#I would like a corn with butter right now | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

trashmouth-richie · 2 years ago

Text

eddie x fem! reader

masterlist

w/c 7.8k

summary: things heat up in more ways than one for the roommates, thanksgiving makes everyone thankful.

warnings: NO MINORS, language, fighting, mentions of child neglect, mentions of murder

a/n: thank you to my beta readers: @jo-harrington @sweetsweetjellybean pls check out their work they are both so amazingly talented 🩵 thank you to @blueywrites for screaming with me on certain parts of this story + @fracturedarkness for helping me plan future parts for this series.

again— I’m no longer doing a tag list for this series— this week as really opened my eyes to a bunch of shit in this world and I’m fucking pissed off about it.

“Do you think it’s enough food? Last year Mike ate all the mashed potatoes so I’m just hoping there is enough for everyone.”

The holidays were always a stressful time for most people, housewives stressing over meal planning, guest lists and matching outfits for their Christmas cards—ones that coordinated well and hid the fact that they were miserable with their lazy, limp dick husbands. Poor Nancy fell into that category all too well.

She’s walking circles around her dining room table, counting the dishes on her fingers. Ham, turkey, cheesy potatoes, mashed potatoes, sweet potato casserole, corn, green bean casserole, a relish tray, strawberry fluff, gravy, two pumpkin pies, two pecan pies, a jello mold, two dozen caramel Rice Krispie bars, a pan of iced banana bars, and one can of jellied cranberry sauce on a crystal plate.

When Nancy asked you to join the Wheeler/Byers/Hopper’s gang for thanksgiving this year, you quickly accepted the invitation, asking if there was anything you could bring. She requested you bring the dessert. So the night before Thanksgiving, you started the tedious task of keeping Eddie from eating all the icing and caramel.

“Eddie! Have you seen the caramels I just bought? They were on the counter next to the flour canister.”

“Nope! Haven’t theen ‘em,” he answers all too quickly, “you thur you bought ‘em?”

“Yes I’m su—,”

Goddamn him.

Walking into the living room you approach the metal head, splayed out on the couch, fingers shoved in his mouth picking at his teeth, “oh Eddie?”

“Mhmm?” He hums, innocently, looking at you with big doe eyes.

“You wouldn’t happen to have caramel stuck in your teeth, the same caramel I bought and said, ‘please don’t eat these they’re for the Rice Krispie bars,’ would you?”

Rose colors his cheeks, “what? Me? Not listening? Ok O’Donnell,” he says with a scoff.

“Eddie,” you say sternly, hip thrown out and arms crossed over your chest.

“Ok! Fine! They were just so fucking good! But I’m dying right now— my teeth feel practically glued together— do we have any floss?!”

“Nance, I think there is more than enough here, you and Jonathan will have leftovers for weeks, months possibly.”

Fretting, Nancy wipes her fidgeting hands on her apron, “I just want it to be perfect— you know how I am.”

Type A, that’s how she was.

“It’ll be perfect, Nancy,” Jonathan agrees, coming up behind her and holding her around her small waist, “just like you.”

Scarlet heat accentuates her rouged cheeks. “Ok ok, no kissing the cook just yet,” she says, peeling herself from Jonathan’s arms, “can you and Argyle set the card table up in the basement?”

The turkey almost melted like butter on your tongue, the gravy was rich and savory. Karen’s cheesy potatoes were creamy and the crunchy cornflakes on top were to die for; the entire meal was delicious. The labor of Nancy’s love for her family and friends showing through her craftsmanship of amazing cuisine. You hadn’t seen Karen or Ted since the wedding, being the closest thing to parents you had, you were ecstatic when Karen joined you over the hot water and soapy sink, washing the china plates.

“So sweety, how have things been going lately? Nancy said you have a roommate?” Her tight blonde permed curls shaking behind her as she scrubs the pot used to make the gravy.

Drying the freshly rinsed dish, you answer with a coy smile on your face, “I’ve been good, doing better than I have in a while, yeah, I have a roommate, uhh Eddie Munson.”

“Oh Mike’s friend? He always was so kind to him, taking him under his wing and showing him the ropes in high school,” she looks at you then, her lavender eyeshadow catching the light over the sink, “I’m happy you two are dating.”

Dating.

Dating Eddie Munson.

Scenarios fly through your mind, Eddie holding your hand at the movie theater, him behind you—his chin resting on your shoulder helping you play video games at Arcade Land, watching him write songs and play his guitar, kissing his lips sweetly, deeply— moving down his neck, his chest. His fingers on your thighs—

You’re sweating.

Head dizzy and full of visions of you loving Eddie and Eddie loving you back dance in your head.

“W-we’re not dating, just—”

How would you describe your relationship with Eddie? Roommates? Friends? Waiting for him to kiss you?

“—friends,” you say, enunciating the word slowly, rolling it off your tongue.

“Well,” Karen says, a hidden smile on her knowing lips, “I’m happy you two are just friends.”

Friends.

Such a complicated word. Because you and Eddie were more than that, but definitely not dating. The tension between you was electric, and sometimes jarring, but you went to bed thinking of him every night, hoping he would just open the door to your room, slip beneath the sheets and hold you while you dreamed.

[Two weeks prior]

The morning after you had comforted him, you woke up alone— his side of the bed still warm as if he had just gotten up. Sleeping so soundly you weren’t sure what day it was, or the time. The alarm clock on your night stand said 7 o’clock but that couldn’t be right. You and Eddie had both slept for over twelve hours, the comforting kind of sleep that lulls babies to sleep, gentle, sweet, pillowy dreams in one another’s arms. Getting dressed for work, you slip a pair of jeans on, and change into a long navy blue cardigan, headband to match. Lacing up your converse, you open your bedroom door.

Eddie’s in his room getting dressed for work when you find him. Knocking on the opened door gently, you poke your head in, his eyes lift and meet yours, a sleepy, coy grin colors his face, but it doesn’t meet his eyes.

“Hey,” he whispers softly, stopping mid button on his work coveralls.

The black bandana around his head presses his bangs nearly flat, the soft waves of his chocolate dipped curls reflect the sun light with a honey oranged hue.

“Hi,” your voice is small and meek.

An overwhelming feeling of dread* clouds your mind. Where would this new found friendship and comfort lead you both? Maybe Eddie was regretting the entire night. You haven’t been on this comfort level with someone you were physically attracted to ever. Steve was like a brother to you. And Chad— you were never comfortable with him, your skin crawling just thinking of it. But Eddie? The sight of him gave you butterflies, his arms holding your waist while you slept was an intimacy you haven’t experienced before, and you wanted to relish in the feeling of it.

He fiddles with his rings on his fingers, rolling them around and around before his mouth opens to speak, “I’m sorry for yesterday,” he blurts out, looking down in shame, unable to meet your curious eyes.

Barely comprehending that he’s apologizing for being vulnerable, you walk towards him slowly. He notices your staggering steps and inches backward. His walls are back up, caged in with his feelings, barbed wire on the top so you couldn’t find a way in, electric fence surrounding the brick walls—the highest voltage imaginable.

“Ed—”

“Please,” he begs, voice cracked and broken, wavering on another breakdown, “please don’t… I don’t need your sympathy.”

Tears well in your eyes at his recoiling. How can a night of comfort turn into despair and hostility the next morning? Nose burning, signaling your brain that tears would be falling any second, you wipe your eyes hastily.

Eddie felt like his neck was out, exposed to the world, waiting for the guillotine’s blade to slice his skin, until the crimson of his blood spilled in the basket, severing his head, a trophy amongst the weak.

Munson’s didn’t accept charity, his whole life that's what he felt like to Wayne, a charity case, a goddamn roadblock in Wayne’s life stopping him from finding a girlfriend, sleeping on a real bed, forcing him to work overnight just for Eddie— he’d never forgive himself for the pain he’s caused him— and now you? Offering your bed to him, your fingers twirling through his hair as he came undone. Whimpering like an infant, coating your thighs with thick tears. Sure it felt nice to have someone there with him, to reassure him it was all going to be okay, sweet, angelic voice of reason. But when he woke this morning he felt disgusting, like a predator, a vicious wolf preying on a sweet innocent lamb offering herself to him because he was upset.

He didn’t want that for you. He didn’t want to taint your soul with his past.

“I’m not giving my sympathy,” you voiced into the void, whether he heard it or not you weren’t sure.

Eddie breathing heavily, trying to contain his emotions from spilling out of him, “good, because I don’t want it.”

He walks around you in a huff, the muted scent of cigarettes and cologne hit your nose, as he passes you and walks into the bathroom, shutting the door all too hard. Following him, you’re certain you are full fledged crazy at this point, like in a scary movie when the lead actress stays in the house instead of running away.

Opening the door, opening Pandora’s box, you push it til it swings wide, he’s hovering over the sink brushing his teeth, white and blue toothpaste decorate the corners of his mouth.

“Tooty,” he groans, spitting a dollop of toothpaste into the sink, “seriously— I don’t want to talk about it, whatever you have to say save it for the human Care Bear Harrington—I don’t want to hear it.” he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

Stones would be impressed with how still you’re standing, head raised waiting for him to look you in your eye. Refusing to break. A storm in your eyes threatening to flood. “Why are you acting like this?”

“I’m not acting like anything,” Eddie grunts impatiently, “are you ready?”

When you don’t say anything, he moves you out of the way, large hands around your arms, stepping around you and going into the kitchen.

Following him, you won't let up, his head in the fridge he pulls out the orange juice carton, drinking directly from the jug, “Eddie, you can talk to me about it, I’m a good listener.”

He shakes his head and rolls his eyes, gasping for breath as he swallows the citrus liquid, “I said— I said, I didn’t want to talk about it and I meant it, I’m a grown ass man— ”

Interrupting him, not giving him time to finish you blurt, “Doesn’t make you less of one just because you’re upset.”

His teeth clench so hard they almost crack, his hands balled into fists at his sides, the orange juice container crumbling in his grasp. Years of therapy as a child did nothing to help him. And neither could you.

“Stop,” he snaps, his eyes pinched tight, a wave of fury washing over him, only seeing red. “Jesus Christ enough! I don’t need this shit right now, I’m gonna be late for work!”

He stomps towards the door, shoving his boots on haphazardly, throwing his leather jacket under his arm, the same leather jacket you had worn the night before, your perfume lingering on the inside.

The smell of you lighting his fire even more, he’s losing all self control.

“What’s your problem anyway?” he grumbles, kicking open the front door, waiting for you to follow. His eyes are wide and full of hurt, anger, crippling anxiety so deep he didn’t even know if he was breathing. But no matter how mad you looked, how many tears you kept wiping away from your lash line, he couldn’t stop.

Keys in the ignition he puts the van into reverse and yanks the wheel quickly, driving like he robbed a bank.

Anytime you try to speak he cuts you off.

“Do you like getting involved with people's lives? Why are you so desperate to know what happened? Need something to gossip about at the salon? So you and your boss can whisper shit about me again? Hmm? ”

“What the fuck are y—” you try to say, but he cuts you off again, he’s raging war on himself and on you, it’s far from over, no surrender flag in sight.

“That must be it right?” he preens, barely stopping at the stop lights as he flies to your work, tires squealing around corners, “I’m here because you need something to talk about, the well full of hot gossip of Hawkins must have run dry. Well guess what sweetheart? It’s not anything I haven’t heard before.”

He’s so clueless, so expertly out of sync with what you were trying to convey, what you were begging him to understand. The tears are free falling and you don’t stop them, screaming at him, “Eddie!”

“What?!” he barks back, chest heaving with hatred filled lungs and venomous words so toxic they’re burning your skin.

Aching soul and self doubt at an all time low you try to will the words to not shake as you deliver, “do you really think I would hold you while you were sad with any other intention than consoling you!? You were upset and the least I could do after you helped me was try to make you feel better!”

He tried to argue but it’s your turn to cut him off, holding up a hand as he fumed through his nose. He parks in back of the salon, slamming on the brakes as you both jolt forward. “Let it go, Too—”

“I care about you, you stubborn asshole!” You grab your purse between your feet and open the door and jump out.

“Just stop,” Eddie pleads, his eyes brimming with tears, “don’t.”

“I can’t,” you say back in a whisper, your voice breaking at the last syllable, you reach for the door, out of breath and holding in your sobs the best you can, “oh, and for the record— Josie was telling me to be nice to you and give you a chance— my mistake.”

Slamming the door you don’t hear him break, you don’t hear him thrust the heel of his hand into the steering wheel until it aches and burns. His nerves shooting pain through his entire arm. You don’t hear him scream and hate himself as he drives to work, his body soulless, empty, fragile.

“Tooty, are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you tell Josie for the tenth time.

You definitely were not fine.

Distracted the minute you got to work, your mind raced with questions of the unknown. Hurt, confused and pissed off, you had mixed the wrong color formula for your clients hair, resulting in money down the drain from your own paycheck as you threw the mixture away and started it again, for the third attempt.

At 10 o’clock you were folding towels in the back when you realized you had bleached an entire load of darks. The once rich black towels were now faded with splotches of orange.

Eddie’s words had ripped through your heart, hurdling themselves into the deepest parts of you that were sheltered away from anyone, taking up solace in your forbidden soul, hollowing it out.

By noon you were crying while rolling a client's perm rods into her hair, having to step away multiple times before Josie gently told you enough was enough and that you should go home for the day.

Not wanting to call Eddie and get a ride you decided to walk the half mile through town back to your home on Cherry lane.

Kicking a rock with the toe of your shoe for most of the walk home, you mull over the events of the day. Wiping your eyes with the sleeve of your cardigan as you tread along the sidewalk.

[Thanksgiving Day]

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with me to Nancy and Jonathan’s? It’ll be fun!”

Eddie is leaned against the driver window of his van, his finger tracing a smiley face into the dust in the dash. “I wish I could, but Wayne and I go fishing every year on Thanksgiving— it’s a tradition.”

Every year since Eddie was ten years old, Wayne took him fishing on Thanksgiving, starting early in the morning and going until sundown, ending the night camping beneath the stars, cooking their daily catch for supper, “save me a piece of pie okay?” he finishes, ruffling up your hair, a shit eating grin on his lips.

Feeling horrible that your car was still out of commission, Eddie had let you borrow the van for the night after you dropped him off at Wayne’s. “And you’re positive it’s okay if I take the van?”

“Does a bear shit in the woods?” Eddie’s laugh spread across his cheeks, the black beanie he has on his head inching closer to falling off every second, “Tooty,” he breathes, his brown eyes dipping into yours, “take the goddamn van and have a good time—and hurry up, you’re gonna be late.”

[2 Weeks prior]

🎶 it was the third of June another sleepy dusty delta day

I was out choppin’ cotton and my brother was baling hay

Bobbie Jo’s tune was ringing in his ears all day— no matter how loud he cranked the radio in the shop, no matter how many times he tried to hum a different tune— her -* words rang through his mind like silk, coating his skin and implementing old memories he didn’t want brought up.

He was filled with fury. A ticking time bomb. It should have been no surprise when Sean and Aaron started poking at him, how unhinged he would become.

“What’s got your panties in a twist, Munson,” Sean sneers, changing the oil on the Ford truck, “your little girlfriend finally figure out you’re a fucking loser?”

Eddie had already thrown a wrench across the shop out of frustration when he realized he forgot his lunch. He slammed the hood of a blue minivan on his fingers right after morning break, and now Aaron and Sean were starting in on him.

His breath erratic, trying to breathe through his nose to calm himself down but failing. His misery over taking his nerves. He grunts through barred teeth, “We aren’t dating,”

Sean perks up at the news, his wiry mustache splattered across his top lip like a squashed caterpillar, decrepit and sparse. “Oh shit, so she’s single, huh?”

“Damn,” Aaron chimes in, his hands cupped around his junk as he shakes it back and forth between his greasy hands, “what I wouldn't give to be balls deep in that pretty little mouth, that’d shut her up for good.”

“You’re skating on thin ice, fuck rag, I’d watch my mouth if I were you.” Eddie’s shoulders are tensed, adrenaline at an all time high. Fight or flight screaming through his blood racing through his heart and speeding up his heart rate.

“Whatchya gonna do about it, freak?” Sean spits pushing Eddie in the chest, “ ‘Name the time and place’ yeah motherfucker? How about right here right now?” Standing toe to toe with Eddie, but a foot shorter he peers into Eddie’s face, egging him on.

“Ever since you moved in with that whore you’ve been such a little bitch about everything— I mean I get it, honestly— Chad always said she had the sweetest p—”

Sean chokes on the last word as Eddie’s fist connects with his cheek, his rings would end up leaving bruises in their shape on his skin for weeks to come.

Sean throws a punch at Eddie but he is quick to dodge it, years of fighting in the trailer park giving him an upper hand. Blood spews from Sean’s mouth as Eddie upper cuts him in the chin, his tongue almost split in half as he bit down from the impact.

Eddie is blinded momentarily as Aaron socks him in the eye, a deep purpling plum colored bruise that took weeks to heal. Stumbling backwards his back hits the red sun faded tool box, Sean came swinging a crow bar out of nowhere and hit Eddie in the ribs, a groaning thud as the sound of his bones shatter in his body.

Behind his back, he reaches for whatever is closest, a wrench wrapped tight in his fingers gets thrown in the air at Sean, hitting him in the throat and knocking him over onto the smooth concrete of the shop floor, gasping for breath.

Aaron tackles Eddie, sending him into the air compressor, four fists are swinging and bodies shifting as they both struggle for dominance. Eddie’s lip is cut and his eye is swollen almost shut. Aaron’s nose is dripping blood on Eddie’s shirt as he punches him in the same place that Sean hit him with the crow bar. He’s able to get a knee up between Aaron and himself and twists his body to get above him, and when he does he lays punch after punch into Aaron’s swollen bloody face.

With each rocking fist connecting with flesh, Eddie has one thing on his mind, you. He thinks about the foul way they had disrespected you. The way you had cried when you told him you couldn’t stop caring about him. How he was close to losing you because he couldn’t open up and let you in. How terrified you must have been for all those years when you were scared and alone, nobody there to hold you and comfort you. And while he’s pummeling Aaron into a bloody pulp of cracked teeth and swollen eyes, it finally clicks for him.

The fight didn’t last long, but was effective enough to get Eddie suspended for the rest of the work day— and Aaron and Sean got a nice week's vacation with no pay.

Eddie’s knuckles are coated in a mixture of blood and spit. His jaw aches as he drives home with one eye open, it’s the clearest he’s seen in a long time.

[Thanksgiving]

“Fish ain’t bitin’ much are they?” Wayne and Eddie have both cast and reeled in their rods multiple times with zero luck. The small boat Eddie had gifted Wayne with for Christmas 3 years ago stood at still waters of Lover’s Lake, both men chilled to the bone.

“Nah, they sure aren’t. Probably no fish left in here after the summer you had.”

Since Eddie had graduated, Wayne dropped down to part time at the plant and went to dayshift. A true dream for him and for Eddie, offering to pick up most of the bills, a silent thank you for all the years that Wayne has taken care of him when he didn’t have to, but did anyway— the only caring person in his life, until you.

The wind whips through Eddie’s hair, tugging the curls out from the confinements of the cotton stocking cap snug on his head. The once crisp autumn foliage is soggy like forgotten cereal in a bowl of milk around them from the previous nights rain, chilling the usual humidity from the air and adding a depth of ice in their veins as they shake and shiver in their jackets, Eddie in his leather jacket, Wayne in a weathered faded khaki canvas coat.

Ruddy hands with silvered rings light two cigarettes, passing one to a pair of calloused, aged hands. Inhaling deeply and blowing warm smoke in the whispering winds of the quiet fog around them.

Wayne runs a rough hand over his sunned scalp, itching the small patches of hair left, as he readjusts his tattered cap, letting the nicotine settle into his bones and soothe the stubborn ache in his jaw, like ointment on an arthritic joint, “you ever gonna bring that girlfriend over to meet me or you keepin’ her alls to yourself?”

“What girl?” Eddie says quickly, coyly, blowing smoke into the space between the two of them, hiding his mouth with the curtain of his curls, opening the coffee can full of mud and worms, pushing another worm on the end of his hook.

Wayne hadn’t talked to him about girls since he was fifteen when he walked into his room and tossed a box of rubbers at his chest and grumbled, “use ‘em,” under his breath.

Irritation blooms against Wayne’s brows, “boy, don’t play dumb with me,” he cracks at Eddie, a false stern voice in his gruff voice, “the one you’re dating you little wise ass.”

“I’m not dating anyone, Wayne.” Eddie says, pretending to be preoccupied with the tackle box full of neon fishing lures and bobbers. He runs his thumb over the rough cracked surface of the faded red and white bobber, the same one Wayne gave to him when they started fishing all those years ago. The memory brings a smile to his face.

The gruff scoff from Wayne’s throat suggests bullshit to his ears from his nephew’s mouth, a noise Eddie has heard many many times in the two decades he had been living with Wayne, one that told him that he better tell the truth, and right the hell now. No matter that he now towers over Wayne, he’ll always be his boy, the wide eyed boy with a mountain of guilt on his shoulders, his son.

And as Wayne always knew— the more he poked and prodded, the more Eddie would clam up. They sit in comfortable silence, the slight breeze rippling the water on Lover’s Lake, rocking the small fiberglass boat and swaying the two Munson men gently.

How could he describe the relationship between you and him? Not dating, but hopefully more than friends. He didn’t have many friends that he’d willingly let help him battle his inner-most demons. In fact, Gareth and Jeff were still left in the dark about it. The breeze continues to grow frigid and burrows itself between the layers of his clothing, freezing his skin and peppering it with goose bumps. The chattering of Eddie’s teeth remind him of Steve’s birthday when he offered you his jacket, and opted to freeze the rest of the night just so you wouldn’t be chilly.

It’s simple really, he admitted it to Steve, but somehow admitting it to Wayne was worse than the hit from the box of condoms against his chest.

He says it all too fast, out of breath, and barely audible. But he says it. And a smile spreads across the weathered leather of Wayne’s face, pulling his mustache up, a glimmer of a sparkle in his eye, “see, now was that so bad?”

[2 weeks prior]

His knuckles ache, and he’s not positive if it’s from the blows to Aaron’s face or the way he’s gripping the steering wheel. His realization while busting open Aaron’s cheek made him eager to get home. Eager to clean himself up before he went to pick you up from work.

The house is silent as he walks through the garage, his angry hurtful words bounce back to him off the kitchen walls, the counter. The orange juice was still where he left it, crumpled and misshapen.

He truly was an asshole. Hurting the one person who cared for him other than Wayne. He sits down in a chair and unties his boots, blood splattered on the toes. Peeling the sweat stained work coveralls from his body, he tosses them down the steps to the basement, leaving them for later.

He stands partially naked in the kitchen, clad in only his underwear and socks, the kick of adrenaline wearing completely off, the promise of pain against his broken ribs rings searing heat through his body.

A glance around the kitchen stills the breath in his lungs. The kitchen is a wreck from the waffle night, the colossal beginning of a budding relationship that he was currently in the trenches hoping to fix. The once silky batter is now hard, pale concrete cemented onto the sides of the glass mixing bowl. The waffle iron was open, sprayed with cooking oil that was sitting with its cap off on the counter. The plates were sticky with cold syrup and now styrofoam resembled waffles, still on the table from where you had both sat. Forks and knives laying atop the ceramic plates in a haphazard way, awaiting the return of warm hands to finish their job.

Without thinking he starts to clean up, filling the sink with hot water, scraping the food from the plates into the garbage, putting away the orange juice and the left out butter and cooking spray. In no time the kitchen is sparkling and Eddie’s body is screaming at him to rest. The cuts on his knuckles are cleaned but swollen, soap stung from the water. His side aches, adrenaline slipping away with every growing minute.The pain is almost unbearable.

A clicking noise from the front door has him turning suddenly, a slight panic in his nerves as he stands stone still.

A block from the house, your tears return, cold, and stuck to your face like ice on poles. You’re exhausted, stomping the entire way home drove shin splints up your legs, the cold cramping dull in your calves. Thinking of Eddie the entire way home you are dumbfounded— completely and utterly confused at his reaction. How could he not know how you felt about him? Why was he begging you to stop? Wondering if you’ll ever get the answers to those questions you wipe your nose with the sleeve of your cardigan. If he was going to guard himself again, and put the barriers back up— so could you.

The door is stuck as you try to open it, pushing and shoving your shoulder into it, it finally gives, stumbling your way into the living room in the most ungraceful way. The scent of freshly wiped surfaces sting your nose and stop you dead in your tracks. You weren’t expecting to be relieved from seeing Eddie, but the relief is short lived as you notice the deep violet and indigo bruise painting his eye.

“Ed—,” you gasp, covering your mouth as you run towards him, foregoing the screaming in your legs, “wh— oh my God!”

His eyes melt at your appearance, scarlet rimmed eyes and wet cheeks take him in, eyebrows dipped into unease and apprehension. He feels your hesitancy, thick like fog surrounding you both as you reach your fingers up to his cheek. Ice cold pads of your fingertips skim the tender skin of his face, brushing the wispy hair of his bangs from his eyes with your fingertips to get a better look at him.

He doesn’t speak, barely breathing at your gentle touch on his face. The frosty coolness of your fingers burn his skin with every silky movement of your hands. He tries to avoid your eyes, avoid the pain he knew was from earlier and his cowardice.

Fingers dancing along his skin, you scan over his torso, the same way you did on the morning after Halloween, the bruising from the mishap of the steps is replaced by a pattern of splotchy deep bruising.

“They’re broke,’’ Eddie groans, his split lip ripping open, from him trying to force a smile, “looks cool though right?”

Using humor to deflect the true way he feels was an easy defense mechanism for him, but you won’t bite. Won’t take the bait he’s dropping into your waters, won’t nibble at his small offering.

Trying not to break, you stand your ground, “what happened?”

“Nothing that wasn’t deserved,” Eddie says, eyes casted downwards at your hands near his ribs, “I was just having a shitty enough day— my own fault—“, he adds quickly, his eyes flicking to yours, not wanting to put salt into the already festering wound he created, “I—uh—I took care of it.” He says in a final explanation.

“And now I’m going to take care of this,” he motions between you both, sliding his hands down your arms and settling them in your hands.

“Tooty— I,” he exhales as deep as his lungs will allow given the break in his ribs, spilling his stitched up heart to you, letting the walls fall with each word, “I’m sorry— I’m so fucking sorry. Nothing I do or say will ever amount to how shitty I feel for making you cry, for pushing you away. I’m a coward when it comes to this type of shit, and it was too heavy— too muddy for me to explain. I figured if I’d shut you out you’d go back to how it was before— before Harrington’s birthday, before Halloween befo—,”

A shake of your head and a sharp intake of breath come from your body. Did all of this mean nothing to him? The flirting, the gentle touching, the sweet gestures? It was all just something he wanted to forget?

Voice small and shallow, “Is that what you want Eddie? To go back to how it was before, when you first moved in?”

A single tear falls from your face, and without thinking, without second guessing himself or wondering if you would think he was being weird, Eddie is quick to brush it away with the curl of his forefinger. His swollen knuckles are tight and achy. He tries to hide a hiss from his teeth, wanting to live in this euphoric moment for as long as he can, as long as you will allow him to. He extends both hands now to your face, his rough thumbs rubbing over the expanse of your cheeks, fingers behind your ears, curling into your hair.

“I want,” he breathes easy now, as if the touch of your skin on his fingers mended his broken bones, his eyes soft where it allowed, one still swollen shut, “I need you to know that I care, too— and I don’t want you to ever quit caring about me— baby, I’ve cared about you for years—- and I can’t get myself to stop.”

And when a sob breaks from your chest, he pulls you into him, “c’mere,” the sensation steals the breath from your lungs, you’ve never been touched with such gentleness, such care. He’s holding you as if you’re glass. Fragile, cracked and held together with shitty Elmer’s glue that was a tempting snack for children. It’s so delicate the way he’s stroking your skin.

Minutes or hours pass you’re not sure. His warmth engulfs you, his musky cologne and spiced deodorant is a gentle blanket around you. Wrapping you in a swaddle of his admiration.

His hair tickles your cheeks, tattooed arms are twisted in your hair,and wrapped around your back. The shine of your tears coat his bare chest, his chin rests on top of yours breathing in your hair shushing you gently.

You spend the night working Eddie’s rings from his already swollen fingers, pressing ice packs to his bruises and spreading neosporin on his cut lip, rubbing it gently with the tip of your finger, Eddie giggles at the concentration on your face and the way your tongue is poked out.

He’s infatuated with the way you make him feel. His heart soaring higher and higher with each delicate touch of your fingers on his skin.

He’s up late that night, stomach full from your homemade chicken noodle soup and his heart even more full. Flying higher than cloud nine, your sweet face on his mind.

[Thanksgiving]

A sadistic voice echoes from your tv screen, “a little young for ya isn’t she Richie? BEEP BEEP RICHIE!”

Richie Tozier sips the Dixie cup of water, leaning against the bookcase in the Derry library, Pennywise continues his antics of torture as balloons drop from the ceiling, popping with blood spluttering on the library go-ers faces, oblivious to the fantasy nightmare Pennywise ensues.

The front door opens with a thud as a shriek and the popcorn bowl on your lap goes flying through the air. Eddie walks hurriedly through the door. A shivering spine of fear and realization hits you all at once. His boisterous laugh reverberates the living room walls as he picks popcorn from your hair, and places it in his mouth, a loud crunch between his teeth as he plops down next to you on the couch.

“Think you got your holidays mixed up, sweetheart— it’s Thanksgiving, Halloween was last month.”

Rolling your eyes you make a face to mock him, which only fuels his fire and has his cold fingers jabbing into your sides and tickling you so hard you scream out. Begging him to stop.

“Don’t!,” you squeal, holding your breath and giggling at his unrelenting tickling. He finally gives up after your face has gone red and your hair is a mess, laughing tears rolling down your cheeks.

Eddie sits back on the couch taking a huffing breath, a wild smile spreading from ear to ear, “that’s what you get for watching IT without me!”

Scoffing, you pick up the bowl of popcorn and the paled yellow crunchy kernels spilled on the ruby red throw blanket, “wait, weren’t you supposed to be camping with your uncle tonight?”

Eddie breathes out a sigh, bending at the waist to gather the kernels off the floor. The rest of the fishing trip with Wayne, Eddie spent it quieter than he had ever been, contemplating his next move, how could he show you that he was serious? How could he let you in? Show you his ugly past without scaring you, without you running for the hills? The answer was easy.

“I have something— somewhere I wanna show you,” he whispers, standing to his full height. Looking for the familiar mischievous glimmer in his eye, you are surprised by the genuine sparkle replacing it. His face his earnest, almost a look of doubt on his lips, scared of your reaction.

He peels the blanket from your lap and reaches down, his hand held out extended to yours, “come with me?”

The air is bitter. The driveway is glittering with a sequined frost, dancing with the shine of the street lights. Warm breath fills the inside of Eddie’s van as he slots the key into the ignition and fires it up, cranking the heat. Snuggling further into your knitted scarf, hiding the chill of your nose as Eddie backs down the driveway, heading out of town.

It doesn’t take long to get to where he was going, the drive in silence had you questioning what was going on in his mind. The path was overgrown, hidden from the road, hidden from anyone who didn’t know that it was there. The headlights of the van bob along with each sunken hole on the dirt drive. Jostling the van this way and that.

Nestled into thick trees past an old loose and corroded barbed wire fence, in place for property lines, sits a small house, paint chipped and barely visible. The roof was caved in by a large tree falling on it, the sagging porch still had bleached yellow crime scene tape hanging on by threads to the moss eaten pillar.

Eddie throws the van in park, sniffling slowly and looking around. “This uh,” he stutters, clearing his throat, “this is where I lived with my mom, my old man was in and out most of the time—drunk or in jail, I don’t remember him being here that much except the last time.”

Silence is golden, and you give him your undivided attention as he twists in his seat, bent knee leaning on the door frame.

“That,” he says pointing to the fallen tree in the back, “was an apple tree, apples this big around I swear,” he motions his hands in a circle, a chuckle in his throat, “we didn’t live here for very long, a year, or two maybe…”

His voice fades, and at first he second guesses bringing you here. He can imagine you piecing this puzzle of woe together, his life. The tragic tale of Eddie Munson, he didn’t spin a web of luxuries for you to pretend with him for a moment, a second, that he was anything other than what he was—but when your cotton gloved fingers slide into his, interlacing them—it gives him the courage, the resilience to continue.

“…I was six when it— when she was… he—,” he trails off, unable to finish, but it doesn’t take a genius to connect the dots. The abandoned house, the barely-there flicker of yellow tape, she wasn’t only dead— she was murdered, by his father’s hand.

Comprehending what he’s getting at, you can practically hear his heart breaking. Eyes never leaving his face, you take him in, his eyes are wet as he blinks back tears, using his other hand to pinch the inner corners of his eyes, and hide behind his hair, his face is ashen, once ruddy cheeks from when he came home and tickled you is now swallowed by stale ash, sucking the life from his eyes, his cheeks, his soul.

“.. right in front of me…” he hangs his head low, sniffing quietly, “Wayne took me in after that.”

Eddie and you were alike in more ways than you had thought, although your parents were still alive, they were equally absent from your life, much like Eddie’s parents. Sure you both had people who took care of you, and as sweet as the gesture was, it was never really the same. The aching torture of having to defend for yourself, put a brave face on for your temporary care takers so you don’t seem like a bother to them, so they won’t worry about the weight of taking you in— was all too familiar.

“Eddie,” you whisper softly, rubbing his hands with your thumbs.

Yearning and breaking for him, the cords of your heart reach to his, tethering them together as you slide over the center council, and carefully land into his lap. He’s surprised at first by your brazenness, but once you wrap your arms around his neck and hold him into you, he melts like chocolate at your heated touch.

Your fingers tug into his hair at the nape of his neck, his nose and lips make their way in between your scarf and your neck, the slight chill against your skin sends goosebumps down your spine, a throbbing in your core.

Realization spreads through your heart, your brain, the hair follicles on your head, the painted nails on your toes. Holding him, him holding you, his arms around you, your arms buried in his hair, his fingers rubbing patterns into your back as he sighs deeply and regulates his breath—for the first time in your life, you realize this is what love feels like.

To be loved and to be in love. It was undeniable. Right? Friends didn’t do this. Roommates didn’t do this. But two people who cared deeply for one another and were bonded together by more than just traumatic circumstances? That was love.

In this moment, nothing else matters.

It’s just you and him.

Him and you.

The flutter of your heart short circuits as it seeps hot sticky love all over your face, blooming warmly in your cheeks. Grasping him tighter, you pull away, settling your forehead into his. Whiskey poured eyes staring back into yours, for a brief second you swear you can feel his heart flutter with yours, beating as one.

Eddie doesn’t play his music loud on the way back. A comfortable echoing still in the van as it clunks along the road. His voice barely above a whisper when he speaks. He feels satisfied. Happy even? Like the weight of the world was off of his shoulders by you simply knowing his past. You didn’t ask questions and in the moment he didn’t need you to. His arms wrapped around you was more than enough, your fingers twirling in his hair, the smell of your perfume behind your ear. The way you let him grieve, let him take you somewhere he hasn’t gone in years, was something he’d appreciate for a lifetime to come.

Once home it’s like any normal night, only he doesn’t tease you. He doesn’t fight over the bathroom or use your toothbrush, he doesn’t argue when you pop Christmas Vacation into the VCR, even though you can quote the entire movie. He’s completely engulfed by you, watching you brush your hair, the extra roll of the waistband of your pajama pants. The ridiculous colors of your fuzzy socks you insisted on wearing now that the weather was colder.

He’s never felt nervous around a girl before, usually throwing himself around, showing off his exquisite rack like a stacked buck in rut, rubbing his antlers on trees, showing his mighty dominance.

But you weren’t just another lonely girl looking for a night with a lead singer, or a girl pretending to be in love with him just so she could score coke from his supplier while also fucking him behind his back, and you definitely weren’t a faceless girl that he plowed to forget it all.

Meaning much more to him than just some silly fuck, or a high school “sweetheart” that ended up being a heartless cunt, or a dumpster for his cum.

No.

You were much more than that, to him.

More than a roommate, more than a friend, more than Eyeball’s bratty fucking sister.

He could write sonnets about the little lines in between your brow when you pulled your eyebrows together, usually when you were mad at him. He could sing songs about your laugh, not the small polite one, the loud one, the one that rang every doorbell to his heart and and he gladly answered. He could hum a tune of gratitude about your cooking and the silent ways you care for him and your close friends. He’d get his ass kicked by the entire male population of Hawkins if it meant keeping you safe.

You were it for him.

The only one to make him feel, the only one he wanted to see at the end of the day, in the morning when he got up.

Watching you giggle and let out a yawn, he places a couch pillow between his hip and yours gesturing for you to lie down. He almost goes into cardiac arrest when you move the pillow entirely, your head resting in his lap. A sleepy smile on your face as you tug the blanket under your chin.

Yup.

You were it for him.

And he's a sucker, addicted to the way you made him love you so effortlessly.

hope you all enjoyed this volume! volume ix is where it heats up 🔥

@big-ope-vibes @br0ck-eddie @b-irock @loveshotzz @mopeymopeymouse @shiftingtherain @courtingchaos @nightonblogmountain @word-wytch @ghost-proofbaby @hanobe8 @abibliophobiaa @joejoequinnquinn just a few of the coven 🩵🩷

This is for you

*sacrifices 🖕🏼

#honey i’m home #eddie x fem!reader #eddie munson #stranger things x y/n #eddie x you angst #Eddie x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie x you fluff

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mouwrites · 1 year ago

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Creepypasta/MH - Doing Halloween Stuff With Them :)

(Characters: Tim/Masky, Eyeless Jack, Jeff the Killer, Nina the Killer, Jane the Killer, Ticci Toby)

Tim/Masky

Hear me out... corn maze

I believe that Tim enjoys a good puzzle every now and again

He loves trying to figure things out (specifically when there's nothing at risk)

Getting to show off his navigational skills is also a major plus

He just likes to impress you, even if it comes off as annoying sometimes

"See? What'd I tell you? The exit's right there."

Though he does like the satisfaction of completing the maze, what he really treasures is that time you spend together figuring it out

Once you finally find the exit, you'll celebrate with hot cocoa :D

Eyeless Jack

This man LOVES carving pumpkins

He goes all out; definitely one of those people who makes the crazy intricate designs that look like they take hours

He'll love it if you help him!

If you have a steady hand, he'll let you do the details

If you don't, he'll task you with gutting the pumpkin/handing him tools

You guys collaborate on multiple pumpkins throughout the month, setting them in random locations for everyone to see

If there's a design you want to do, just show it to him, there's no question he'll be down

If it's too simplistic, he'll try to add more details

"Ooh, Jack, look at this one. Can we try to re-create it?"

"Of course! Though I do have some ideas on how it can be improved..."

Jeff the Killer

Another pumpkin carving enjoyer

But for a different reason... a very different reason

He loves the goriness of gutting the pumpkins

He couldn't care less about making actual designs, he just wants to get messy stabbing the pumpkin and gouging out its insides

That being said, he'll 100% gut your pumpkin if you ask him (he'll probably end up doing it even if you don't ask)

It's honestly a little disturbing watching him work

He just gets this look in his eye...

"You, uh... you doing okay there, Jeff?"

"Hm? Yup! Never better!! Say, can you grab the big knife from the kitchen for me?"

Nina the Killer

You best bet she's the costume queen

Spends the whole year planning matching horror-themed costumes

She'll settle for no less than creativity and perfection

High-quality props and articles only!! She'll even make them herself if she has to!

You can expect to spend at least an hour in front of the mirror while she does your makeup/adjusts your clothes

She's an SFX makeup legend, loves incorporating as much gore into your costume as possible

Don't ask why it's so realistic (it's not like she knows how the wound would look if it was real or anything)

"Wow, Nina... It's almost like I can feel it! It's so real!"

"No, no. If you were feeling it, you would be screaming pretty loud right now."

You can also expect to attend multiple parties where you show off your costumes

You guys dominate costume competitions

Jane the Killer

Horror movies!!

Specifically, making fun of them

You both pick apart the plot, the characters, the dialogue, the special effects, everything

No horror film is safe from your scrutiny

If you're the type to get scared during horror movies, her snide comments will help distract you

"Ooh, I can't look!"

"Oh, come on. Look—I bet they used corn syrup for that fake blood. It's way too thick."

When the movie ends, you're both feeling more amused than scared

She doesn't like to see horror films in theaters because she doesn't get to make commentary, plus she doesn't want to "waste" money on a "stupid tryhard-horror flick"

She'd much rather dig up some old indie DVD/VCR and have a home movie night with you

Ticci Toby

Halloween sweets are his bread and butter

Candy apples, fun-sized candy bars, candy corn, pumpkin bread...

He would perish if you made anything homemade for him

Spends the whole month gorging on sweets almost as fast as he can get his hands on them

He will not share with anyone but you

And even you only get a small portion of his goodies

Robs at least one child on Halloween night, mostly for the candy but also because he likes scaring little kids

"Where did you get all that candy?"

"Got it from a little birdy. By that I mean a kid in Falcon cosplay."

"Toby! ... save me the (favorite candy)."

Thank you for reading! Have a good day/night my spooky pookies <33

(divider by saradika)

#creepypasta #creepypasta headcanons #creepypasta x reader #masky x reader #eyeless jack x reader #jeff the killer x reader #nina the killer x reader #jane the killer x reader #ticci toby x reader #masky #tim wright #jeff the killer #nina the killer #jane the killer #ticci toby #marble hornets #marble hornets x reader

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the-hinky-panda · 2 months ago

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Out of the Woods Series: Part I

Title: Out of the Woods Series

Pairing: Mitch Keller x OFC Reader (Sadie Maxwell)

Rating: Explicit

Summary: An old friend of Mitch's is in need of some help and Dwight seems to be the guy to do it.

Dwight has passed by Trudy’s Diner multiple times but never stopped into the place. It sits on Route 66, about ten minutes east of the Mayo hotel. It looks like a tourist trap; the stereotypical fifties diner with neon signs, red vinyl booths, and black and white tiled floor. The waitresses’ uniforms are shirtwaist dresses and colored flats, like what his mother used to wear when he was a little kid in Brooklyn. It’s loud, bustling, and old-fashioned in a shiny way. Even though the waitresses are sporting bobs and high ponytails, they’re carrying tablets in the pockets of their full skirts.

He follows Mitch to a corner booth where he and Tyson settle into place while Mitch asks for you. The perky blonde waitress says that you’ll be right out and breakfast is on the house for everyone. Now that he’s in the actual place, he has to admit the blending of old and new is quite seamless. There’s free wifi, which Tyson is happy about and the coffee smells strong and fresh, which he is happy about. Every surface is spit polished and all the uniforms are pristine. It’s the sign of a detailed business owner.

When you arrive at the table, he’s not surprised at how young you look, or that your outfit is also classic fifties but with high waisted pants and tucked-in blouse. You’re pretty, professional but that’s not surprising. He is surprised at how Mitch looks at you, like you’ve hung the moon and stars. Now he knows why Mitch wants his help with your situation, whatever that may be. But you return the look as well. There’s a warmth in the way you greet Mitch, lingering touches and choosing to sit next to him in the booth. Old friends, sure.

“I really appreciate you coming to meet me, Mr. Manfredi.”

“Dwight, please.” He shakes your hand and it’s a firm, solid grip. Another good sign. “Mitch tells me you have an issue that you need some help with.”

You fold your hands on top of the table. “It’s a multistep solution to a large problem but I’m not exactly sure which step you would be able to help with.”

“Well, let’s go through those steps and find out where I may be able to help.”

Plates of food arrive before you’re able to get into the nature of the problem. Eggs, hashbrowns, sausages, bacon, and something he’s never seen before. It looks like finely ground oatmeal but there’s a large pad of butter melting into it.

“What is that?” he asks.

“Those are grits,” you answer.

Tyson is shaking his head. “My mama would be so disappointed in you right now.”

“I think we’re all a little disappointed right now,” Mitch adds.

“Well excuse me for being out of circulation when it comes to fine dining.”

You put a healthy spoonful of them on his plate and hand him the salt. “It’s ground up corn, so very good with salt and butter.”

“What are you trying to do,” Mitch nudges you, “give him a heart attack?”

“Oh what,” you counter, “like you’re running a health spa over at the Buck?”

“You keep this up, he’s not going to help you.” Mitch gives you a crooked smile. “Your ornery is showing.”

You give Dwight an apologetic look but he raises his hand. “I actually quite enjoy this kind of ornery. Makes me feel like I’m back home, sitting around the kitchen table with my family.” He’s quiet for a moment, remembering those times with his mother and father speaking rapid fire Italian, thinking he and his siblings couldn’t understand what was being said. His brother poking his sister under the table with a fork and Dwight doing the same thing to him but with a knife. “It’s been a while since I’ve had a good time at a dining table.”

Your problem is precisely as you explained it: it’s large but with a multi-step process. The problem is your husband of almost ten years won’t sign the divorce papers. You’ve been living in your own one-bedroom apartment, running the diner, earning your own money. You are, for all intents and purposes, independent from him. The catch happens to be who he is, or rather who his father is. Your father-in-law is filthy rich, first in oil and then in the medical marajana business. Your husband has been put in charge of two dispensaries but because of his own drug, gambling, and frequent need for out call massages, the business isn’t doing well. Your diner, a business that doesn’t remotely interest Cal Thresher Senior or Junior, is making twice what both pot stores are making.

Dwight leans back against the booth. “So you want a divorce from this jack-off and he’s not giving it to you because you’re worth more than him.”

“And daddy is pulling the strings,” you add. “And by strings, I mean he has the best lawyers in the midwest working for him. So even if I do get Junior to sign the divorce settlement, I’m going to be left with nothing.”

“Not to be unkind but it sounds like nothing would be something if it gets you out of the marriage.”

Mitch picks up his coffee cup. “That brings us to why you’re gonna want to help her.”

You sigh and glance around to make sure no one is listening in on the conversation. “My father has a business and he’s struggling to keep the doors open. I’ve been helping when I can but my finances get monitored too closely for me to do much. He was diagnosed with lung cancer a year ago and the medical bills are killing him just as fast as the cancer. I want the divorce, but I want to leave with enough money to save his business.”

“And I’m supposed to care about his business, why?” Dwight asks.

You give him a slight smile. “It’s a gun shop.”

#mitch keller x ofc #mitch keller x reader #mitch keller fic #mitch keller #tulsa king fic

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staenless · 4 months ago

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STEDDIE LUNCHBOX FIC PART THREE

It was a week be

Sorry this took so long Ive been busy with beauty school and struggling with motivation tbh lol. Looking back at the previous two parts this needs a LOT of editing but honestly I don't think I can rn so you'll all have to suffer through unedited chapters for now, sorry! Anyway I'm very tired rn so I won't hold up with authors notes anymore, I hope you all enjoy this and please share your thoughts (they fueled this chapter tbh)

It was a week before Tommy passed his lunch on again. Eddie sat in his cubicle nose flaring at lunchtime everyday, a pavlovian response to the clunk-tick of the bento box popping open. He could smell meats, vegetables and fruits, cheesy pastas and salt-buttered rolls. Under it all he could smell that sugar sweet ginger and floral scent, Steve.

Eddie's own lunches were rare, and when he did lower himself to eat at the company café he always found it wanting. Nothing quite matched up to a meal made painstakingly by hand. He wondered if this was part of Tommy's cruel mockery, to hand him something he was unworthy of to let him taste heaven, then snatch it away and leave him stranded in a world of bland flavorless slop.

That wasn't to say the café food was bad. In actuality it was surprisingly good. The young woman who ran it had been part of a government program to teach underserved highschoolers skills, and her meals were wholesome and tasty. She had baked a cake for the company holiday party, and when she say Eddie savouring the bites she confided her secret: a third of the flour was substituted with corn flour to give it a texture. It was the best homemade cake Eddie had ever eaten, though he had very little to compare it to.

So no, the food at the café, the bar and the grocery store and - godforbid - Eddie's own kitchen wasnt bad. It was of a higher standard he was used to, and it was filling and tasty, and he ate what he liked instead of what his guardians decided he should eat. But none of it had the taste of Steve's hands on it, and so none of it could ever compare. He mindlessly shoved forkful after forkful into his mouth, chewed and chocked it all down. He missed Steve's food, after only tasting it once.

The day Tommy decided to grace Eddie's desk with the tin lunchbox again hadn't started out special. In fact as the clock slowly ticked into the luncheon hours Eddie had long resigned himself another cafe meal when Tommy's cackled echoed across the floor.

"Nah, he's going into heat soon so he's been extra bitchy... I've had to pull late night's just to get some damn peace"

Eddie's hackles rose. Omegas in preheat needed stability, reassurance. Spending hours away would just make their preheat anxiety worse, something Tommy was either too stupid to realise or too cruel to care.

"Aw c'mon man," one of the stuffy suited alphas beside him gave Tommy a heart shoulder clap, "heat is the whole point of marrying an omega, right? Man what I'd do to get to fuck one, is it true they can't think of anything other than cock?"

Tommy's low chuckling makes Eddie grit his teeth,that was basically conformation. He's out here discussing his omegas private, vulnerable moments like it's water cooler gossip. Barely containing a growl Eddie peaks over the cubicle and finally spots the group by the - oh for fucks sake - gathered around an honest to God watercooler.

"Yeah the fucking is great, he always bitches about wearing a collar but once he's in the heat of it," smattered giggles, "he forgets aaaalllll about it. Almost makes the week before worth it. Almost." The last line sounds almost spiteful, but his cronies don't seem to take note.

"How'd you even bag him? I mean sure omegas aren't that rare but I hardly see any that aren't mated, especially a nice tame one that'd pack me lunch."

Something in the air turns sour, and when Eddie peaks over again in a bizaar mimic of an old whack-a-mole game, he can see Tommys face twist and turn in on itself. He seems torn between frustration and pride, like a dog showing off its gold plated collar.

"It was a family thing," he says, the vague answer telling just enough for his buddies to drop it while still answering their question. He glances down at the lunch box in his hand and his upper lip twitches in disgust, then his eyes rove over the office cubicles before locking onto Eddie. Shit, too late to duck down, and Tommy marches over, smarmy smile stretching over his too-white too-straight teeth.

"Munson!" THWACK. Ow. "You not having lunch?" Tommy leans down, weight on Eddie's shoulder where his fingers dig in just enough to make Eddie want to bite him. But the possibility of getting his paws on that lunch box, on Steve scented food, outweighs his instinct to fight the alpha trying to impose himself.

"Shit man," his grin is all teeth, "I hadn't even noticed the time! Guess I'll have to run down to the cafe and pick something up, huh?" It's fake. It's so fake and they both know this conversation is just a formality, the conclusion already known.

"I'll save you the trouble," Tommy should have persued an acting career, the script sounds so natural as he straightens up and clacks the lunch box onto Eddie's desk, "I'm heading out to lunch with the boys, you'd be doing me a favour." The last part doesn't sound like a lie, and if Eddie wasn't so desperate for the lunch he'd wonder why Tommy was so desperate to get rid of it.

"Thanks man," he spits out to Tommys retreating form. He mutters something - likely demeaning - to his cronies who titter, then leave together like a pack of cackling hyenas.

Eddie launches from his desk and flies to the rooftop, lunchbox clutched desperately in his hands, cigarettes forgotten. Once he reaches his usual spot his pops the lid, thrumming with excitement at the sight of another note. Ignoring the food over the sweet omegas words he plucks the folded yellow paper and gingerly unfolds it.

"please come home early"

His heart plummets. Right. Steve is in preheat, he obviously wants his alpha. But Tommy said he was avoiding Steve, and now the note confirms that. Please come home early, but no "I miss you" . No "love Steve". It seemed impersonal, something like an order, or begging, but without the hope either of those entail. He recalled Tommys other statement. It was a family thing.

Eddie was familiar, though distantly, with the idea. Arranged marriages were hardly a thing anymore. The star charts, the burnt herbs and entrails spread out beneath a crones trembling hands was far too gouche for modern metropolitans. The payments in silk and bovine too backwards and simple for their forward thinking ways.

Marriages were a more democratic affair for the rich and wealthy, planned out in wood panelled offices with huffing cigar breaths, Alpha to Alpha, the prospects of mergers and inheritance trumping starsigns and blood types. Arranged marriages was for backwards, superstitious folk, agreements were for the rich to keep the money in arms reach. Steve and Tommy were an agreement.

And by the looks of if; no mating bite, avoidance during preheat and the tone Tommy musters when discussing his spouse? Not a particularly blissful agreement. Still. Please come home early, Steve must find some comfort in Tommy's general existence if he wants him around over a trusted family member or close friend. Or pup. Tommy never mentioned a pup, but whether that was because he didn't have one or didn't care much to talk about it was somewhat up in the air.

Eddie brought the note to his lips, just toughing, and breathed deep. The ginger of Steve's scent was less sweet now, his preheat brining out the spice. Something like pepper ticked the back of his nose, pulled the air from his lungs and a final floral smell brought him back in, the sweet aftertaste of a spicy treat. The flowers smelt fresh, Eddie could recall the lily's at his mother's grave smelling the same. Somewhere in his mind he knew that comparison should scare him, but the memory of her grave after the funeral had always been rose tinted by Wayne's kind smile when he took his hand and gently lead him away. Eddie pulled the note away and his lips twitched up, that floral after taste was definitely lily's.

Eddie spared the food a glance, and as delicious as it look, he had something else on his mind. He looked down at the note in his hands, his hind brain sparking to attention at the scent of the omega, and the idea of him home alone in preheat. Eddie wanted to comfort him, to sooth his nerves and let him know he was safe and loved. He wanted to pace the door in front of their den, while Steve nested inside, to protect him from any intruders and serve him. To hold his hand, his waist, to pillow his head on Steve's chest and listen to his heart beat and bathe in his scent.

He couldn't. Steve was married, as much as Eddie's hind brain shouted "not mated" and Steve didn't even know Eddie, let alone allow the alpha into his nest. But Eddie couldn't help it as he pressed the note to his wrists and neck, mind whirling with ideas on how to comfort the omega. Somewhere between kissing Steves fingertips through fruit and the ginger of his scent burning Eddie's nose, the alphas heart had already pledged itself to the omega, already bared itself - pledged itself to his service. If all Eddie could offer was comfort, crossing lines of proprietary was no hurdle.

Taglist: @xxbottlecapx @goodolefashionedloverboi @stevesbipanic @monsterloverforhire @swimmingbirdrunningrock @samsoble @bookworm0690 @tinyplanet95 @idontwantmetoo @steddiehasmywholeheart @mugloversonly @persnicketysquares @morgannotlefay @lololol-1234 @greeniebean911

#steddie #steddie fic

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vinnies-invasion · 2 months ago

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🍁 Fall-Themed Activities 🍂

These hands-on activities are ones I actually use as an educator! They can be a ton of fun, great for age regression, and can apply to different age groups! Some may require some adult help, others could be done by yourself. Some of these are super simple, some require a bit more effort, but this list should provide different options!

🍁 Googly Eye Sensory Bag - Sensory bags can be fun, interesting, and easy to cleanup and reuse! For this one, fill a plastic ziplock bag with green slime and googly eyes! With this, you can push the googly eyes around, squish the slime, whatever feels right.

🍂 Fall-Themed Sensory Bins - Like the sensory bags, this is all about doing what feels right and playing on sensory. For bins, you can buy a box at the dollar store and just use that. For fall themed, you can fill bins with colored rice, plastic spiders, tiny plastic pumpkins, fake leaves, small plastic bones - go with the flow. You can then play with these bins using small shovels, buckets, tweezers, or just your hands!

🍁 Washing My Pumpkin - This is really easy! If you have a pumpkin, you can put it in the sink or bathtub and give your pumpkin its own bath! Pumpkins need to be washed, too :3

🍂 Pumpkin Painting - Buy yourself a small (or big!) pumpkin and paint anything you want on it! You can also buy plastic pumpkins!

🍁 Nature Art - You just need a paper plate or piece of paper and some glue! Go outside, collect leaves, sticks, pinecones, acorns, and glue them down to make art from nature!

🍂 Pinecone Bird Feeder - This is great if you have big pinecones where you live! You only need a pinecone, some peanut butter, and bird seed. Cover the pinecone in peanut butter and roll it in the bird seed! You can tie yarn around it to hang it up or just set it outside somewhere - watch out! This is messy!!

🍁 Corn Shakers - For a fun and noisy activity you can do, take an empty plastic bottle, can be big or small, and fill it with dry corn OR popcorn kernels. Close the top and shake! shake! shake! You now have a little musical instrument you can shake around for fun! And the best part, if you use popcorn kernels, you can always take them out and make them into popcorn (just ask for help :3)!

🍂 Shaving Cream Art - You will want a tray, maybe a baking sheet, just something big enough to cover a piece of paper, shaving cream, and paint. Pour the shaving cream onto the tray, then take your paints, could be red, yellow, orange, black, fall themed colors, and drizzle them over the shaving cream however you would like. Next, take the paper and gently press it ontop. When you lift the paper up, your colors and designs will be on the other side! You could also do this with something that is already printed on the paper.

🍁 Make a Treat Bag - All you need is a paper bag and anything you want to decorate it with! This can include paint, markers, crayons, googly eyes, glitter, pom poms, feathers, glue, and more. Make a pretty bag for holding some of your candy for Halloween!

🍂 Paper Plate Crafts - You can do so much with paper plates, like paint them into pumpkins, add tons of eyes and pipe cleaners and make them into spooky spiders, or give them pieces of cut paper to make into a scarecrow, there are many possibilities.

#agere #age regression #agere regressor #activities #hands on

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fox-bright · 1 year ago

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Gen's Soft Browned-Butter Rum Vanilla Chocolate Chip Cookies

This is really for everybody, but I'm putting it up at last 'cause @sounddesignerjeans requested the recipe. I have been making chocolate chip cookies for thirty years, I was making them when I was too young to have been allowed near an oven by sane parents, but it wasn't until fairly recently that I was really happy with the recipe. I want cookies that are soft and stay soft, but that are chewy and not cakey; that have a lot of flavor instead of just being overwhelmingly sweet; that aren't too much trouble to make in terms of tools, and that are entirely made up of stuff that the average American probably has in their kitchen cupboards.

Here's your classic flatlay of ingredients:

2C plus 2TBSP all-purpose flour

2 TBSP corn starch

1/2tsp baking soda

1tsp kosher salt OR 1/2 tsp fine table salt

1C brown sugar (light or dark)

1/2C white sugar

1C butter (two sticks/16 TBSP. Must be butter--I don't know anything about soy or nut spreads, but margarine absolutely will not work for this, unfortunately)

2 eggs, room temperature

Vanilla to taste (anywhere between 1tsp and 1TBSP is usually the sweet spot)

Chocolate chips to taste (Average is 1-2 cups, but live your dreams! I like my cookies a little less chocolatey personally, but this is absolutely up to you, anything under three cups shouldn't overwhelm the dough to the point that it doesn't cook right, though that would be Way Too Many for me. I'm usually at about a cup or under.)

A couple of notes: this recipe really does work best if the eggs and chocolate chips are room temperature, but the butter can start from frozen if that's what you have. Take a half-cup measure and use that to scoop flour into your cup measure, and then scrape, don't compress, until the flour is level across the top of the cup. And lastly--ANY vanilla will do, but I am hugely privileged to be able to say that the Bacardi there has been transformed to vanilla extract by a particularly enterprising kendo student of mine, I'm not just pouring straight rum into the cookies (though that might be interesting)

Also, please allow me to introduce you to Fork!

Fork is a stalwart friend. When I moved to be with the Magical Flying Husband, he was somewhat horrified by my Poverty Child, "This table fork and butterknife are all the tools I need for my day-to-day household existence" ways, and got me Fork as a present so that I would leave the silverware alone. Fork can handle a dense boiled potato and a silky buttercream with equal aplomb, not bending or transmitting too much heat up into my hand. I highly recommend Fork. But for this recipe, a hand mixer will also do, as will a table fork if that's what you have.

(The rest of Part 1 of this recipe under the cut:)

If you have two bowls, put the dry ingredients (flour, corn starch, baking soda, salt) into the smaller one, and both sugars into the larger one. If you only have one bowl, put the sugars into it and let the dry ingredients wait their turn.

When I was a kid, I used to imagine that the brown sugar was a castle keep in deep winter, and the white sugar the snow that hemmed it in.

Get a little pan onto the stove, and pop both sticks of butter in it to melt.

The butter will start off bright, but it will pretty quickly separate into liquid and solid; you must not leave it alone at this point, this is the most eyes-on-it portion of the game here. Take Fork, or a fork, or a whisk, and stir, stir, every few seconds.

The milkfats will sink to the bottom of the pan. Stir, stir. The milkfats will get sticky; don't let them cling to the pan, keep them in motion.

Pretty soon the butter will start giving off a lovely chestnutty smell, and the milkfats at the bottom of the pan will turn a darker color. Take the pan off the heat and continue to stir for another thirty seconds or so. If you leave it on the heat and stir now, the fats can easily burn; if they burn, you need to start over, there's no salvaging it. So better safe than sorry.

Carefully pour the butter over your sugars, making sure you get all those delicious browned bits in there, and stir stir stir! Don't burn yourself--but it starts cooling off immediately as the sugars dissolve into cooling liquid. I use Fork for this, but you can use a strong whisk or a hand mixer.

Once the sugars are completely dissolved and mixed, it will look kind of like a grainy caramel. Let it sit until completely cool, somewhere around fifteen minutes. Maybe take this time to go put up a Tumblr post about your delicious cookies.

(Part 2 incoming shortly)

#fox cooks #my actual life #cookies #baking #fox bakes #fox baking

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brokenbutunbowed · 4 months ago

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Today after work I decided it was a good day to clean snake enclosures and decided to try to handle everyone too (which truth be told, I don't do as often as I would like).

In order (hopefully):

1 - Unnamed, new O. p. coxi male. I didn't hold him because he's brand new here, just checked in on him

2 - Bessie, snow Kenyan sand boa female. Starting to doubt the breeder about female, because she's only grown wider and not longer in ages (I'll recheck eventually). She's nippy in her house but such a sweet potato in hand.

3 - Butterball, butter berry corn snake female. She's an absolute glutton, hence her name lmao, but she's so so easy to handle she might be one of my favorites.

4 - Unnamed, Japanese blue ratsnake yearling female. I had her out, but she was trying so hard to climb up the hook and up my arms I couldn't get any photos while I was doing so, so ugly hatchling house photo instead.

5 - Cinnabar, Baird's ratsnake yearling female. One of my dream snakes and I'm so excited to continue watching her grow. Her color is already amazing in person compared to when I picked her up.

6 - Unnamed, banana champagne cinnamon ball python male. I didn't know champagne caused neurological issues like spider does when I bought him, but he has never had any obvious issue. He's so so different from the rest of the group it's almost odd picking him up (he's like a brick!). Absolute innocent angel baby.

7 - Unnamed ridleyi female yearling. She's usually endlessly snappy but after 7 or 8 tries she gave up trying to eat me. I still didn't handle her with my hands, though, as I didn't wanna push her too much.

8 - Barbara, Kenyan sand boa female. The gentlest, most floppy potato 💕 no words, she's perfect.

9 - Seviper, Mexican black kingsnake male. Honestly, I haven't held him in a hot minute because he was extremely musky and snappy when he was younger. He was, suddenly, incredibly easy to hold today. I thought he'd try and get me for sure, and he's my largest snake right now, but he just wanted to climb all over me! 💕

I need a better setup for photos. The reptile room is a disaster right now and the morning intense hazy sunlight did weird things to their colors. I truly don't know how breeders get such good photos all the time 🤣

#personaljournalposts #hbfarm #snakes #snake #ratsnake #kingsnake #Kenyan sand boa #corn snake #ball python #snakeblr #life needs to calm down so i can get back to work on the big room I'm turning into snake room 2 #moving all the snakes into that room for way way more space and the room they're in now will just be for the tarantulas and other reptiles

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18catsreading · 9 months ago

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Buddy: I heard that these high school parties in Solace were wild, but whew, this is really wild!

Fabian: it's a new year and it's a new era.

Buddy: so your father got this house from theft.

Fabian: mm, well ...

Adaine: he was a privateer.

Fabian: no, no we don't say that anymore. We had a big fight.

Adaine: oh

Fabian: he was a pivate. He killed and murdered lots of people. Um. But I guess this ship was his.

Buddy: well, I know in my heart that in his final moments, he must have repented and gone--

Fabian: no. No. He's in hell now

Buddy: no!

Fabian: fighting the Devil himself.

Buddy: no don't say that about your --

Fabian: no, I've visited him.

Adaine: oh he's so happy there. He would not like it in Heaven.

Fabian: yes, he actually really likes it there. he got a third arm.

Adaine: his boat is made of a dragon. It's rad.

Fabian: you should go to hell sometime. I mean, I know you don't want to, but it's fun.

Buddy: so, I'm gonna give this milk back.

Fabian: are you sure?

Buddy: yea

Fabian: well, if you choose to be a bad baby--

Adaine: I'll take it

Fabian: yes

Siobhan: I'm double fisting bad baby milk

Fabian: we got a whole year for you to decide you wanna be a bad baby

Buddy: no, if I was gonna be a baby, I would want to be a baby that walks in the light of the corn God.

Fabian: oh that's so -- you know, our friend Kristen was a big cornhead when we met. I mean I guess that's rude to say. Was a big follower of Helio when we first met her.

Buddy: she was the chosen one

Fabian: yea

Adaine: sure

Buddy: she was chosen by Helio.

Adaine: who's the chosen one now? You're the chosen one?

Fabian: are you the chosen one?

Adaine: Are you the chosen one now? [Still double fisting milk and vodka]

Brennan: here, you see he gets kinda somber and he always [as Buddy]: well that's not really how it works. When Kristen left the church we lost our chosen one.

Adaine: oh

Fabian: mm

Buddy: how's things working out with her new God, though?

Adaine: oh my God, her new God is, like, rad

Fabian: so sick

Adaine: so sick, so many people love her

Fabian: yea, I follow--

Adaine: and they get on really well

Fabian: yea they have awesome -- there's this guy that they hang out with named Craig.

Adaine: oh that guy rules

Fabian: Craig is a firecracker

Adaine: and okay, like Helio chose her, but she chose Cassandra. And like, that's--

Fabian: yes

Adaine: -- important

Ally: I'm crying

Fabian: so you know, it's awesome. It's awesome.

Adaine: yea

Buddy: well, that's lovely. Is Kristen around somewhere? I mean, other than right here? Hi, Kristen. [Gestures to Fig, who is disguised as Kristen]

Emily: oh! I forgot I was here. [As Fig pretending to be Kristen]: uh, I'm glad you said all of those true things about me.

Fabian: of course

Fig/"Kristen": I'm gonna go do another shrimp jump.

Fabian: yes, hold it down!

Ally: another shrimp jump?!

Buddy: you're gonna do another shrimp jump? It can't possibly be as good as the first.

Fabian: oh, you'll see about that

Adaine: oh we'll see about that

Buddy: it can't possibly be as good as the first!

Riz: you're right it can't possibly be as good as the first, that's true

Buddy: okay

Riz: maybe just --

Buddy: okay! Hey everybody, we're about to see another shrimp jump! Here we go!

Fabian: rack em up! Rack em up! Rack em up!

Fig: hangman, I need you to move that fiery tartar sauce to light the ramp on fire so we can't do this, okay?

Hangman: you need me to burn the ramp so that it is unusable?

Fig: yea

Hangman: very well

Brennan: you see that the hangman says "ah, I'm going to put my shrimp costume back on" and then goes around a hedge and emerges in hell hound form. And you see that Buddy goes [as Buddy]: oh my God! A servant of the devil! [As Brennan]: And you see that he says [as the Hangman]: go fuck yourself! [As Brennan]: and then rushed off and breathes fire all over the ramp and sets fire to it

*whole group exclaims dramatically* oh shit!

Gorgug: smells good

Brennan: yea all that butter

#brennan lee mulligan #dimension 20 #fantasy high junior year #ep 6 party politics #siobhan thompson #lou wilson #ally beardsley #zac oyama #emily axford #brian murphy

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eddiemunson-reader-shame · 14 days ago

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A Freak and A Basket Case (Like the Lord Intended)

“The Camping Episode”

You know how in anime there’s usually a beach or a camping episode? This is that episode.

Eddie Munson x OC

Tags: established relationship, original characters, sad Dustin, mentions of alcohol and drug use, general dirty talk shenanigans, mentions of period typical racism

****

“Good afternoon ma’am… um… is Dustin home…?”

Allie made sure she used her best ‘I am small and vulnerable’ voice as she fidgeted at the Henderson’s doorstep. First impressions weren’t her strong suit. Then again she was basically allergic to any event that required making a social call. Unlike the polished and put together girls in Hawkins, Allie resembled a small half drowned mouse— wet and frightened.Her forehead was drenched in sweat, her blow dried bangs sticking to her forehead. Like always, she refused to take her jacket off even in the face of Hawkins humidity. The quilted lining around her armpits worked overtime to absorb the sweat like a thirty wick, and she stood all hunched and chest heaving to catch her breath. A butterfly gold Pyrex dish with a cream color lid was held out before her as if an offering to a Pagan god. The aroma of fragrant green chile, cream of chicken, cheese, and corn tortilla slipped through the cracks of the lid.

Mrs. Perea always insisted time and time again that you didn’t just return a Pyrex empty, porque tenemos dignidad, cabroncita. You don’t just show up to a house empty handed. That was number 279 on the list of rude little nitpicks that Mom harped on. Allie hadn’t even put up a fuss when her mother pushed the warm dish into her daughter’s hands before she left — she had a mission for Dustin, and would be remiss to not show up at the Henderson house with a little tit for tat.

“Are you little Alexandra?” Claudia Henderson gushed, and Allie tried not to wince at the use of the overly anglicized name that the majority population of the United States had given her.

“Well hello there, sweetheart! Dusty Buns is just in his room right now, I think he did mention you’d be coming by. Was that your little voice on the phone? Would you like to come in? You look like you’ve run a marathon, aren’t you hot in that jacket? You look a little damp, sweetie! It’s not good for you to be wandering around with the wrong clothes, why don’t you come inside before you catch heatstroke?”

Much like a stray cat reluctantly approaches someone with an outstretched palm, Allie entered the Henderson house in a similar reluctant shuffle, clinging to that Pyrex dish like a shield. The house to her was unremarkable. It was a home, much like hers and maybe a little cluttered. If she was honest, it reminded her more of a kind grandma’s home if anything. This was the house your parents sent you to for the summer to get plump on cakes and foods cooked in liberal amounts of butter.

Still, she didn’t truly trust Claudia. Not everyone who was nice had good intentions. All she knew of Dustin’s mom was little snippets mentioned here and there, along with context clues gleaned from the Henderson’s home decor choices.

Judging by the gray fur embedded in the shag and the overlooked scratches in the wood paneling, Claudia obviously was a cat owner. An obsessive, even. With the way she had hundreds upon hundreds of sepia and color photos of a chubby, smiling kid with curly brown hair interspersed between the kitten decor, it seemed the obsession extended to her son as well as the cats.

Suffice to say that Claudia operated on infantilizing everyone and everything. She seemed to think Allie was still in elementary school (typical, it was the height and babyface). The whole conversation had started off so juvenile, and Allie almost had to stop herself from reflexively asking in a tiny voice if Dustin could come out and play. Now she was just standing there as the older woman talked at her, firing a hundred and one things all at once.

Claudia complained about the humidity. She whinged that just looking at Allie in her coat made her hot flashes act up. She whined that her kitten had been lethargic all day and uninterested in playing, and that the summer months always made her little “love muffin Dusty Bun” irritable and uncomfortable. Ergo, because her little “Woogums” was irritable, Allie must have also been suffering.

“Are you sure you’re comfortable? I can get you an iced tea? Do you like lemonade? You can take off your coat and hang it here in the coat closet next to mine if you like. Here, let me take it for you.”

Rose pink fingernails reached for the quilted brown Carhartt, and Allie immediately flinched away.

Claudia’s face softened when she saw Allie’s nervous response, shaking hands struggling to stabilize the casserole dish. Unbeknownst to the girl, it worked to her advantage. They didn’t call Allie a Basket Case for nothing; she could appear helpless to an adult, and startlingly unstable to a bully. It unnerved her peers and endeared her to adults. The perfect camouflage.

“No thank you ma’am um this is for you…”

Her voice came out all in one breath, and she kept Claudia at bay by holding the Pyrex out with her eyes trained on the cream color shag carpet. She hoped the woman would just stop talking and take the dish.

“Thank you for the jello, um… we made this for you. It’s uh… green chile chicken enchiladas… they’re real mild… uh, not so hot that you can’t like, eat them. I tried them to make sure.” Alex muttered.

Mom had made sure to craft the enchilada dish with Allie’s delicate palette in mind — mainly because she was the only person in the house with a delicate midwestern constitution— and with her delicate tongue, Allie had declared the dish perfect during the taste test.

Not too hot, but just enough of a tiny kick that it complemented rather than overpowered the other seasonings.

“Oh thank you, thank you so much!” Claudia Henderson gushed, taking her Pyrex from Allie..

“You didn’t have to go through all this trouble for us! Thank you for making it mild — you know Dusty and I can’t handle much heat. My poor baby, it makes his little bowels just ache and I won’t get him out of that toilet until Christmas. My Dusty’s widdle belly and mine appreciate you!”

She gave a girlish giggle as she patted her own generous middle. Allie cringed.

“It’s no problem thank you again for the Jell-O ma’am…” she whispered.

Instead of heading off immediately to continue her mission, Allie struggled through small talk with Claudia. Interest in the conversation was lukewarm at best. Not like it was anything substantial anyway, just little baby voice anecdotes of Dustin’s various gastrointestinal issues and deeply personal stories that could only come from a woman with a lot to say and no one around to really say it to. To tell the truth, she didn’t dislike Claudia. Conversations like this were just a new thing to her. Back in New Mexico everyone was less than enthusiastic about speaking to new people. You kept your head down most of the time, and ignored everyone else.

But, Claudia Henderson had taken the time to bring the Pereas a welcome to the neighborhood dish. It was the nicest thing anyone had done for them. Not one adjacent neighbor had come out to say hello since the Pereas had moved in at the beginning of August. And because of that fact, Allie had enjoyed the partially melted red Jell-O with the encapsulated strawberries just a little more.

Maybe a good five minutes of this one sided conversation passed, but to Allie it felt like eternity before she made her mumbled excuses to escape.

Time to focus on the mission: secure a dog sitter, pay him in cash, then leave for home where Eddie would be waiting with the van.

The worn out rubber treads of her converse whispered against the shag as she scurried away from Claudia, thankful for the quiet reprieve found at the back of the house. Keeping her eyes on the carpeted corridor – because she always looked at her feet when she walked – Allie stopped short when she saw a Siamese kitten stretched out just along the threshold of Dustin’s closed door.

Instantly, she fell in love with it.

“Well hewwo widdle cutie bag of doughnuts…” Allie wibbled, her voice raised almost to Claudia’s baby pitch, “Aren’t you a soft widdle pumpkin seed loaf? What’s our name, huh? What’s a fuzzy’s name?”

The kitten yawned as she stroked its soft fur with her fingertips. With a stretch (which Allie encouraged with an ‘Ooooh, big stretch!’) the kitten took its time getting to its feel, lazily rubbing itself along the rolls of her slouchy socks.

Now, obviously there was no way she could avoid giving this kitten love. Testing the waters, Allie wrapped her hands around its middle and lifted. Not so much as a struggle. Instead, the kitten nestled in her arms. Very laid back, relaxed even, it began to purr as she cradled it like a baby. Nearly forgetting why she’d come, Allie kissed its soft fuzzy head over and over, giggling as the cat batted her face with dainty little smacks with its soft paws. She was mush. Totally absorbed with the little fuzzy baby, until she stopped mid forehead kiss and realized she still hadn’t come to do what she’d set out.

Okay, mujer, focus. Take the cat with you and just ask him already. In fact, I’ll take the fucking thing home. This is my cat now.

She knocked on Dustin’s door, calling out to him.

“Muad’Dib…?”

There was a bout of awkward shuffling inside, followed by what she thought was sniffling. She waited. And waited… Until she got fed up and decided to just try again. She tapped smartly on the door again with her knuckles, shave and a haircut. No two bits responded.

“Muad’Dib…” she insisted, “Apúrate bro, it’s me. Open up, I come demanding a favor from my most esteemed Mentat-…”

Her words stuck fast like glue when the door opened, plugging her throat up. Immediately she clocked that Dustin was trying to hide the fact that he had been in the throes of a mental breakdown. She knew the signs well. Wiping tears from his face like he was brushing hair out of his eyes, putting on a brave smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Ah! Hey…!” He laughed awkwardly.

“… you alright?” Allie asked.

Dustin was struggling to keep his composure. Shoulders shaking. Eyes watery at the corners.

“Um, yeah, yeah I’m okay. I’m good. Feeling good in the neighborhood.” He insisted.

Allie frowned a little in concern. Dustin began to panic, opening the door and pulling at her jacket sleeve.

“C’mon,” he insisted, yanking her forward, “Come check out my room. Uh… See you found Tews there, he can come in too.”

Allie wandered in with the kitten. Both her and Tews were looking directly at Dustin as he closed the door behind them.

“You look like shit.” She observed.

Immediately she felt bad for blurting out her rude comment when she saw the young boy scrub his face and try to smile.

“Jesus, you’re brutal, chica.” He laughed, “But what else did I expect from Hellfire’s Reverend Mother-…”

“What’s wrong, Muad’Dib?” She tried again, coming up directly to stare him in the face, “Why’re you crying?”

“Huh? Me?! No, no I’m okay, it’s nothing. I’m fine.”

She reached out with one hand, still cradling the kitten. With a gentle swipe of her index finger against his cheek, she wiped a tear that had managed to squeeze out.

“No, it’s not nothing.” She insisted.

“Allie, I swear on my life, it’s nothing. Anyway, what’s going on? You said you needed a favor…?”

“My favor can wait. What’s wrong with you? How come you’re crying-…”

“I’m not crying!” He barked, his face turning red, “God dammit!”

Now she knew something was wrong. And deeply wrong at that. Dustin Henderson never yelled, he never lashed out in anger. Dustin usually acted like a smartass, and hovered around her and Eddie every chance he got, buzzing like a mosquito in her ear about his new little inventions or quizzing her on certain aspects of Chapterhouse: Dune. This was so… unusual to see him like this. Angry and defeated..

“You didn’t come to Hellfire Club.” Allie said gently, electing to ignore his outburst, “None of you guys did… we missed our freshies.”

She and Eddie had at least expected Dustin to show up for Hellfire on Friday, but surprisingly, he pulled a no call no show. It had just been her, Eddie, and the Corroded Coffin guys. That’s how it had been before Eddie had corralled the freshmen, but the new blood always added some extra spark to the mix.

Mike and Lucas typically flaked. That was nothing new. But surely Dustin would always show up?

“I…”

It took a while for him to answer. Tews began to struggle in Allie’s grip, so she gently set the kitten down on the ground so that he could disappear under Dustin’s desk. With a soft grunt, she sat down on his bed, looking up as she dangled her legs off the edge.

Their eyes met. And when her own eyes softened behind her large glasses, Dustin broke.

“It’s just… it’s been a shitty week...” He croaked.

From what it sounded, he’d been going through the motions trying to keep it together. What began as a mournful recount of events, soon devolved into a passionate rant about every single wrong done this year. One atop the other, each micro transgression riding pig-a-back on the last until it seemed like it just snowballed out of control. Things were different, Dustin wasn’t dealing well with different.

“— and my mom has just been up my ass all week after school, and just… everyone except me has plans…”

Queue another impassioned rant. His childhood friends were drifting apart and leaving him behind. Mike was spending Labor Day weekend in California with his girlfriend and their buddy Will. Some girl named Susie-Poo would be attending a weekend long family reunion in honor of Labor Day weekend — no electronics allowed in favor of activities involving banana pudding, fireworks, prayer, and cornhole — and Dustin seemed to take it as a personal affront that she had refused to bail on family time to spend the weekend talking with him. A little lover’s quarrel had ensued, and her older sister had unplugged the radio on the Utah side after complaining about the noise.

When Dustin told Allie that Lucas had practice, she frowned. Obviously that was a lie, because Chrissy Cunningham told her she had been invited to that same Labor Day “basketball practice”. It was what they were calling it when in earshot of the adults so as not to arouse suspicion.

But it was so cookie cutter, too perfect and almost too stupid of an excuse, that immediately Allie had laughed. She had swatted at Chrissy’s arm, and demanded the truth. And because Chrissy and Allie gossiped like broody hens about everything— from pregnancy scares to the ragers that caused them— Allie knew on good authority that Lucas would not be spending his weekend practicing defense or rebounding drills. Instead, he would most likely be partaking in seven hundred and fifty milliliters of Frangelico with Chance. Meanwhile Jason, Patrick, and Andy would be playing strip beer pong with the pep squad in the McKinney’s two car garage.

“No, dude. It’s not a practice. He’s going to Patrick’s party this weekend.” Allie said bluntly.

“Wait, seriously?!” Dustin exclaimed, “He’s going to a party?”

“Yeah.” She nodded, “I don’t know why he lied. He should have just told you…”

As much as Eddie hated Jason Carver’s “Good Ol’ Boys” chapter, he didn’t begrudge Lucas for going to a party. Hell, the hefty little markup profit Eddie had made from Andy’s need for speed was currently sitting pretty in Alex’s skirt pocket. After securing his bag, Eddie had come to her house grinning like a maniac, having come away from the jock encounter a couple hundred dollars richer.

That was how their weekend getaway had come about anyways. Originally the intention was to use half of Andy’s markup as a house sitting incentive for Dustin, and to use the remainder as extra spending money for a weekend camping trip for two since everyone else had plans.

If Eddie had known ahead of time that Lucas had planned on going, he would have encouraged him to go (and probably tried to sell him a little extra bud to help boost his popularity). But the fact of the matter was that it seemed like Lucas didn’t trust Eddie fully with the truth. Or any of his other friends for that matter if Dustin didn’t know.

Allie wasn’t angry at Lucas, just disappointed that he’d given a dodgy excuse.

“Eddie’s not happy about it, he said Lucas should have just been honest and told him he wanted to go drinking.” Allie admitted, “It’s not like we’re all prude. We could have just canceled club.”

Unspoken things floated up in the air between the two of them like dust particles. The truth pierced like an arrow, and it had hit the boy in front of her hard. Watching Dustin deflate like someone had let the air out of him was the saddest, most pathetic thing that Allie had ever seen before. She cleared her throat, and spoke up to alleviate the unease.

“But um… Eddie wanted me to check on you, because you’re not all flighty, and you don’t usually cancel on us. But with Lucas gone last minute, it left us a few players short. So like, we landed up ending the Palace of the Silver Princess early… and we all kind of just went home. Because it wasn’t the same without you making commentary.”

A shuddering sob transformed into a noncommittal shrug on Dustin’s shoulders. He was betrayed. Bewildered even.

“Whatever.” Dustin gulped, his voice guttural as though he was trying desperately not to burst into tears, “It’s whatever. Fuck it. If he wants to go party with the jockstraps, let him. I always get left behind, it’s okay.”

You don’t mean that… Allie thought, Come on, Muad’Dib… you don’t truly mean that.

It was normal to be angry at your friends every once in a while. But seeing him like this — seeing her Muad’Dib hurt like this — it was painful.

His expression stabbed her heart. Like the burning poison of a Gom Jabbar, his sadness infected her.

“I’m sorry, Muad’Dib…” she said, “I didn’t know that you didn’t know…”

“No it’s fine.” Dustin insisted, “I don’t care… like I said, everyone leaves me behind, why should I matter now? Clearly everyone’s majorly top secret Labor Day plans don’t involve a fat nerd like me!”

Much as she saw him as a nuisance on a good day, she saw something else in him now.

She saw a younger version of herself standing in front of her. Hurting. Trying not to cry. Cursing everyone who had ever wronged her. Always excluded. Always lied to for protection. As if her feelings were too delicate to handle the truth. Maybe Lucas was just trying to protect Dustin from the backlash if the boys got caught? Maybe he had done it on purpose? Who could say.

This was all far too complicated of a situation. At the very least, far too complicated for Allie to understand why Lucas’ white lie was so hard for Dustin to take on the chin.

“Ugh… shit…! Anyway, what was the favor you needed? What did you come here for?” Dustin asked, still trying to wipe his boogery nose with the back of his hand.

You don’t need to try to be brave, Muad’Dib…

“About that…”

Everyone always teased Allie and Eddie to no end that Dustin was secretly their love child. He had the same coiling curly hair that they both did, and Lucas swore up and down that Dustin had Eddie’s dimples. Mike even said that they both had similar dental problems, even though Dustin had corrected him over and over, because diastema wasn’t actually the same as cleidocranial dysplasia.

Maybe Dustin wasn’t quite at the level of affection she’d have for a love child, but she did feel something else…

Pity.

Specifically younger sibling pity.

She didn’t see him as a love child, not quite a best friend, but some secret third thing…

A brother.

An awkward, annoying, startlingly intelligent and innocent younger brother who had read the same books she did, and then some. A short, chubby, and awkward nerd brother like her who always got left out. Who everyone always thought needed to be coddled like a baby.

In that moment, seeing her poor desert mouse— her Muad’Dib — so vulnerable, she felt honest-to-god compassion.

“… There’s a slight deviation to the favor now.” Allie said.

Dustin looked up, utter confusion on his face.

Allie scooted off the bed until she was standing up. Automatically her damp sleeve cuff went to her mouth. Reacquainting her tongue with the damp, salty tang of the stretch knit, she began to chew and suck on the fabric in quiet contemplation.

“What are you doing for Labor Day weekend?” She asked, voice muffled by the cuff.

“Wha… huh?!”

“Specifically, tomorrow and Sunday?”

The question totally caught him off guard. She could tell by his body language, not by his eyes. Allie couldn’t stand to keep looking at those sad little wet eyes.

“I don’t have any plans…” Dustin admitted rather grudgingly, “Why?”

She sniffed. Looked at Tews who had come wandering back to her to play with her shoelaces. Then, with a sigh, came to her final decision.

“… How would you like to go camping with me and Eddie?”

****

Cursing loudly and nearly tripping over her untied shoelaces, Allie finally tucked the loose strings into her socks. No time to tie them in a nice and neat bow, because Eddie was laying on the horn and blasting “Love Me Like a Reptile” right outside her home. Laughing and scrambling to get to him, Allie was already half way to the van by the time her lover caught sight of her scurrying like a mouse with a cat in hot pursuit. The Gaucho was parked haphazardly with one wheel on the sidewalk, and it looked like Eddie had been waiting for Jaime to pull out his Monte Carlo so Eddie could take the spot in the driveway.

Just as she crossed the street into her own cul-de-sac, Jaime nearly ran Allie off the road with a petty side swipe of his ranfla, laughing and holding up a middle finger at her as he drove off to partake of his own Labor Day weekend plans.

“Fuck you, asshole!” She screamed.

Allie leaned on the driver’s side of the Gaucho with her middle finger raised at her brother, before leaning over to kiss Eddie.

“Jesus Christ.” He laughed, stubbing out one of his Camels into the overflowing ash tray, “No love lost between you two, is there?”

“I don’t have time for his fucking bullshit.” Allie grumbled, “There’s been a change of plans.”

The passenger door was sticking again, and it finally opened with a grunt and a mighty yank. Once she was in, Allie turned off the stereo and shed her coat. Eddie frowned, and was about to open his mouth to ask what was wrong when his girlfriend began to walk him through the whole Dustin Henderson situation. There were no lurid details spared. Everything was fair game for her to explain. Of particular emphasis was how he’d been abandoned, how he had just been on the verge of losing it…

“- and then he just started like, ugly crying,” Allie said, gesticulating her arms wildly, “And he looked so fucking sad. It was like looking at a kicked puppy, babe.”

“Wait… are you serious?!” He asked, “Dustin Henderson started ugly crying?!”

“Oh my god yes…” Allie was tugging at her hair, only stopping when Eddie swatted her hands away with an admonishment of “don’t do that”. It had been his personal mission to try and break her of these nervous habits, and a roach was offered to her for the nerves which she gladly took.

Puff, puff, give.

“He lost it, I’ve never seen someone like that before.” Allie admitted, curling up in the bucket seat as Eddie took a hit, “Like, he almost had a whole mental breakdown in his room about it.”

A plume of smoke billowed out of his nose, like a dragon idling with a fireball in its mouth.

“That’s why I felt like a bitch for wanting him to sit for us, and I just invited him along... Babe, he’s got nobody in that little room.” Allie said, “All his old friends are gone. He doesn’t have any plans for the weekend, he was miserable.”

She tugged on her jacket, almost wanting to bite her cuff again, but stopping and instead hitting her mouth with the back of her hand softly.

Eddie inhaled through the nose, exhaled through the mouth.

“No, you did a good deed. I know he takes things on the chin, but he’s human.” Eddie admitted at last, blowing a raspberry as he looked in the rear view mirror, “At the end of the day, it’s shitty being left behind like that. Even if it’s not intentional.”

“I know.” Allie nodded, “That’s why I figured I’d invite him along.”

This side of Allie was a new facet that she had never really shown to Eddie. She was sweet and non judgmental of course, he knew it from the first time. Where as all others saw a bitch of a basket case, or someone that ought to be ignored, Eddie saw the real her. The Allie Perea that had giggled and smiled at him, the one who treated him like a human being when they first met.

But it had taken Allie some time to warm up to Dustin and the freshmen. Lucas toed the line on her shitlist for ditching sessions without notice, and Mike Wheeler and Alejandra Perea were like water and oil with the way he nitpicked her to death during the campaign.

Dustin by association with Mike was also on her shitlist, but now, Allie seemed compassionate. In her heart of hearts, she cared very deeply that Dustin was being left out. That was her Muad’Dib. It wasn’t fair he was being left behind.

“You’ve got a pure heart.” Eddie teased, ruffling her hair, “You know that?”

“God dammit, no.” Allie murmured, “I am darkness, I am the night…”

“You’re about as dark as a basket of kittens.”

“But they’re evil kittens.” Allie argued, sticking out her tongue, “Evil kittens that commit war crimes.”

“Name one war crime.” Eddie grinned.

“Oh… Shit I dunno, but I’m pretty sure my very existence is a crime against humanity in some districts.”

They both laughed, leaning against one another and enjoying the light they brought to each other’s lives. Fuck being miserable and sad and alone, this was what Allie loved about being around Eddie. And if Dustin was going to be sad and alone on Labor Day, he deserved a little happiness too. Even if it didn’t mean much because his friends were still gone. Tenderness for his plight made Allie want to spread the happiness, and if she had to make sure this sad little nerd went camping with two freaks with issues of their own, then that was how it was going to work out.

It was what she would have wanted… especially when she was back in New Mexico.

“You with me, babe?” Eddie asked, looking over briefly at Allie as he shifted the Gaucho into gear to leave.

“Hm?”

The image of Dustin’s sad, watery eyes had made her distracted and melancholy. But it wasn’t anything that she wanted to unpack just yet.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” She insisted, “We better get a move on to Rick’s, you said you wanted him to buy you a six pack, right?”

Nodding, he pulled the van out of the driveway and began the trek towards Mulberry.

“Yeah.” Eddie nodded, “It ain’t camping if your man can’t have a beer. Jesus knows I’m gonna need it if we have to deal with Henderson’s smart ass on this trip.”

He was joking, of course, but Allie couldn’t help but give him a dirty look until he laughed.

“Kidding, babe.”

“You better be.” She warned, “Otherwise I’ll leave Scruffy instead of bringing him.”

“Wait?! You’re bringing my baby boy?!”

Alex nodded, while Eddie punched the air. He was obsessed with the dog. Nearly every visit to the Perea household deviated from a planned make out session, because Eddie would often be too busy playing fetch with the family’s mutt.

“Hell yeah!” He cheered, “I get to have my boy with me for Labor Day!”

“But, if you wanna bring Scruffy, we gotta bring Tiffany too.” She said, pointing an accusatory finger at him.

The car horn sounded as Eddie pounded against the steering wheel, a loud “fuck!” erupting from his throat. Tiny Tiffany was a terror. She had the nasty habit of pissing on the tires of the Gaucho whenever Eddie came over. She snapped at his ankles when he and Alex took her for a turn around the neighborhood on her leash. When she wasn’t snapping at his jeans, Tiffany was chewing on Eddie’s Reeboks… she’d already went to town on his Converse, and Allie was still apologizing for it.

Nearly every day Eddie expressed his disdain and displeasure for Allie’s crusty white dog. Since day one, they had been sworn enemies. Doing battle like knights of old for the affection of a nervous wreck of a girl.

“Nooooo!” Eddie wailed, “Fuck no! Not the rat dog!”

“Yes, we are bringing both of my dogs, and don’t call Tiffany a rat!”

“You know damn well that dog is a yappy, toothy little rat.”

“No she’s not! She has abandonment issues, she’s just grumpy when she feels neglected.”

“Neglected my ass, she’s a spoiled bitch.”

Allie huffed, swatting Eddie with the sleeve of her jacket. If she was going to have peace on this trip, then Eddie would just have to make peace with the dog. As much as she didn’t want to go the drastic route, Allie knew there was only one way that Eddie would treat her sweet pup with kindness.

“You little… Listen honey… You be nice to Tiffany, and I won’t take away your tit privileges for the weekend.” She huffed.

“Oh come on! Don’t hold my girls hostage! They need me!”

Nearly making the car swerve into the tree line, Eddie cried out pitifully like a baby as he tried to reach for her chest. But Allie pulled away, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring hatefully.

“Nah uh, full on Fort Knox until you’re nice to my baby.” She snapped.

No matter how much Eddie whined or made faces, Allie did not budge. She was sick of the constant yapping from both her boyfriend and her dog. Labor Day weekend was supposed to be fun, and if Dustin was going to join them, she fully intended to make sure everyone got along. Even the animals. It took a long time for her boyfriend to finally acquiesce to her demands.

“Ugh… fine. I’ll be civil with rat dog, but you better let me have unfettered access to my girls.” He pouted.

“You’re not going to be civil, you’re going to be nice.” Allie corrected.

“Fine… I’ll be nice to her, I’ll even try to make her like me, how’s that sound?”

“Sounds like Eddie Munson is a sucker for fat tits.” Allie laughed, “But it sounds good. Hope you can keep up your end of the bargain.”

Eddie snorted, looking over at her as they pulled into Rick Lipton’s driveway.

“Oh I’ll keep my word alright. And hey… If they’re your fat tits, I would suck scum off the bottom of a boat just to get a good handful.”

“Jesus Christ, you’re fucking dirty!” Allie laughed.

“Gotta keep my eyes on the prize, baby.” Eddie smirked, “And you best believe, I will do anything for a little smackerel of boob.”

This weekend was going to be arduous, of that, Allie was certain. But maybe she’d get lucky? There was always the possibility that she could get eaten by a bear and not have to deal with drama.

Please let this be a normal trip… she thought.

And please… don’t let me regret changing my plans...

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson x oc #eddie munson fandom #stranger things fics #stranger things oc #eddie munson x original character

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iboatedhere · 8 months ago

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Thank you @henryspearl @suseagull04 @orchidscript @cha-melodius @lemonlyman-dotcom & @jmagnabo92 for the tags!

I hit the lower limit for my @aroyallybigbangrwrb fic this week!

It takes him almost forty five minutes to go less than three miles but he doesn’t mind it. He sits with his head against the window and watches the city pass in jilted starts and stops, his breathing getting easier and deeper the further he gets from home.

The shelter is packed, but it’s easy to spot Henry behind a long row of tables, scooping steamed corn and carrots onto plates.

He smiles warmly at everyone who steps in front of him, dressed in an orange volunteer shirt, a red apron, and a hairnet.

Alex feels like a complete fucking asshole standing there in his designer leather jacket and hundred dollar shoes.

He thinks about cutting and running, but then Henry lifts his head and spots him, pinning him in place with a smile.

Alex tries to smile back, but whatever he manages to do with his face must be worrying because Henry’s smile fades and he tilts his head with concern.

Alex really wants to run now but his feet carry him forward instead of away and soon he’s standing in front of Henry.

“Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.”

Henry raises his brows.

“Seriously, I’m good,” Alex tells him. “Just put me to work.”

Henry looks him over then nods. “Go see Donna,” he says, “she’ll tell you where to go.”

Donna, the recreational coordinator who takes Thanksgiving very seriously if her pilgrim hat and light-up turkey necklace are anything to go by, throws an apron and a hairnet at him and sets him up at the beginning of the line, handing out rolls and prepackaged pads of butter.

It helps to take his mind off things. Having something to do with his hands and people to talk to.

When the line ends Donna pushes a full plate of food into his hands and tells him to enjoy.

He finds an open seat and doesn’t look up when Henry sits down across from him with his own plate.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Alex says.

“I didn’t say that you had to.”

“I know, but the way that you’re looking at me….”

“How do you know how I’m looking at you? Is it projected in your cranberry sauce?”

Alex heaves a sigh and lifts his head to meet Henry’s ocean blue eyes.

“You’re looking at me like that.”

“I’m afraid it’s just the way my face looks.”

“Yeah, that’s the problem.” He pokes at his food then groans. “I left,” he admits. “My parents had been at each other's throats all night and then June got into it with them and I couldn’t take it so I left.”

“That seems like a valid response.”

Alex scoffs. “How? I left my home.” He taps his finger against the table. “I ran away like a little kid. I’m thirty three years old.”

“And I still think it was a very mature thing to do. You were in a situation that made you uncomfortable and instead of engaging or making things worse for yourself or others you left. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“You really are best friends with Dr. Okonjo, aren’t you?”

“The bestest,” Dr. Okonjo says, appearing at Henry’s side as if he’s been summoned. He’s stolen Donna’s turkey necklace—or maybe he has his own—and his hair is a rich auburn, perfect for fall. “What are we talking about?”

“How you’ve rubbed off on Henry.”

“Never,” Dr. Okonjo, says brightly, “but I do try to be a good influence and please, Alexander, if we’re going to be friends we’ll need to drop the formalities. Call me Percy, darling, or better yet, Pez.”

“Then call me, Alex, please. Alexander is reserved for my mother.”

“And how is your mother?” Pez asks. “Your lovely sister mentioned that all your parents were in town for the holiday.”

“They were alive last I knew. Slight chance my sister has killed them by now. Maybe she let my step dad survive or maybe she thought it would be better to leave no witnesses. She and Nora might be on the run.”

“How exciting,” Pez says without missing a beat and Alex laughs. “I assume you came here to have plausible deniability of any wrongdoing.”

“Yeah, that sounds a lot better than just running away.”

“At least you only crossed town to get away from your family and not the Atlantic,” he says with a significant look toward Henry who rolls his eyes.

“As I was telling Alex, sometimes the mature thing to do is leave.”

“Indeed,” Pez agrees. “It’s important to take care of yourself. No guilt, love.”

“Just the dread of having to face them again.”

“That can be difficult,” Pez says, suddenly serious. “And you can’t hide from it forever. If you ever need to talk, my door is always open.”

“Thanks,” Alex tells him, feeling overwhelmed by the support. “That means a lot.”

“Anytime,” Pez answers easily while Henry presses his knee against Alex’s beneath the table.

Tagging: @lightningboltreader @liminalmemories21 @porcelainmortal @fullsunsets @sunshinestrand @maxbegone @oxfordslutphase @inexplicablymine @anincompletelist @accol-fics @youcancallmekathyp @bitbybitwrites @cricketnationrise

#wip wednesday #Dr. AU #firstprince #firstprince fic #rwrb #rwrb fic

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bleach-your-panties · 11 months ago

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New Post! Sincember Event❄️❄️

Rating: Highly Suggestive/Light Smut🍭🍡

▶️sugar - trick daddy ft. ludacris & cee lo green

▶️sugar - maroon 5

"Okay, I've made out the list of ingredients that I'm gonna need for our almost life-sized gingerbread replica of UA Alliance!"

Sato announced happily, holding up a piece of perforated notebook paper, likely ripped from his class notebook.

"So who's going to help me pick up the ingredients?!"

Crickets.

A collective silence fell over all the members of Class 3A as they paused their random activities to peer up at their cheerful, robust classmate.

You, who was lounging on the couch with Mina's head in your lap as you twisted her hair, perked up at the sound of his sweet voice.

None of your other classmates had even uttered one sentence, not even in acknowledgement of Sato's words, and it made your heart clench.

Sucking your teeth, you tapped Mina on the shoulder so she could get up.

"So all of you enjoy eating 'Kido's treats but don't want to assist with the process, huh? Figures." You rolled your eyes at them then shot Sato a sweet smile.

"I'll come with you Riki', just let me grab my coat."

His eyes crinkled in happiness as he made little excited fists, incidentally crumpling up the paper in his hands.

He blushed once he realized his overexcited action and began straightening the paper out again.

"Thanks, Y/N! You're really the best!"

"So I've been told." You smirked as you grabbed your coat off the rack near the front door and replaced your slippers with your snow boots.

—-

Dutifully, you pushed the cart along while Rikido gathered the ingredients that you would need to create the oversized confection.

“Let me see…we've got liquid egg whites, cinnamon, butter, corn syrup, vanilla extract, ground ginger - huh,”

He stopped walking suddenly as he talked out loud and you almost ran into his heels with the cart.

Rikido then turned to you with a bashful smile that warmed your heart.

“I can't help but think that we've missed something really important!”

You giggled a bit and stopped the cart in the middle of the baking aisle.

E/c eyes examined shelves packed with holiday-themed baking products before you had your ‘aha’ moment.

“Our house won't have much of a foundation if we forget the main ingredients - flour and baking soda.” You gave Sato a wide, toothy grin.

Taking your foot off the cart, you bent down to begin searching through the shelves for said ingredients. A shaky intake of breath behind you missed your ears while you focused on the task at hand.

Upon spotting a ten-pound bag of flour, you began reaching for it when Sato halts you with a hand on your shoulder.

“Oh no, Y/N, that looks kind of heavy! Let me help you!”

The burly brunette squatted down to your level and maneuvered the bag of flour so the majority of the weight of it rested in the crook of his arm.

Your eyes trailed from the white bag and up the arm of your very buff classmate. They then moved over his face, which was slightly tinted pink.

Sato snapped back to reality and lifted the bag to place it in the half-full cart. You didn't miss how his movements made the fabric of his gray sweatshirt pull taut on his muscular back.

“That's that then. A few more things and we can head to the checkout.”

Sato reminded you of what you were here for. You shook your head to clear your thoughts.

“Right, let's hurry back before the snow picks up!”

—-

It had been hours now since Sato and you had left the grocery store.

Both of you worked tirelessly in the dorm kitchen, rolling out brown cinnamon-scented dough and then baking it.

Sato was whipping up the royal icing now while you sorted sugary gumdrops into pretty patterns.

Once the baking had concluded, you carried the garnishments up to his room while Sato carried the gingerbread slabs to begin assembling your UA Alliance copy.

—-

The small space heater against Sato’s wall hummed quietly while the two of you worked. A pleasant silence blanketed the room while you both exchanged furtive glances that neither of you thought the other noticed.

“Hey, Y/N, pass me the icing so I can start assembling the roof?”

A few moments passed before your head snapped around in his direction.

“W-what? Oh! Sorry, Riki, I was zoning out.”

Your sweaty hand held a loose grip on the bowl, the dexterity steadily loosening as you stumbled over towards where Rikido was seated at the edge of his bed.

And then your foot slid on a random sock lying in the middle of the floor-

“Oh shit! Y/N, are you alright?!’

Rikido caught you around the waist in his strong arms. You had been saved from making a complete fool of yourself, but the bowl of icing…

With feline reflexes, he managed to grab it up with one hand while still holding you with the other. A bit of the sweet, white icing splashed onto his lower lip.

“That was close, what a mess that would have-”

With your breath heavy in your chest and your heart hammering against it, you looked Rikido in the eyes before moving them to his soft, pillowy lips.

“Y/N…?”

Maneuvering up onto your knees to straddle his waist, you cupped both cheeks and moved your mouth over the small, golden hoop dangling from his ear.

“Can I kiss you, Riki?”

His heart thumped wildly in his ears and he opened his mouth to speak when you took your pinky finger and swiped the bit of icing onto the tip.

You stuck your finger in his mouth and his eyes dilated while you dragged your finger over his tongue.

With a quiet ‘plop’ you pulled it out, his mouth chasing after it in order to gather more of your taste.

“Oh…damn..” Rikido looked at you with a dark veil over his usually bright and friendly brown eyes.

He sat up on his elbows, shifting you along with him and making your clothed cunt rub along his muscled thigh in your thin gray leggings.

“Mmm, Riki…I want you so badly…been wanting you all day…”

His eyebrows shot up as he turned to study your face. “R-really?! Me? But, why me?”

Your heart grew two sizes in your chest at his adorable bashfulness.

“What do you mean? Why not you?” Your thumbs stroked along his cheeks, making him sigh.

“I just thought maybe you’d like someone…cooler…and with a better quirk. Bakugou, Todoroki, Kirishima….Midoriya…” He blushed.

H/c locks flew back and forth as you shook your head insistently.

“No, Riki. Those guys are all great, but…I doubt that they’re as sweet as you.”

Sato chuckled at your corny joke with his cheeks still aflame.

With a few bucks and rolls of his hips, he had you quietly groaning his name before you smashed your lips against his.

The gingerbread house sat forgotten on its makeshift pedestal while the two of you furiously made out and dry-humped.

Sato pulled his sweatshirt over his thick brown hair and let you roll your pussy over his abs and the waistband of his boxers.

“Who knew my quiet little classmate was so dirty?” He whispered in your ear and licked the shell.

You giggled then pressed your lips into the juncture between his neck and shoulder, making him gasp.

“If anything, you'll come to know that I'm anything but quiet.” You winked, hoping he’d get your hint. He did.

“S-shit…”

Thick but gentle fingers ghosted over your hip bones, rubbing small circles into them before sliding under your sweater and tank top to reach warm, bare skin.

Once again your mouths collided, chasing each others’ tongues down in a messy, wet battle.

You sucked Rikido’s bottom lip into your mouth and nibbled on it while his tongue massaged the roof of your mouth, sliding against yours every now and again.

“Fuck, babe…I-”

Just as he was about to ask if you wanted to go farther, you both heard a ‘click’ and Sato’s room door flew open.

“Hey, everyone nominated me to come and check how things were coming along- oh ho ho! What's this? See, I knew something was going on here.”

None other than Denki Kaminari was standing in the doorway with an irritatingly smug smirk on his stupid face.

With a squeak, you clambered to Rikido’s side on the bed while the brunette male sat up and pulled his white tee down.

“Kaminari, have you ever heard of knocking?” Sato griped.

Denki's grin just widened.

“Would the scenery have changed if I did knock? I doubt it. I always knew you two liked each other.”

“Oh yeah and how did you know that Denki?” You asked him while trying to focus on getting your face to return to a normal temperature.

“Pfft, why do you think no one else volunteered to go to the store? We planned that so the two of you could finally get together. My skills of perception are unmatched.”

“Well use your perception and get the hell out so we can finish the gingerbread house.”

“Finish the house or finish tongue and dry fucking?”

“GET OUT DENKI!!” Both you and Sato shouted simultaneously.

----

ʳᵉᵇˡᵒᵍˢ ᵃʳᵉ ᵃᵖᵖʳᵉᶜⁱᵃᵗᵉᵈ ᵃⁿᵈ ⁱ ˡᵒᵛᵉ ᶜᵒᵐᵐᵉⁿᵗˢ🫶🏽

#i rarely see him written and it makes me sad #this got long 🫣#satou rikidou x reader #rikido sato x reader #satou rikidou #rikido sato #sato x reader #mha rikido sato #mha sato #bnha sato #sincember #⋰❄︎gotta sin to win❄︎⋱#happyhornydays #💗💗🍡°my fics #💗💗🍡°mha masterlist #byp🌹holiday event #byp🌹2023 events #full fic on this? i think sooo bihh

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petermorwood · 1 year ago

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An old article, but amusing regardless.

First it was James Lileks and the Gallery of Regrettable Food. What were the photo editors on these cookbooks thinking?

I'm well aware the colour quality of old pictures degrades and yellows, to their detriment, but IMO the images on that website can't have looked very appetising even when new.

There are ways to assemble variegated foodstuffs on a plate that looks attractive, and then there are these.

Dimly-lit meals for one and Sad desk lunches are yet more shuddersome antidotes to lovingly-photographed food porn erotica (porn would be messy close-ups of eating it).

However, despite what the article suggests, food photography doesn't need "the highest-spec kit while dangling from light-fittings for just the right angle" to look good.

*****

Using a phonecam while out with your friends in a crowded pizzeria isn't going to give the best results, but then neither is a joyless packed lunch on a rainy Monday in February, even if shot with a $33,000 camera like this Hasselblad, and full studio lighting.

@dduane's hobby site European Cuisines (down for maintenance) did just fine for years with a Sony W17, a compact digicam with a superb Zeiss lens.

Here are Sony shots of an apple upside-down cake made with Beauty of Bath apples from our own tree (they really are pink all the way through) and a quiche Lorraine just out of the oven.

After a while I got a second-hand Nikon D40 DSLR; the money saved on second-hand let me afford an excellent lens, a top-of-the-line flashgun and that neat little flash which is so much better than the camera's built-in one.

Here's the Nikon's take on last year's roast-goose-and-all-the-trimmings Christmas Dinner, as well as bacon (corned beef is the Americanised version) and cabbage for St Patrick's Day.

Now we're mostly using HTC U11+ smartphones whose cameras are not only top-notch but have excellent low-light capability.

This is good, because our lighting has always been mostly natural daylight with occasional flash and reflector-screen assistance.

Here are U11+ images of soda bread done in a cast-iron casserole or Dutch oven, and Geflügelragout (a stew of roast chicken with red wine and lemon) with saffron-pumpkin noodles.

This has become Brightwood Vintner's Chicken in the Food and Cooking of the Middle Kingdoms project, and why not? It's delicious! Here's DD and U11+ in action, and the noodle close-up she was shooting in that pic.

None of the food we shoot is "styled" for photography with varnish for glossiness, paint for cream, machine oil for honey, microwaved cotton-wool for steam and lots of other cunning but inedible trickery.

Our stuff is all for eating - so much so that getting "photograph the food" and "eat the food" in the proper order can sometimes be a struggle.

Like these crumpets, for instance.

You would, wouldn't you?

I nearly did, giving DD conniptions because she hadn't photographed them yet, and the Kerrygold butter was melting Just Right...

In a choice between shooting Have To Eat images and Want To Eat ones, we'll stay on the Want To side of the fence, and if people looking at those pix also Want To take a bite out of their screens, we're getting the job done.

And we're not hanging from the light-fittings to do it... :->

#food and drink #food photography #food and cooking of the middle kingdoms #gallery of regrettable food #james lileks

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darknessawaits28 · 1 month ago

Text

Silence {A Loki Laufeyson short story}

Hello my lovies, hope you are having a wonderful week! Wanted to give ya a short love story of you and Loki. Hope you like it! Thank you all for your love and support, you are all awesome! :3 Enjoy!

Storyline: You comfort Loki after his father had punished him by threading a needle and thread in between his lips to silence him. Warnings: Talk of blood and blood dripping, potential sexual touching, holes in lips, cursing words, semi nude image and removal of thread from lips.

"Loki, you have been found guilty of disobeying my rules....I have no joy in doing this my son...but you have drawn the line too far this time" Odin, the all father spoke with pain laced in his voice.

"But father....it wasn't my fault!" "Please!" Loki begged as he felt the guards push him onto his knees.

"Hold him" Odin said as he waved his hand, a needle and thread appearing next to Loki's face. "Your mouth will be sealed for a month, you will no longer whisper lies to anyone or anything."

"Argh!" Loki winced in pain as the needle pushed past the right side of his lip, beginning to thread up and down, up and down, until his mouth was fully sealed; blood dripping down his lips slowly as he looked to the side in anguish and sadness.

"You may let him go" Odin spoke softly to his guards, slowly walking down the stairs and approaching his adopted son who still looked down in sadness. "Loki, you may stand."

Loki, glancing up at his father angrily, stood before him and then proceeded to walk away, his green cape flowing elegantly behind him. As his boots continued to stomp against the marble floors, he stopped in his tracks, thinking back to you..... . He knew you would always be waiting for him back on Midguard, but how could he approach you now when he couldn't speak. Shaking his head at the thoughts, he waved his hand, magically appearing in your house, catching a glimpse of you sitting on the fluffy seating bed with a bowl of...popped corn and a can of a sugary substance. Slowly but surely he approached you, placing his soft hand against your shoulder.

"Mm, Loki is that you?" you said through a mouth full of popcorn while you continued to watch the movie in front of you.

Hearing no response from him caused you to grow worried, "Loki?" you called his name again, turning your head to face him in your darkened living room.

"What's wrong with your...face?" "Here let me turn on the light" You said as you wiped your buttered hands on a napkin and walked over to the lamp beside you.

Although, when your eyes looked up to see Loki's face, your heart dropped, "Oh my god, Loki!" you gasped, quickly rushing towards him.

Hearing your cries caused him to raise his hands up gently, a gesture indicating that you shouldn't worry too much, and that he was fine.

"I know you are telling me not to worry but...your lips..." you held back your tears, feeling awful that he was subjugated to this kind of torture. "It looks painful" you finally spoke out, caressing his cheeks gently but being careful as to not touch his burning red lips.

"Your father did this to you didn't he?!"

Loki shook his head quickly, not wanting you to mention his father or curse his name because that would only make it worse for her.

"Oh come on, it was him, he's just a...a fucking...." you growled in anger, stomping your foot and wanting to beat the living crap out of this guy.

Loki looked down ashamed as he clenched his hands into fists, soft tears dripping down his cheeks, but deep down he hated being this vulnerable in front of you.

"Oh Loki, my sweet" you cooed, tears already overflowing your eyes as you saw his own tears. "Don't cry, I'm here" you pulled him into a hug, his strong arms embracing you close as he allowed himself this feeling of sadness.

"W-Why don't I help you take those threads out, I am sure that your father won't even notice that they are gone while you stay here?"

Loki pulled away from your embrace to nod his head in agreeance with you.

"Okay, why don't you take a seat on my couch and I'll bring the necessary supplies to help get rid of that."

Obliging, Loki slowly walked over to your couch and plopped himself down on the couch cushion, a deep sigh escaping his nose as he waited for you.

"Oh I swear if I was a goddess, I would make him pay for all those times he has hurt you" you mumbled to yourself as you rushed upstairs to your bathroom and grabbed the necessary supplies. "Okay, I think that's it" you told yourself as you grabbed the med kit you had underneath your bathroom sink, along with a towel. Quickly rushing out of the bathroom, you headed downstairs and then sat next to Loki.

"This is probably going to hurt okay, so please don't hit me" You joked as you readied yourself with the supplies (aka. opening the box, pulling out the bandages, the gauze, etc.).

Loki could only snicker at your joke, finding you so caring and incredibly endearing; oh how the gods have blessed him with such a beautiful and caring lover.

"Alright, let me just scoot a chair over and then we can begin" you cooed, standing from the couch once again and pulled one of the dinning room chairs you had and placed it in front of him. Once complete, you sat down in the chair in front of him and grabbed the forceps, "Okay Loki, now this is going to hurt a bit as I try to cut the end of it, so bare with me."

Loki nodded slowly, grabbing the pillow on the other side of him and held it tightly, waiting for her to begin this excruciating task.

Leaning in, you put the forceps against the little bundle of thread that was on the left side of his lip (this was most likely tied in knots to prevent the thread from being pulled out, like what you normally do to sew two things together). Gently and as softly as possible, you pulled the bundle forward, grabbing the scissors to cut it off.

Within seconds, Loki winced, squeezing the pillow tightly as he felt a pool of his warm blood drip down the side of his lips.

"I know, I know, I'll pull it out as quickly as possible Loki" You reassured him, setting the scissors down and began to gently pull the thread out with the forceps, the other side of his mouth slowly being able to open. Once you finished pulling the string out, you tossed it aside and quickly grabbed some gauze to soak up the blood.

"There, there, I got it all out, let me just let the wound dry and I'll put some cream on it."

Another sigh escaped Loki's nose as he waited for his wounds to stop bleeding, but nonetheless, he was grateful that you was able to take out the thread quickly.

"Also, Loki, are you sure your father didn't put any like spell or anything that will make it come back right?" "Because if it does come back, your going to bleed again and...I don't want that."

Loki pushed your hand back gently and shook his head, gasping for air when he was able to fully open his holed covered lips, "No, he might be the all father, but he is buffoon."

"I hope you are right" you shrugged, pulling on some gloves and grabbing the ointment to put on the holes he had on his lips.

"Oh y/n, thank you....you do not know how much I am blessed to have someone like you."

"Oh don't worry, you'll have to pay me back" you giggled, applying the ointment gently on his lips. "Now I suggest that you do not touch anything with your lips, I don't want them getting infected" You warned him, taking off your gloves and disposing them, and then began to clean up everything.

"Oh pay you back huh?" he chuckled, quickly grabbing you once you stood and pulled you into his lap.

A loud squeak escaped your lips as you felt him do that, his face dangerously close to your own. "Loki" you tilted your head, knowing very well he couldn't kiss you at the moment because of the ointment on his lips.

"I know, you told me not to touch anything with my lips, but I can sure use my-" he stopped speaking when he glanced over at the chair in front of him, a clone of himself appearing.

Noticing him looking behind you, your turned your head and was instantly enveloped in another set of lips. "Mm!" You gasped, feeling your body began to turn into a plate of delicious cherry Jell-O. "L-Loki" you moaned cutely, holding onto his thighs from below.

"My clone is very useful in situations like these huh?" "I hope you enjoy this my love, I am sure this will be sufficient enough" he whispered against your ear, of course not allowing his lips to touch it.

"Mm, mm" you blushed, feeling the clone's tongue push past your lips and into your mouth. "Ah, ah!"

"That's right my love, feel my love devour you" he chuckled, his hands slowly gliding down your body to grasp your beautiful bosom. "You told me I could stay here as long as I want, correct my love?"

Your eyes widened at his comment, knowing damn well you did tell him that this was his home and he could spend as much time as he wanted to here. 'Gosh, why did I tell him that?'

#smut #love #love story #short story #loki #loki laufeyson #loki series #lips #loki odinson #lokius #mcu loki #loki mcu #tva loki

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