#Radio Silence Book Club | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

trashmouth-richie · 1 year ago

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𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞: 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐢 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: eddie takes a drive down memory lane, a situationship is revealed, clove finds herself in some harrowing situations in a feeble attempt to cope with eddie’s return.

𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: dark! fic, dark themes, ddlg type of relationship but not what you would think, controlling behavior in a relationship, controlling finances type of abuse, narcissist behavior, emotional abuse, hint at sex trafficking/ trading sex for business 18+. drug use/addiction etc.

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

That night Eddie didn’t sleep.

He watched your figure bounce to what he assumed was the dressing room as he sat in solemn silence for what felt like a decade, your eyes engraved into his.

Jeff understood, or rather wasn’t too upset when Eddie called it a night, dropping off the beers you had poured. He was preoccupied with one of the girls, twirling her pigtails as she sat in his lap, crimson lip stains on his deep cheeks.

The sweet dew of spring night air met him as he pushed the door to the club open, letting the night’s darkness swallow him as he crunched through the gravel to his motorcycle.

Turning the opposite direction from where he should have been heading, Eddie cranks the handlebars to head downtown. The lonely hotel mattress could wait another hour before he slipped his body into the pilling worn sheets.

The steady rap of his bike hammered into his chest as he drove down the broken unwelcoming streets of Hawkins. Down town was desolate, the Radio shack was boarded up and closed, graffiti tagged and windows shattered. Melvald’s windows showed handwritten posters for heavily discounted items. Newspapers tumbled along and caught on light poles, Hawkins resembled a town post apocalypse.

He couldn’t remember what it used to look like.

Back then his biggest worry was leaving and taking you with him. For all he knew, Hawkins could have always looked like this. Getting you away from here, that was the only thing on his mind.

Pushing the thoughts away he cranked the throttle and sped through the streets, unconsciously driving further, his memory taking over.

He drove past Hawkins High, vague memories formed like wisps of smoke around the parking lot. A younger version of him and you sitting in his van listening to his new Motörhead cassette before Higgins would eventually stroll the parking lot and hand out each of you detentions.

Hawkins Middle School where he doodled in the margins of his composition book and passed you notes about Mr. Walter’s toupee. Your giggle hidden behind chipped fingernails and a fresh tattoo, eyes squeezed tight to stop from laughing. The memory burned a hole in his heart.

The familiarity drove him on, leading the path down to where you and him used to call home.

The dust kicked up when his tires wove around the gaping holes of the driveway to Forest Hills Trailer Park. His chest was tight, all air punched from his lungs at what lay before him.

The trailer he once called home was standing like a decrepit omen. The tires it rested on were flat, wires bulging from the rotting rubber. The entire trailer had sunk into the soft earth beneath it, creating a funhouse effect to the back side, putting it on a tilt.

The windows that weren’t busted out by rocks were covered with foil, a cheap attempt to keep the sun out.

What was left of the aluminum siding glistened in the moonlight, taunting him.

From the way the door stood wide open, and the accumulation of last falls foliage littering the entryway, he guessed that no one lived here anymore—save for the fat mice that kept the trailer cats fed.

Years of decay and neglect replaced any sort of nostalgia he would have felt being back here. The bad memories came easy, it was the happy ones that he had to dig for.

Glancing behind him he didn’t notice it at first. The frail frame of a burnt trailer. The roof was swallowed in on itself, charred and soot surrounding the dead grass. Whatever caused this fire had taken the trailer fast, engulfing its matchbox body like kindling.

His one tiny flicker of hope that maybe you still lived here, maybe he could catch you when you weren’t working, was put out like this fire surely wasn’t.

Ghost flames danced in his eyes as he blinked back tears. The agony of years away filled him with grief. He didn’t grieve for his loss. He had no reason to. Al Munson was the last person he needed closure from. He hoped for his death. Wished for it. Hoping that some inner dimensional being would crush him like a coke can. But he’d never get that lucky.

People like his dad, and yours, seemed to live forever. Cockroach luck with bodies that were pickled by alcoholism— they’d roam until they saw ninety, tainting everyone they got close to, poisoning their veins and stealing their dreams.

As he rode away, tears spilled down his face, not for him and his misfortunes. But for you. A little girl lost. A girl he had failed.

—

1974

ping, clink

You could hear the radio through his bedroom window, the new * tape he had bought crooning out in muffled tones.

clink, ping, clink

“c’mon!” you muttered under your breath. The rough cinder block you were balancing on was starting to dig into your bare feet, jagged rocks and concrete stuck out every which way.

She hadn’t come back.

Hours had passed and she said she was going to the store with the baby, getting some milk and cigarettes. You watched as the short hand on the clock moved from 3 then 4, 5 to 6, and now it was at 11, moving closer to 12 with each tick that went by.

Dad wasn’t home, spending the night with friends in Indianapolis looking for “fresh meat” whatever that meant.

You were left home alone. Not a first time occurrence, but definitely not on a night when the wind was howling like a wolf.

The trailer groaned, shadows appeared in all shapes over your shared empty room. Scary faces with pointy teeth. Long witch-like arms that scratched against the aluminum siding, the air vent whistling against the tin roof had you yelping, hiding beneath your covers.

When the power went out, it took the tiny brightness from the shell nightlight with it, leaving you in an eerie darkness, and you had enough for one night.

Eddie’s trailer was one down from yours, a quick 15 second run through the tall weeds would get you there in no time. Tucking the oversized shirt you wore as pajamas into the waistband of a pair of cotton shorts, you opened the trailer door, your blankie tucked safe into the crook of your arm.

The screen door was ripped from your hand by a large gust of wind, but you couldn’t be bothered with that upon realizing that the entire trailer park was cast into darkness, not a single stitch of light to be seen.

Your feet found the familiar path from Eddie’s trailer to yours with ease as you raced past the Peterson’s chained up rottweiler. His bark loud enough to scare a grown man into hiding.

Racing up the front steps you knocked quietly, not wanting to wake up Eddie’s dad and deal with his wrath, his fuse shorter than your own fathers. Wiggling the handle you realized it was locked, which was strange considering that the Munson’s didn’t even own a house key.

And that was what led you here, knocking on Eddie’s window at 11 o’clock at night, standing on tiptoes on the cinder block used as a step ladder.

“Eddie!” you whisper yelled into the night, your voice traveling away with the wind, “Eddie! P-please, it’s me!”

Giving up on silent little knocks of your knuckles against the glass, you hit the window hard with a fist and an open palm, tears flowing down your cheeks in desperation.

The sheet covering his window that served as a curtain, moved back quickly the same time a round orb of light shined in your eyes.

His hair was a god awful mess, smushed to his head from sleep, curls limp and frizzy. He mouths your name in a question, tucking the flashlight under his chin, his fingers work to lift the window up the broken track.

“Aren’t you supposed to be asleep, like I was…hey are you okay?”

The tears slip down your face faster than you could stop them, and you wipe them away hastily with the corner of your blankie.

Eddie moves stuff from his dresser, sliding books into a milk crate and plastic army guys to the floor.

“Put your foot there,” he instructed, pointing to the siding of the trailer, “like if you were climbing a tree or something.”

You do as your told, and Eddie leans through the window, grabbing your hands and hoisting you into his room.

When your feet are on the warm carpet you take a shuddering breath, “thanks, the wind is—”

“Scary, I know, that’s why I have the stereo on… makes it hard to hear it.”

You stand there for a few seconds, fingers fiddling around the hem of your blankie, embarrassed, not sure what your plans were after making it inside. “Your door’s locked.”

“Oh, my uncle Wayne is here, he must’ve done it, I dunno.”

Your face stays puzzled, “your uncle?”

“Yeah,” Eddie chirps almost gleefully, “Took me to supper and then we went bowling! I’ve met him once or twice, seems cool.”

“Cool.”

Eddie whispers loud, “Hey! I know some good ghost stories if you wanna have a sleepover?”

“Um sure, okay.”

You help Eddie arrange his room, placing the flash light on his bed and angling it towards the closet so he can find an afghan he swore was in there.

When all was said and done his bed held a thin sheet and a frumpy couch pillow. A smile on his face as you sat side by side, backs pressed into the thin walls.

Your voice was small when Eddie placed the flashlight under his chin, illuminating his face and casting shadows against the walls, your blankie tucked beneath your nose.

“Eddie, I—I changed my mind, don’t wanna hear any scary stories tonight.”

“Yeah, ’course,” the flashlight falls between you to shine lazily on his dresser, and he hesitates a question that had been burning since you crawled through his window.

“Clove, where's your mom? Didn’t see her car when we left, or when we got back.”

Tears squish against your eyelashes as you try to stop them from falling, and your chin quivers. “Th—the store.”

His voice is soft, “Is your dad home?”

You shake your head, pressing your face into the worn comfort of the thread bared blankie. A hand lays consciously on your back rubbing in a little circle between your shoulder blades.

Eddie hadn’t had to comfort someone before he wasn’t even sure he was doing it right but he just kept trying. Hoping whatever he was doing would make it better.

After a few minutes you perked your head up, wiping the wet from your eyes and looking at your friend with swollen eyelids.

“Do you know any happy stories?”

Eddie’s lips stretched into a small smile as he leaned partly off his bed to find a cream paperback from his nightstand, “The Fellowship Of The Ring” written on the cover.

He holds it towards you, “Wayne gave me this… I haven’t read it yet but he said it was good.”

You nod your head, “okay.”

He wiggles his hips down into the blanket, and hands you the flashlight, clearing his throat he begins.

“When Mr. Bilbo Baggins of Bag End announced that he would shortly be celebrating his eleventy-first birthday with a party of special magnificence, there was much talk and excitement in Hobbiton…..”

—

1989

“…wake up..”

Bilbo was very rich and very peculiar, and had been the wonder of the Shire for sixty years, ever since his remarkable disappearance and unexpected return.

“fuck, did you hear me?”

…The riches he had brought back from his travels had now become a local legend, and it was popularly believed, whatever the old folk might say…

The young boy’s reassuring voice morphs into a woman's panicked squeak. The warm arm that was buddied next to yours, the soft lumpy texture of your blankie, the Pert shampoo smell of the percale pillowcase drifted away like smoke from a fire. Traveling higher and higher into the sky until it blended with the atmosphere, weaving and connecting until it was nothing more than a euphoric elevated induced memory.

You close your eyes to try to find your way back to Eddie. To hear him, see him, feel his voice booming in theatrics as he changed characters. The solace he brought you just by being him.

A splash of something cold and wet hits your face causing you to gasp, sputtering from the passed out dream land you were in.

“Oh my God! Shit, Clove! I almost called 9-1-1!”

Veronica was standing before you with a glass in her hand, water dripping from the mouth of it, falling in unison with the ones from your chin, your hair.

Her eyes were larger than the moon, staring down at you like she was looking at a ghost, a hand pressed to her chest in relief.

“Cold,” you muttered, wrapping your fingers around your arms, teeth chattering. Looking out from the confined corner of the cooler, sheltered by cases of beer and an empty keg.

“What are you even doing in here, thought you left already.” Veronica asked, lending a hand down to help you up.

“Inventory,” you say motioning around you as if it was the most obvious thing in the world and she was being ridiculous for even asking.

“Oh..” Veronica’s voice goes small, “you looked… dead.”

You chuckle to hide the shake in your voice, straightening your wet shirt.

“Never heard of throwing water on the dead, but you’re into that weird voodoo shit so it makes sense.”

Your joke falls flat.

Her green emerald eyes let on that she's not stupid enough to think that you had just fallen asleep. Her eyes stare back at you and you roll yours, “swear I just got a little tired and sat down for only a minute, haven’t been sleeping much lately.”

Veronica knew better than to challenge you. She was your friend, and like Jolene had done with you, you’d taken Veronica in like a school pet, teaching her the do’s and dont’s of the industry.

“Okay.” she says in defeat, and you lower your shoulders a bit to look relaxed. “I thought you’d left already, Rick’s looking for you, he’s called twice.”

Shit.

—

Hawkins was quiet this late. And the drive to Rick’s house gave you just enough time to get your shit together.

Eddie always came to you in your dreams but never that vividly before. It was almost as if it were real. Just two kids, finding solace in one another.

God you’d give anything to go back to those simple days.

When the solution to being scared was just a few steps from your trailer found between the pages of a paperback book and the heart of a best friend who knew you better than you knew yourself.

Books were a luxury, an easy way to escape reality when things were worse than they’d ever been. Outside of a car magazine in the bathroom and the black book that held numbers, dates and dollar amounts, your parents didn’t keep anything like that around, not even a cookbook.

But the fantasies kept you company, kept you safe, and Eddie’s voice was like a lullaby, always keeping you grounded.

It was simple when your demons weren’t fought alone. The armor Eddie wore then was scuffed and scarred by countless swords, its job of keeping you safe accomplished.

But the armor was tossed aside and you had to put it on yourself—finding it heavy, digging at your shoulders, metal pinching your skin, bruising your body in places. The armor wasn’t made for you, it was made for him, the gaps between you bared yourself to the danger, and before long— the strength of the armor was challenged, broken down.

Did he know? That you were defenseless? That the armor didn’t fit you?

Rick’s house was dark when your headlights shone against the cedar plank siding. Steering wheel cranking to straighten your tires, rocks crushing against the concrete.

Grabbing the nightly ledger and the tin lock box from the passenger seat, your door swings open with a grinding thud, and clanks back into place when you slam it shut.

A single table lamp was glowing when you knocked with a tight grip on the front door. A cleared throat and the burning end of a cigar meet you on the porch, lounging in a wicker chaise.

“I don’t like tardiness young lady.” leaning forward into the moonlight, Rick finally showed his face.

The breath you were holding goes out in a shudder, but you plant one of your famous smiles on your lips and twist your body towards him, landing softly between his legs on the corner of the lounge chair.

“I’m hardly younger than you are,” you tease, offering up the deposits like you’re bestowing him a gift. “b’sides, I’m not that late anyway.”

“Tardiness and back talk?” He questions bitterly, “surely this won’t be a habit for you?”

Grabbing the tin from you, his cologne burns your nose, a minty scent you’ve always hated. “You have enough little habits the way it is, niñita.”

His thick fingers rattle a pill bottle out from his pocket, but keep it just out of your reach, as he counts the intake from the night. You waited silently as he thumbed through the large stack of money, looking over the ledger and ensuring that everything was all there and accounted for.

The girls were allowed to keep their tips from the stage, but anything more than that.. other services that kept the laundromat in business with bedsheets, went to Rick.

He leans back against the lounger when he’s satisfied, setting the tin box down and carding fingers through his short brown hair. “Tommy stopped by tonight, had a lot to say about your little attitude problem.”

fuck, Tommy has had it out for you since high school… but that’s a story for another day.

“I guess I’m confused on who you think you are, Clove.”

Cocking an eyebrow you shift your shoulders, “I know who I am.”

“You’re late, mouthing off, do you not remember the things I’ve done for you?”

Of course you remembered, it wasn’t that long ago when you were made into his. Traded like a baseball card. One good for another.

“Such a shy little thing when you came to me, but I taught you well bunny..”

In all the time you had known him, Rick never raised his voice, and he didn’t now. His tone was almost formal, and he spoke with sophistication licked with malice that made your blood run cold.

“…I-I know.”

His head cocks, and he leans forward, peering down at you. “You forget so easily how your life was before me…” he coos, running a finger along your jaw. “Would you like to go back to that?”

Not answering, Rick continues, “sharing a room with whatever loose pussy your daddy was fuckin’?”

You shake your head, remembering countless times how your stuff would be ransacked with each new “talent” that had the misfortune of crossing paths with your old man.

“Fending for yourself and your sister for weeks on end?”

His fingers dig into the skin on your neck, pressing harder with each reminder, and you suck a breath through your teeth.

“Crying yourself to sleep hoping your whore mama would come back home…” his voice drops an octave and he whispers into your ear, the heat of his words itching your skin, “..or maybe you’re still waiting for that Munson loser to show up?”

“Quit it,” the tears were welling in your eyes now.

“Aww, did I strike a nerve?” he holds your cheek, “that deal was the best thing to ever happen to you, but I'm afraid you’re starting to forget who you belong to.”

“I’m not,” you blink, “I promise.”

Rick’s eyes watch as the tear travels down your cheek.

“Maybe you have too much freedom, living in the apartment complex with the other girls?… Do you need to come back here? Have me treat you like you’re insubordinate and reckless?”

“N-no, plea—”

“Then why do I have to listen to that inbred spit complaints about you? Do you think I want people coming to my home?”

You shake your head, fingers working the hem of your skirt. He hooks a finger under your chin, making you look up at him.

“I thought my expectations were clear… or am I deceived?”

Rick liked power, he got off on the idea of submissive relationships. Dominating weak and frail women was his main job, drug smuggling was a hobby. You’d been playing his game for years now, and you knew what he wanted to hear.

Your hand skirts up his thigh and rests daintily, “I’m sorry, I understand my place…always have.”

Like any other dick driven man, Rick was easy to please.

“Good,” his lips close around yours and your stomach rolls, the sickly sweet cigar he was smoking lingered and surrounded you in a clutch you couldn’t get away from.

“Stay tonight,” a command not a question, “my flight leaves in the morning.”

Looking in the window you notice his house is still dark, “what about Karen?”

Rick places his hand on your lower back, guiding you towards the front door, “she's with her husband tonight, graduation party.”

The pills rattle in his robe pocket, and the sound of them sets your teeth on edge, aching for the high. Rick’s hand engulfs the knob and he swings the door handle open, holding up a baggie filled with white powder, “what do you think little rabbit?”

—

The highway was anything but quiet behind the rickety bricks of the motel walls. Semi engines braked loudly adjusting to the sudden speed limit change, teenagers squealing their tires out of town to impress their girlfriends.

It was a mistake going to Forest Hills, what did he expect would come from it? You haunted him wherever he went, but being back home was a deeper kind of pain he hadn’t felt in years.

A cricket played a lonely song in the corner of the outdated room, teasing him by being just out of reach, hidden away.

Watermarked ceiling tiles and a countless number of sheep later, the clock still hadn’t seemed to move. His eyelids showed him your face, the horror of realization when you recognized who he was.

Pillow pressed into his eyes he couldn’t see anything else, and maybe he didn’t want to.

He laid there motionless, bare chested in the chilled room, air conditioner broken on the coolest setting. Regret looming around him.

Back then it was life or death. He didn’t have a choice, he wondered if you ever figured that out. He couldn’t tell you that then… probably not even now.

He was a coward then.

Sitting up he tossed the pillow across the room, folding his knees up to rest his forearms against them. Sleep wouldn’t come, not when your eyes were playing in his head whether he was awake or asleep.

Your face.

Something else was written between your brow when you saw him tonight, just a small flicker, a ripple to your eyes, but it was there— plain as day.

Fear.

—-

Rick had passed out next to you, his naked body slung over yours in some lame attempt of cuddling. You didn’t know how many lines you had done, or the number of shots you took, before stumbling in here.

Didn’t remember the lick of his tongue in your mouth, the feel of his hands on your curves, your was body numb from the drugs and to him. All you remember is right now, waking in a puddle of tears, the taste of blood on your lips, your nose full of it.

Peeling Rick’s limp form from you, you make for the bathroom connected to his master bedroom. Your reflection was horrific. blood dripped from your nostrils and coated your teeth, eyeliner dragged down your face like a halloween mask gone wrong. Your body, stark naked except for a purpling hickey on your collar bone, and white residue between your cleavage.

You look away in disgust, hatred for the eyes that stared back from the mirror.

It wasn’t uncommon for you to wake up like this. Having spent the better half of every night for the last seven years the same way. Reaching for his hand, watching him slip through your fingers. Voice hoarse from crying, yelling, screaming his name.

Reaching for the plush hand towel Karen kept, you plop it into the sink and turn the faucet to hot, wetting it completely.

“So I'm a stranger now huh?”

Eddie’s words from early stuck with you long after you had left. Eddie fucking Munson. Seven years…No high or amount of time could ever make you forget his face.

The pain was always there. You were only able to paint over it with each new high you could conjure. But no matter the number of brush strokes, no matter the opaqueness of the paint color, Eddie always showed through. Like a ghost in the background of a photo.

The sink was nearly overflowing before you pulled the towel covering the drain, wringing the scalding water from it as you sat on the toilet lid and draped it over your face. The heated temperature having your skin raw and burning, a welcomed kind of pain.

Seven years and here he was, waltzing back into town like he hadn’t left you in shambles. Although him being back brought forth memories you wished would stop, seeing him alive and in the flesh settled a sore in your soul.

It also dug up anger. And under the wet towel you saw red.

Answers. That’s what you needed from him. You were just a kid then, you couldn’t understand, and maybe you still didn’t want to know why. But you craved to know, your mind gnawing at your skull to make sense of why he would decide to leave.

You had adapted to your surroundings, learned how to survive. He couldn’t. He was weak and spineless, that’s what everyone had said, and after a while you believed it too.

Stronger than Eddie Munson had ever been, you kept going. Living this god forsaken life because you didn’t have a choice.

You had your own place, a cute little two bedroom apartment. One you decorated to your liking. You had a job that paid your bills. You had someone that loved…someone that took care of you in ways you didn’t know were possible.

You were different, and so was he. What did he have? Nothing. No one.

The towel dripped water onto your bare thighs, and you concentrated on that little tick rhythm until it picked up, sending water down in almost a wave.

Maybe that’s how he wanted his life to be, maybe that was why he left in the first place. Maybe you were standing in his way the whole time like a roadblock.

You didn’t realize the heave of your chest, how your breathing was uneven and shallow, choking off.

Then you heard it. The gut wrenching sobs coming from yourself.

It didn’t work anymore. Quite frankly you wondered if it ever had.

Pretending Eddie was an asshole and that you were better without him was the only way for you to deal with him leaving in ‘82.

The lies you continued to tell yourself about Eddie were falling flat. Your brain could be fooled, but the space he lived in your chest couldn’t be coerced that easily. He was inescapable, nightmares or not, you yearned for the hours when he would visit you.

In your dreams he was real. Still in Hawkins.

Your sobs turned hysteric. Lungs burning with no reprieve as you felt the same loss and emptiness that burrowed in your chest seven years ago.

Why? How could he leave without you?

The towel fell with a slap to the floor. Your body slinked alongside it like a doll falling from a child’s fist. Hugging your naked body, you wept on the cold tile for an unknown amount of time. It wasn’t until dawn broke through the window and Rick’s alarm clock went off that your cheeks were finally dry.

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battyaboutbooksreviews · 4 months ago

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💙💜🩷 Books for Bisexuality Visibility Month 🩷💜💙

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💜 How incredible is it that I made a list of 99 books for bisexual visibility month, KNOWING there are so many NOT featured on this list? I'm so proud to be bi. Having these characters and stories intertwine with mine warms my heart.

💜 What's your favorite book featuring bisexual characters?

💙 The Henna Wars - Adiba Jaigirdar 💙 Perfect on Paper - Sophie Gonzales 💙 Imogen, Obviously - Becky Albertalli 💙 Red, White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston 💙 Queens of Geek - Jen Wilde 💙 Just Your Local Bisexual Disaster - Andrea Mosqueda 💙 Highly Suspicious and Unfairly Cute - Talia Hibbert 💙 Rosaline Palmer Takes the Cake - Alexis Hall 💙 A Merry Little Meet Cute - Julie Murphy & Sierra Simone

💜 Leah on the Offbeat - Becky Albertalli 💜 The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo - Taylor Jenkins Reid 💜 Radio Silence - Alice Oseman 💜 The Gentleman's Guide to Vice and Virtue - Mackenzi Lee 💜 You Exist Too Much - Zaina Arafat 💜 Wolfsong - T.J. Klune 💜 The Pairing - Casey McQuiston 💜 Astrid Parker Doesn't Fail - Ashley Herring Blake 💜 Heartstopper - Alice Oseman

🩷 Going Bicoastal - Dahlia Adler 🩷 Some Girls Do - Jennifer Dugan 🩷 Hani & Ishu's Guide to Fake Dating - Adiba Jaigirdar 🩷 Autoboyography - Christina Lauren 🩷 Written in the Stars - Alexandria Bellefleur 🩷 They Both Die at the End - Adam Silvera 🩷 Cool for the Summer - Dahlia Adler 🩷 Delilah Green Doesn't Care - Ashley Herring Blake 🩷 One Last Stop - Casey McQuiston

💙 I'll Be the One - Lyla Lee 💙 Running With Lions - Julian Winters 💙 Take a Hint, Dani Brown - Talia Hibbert 💙 Felix Ever After - Kacen Callender 💙 Not Your Sidekick - C.B. Lee 💙 Ophelia After All - Racquel Marie 💙 Iron Widow - Xiran Jay Zhao 💙 Something to Talk About - Meryl Wilsner 💙 The Girls I've Been - Tess Sharpe

💜 Iris Kelly Doesn't Date - Ashley Herring Blake 💜 Never Ever Getting Back Together - Sophie Gonzales 💜 Her Royal Highness - Rachel Hawkins 💜 Call Me By Your Name - André Aciman 💜 I Wish You All the Best - Mason Deaver 💜 Mistakes Were Made - Meryl Wilsner 💜 Hang the Moon - Alexandria Bellefleur 💜 Kiss Her Once for Me - Alison Cochrun 💜 The Brightsiders - Jen Wilde

🩷 Wild Beauty - Anna-Marie McLemore 🩷 The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue - Victoria Schwab 🩷 Payback's a Witch - Lana Harper 🩷 A Dowry of Blood - S.T. Gibson 🩷 Six of Crows - Leigh Bardugo 🩷 Dark Rise - C.S. Pacat 🩷 If This Gets Out - Sophie Gonzales & Cale Dietrich 🩷 Let's Talk About Love - Claire Kann 🩷 Carry On - Rainbow Rowell

💙 Under the Whispering Door - T.J. Klune 💙 I Kissed Shara Wheeler - Casey McQuiston 💙 Pumpkinheads - Rainbow Rowell 💙 Icebreaker - A.L. Graziadei 💙 This Poison Heart - Kalynn Bayron 💙 A Lot Like Adiós - Alexis Daria 💙 Sorry, Bro - Taleen Voskuni 💙 We Are Okay - Nina LaCour 💙 Count Your Lucky Stars - Alexandria Bellefleur

💜 Hot Dog Girl - Jennifer Dugan 💜 Verona Comics - Jennifer Dugan 💜 They Hate Each Other - Amanda Woody 💜 The Disasters - M.K. England 💜 The Raven Boys - Maggie Stiefvater 💜 You Should See Me in a Crown - Leah Johnson 💜 These Witches Don't Burn - Isabel Sterling 💜 My Dearest Darkest - Kayla Cottingham 💜 City of Shattered Light - Claire Winn

🩷 The Unbroken - C.L. Clark 🩷 Dread Nation - Justina Ireland 🩷 House of Hollow - Krystal Sutherland 🩷 Love & Other Disasters - Anita Kelly 🩷 Ace of Shades - Amanda Foody 🩷 The Lost Girls - Sonia Hartl 🩷 Of Fire and Stars - Audrey Coulthurst 🩷 This Is Kind of an Epic Love Story - Kacen Callender 🩷 Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe - Benjamin Alire Sáenz

💙 If You Still Recognise Me - Cynthia So 💙 Melt With You - Jennifer Dugan 💙 The Charm Offensive - Alison Cochrun 💙 That Summer Feeling - Bridget Morrissey 💙 The Lesbiana's Guide to Catholic School - Sonora Reyes 💙 The Luis Ortega Survival Club - Sonora Reyes 💙 The Fiancée Farce - Alexandria Bellefleur 💙 Flip the Script - Lyla Lee 💙 Role Playing - Cathy Yardley

💜 I Think I Love You - Auriane Desombre 💜 Truly, Madly, Deeply - Alexandria Bellefleur 💜 Gearbreakers - Zoe Hana Mikuta 💜 Finally Fitz - Marisa Kanter 💜 The Spirit Bares Its Teeth - Andrew Joseph White 💜 Margo Zimmerman Gets the Girl - Brianna R. Shrum & Sara Waxelbaum 💜 Late Bloomer - Mazey Eddings 💜 A Darker Shade of Magic - Victoria Schwab 💜 Love at First Set - Jennifer Dugan

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kitsuneregin · 5 months ago

Text

Parasite (Yandere!Best Friend! Wooyoung x Reader) Short Story

WARNING: Mentions of murder, graphic descriptions of dead bodies, violence, kidnapping, implied stalking

Wooyung knew everything about you, your favorite color, your favorite book, how many phones you’ve broken, how you check your pulse in the morning, where you hide your stash of candy cause you can’t have them, when you’ve started taking birth control. Wooyoung had to know he was your best (and soon to be only) friend, you two met during elementary school and were joined at the hip since then. You both are now in college and you started to drift apart much to Wooyoung’s dismay. You began to hang around other people who knew nothing about you, not like Wooyoung, you even started to talk to this boy on campus...Wooyoung is the only man you should be talking to.

Jealousy and hatred bubbled like a hot cauldron in Wooyoung as he couldn’t stand not being around you all the time, the final nail in the coffin was when Wooyoung over heard your friends talking about him in the school library. “I don’t understand why Y/N hangs around him?” “Her...more like him, he’s like a lost puppy with her” “I’m surprised he doesn’t go to the bathroom with her” “Please it’s like his apart of her, like a parasite” ...parasite? Wooyoung scoffed he’s not a parasite, a parasite is creature that latches onto its victim and ruins them for its own benefit, that’s not Wooyoung, he’s not a parasite. They are, those new friends of yours they’re the parasites, they wormed their way into this pre-existing friendship and have been taken you away from him.

Wooyoung would storm out of the library his anger peaking as all he could do is think about getting rid of the parasites around you. He knew he had a bad feeling about those friends, they loved to party and be out at insane hours of the night, that wasn’t you. You’re a introvert, who likes to stay inside, watch a kdrama or anime, read with a cup of tea or the occasional coffee next to you, you like to stay to yourself. Ever since those friends came along you’ve been going to clubs and parties, drinking cocktails and shots like its water, wearing revealing skimpy clothes, drunk flirting with random men and women. None of that was you.

Days would pass as you began to worry for Wooyoung, he usually calls and texts you everyday, or at least comes to your apartment. He’s been radio silent and what’s worse is that one by one your new friends started to disappear, at first you thought they were busy with classes and after school clubs, but soon rumors began to spread, rumors about a potential serial killer kidnapping people. You worried for your friends as they all weren’t picking up text or calls, you started to struggle sleeping, your mind wondered on if your friends were okay, you couldn’t eat due to the twisting knots in your stomach, you felt tired, drained, nothing could soothe you as you wondered about the whereabouts of everyone.

Finally after two months your tension would break when Wooyoung called you to go on a night drive, something you both enjoyed. You happily took the offer as you needed the comfort as well as missing your best friend, the time spent was relaxing you didn’t think about your missing friends or the rumored murderer. It was just you and Wooyoung. Wooyoung was driving the car as the radio played quietly, the two of you enjoyed the silence and the night sky filled with stars. “Y/N” Wooyoung called out, you acknowledged him “Am I your best friend?” he asked. You were taken aback, where was this coming from, true you two had slowly started to drift apart but that was natural when you go off to college.

“Of course, we’ve been friends since elementary school” you answered curious about his question. Wooyoung smiled, it wasn’t his usual smile, this smile was off. “Good, I just had to make sure” he said, you nod your head looking back out the window nothing but the dark forest being your view. Silence would take over again until Wooyoung pulled off onto a dark dirt road. You notice the change of direction and look to your best friend, that same off putting smile on his face. After about 20 minutes Wooyoung stops the car.

He climbs out and you quickly follow not wanting to be separated, Wooyoung confidently walked ahead as you stumbled trying to keep up. “Um woo, where are we going?” you ask, Wooyoung doesn’t say anything and keeps walking till he reaches a small shack. Wooyoung turns to you, “I hate your new friends” he says. You furrow your eyebrows, “What?” you say confused by the sudden statement, Wooyoung’s smile drops his gaze darkens “I hate those fucking rats you call friends, they’re awful Y/N, snobby little party tricks who’ve poisoned you, who changed you, you were never a party type and you still aren’t” a sense of dread began to leer over you, “I heard them one day at the library, they were talking so bad about me...they called me a parasite” Wooyoung clenched his teeth hissing out the last word.

You felt uneasy at Wooyoung’s behavior, “Do you think that about me? Do you think I’m a parasite” Wooyoung asked, you weren’t one to tell half truths, Wooyoung was super clingy and he was very suffocating, when you both went to college you had hoped you and him would find new friend groups to be around. Wooyoung loved to dance and he was very good at it, you had hoped and tried to influence him to join the campus dance team ‘Ateez’ but he complained it would be too time consuming and he’d miss being around you.

“N...No Woo, I don’t think....where is this coming from, Wooyung why are we out here” you hadn’t notice at first but from the shack, a horrendous smell was emitting from the area, the smell of rotting flesh. In a flash your heartbeat dropped. “We’re out here so you can see who the real parasites are” Wooyoung grabs your hand and opens the shack door, the smell punches you in the face as you gag and hold your nose. Wooyoung drags you inside, a scream rips from your throat as there in the shack laid the bodies of your friends. The sight was out of a true crime podcast, bodies were dirty, holes in some of your friends arms and legs as maggots crawled in and out of them, some of your friends were missing their eyes, one was missing their entire lower jaw, dried and dead leaches rest on and around some of the bodies, dried blood decorated the floor.

You felt vomit rise from your stomach and out of your mouth as the sight burned itself into your brain. Wooyoung rubbed your back and shushed you gently, “It’s ok, it’s fine, you don’t have to feel pity for them” Wooyoung said. You felt tears run down your face as you look to your “best friend” in horror. “What did you do” you asked shaking. Wooyoung smiled again “I got rid of the problem, these low life bitches were toxic, and you always talk about how toxic people need to cut out of our lives to have a healthier mindset” Wooyoung explained grabbing your hands. It felt like he was lighting you on fire just by touching you.

“Wooyoung you killed them, you sick bastard, you’re a murderer” you cried trying to pull away. “I’m not the bastard they were, they tried to steal you away from me Y/N, you’re my best friend, MINE” Wooyung gripped your hands tighter, “They called me a parasite, me a parasite?!” Wooyoung would crush your hands if you didn’t free them soon. The tears on your face were hot as you couldn’t look at neither Wooyoung or the horrific scene near you, “you are�� you whimper. Wooyoung felt his world stop, he didn’t hear you right. “Say it again” he said, you sob as you felt like fainting “You are, You are a parasite Wooyoung, you’re a PARASITE” you scream at him. Wooyoung felt his heart stop, you think he’s a parastie, you agree with those bitches.

Wooyoung stared at you for a moment before letting your hands go. You fall to your knees sobbing harder. Wooyung doens’t say a word he simply walks away from you and to his truck, you’re stuck on the floor as you hear rustling for a moment then silence. Wooyoung returns with a shovel in his hand, you look to Wooyoung who has an unreadable look on his face, he grips the shovel tightly as his eyes bore down at you. “Woo-” before you could finish his name Wooyoung swung the shovel at you and struck you out cold.

Wooyoung stares down at you as he begins to laugh as he goes and starts to drag the dead bodies out of the shack, “If that’s what you all think then fine...I am a parasite”

#yandere kpop #ateez yandere #yandere ateez #yandere wooyoung #yandere #yandere x reader

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munson-blurbs · 6 months ago

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@corrodedcoffinfest Day 5: On the Road Again

Word Count: 835/Rating: T/Pairing: Steddie if you squint/CW: slight Eddie x Steve/Tags: Eddie Munson, Gareth, Jeff, Grant, Steve Harrington

Divider credit to @silkholland

In retrospect, Eddie shouldn’t have ignored the clunking noise coming from the van’s engine. Though, in all fairness, he didn’t have the money to go to a mechanic and figure out the source.

He would have had the money after the gig Corroded Coffin booked for tonight—a show for a club’s grand opening out in Indianapolis—except they’re currently stranded on the side of the interstate. Smoke billows from the front of the van, the scent silently urging Eddie to light up a cigarette.

Or maybe that’s just the stress.

“We have forty minutes to get to the club,” he mutters, the cigarette muffling his words. “If we can get to a payphone, we can call Pat and see if she can put us on later—”

“That still doesn’t solve our problem of actually getting there,” Gareth interjects, earning a scowl from Eddie that he easily ignores. “You got Triple-A?”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “You got Triple-A?” He pitches his voice upwards in a nasal, mocking tone. “If I had Triple-A, I’d be hitching a ride in a tow truck right now.”

“So…do we just wait here for someone to pity us and drive us to the club?” Jeff shoves his hands in his pockets, kicking one sneakered foot against the gravel.

“Gonna need more than just a car to lug all of our shit,” Grant points out. “Like…a truck or something.”

Gareth crosses his arms. “Yeah, great idea. Let’s just hitchhike with a random trucker. That’s never ended poorly for anyone.”

“Don’t worry, pretty boy. I’ll protect—”

“SHUT UP!” Eddie’s anger silences the other three band members. His thumbnail is pinched between his teeth as he paces back and forth. “I can’t think with you idiots dicking around.”

He runs a ringed hand through his curls. They’re still twenty miles out, but a faded blue sign ahead shows that there’s a truck stop a half-mile away. There’s probably a payphone there. He can call Pat, explain the situation, and ask if any of the other bands would pick them up.

Before he can relay the plans to the others, a pair of headlights illuminates the road. The car slows to a stop next to the broken-down van. Eddie squints, trying to make out the person sitting in the driver’s seat as they roll down the window.

“Eddie Munson?” A man’s voice, though puzzled, is familiar. Eddie recognizes the hair first—literally, The Hair.

Steve Harrington lowers his radio as he takes in the sight before him. “You guys break down or something?”

Eddie’s jadedness makes itself present before his brain can catch up. “Nah, just enjoying a warm summer night on the side of the highway.”

“Dude,” Jeff mumbles, elbowing him in the side.

Eddie sighs. As much as he despises the former King of Hawkins High, he can’t risk squandering the opportunity for a free ride. “Yeah, man,” he concedes. “We need to get to a payphone and find someone to get us to our gig.”

“I can take you.”

This has to be a joke. The last time Steve Harrington was nice to him was…never.

“It’s all the way in Indy—”

“I’m headed that way.”

“And we have all our stuff—”

“Trunk’s roomy.”

Grant grasps Eddie’s shoulder. “C’mon. We don��t have another choice.”

He’s right, and Eddie knows it. The Freak’s success lies in the hands of The Hair. He waits for the gotcha moment, half expecting Steve to drive off once they’ve managed to pile the two guitars, bass, and Gareth’s snare into the trunk, but that never happens.

Grant, Jeff, and Gareth scramble into the backseat, leaving Eddie to sit next to Steve.

Great.

They’re nearly at the club when Eddie can’t hold his tongue any longer. “So are you, like, a good dude now?” The words spill out. “Because the Steve I knew in high school would’ve left our sorry asses in the dust.”

Steve laughs, and Eddie finds himself relieved that no offense was taken. “Yeah, I was a jerk. Like, major ego.”

“So what happened?”

Steve pauses before responding. “Let’s just say it was my ass that got left in the dust, and it was one hell of a wake-up call.”

Eddie nods. “Well, we owe you one. Gas money, at least.”

“Nah, it’s cool. We’ll call it even after all of the shit I put you through in high school.”

Eddie thinks for a moment. “Can I buy you a drink at the club? If you were gonna stay, I mean. No pressure or anything.”

“Sure.” Steve smiles. “Figured you’d need me to stick around and give you a lift back anyway.”

“Y-Yeah. I mean, thanks.” Christ, why does kindness suddenly have Eddie unnerved?

“Think we might be writing more love songs soon,” Eddie hears Gareth whisper to Jeff. He’d reprimand the drummer if it wasn’t for two pesky facts:

One, he doesn’t want to call any more attention to the comment.

And two, he is, in fact, composing a mental list of words that rhyme with “hair.”

#eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #eddie stranger things #eddie munson fanfic #fanfic #corroded coffin #corroded coffin fest #gareth emerson #jeff corroded coffin #grant corroded coffin #steve harrington

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sol-consort · 4 months ago

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Aliens discovering our movies, art, books and video games and realizing why they’re all so precious to us

Like, a turian who comes from a high ranking family but just doesn’t have the abilities or skill the rest of their family has and it’s kinda outlasted for it puts on this old human vid called Encanto out of curiosity and by the end of it they’re a sobbing mess (whatever the turian equivalent of sobbing is) because “Mirabel just like me, fr fr.”

An Asari who just lost her first bondmate to old age and finding one of our sad songs about loss feels so touched by it and listens to it over and over again until she’s processed her own grief.

A Quarian who feel moved by a beautiful sculpture made of scrap metal and spare parts because it reminds them of the flotilla; a fleet of ships all held together with ductape, thread, and a prayer and yet still something beautiful.

The vibes I get from the other species is that they make their vids, games, books, and songs just to entertain, just background noise to fill the silence. Maybe they carry a deeper meaning sometimes but nothing compared to humans who pour their souls into their projects. Humans make fantastical stories out of the little parts of our lives that others can relate to and feel seen.

The handprint paintings on cavewalls come to mind. How instinctive drumming your fingers is how natural humming feels, how your brain spins stories before bedtime unprompted.

As much as war and disease have been parts of human history since the dawn of time, since the first spear was filled down, likewise music and art went with it hand in hand ever since the first flute was carved out, made from hollow birdbones and mammoth ivory, dating back to the time of ancients.

It's therapeutic. No one can deny the benefits of art on your mind and soul. It is what makes life worth living for many, the whimsy, the joy, the passion, the elation, the misery, the envy. The good and bad mirrors and reflections of our inner most desires, shameful feelings, and most creative ideas.

While the other species definitely don't lack in their culture and art—turians face tattoos borrowing from the batonical designs of nature—there is something to be said about the elcor deciding to adapt hamlet out of everything

There is a reason it's human music you hear playing at any self-respecting galactic club, ranging from the Citadel to Omega's own bars, the lights, the atmosphere, the valvety seats and soundtrack has a clear human touch. The human fashion which took over the asari modern wear like a swarm, inspiring many new designs combining the best of both worlds.

Humans aren't the only creative species, nor the one who care most about art. Rather, art comes naturally to us, all of us picked up colouring and drawing as kids, the urge to sing along to the radio, the desire to decorate your room, to spend hours moulding and sculpting characters in videogames even if they're end up wearing a helmet for the reminder of the story.

Art to us isn't necessarily a refined and polished thing like it is to the asari, neither is it an intricate impossibly complex dance with thousands of layers like the elcor. Our art is primal and integral. It's messy and often flawed. It's as mundane and common as the hair on our bodies, and it's everywhere. We breathe it into the world. Otherwise, it might sufficate it inside. It's so embedded within our whole existence that we are often blind to the more mundane forms of art, glossing over the way looking at sunsets gets our hearts slowing down.

Beauty was never the purpose of art for humans, but relief, communication, and self expression.

We look for art in everything, for a story under every unturned stone, for a poetic meaning behind the alignment of the stars, drawing shapes from their formation and assigning it meanings.

The other species could see that. it's what helped our reputation recover faster after the whole First Contact incident. What made the other species forgo their "bullies" perspective of humanity once they sampled our food, tasted our drinks, and were gifted bouquets of our flowers with cursive apologises worded so thoughtfully.

Art is the one thing you can't take from a human, we resort to it even during the most grim times of our life, especially during that, seek comfort in someone's creations, even quietly make our own versions inside the privacy of our heads. Just because art happens behind closed doors—or brains—doesn't mean it didn't happen. It's not a tree, it never required an audience to exist, its purpose is its mere just existence.

It's even infectious, wasn't the humans who got a krogan to agree and film a romantic comedy about falling in love with a human?

Do you think the hanar aren't absolutely fascinated by our tales of the sea, the ruthless spiteful ocean we seem to fear as much as we revere. The sirens, the krakens, the sailor shanties, the beautiful ships, and intricate wood carvings meant to bring luck.

Maybe the Turians can't get enough of human "coming of age" cheesy romcoms because our depictions of teenage rebellion and daring to be "selfish" and come into your own personhood is such a taboo amidst their military culture.

Or maybe they loathe it.

Instead, they prefer the stories about humans coming together to solve problems, realising the strength of cooperation, of beehive-like efficiency and utter trust in one another. Be it war films about soldiers coping with the cruel world while finding warmth in their comrades, or depictions of larger revolts where a whole population works together to put an end to their tyrannical leaders.

Maybe they're secretly Marvel fans, who knows.

Art doesn't have to be deep. It can be fun just for the sake of fun. Simple self-indulgence at its purest form. For every great classical piece of literature has been surpassed in sales by an erotica romance novelette with a shirtless cowboy on the cover.

I think the salarians would watch love paradise and other romantic reality shows about humans competing for one human's affection, hand in marriage, sometimes roses are involved—but salarians watch it with the same intensity of football fans watching a match, it is their own game of thrones, they don't care much for the sex but by the stars the "picking a mate" drama and gossip is equivalent to catnip for salarians

#☆galactic species #☆salarians #☆humans #☆turians #☆asari #☆elcor #☆hanar

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tastefulsimp · 10 months ago

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A Quiet Evening

I’ve never written anything like this before, but I needed some writing practice, and I cannot get Hazbin Hotel out of my head. I wanted to explore his complexity and write something that aligned with his character, our oh-so-scary-and-charming peepaw.

I’ve heard that some ace folks have an interest in reading romance and spice as a way to access certain emotions. I relish the idea of Alastor enjoying a romance novel from time to time. (and yes, the quotes from the book are really in the book) female reader | not spicy | tension

— Prologue

In life, Alastor always loved a good book. John Steinbeck, F. Scott Fitzgerald, and H.P. Lovecraft were among his favorites. But, the radio demon had a soft spot for a the author Elinor Glyn. While he was out running some errands this morning, he spotted a copy of "It" and Other Stories in the window of a book shop.

It had been so long since he enjoyed a good book. Most of the hotel crew would be out with the provocative one and his explosive friend tonight anyway. A quiet evening accompanied by a good book did sound quite lovely.

Once he finished his hotelier duties, he asked poured himself a glass of Sazerac, tuned the lobby radio to some jazz and swing at a low volume, and settled into the sofa.

He forgot how much he enjoyed a good read. In fact, the film adaptation of “It” was one of the only films he had seen while he was alive. Mimzy dragged him along to a showing one evening. In truth, he never cared much for the medium, but the story was entertaining at least. And, anything is enjoyable in good company.

“I should lend this to Rosie” he thought as he crept through pages of the novel, “she would enjoy this character’s— what does she call it? Ah, yes.. moxie.”

— Part 1

Emerging from your bedroom, you’re confused to find silence in the hotel. Your lively group of sinners must have left for the club already. Feeling a bit relieved, that you’re no longer required to socialize, you make for your bedroom once again. The faintest sound of music hits your ears just before you cross the doorway.

When you became a guest after the last Extermination Day, no one knew what to expect. Charlie was elated to have two fresh faces join the crew. But, after your counterpart bailed in the first week, you were the only remaining new guest.

As you approach the end of the hallway, the sound of swing music is grows louder with each step. Quietly descending the stairs into the lobby, you’re surprised to see Alastor relaxing on the sofa, reading a book in the dimly lit room.

You couldn’t help but be curious about Alastor. You knew the stories of the Radio Demon, and you saw the broadcast of their fight with Heaven. He was scary, sinister, and powerful… yet he had been nothing but kind to you so far.

Quietly approaching the lobby sofa, Alastor doesn’t seem to notice your presence. You peek over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of what title has him so invested. Your eyes catch on the sentence: “John was aware of the sex magnetism in her. He instantly wanted to kiss those cherry lips…”

Your breath caught in your throat as you realized, Alastor was reading romance..? There’s no way. Peeking again, you scan the page, your eyes landing on the words “analyzed, dissected, and stripped her.”

Yep. That’s a romance novel.

Alastor cleared his throat and stretched his collar just a bit. You watched, bewildered as he turned his head toward you with a smirk. “You’re not a very good spy, you know” Alastor quipped.

“I’m sorry,” You replied sheepishly. “I didn’t realize anyone else was still here.”

“I thought the very same.” He said, eyes returning to his book. You crossed over to the arm chair across from him and took a seat.

“Not up for a night on the town, my dear?” he said casually, glancing at you over the top of his book. He had traded his monocle for a pair of reading glasses, he was wearing a tied red silk house coat over his white button up, and some loafers. He looked so relaxed, you thought.

“Not really my thing, honestly.” you say, your eyes never meeting his, “It’s loud, it smells, and I can get a better buzz here anyway.” He lowers the book slightly to reveal his signature smile.

“Hm. I often wonder how you ended up down here, Miss ___,” Alastor jokes. You laugh, “My ticket to hell may have been coated in blood, but those petty sins have never been my style,” you reply smirking at him.

“What are you reading?” you ask, crossing one leg over the other in your seat. His eyes trace over your outstretched leg, before meeting yours once again. “Elinor Glyn. A novel called, It” he replied in a dry tone.

“What’s it about?” you asked, thumbing through the redemption lesson plans that were strewn across the end table next to you. His eye twitches. He let out a big sigh, “I was rather enjoying my solitude.” He shifts in his seat a bit.

“Is that all you were enjoying, Alastor?” you teased.

“I suppose I was enjoying the music as well, my dear” he replied, meeting your eyes over the top of his book once again.

“Oh, yes it’s lovely. But, I figured you were enjoying her cherry lips, or maybe her… sex magnetism.” You smirked at him. Annoyance washed over Alastor’s face as his eyes shifted back to his book, and closing it sharply.

“Ah, so you were spying on me.” He places the book down on the couch and rises to his feet. He grabs his glass of Sazerac and slowly starting toward you, static rising in his voice. “Perhaps it’s time you learn your place, Miss ___”

Panic floods your body as the Radio Demon approaches you, static in the air growing stronger. His pupils turn into black dials and he emits a glowing green aura. He could kill you right now.

You uncross your legs, and shift nervously, backing up slightly into your chair as he steps closer, and closer. Despite your fear, a depraved thought crossed your mind. This was kind of hot. NO! It’s not the time for that.

His faces is inches away from yours now, you can feel his breathing, and he can certainly feel your hitched breaths, but you never break the gaze you both hold. Within a millisecond its over. His eyes return to their normal round saucers, and the static dissipates from the air. “Do you understand, my dear?” he asks in a low voice.

His eyes stay locked on yours as he speaks, making your body tense. Are you seriously turned on by this situation?? This close to him, you realize he’s wearing a woody, citrus scent, and it smells incredible. You feel your face begin to grow hot, as a blush reaches your cheeks.

“Yes, sir.” you respond feigning innocence, giving him your best doe eyes.

“Good girl.” he pats your head then turns around to grab his book. “That was a lovely chat, Miss ____.” he says turning slightly to smirk at you, “sleep well.”

Another depraved thought crossed your mind, and this time you headed straight for the bar.

#hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #alastor #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel x y/n #alastor imagine #alastor hazbin hotel

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maddiesbookshelves · 11 hours ago

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25 books for 2025

Thanks for the tag @agardenandlibrary ☺️

Honestly, I just want my physical TBR to go down, but there are some books I really want to read before the others. Although I didn't really put them in any kind of order here

Le Paris des merveilles #2, Pierre Pevel (and #3 I guess)

Blackwater, Michael McDowell (the whole series, really)

A dowry of blood, S. T. Gibson

All these sunken souls, anthology (mostly for Joel Rochester aka fictionalfates)

Nettle and bone, T. Kingfisher

These violent delights, Chloe Gong (from my advent calendar)

The dark days club, Alison Goodman (also from my advent calendar)

The ballad of songbirds and snakes, Suzanne Collins

Camp damascus, Chuck Tingle

The locked tomb #1, Tamsyn Muir

Reread The ruin of kings #1, Jenn Lyons (so I can do the whole series)

Reread Iron Widow (Xiran Jay Zhao) so I can read Heavenly tyrant

Dr. Greta Helsing #4, Vivian Shaw (coming out this year)

Le jour du caillou, Véro Cazot (story) & Anaïs Flogny (illustrations) (it's a graphic novel)

The jasmine throne, Tasha Suri (and then read the whole trilogy if I like it)

Before the coffee gets cold, Toshikazu Kawaguchi

Pageboy, Elliot Page

Coraline, Neil Gaiman & illustrated by Aurélie Neyret

He who drowned the world, Shelley Parker-Chan (I need a refresh but I don't have the strength to reread book 1)

Any of the Jules Verne I own, honestly. At least one

Nous, Christelle Dabos

Any of the 2 Osemanverse books I still have to read, so either I was born for this or Radio silence (Alice Oseman)

The priory of the orange tree, Samantha Shannon (one day I'll finally read it)

Ariadne, Jennifer Saint

The sunbearer trials, Aiden Thomas

Tagging some people but feel free to participate if you want!

@profiterole-reads @therefugeofbooks @cleopatras-library

#book tag #tag chain #booklr #books #booklr community #25 books for 2025 #personal #text post

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aliceosemansolos · 1 year ago

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I JS REALIZED ION HAVE A INTRO POST SO IMMA MAKE ONE.

MY NAME IS FRIDAYY!! IDC ABT PRONOUNS TBH. PERO LIKE THEY/THEM IF U CARE. IM A MINOR SO IF UR 18+ DONT BE WEIRD. IM WRITING A PODCAST CALLED GHOST TOWN, COMING OUT AT SOME POINT!! ON YOUTUBE!!

FAV SHOWS: SCOTT PILGRIM TAKES OFF, HEARTSTOPPER, OHSHC (OURAN HIGH SCHOOL HOST CLUB), SOUTH PARK, NANA, I AM NOT OKAY WITH THIS, BROOKLYN NINE NINE, SHOUJO ANIMES, DOCTOR WHO, BOJACK HORSEMAN, YOUNG ROYALS

FAV MOVIES: HEATHERS, BUT IM A CHEERLEADER, IT (BOTH OF THEM), FEAR STREET (THE 2ND MOVIE TO BE EXACT PERO I LOVE THEM ALL), BRING IT ON ( ALL OF THEM OBVI), SCOTT PILGRIM VS THE UNIVERSE, JUNO, UP THE ACADEMY, TEACHERS, SPEAK, KARATE KID, GOOD WILL HUNTING, THE OUTSIDERS, I SAW THE TV GLOW, DEAD POETS SOCIETY

FAV BOOKS: SOLITAIRE, THE OUTSIDERS, HOW IT FEELS TO FLOAT, GIRL IN PIECES, SUICIDE NOTES, THE HEARTSTOPPER BOOKS, RADIO SILENCE, IT, THE CATCHER IN THE RYE, IF HE HAD BEEN WITH ME, IF ONLY I HAD TOLD HER, HATE LIST, YOUD BE HOME NOW, SPEAK, ACT COOL, A BREATH TOO LATE

RANDOM THINGS I LIKE: VINYLS, MUSIC, CDS, BAGGY CLOTHES, ALICE OSEMAN, DUMPLINGS, FASHION, ART, COLLAGES, MUSICALS, SWEET FOODS, BAKING, THE COLOR PURPLE ND RED, BLACK NAILS, POLISH MOVIES, MOVIE THEATRES, 80S AND 90S FILMS

FAV CHARATERS: TORI SPRING, ALED LAST, MICHAEL HOLDEN, KIM PINES, KNIVES CHAU, RICHIE (IT), BIZ (HOW IT FEELS TO FLOAT), HOLDEN CAULFIELD, TARA JONES, RAYNE SEPGUTA (IDK HOW TO SPELL HER LAST NAME), WENDY (SOUTH PARK), KENNY MCORNICK, EMILY (CLASS OF 09), SAL FISHER, JOHNNY (THE OUTSIDERS), LARRY JOHNSON, HACHI, NANA, SHINICHI, JACK MURPHY, FINNY SMITH(IF I HE HAD BEEN WITH ME-IF ONLY I HAD TOLD HER), CHOOCH BAMBALAZI, DANIEL LARUSSO, EDDIE PALIKINIKN(IDK HOW TO SPELL HIS LAST NAME), TODD ANDERSON, NEIL PERRY, MAX CAULFIELD

FAV GAMES: CLASS OF 09(THE RE-UP IS MY FAV), UNPACKING, OUR LIFE GAMES, BAD END THEATRE, SALLY FACE, RANDOM ITCH.IO GAMES, RHYTHM DOCTOR, STARDEW VALLEY, LAST SEEN ONLINE, OMORI, LIFE IS STRANGE

FAV MUSIC: RADIOHEAD, MITSKI, TV GIRL, ALEX G, THE SMITHS, ANY MIDWEST EMO, MSI, KIMYA DAWSON, THE MOLDY PEACHES, THE CURE, THE BEATLES, SUBLIME, FOO FIGHTERS, MOST DEATH METAL BANDS, CHELSEA GRIN(THATS METAL PERO WHATEVA), KORN, NIRVANA, THE POLICE, BAUHAUS, SIOXIES AND THE BANSHES, ALL GARAGE PUNK

FANDOMS IM IN: CLASS OF 09, SALLYFACE, STARDEW VALLEY, OSEMANVERSE OBVI, OMORI, SCOTT PILGRIM, BLUE PERIOD, FRUIT BASKET, TOKYO REVENGERS, KIMI NO TODOKE, NANA, PRETTY MUCH ANYTHING WITH MICHAEL CERA INVOLVED, AND PROB MORE I JS FORGOT

FAV PODCASTS: WELCOME TO NIGHTVALE, HELLO FROM THE HALLOWOODS, AND UNIVERSE FRIDAY

GO FOLLOW MY INSTAGRAM: ALICEOSEMANSOLOS‼️‼️

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maximvsxd · 5 months ago

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Welcome, you’ll love it here

☆(ゝω·)v

I enjoy reading, writing, watching movies, and listening to music !

Books I enjoy: Louder Than Hunger, Perks of Being A Wallflower, Thirteen Reasons Why, One Of Us Is Lying, Solitaire, Brokeback Mountain, How To Disappear, Heartstopper, Radio Silence, and The Outsiders !! :D

Some of my favorite movies: Brokeback Mountain, The Outsiders, Donnie Darko, Perks of Being A Wallflower, Manchester by the Sea, Dirty Dancing, Archie’s Final Project (aka My Suicide), Fantastic Mr. Fox, Girl Interrupted, The Breakfast Club, Boiling Point, To the Bone, and so many more !! :P

Shows I enjoy: Heartstopper, Thirteen Reasons Why, Scott Pilgrim Takes Off, and others of the same style !!

My Spotify playlist:

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blood-mocha-latte · 7 months ago

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Hi, I need an outsider's pov of postwar luztoye please, if that seems interesting enough to distract you from other tasks. 😅 Maybe a little old lady who lives next door and brings those nice boys a pie sometimes because George fixed her radio while Joe let her talk his ear off about her son who doesn't visit?

bestie i took this and RAN with it, so i'm hoping this is okay and/or what you were thinking! it got... longer, than i was expecting, but i hope you enjoy <3

---

It’s been lonely, since Lulu died.

The mutt managed to make it seventeen years before kicking it, so she counts it as a victory as best she can.

Still, the apartment is often too quiet, so she’s grateful for the book club, even if her guest is quieter than the dead dog.

Book club is probably pushing it, as at best it’s a mangy meeting to discuss books that neither of them necessarily enjoy.

Still, they’re classics, and she’d like to read them at least once before she herself kicks it. Toye doesn’t seem prone to disagree with her, anyways, just sits grudgingly in the chair across from her, one crutch propped up against the armrest and the other in his lap

She looks over at him, amused. There’s a dark dip between his brows, a telltale sign of focus where focus isn’t necessarily wanted.

“You can just pretend to read it, you know.” She says. It takes him a moment to look up at her, to pull away from the page.

“What? Oh.” He looked down at the open book in his lap. Her own was kept steady with her palm to its spine. “No, it’s fine.” Silence, for a beat. A pause. “It’s okay. It’s — this is George’s favorite.” He goes back to reading.

She’d figured as much. The copy of The Picture of Dorian Gray that he’d shown up with was obviously well-loved: the spine cracked and pressed white, yellowing pages littered with pencil markings. Toye treats it like a landmine, like it's liable to break completely in his hands.

She presses back her smile and looked down at her own copy, newly bought. “Alright.” She murmurs, and that's that.

---

They’d moved in maybe a year and a half ago, and the only reason she knew who either of them were at all was because she’d tripped down the last two steps outside of her own building and the one with two legs had seen her and helped her back up and to her own place.

The rest didn’t really matter, and she found it rather boring. What matters is that she invited the one with two legs up for dinner as a form of gratitude and he’d shown up with the one with one leg that looked a little rougher around the edges and that was that.

---

The one with two legs was Luz, who worked every day, and the other one was Toye, who worked every three days. On Fridays, Toye would come over for her self proclaimed book club with whatever she’d deigned best to read.

“I think it’s a load of crock.” She tells Toye on one of these Fridays, flipping through her pick of the week distastefully. “Overall written alright, but underall it’s garbage. What a worthless read.”

Toye is always generous enough not to mention that she’s always the one to choose the books. “I think there could be a point to it.” He says, always hoarser than she’d think he’d sound, and he talks so very little that she should probably be less tetchy. Still, bad habits are hard to break, and she scoffs.

“Yeah, and what would that be? Fate or God’s plan? Because neither seem to be good and neither are anything close to happening, no matter how much you pray.” She flipped through another few pages disdainfully. Toye’s own copy sat carefully in his lap, and he deigned not to touch it, tapping his fingers instead against the wood of the crutch that stayed across his lap.

“I don’t know.” He said, glanced out of her window. She knew why, and didn’t have to follow his gaze. The only reason that Luz had seen her at all when she had fallen was because they lived directly across from each other, right down to the building's story and window make. “There’s a testament to things falling into place.”

There’s something fragile resting along the lines of his face, and she has to pause for a moment, remind herself how utterly young he is. How young the both of them are.

She has a husband in a cemetery she isn’t able to get to anymore, because the streets are too crowded and her knees are too bad, and a son that’s lost forever in the mud in some godforsaken island in the Pacific, and if praying could have prevented that, they’d still be with her.

She doesn’t say any of that. She watches Toye’s face carefully before huffing and looking back down to her own book. “I want to read another Shakespeare, next.” She says. “I think he’s an overrated rats’ ass, and you can quote me on that.”

---

On the same Friday’s where she hosts book club, Luz will come by after he’s done at wherever he works with some sort of tupperware of something and they’ll eat dinner with her.

She’d never tell them, but it feels less like an embarrassing sort of pity, when one of them only has one leg.

“I think that he was a hack, God rest his soul.” She tells them one day, because they’ll listen to her, and she was thinking about it earlier, and there wasn’t even Lulu to tell. “I mean, do all you want and bow to him in whatever, but he was a right fool. I think that it was that wife of his that kept him in line, more than anything.”

Luz is smiling into his own bowl of food, and he’s prone to doing that. He won’t look at her, like he’s worried he’ll burst out laughing if he does, but she doesn’t mind. She came to the conclusion a long time ago that he just likes laughing, and she won’t care much if he does so because of her.

Toye’s always more serious, nods and is able to meet her face and send annoyed looks at the man at his elbow, who usually sits on the floor next to her stuffed armchair. “Eleanor’s a hell of a lady.” He says, and she nods at him, approving.

“She was the real one, if you ask me.” She says, and Luz coughs a bit into his bowl and coughs a bit more lightheartedly when Toye’s hand comes down to shove at his shoulder.

---

On the days that Toye works, and only in the wintertime, Luz sometimes visits by himself.

She has a sneaking suspicion that he’s intimidated by her, in some way, or something about her apartment is off putting. She doesn’t care all that much. He’s a nice enough boy, and he helped her back up the stairs, but she’s always had more of a proclivity for the quiet ones.

In the winter, he tends to be more of one of those himself, paler and usually scruffier than usual.

He looks so on the day that he knocks on her door and when she opens it, he looks like he hasn’t shaved in three days and eaten in six.

“Dear God.” She says, and steps back from the door to usher him in before he can freeze her apartment. “You look like a transient.”

She never paid much attention to what was going on in the Atlantic, other than the newsreels (which she never went to) and by word of mouth from her friends (which she didn’t have) and newspapers and magazines (which she rarely left the house to get).

Her war, like it was her boy's war, was with the islands, and when he died, her study of it died with him.

Still, she knew enough to recognize that Europe could get cold and that hollow eyes are often related to that ice.

Luz doesn’t laugh nearly as much in the wintertime, or smile, and she can’t even get him to crack half of one, even when she deigns to instead criticize Toye, which usually works.

“Oh, for Gods’ sake.” She ends up saying today, hips aching and irritated. “Now I have to waste coffee on you. Perfectly good waste, most of it is going to end up in that… thing, on your face.”

She doesn’t like beards. Never did like it when her boy grew one, said it made him look more grown-up than she’d allow.

Luz still doesn’t smile.

Fifteen minutes later, she sits with him in the overstuffed armchairs and wonders about what boys still find funny when he asks her, quite out of the blue, “What do you do when you miss someone?”

She blinks.

“Well, I’m sad about it.” She says, and when Luz just stares down at the mug she’d pushed onto him, rather desolate looking, she sighs and tries to think of something else to say. “I get angry. Or I knit. Or I look through my photos. Missing someone isn’t a glove. Why?”

Luz huffs, but it isn’t exactly happy. She doesn’t like it when Toye has to leave. He always seems happier, when the other one is around. The creases around his eyes aren’t so frustratingly deep.

“Nothing.” He says, and his voice is hoarse. “Just thinking about people who’re gone.”

She watches him, critical. God, she hopes he shaves before she sees him again. It’s really just improper.

“They never found my son's body.” She tells him. “Or they did, and they lied to me. Either way, he left and he’s gone and I barely have anything of him but what I remember and what he wore. So you find things that help you do more than obsess over those things.” She thinks of Lulu, of her soft fur and the way that she’d lick at her face. “And that’ll be gone before you know it, too, so you have to appreciate it all. You can’t afford to stop loving things in the world just because someone you love is no longer in it.”

She stares back down at her cup.

Luz clears his throat, and when she looks up, he cracks half of a smile at her awkwardly. His eyes are dark, there isn’t much light there. “Thank you.” He says, and she wishes she hadn’t told him about her boy. Still, she feels warm.

“Good god, child.” She says, anyways. “Go home and shave. You look like some sort of Hungarian.”

Luz doesn’t laugh, but looks like he might have, if it wasn’t wintertime.

---

Later on in the same night, they’re up later than they usually are, and she only knows it because she’s trying to get through a chapter for book club on Friday and she can see their silhouettes through their lit up window, light and orange and slightly blurry.

She doesn’t watch them for long, doesn’t want to pry.

Luz’s arms are around Toye’s neck, his face dropped down to his shoulder. Toye’s arms are wrapped fully around him, maybe more for balance than anything else. The way they’re turning, it looks like they're dancing. She wonders to what music.

She used to dance like that, with her husband. That was how she taught her boy, as he stood on top of her shoes and she held his little hands.

She shuffles back over to the armchair and goes back to reading her book. She doesn’t like this one either.

---

One day, she thinks they might be arguing.

Toye comes over on a Thursday night, instead of a Friday, and looks rather tired. It’s springtime, which is why she’s more hesitant about letting him in, but he’s shaved, so she allows it.

“Could I stay over for the night?” He asks her, voice raspy. “I’d – I hate to ask, but—”

She squints at him. “You’re the one with one leg.” She says. “Shouldn’t he be leaving?” Toye coughs. He shifts on his crutches, glances vaguely over his shoulder in a way that makes him look rather guilty.

“No, it’s—” He starts, and cuts himself off. “I want him to stay in the apartment.” He looks vaguely embarrassed. She squints at him again, but in the end just starts moving back towards her armchair.

“Fine.” She says. “I like you better than I like him, anyways.”

---

She tosses a bunch of moth-eaten blankets from the closet onto the floor and tells Toye good luck with standing back up and gets to bed. Toye looks strangely pleased about her rudeness, so she keeps that in mind and makes note to tell him that he needs a haircut tomorrow.

---

Toye stays over the whole day and helps her with small things and she tells him that he needs a haircut, and needs to shave, and needs to go outside more, and needs to get a better job, and needs better crutches, and should wear his fake leg more often, and a dozen other things before they sit down to read and do so for hours.

Book club lasts much longer than it usually does, but when there’s the usual knock at the door, albeit more tentative, Toye looks up and looks, again, so painfully young that she sort of wants to smack him for it.

She doesn’t. She pushes to her feet and complains the whole way to the door.

Luz doesn’t have food, and he barely says hello, just looks right past her to Toye, says in a soft, hoarse voice that she thinks means that he’s been smoking and that he wants to talk.

She looks from him, to Toye, to him again, and decides to stay out of it. “Get out of here, the both of you.” She says. “And clean up, before I see you again. You both have jobs, you know.”

---

She doesn’t see them for maybe three or four days after that, doesn’t even see them entering or exiting their own building. She wonders if one or both of them are sick, but thinks they might just be locked up in their own apartment for some godforsaken reason.

They don’t emerge for days and Luz is the first one that she sees, looking more relaxed than he has since the wintertime. He waves at her, but doesn’t spend too much time outside. Just pitches a cigarette over his shoulder and skips back up to the apartment, and that’s the last she sees of either of them for another two days.

She supposes they’ve made up.

---

She only goes over to their apartment once.

It’s alright. Rather homely.

There’s only one chair in the sitting room, which is rather ridiculous, though every time she’s seen him, Luz usually insists on sitting on the floor, so she supposes that may be a part of it. The kitchen is small, rather boring. A whiteboard sits on top of the fridge, tracking something by tally marks that she’s not privy to knowing. They don’t let her into either of the bedrooms, and she doesn’t care much to investigate.

“You, uh.” Luz tells her awkwardly, hands in his pockets, mouth quirked up in his forever-grin. “We could start eating here, if you’d like.”

She wrinkles her nose at the cracked open fire escape and the dishes in the sink and the crooked blanket on the chair. “I’m quite alright.” She says, and decides not to come back.

(There’s one of those song-players on a table off to the side, however. It looks more expensive than anything else in the apartment. Underneath it is a basket, and the only vinyl she’s able to make out is one of Billie Holliday.

Ugh. Figures.)

---

They come over every Friday for two years and she sees them more often than that, and as soon as something changes, she can tell immediately. It annoys her.

She knows right off the bat because Toye’s wearing his prosthetic, which he never does, and Luz is shaved, which doesn’t matter much, because his hair is still much too long.

“Where’s the house at?” She asks him, after barely another two minutes, because she’s connected the dots and doesn’t want to wait for them to be explained to her.

Luz is the one, for once, to pause. Toye turns to look at him, face doing the same sort of lined, barely held back guarded emotion that it often throws up around the other man before he looks back at her, hesitates.

“It’s, uh.” He says. She sighs, wants to tell him to knock it off with the pausing. “In Bedford. It’s—”

He keeps talking, and she deigns to ignore him to instead watch Luz, the way he looks at Toye. It’s the same sort of emotion, barely lined, making him heavier.

She wonders if her boy got to care so much about someone, before he was killed.

“Alright.” She says, maybe with a sigh, holds up a hand and decides that’s that. She’ll miss book club, but if she truly gave a rats ass, she’d join a real one. Maybe she will, now. “Make sure you pack enough. And shave. You have jobs.”

Toye’s smile is a crooked curve, and Luz’s takes over his whole face. She looks at both of them, unimpressed.

“Write to me, if you want.” She says. “Or visit. God knows I’m not going anywhere.”

She’s not, either. Maybe she’ll get another Lulu.

---

They leave on a Wednesday, which annoys her only because it’s such a random day to leave somewhere, with some sort of boring car packed with trunks in the middle of the summer.

She watches from the steps of her own building, arms crossed, and gives them advice on how to best stack the luggage, which they don’t follow.

“They’re all going to fall out and you’ll be left with broken and dirty things, and then you’ll see who’s in the right.” She tells Toye, who’s closer, annoyed. His mouth twitches, but he doesn’t say anything.

Luz looks back at them and smiles, but she knows he’s not looking at her.

---

She stands on the steps until it’s time for them to leave, and she hates dilly-dallying, so she rushes through the goodbyes by patting Luz’s cheek and grimacing at the stubble there. He looks like he might laugh at her.

She lets Toye get a step further and give her half of a hug, which she’s also not a fan of but allows anyways.

He watches her with those careful, dark eyes and says, very punctually, “Thanks, Moira.”

She waves him off. “You should be thanking me for trying to help you with the luggage.” She says, pointed. “Off you go. Get a dog. God knows there’s enough of them running around.”

From a few feet behind Toye, Luz laughs.

---

She can see their silhouettes, as they get in the car. Can see what looks like Toye kissing Luz on the cheek. She grimaces.

It must have been a horrid kiss. He never does shave enough.

#rie writes #okay i won’t lie to you. this is probably my favorite hbowar drabble ive written #band of brothers #luztoye #george luz #joe toye #joseph toye #hbo war

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