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mrsjellymunson · 1 year ago

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Hello, Stranger

Prologue: Hey, Boss

Pairing: Eddie Munson x gn!reader, Eddie Munson x you, Eddie Munson x reader

For @lesservillain’s excellent Strange and Spooky Stories Halloween writing event for the prompt: ‘Stranger’

Summary: A stranger comes in to buy weird stuff at odd times, and as the cashier at the local hardware store you’re not quite sure what to make of it…

CW: 18+ (MDNI), fluff, maybe SFW though caution for mature and dark themes and allusions to crime and violence. Dark humour, black comedy. Flirting, li’l bit of awkwardness, some swearing. Both Eddie and reader are in their 20s. Reader’s gender and appearance are not described, they can be whatever you want. No use of y/n. Time period is not mentioned, and any inaccuracies/inconsistencies about history, equipment, American schooling (I’m not from around these parts) or science are deliberate and artistic oh yes they are. No smut, I thought I’d better assess whether I could string a semi-coherent story together before attempting to add that 😆

WC: ~6.2k

A/N: I love gore, revenge movies, murder shows, true crime, science/biology/forensics and DIY (sort of), so this prompt seemed like a perfect fit. There are tiny Easter eggs from The Equalizer, Breaking Bad, 80s crime TV, The Blacklist and John Wick in here - let me know if you spot any! This is the first ‘proper’ fic I’ve posted so I’d love to know what you think. Comments, reblogs and feedback are hugely appreciated and very welcome!

(Also this is my first attempt at dividers too, I hope they worked, I literally have no idea what I’m doing!)

My masterlist

Yep, you were ‘that’ weird kid. Your friends in Middle School had called you a freak because you brought squirrel tails and chicken feet to show’n’tell.

“But look! If you pull this tendon it makes the claw close! Isn’t that cool?!”

No, apparently that was not cool. Especially when demonstrated against your teacher’s finger...

You’d visit a friend whose father was a doctor, begging to read his medical and pathology text books, and preferring to look at pictures of dissected and diseased organs and spontaneous human combustion over braiding your friend’s hair or talking about boys.

And, apparently, scoring a class-topping 9.5/10 for your rat dissection also wasn’t the social merit badge you thought it might be, even amongst your science-abreast academic peers.

So what if you had a strong constitution. And a love of anatomy and pathology. And then compounded it with a love of true crime, particularly serial killers and forensic methods. Surely there were worse things to be interested in?

By the time you’d finished High School you’d learned to mask your enthusiasm, covering your (apparently, socially unacceptable) fascination for all things ‘gross’ and ‘murderous’ (your friends’ words) by choosing science majors like human anatomy and pathology, criminal behaviour and forensics.

People just thought you were clever, nerdy, a scientist. You never let on that you were itching to actually experience some of these things for yourself, in real time, with your own hands…

You work the evening shift at the sprawling out-of-town homewares store on the road running out of Indianapolis towards a tiny town you’ve never been to (Hawksville? Hawking?). You work a few evenings a week plus alternate Sundays, currently in the gardening, kitchen and hardware department. It wouldn’t be your chosen section of the store (in the short time you’ve been there you’ve had to amass a lot of knowledge about tools. Also, how to politely deflect the regulars’ offers to share details of their new projects, lest you get drawn in to a half-hour discussion about u-bends or rawl plugs), but the hours suit you and fit around your college classes, and the employee discount comes in handy when things in your shitty apartment break down or your roommate carelessly breaks something, again.

The final few hours of your shifts were usually pretty quiet, barring the occasional domestic plumbing emergency, or a bored Hawkins housewife coming in looking for batteries.

You don’t mind spending your evenings amongst the tools and machinery, it gives you a chance to flick through the latest copy of forensic magazine or True Crime, or work on your college assignments.

One thing that does make the slow evenings more entertaining is the unusual clientele. A nerdy-looking guy with a moustache needing releasable cable ties, cooking oil and a large plastic sheet at 9.30pm must have an interesting backstory, right?

You find yourself concocting fantastical vignettes about the oddballs that pass through, giving them the most amusing or disturbing story you can think of as they glide by in the night.

The guy with the cable ties? Too easy. Clearly he’s got a ‘special friend’ and an interesting evening planned. TBH, that’s probably not even fictional. You call him Salacious Scott.

The friendly, rotund lady who regularly comes in for for buckets and sawdust? You know it’s Mrs Henderson, who is trying to go self-sufficient and has recently installed a composting toilet, but you prefer to imagine she’s actually a madam with a ‘specialist interest’ playroom, who you brand Madame Urolagnia.

The paranoid guy with a beard and thick glasses who won’t tell you his name, buys a lot of vodka from the liquor store nearby and comes in for plastic pipe, cladding and those slot-together foam mats for kids? He tells you he’s into martial arts and these make safe weapon facsimiles for training, but you reckon he’s actually some kind of government agent. Your imaginary name for him is Mysterious Murray.

One oddball in particular has caught your attention, and not just because he’s easily the handsomest customer you’ve had in a while.

Wait, no, you didn’t just admit that; you just find him interesting, that’s all.

It was his speed and demeanour that had struck you first, rushing in, hand atop the bandana on his head, gangly legs in ripped jeans looking like they were trying to run in two different directions at once, large, dark eyes wide as he’d frantically looked around the store.

“Uh, rope, I need rope, where’d you keep the rope?”

You’d blurted some instructions and he’d headed off, not looking in your direction.

His leather jacket and swinging chains certainly commanded attention amongst the flannel and blue denim that was usually in your line of sight, and you’d found your eyes following him, catching sight of him moving between the aisles from your position behind the counter.

He’d moved towards you with a sturdy knife, a shovel and 3 rolls of duct tape that he’d collected on his way to the checkout, arms full (he didn’t pick up a basket), when you’d ventured,

“I’d recommend the next brand up, if you want something stronger with better sticking power? It costs a little more, but it’s better quality, so overall you’ll use less”, (silently thanking Mr Wheeler’s recent diatribe on the merits and pitfalls of various brands of adhesive tape, remembering the detail because he’d gone so far as to demonstrate by sticking small pieces of it to your skin. It was a weird interaction for sure, but also oddly informative).

He’d lifted his head to look at you and your eyes had connected for the first time. Your eyes widened, and you think you spotted a slight twitch of a smile at one side of his mouth.

Oh, he’s actually really cute.

“Uh, okay, if you think that’s best”.

He dropped his eyes from yours and, after unceremoniously dumping everything else onto your counter, he’d exchanged the rolls and returned.

You’d both paused, you don’t know for how long, and you’d wondered how someone buying rope could be so captivating. But the spell was broken as you’d both spoke simultaneously:

“Did you find everything you need?”

“I’m kinda in a rush, so…”

You’d both chuckled nervously, and you’d set about ringing up his purchases, noticing that a small smile definitely now graced those previously harried features.

He’d paid with a handful of old, crumpled bills pulled from his jacket, politely declining your offer of a bag, and then he was gone as quick as he came, hurrying out into the night with the swish of the automatic doors and a breeze of parking lot-scented night air.

You didn’t know why anyone would need rope and a shovel at that time on a weeknight, but with this particular guy, who you dubbed The Stranger, you found yourself thinking that you wouldn’t mind finding out.

You’d unintentionally spent the rest of that evening coming up with fantasies about that particular customer, although, unusually for you, quite a few of them hadn’t actually involved what was on his receipt…

When The Stranger next comes in he’s after heavyweight garbage bags, more tape and a saw, but seems in slightly less of a rush.

He pauses at your counter for a few moments, making polite conversation, asking how long you’d been working here, whether you were working late tonight.

Is he trying to… flirt? Surely not…

“Thanks for the tape recommendation by the way, it was a real lifesaver. That stuff’s really good, I definitely have a new favourite!”, gracing you with a broad grin (oh fuck, that was a sight) before he was on his way again.

Another time he bought shears, tarp and a large quantity of painting coveralls.

The next trip involved wire cutters, buckets and a wet’n’dry vacuum.

You begin to enjoy The Stranger coming in buying random shit at odd hours. You can’t quite make him out. He buys a lot of gardening and decorating-type equipment (plus he’s almost single-handedly keeping the cleaning product aisle in business), but he dresses like neither - always in tight, ripped jeans, shredded band tees and his signature leather jacket. You’ve never seen him covered in leaves or dirt, and his clothes have zero paint on them. Those coveralls must do a really good job…

You build up a rapport of sorts with him. There’s always a polite, verging on friendly greeting between you, and you let him know when there’s special offers on tarp and garbage bags, and what days there are deliveries of latex gloves and those painting coveralls he seems to like so much. (Sometimes you’ll even stash a few of the latter for him under the counter if there’s a holiday weekend coming up, knowing Hawkins’ husbands will be out in force and not wanting him to miss out.)

But the ‘fantasy vignette’ and forensically-inclined parts of your brain begin to overlap, and start to tickle your imagination. It’s almost as if each selection of items he buys could be used to either dispatch someone, or dispose of a body. But that’s crazy, right? He seems way too nice to be a serial killer. And mob activity in this part of Indiana? Nah. That wouldn’t happen around here.

Would it?

It’s a quiet Friday night when you next see The Stranger. He’s picked up bolt cutters, pliers, some metal trays, a sledgehammer, a mop, and, most bizarrely of all because you’ve noticed he’s not usually one for personal safety equipment, ear defenders.

Again, he’s basket-less, barely able to contain the items piled up in his arms. They topple as he arrives at your counter, and some end up partially covering your open magazine.

“Shit, I’m really sorry about that.”

“Oh, no problem, honestly. I probably shouldn’t be reading on the clock anyway”, you say, slightly bashful, as you move the crumpled magazine out from underneath his items, smoothing it down. The Stranger’s eyes are locked on your hands, and as they move across the page they reveal a headline about a recently apprehended serial murderer and some photographs of a variety of grisly-looking, bloody weapons.

“That looks… interesting, watcha reading there?”, he remarks, leaning in.

“Oh, this? It’s about a new guy they’ve just caught over in Europe. He’s fascinating, he used such a variety of tools and methods that at first the police didn’t even think to link the crimes. Ingenious, really, when you think about it. So creative!”

You look up, and The Stranger is regarding you with an unreadable expression. Does he think you’re weird, babbling on about this murderer like you admire him? Or is he actually impressed with your enthusiasm?

“Sorry, I’m a true crime buff, it’s a bit of a pet topic of mine. And I’m studying forensics at college, so it’s kind of like schoolwork too.” You chuckle nervously, arms moving in front of your body and shoulders subtly curling in on yourself in embarrassment.

The Stranger seems to sense your discomfort, and shakes his head, making his curls bounce, smiling and chuckling along with you.

“No, yeah, uh, me too with the crime thing, actually. Well, not so much the reading, I’m more of a hear-it-through-the grapevine, hands on kinda guy.”

‘Hands on’? WTF does that mean?

“Oh, cool, coolcoolcool”. Smooth…

As you scan his items your fantasy vignette tickles your brain again.

No, don’t be silly…

You bag everything up this time, insisting it’ll be easier to carry, handing them to him and taking his crumpled bills.

Your curiosity is more than piqued and you can’t hold it in any longer. Feeling bold, you ask, “So, what’s all this for?”

“Huh?”

“The- the stuff. What’re you doin’ with it?”

The Stranger looks at you through his lashes, not speaking.

Shit, you’ve overstepped, he’s gonna leave, find a different store and you’ll never see him again.

“Uh, well, some people I know out near the big city are, er, planning a, uh, party, with a few of their, um, associates, and I think it’s gonna get pretty loud, hence the earphones. I, uh, don’t usually get involved in stuff until later in the evening, y’know, after all the main fun’s over.”

You look a little quizzical.

He thinks for a moment.

“I tidy up, but I sorta make it a bit more fun for everyone. Bring a bit of pizazz to a usually mundane part of the evening. Kinda thing.”

You process for a few moments. The ‘Mob Cleaner’ vignette you’d fantasised about screams loud and long into your cerebrum.

Nerves give way to curiosity, and you brashly ask, “So, what exactly is it that you do?”

“I’m kind of a cleaner, I guess? If someone has a problem that they’ve had dealt with and they wanna make the cleanup more, um, interesting, I’m the guy they call.”

Probing further, you clarify, “So you don’t make the, uh, mess, you just clean it up. Creatively?”

“Yeah, exactly.”

He explains he’s still quite new to the job, and kinda fell into it. His boss and his mentor are both encouraging, saying his USP is truly original (Unique Selling Point, he explains when you look confused), and that he definitely ‘has potential’. He’s learning a lot as he goes, but his enthusiasm seems to be appreciated and he wants to do well.

“All you really need is a strong stomach, imagination and a flair for the dramatic!”

He illustrates his last point by making jazz hands by the sides of his head, offering you a generous smile. Yeah, you can see how that particular part of the job comes easy to him.

“Oh, well, it sounds like fun. I hope you have a very successful evening!”

“Okay, well, thanks again! I’ll see you.”

You watch him leave, noticing in particular how well his jeans fit tonight.

What’s that saying again - I hate to see you go, but I love to watch you leave…?

You shake your head to rid yourself of the lewd - and crazy, yeah, totally crazy - thoughts you’re having about The Stranger and encourage yourself back into work mode.

As you busy yourself and tidy your counter you notice something small and white on the floor in front, about the size of a credit card. It must’ve fallen out of his jacket as he fumbled for cash.

Cash. Always cash. Never credit card, never cheque, never — anything traceable…

You round the counter and pick it up, thinking you’d save it and return it to him the next time he comes in. It’s a business card. The text is unfussy and clear, but glossy, bold and slightly gothic. It’s a company name above some text and a pager number, but it may well be the most intriguing piece of writing that you’ve ever come across:

E.M. Creative Disposal Services, Apprentice to Mr Kaplan & Associates, For dinner reservations call: (555)-666-6969

It’s another quiet night, but there’s already a couple of people at the counter when The Stranger arrives. Mr Sinclair needs a pipe wrench and a plunger (you don’t envy him his evening), and Mrs Wheeler has come in to buy double-As for the second time this month (although this time she also added gardening gloves and secateurs to pad out her basket. Not that you’d judge either way).

You spot The Stranger’s curls before anything else, bobbing in the fluorescent lights as he comes through the entrance doors. He spots the queue and immediately joins it, glancing towards the counter and visibly brightening when he sees you behind it. He’s carrying the sledgehammer he bought last time. As you start to ring up Mrs Wheeler’s batteries you see him examining the head of the hammer. Frowning slightly, he moistens his thumb with his tongue and rubs at one corner, then polishes the same spot on the front of his jeans.

He reaches the counter, receipt retrieved from a bundle pulled from inside his jacket.

You greet each other with a quiet ‘hey’. He continues, “I, uh, wanted to return this. Can I do that?”

“Yeah, sure, lemme ring it through the till. Can I ask why? Company policy,” you shrug, almost apologetically.

“Sure, uh, well you know that phase ‘using a sledgehammer to crack a nut‘? Turns out a sledgehammer does indeed obliterate the, uh, nuts… Let’s just say it wasn’t really suitable for the project I had in mind. I think I need something…”

Lighter? Easier to aim?

“With a little more finesse?” You venture, eyebrows raised, hoping you haven’t completely misread things.

“Yeah, finesse! I like that”. He beams widely at you tilting his head slightly, revealing the most gorgeous dimples you’ve ever seen, and it’s all you can do to hold on to the edge of the counter while your knees gently fail beneath you.

“Umm, you want some help choosing?”

He readily agrees and you direct him to the hammer section, both of you discussing the merits and disadvantages of various models as you choose ones from the display and encourage him to feel their weight and balance. He seems impressed, clearly not expecting you to be so well-versed in the finer aspects of hardware.

“Y’know, you really know your tools!”

You squeak out a bashful, “Thanks.”

You slip into self-deprecating mode and brush off his compliment, saying, “It comes with the territory I guess. I’ve picked up a lot working here. Plus I just sometimes browse the shelves, thinking of nefarious uses for random household objects.” Hurriedly adding, “For school, of course!”

You cringe a bit, thinking this must make you look like some kind of weirdo, but The Stranger takes it easily in his stride, commenting, “You know, you’d be surprised to learn just how much of a marketable skill that can be.”

You chat some more and he eventually chooses a smaller, less unwieldy hammer, and after he pays you part ways again.

You still desperately want to ask him exactly what he used that other hammer for, what ‘Creative Disposal Services’ actually means, and what the hell have dinner reservations got to do with any of this?

The next night you see The Stranger he saunters in at about 8:30. He has a different energy about him this evening, seeming both more relaxed but also somewhat on edge. He’s not in his usual ratty band tee tonight, you notice, and no leather jacket either. Instead he’s wearing a what looks to be a clean, maybe even pressed, electric blue raglan shirt with black half length sleeves. You spot a crimson guitar pick necklace that you’ve not seen before dangling from a twinkling silver ball chain, resting against his sternum and resplendent against the blue.

Observing his forearms for the first time you notice how attractive - and (oh!) tattooed - they are. Toned and veined, their shape and his mix of tattoos are shown off to perfection by that sleeve length, and a leather and chain bracelet that adorns one powerful-looking wrist. The glint of his chunky silver rings accentuates his large hands that peek out of his jeans pockets as he wanders over to you. He’s still in tight black jeans, but they seem a little… neater than usual. And he’s not in a rush. It’s almost like he’s not working, maybe even making an effort.

You feel a frisson of excitement - could it be that he’s come in just to see you?

Exhibit A, m’lud: Scrubbing up well.

He heads straight for your counter, and you greet each other with your characteristic friendliness.

He spies the hefty text books you’ve spread before you, and leans onto the counter to get a closer look.

“Watcha workin’ on tonight, Doctor Quincy?”

You swallow at the cute nickname, voice cracking slightly as you start to tell him about the assignment you’ve got. It’s about evidential tool marks, and how pathologists can identify what’s been used as a weapon or tool of dismemberment.

The Stranger tries to play down his interest, but his demeanour betrays him as he presses for more details, even asking if he could maybe read the finished piece.

That’s weird, right? People don’t read other people’s science essays for fun. Do they?

But you agree, promising to bring him a copy when it’s done.

The conversation lulls, and The Stranger twists the pad of one of his thumbs against the counter, seemingly a little nervous, though you can’t imagine what about.

To break the silence you slip into work mode, but for some reason drop your voice a couple of octaves and murmur,

“So anyway, what is it that can I help you with, sir?”

Wait, is he blushing?

“Um, oh, uh, I actually don’t have a shopping list today, I was, uh, just gonna browse, I guess.”

He backs away from your counter, giving it a few rhythmic slaps with his fingertips before turning away from you and ambling off into the store. He returns a few moments later with a small hatchet and mid-range fold-out knife, plus two rolls of his now-favourite tape.

“You can never have too many of these, amirite?”

He gives you that dimpled smile again, and you feel your stomach do a full (though anatomically impossible) 360° flip.

Observing his lack of focus and comparatively small selection of items, you wonder if he really needs those things, or whether he’s just picking them up as an excuse to come in to the store. Your chest heats up a little at the thought.

Exhibit B: Small, possibly unnecessary purchase. The evidence is mounting up.

Seeing the hatchet, your eyes light up with enthusiasm as you remember something.

“Hey, we just got some new stock in that I think you might like, y’know, if I’m not overstepping or anything.” You finish with a nervous chuckle.

You smile at him nervously through your lashes, skin heating even more in case this is suddenly all a bit too familiar.

He grins, responding, “Sure, go ahead!”

Your smile broadens and relaxes as you turn away from him and walk to the back shelves, crouching down and retrieving something in your arms.

Standing quickly and turning, you notice his eyes widen and immediately flick up to yours, a slightly alarmed expression on his face.

Exhibit C: Was he checking you out when he thought you wouldn’t notice? (Also, is it getting hot in here?)

With a loud thunk you lay two (frankly, terrifying-looking) multi-tools out on the counter in front of him. One looks like an oversized, overspec-ed Swiss Army knife, and the other could easily pass as a prop from an exorcism-themed horror movie. You over-excitedly explain the features of each, saying, “This one has a hammer and an axe, plus screwdrivers, pliers, a saw, wire cutters, a magnesium rod”, you look up at him quickly and ask, “do you ever need to start fires? Plus, it has…”, you wave your hand dramatically over your favourite part of the item, like you were showing it off on a shopping channel, and stretch out the syllables of the final two words for emphasis, “…a bottle opener…”. You raise your eyebrows and grin widely, like this must surely be the deal breaker.

The Stranger laughs, throwing his head back with deep-throated barks from the centre of his chest, and then he chuckles a little, bringing a strand of hair over his cheek and a curled finger to his lips. You’re slightly distracted by that glimpse of his extended neck (god, you want to gnaw at it), and that laugh? You wish you could’ve recorded it somehow.

You quickly compose yourself and continue, switching to the ’horror prop’ product, “And this one has fewer features, but I like it for its simplicity, robustness and practical charm. It’s an axe, hammer, nail puller and pry bar. And it even has a rubber coated handle, so you can still use it safely even if your hands are wet. For, y’know, whatever reason…” you finish, slightly abashed.

“Aw, Pumpkin, this is the kindest thing anyone’s done for me in a while, thank you.”

Pumpkin. PumpkinPumpkinPumpkin. Exhibit D: A term of endearment!

He takes some time to examine both articles, testing out their various features, hefting them in his (large, strong) hands (stop it!).

“I love them. Y’know what, I can’t decide. I’ll take both. What’s the damage?”

You visibly brighten, a squeak of delight that you hope he didn’t hear inadvertently leaving you as you puff up with both his term of endearment and your ever-growing customer service confidence.

You check whether he’d still like the other items he’d brought to the counter, and apart from the duct tape (“You really can’t have too much of this stuff!”), he allows you to reshelve the rest.

He watches, enthralled, as you wrap his new tools in the store-issue brown paper reverently and carefully, as though you were wrapping an expensive gift in a fancy department store, the pair of you sharing bashful looks and half smiles as you work.

As he hands over the now-unsurprising crumpled bills and takes his change his hand drifts closer to yours, glancing his fingers over your palm and lingering for just a moment. There’s a little hitch in your inhale, and you think you see his ears redden a little.

He gathers up his purchases in his arms carefully and gently, and he backs away from your counter slowly.

“I guess I’ll head out then. Uh, I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah, I guess you will, uhh-”

“Eddie. My name’s Eddie.”

“Okay, I guess so, Eddie.” You say his name slowly, like you’re testing out the syllables in your mouth.

You continue speaking, offering your name in reciprocation.

“Yeah, yeah I know your name, it’s kinda on your little badge there.” A tiny nod indicates the plastic rectangle pinned on your apron strap near your left shoulder.

Your cheeks heat again. “Right, of course. Ha!” You inwardly cringe. Well, that could’ve gone better.

He’s still backing away, getting dangerously close to an intricately balanced display of colourful children’s watering cans. You’re about to say something, but he turns just in time, ambling towards the illuminated exit with a mumbled, “Okay, bye then. Thanks again for these…” lifting the packages in his arms, and turning to look over his shoulder a couple more times before he finally reaches the door and disappears into the parking lot.

“Hey, d’you know anything about wood chippers?”

It’s been a week since you’ve seen The Stranger Eddie, and you turn abruptly to find him walking towards your counter.

His question throws you out of your stocktaking zone (you’d been focussing on ordering enough plastic pumpkin-shaped buckets for all of Hawkins’ kids this Halloween), but you quickly slip into customer service mode and ask for more details.

Eddie explains, using mostly his arms, that he needs one that, “throws everything everywhere”. You finally work out that he means the type where you feed stuff into a hopper on one side and the shredded debris is forced out of a raised chute on the other (as opposed to the more gravity-based ones where stuff is fed into the top and simply falls out the bottom).

He’s passing it off as being involved in some avant garde student art project, a performance piece involving feeding a load of wood and, uh, paint, yeah, paint into a wood chipper and having it spray out the other side. He blusters that the students are trying to make a point about climate change, or maybe it’s deforestation, he can’t seem to decide.

He explains that the piece is to be performed indoors, that there’ll be quite a few people present, and that he also needs a large quantity of tarp and coveralls because it was likely to make a huge mess.

This is the clincher. You’re absolutely convinced there is no art project, and what’s go through that chipper is more likely to be a human body. Or, given the amount of effort being gone to, and Eddie’s flair for theatrics, probably more than one.

“What size branches?”

He looks at you, confused. “Huh?”

“The, uh, limbs. What size will you be shredding? Some of the smaller models won’t cope with thick trunks.”

He swallows. His eyes meet yours, and he licks his lips. You can’t help but stare at those full, pink… Look away! Just look away!!

He subtly smirks, slowly moves his hands across the counter, and, gently taking hold of one of your hands in his, loops his other finger and thumb around your wrist.

“Um, definitely thicker than this…” - he extends your arm towards him, and moves his other hand slowly up your skin until he gets to your upper arm - “…and maybe a little thicker than this, too.”

You hope he can’t feel the burning sensation that’s erupted up your arm. You know he can’t possibly hear your racing heartbeat or detect the adrenaline that’s coursing through your veins, but you’re acutely aware of both just the same. You briefly ponder whether you’ll need to get a fire extinguisher from aisle 7.

“Umm, how about I show you what we’ve got?”

Composing yourself, barely, you take him to the large garden implements section, explaining that for larger trunks and limbs he may need something towable.

Under the guise of working out whether various models would be suitable, you take the opportunity to dig a little and find out what kind of vehicle he drives. It’s a van, so roomy, practical for carrying a lot of equipment that needs to be kept out of sight. Well, this all tracks.

Also, your brain helpfully suggests, it could potentially be romantic, a private little hideaway where you and he could… No! Stay on topic, you’re at work for god’s sake!

As you debate the various choices you find you’re occasionally leaning into each other, shoulders and elbows lightly bumping, you stealing glances at his chiselled jawline when you think he isn’t looking.

Eddie eventually decides on a mid-size towable model, and as you arrange for it to be delivered to the collection bay he bids you goodnight and disappears out to his van.

‘Art project’, huh? I don’t think so…

You don’t see Eddie for a couple of weeks after that, and you begin to wonder whether he doesn’t like you. Maybe you went too far, did you bore him? Did you frighten him off? Did he feel pressured into buying those gadgets or the expensive wood chipper?

Maybe he’s finally realised you’re a weirdo, like everyone at school eventually did?

Trying to get out of your funk you steel yourself and ask your department manager, Keith, whether he’d seen an odd, metal-looking guy in the store at all.

“Nah, not recently, but someone like that did come in a few weeks back, asking about when you’d be working. Something about your product knowledge helping him with a job, or whatever. I told him your schedule, I hope that’s ok.”

So you haven’t missed him, and maybe he’s not avoiding you. Good, that’s good. Exhibit E: He’s been asking about you?? Oh fu-

You’re startled out of your reverie by the sound of someone slapping two plastic packets down onto the counter.

“Oh, hi Mrs Wheeler, let me ring those up for you…”

On his next visit it’s clear Eddie is restocking his cleaning supplies, and he’s even deigned to use a small trolley this time to transport the heavy and bulky items.

As well as multi-surface cleaner, mops, cloths and some heavy duty gloves, you notice his trolley also contains numerous bottles of chlorine bleach.

“Big clean-up job tonight, huh?”

“What? Oh, yeah, I guess so. I need to leave the place without any trace of the, uh, performance this time.”

“Depends what you need to clean up, I guess. Y’know, chlorine bleach doesn’t necessarily get rid of everything.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, it’s fascinating, common misconception by the way. Chlorine bleach gets rid of visible stains, so that’s great if your main concern is aesthetics. But you can still detect haemoglobin, if you have access to the right tools and solutions.”

Eddie looks bath engaged and confused.

“A-heema-whatnow?”

You snicker.

“Haemo-, y’know what, never mind. Blood, basically. So actually, oxygen bleach is your best bet if your biggest concern removing all traces of, let’s say, blood and DNA. Whilst it doesn’t necessarily remove all the marks, it does degrade everything biological to the point where it’s undetectable. At least, with the tests we currently have.”

Eddie leans his elbows on the counter, giving you his full attention, resting his cheeks on his knuckles and pushing his dimpled grin up even further. Emboldened, you talk at length about haemoglobin, DNA degradation, specialist chemical solutions and alternative light sources.

He stays there, rapt, until you come to a natural stop. Just before he straightens up he quietly mumbles, still smiling, “Fucking incredible”.

With a deep breath he returns to the aisles to procure both types of bleach, pays and heads out into the night with a cheery, “Wish me luck!”

The cleanup must’ve gone well, because Eddie’s back a few days later and is making conversation.

“Hey, um, I remember reading once about some guy in England, years ago, who, like, melted people. You ever heard of that?”

You contemplate for a moment.

“Oh, d’you mean the Acid Bath Murderer, John Haigh?”

“Acid bath? Yeah, that sounds familiar.”

“Y’know, that’s actually one of my favourite case studies! It was one of the stories that first got me interested in true crime. 1940s England, dude thought he could get away with it if there was no body. Nope, sorry! When I first heard about it I thought it was really inventive, though he actually took the idea from a French guy who’d already done similar. Makes you wonder how many undiscovered dissolved bodies there might’ve been before and since, huh?”

You wax lyrical for a little while on the relative merits and disadvantages of the dissolving of human bodies in acid, even relating an anecdote about how your lab partner once chose the wrong combination of acid and beaker type, finishing with, “Hoo-boy, that was a mess!”

You become a little awkward, aware of how long you’ve been talking and the possibly-disturbingly-creepy level of detail you’ve gone into, though Eddie doesn’t seem to mind and presents somewhat like he’s paying attention in a chem class. Regardless, you decide to change the subject.

“I meant to ask last time, how did that wood chipping project go?”

“Oh, uh, yeah, really good, thanks. Y’know that advice you gave me about the chipper came in real handy. It was quite the show!” He looks gleefully at you, flashing that brilliant smile. A few small fireworks quietly explode in your innards.

“I’m so glad! Did the client like it?”

“Oh yeah, baby, they were thrilled!”

Baby. That’s new. You like it, and you add it to your growing mental filing system labelled ‘Evidence that Eddie might like me’. You can’t even remember what letter you’re up to now, you’re just enjoying stuffing it fuller every time he graces you with another morsel.

“They even gave me a nice bonus, for my ‘theatricality’.” He begins to lift his arms, but stops himself, resisting doing the jazz hands things again, reasoning there’s only so many times he can do an impersonation of a court jester before it puts someone off. “Said they’re gonna recommend me to their buddies too.”

More softly, and a little bashful, looking through his lashes he adds, “Kinda wish you could’ve been there, actually.”

Oh my, is he blushing again?

“Yeah, me too. I’d love to see you work sometime…”

“You would?”

Okay, he’s definitely blushing.

He leans in over your counter, close, so he can say in a low voice,

“Uh, just so we’re on the same page, you know what I do has nothing to do with art projects, right?”

Holding his gaze, and with your voice surprisingly steady, you swallow before confirming, “Yes, Eddie. I know.”

He huffs out a stuttering breath, and the air between you seems to heat.

He lifts one hand and rubs the back of his neck nervously.

“Hey listen, uh, I dunno if this is a little too forward, or weird, or y’know, whatever,” He’s rambling now. It’s adorable.

“I was kinda gonna ask you if you wanted to get milkshakes sometime, but, uh, maybe you’d actually wanna come out on a job with me? I’ve got one coming up on Sunday that I could really use an extra pair of hands on. I could pay you of course, y’know, for your time.”

You want to blurt out that, for him, you’d willingly burn the world and everyone in it for free. Instead, you smile wide, and settle for,

“Well, my tutors are always encouraging us to get real world experience…”

“Great, so I’ll pick you up at the end of your shift?”

“Sure, Eddie. I’ll look forward to it.”

You’re both grinning, stuttering messes.

“Great! Great. Uh, okay then, I guess I’ll see you Sunday?”

As he turns to leave, you stop him with one final question.

“Just one more thing Eddie. Should I bring my own coveralls..?”

ETA: This story now has a prologue, Hey, Boss

My masterlist

If you got this far, thanks so much for reading!!

Comments and reblogs make my world spin, do let me know what you think.

221 notes · View notes

angelhearttreasures · 2 years ago

Link

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: 🐰Easter Bundle🐇Easter Basket with Plastic Fillable Eggs & Dudley Spin an Egg.

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winterfrostlovetriangle · 2 years ago

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I posted 5,477 times in 2022

That's 2,898 more posts than 2021!

175 posts created (3%)

5,302 posts reblogged (97%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@justarandomgirly

@lotus-eyedindiangoddess

@asipofwineandfandoms

@infected

@vbecker10

I tagged 1,102 of my posts in 2022

#sebastian stan - 101 posts

#loki - 73 posts

#loki series negativity - 62 posts

#tom hiddleston - 59 posts

#asks - 55 posts

#anti loki series - 39 posts

#anon asks - 34 posts

#bucky barnes - 29 posts

#anti sylvie - 29 posts

#in defense of loki - 28 posts

Longest Tag: 138 characters

#sylv*e is not invited because she’s awful. anyone who mentions her name is liable to be blocked. i don’t know who she is she doesn’t exist

My Top Posts in 2022:

100% They just don't know it

71 notes - Posted May 20, 2022

Easter Surprise

It has been forever since I've posted a fic. Life has been busy and writer's block has been even worse. In honor of Easter, I wrote a drabble. Sorry for any mistakes, I was too tired to edit. Anyway, enjoy!

Pairing: Tom x wife reader

Summary: You set up an Easter egg hunt for your husband, which ends in a fun surprise.

Warnings: None

Masterlist

(gif not mine)

Tom woke up early just like every other morning to get a run in before the day began. Usually, you are next to him still asleep but this time, he woke to an empty bed. Well, not quite empty. A piece of paper with his name on it and a tiny basket sat atop your pillow. He picked up the paper and read the note:

Good morning, my love

In celebration of the day, I prepared a small egg hunt for you. If you make your way downstairs, the hunt can begin. Each egg is numbered and you must open them in the correct order, so don’t forget your basket and have some fun. I will meet you in the kitchen for your fifth and final egg and a special breakfast.

All my love,

Y/N

He smiles and grabs the basket as he gets out of bed and dressed before heading down, excited for the hunt. Once he makes it to the living room, he surveys the room, soon spying an egg peeking out from behind some photographs on the mantle. He gazes at the photo of you two on your first date. You both looked so happy. Picking up the plastic egg, which to his surprise, is numbered with a one, he slowly opens it. Tom’s smile only widens when he sees the contents. Inside are two truffles, reminiscent of the dessert you two had on your first date. Along with the candy, there was another small piece of paper that said, Four years ago, I fell in love with a man…

He bites his lip and blushes slightly, remembering that night fondly. A minute goes by before he realizes he’s still standing in front of the fireplace. He shakes himself and pops one of the truffles into his mouth as he turns his attention back to looking for eggs. He walks past the patio door before backing up to take a closer look. A bright green egg, hiding in the planter outside, catches his eye. After retrieving it, he groans when he notices it has a three on it. Tom considers opening it anyway, thinking you wouldn’t know. He goes to pop it open but shakes his head and places it in the basket waiting for the other egg. He finally spots it the egg in the dining room under the table. Inside are a few Valentines' candy hearts and a piece of paper that reads, That next Valentine’s day, I finally told him that I loved him.

The brunette quickly opens the third egg, eager to see what the next note would say. He smiles as he reads it. A year later, I married my prince charming.

His growling stomach interrupts his thoughts and he continues his search, soon locating the fourth egg. He frowns, disappointed that this one only contains some jelly bellies. Tom makes his way to the kitchen, his eyes widening when he sees a very large plastic egg sitting on top of a plate on the table. He sits down and opens it, finding a cute stuffed chick inside. He grins and notices some writing on its back. Turning it so he can read it properly, he slowly blinks at the message stitched on the wing.

Two years and nine months later, a baby chick joins the Hiddleston coop.

“Baby chick?” he mutters then his mouth falls open when he comprehends it. “We’re going to have a baby?”

You giggle and wrap your arms around his neck from behind.“We are. Happy Easter, love.”

Tom pulls you to sit in his lap and hugs you tightly. “I can’t believe it, a baby…I can’t wait!”

You laugh as you back, the nerves dissipating at his reaction.

“You sneaky little minx. When did you set all of this up?”

“Well, I found out a few weeks ago and did some brainstorming and then remembered how close Easter was and decided on an egg hunt. I was so nervous…

Tom hugs you again, smiling ear to ear. “I loved it and I love you. I have to say I was disappointed when there wasn’t a note in the fourth egg, but this surprise completely made for it.” He cups your face and kisses you lovingly. "I am so excited for our little chick to come. Happy Easter, darling."

88 notes - Posted April 17, 2022

He looks GOOD in a uniform

94 notes - Posted April 22, 2022

So it seems I was blocked by a blog because I don't tag my posts properly. Honestly, I rarely tag because I forget and sometimes I'm just too lazy. So if you don't like me or what I have to say, you can feel free to block me or just keep on scrolling.

Apologies for inconveniencing anyone by reposting something that you've blocked the tags for and not tagging properly. 🙄 Or for not staying silent when someone narc or bully needs to be called out. I'm done with staying silent y'all. Block or keep on scrolling. OR you can just unfollow me.

122 notes - Posted March 22, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

How the fuck can ppl ship Mobius and Loki? Mobius is an abuser and yet ppl think they go together!? How? Please someone explain...

I don't understand how - Mobius put Loki in a continuous loop of getting kicked in the groin until he (Loki) admitted he was a narc. And he was used to find Sylvie and then told he wasn't needed anymore. How the fuck is that right???

Just because Loki has been surrounded by abusers his whole life, doesn't mean he should be in a relationship with one. Sylvie is an abuser too, whether you like it or not. Loki deserves love. He deserves to be accepted for who he is, not torn down and accused for shit he didn't do or have control over.

Please someone explain why the fuck you would ship Loki with abusers like Mobius and Sylvie because it doesn't make sense and honestly, it makes me angry. (for personal reasons and because Loki just doesn't deserve that.)

187 notes - Posted August 25, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

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msbarrows · 2 years ago

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Some more shots from No Man's Sky, mostly of my base on my freighter. Topmost images are of another space anomaly, and my starship parked on a derelict freighter I was about to explore in search of more technology upgrades for my own freighter.

The next three shots are of another 4x4 greenhouse area I've added on to my freighter, which is "planted" with purely decorative (non-harvestable) plants around the walls, and has a central lounge area where my crew can hang out (in theory, anyway). It's even got a little bar manned by an alien jellyfish (an idea I borrowed after seeing screenshots of someone else's freighter that had multiple stations staffed by the glowy aliens).

Did some more work on the science department area of the ship, which involved adding a small room to put a bunch of undersea- and rock-related decor items in, plus a bigger room for a bunch of other decor items. Also built a little bedroom for my scientist.

Filled in some of the larger voids around existing rooms with things like storage areas, and also did a ton of exterior decking to cover over a lot of how mis-matched the exterior of the habitat area looks, including a small area of third floor that I haven't decided what to do with yet. Currently it's just a big empty room surrounded by glass-walled corridor and exterior decking.

Have also started making a few tiny easter-egg sort of spots tucked away here and there in the structure as well, because why not.

#No Man's Sky #Time for adventure!#Freighters #Yet more building of bases

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latineslytherin · 2 years ago

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Oooh I can definitely shed some light regarding the game as a fellow Dragon Age fan.

So if you played Dragon Age Inquisition and were able to figure out Solas was sus and potentially a future villain before you even hit Skyhold, then you would have been able to figure out the ending “twist” in Hogwarts Legacy. Because I saw both within the first five hours of playing. The main story beats are very obvious just like in Dragon Age.

There isn’t much choice in the dialogue throughout the game. It is very basic but it is definitely made to be like “first choice based story rpg” for “normies”. The choices don’t have a huge impact, it just colors how your character sounds/behaves in cut scenes. Think of it like Hawke’s red and blue dialogue option and that’s it. And the companions, they’re just companions you do quests with related to them, they don’t come with you everywhere. There’s no party and no banter between them. And there is a very obvious “loneliness” because of it. The main character even mentions a few times “I wonder what X would say about this” or “sure would have been nice to have an audience” and it feels like they had planned there to be a party system but cut it, so I dunno. But it definitely suffers for it.

There’s no romance, which tbh doesn’t mean people aren’t going nuts over certain characters. The current fandom darlings are Sebastian Sallow and Ominis Gaunt. There’s just no fighting about characters (yet). (Though I did spot someone trying to start up drama about the age of the characters, but people largely ignored them.)

The story itself isn’t like crazy amazing tbh. It’s just a good story, predictable to me but still a good story.

The gameplay is very easy. The only difficulties I had initially is that I’m normally a hack and slash, usually warrior or dps close range rogue, and the wand fights are very medium to long range sort of fighting. So if you’re used to playing a mage or an archer in rpg you’ll be fine. But once you switch there, it’s basically smooth sailing. The enemies aren’t difficult. And the “bosses” that are, you can just liberally dodge roll around most attacks and you’ll be fine.

There are a fuck ton of mini games and puzzles. Almost too many, tbh, but they’re interesting. Except the ones that repeat far too many but those ones are to encourage exploring the map.

The thing that really shines in the game is really the environment. The added lore because of the environment. It’s rich and detailed. Especially Hogwarts. It’s ornate with hundreds of tiny little animations that add a lot. This is definitely a game made to look pretty and to be a love letter to super HP fans who remember super tiny details from the books and from supplemental canon like the Wizarding world website.

Overall the game does NOT deserve the hype it has. It doesn’t do anything new or amazing. It is just a good game and with no game breaking bugs. The only bugs it did have were all visual and usually funny to see because you had to think, is that meant to happen because magic or is that actually a bug? Which tbh, in our current landscape of over advertised games that get released with game breaking bugs (looking at cyberpunk 2077 and fallout 76) probably is what makes it worth the hype.

Personally, as a gamer, I think it is truly overblown only because it caters to the lowest common denominator while also throwing in a lot of Easter eggs for the HP super fans.

Those 9/10 scores should really be 8/10, maybe 7/10 if people didn’t think that 7/10 rating meant the game is a buggy disaster.

im not going to play it bc honestly i sincerely don’t care to regardless of politics, but i am curious if hogwarts legacy is actually truly a good game or if it’s getting so much attention by virtue of harry potter fandom is big + a lot of people are probably playing it that don’t normally play high budget long form games + some people like stirring the pot on the controversy

bc I think about my beloved RPGs like dragon age and baldur’s gate and all these games with rich story and lore and characters and lots of origins and usually your choices can change the endings at least somewhat and there are at least a few romances that get people rabid and i haven’t heard anything like that about HP? like, i see zero actual hype for the content even among fans of it, and i think it might just be so well-regarded by “normies” because they literally don’t know that games in general are just a really good medium for adventure and story telling and this game probably isn’t uniquely good?

humble bundle should release a pack that’s a few top RPGs and a lot of stuff from trans creators and/or with great trans representation as well so that we can intro these poor non-gamers into the world of what rpgs can really bring to their life

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eddie-sweetheart · 2 years ago

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🏕 Camp Lovers Lake - Chapter Five 🏕

An Eddie Munson x Female Reader summer camp story. Set just before the beginning of season 3 of Stranger Things, with a few diversions from the original plot of the series.

🏕 Chapters List

Pairing and tropes • Eddie Munson x Henderson Female Reader - fluff, forced proximity, slightly slow burn, summer camp clichés ♥︎

Summary • June, 1985. Close to the city of Hawkins, Indiana, the placid waters of Lovers Lake stand as the perfect background for the homonymous summer camp, where you’re about to be a counselor for the last time before senior year and then, hopefully, college. Your brother Dustin Henderson won’t be with you this year, as he’s chosen to attend Camp Know Where until July - but with your best friend Robin Buckley at your side and the unexpected addition of Steve Harrington to your duo, the upcoming months seem to promise endless fun and exciting adventures nonetheless. However, as you get closer to Eddie Munson, resident metalhead and drug dealer who’s been forced by his uncle to work at Camp Lovers Lake after another missed graduation, your plans for the summer might have to go in an unexpected direction.

Warnings • Cursing, possible mentions and/or depictions of violence, sexually suggestive language. Having no idea where this is going myself, you’ll need to be 18+ to read this fic just in case!

Chapter notes • Driven by desperation, I managed to finish this chapter exactly before leaving for my summer holidays ✨ Be patient with the slow burn, it will be worth it I promise! Also, if you can spot the little movie-related Easter egg I put in this chapter, let me know ;)

Chapter word count: 6.7k

🌹 Masterlist 🌹

After the bonfire, you, Steve and Robin start hanging out with Gareth, Jeff and Eddie more and more every day - and time starts running just a little bit faster.

In the following days, even if you’re often paired with other counselors on your different tasks, you always find a way to spend some time together. You have now reclaimed your own spot at the counselors' table in the Headquarters, where you all sit together both at lunch and dinner - during which you’ve discovered Gareth’s pure disdain for vegetables and Eddie’s preference for chocolate cake over apple pie.

Sometimes, you even find each other hanging out together outside one of your cabins before bedtime, sitting on the creaky, wooden steps of the tiny porch in the late evening warmth, with crickets chirping in the background as Robin snickers at Jeff’s jokes or Eddie comes up with a witty remark at Steve’s attitude. In those moments, you look at them in the dim light of the sunset and your heart warms a little as you realize that becoming friends with a couple of nerdy metalheads and an ex-popular heartthrob who just graduated high school is not what you expected for the summer - but it’s way better than you thought.

And thank god you’ve made friends with a group of musicians, you think as you now stride towards dinner with a couple of scribbled paper sheets and a pen under your arm, because you desperately need all their songwriting skills right now.

As the main door opens under the push of your hands and you start scanning the room once you get in, it doesn’t take much for you to find your friends. They’re sitting at the usual table (your table, you think with a smile) and as you make your way past the other campers to reach them, you feel your cheeks blush lightly and a soft smile bloom on your lips as you notice that Eddie’s there, too.

Well, of course he is - why wouldn’t he? But, even if you've all started hanging out together whenever you can, every time you catch a glimpse of his messy hair and bright grin, you still can’t help but be pleasantly surprised at how he wiped the idea you had of him completely clear now that you’ve gotten to know him better. After the grim (and probably prejudiced) description Steve made of him during the first camp dinner, you pictured him as a dark, dangerous guy with a troubled life - but you would have never imagined that he is, instead, a funny, witty, passionate and overall nice person to be around. And you like to have him around - a lot. As a friend, of course. A friend that also happens to look extremely handsome every time he bursts out in a laugh that can light up a whole room-

You shake these thoughts away as you finally approach the table, slamming the papers on the wooden surface and startling the whole group with your arrival.

“Jesus, y/n” Steve exclaims, clutching his chest with one hand, “you really need to stop doing this”.

“At least this time it’s not a tray full of perilously balanced food” Robin observes, scooting to the side to let you sit down between her and Steve. “What took you so long? There’s not much food left, and I was not ready to fight some prepubescent kid to save an extra serving of spaghetti for you - And also, what is that?” She asks you as you plop down on the bench that runs along the table, pointing a finger at the files you’ve brought with you.

“This” you reply with a sigh, your eyes shooting up across the table to Eddie, Jeff and Gareth as you tap lightly on the sheets, “is something I need your help with”.

The three of them stop eating and exchange some surprised looks, eyebrows furrowed and mouths agape in confusion as their forks hang in mid-air.

“Our help? With writing?” Gareth asks, trying to get a closer look at the scribbled and scratched words on the paper, “I don’t know how we could-“

He suddenly stops with a hiss of pain, one hand darting under the table to massage his leg as he swiftly turns towards Eddie. “Dude, what the hell?”

Eddie, however, ignores him and focuses on you, his deep brown eyes casually wandering over your face as he props his head on one ringed hand. “Shoot it” he chimes with a nod, “we’ll do our best”.

You thank him with a smile. “As you all know” you explain, “the big treasure hunt is tomorrow”

“Treasure hunt?” Eddie and Steve exclaim in unison, exchanging a puzzled look as Robin rolls her eyes.

“Yeah, dinguses” she says, her eyes darting between the two. “Haven’t you checked the schedule? You’ll be both on patrolling duty”.

The two guys lift their eyebrows in confusion, but you dismiss their perplexity and bring the focus back to your papers by hitting them with the palm of your hand. “For the hunt, we need to set up and hide hints all over camp” you continue. “You know, like, little pieces of burned paper that resemble pirate parchment or something of that kind”.

“That’s Mr. Smithson’s idea” Robin chips in, addressing Steve and Eddie, “the kids love that stuff”.

Across the table, Gareth nods absentmindedly with a smirk, probably thinking about last year’s hunt and how he managed to redirect everyone to the bathrooms by misplacing all the hints and creating utter chaos.

“The thing is” you go on, rotating the papers upside down so that they face the three guys in front of you, “the hints need to rhyme. And I have to write them, which I’ve been trying to do for the past three hours, but I can’t find the right words or make them sound good for the life of me. So, I thought-“ your words falter as you realize that probably this is stupid, or it might even offend them - but you’ve gone so far now, so you have to shoot your shot. “I thought that maybe you could help me with that”.

Three pairs of eyes move up from the papers and land on you, puzzlement still permeating their look.

“You know” you hesitantly add, mentally crossing your fingers, “you’re in a band, and you write music… and lyrics… I thought you’d be way better at this than me”.

Indeed, you remembered how Eddie talked about Corroded Coffin during the hike, and how it impressed you finding out that they even write and perform a couple of original songs - that’s why, in the heat and stress of the moment, you thought about asking them for a little help. And right now you really, really hope that wasn’t presumptuous of you - as Max Mayfield, another of Dustin’s friends, would definitely say.

Once you finish speaking, Eddie is the first to smile, and you realize that most of your nervousness actually depended on his reaction. You smile back, and remember to breathe again - not noticing Robin’s narrowed gaze and slight smirk as she stares at the two of you.

“Let me see” Eddie says, grabbing the paper sheets and the pen you’re handing him as Jeff and Gareth huddle closer, the food left on their trays now forgotten. They start to read what you’ve written so far, occasionally exchanging a few words that Eddie diligently reports on the paper with messy, slightly crooked handwriting.

While they work under the intrigued stare of Robin and Steve, you stand up to go get whatever food’s left - and when you walk back to your table, you’re too distracted by Gareth and Jeff’s sudden arguing about which word rhymes better with “pinecone” to catch the mean glare Jason Carver throws towards your group.

— 🏕 —

The following day, the atmosphere pervading every inch of camp is filled with electricity - and not just the one coming from the excitement and expectation of the young campers, who are ready to dart in every direction to find the trail of clues you and a few other counselors hid around the area and in the surrounding grove before breakfast.

The buzzing on the ground is indeed matched by a similar tension in the sky, as dark heavy clouds hiding sudden flashes of light are looming beyond the line of the trees across Lovers Lake, a stark contrast to the bright blue above the cabins.

And it’s exactly the thunderstorm that seems to be approaching camp with relentless slowness the main topic of the last-minute meeting you’re holding in the staff room behind the Headquarters, where Mr. Smithson is showing you today’s weather bulletin.

“The storm shouldn’t be here until later tonight” the camp director is saying, slightly rising his tone to overcome the nervous chatter of all the counselors crammed in the room. “So, the treasure hunt will still be held, but with a few extra precautions” he adds as he nods towards one of the older girls, who starts rummaging through some drawers in the back of the room. After a few seconds of loud poking around, she ends up taking out a box of walkie-talkies.

“You will do your patrolling rounds in couples” Mr. Smithson continues, while the background talking finally lowers at the sight of the devices, curiosity taking over everyone - you and your friends included. “I’ll read you the list before you head out. Each of the couples will be equipped with a walkie-talkie - you can use it to communicate with everyone else and to facilitate an eventual regrouping of the kids in case the weather conditions worsen faster than we predict. Those who are not on patrol duty will be helping Mrs. Janet with the food. Snacks have already been made for lunch, so you will make sure that everything’s ready for dinner”.

“For once I’m glad I’m on kitchen duty” Robin states, happily drumming her fingers on the table beside you. “I’ll be free the whole morning while you guys will have to deal with crazy kids running around the woods with a storm incoming. You should really start worrying” she chimes as she turns around to look up with a slightly mocking smile at Steve, Eddie, Gareth and Jeff - who are standing on their feet behind your chairs due to the lack of seats in the full room.

“Thanks for rubbing that in, Buckley” Eddie observes with his trademark lilt, arms crossed on his chest as he flashes her an ironic upside-down smile. “Don’t get offended if I’ll never come to you for friendly advice in the future, ‘kay?”

The idea of Eddie confiding in Robin for whatever reason makes you let out a low chuckle, but Robin is quick to notice it.

“Laugh all you want, y/n” she jokingly says, nudging you lightly, “but you’ll be out there in the rain, too”.

You attempt to reply, but you’re interrupted by Mr. Smithson’s declaration of the patrolling pairings for the day. Once a couple is called, they get up and head towards the door, grabbing a walkie-talkie on the way out.

Thankfully, you’re paired with Steve this time, so you’re glad that you’ll be able to spend the day in good company. You’ll be monitoring the kids along the banks of the lake, very close to the Headquarters (and, consequently, to eventual shelter from the rain); the same goes for Jeff and Gareth, who’ve ended up together after switching partners on Gareth’s idea. Eddie, instead, is the one who has it worse: he’s been positioned in the closer edges of the woods with none other than Tammy Thompson, who looks more scared to be with him than of the low rumblings in the sky that can be heard in the distance.

As he walks away with the girl, the almost funny contrast between his unimpressed expression and her almost terrified and pleading one making you unexpectedly sorry for him, an idea pops into your mind.

“Steve” you exclaim, suddenly turning towards him, “why don’t you and Eddie switch places?”

Steve looks at you with a bewildered expression in his eyes, and you immediately realize that blurting that out like that could lead to a number of misunderstandings.

“I mean, you’re very, uhm… close with Tammy” you explain, “and you could spend more time together this way. Also, she doesn’t look very comfortable around Eddie… I don’t think it’s the best feeling for him, as well, being judged like that”. You hope he understands that you’re asking this for Eddie, with a possible advantage for Steve himself; sure, you really wouldn’t mind spending the day with Eddie - on the contrary, a very deep part of you hidden beneath your chest is already exulting at the idea, but that’s not really the point right now.

“Yeah, I think we can do that” Steve hesitantly replies, confusion still hinting through his tone - but as you both look back towards the trees you realize that you’ve lost sight of the two other counselors.

“Too late, I guess” he adds with a small sigh, patting your shoulder with one hand as he catches the disappointment on your face. “He’ll be alright, though, don’t worry. She’s harmless, and I believe he doesn’t care that much about what she thinks” he tells you with a small smile.

“Yeah, yeah, of course” you quickly reply, not very convinced about that last part. “You’re the one who’s dating her, so I will take your word on that”.

“Actually” Steve speaks again as the two of you start walking towards the dark waters of the lake, “I don’t think we’ll date any longer. We’ve actually never properly dated, to be honest”.

You look at him in surprise. “And why would that be, heartbreaker?” You jokingly ask him, causing him to smile.

“I don’t think she’s the right one for me” Steve shrugs, “she kept going on and on about my hair and how I look even better up close and stuff like that” he continues while you listen, your smile softly matching his as he reveals a new side to you. “I mean, of course I like receiving compliments - I don’t spend an hour in the morning to get this bad boy to look this good for nothing” he adds, passing one hand through his actually perfect hair, “but I’m not just that. I’d love to talk about other things, too, you know?”

As you finally reach the edge of the water, it’s your turn to pat his shoulder. “I have to agree with you on this one, Steve” you tell him, “you’re actually a very nice guy with a lot to say, under all that Farrah Fawcett hairspray”.

Steve’s cheeks blush slightly as his eyes widen in surprise. “How do you even know I use that?”

“Someone I know might have mentioned that” you reply with a laugh.

“Dustin” Steve exclaims, clapping one hand to his forehand as he realizes. “I swear to god, next time I see him-“

“Harrington, Henderson, are you in position?” Mr. Smithson’s voice croaks through the walkie-talkie, cutting Steve’s words off.

“Yes sir” he replies, his tone still slightly annoyed from your conversation.

“Good” the director states, before making the final announcement. “Attention everyone: we’ve just given the go-ahead to the campers. The hunt starts now!”

As soon as those words are uttered, you can hear the excited cries of the younger campers as they start scattering all over - some running along the lake and passing next to you and Steve, others darting beyond the cabins and towards the woods.

The following hours go by without anything exciting or noteworthy really happening - except a little kid tripping on a misplaced stone on the shore and needing to be escorted back to the Headquarters for a little fixing up.

You and Steve spend most of the time chatting, playing silly word games and riddles and walking up and down the edge of the lake with the walkie-talkie in your hand.

The dark clouds seem to have slowed down their approach, so you forget about them for a while - until, after you’ve had your packed lunch on the pier, your eyes always fixed on the shore, a low rumble makes your gaze shoot up. Right above you, the sky has turned completely gray, with flashes of light peaking through the now thicker and messier clouds.

Steve throws a glance at his wristwatch, his brows furrowing in concern.

“It’s 2 pm” he states, answering the silent question in your eyes. “And it doesn’t look like it’s going to hold for much longer”.

“Do you think we should start calling the kids in?” You ask, clutching your own naked arms as a sudden gush of wind makes shivers run on your skin.

Steve thinks on it for a second, but just as he is about to reply his word are cut off by the sudden buzzing of the walkie-talkie, followed by Mr. Smithson’s voice.

“To all counselors, please regroup the campers and head back to the Headquarters” the director announces with a hurried tone, “seems like the storm is about to break sooner than we expected. See you in 15 minutes. Over and out”.

You and Steve almost jump to your feet as you swiftly walk back, calling and sending every kid you meet along the lake’s shores back towards the main building. After a few minutes, when no one else is in sight, you follow them to the Headquarters’ porch, where the staff and the other counselors are doing a headcount of the campers as they walk inside the main room.

Robin’s there too, leaning against the wooden railing as she worriedly scans the sky. You and Steve walk up to her, earning a grin as you reach her.

“You’re lucky this thing was called off” she exclaims, winking at you as she nods towards the kitchen. “I managed to steal a couple of chocolate chip cookies, we can have them with the hot choc we’ve made for the kids”.

“Sounds like a plan” Steve replies, shivering at the chilly breeze that’s getting more and more intense by the minute.

“An amazing plan, I’d say” you add as your stomach growls in agreement, causing Robin to chuckle.

“Then let’s get you inside, dinguses” she jokingly says, turning around and making her way past the other counselors crowding the porch to head towards the door with Steve right behind her, running his own hands up and down his arms to warm them up.

As you throw a last glance at the trees and pines beyond the cabins, billowing and bending under the growing strength of the wind, you suddenly stop in your tracks.

“Guys, wait” you exclaim, grabbing Steve and Robin by the back of their camp t-shirts just as they’re about to set foot inside. When their gaze follows yours, they see Jeff and Gareth rushing towards the Headquarters from the woods. When they reach you, panting and sweating from the effort of avoiding the upcoming rain, Gareth leans against the wooden wall of the building while Jeff greets you between a deep breath and the other.

“Jesus, that was one hell of a run” he states with both hands on his hips as he continues to breathe, “have you guys seen Eddie? He wasn’t here when we came back from our spot, so we went looking for him” he continues, rubbing one hand on his forehead, “but he’s nowhere to be found”.

“Yeah, no shit” Gareth adds, finally catching his breath, “we even tried to contact him on the radio, but he never replied”.

An abrupt weight drops on your stomach at Jeff’s words, the thought of Eddie being out there with a storm coming worrying you more than you expected.

“No, man, we haven’t seen him” Steve replies, while you and Robin start scanning the porch to check for him. As much as you’d be relieved to see his tall figure towering over the few counselors that are still outside, Jeff’s statement still holds true: he’s not there. However, a blonde ponytail catches your gaze - and that’s when you know that something’s not right.

“Hey, Tammy” you call out, waving at Tammy Thompson once she turns around. She sees you and starts walking towards you, flashing glimpses of turquoise eyeshadow as she bats her eyes at Steve.

“Hi Y/n, Robin” she briefly greets you and Robin, whose slight blush disappears as soon as Tammy turns to look up a Steve with a wink. “Hello, handsome” she flirtatiously says, her southern accent noticeable in her voice as she curves her lips in a big smile - which turns into a less genuine one as she becomes aware of Jeff and Gareth’s presence behind you.

Steve hesitantly smiles back, but you’re quick to take him out of his embarrassment by addressing her again.

“So, Tammy” you begin, hoping to get some answers out of her. “Where’s Eddie? He was with you during patrol, right?”

Tammy looks at you with big, clueless eyes. “You mean Munson?” She asks, permed curls falling on her shoulder as she tilts her head. “Sorry, haven’t seen him”.

“What do you mean you haven’t seen him?” Robin interjects, any leftover trace of her previous crush on the girl now completely gone. “You didn’t walk back here with him when Mr. Smithson canceled the treasure hunt?”

“Oh, God no” Tammy replies, the ghost of her smile now turning into a slightly annoyed grimace. “I left him in the woods”.

“You did what?” Gareth exclaims, taking a few steps closer with raging eyes just to find himself blocked by Steve’s arm.

“You left him in the woods? Alone? Does he at least have the-” Steve calmly asks Tammy, but he cuts the question off once his gaze falls on the walkie-talkie that she is fidgeting with. “Jesus, you took the walkie-talkie with you?” He blurts out, one hand nervously rushing through his hair.

“God, Steve, calm down” Tammy exclaims, taking a step back. “He was being all creepy, trying to make some conversation and then being completely silent - also, after what Jason told us, I really didn’t want to spend more time alone with him than it was necessary, so I left as soon as I heard Mr. Smithson on here” she explains, waving the walkie-talkie in front of you. “Munson said he saw a kid walking off the trail and he wanted to go get him, so I didn’t think it was necessary to wait for him. He basically left me alone in the woods” she concludes with a snort, her words causing you all to look at each other with worry.

You don’t even want to know what she means with her reference to Jason Carver, not now at least. “Steve, we need to go look for him” you plainly state, your whole body tense and ready to sprint towards the trees. “It’s dangerous to be in the woods with a thunderstorm, and he doesn’t know the area. We need to hurry”.

Tammy raises her eyebrows at you in genuine curiosity. “Why do you even care so much about someone like him?”

Her question is met by five pairs of glaring eyes. “Because he’s our friend” you all reply in unison, startling her as she looks back and forth between all of you to focus back on Steve.

“Geez, Harrington, I thought you shared everyone’s opinion that Munson’s a freak” she blurts out at him, her head shaking in disbelief.

You might want to punch her here and now, but Steve gently places a hand on your arm and speaks.

“Listen, Tammy” he tells the girl, who’s standing between you and the porch steps, “I might have been a dick in the past, but I regret it and I’m trying to be better than that. Yes, I might have thought of Eddie Munson as a freak once, but I know better now - and you should too. He’s a person, just like me and you, except he’s probably nicer. Now, please move, we have to go”.

Flabbergasted, Tammy stares at you in complete silence as you and Steve turn back to Jeff, Gareth and Robin.

“Wait for us here, and keep your walkie on” you state, completely ignoring Tammy, “we’ll update you as soon as we can”.

“Got it” Jeff replies with a nod, his eyes following you as you move past a still astonished Tammy Thompson and head towards the cabins and the grove beyond them.

The low rumbles coming from the sky accompany you along the whole path, often paired with flashes of lightning that create long, yellow veins across the dark clouds. It’s still early afternoon, so you can clearly see the trail you’re walking on, the same one you took when you went on the hike on the second day of camp - but this time, the strong wind that’s running through the forest slows you and Steve down a bit, causing the branches and leaves to shake uncontrollably in your line of vision.

“Uhm, y/n, you know where we’re going, right?” Steve asks you, moving a particularly long branch away from you to let you pass.

You nod firmly, your eyes stuck on the path ahead. “Besides the shortcut to the bonfire spot, this is the only trail leaving from camp. He mustn’t be far - hopefully” you state, stopping every now and then to listen to your surroundings, examining the woods around you to look for any trace of Eddie’s presence.

Steve looks at you as you keep moving forward, his eyes investigating your worried expression. “Don’t you think that maybe we… we should have warned the staff? Set up a search party or something?”

“A… a search party?” You stop in the middle of the trail and turn to Steve, your eyes now filled with dread at the idea that maybe you underestimated the situation: why did you have to rush like that, away from camp without telling anyone? And why did it have to be you looking for Eddie? His friends know him better, they could probably find him faster…

As soon as Steve catches your quickened breath and quivering lips, he rushes to you, reassuringly placing both his hands on your shoulders.

“I’m sure he’s fine, y/n” he tells you, looking straight into your eyes, “I really do. But since this thing up here seems to be moving pretty fast” he adds, motioning with one hand towards the sky, “and we are quite deep into the woods, maybe we should head back and tell Mr. Smithson. Then the staff could come out here and help look for him before the storm hits-“

“Shhh” you suddenly cut him off, placing your index finger on your lips, your eyes wide as you listen to the woods around you. “Do you hear that?”

Steve looks left and right, trying to find any sound that isn’t the rustling of the leaves and bushes or the wind blowing through the trees. Then, he hears it too - a low but not too distant high pitched voice, yelling something that sounds extremely close to “shit”.

As Steve’s eyes widen, you let out a short chuckle filled with relief. “Eddie?” You start crying out, moving fast towards the sound, which is coming from the right side of the path.

“Eddie, where are you?” You and Steve both scream, getting off the trail and into the bushes.

A loud rumble covers whatever response you get, but it doesn’t take much for you to find the source of the voice. With Steve following you close, you keep walking in the same direction, until you turn up in a very small clearing among some pine trees. There, frantically pacing on the soft grass, you finally see Eddie.

“Shit, shit, shit” he’s nervously yelling, his hands tearing at his unmistakable curly hair, “it all looks the fucking same, for Christ’s sake-“

You stop in your tracks at the sight, making Steve almost bump into you at the edge of the clearing - but you don’t care, because sweet relief is filling your chest and reminding you how to breathe.

“Eddie!” You call his name one last time, making him turn around with a startle.

“Y/n?” He exclaims - and as soon as he realizes that it’s actually you, a smile finally breaks on his lips as he rushes towards you. “Thank god, I was starting to think I was fucked for good”.

You sprint to him, too, your lips matching his grin - but both of you stop just before you crash into each other.

“You’re- you’re here” he stutters, his hands wavering in the air as you let out a chuckle, “you found me”.

“Yeah” you reply, your eyes meeting his, “we did”.

“We…?” He asks, but as he utters those words he notices Steve walking up into the clearing as well.

“Oh, hello Harrington” Eddie casually says, his cheeks blushing with… embarrassment?

“‘Sup, man” Steve replies, greeting him with a wave, “you gave me and y/n here quite the scare. How did you even get lost?”

Eddie’s eyes dart between you and Steve, his expression now unreadable. “I, uh… I think I saw one of those little shi- one of those kids running around, so I thought I’d grab him and take him back” he explains, casually walking up to a tree and unexpectedly throwing a few soft punches at its trunk, making you and Steve look at him with confusion. “You know, didn’t want them to be left out here in the fucking apocalypse. But I guess no one was actually there, so… yeah”.

“Well, thank god y/n rushed to your rescue then. Not even the fucking apocalypse could stop her” Steve says as he makes air quotes with a knowing smile, earning a death glare from you.

Eddie’s gaze turns back on you. “You- it was your idea? To come get me?” he asks you, his expression softening again.

You hesitate, not knowing what and how much to let out in the open (wait, is there something to let out about it?). “Uh- yeah, I mean, I know the area so I thought we could find you fast enough” you blabber, not really knowing if your words make any sense.

Eddie seems like he’s about to reply, but anything he wanted to say is abruptly cut off by a loud crackle - signalling the first thunder finally falling closer to the woods.

“Time to get out of here, guys” Steve exclaims, urging you to follow him back to the path.

You walk fast behind Steve, Eddie marching beside you as you make your way back to camp. No one speaks, as you’re all focused on making it through the vegetation in the now darkened light before all hell breaks loose. And you almost make it.

As you reach the final stretch of the path before the woods thin out to reveal the cabins, the first few, thick droplets of rain start pattering on the ground and on you, causing dark splotches to appear on the green sleeves of your camp t-shirts.

You quicken your pace, but it’s too late now: in a matter of seconds, after a few more claps of thunder and rumbles, heavy rain is washing over you, the last trees of the grove offering you little shelter.

“Run!” Steve cries out, sprinting towards the cabins and, further ahead, the safe and dry main room of the Headquarters.

You move to do the same, not completely sure if you’re going to make it before you get soaked to your bones - but your thoughts turn into a completely different direction as the feeling of Eddie’s hand grabbing yours and pulling you into a run with him hits you like lightning.

As your legs rush ahead on their own, rain pouring around you in the most intense summer shower you’ve ever witnessed, time seems to slow down for a moment. All your senses are pulled towards the point where your palm is touching Eddie’s skin, where the hard metal of his rings occupies the space between your fingers, where - if you could focus a bit better right now - you swear you could feel his heartbeat.

The moment breaks suddenly and you realize you’ve made it to the front porch of the Headquarters. Soaked, yes, but safe and sound beside Eddie and Steve

“That was fun - shit” Eddie states with a grin, strands of curly hair plastered to his face as he looks down on you. As soon as he does that, he realizes that he’s still holding your hand, so he lets go - lightly flexing his fingers open as he takes a step away. The grin, however, doesn’t fade.

“Guys! You made it” Robin’s voice echoes from behind you, her face peering from the door with a huge smile as she throws a glance at the three of you, her eyes settling on Eddie. “Glad to know you’re okay, Munson”

Eddie nods his thank-you in her direction, while Steve starts making his way inside.

“Are you guys coming? I don’t want to catch something by staying outside a minute longer” he asks, one of his hands already on the doorframe.

“Sure” you reply, following his lead. “Eddie?” You question him once you notice that he doesn’t move.

“I need to get something from my cabin first” Eddie states, earning a surprised look from you, Robin and Steve.

“Are you sure about that?” Robin asks, clearly referring to the downpour that is still going.

“Yeah, it will take me a minute. I’m soaked already anyways” Eddie replies, a reassuring smile painted on his lips.

And he is, soaked. You’ve obviously noticed the way his wet camp t-shirt is clinging to his torso, hints of dark ink now visible under the almost transparent cotton. You glimpse some vague figure tattooed on his upper chest, but you’ve restrained your eyes from lingering on him for too long.

However, you can’t help but let out a spontaneous question, one you almost regret as soon as you utter the words.

“You’re not going to get lost on me again, are you?” You blurt out to Eddie, hoping he won’t notice your blushing cheeks.

He looks at you with a weird expression, something between amusement and softness. “I won’t, princess. I promise.”

— 🏕 —

The dining room is filled to the brim with campers and counselors, seeking some shelter from the storm that’s raging outside.

The raindrops patter hard and incessantly on the wooden walls and on the thick, old glass of the windows, thunders occasionally cracking and startling the younger kids, grouped tightly around a few reassuring counselors.

Half-empty mugs of hot chocolate are scattered on every table among cookie crumbs, board games are opened and set up and dry camp t-shirts and sweatshirts are handed around for those who got caught in the rain. You’ve got one as well, probably a size or two too big for you, but it doesn’t matter: you’re just glad to be safe inside, sipping on your hot drink at your friend’s table.

It doesn’t take much for Eddie to come back from his cabin, either. After less than five minutes since he bolted under the pouring rain, the doors of the main room open to reveal his tall figure once again. He strides towards your table, holding something under his arm.

“Theeere we go” he exclaims in his signature sing-song tone once he reaches you - and this time, it’s his turn to place a pile of papers on the table, neatly collected in a black ring binder.

“What’s that?” Robin curiously asks, throwing at Eddie an extra camp t-shirt that he can change into. As he peels off the wet one he’s been wearing so far and exchanges it with the dry one, you force yourself not to stare.

Gareth and Jeff’s eyes widen and smile, as they seem to recognize the contents of the binder. “This one” Gareth states, his dreamy stare fixed on the closed folder, “is a gate to a whole other world”.

“Are we really going to play?” Jeff asks Eddie with the biggest grin you’ve ever seen on his face. However, you, Robin and Steve still don’t know what they’re talking about.

“Given that all other activities for the day just went into a literal drain and I was already working on a new quest for Hellfire” Eddie explains, gesturing with his hands in the air as he sits down on the wooden bench, “I thought it might be cool to try out a short campaign and make this forced camp vacation a little more fun. So, fellow counselors” he announces, his eyes going from Steve to Robin and finally setting on you, “what do you say about embarking on a Dungeons and Dragons adventure?”

“Was that what you were writing a few nights ago?” Steve asks him, ignoring the proposal and earning a glare from you and Robin.

Eddie looks a bit sidetracked. “Maybe” he replies, opening up the binder and extracting three sheets of paper. “I was setting up your characters. If you want to play, that is”.

“I’d love to” you quickly say, causing Eddie to smile brightly. He hands your character sheet over to you, his fingers brushing against yours as a few tiny butterflies start fluttering their wings in your stomach. You’ve always secretly wanted to try the game, and knowing that Eddie set everything up for you to play makes this even more special.

“Me too” Robin echoes you with a shrug, reaching out towards Eddie to grab her character sheet. You’re a bit surprised, because that doesn’t really strike you as something she’d like, but you’re happy that she wants to join - happy that Eddie won’t feel disappointed or judged by your best friend.

Now everyone’s gaze is on Steve, who still hasn’t replied - but it doesn’t take long for him to nod hesitantly.

“Alright, let’s see how this works” he says, taking the last character sheet and furrowing his eyebrows as he starts reading it, “maybe I will finally know what Henderson likes so much about it”.

It takes a while to get used to it - especially because Steve and Robin are a bit hesitant in the beginning, while you realize that your knowledge of how the game works is definitely too vague. But after a careful explanation on behalf of Eddie, Gareth and Jeff and Eddie’s incredible DM and storytelling skills, you quickly find yourselves immersed into a new, fantasy world.

Your character is a half-elf bard - just as you told Eddie during the hike, and the fact that he remembered warms your heart a little bit. He also managed to pick the perfect choice for your friends: Steve, of course, is a human paladin, while Robin is a halfling rogue.

You end up playing for the rest of the day, the rain providing the perfect background noise as you explore secret caves, kill evil goblins and raid wooden boxes that reveal hidden treasures and gold. You manage to go on a little longer even after dinner, and what’s most surprising is that Steve’s the one who starts booing, followed suit by Jeff and Gareth, as soon as Mr. Smithson announces the lights out.

“Shit, I almost had that asshole” Robin grunts, referring to a hobgoblin she was about to slay with her longsword, “I just needed one more attack roll”.

“Next time try to use your weapon with two hands” Gareth suggests, “you’ll do more damage”.

“I also wonder what’s hidden behind that locked door” you excitedly say, “I don’t think I can deal with the cliffhanger”

Eddie’s eyes glitter with happiness at the sight of your enthusiasm. “Fear not, brave adventurers” he declares with a satisfied grin as he starts collecting all his papers and files back into the binder, his gaze proudly lingering on you, “the quest will continue”.

— 🏕 —

Hope you enjoyed this chapter :) Feedback is always welcome!

Also, thank you to @eddiesbirdie for suggesting the concept of Eddie getting lost in the woods :)

Taglist • @meaganjm @emwhite1 @juggernort @final-girllll @mermemerald @sarcasm-is-my-form-of-attack @stardustworlds @eddiesbirdie @carolineesnell @djarintreble @earthtokace @copycatkillerfics @purpleorbvoid @shinydixon

#eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #stranger things 4 #stranger things x reader #camp lovers lake #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fix it fic #eddie munson au #stranger things x you

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demonpoxballad · 3 years ago

Text

The Last Name - Chapter Eight

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Word Count: ~1.9k

Summary: There’s one more name from the past bouncing around Bucky’s head. One more scribble ripped from the pages of Steve’s old book. One more person to make amends with. Except this one is different: he can’t remember doing anything wrong. No murdering or enabling of evil plans. No threats or political conquests. In fact, Bucky can’t remember much of her at all.

Warnings: heavy violence and injuries, the Winter Soldier (assassinations), swearing

Series Masterlist

<< Chapter Seven | Chapter Nine >>

Enjoy! There are a lot of easter eggs cropping up so keep your eyes peeled <3

Prague, present-day:

Bucky had found the apartment. The one where they’d kept him during his mission in Prague. He was stood outside it now, just staring at the dull blue door. The paint was disrupted by scratches and bullet grazes. He wanted to burst through and start pinning red string between the walls; he wanted to turn around and find his way back home. So there he was, frozen in time, swaying to-and-fro. Just waiting for a breeze to come and nudge him either way.

He’d found it completely by accident.

Exiting the square after descending the clock tower, he’d clenched his fists by his sides, shrugging his shoulders in determination. He was going to find a clue. But first: coffee.

And not the 5€ shit they served under the tower. Besides, in one of the cafes he walked past there was a ridiculously old woman stood behind the counter, giving him a very strange look. She was tiny, probably not even five feet tall, skin puckered and pliable, wrinkles sagging and drooping. Her eyes were sure and determined, fixed upon his own, not wavering; not moving to say anything to him, her mouth fixed in a thin straight line, but saying enough all the same. Bucky knew that look: fear, ghostly recognition. He had never seen it from such an unsuspecting figure before, but nonetheless. It was one he’d rather avoid.

Strolling a few streets over, he spotted a nice looking place across the street. A cute, pale blue ‘café-bistro-restaurant’, complete with flower baskets lining the windows and knitted blankets filling woven hampers. Bucky stood there, waiting at the edge of the pavement for the road to clear, just watching the cars and people go by.

And then there was a noise.

Not a particularly distinct one. Just the clink-clink of a drain in the middle of the street. It was loose enough to make that same chime anytime a tyre drove over.

Bucky remembered it. It was familiar – as familiar as such a mundane sound could be.

He remembered stepping on it on his way across the street; remembered driving over it on a motorbike. He remembered it like strange child-like association for which he could extract no rationale, from when he was a different version of himself. He remembered sitting at the café over there and watching car tyres roll by, hedging bets with himself over which ones would track the right path, which ones would make the noise. Clink-clink. He remembered.

Even clearer now: waking up to the sound from inside somewhere, windows open, the room all billowing curtains and chilling gusts. A dark figure crouched by the wall. Bucky’s mind a hybrid of programmed red-hot aggression and emergent hesitation, tentative confusion.

Slowly wandering over to the gutter, Bucky tested the wobble with his toe. One way: clink. And back again: clink.

A car approached him and the driver bibbed his horn, each press punctuated with some Czechian expletives. Bucky turned around slowly, looking for a chip in the wall, some quirk or imperfection that would tell him where to go. The beeping was louder now, a whole line chorus of cars screaming at him. Right when the man in the front of the queue started to get out his car, throwing his hands violently in the air, Bucky spotted it.

A boarded-up window. Shattered glass and his hand around her neck. A sharp knee on his chest. Her kind and merciful blades.

The man squared up to him and Bucky pushed him away lazily by the chest, not bothering to observe his reaction. “Promiňte,” he’d said, wandering away, leaving the man gawping for a few seconds before he scrambled back to his car. “I’m sorry for the inconvenience.” Traffic recommenced.

Standing now in front of the old apartment door, Bucky traced his fingers against a particularly deep gash. He could feel the breeze from inside seeping through the edge of the door. He felt cold. That particular kind of cold that seems like it might never go away. Constant numb extremities, damp hair, tense shoulders.

His fingers slipped from the scratch to the handle. He leant slowly against it, testing. It was locked. Bucky didn’t know what he was expecting. A key under the mat with his name inscribed? A secret handle disguised as a book? This wasn’t some cute murder mystery.

Stooping awkwardly to shimmy a penknife out from the ankle of his boot, he opened the door the old-fashioned way. With a lot of jamming, wiggling, and swearing.

Sure enough, that window inside was jagged around the edges, duck-tape loosely securing cardboard to the outside. He wondered how long the cardboard had been there; if the tape was even sticky anymore. Had it been put up right after he’d broken the window? By her, even? Or years later, by someone he’d never met? How long had he spent here, in this apartment that felt wilder than the outdoors?

The room certainly breathed. Creaking walls, like old tree trunks. Wind howling melodramatically about the guttering. Letters and adverts littering the ground like leaves. Splotchy sunlight spilling through the gaps in aggregated dust. Bucky wouldn’t be surprised if he found a few animals living in the drawers.

There was a light switch on the wall next to the door, and flicking it had no effect. Bucky kept switching it on and off though, as if he could encourage the light to function by irritating it. His hand became more forceful and the casing slipped a little, no connecting wires tethering it to the wall. He let the switch clatter on the floor and peered inside the hole.

It was completely hollow and square, and Bucky wondered exactly how it could have come to be. Someone would have had to gut open the wall and carefully inserted walls in order to encase any treasures. It was a neatly done job, the corners sharp and right-angled. No messy globs of glue or jagged edges. Inside he could see a vague shape: the rounded end of a column. Reaching to touch a finger, the item felt cool and smooth. He gripped it carefully between his thumb and forefinger, sliding it out of the hidey-hole slowly until it was dangling from his hand.

A knife. It was just a knife. But Bucky watched his fingers trembling still, because it was hers.

The handle slipped from his skin and he moved his foot just in time for the sharp edge to bury itself in the wooden floor. Moving to rest on his knees, Bucky leant down to look at the design. It was a stylish blade, all creamy enamel and gold-plated death. There was a delicate pattern of flowers trailing up the handle, pretty lavender and sage that seemed designed to taunt any of its victims. Standing stoically upright from its point, it was proudly cleansed from blood and rust, gleaming and taut.

Bucky couldn’t understand why anyone would want to leave this knife behind. It seemed unforgettable, different from any usual blades. Set aside for some other sentimental purpose. He gently pushed the handle one way and the other, testing its flexibility, watching it wobble back to centre when he removed his fingers.

Standing up, Bucky left the knife in the ground and started wandering around the rest of the apartment. It was simple and bare, and he couldn’t help but infer that nobody had lived here during the past twenty years, that the apathetic décor was designed specifically for his keeping all that time ago when he was the Soldier. A square table with two chairs. A boxy and worn looking loveseat. A naked mattress in the next room and no shower in the bathroom, just a cracked and yellowing bathtub. He made his way back to the main room after making several rounds about the place, leaning a hand on the table to tap his fingers thoughtfully. The surface shifted slightly, his weight compressing some old crinkly bit of paper stuffed underneath one of the table legs. Bucky pulled out a chair and sat down, wobbling the table to-and-fro just as a means of fidgeting. The piece of paper came loose and he let the table rest back at its jaunty angle, turning his head to stare blankly out of the window.

There was something here for him, he knew it. Even if she didn’t want him to figure anything out, there must have been some trace left, some accidental essence to cling to. Bucky could feel it, tickling the tips of his fingers. But he’d already flipped the mattress, shone a torch through the crack in the bath, ran a hand under the rim, unzipped all the sofa cushions. And nothing, not a peep.

He sighed and leant down to wedge the paper back under the table leg, pausing suddenly when he saw faint writing on the surface. It had looked more like a napkin when he’d first saw it, the letters so faded they were hardly noticeable. But looking closer, Bucky realised it was a scrap of newspaper.

There was a date printed there, on the outer layer: 19. Února, 2004. Twenty years ago.

Setting the paper onto the table, he tried to carefully unfold the layers, his hands trembling violently. Bucky’s fingers were too bulky and clumsy, slipping and fumbling and failing to peel apart the edges. He was whining and cursing now, praying that the damp on his hands wouldn’t tarnish the ink, that time hadn’t silenced the secrets they had to tell.

For far too long he struggled to strip back one small corner, eventually catching an edge with his nail. He had to restrain himself from unfolding the newspaper too enthusiastically for fear of ripping it in half.

There was nothing special about the newspaper itself, but it contained an even smaller piece of paper: plain parchment folded into a tiny square. Bucky frantically spread it out flat on the table, smoothing the edges against the surface a few times before he began reading. It was a handwritten letter, the words impossibly small and scrawling, but there, nonetheless.

Hi. I’m hoping it’s you reading this.

Bucky sobbed, a choked whimper echoing around the room.

I did my research, and no one else who remembers this place should be alive. It’s supposed to be in real estate limbo as well, so hopefully no chance of new occupants throwing this away. It’s an important letter, although I’m sure you probably understand that already.

The thing is: I think it’s best if you remember what happened chronologically. That way, if you can understand all the events in their proper context, maybe you’ll understand some of the things that happened. Some of the things I did to you. I don’t want you to pass judgement on my character before knowing these things.

He turned the paper over to read the other side, his teeth chattering painfully and incessantly.

I’d tell you myself, of course, but I don’t want to. I don’t think I could bear to, even on paper. I’m sorry, really I am. But this is the best I can do right now.

I promise I will tell you where I am, though, because I want nothing more desperately than to see your face, to see your eyes when you’re back to yourself. Besides, I need my knife back, don’t I? I wouldn’t have left it for you if I didn’t want you to bring it with you.

I’ll see you soon.

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