up again, seeming to snap himself out of a trance he’d lured himself into.  “‘Nough about me.”  A smile spreads over his pretty lips, not a genuine one.

“Eddie.”  Like silk, your tone is soft.

“Stop doing that.  You don’t have to do that.  Not around me.”

His chest deflates with an exhale, his pretty eyes still wet and wandering around the room.  There’s a lost child hidden within them, someone desperately trying to cling to the current adult reality but appearing to get lost in the process.  That look was too familiar and there was a sliver of relief in knowing you weren’t the only one who wore it but it yanked on the most tender parts of your heart to know Eddie was suffering just the same as you, if not more.

“T-tell me about Chrissy.”  You whisper.  “Only if you want to.”  

When Eddie’s roaming gaze finally lands on you, he never would have expected to be met with such sincerity.  Not a drop of malice in your voice, not one trace of aggression.  The kind that he was buried in when forced to confront a whole town who suspected he was responsible for her death.  Every mention of her name was always followed by an accusatory finger and seething anger, pitchforks practically aiming for him.  The worst part was he didn’t blame them.  Now, he didn’t mention the hellish underworld beneath Hawkins to you and had explained that the earthquake took Chrissy with a vengeful force right in front of him.  You had no reason to believe him, but you did.  You could’ve believed he was a murderer as everyone else.  You didn’t.  A piece of him wishes he could go into detail about the horrors that once lurked under Hawkins but he’d already breached his contract enough telling you that he was attacked by “creatures”, never going into full detail and telling you that they were gigantic bats.  And you didn’t seem to mind, never pushing for further explanation, only taking what he was willingly giving to you.

“I…”  He begins.  “I…she…she was…”

“I’m sorry, you don’t have to–”

“No.”  He whispers.  His fingertips swipe underneath his eyes, collecting a fair amount of running eyeliner.  “I-I uh, I want to.”  He nods to himself.

“Chrissy was uh, was one of the good ones.  Not a mean bone in her fuckin’ body.”  Eddie starts.  “Even if she was in the ‘popular crowd’ she never bullied anyone.  She thought I was mean and scary at first but…she never…she never showed it.  She’d wave to me every now and then.”  He laughs at the memory, only making your soul ache.

“Now that I think about it, maybe she only waved because she was scared of me.”  He chuckles in self deprecation.  “Can’t blame her.  Everyone’s scared of me.  Always have been.”

“I’m not.”  

Your sudden interruption has his brows knitting together, a softness overcoming his eyes.  He was a mess of a man and you continued to tend to him as if he was deserving of any of your attention.  He wasn’t, and he truly believed that.

“What?”  Eddie attempts to buy some time, stupidly racking his brain for something of some kind of intelligence.

“I’m not scared of you.”

“I–thought you were.  I mean, I wasn’t exactly…nice to you when you first moved in.  I yelled at you all the time–you don’t have to lie to me.”  

“I used to be, yeah.  I’m scared of practically everyone before I get to know them so it wasn’t just you.  But I’m not anymore.”  You explain honestly.  “Keep telling me about her.  If it’s not too much.  She sounded like she was a lovely person.”  

“Yeah.  Yeah, she was.  Had a crush on her for like forever.  Like since middle school when we kinda hung out at the talent show.”  Suddenly, he’s shaking his head again, as if to erase his previous thought.  “It’s stupid.  ‘M twenty four and I’m whining about–”

“Stop.”  You whisper, a bold hand squeezing at his knee.  The action sends his nerves into a frenzy.

“Nothing you say is stupid.”

No one has ever been so patient, so accommodating over his feelings and deepest tragedies showcasing themselves in his darkest hours.  It’s strange enough that he begins to wonder if someone is pulling a prank on him.  If he’s being played like a violin only to be laughed at when the curtain is pulled back.  He couldn’t help it, it was all he had come to learn after all.  Eddie knew you didn’t have it in you to commit such a heinous act against another individual but his mind had been poisoned time and time again, only sending him into a spiral of ‘what-ifs’ any time positivity lingered just out of his reach to grasp if he was brave enough.

“I barely even knew her.”  He seemingly gives up, hand lightly smacking down on his thigh.  Your touch remains on his knee, burning a hole into his bones as he stares at it.

“That’s okay.  You clearly care about her.” 

It makes him want to scream, the way you validate every sentence he utters out.  It’s not what he’s used to, his therapist never even gives him this amount of attention.  And it’s not fair that a soul like yours had been damned to hear his problems and witness everything that made him ugly.  Eddie was convinced that his soul was tainted and if he imagined what it looked like, it was an inky black stain on reality with hardly any signs of life.  If he only knew that in the two months you had known him, he was the most vibrant and adoring soul you had ever come across.

“I–we just–we really connected.  Right before she died.”  He manages to struggle through his mind demanding that he internalizes his thoughts.  “It felt–good.  She saw me…for me.  Instead of some–some motherfucker that poisoned the town’s precious ecosystem and she didn’t see me as…a freak.”

You offer a nod, an encouragement for him to keep going.  His heart that he kept locked up tight in his chest had been slowly oozing out of him, trickling into your living room.  

“She, um, she had a boyfriend.  Jason.”  He clears his throat, staring at the ceiling.  “He was an asshole.  Not to her, he treated her real nice.  But when Chrissy wasn’t around he was a douchebag.  Started a manhunt for me when shit went down.  He thought I—he–he thought I killed her and—and sacrificed her?”  Eddie almost questions, as if he couldn’t believe his own words.

“All because…I was the leader of a Dungeons and Dragons club.”  He admits bashfully.  You only let your thumb glide over the rip in his jeans, a comforting gesture.  “Everyone, uh, thought it was a cult.  Satanic panic and all that shit.”

“That’s fucked.”

“I agree.  Super fucked.  Especially because it dragged everyone down with me.  Dustin basically put his life on the line for me, I’ll never be able to make it up to him.”

As he expresses his gratitude, Eddie pulls his right arm out of the hoodie sleeve, pulling the material up to display his bicep to you.  The one with the very badly doodled character, somewhat resembling a gnome.  

“But…”  He drags out, slapping the ink proudly.  “This did really excite him at least.”

You examine the drawing, taking his bicep in your hand without a second though as you try to determine exactly what you were looking at.  You didn’t want to offend him but you genuinely couldn’t make out the picture.  It was messy and scribbly and could have been created by a five year old.  “Eddie, I’m sorry but–what is it?”  

“Dustin drew it.  It’s his D&D character.”  

“Oh!”  You smile brightly.

“You don’t have to pretend it's good, he’s a shit artist.”

“Not shit.  Just…inexperienced…maybe?”  You joke, wincing at your own words.

“Very.”  Eddie confirms.  “Dustin’s more of a brains kinda guy.  Gareth and I took care of all the artwork, y’know like logos for the club and our band–”

“You had a band?”  A grin sneaks past your lips.

“I–uh–yeah.”  He admits with defeat, his shoulders slumping.

It’s only then that you realized you still had been tracing your fingers over the inked drawing, not one protest stopping you from doing so.  In fact, Eddie only glanced down briefly and smiled, his cheeks tinting pink.  It wasn’t clear whether it was because of your touch or because of embarrassment.

“Hang on, when did this all end up being about me?”  He glares at you with mock anger.

“No, no, no.  Don’t turn this around.  What was your band’s name?”

“Jesus Christ.”  He whispers, distress evident in his tone though his face only conveys amusement.

Eddie didn’t have to entertain the playful conversation that had suddenly engulfed the two of you.  He didn’t have to banter back or let you touch his arm.  He didn’t have to talk about Chrissy even though his mind was plaguing him and he was the one who brought her up.  Nothing was required of him and you made sure he was aware of that.

But oh, how you reveled in his endearing blanket of an aura as he allowed you to peek behind the oh so heavy curtain that hid his deepest and most tragic thoughts.

–

Marvin’s Grocery had become more and more familiar with your frequent trips over the weeks.  You were determined to perfect an apple pie recipe that would make anyone melt at the taste.  Donnie had extended an invite to her famous Thanksgiving dinner and though it was weeks away, preparations were still under way, your oven enduring more use than it ever had in its short lifetime.  

Guilt ate away at you as you placed the freshly baked pie on the counter to cool.  You didn’t want to be an intruder but Donnie was so insistent when gracing you with the plans back at the supermarket.  It would be your first Thanksgiving away from home and you were set on spending it alone, preparing to create a one person feast and pig out all by your lonesome.  Now, you were going to be faced with at least 30 other guests according to Donnie.  That was intimidating enough and when you tried to reject her invitation to save yourself some embarrassment, she only interrupted you, stating that everyone is going to love you and that even your short time in the spotlight at the Halloween bash left a great impression.  That everyone wanted to get to know you.

Then she bestowed the responsibility of one dessert upon you.  Everyone was required to bring at least one dish, store bought or homemade…it didn’t matter as long as you contributed.  You had weeks to perfect it and though you didn’t need to go through the trouble, the people pleaser in you raged on.

Cinnamon and nutmeg graced your nose, a comforting scent that had you salivating and yearning for a piece of warm, gooey apple pie.  The kitchen was a mess, bowls scattered along the counter top and a bag of flour leaking onto the floor.  You were usually consistent in keeping clean as you worked but the daunting task of perfecting your pie held your complete and undivided attention.  

Buttery, flaky crust called your name as you finished folding your laundry.  The TV blared some popular sitcom that had to have been new as you didn’t recognize it.  Regardless, the pie had interested you more.

It came out beautifully, nearly commercial ready with the criss cross crust and everything.  This was your best outcome yet and you only hope it tasted just as delicious as it looked.  You’d finally perfected the design and it didn’t completely deflate on itself this time, a win in your book.

Regretfully, you cut into the perfect dessert, forming the perfect triangle and plating it as delicately as possible.  This was your baby as far as you were concerned and the passion that had gone into it was going to be recognized, even if only by you.  A quick dollop of whipped cream is placed on top, the only thing missing was ice cream although you weren’t the biggest fan of pairing the two treats, satisfied with just the baked slice of heaven.

It was too flawless, the slice had been perfectly cut and presented like a five star restaurant had prepared it.  Such perfection could not be recreated and you simply needed at least one witness to applaud your work or at the very least acknowledge your newly discovered baking skills.  

–

Two knocks and no movement.  Yet…

The breeze nips at your cheeks, leaving you to regret not throwing a sweater on even if only for a few seconds.  Your hand shields the fresh slice of pie, a desperate attempt to conceal its warmth.  Your masterpiece would not be spoiled at the hands of the inevitably changing weather.  

Another two knocks.  A bit more urgent this time.

You can hear shuffling just beyond the door, an eager shiver running down your spine.  Irritation begins to build within you at the stinging sensation at the tip of your ears, the temperature being especially unforgiving.

Two more knocks.

“I’m comin’, I’m comin’.”  

You hear the grumble and can’t help but feel your spirits lift.

“Wha–Bambi?”  Eddie reveals you, a shivering mess on the porch with your hair in disarray and a plate of pie in your trembling hands.

Without hesitation, he steps to the side and waves you in.  There’s a certain coziness to him, his hair extra frizzy as if he had been laying on it and his eyes a tad puffy.  Almost like a large teddy bear.  His black sweatshirt swallows his torso although he’s wearing shorts, a psychotic move in this kind of weather.  

“Try this.”  You demand, holding the plate out in front of him.

His eyes only stare widely at the treat, grogginess obvious in the way he rubs his eyes and yawns.  Another postcard moment.

“What is it?”  He asks gravelly.  It just about melts you into a puddle on his floor.

“Apple pie!”  

Your enthusiasm takes him back, a surprised expression pulling at his features as he hesitantly takes it.  It crosses his mind that you mentioned taking on baking recently, a slow shift at The Bourbon pulling you both into mindless talk as you cleaned.  He gathers that you were at the peak of your sugar rush, no doubt stealing licks of batter and tastes of sugar as you baked.   If this was the result of you baking all day, he needed a minute to wake up.

“Okay, okay.”  He sighs, brushing past you to set the plate on his kitchen counter, snatching a fork from one of the drawers.

“Why do you need me of all people to taste test?”  He asks a bit unkindly.  He doesn’t mean it but you did wake him from a deep slumber, one of the best naps he had in a while.  Probably the only nap he’d taken in a while as he recalls.

You don’t seem to recognize his irritation, thankfully too caught up in the bubbling excitement around your homemade treat.  “Cause it’s for Thanksgiving and I really want it to be good.”  You explain, bouncing on the balls of your feet impatiently.

An eye roll has you blushing–it shouldn’t–but it does.  All of Eddie’s little quirks whether they were forming out of grumpiness or not, only made him all the more endearing.  The fork finally meets his mouth, heaven about to bless his taste buds–or at least you hope.  

As he chews, he makes it a point to keep a straight face, watching you squirm with anticipation being far too fun for him.  

“How is it?”  

Eddie shrugs.  Okay, maybe not all of his quirks were endearing.

“Eddie!”  You wail, hands gripping the edge of the counter.

“Alright, alright.”  He mumbles, taking a step back as he swallows.  The crust crumbles just right on his tongue, warm gooey apple goodness filling his taste buds and sending him right back to his childhood.  The happy parts.  “Really fuckin’ good.  You have any more?”  He asks, going in for another bite, a smug grin displaying across your face.

“No, you were being rude.”

“Wh–c’mon.”  He just about whines as you steal the plate from his reach, tucking it behind your back.

“Say sorry.”

“I’m not sorry, now give it back.”  An adorable frown pulls at his mouth.

“Eddie.”

“Bambi.”

Big brown eyes stare into yours, stubborn intent evident behind them.  It instantly fades when you give him your best pout, your eyes shining with a silent plea.  With a deep sigh and another eye roll, he gives in.  It was like stealing candy from a baby except even easier as he fumbled his stoic expression and contorted his face into something more apologetic.

“‘M sorry.”  He mumbles.

“You’re what?”  You smile, acting oblivious.  

“I’m sorry!”  Eddie throws his hands up in surrender.  “Happy?”  

“I guess.”  You sigh, placing the beloved dessert back on the counter for him to devour.

“Why you baking so much?”  

His mouth is crammed with pie after he asks, crumbs resting at the corners of his mouth and whipped cream decorating his upper lip.  You determine that he’s a messy eater, sloppily shoveling pie into his mouth until it physically can’t hold anymore.

“Thanksgiving.  I’m in charge of a dessert.  What are you bringing?”

“Nuffin’.”  He mumbles through a mouthful.

“Why not?”  You practically whine.

With a rough swallow, Eddie licks his lips, leaving no trace of the coarse sugar that was previously sprinkled on the crust.  When you glance down, the plate is empty, the pie had vanished into Eddie’s stomach.

“I’m not going.”  He says simply.

Not going?  If he couldn’t go back to Indiana for Thanksgiving, where was he going to go?

“I don’t uh, I don’t do holidays.”  He elaborates.

“Don’t do holidays.”  You scoff.  “You did Halloween just fine.”  

It should gross you out when he retrieves a carton of milk from the fridge and starts chugging it straight from the container.  It doesn’t.  Wiping his mouth with his sleeve, he sets the milk on the counter, eyes meeting yours as his elbows come to rest on the counter, his head propped up in his hands.

“Then that’s the only holiday I do.” 

“You have to go.”  You whine like a child, stomping your foot.

“I don’t have to do anything.”  There’s a certain kind of attitude in his tone, a playful attitude that wasn’t actually meant to offend you, only to spur you on.

“You have to go or else you can’t have any more pie!”  You complain.  “Please Eddie!  You’re like one of the only people I’ll know, you can’t not go.”

Your worried eyes and pouty lips are convincing enough though he might as well have a little fun.  Get under your skin.

“Now you’re being mean.”  He juts out his lip.

The look on your face is priceless, eyes widening and mouth hung open in shock.  “Am not!  You’re going to Thanksgiving because if you don’t then I’m gonna feel guilty the whole time I’m trying to pig out.”

“Guilty?”  An amused grin plasters itself to his face, his figure returning to tower over you as he ceases leaning over the counter.

“Yeah, you can’t spend Thanksgiving alone.”  

He swears there are tears in your eyes, making it unexplainably hard for him to tell you no.  Then again, he always found it hard to tell you no.  Just last week you and Jett begged to decorate the bar with pumpkins and other Fall objects.  The only reason he said yes was because you looked up at him with those perfectly pleading puppy dog eyes, your hands behind your back as you swayed back and forth.  And because you offered to use the pumpkins from your porch, the bar’s dwindling budget sure to be untouched.

“Tell you what…”  Eddie begins his proposition, you listening eagerly as you lean over the counter with your head propped in your hands as he had done seconds ago.  “If you make me my own personal pie—“

“Done.”  You chirp.

“I will consider it.”  He finishes, glaring at you.

“How about…I give you the rest of the pie I have sitting at home right now and you promise you’ll go?”  You light up at your own idea.

“I will consider it.”  He repeats.

“No deal.” 

You cross your arms stubbornly, eyes closing as you tilt your head up in a snobbish manner.  A groan escapes him, you peeking an eye open only to see his nose scrunched in defeat, his tongue licking the back of his teeth and clicking.

He lost the battle.

“Fine.”  He sighs, exhaling through his nostrils in annoyance.  

You don’t miss the tiny smile tugging on his lips as he collects the remaining whipped cream from the plate and licks it from his fingers.  His front was faltering, the big scary dog ready and willing to fall at your feet if you just said the word. 

~end~

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[just-alittlekit]

Dan talking about doing a live show during gamingmas makes me feel all warm inside because it reminds me that he really cares and likes spending time with us. we would all understand if he was too busy with a new video up everyday, but he is still willing to take the time to talk with us because he wants to. it’s not about keeping up appearances for his brand or money or anything else, but just hanging out with us. It’s the little things like this that let you know they really care

[akaisenhatake]

sorry i had to repost because i realized the one i posted didn't include a sketch i did smh 💀 anyways pretend i obliviated you so you never knew this existed before

hihi!! so i made a small au where WiW is not involved with R or shit, instead he's still studying and nailing all his academics at mahoutokoro ( or maybe he became a professor along with my mahoutokoro oc Kaito Bushida which I'll introduce him soon kekek )

other than that, he's also an older brother to Victor because the theory makes sense and you can't tell me they don't look like siblings

WiW would come to visit Victor every once in a while and perhaps he might even invite WiW to come hang out with mc and others at hogsmeade or diagon alley yknow just a peaceful day , no drama and not trying to murder each other <'3

but that's not all

after looking at the newest chapter (another spoiler alert!) i was like gawh daym i was not expecting Victor be lookin like he came out of the twilight saga universe minus the romantic parts also what's with JC and overconfident characters i swear if they pull out another sad backstory to why they act like this i will cry because I'll feed bad for disliking them ;;

oh i talked too much don't i JDJAJDJSJ OKAY I'LL SHUT UP NOW TAKE THIS SKETCH

some of the lines probably won't make sense but thats just the vibes i get from him 🙏 he do be like that doe

it was kind of a let down but u know what since he's gonna be like this I'll have more crap to draw he's like a walking meme to me anyway KSKAJDJ

thank you for passing by! <D💖💞💛 I'm gonna go back to draw now kekekke

it'd be nice to have new friends here 👉🏻👈🏻

[missvalerietanner]

Trail of the Horsemen | War & Peace {Excerpt}

“There,” Francis yelled, pointing past her face toward the group of men. “That’s my horse.”

Two men yanked at its reins, forcing it to obey. The animal reared on its hind legs and whinnied, fighting with all its might against its captors. They yelled and pulled harder to bend the horse to their will, and its hooves kicked up a storm of clouds from the dirt as it fought to hold its ground.

“Then we go get her,” Wren said as she guided her horse toward the men.

“Just like this? We confront them?”

“They took something of ours, and I want it back. Don’t you?”

“Yes, but—”

“Are you afraid of those men, Francis?”

He huffed a deep sigh. “I can count, is all, and we are badly out-numbered. That’s seven men there against the two of us, and I am not armed.”

She nodded but continued nudging Altan forward. “I’d say we’re almost even.”

“And how’s that?” he retorted, flustered as he stared down the death awaiting them both.

“In my one gun, I have six bullets. Once I shoot six men dead, I won’t need a seventh bullet.” She glanced over her shoulder, that same stony, emotionless stare in her eyes and the same flat line in her lips. “Understand?”

She tightened the reins and drove Altan forward at a steady pace.

As they drew closer, the men slowed the aggression of their movements. The four men mounted on their steeds sat up straighter and took notice, keeping their eyes on the approaching duo. The fifth man standing beside his horse stepped forward, the first line of defense for the others. And the two men fighting to control and contain the black horse, the preacher’s horse: they froze, clenched their fists about the reins tighter to keep their possession close, and stared at the duo with an intensity that could cause dry wood to combust. 

The seven men were as still as a painting; only the black horse fidgeted, twitching in tune to its nerves to gain its freedom, inch by desperate inch.

Wren halted her horse and slid from the saddle, leaving Francis alone with his mouth hanging open in disbelief at the girl’s boldness. She strolled up to the two men pinning down the horse and set her hands to her hips, just above the holstered revolver so the others would take notice of the weapon. 

She stared them down with a confidence so unshakable, Francis found himself watching her as if she were a dream, a fantastical idol of ages past meant to worshipped and admired. He was at a loss of words and all sense as he observed her brashiness, so stunned by her very existence. 

“Gentlemen,” she announced in a clear and stable voice. “This horse belongs to my friend, and I ask that you return it.”

The men looked at one another in a heavy second of silence, then laughed as one.

The fifth man who stood beside his horse stepped forward. “This horse was running scared, and we caught it. That makes it ours.”

“And I’m asking you, politely, to give it back.”

He took another long step toward her and whispered. “We’re going to have to pass.”

Francis yanked the handkerchief off his neck, revealing his white-sqaured collar, and leapt off the horse, scrambling forward and nearly tripping over his own feet in his rush to reach her. He positioned himself between Wren and the man, towering over both of them with his height and overshadowing her like a mountain eclipsing her view of the sun. 

Francis raised his arms in defense. “We don’t want any trouble. We’ll just take my horse, and we’ll go.”

The stranger took another step forward, standing like a wall between Francis and the black steed. He tucked his thumbs into the belt loops of his pants, unshaken by the preacher's size, and a stern frown sank the corners of his mouth.

“Turn around, Father. This ain't no place for you.”

“We seek no blood here, stranger.”

He smirked and slid his hand over the holster at his hip. “Maybe my boys and I do, especially if you keep pushing. Way I see it, either we take this black mare now, or we waste two bullets, and gain ourselves a red stallion.” He cocked his head to the side, addressing the other road-hard men. “What do you say, boys? Think that stallion there will catch us quite the fortune with the right buyer?”

The men lifted his words with their bitter laughter.

“I'll ask again—” Francis pressed, but his words were smothered beneath the hard crack of a revolver firing.

Smoke rose at his back, and blood sprayed across his chest. His breath faulted as his brain struggled to comprehend the situation. His ears hummed from the shattering blast of the gun, and his nerves stalled, freezing his body in place as he waited for the pain to set in. But it never came. The blood wasn't his.

The man before him clutched at his chest and collapsed, speechless, to the ground, kicking up a poof of dirt. Francis turned to see the other men opening their mouths, screaming their rage as they reached for their guns. With his ears still ringing, Francis heard none of the hateful, vile words they screamed. He just watched, wide-eyed and horrified as one after the other was shot and pushed from his horse in a thick spray of red, shutting off each man's tirade mid-sentence.

The riderless horses parted in the panic, dashing to all sides to avoid being struck themselves. Most of the men dropped clean, but one of them caught his boot in the reins as he fell. Entangled in the leather, the man was dragged from the scene by the frightened horse, leaving a red smear across the dry dirt as he was carried away facedown, causing his head to bounce and wobble against each passing rock protruding from the ground.

Four bodies lay in an almost perfect line. The black mare stood still off to the side, happy to be free from the grip of its captors. But one horse remained, and atop it, the seventh man. His features, once harsh and arrogant, turned cautious and frightful.

Francis raised his hands in surrender. “You don't die here, son.”

He yanked on the reins of his horse, causing the animal to fidget and fight in place. “You killed 'em all. You—” He shook his head. “You've marked yourself, Father.”

His hand flinched, eager for blood, and he reached for the revolver at his hip. Before his fingers freed the weapon from its leather holster, he froze, stunned to silence from the strike of a rock ricocheting off his temple. A trickle of blood streaked down from the spot of collision, but his body was already too numb to react. Unconsciousness settled in; his eyes rolled back into his head, and he rolled off the side of his horse, landing without grace against the hard ground.

Francis spun around to see Wren dropping a handful of rocks to the ground before dusting the dirt from her hands. When she sensed his eyes on her, she looked up with a playful grin.

“Turns out I did need that seventh bullet after all.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  

{A/N: Gawh, they’re such bros. :} This takes place in Chapter Five just after War (Wren) and Famine (Francis) meet for the first time.

Wren is essentially a bounty hunter/train robber moving from town to town for the next big score, and Francis is an ex-preacher. He’s uncomfortable with murder and blood and all that, hence why he squirms so much when she kills the men without blinking. He ran into some trouble that caused him to question his faith (i.e. whether he could be saved/forgiven), and while he still wears his collar, he hides it ‘cause he doesn’t believe he’s worthy of wearing it. But he can’t bear to take it off.

As much as I despise religion in general, I really enjoy writing Francis’ character. Not only cause he’s this giant boulder of a man who dislikes violence and is squeamish around blood, but because of his honesty. He had nothing for so long, then people looked to him as their preacher. The title meant something to him; it gave him purpose and love and made him want to protect those people with all he was. But then he was forced to break his own morals to keep those same people from being assaulted and murdered. Classic tale of right reason, wrong reaction. But it makes him question his entire being, and I dunno... I just really like writing him.

Like he stepped up to protect Wren and showed the preacher’s collar, hoping it would cause the men to put down their weapons, but when that doesn’t work, he just pleads with the men to let them go. He knows defending Wren is the right thing to do, but he won’t use force to get his way. 

Maybe I just write too many sarcastic, aggressive, asshole male characters who charge in, guns blazing that it makes Francis fells like a breath of fresh air. XD

Anyway, thanks for reading!

[winnerloser]

"You make me feel proud. You've come a long way, kid, an' I gotta say, I'm pretty impressed." Piers out here with proud uncle disease (barrika-dark)

@barrika-dark

Somehow, hearing those words from Piers was so unexpected to Victor that he almost assumed that the man was merely joking or being sarcastic at first. But… no. He wasn’t, and as that sunk in, Victor’s entire demeanor blossomed and brightened.

“Gawh- thanks, Piers…! You, um….. you make me mighty proud as well, how your career has turned ou’. I look up t’you more an’ more every day!”