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matchibee · 1 year ago

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A Web of Their Own Design (pt. 3)

bark? bark bark? (barely proofread)

Atoms felt as though they were dissipating, burning like a flame. You could feel your very being splitting apart, distancing themselves as you clutching yourself, fetal position of the floor of the Spider Society — countless spiders: men, women, animals? — looking to you with remorse, a silent understanding. "First time?"

You supposed there was a first time for everything, every experience and bloodshed, but this was far from favorable. A burden running deeper than anything you'd ever experienced prior.

"Here, hun." Spider-Woman, Jessica, you'd come to know the spider who'd previously come to your aid. "It'll help with the glitching."

You secured the band around your wrist — a day pass — Hobie, Spider-Punk, had called it. You thanked her with a nod, Hobie brushing your shoulder, your neck turning to gaze upon him. "Why're you here?"

You thought you might've heard him wrong, excusing yourself, asking for clarification.

"Were Bossman's words so enticing you folded just like that?"

"I wouldn't say I folded."

"Like a lawn-chair."

"Hey!"

Miguel called out to you from ways away, sculpted back facing you, unchanging in his posture. "Knock it off, kids." Was he saying that to infuriate you? Certainly not. If the phenomenon sweeping the universes — multiverses? spiderverses? — was as pressing as he made them seem, he wouldn't been keen on making enemies.

You entered a room situated at the end of a vast hallway, spider variants that passed you by looking to you as though you were nothing more than a fleeting light in an array of stars.

Here, you were normal. Here, your powers weren't a burden nor a blessing. You simply existed, coasting the waves in an experience of simplicity.

It was liberating.

"You're about to get the Spider-Spiel."

"The huh?"

"My name, as you know, is Miguel O'Hara. I'm the leader of an elite Strike-Force dedicated to the security of the multiverse. That's where you are now, where I've brought you."

Hobie was not kidding when he said this man was about to go on a spiel.

"I'm this universe's one and only Spider-Man. I'm... Well, I'm different from the rest, different from everyone."

His introduction piqued your curiosity, a million questions pressing against the tip of your tongue, reducing yourself to a singular inquiry, perhaps the one that mattered the most. "What does that have to do with me?"

Miguel removed his mask, sumptuous blues and reds forfeiting themselves for a face sculpted by the Gods. His suit was far from deceiving, clinging to his body in a way only the spandex could. A second skin.

"Lyla," a hologram produced an AI from seemingly nowhere. "Do the thing."

The opulently dressed Artifice feigned ignorance. "What thing?"

"The thing."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

Miguel clawed his hands down his face, skin contorting to his touch, frustrated. "You are literally programed to know what thing."

The two bickered back and forth, Miguel entirely fed up as Lyla continued the act, zipping in blurbs around his body, Miguel struggling to keep up with the myriad places she seemed to reposition herself.

You leaned towards Hobie, faces still obscured by your masks, "Do they always act like this?"

"Infuriating? Stubborn? Wanton?"

"All of the above."

"On the daily."

You groaned much like Miguel had, swift in removing your mask, a breath of fresh air — said air smelling different, its taste even differing from the air you breathed in your own universe.

"You're quite the looker beneath your mask," Hobie had removed his own, head of hair bouncing voluminously from its confines, a face graced in silvers. "Decent face, obviously intelligent. How'd you let that guy drag you into all this? This... institutional nonsense?"

All you could think of in the midst of Hobie's own rant was how the hell did all that hair fit?

"Institutional nonsense?"

"Rubbish, all of it. I never believed in it." He crossed his arms over his chest, fed up with the situation.

"Hobie," You gathered his attention, a hum sounding from his throat. "You're part of this institution — you're wearing the same watch as everyone else."

He clicked his tongue, "I don't believe in consistency."

"Obviously."

Miguel rejoiced in the background, attentions returning to the mount of muscle, "There we go!"

The lights dimmed in a dramatic fashion, a network of webs connecting to display the multiverse. You looked into them with wonder, hand reaching out, fearing what might happen if your fingers brushed the webs. You saw everything, everyone. Nobody exempt from Miguel's observations, network extending more vast than anything you'd ever believed possible. It seemed impossible for him to be capable of such feats.

"This is..."

"For the sake of simplicity: everything."

Nothing could describe what you felt, what you saw. Every Spider's happiness, downfall. Their hopes and dreams on the sleeve of the multiverse. Not once had you had an original experience. Not now, not ever. If you'd thought it, chances were another had, too.

The thought alone was terrifying? Comforting? You couldn't quite put your finger on it, everything blurring into a singular feeling, a network of minds linked, perhaps cursed.

Was this all you were?

"There are certain canon events that precede Spiderman's existence."

"Canon event?"

Jess spoke up, "Events that are intended to happen. Trials and tribulations every Spider goes through — are meant to go through."

Miguel hummed. "Mhm, mhm. In the future, Jess, I'll do the explaining."

She could only groan in response to his declaration, turning on her heel with a wave of her gloved hand. "Always one for dramatics."

"As Jess said," He spoke the words through his teeth, "Canon events are experiences we all experience — the loss of a loved one, how we acquired our powers. Without these moments, we are breaking the canon, deflecting from what the multiverse intended of us."

You groaned, so much information. Too much information. As exciting as everything seemed, as ecstatic as you were to know you weren't allowed in the world — in any world — this was far too much for you to digest on a Tuesday afternoon, abandoned coffee roaming the halls. "I'm gonna ask one more time, if I don't get my answer, I'm leaving." You approached him, closing the distance between you, standing face-to-face with him in a manner you'd do well in assuming nobody had previously, if his response had anything to say about it. "What does this have to do with me?"

Eyebrows raised, posture stiff. "It has everything to do with you."

You scoffed, returning your mask to where it originated, Miguel's eyes flickering to follow the motion. "I'm out."

"You don't get to just..." He paused to find the words, "Opt out!"

You were mid-thwip, a web pressed against the roof of the room, Hobie watching you with the brightest grin you'd ever seen grace anyone's features. "And why not?"

"These anomalies have been steadily increasing in your universe, concentrating themselves there for some reason. I've yet to see anything like it. It's... Odd."

Hobie's smile fashioned into a frown as you detached from your web, reproaching, perhaps regretting. "You don't have any idea why that could be happening?"

"None. Not yet."

Of course not. Of course this couldn't be easy, the multiverse keen on making your life difficult.

If only someone else had been there that day, cooped up in your school's laboratory studying, examining specimen and confining their anatomy to memory. If only you hadn't slouched in your seat while in desperate need of a break, reaching up to remove the goggles from your face, a spider finding its home on the back of your hand. Nipping at the skin, injecting its influence. If only you hadn’t awoke the next morning with pain pricking at your limbs, sticking to every surface, parents knocking at your door in worry.

If only you awoke the next morning a superhero.

"You want my help?" You were hesitant, unsure. This only widened the burden, further extended how far you'd have to stretch yourself to keep up with everything — with life. Could your relationships survive this? Could your universe survive this?

If you didn't agree to join their Spider Society, you might never know.

"We need your help."

"Fine." You were quick, indignant. There was no point beating around the bush when you could potentially bring an end to this today. A hand outstretched to Miguel, the man confused, hesitant to return the favor. You were extending yourself to him, a gesture he saw as vulnerable.

Vulnerability would be the death of him.

Still, he took your hand, wordless. Palms clasping together as he explained the parameters, what you would be doing and how you could help them. How they could help you, a paradox of service.

Another piece of the puzzle, a pawn on his board. Miguel O'Hara had secured yet another someone that would assist him in ensuring the multiverse didn't collapse.

Another Spider to help untangle the web Miles Morales had spun.

#miguel o’hara #miguel o’hara x reader #spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman #into the spiderverse #across the spiderverse #beyond the spiderverse #spiderverse #spiderverse x reader

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nancywheelersgirlfriend · 2 years ago

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could u write a fic where nancy fully finds out what happened to robin and steve under starcourt

here u go, beloved anon. thank u for waiting so long and so patiently <3

so much braver (than i credit u for) (2,029 words)

T.W. implications of sexual assault, canon violence

The wear and tear were hardly visible in the summer sunlight - that's where Steve thrived, with his tan skin and admittedly nice chest and excellent swimming skill - but now, sat in front of his parents’ campfire with his head against his fist, he looked decades older than he really was. Nancy held her roasting stick tentatively, the marshmallow threatening to collapse into the fiery pit below as she distracted herself in tracing the shadows that fell underneath his eyes. In the harsh light he looked almost in a constant state of grief, with heavy eye bags and lines along his forehead, lips pressed in a thin line and hair limp from the heat.

Robin sat beside Nancy, the two having commandeered the foldout loveseat upon arriving in his backyard. She was expertly placing two roasted marshmallows onto their respective graham crackers - one burnt to all hell and one barely cooked. She passed one to Steve, who had his hand open and waiting as if second nature to accept food from Robin. He liked his barely cooked, apparently.

Eddie was nearly passed out in the lawn chair across the fire from them, a few purposeful feet from Steve after a day spent trying and failing to get a summer job. Surprisingly, nobody wanted to hire the assumed leader of a deadly cult. Robin suggested using it as a resume builder. Nancy suggested changing his name and trying out the next town over. He had his arms folded across his chest, a bit of marshmallow stuck to a long curled strand that Nancy didn’t have the heart to bother him about picking off.

Steve seemed to be contemplating shoving the entire smore in his mouth in one go.

“You alright?” Nancy asked, immediately wincing at both the lack of tact and impersonality of her question - they’d known each other long enough to forgo conversation starters like that. “You look, um.”

“You look like shit,” Robin helpfully interrupted, sucking off a bit of marshmallow from her finger and generally being the bane of Nancy’s existence. Steve looked up from the smore as if he’d forgotten they were there completely, a little look of shock on his face.

“I’m fine,” He said, but his tone of voice was anything besides reassuring. “I’m, uh, just not getting much sleep lately.” Nancy nodded, fully prepared to drop the whole awkward thing anyway. Clearly, Steve didn’t want to talk about himself or his well-being - he hardly ever did.

“Me neither,” Robin agreed. She took a bite of her burnt-as-hell smore, wordlessly taking Nancy’s stick from out of her loose grip and holding it patiently over the fire for her.

“Thank you,” Nancy whispered to her side. Robin knocked their feet together in acknowledgment.

“I haven’t slept since 1983, honestly,” Steve added, and while he was laughing as he said it Nancy didn’t take it as a joke.

“I have trouble sleeping too,” Nancy admitted to the both of them, hoping to coax them out into the open. Steve and Robin were a bit like frightened animals - make them talk about their feelings too much and they’d scurry away. Deer in headlights type. She had to be gentle. “I dream about - Barb. And Fred.” Just saying their names still made her choked up. Nancy ducked her head into her sweater, prepared to blame her watery eyes on the heavy smoke from the campfire. As she sniffled into the fabric, Steve hummed in neutral agreement.

“I dream about the mall,” Steve said. Beside her, Nancy felt Robin move her whole body to nod.

“You saved my life,” Nancy said, smiling wetly as she remembered both t-boning Billy’s precious sports car seconds before he flattened Nancy into the concrete. “With Toddfather.”

“That was, actually, a highlight of the night,” Steve said, laughing a little in reply as he bit into his smore. “Perfect, Rob.”

“Did you expect anything less?” She asked, pulling back Nancy’s stick just as it was beginning to catch fire. If smore-making could be a job, Robin would be making six figures, no doubt. It was little things like that that made Nancy love her so heartbreakingly. Even watching her do something as simple as making her a smore with the correct amount of chocolate and graham made her heart try to pull itself out of her chest.

“In most of my dreams,” Steve said, face grounding itself as he tapped a careful thumb against the top of his smore. “I’m - um. I’m back in that room.” Nancy frowned in confusion, taking Robin’s offered smore robotically as she looked at him.

“That room?” She asked. “What room?”

“We never told you?” Robin replied, a little surprised and a little cautious - Nancy’s heart began a steady descent down to her sneakers. What the hell had they not told her?

It was hard to check in on everybody, especially after that night. She and Jon had been so in the dark about everything else - and the hospital, god. She hadn’t allowed space in her brain for anything else, which she could admit now was a little selfish. Still, Nancy had never asked. And Robin had never said. Certainly, Steve hadn’t. She hardly knew a thing about his childhood, despite dating him for two years and being one of his closest friends for another.

“I know you guys got messed up by some Russians,” Nancy said quietly, surveying both Steve's and Robin’s faces. In the firelight, they looked eerily similar - almost haunted. “But I don’t know the details. I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” Robin reassured her, hand coming to pull her waist in close and squeeze the outer pocket of her jacket. “We forgot to tell you. I guess it never came up.”

“Who wants to talk about it, anyway?” Steve said, mostly to himself. He took another bite of his smore as uneasy silence fell on the group. Nancy felt terrible to push, but her journalist curiosity got the better of her.

“So - what did happen?” She asked. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

“It’s fine,” Robin replied. Nancy watched her make eye contact with Steve, and they proceeded to have a conversation with only slight twitches on their faces. It was the innate ability that came with being best friends the way they were. “You know about the elevator, right?” Nancy racked her brain, then: yes, a hazy recollection of Erica explaining how they’d ended up in the underground base in the first place.

“Yeah, I do.”

“Well, after they set off the alarms and figured out we’d broken in, we all rushed into a backroom,” Robin began, eyes firmly set on the fire. As if she were embarrassed to tell Nancy - or nervous to see her reaction. “Dustin and Erica managed to get themselves into the vent system, to try to get out - but Steve and I had to hold the door to give them enough time. We were grabbed by a bunch of Russian guards and spilt up for interrogation. They kept us there for hours.”

“They beat me so bad I nearly died,” Steve cut in, teeth gritting against each other as if the words were forcing themselves out. Nancy noticed his empty hand, the one not holding his smore, was balling into a tight fist against his leg. “They didn’t believe me when I said I wasn’t working for anybody - they just kept hitting me over and over and over again. I couldn’t breathe, it hurt so bad.” That’s why his face was messed up so badly. Nancy couldn’t help her mouth from dropping open.

“When they brought us back together, I thought he-” Robin cut herself off, gasping as she suddenly realized she was crying. “Jesus, I. I’m sorry. I thought Steve was dead.” The last three words were mere whispers as if saying them to the air made it all more real. Nancy took her hand. Steve’s fist immediately unfurled to take her other, stretched beside the fire to grip with a fury she had never seen before. Robin continued to stare into the fire, unseeing.

“Did they beat you up, too?” Nancy asked. Robin let out a little breath through her nose in careful excess at the question.

“No,” She said quietly. “Well - they did. But not as bad as Steve. It was only in reaction to - when they dragged me in there, I was wearing my Scoops uniform. You know, it’s a pretty shitty outfit for espionage, yeah? And - my skirt - I thought they were going to - so kicked one of the guards in the face, and that’s when they beat me up. But they mostly left me alone.”

It was difficult to pin down exactly what Nancy felt at that exact moment. At first, it was cold horror at the steady, small implication of what Robin was saying; what those guards would’ve done to her, had she not been as ready to fight back or them not as lenient in letting her alone. But horror gave way quickly to a tidal wave of fierce, untamable anger. One that roared in Nancy’s chest and took over her whole being, face reddening with intensity and hand gripping Robin’s with white knuckles.

“Nance,” Robin chided. She looked away from the fire finally to make eye contact with Nancy. “It’s okay. I’m okay. You don’t need to break my hand.”

“Sorry,” Nancy choked out, releasing her grip only slightly. She was worried if she let go, Robin would float away - or worse, be dragged back down to the depths of the mall.

Steve’s face, in comparison, was a steady, heated anger - just as angry as Nancy, but none of the surprise. He’d known about this. Perhaps the entire time. Nancy desperately wished he’d said something, but on the same thought acknowledged it was all within Robin’s jurisdiction. At least she was telling her now.

“And then they drugged us,” Steve said. “And almost took off one of my fingers as a torture tactic.”

“Luckily Dustin and Erica came in then,” Robin finished, shaking her head and smiling despite the tears in her eyes. “The fucking idiots. I could’ve killed them if I had been able to stand up.”

“Horse tranquilizers,” Steve told Nancy, a similar smile on his face. The silence returned for a second or two before Steve was all but collapsing into Robin, pulling her into a tight hug that she returned whole cloth. Nancy stayed on the loveseat as the two best friends stood up for a better angle, gripping each other as if holding each other together. She rested a careful hand on Robin’s back and let her girlfriend fall against her shoulder, emotionally and physically exhausted, when the hug finally broke.

“I’m sorry,” Nancy said, because there was nothing else to say. Steve finished the rest of his smore and looked back into the fire. It seemed some of the shadows, while not entirely going away, had gotten a little lighter. As if the words they had spoken were floating off in the smoke. Robin looked about ready to fall asleep. “I wish I had been there.”

“I am so fucking glad you weren’t,” Robin said, voice muffled. She tucked her head against Nancy’s shoulder and shut her eyes. When Nancy managed to stop looking at the beauty that was her girlfriend in the firelight, she looked back at Steve.

“You can fall asleep, too,” Nancy offered. “I’ll keep watch.” Steve gave her a wiry grin and suddenly he was sixteen again, and the butterflies in her stomach awakened just enough for her to give him one in return.

“Thanks, Nance,” He finally decided, leaning back into his chair and tucking his hands into his jacket pockets. “It’s over, yeah? Like Rob said, it’s okay. We’re okay.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Nancy admitted, carding a careful hand through Robin’s choppy bangs. Steve’s smile grew as the fire winked.

“You’re already doing something,” He said, gesturing to Robin and her prone position against Nancy’s shoulder. “You’re something, Nance. That’s enough. That’s more than enough.”

Nancy, once again, blamed her tears on the fire. Steve didn’t say a word about it.

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luulapants · 2 years ago

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At this year's family holiday party, I heard two stories about my grandma (who died before I was born) that I'd never heard before.

The first was from my uncle: "One day, when I was maybe six years old, a Black man came riding down our street on a bicycle, calling out, 'Get your knives and scissors sharpened!' He had the big stone on the back of his bike for sharpening. And, of course, the neighborhoods were all segregated back then, and all of the neighbors started closing their doors and windows, and some of them were shouting and cursing at him, shouting, 'Get the fuck out of here!' and the N-word.

"And my mom saw this, and she went out front and waved her arms and yelled, 'Over here! Come over here, I've got some knives that need sharpening!' She pulled out a couple of folding chairs and she told me to go in the house and get some knives and some lemonade. She told the man to sit down and relax and have something to drink. Then she stood out on the edge of the lawn with her hands on her hips and looked from one neighbor's house to the next, because she knew who'd been shouting those things, and she just glared at them long and hard, like she was daring them to come say something to her. We all sat out there on the front lawn and drank lemonade together while he sharpened our knives."

The second story was from my dad: "I'd forgotten about this story for years, but it came back to me recently. I couldn't have been more than four years old. My older brother and I broke into the neighbor's garage and wrecked it, and my mom caught us. She was furious and screaming at us bloody murder. I remember thinking, I'll do something cute to make her feel better. And Little Rascals was on TV then, and there was a cute kid that said, 'Okie!' so that's what I said.

"She snapped. She started beating the hell out of me, and it just went on and on, she just kept hitting me, and the next thing I knew, I was in my bed. She'd beat me unconscious."

Both stories are true.

My grandma's mother's used to hit her with a hot curling iron. My grandma was a WWII army nurse and a man she loved more than my grandpa died in the war. My grandma never wanted kids, but the Catholic church forbade contraceptives, and she had eight. Her third baby almost died because the post-war housing projects were built so poorly, their house couldn't stay warm in the winter. She would stay up all night holding the baby by the fire and rubbing him to keep him from freezing. When that child was four years old, she beat him unconscious.

I see so many people that struggle to reconcile the fact that great good and great evil can exist in one person. Or that a victim can be a villain. They want people to be simple. They're not. Just because you know the heroic face of a person doesn't mean they don't have a monstrous one. Just because you know the monster doesn't mean they've never been the hero. There's no easy summation of any person. They're just people.

#personal #cw child abuse #cw racism

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scarisd3ad · 1 year ago

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To the end and back | Daryl Dixon x f!reader

Chapter 12 - born to die

Masterlist

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Buy me a coffee <3

Previous >> next

Summary - after the world ended you were sure you’d never find love again but a certain archer catches your eyes and changes the entire trajectory of your life.

Warnings - death of a child, regular twd warnings

'Pretty much dead already'

S2 ep6

its early morning, and carol has cooked eggs for our group. we're all sitting around eating, mostly silently. Shane was fine unfortunately. after what happened last night, he was only left with a minor limp, a bruised-up face, a broken nose and the closest thing to a restraining order I can get these days. I'm sat in a fold out lawn chair next to Daryl with a plate of eggs in my lap. I didn't sleep much last night; I might have gotten an hour at most. I keep staring off into the distance, not at anything particularly just kind of zoning in and out, but I get woken out of it each time by Daryl who pats my knee and whispers "eat yer food."

I stare down at my plate slowly spooning tiny amounts of eggs into my mouth. I look up to see Shane who is at glaring at me. his whole face is swollen, it almost looks like his entire face is just one large bruise. I kick Daryl's foot and look up at Shane to get Daryl's attention. it's not a problem to me, Shane is just staring but having the perks of one large man who will beat up any man who even tries messing with me was amazing. Daryl glares back at Shane, almost as if it's a threat. carol walks over to Daryl and scoops a little more eggs into his plate. "thanks" he mutters with a mouthful of eggs in his mouth. I watch as Glenn gets up and walks over so he's Infront of all of us. he's got his hands stuffed into his front pockets, and he just looks on edge, or maybe just nervous? "u-uhm guys..." he stutters out as he rubs at his jaw nervously. once he's got all of our attention he says "soo.."

he lets out a long sigh before continuing "the barns full of walkers."

we all look up at him brows furrowed. that's why he had been on edge the previous day. that's why he had been watching the barn all day. that's why Maggie wanted me to leave so they could talk.

our group all ends up at the barn with Shane looking into it through a gap in the wood. now the growls, and groans of the walkers are way more apparent. I'm surprised Glenn was the first one to realize it, not Shane or rick it was Glenn. Shane normally was really cautious about new areas, he scoped out every area before letting anyone near it, I'm surprised he hadn't caught onto the barn sooner. Shane walks back towards up "you cannot tell me you're alright with this" Shane says to rick as Shane walks past rick. "No, I'm not, but we're guests here. this isn't our land." rick replies back. "This is our lives!" shouts Shane as he throws down his hat in frustration. "Lower your voices" Glenn warns. I can hear the walkers getting closer, they can hear us. if were not careful their going to try and break down the wall. "We can't just sweep this under the rug." Andrea says. I've got my arms crossed over my chest as I look at the barn. the doors are chained shut, which looks secure but how long will that hold up. just a few to many walkers pushing up against it could break it, and it would be just our luck if we were here when that happened. "It ain't right. not remotely."

Shane is pacing "okay, we either gotta go in there, make things right or we've just gotta go. now we have been talkin' about fort benning for a long time" Shane says stopping Infront of rick. "We can't go." rick hisses. we can't go because Lori's pregnant, if we go we're risking her life by not only not having a somewhat safe place to stay, but also were just throwing away the medical care we have through Hershel. he's got all types of medicines and experience in the field; we can't just throw all that away because of walkers in a sealed-up barn. "Why rick? why?" carol quickly cuts in "because my daughters still out there." Sophia was still out there too. we can't just leave her out there. no matter how much faith the others have in her, there is still a chance she's still alive. "okay" Shane scoffs as he cups his hands around his mouth "okay I think it's time that we all start to just consider the other possibility."

"We're not leaving Sophia behind!" I say, Daryl marches forwards "I'm close to findin' this girl I just found her damn doll two days ago!" Shane laughs sarcastically like it was funny to him that we were all so concerned about the little girl. "You found her doll, Daryl. that's what you did. you found a doll!" Daryl's brows furrow angrily it's like he's really begun to care for the others in the group unlike he used to. before he only got food for us because he got to get away from everyone, now he really cares.

"You don't know what the hell you're talkin' about!" Daryl shouts, rick holds his arm out really just to keep Daryl and Shane away from each other because Shane's 2 words away from getting his shit rocked again. "Look I'm just sayin' what needs to be said! you get a good lead, it's in the first 48 hours!"

"Stop Shane!" rick says raising his hands trying to start the more violent confrontation we knew was going to happen. Shane doesn't listen to anybody but himself though so Shane shouts "let me tell you something else man. if she was alive out there and saw you comin' all methed out with your buck knife and geek ears around your neck, she would run in the other direction!" Daryl immediately starts walking towards Shane with is pointer finger pointing angrily obviously trying to fight. good thing rick was already in the middle of the two, rick holds Daryl back but he still try's coming at Shane. "I'll beat your ass if you come at me again!" shouts Shane. it takes a few of us holds each man back to stop the fight. I'm holding onto Daryl's arm tightly while Andrea is in front of him. it's easier to hold back Daryl than it is to hold back Shane. "Back off!"

I guess Lori had grabbed Shane or something which prompts Shane to say "keep your hands off of me" with his finger in her face. Shane starts to stomp off with Lori following shortly behind. "Let me talk to Hershel" rick says which makes Shane turn around "let me figure it out!" rick adds. my hand is still tightly wrapped around the area between Daryl's upper and lower arm. "What are you going to figure out?!" Shane shouts as he charges at rick. Lori steps in between the two placing her hand on Shane's chest. "If we're gonna stay, if we're gonna clear this barn, I have to talk him into it. this is his land!" shouts rick. "Hershel sees those things in there as people- sick people. his wife, h-his stepson." dale says kind of trying to explain why Hershel keeps them. they were people but not anymore, they've been dead since they turned, we learned that the CDC. maybe if one of us explains to him that scientists had proved they were dead since they turned maybe he'd understand. "You knew?" rick asks with his brows furrowed in confusion. "Yesterday I talked to Hershel." dale explains.

"And you waited the night?" Shane asks. what if those things got out overnight, waiting over night was a bad decision on his part, on Glenns too. "I thought we could survive on more night! we did." dale says defending his decision. yeah, we did but there was still the risk of something happening especially with all the noise we had made last night. "I was waiting till this morning to say something, but Glenn wanted to be the one." dale says gesturing towards Glenn. "The man is crazy rick, if Hershel thinks those things are alive or no!" Shane gets worked up again and starts stomping his way towards rick. someone really needs to get that man some type of drug to calm his ass down. everyone freezes when the door starts the rattle, and the walkers behind it start to groan and growl louder, and angrier. Shane really needs to calm his ass down; all his screaming and whining has riled them up.

I'm leaned up against a tree reading a book I've read what feels like a million times. its feels like I could read it with my eyes closed if I really wanted to. I'm reading to try and get my mind off of the barn, but it doesn't help much. I want to leave now, I used to feel like it was safe here, but now I feel like I'd be safer out on the road. I flip the page and I'm about to start reading the first sentence when I spot Daryl lugging a saddle out towards the horse stables. I groan as I drop my book beside me and push myself up off of the ground. he's really doing this shit again going out by himself with a horse, while he's barely healed enough to walk, let alone ride a horse and go out by himself. he's stressing me out. he's barely able to carry the saddle I don't know why he thinks he'll be able to go out and look for Sophia.

I follow him into the stables and watch as he's barely able to put the saddle onto its stand. he grunts as he throws the saddle on top of the stand. he's worrying me there's no need for him to go out right now because rick is going out later. "You can't" I say, he limps his way over to some of the horse equipment and says, "I'm fine." I roll my eyes and say, "Hershel said you need to heal." he grabs something and begins to limp his way over towards one of the horses "yeah, I don't care" of course he doesn't care but I do, and I don't want him going out by himself anymore. if the same thing happens again, I wouldn't be able to live with myself because that would mean I knew the risks and still let him go. "Well, I do. ricks going out later to follow the trail." I say trying to convince him that he doesn't need to go. "Yeah well, I ain't gonna sit around and do nothing" I don't know what to say to convince him he's done more than enough already. I just don't want him to get hurt again, I don't want him to run into the same problem again and not make it out alive this time. it was a miracle he was able to do it last time, but his luck is going to run out one day. "Daryl, you're gonna go out there and get yourself hurt even worse" I say, he ignores me. I don't know what to say to him to get him out of this mindset, I don't know what to say to myself to get myself out of the same mindset that I'm not doing enough, that no matter what I do it's not enough. I've been trying to convince myself that were going to find her so is Daryl, but I think we need to understand that that might not happen. I love Sophia to death, and I hope she's out there surviving but I need to understand that there is a chance that she might not, and that scenario is way more realistic now a days. Daryl might have been able to survive in the woods when he was Sophia's age, but Sophia has so many more obstacles in her way.

"Daryl, we don't know if we're going to find her." Daryl slowly turns my way with his brows furrowed "we don't" I repeat. "I don't..." I whisper he starts to approach me brows furrowed "what?" he asks. "I don't want to lose you too" a tear falls down my cheek. I've lost my family, my friends I can't lose him too. I can't let him go out there and die for a little girl who is most likely dead by now. he walks away like he's disappointed in me "Daryl I've lost my brother; I've lost everyone I can't los-" he stops in front of the saddle stand and looks back at me before picking up the saddle and chunking it with a grunt. he quickly doubles over in pain though gripping at his abdomen. I quickly rush to his side "are you alright?" I ask placing my hand on his back trying to help him, but he shoos me away "just leave me be!" he stays as he stumbles away from me "stupid bitch" he grumbles which makes me stop trying to follow him. "asshole" I mutter as I wipe the stray tear that had fallen down my cheek. I go back to my tree reading because I didn't really want him to be any madder at me than he is right now. I can't tolerate Daryl while he's being stubborn. he'll never admit I'm right no matter how right I am.

it feels like he doesn't understand that I can't lose any more people, I can't physically take it anymore. I've lost my brother, my grandparents, and my friends I can't lose him too. if I lost him that would be the thing that would push me overboard. that would be the final thing to push me over the edge and he doesn't understand that I know that he is strong, and he could push his feeling down into his ass if he really wanted to, but I can't. if I lost him, I wouldn't be able to handle life anymore. I feel like the only other person I feel like that with I Glenn. if a lost Glenn I wouldn't be able to live anymore as well. both of them don't understand that and they just keep putting themselves in danger and it stresses me out.

I don't know how long I sit there reading but I go chapter by chapter getting more and more engrossed with the book as time goes on. I don't really even put the book down until I hear someone cough. I look up to see Daryl "hey" I mumble as I put the book down next to me. I'm not mad at him, but I'm disappointed that he doesn't care more about himself. he takes a seat on the ground next to me, gasping a little once he's sat down. "Be careful" I whisper as he picks up the book on the ground. the dust jacket had been ripped off ages ago when the book was gifted to my mother just leaving the maroon-colored hard cover. he looks at the back and then the front before he says "whatcha readin'?" I shrug as I grab the book from his hands and placing it to my right. "Hey, I'm sorry about early alrigh?" he asks I nod "it's fine" I say leaning my back against the tree. "You were mad" I add "you're allowed to be mad" I say grabbing his hand and caressing the top of it with my thumb. he's still a little tense with physical affection like holding hands, kissing, and stuff. I look up at him and smiles "I forgive you Daryl" I whisper leaning myself into him. I'm assuming he's never really experienced this type of relationship with a person before which makes him a bit awkward about it but it's alright. the awkwardness and tenseness melts off of him soon enough though. "If you really want to go out and look for her, I'll go with you. I just don't want you going out by yourself right now." I say. I turn back towards him and cup his face in my hands. his brows furrow together in confusion before I press my lips against his. my arms fall around his neck as he places one of his hands on my cheek.

we end up going back towards Hershel's house because we've both really haven't seen any of the others in our group since early this morning and didn't want to worry them. when we make it to Hershel's front porch carl is sitting on the porch with some of Hershel's family and Glenn, and Maggie are sitting on the steps. t-dog and Andrea are also walking towards the house just like Daryl and I. I don't see Lori, rick, dale, or Shane though. I just assume dale is up on his rv, but I can't really guess what the others are doing. "Do you know what's goin on?" t-dog asks as Glenn gets up from his place next to Maggie. "Where is everyone?" Andrea asks. both of their questions aren't answered by anyone. Glenn only replies with another question "you haven't seen rick?" I haven't really seen rick since this morning "he went off with Hershel. we were supposed to leave a couple hours ago" Andrea says. I wouldn't expect rick to just go off like that without telling someone. he wasn't like Shane, Shane goes and leaves as he pleased if he went out for water, he wouldn't tell anyone, if he went out for a run he'd only tell the select few he took with him.

"yeah, you were, what the hell" Daryl says which makes t-dog and Andrea turn their heads towards us. rick had told us he was going out earlier before we all split up after the barn incident, and rick wasn't the type of person to go back on his word without talking to us as a group. "Damn it. isn't anybody taking this seriously?" Daryl says as everyone just kind of stares at us. "We got us a damn trail." Daryl says turning around and pointing angrily. now we see Shane walking up towards the house. he's got the bag of gun over his shoulder "oh here we go" Daryl says as he begins walking towards the man. there's something off about Shane though...there's always been something off about Shane ever since I met him, but it just seems like he's done something he knows we won't like, or at least something ricks wouldn't like.

"what's all this?" Daryl asks as Shane takes a shot gun out of the bag and holding it out for Daryl. "You with me man?" Shane asks and Daryl takes the gun with a breathy "yeah."

"Time to grow up you already got yours" Shane says to Andrea. we all know what he's talking about. clearing out the barn. I know rick isn't going to like this, Hershel isn't going to like this either. we're going to get our asses kicked out and we have a pregnant lady who needs all the medical attention we can get. if we get kicked out were going to have to do this all on our own, and that means there's a bigger chance of not only the baby dying but Lori as well. "Yeah...but where's dale?" Andrea asks a little skeptically, "he's on his way" Shane is being very vague about where dale is, and it makes me nervous. "Thought we couldn't carry." t-dog say as Shane hands him a gun. "yeah, well we can, and we have to." the people that had been sitting up in chairs on the porch have now gotten up and look a bit stressed especially Hershel's people.

"Hey look, it's one thing sitting around here picking daisies when we thought this place was supposed to be safe. but now we know it ain't." Shane begins to walk towards Glenn "how about you, man? you gonna protect yours?" Shane asks holding out a gun. Glenn looks to Maggie and then to the gun before letting out a sigh and grabbing it. Shane is satisfied with that answer so he turns to Maggie "can you shoot?" Shane asks. Maggie's brows are furrowed together angrily as she says, "can you stop? you do this, you hand out these guns, my dad will make you leave tonight." we need this Lori needs this we can't just go around shooting up a storm because there's some walkers locked up in a barn. "What about you y/n?" he asks standing in front of me with a small handgun i shake my head he rolls his eyes before forcing it into my hand "We have to stay, Shane" carl speaks up. Lori rounds the corner "what is this" she asks confused as ever.

"We ain't goin' anywhere, okay? now look, Hershel, he's just gotta understand." Hershel isn't going to understand this though, Hershel is an old man who thinks those things are still people because they look human. he thinks they are people because they were people, they were friends, and family, but he needs to learn they aren't. we can't risk teaching him that though maybe in 9 months when Lori has given birth but not now. "Okay? he- well, he's gonna have to" my arms are folded over my chest. I can't believe so many of our people want to risk losing the safety of Hershel's farm. I know that most of them don't know about Lori, but Glenn does, and he still willingly took the gun. I know they are scared but we had lived out in the middle of nowhere with not shelter where walkers could get to use at any time, at least there isn't many over here and the majority are in Hershel's barn locked up. I'd rather stay here than go anywhere near a big city ever again. Shane takes his small handgun and begins to walk towards carl "now we need to find Sophia. am I right?" Shane says as he kneels in front of Carl, he's using Sophia to his advantage to get what he wants from Carl. he knows Carl cares for Sophia so he's using that to get Carl on his side.

"Now I want you to take this. you take it, carl, and you keep your mother safe. you do whatever it takes." Lori begins to rush towards her son because she doesn't need her 12-year-old son to protect her. when carl doesn't take the gun Shane says "you know how. go on, take the gun and do it" Lori pushes her son away from Shane and says "rick said no guns. this is not your call. this is not your decision to make."

"Oh shit."

we all look over to see t-dog staring at rick and Hershel leading some walkers towards the barn with the help of one of ranch hands jimmy. Shane gets up from his kneeling position on the ground and begins to run towards rick and Hershel. we all follow after because they've got two walkers that they are leading towards us. "What the hell you doin!" shouts Shane as he pushes the metal fence door open and continues running towards rick. "Shane just back off!" rick warns as he pushes the walker away from Shane. "Why do your people have guns?" Hershel asks. Shane is kind of pacing as he shouts, "are you kiddin' me!? you, see?! you see what they're holdin onto!!" Shane rounds back around towards us as Hershel shouts "I see who I'm holding onto!" which angers Shane even more. "No man, you don't!"

rick is trying to calm Shane down but there really isn't any use because when Shane's all riled up like this there is no getting him down. "Shane, just let us do this and then we can talk" rick tries reasoning with him. "Let me do this and then we'll talk" but Shane wants to do something now and the thing he wants now is the clear the barn. "What you want to talk about, rick!?" shouts Shane. Daryl has his gun pointing right at one of the walkers, it's kind of strange seeing him with a gun and not with his crossbow. I've got the gun Shane handed to me held tightly in my left hand. I'm just as scared as everyone else but I'm just as much scared of getting kicked out of here. "These things ain't sick. they're not people! they're dead! ain't gonna feel nothing for them 'cause all they do, is they kill!" Shane shouts. Shane paces back and forth angrily "these things right here, they're the things that killed Amy! they killed Otis! they killed your brother!" Shane shouts while pointing at me when he mentions my brother. I shouldn't have told him about that. it embarrasses me a bit because it feels like he's calling me out. "they're gonna kill all of us!" I look back to see Lori and carl walking up towards us. she has Carl's hand in hers and both their brows are furrowed up in confusion and concern.

"Shane, shut up!' rick shouts which isn't really effective because Shane continues to talk. I look back at Lori pleading for her to save me, or at least save herself and her son before something bad happens. "Hey Hershel man, let me ask you something." Shane stops and pulls his gun out "could a living breathing person, could they walk away from this?" he loads the gun before pointing it at the walker.

POW POW POW.

"NOO!"

he shoots the walker three times in the chest, and it basically just walks it. it has no reaction but the little jolts from its body when the bullet first hit the walker. "STOP IT!" shouts rick, again Shane doesn't listen and just continues shouting "that's three rounds in the chest! could someone who's alive, could they just take that?" he sounds crazy screaming and shouting. "Why is it still coming?!" shouts Shane before raising his gun again.

POW POW POW.

"that's its heart, its lungs! why is it still coming?!"

POW POW POW.

the walker groans as it gets pushed back a bit by the bullets. "Shane! enough!" rick defending Hershel pisses Shane off even more. "Yeah, you're right, man. that is enough" he says walking past them, and shooting the walker in the head right as he passes by. the walkers head jerks back before falling to the ground. were all dead silent, were still a little shocked by the confrontation that just took place before our eyes. Shane's not done yet though, so he turns back around "enough risking our lives for a little girl who's gone!" Shane shouts as he stomps towards the barn. we all know what he's going to do, it's been his plan since he found out about the barn this morning. "Enough living next to a barn full of things that are trying to kill us! enough! rick it ain't like it was before!" he marches a bit forward before continuing shouting "now if yall want to live, if you want to survive you got to fight for it! I'm talking about fighting right here, right now!" Shane begins to run back towards the barn.

rick holds out the snare pole in his hands "take the snare pole! Hershel! Hershel take the snare pole!" Hershel is on his knees, he seems like he doesn't really know what's going on "Hershel, listen to me, man, please!" rick pleads "take it now. Hershel!" ricks desperately crying out for Hershel to just take it. Hershel is still in this dazed like state though. "Hershel! take it!" Shane takes a pickaxe to the lock on the barn doors. "No Shane! do not do this, brother! wait!" Shane keeps going at the lock, hitting it over and over again despite our desperate pleas for him to stop. after several failed attempts to break the lock, he just takes the tip of the pickaxes and breaks the lock off. once the lock is off, he grabs the wooden slab and throws it to the side. we're still screaming for him to stop, but he doesn't. Shane bangs on the door and shouts "come on. come on we're out here!" Shane backs up and pulls his gun out. the door creaks open and out comes the walkers. I've got the gun gripped tightly in my hands ready to shoot but only if I need to.

there's so many in there I actually can't believe it. they just keep coming out and when I think there's no more out comes a few more. the people closer to the walkers are shooting at them. all I can hear is the sounds of gunshots. I don't know what to do, should I go up and help or just stay here. it looks like Shane, Andrea, t-dog, Glenn, and Daryl's got it covered. I'll only shoot if I really need to. there's so many I'm not sure I've ever seen so many walkers in one place, well other than in the city. Shane turns back towards rick before shooting the walker rick had. Lori has carl on the ground covering his ears. I'm frozen, I can't move and I'm terrified, I can't breathe it feels like I'm holding my breath but I'm not. there's a pile of corpses in front of the barn and I don't think I've smelt something this bad. once we think there's no more, and everyone lowers their guns the door creaks open, and a smaller very recognizable walker stumbles out. everything from the shoes to the hair cut is recognizable. the blue shirt with a rainbow she wore that day is all tattered and dirty now.

she's recognizable but unrecognizable at the same time it's her we know it, but we never expected to see her like that. She's dead. even though I had said earlier that she could be dead I didn't want that to be the case. I wanted her to beat all the odds, I wanted to find her in some random home alive, I wanted to take her back to carol and witness the long-awaited reunion of the mother and daughter. carol runs up sobbing "Sophia! Sophia!" and Daryl has to hold her back. I actually can't breathe now. all the air is caught in my throat and tears are building up in my eyes. how long had she been in there? had she gotten bitten the same day she went missing? she died alone. all I can think about is that little girl died alone without her mom to help her. Sophia stumbles through the piles of corpses towards us. rick takes one for the team and begins to walk towards Sophia. he pulls out his guns pointing it at her before shooting her right in the head. carols sobbing as Daryl has his arms wrapped around her torso holding her down.

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bewilderedbunny · 2 years ago

Text

Weedman pt 2 (Eddie x Reader fluff 18+only!)

2k words of fluff, she/her pronouns/names are used for Reader. Drug use, some slightly self deprecating jokes and mentions of blood and cursing. If I do another chapter it will (hopefully) have smut. I get distracted with dialogue 😞

This bitch definitely has some mistakes in it. I simply do not know how to write 💖 I also hate typing "he said" and "you said" so I apologize if the dialogue is confusing.

Read part 1 here

Credit to @firefly-graphics for the divider 😊

As you stepped out of your shower the following day, the phone began to ring. A moment later, your mom called to you and said, "It's for you!"

"Hello?"

"Hey, sweetheart. It's Eddie." Your heart skips a beat.

"Oh! Hey Mr. Weedman, what's up?"

"Please, Mr. Weedman is my father. You can call me Eddie."

You boo at his joke with a smile.

"Aw, c'mon. Anyway, I was calling because I woke up early. Thought you might want to come by now?"

You look at the clock, it's 10:30am.

"What happened to your beauty sleep?"

"Turns out the real beauty was on the inside, or some shit."

"Guess I could come over now. Hey, how did you get my number anyway?"

"I-uh, I called Robert to thank him for the reference. You know how small businesses are, s'all about networking and word of mouth, and I thought I should thank him for sending you to me. I asked him for your number, strictly for marketing purposes."

"Oh of course! It all makes sense. Well, market away."

He chuckles, "Come get your weed, silly."

You decided on a loosely fitted short sleeve button-up, a pair of jean shorts, and sneakers. You say goodbye to your mom and head out the door before she can ask too many questions.

The drive to Eddie's doesn't take more than 5 minutes and once you're parked in front of his trailer you sit for a moment in your car. Biting your nails, you wonder if you've made a mistake by agreeing to come over to a stranger's house for drugs. Two trailers down, an older couple sitting on fold-out lawn chairs stare at you. You give them a thin-lipped smile and wave. Great, at least there are witnesses.

You take a deep breath, get out of your car, and head toward the trailer's front door. You get one knock in before the door swings open and you are met with Eddie. He's wearing a worn-out Led Zeppelin t-shirt with the sleeves cut off and jeans with patched-up holes. He is beautiful.

"Scary Metalhead" you might have expected, but his features were so soft and romantic. Like he belonged in an old oil painting.

He gives you a huge, dimpled smile and pulls you in for a hug. Your plug in college barely acknowledged you during your purchases, now here this guy is treating you like an old friend.

"How have you been? It's been a minute since we've seen each other. I like what you've done with your hair, it's so… lustrous."

Shit, maybe you are old friends.

You look down at your hands and reply,

"I've been alright, just going to school. How about you?"

"Oh, you know me. Same old stuff, D&D, my band, finally graduated."

He's leaning against the doorframe, rubbing his chin with his hand.

"From college?"

"No, high school."

Your jaw drops. You're beyond disturbed to learn that you've been flirting with (and planning to buy drugs from) a high schooler.

"How old are you?!"

"I'm 20. Took me a few tries but I got there."

You sigh in relief. You'd rather buy weed from a super-senior than a minor any day.

"Oh, I see. Well, congratulations! That's so exciting."

He lights up, "Yeah? Thanks."

"I gotta be honest, though. I don't remember you." You say sheepishly.

His face twists in pain as he puts one arm against the frame of the door and covers his mouth with the other. He's huffing small, uneven breaths.

"Eddie, I'm sorry, I-"

He cuts you off with a finger and pretends to sniffle, "Just, give me a sec, 'kay? I need time to recuperate."

You laugh and he stands straight.

"That's fine. I'm happy to make a new first impression with you. "

"I am sorry that I don't remember you. If it makes you feel any better, when I was calling around to find a dealer yesterday, I realized that I don't seem to remember anything from high school."

"Neither do I, that's why they kept making me go back." You let out a big laugh and he laughs with you.

"Well, come inside and I'll show you my wares." He leads you into his home. It's a quaint, warm little trailer. A plethora of mugs and hats decorate his walls and there is a small fan blowing at full speed to combat the summer heat.

"A throne for you, madam." he says, gesturing towards the couch. You take a seat and take in the room. "Oh shit, guess I should have your stuff ready." He starts rummaging around the kitchen, then moves to another room. You can hear him mumbling to himself as he searches.

"Do you need help?"

"No, I got it. I just had it, I know it's here somewhere."

You sit back down and wait for him. You hear a thud followed by a quiet, "fuck" then a "there you are, you little devil." He comes back into the room holding a tin lunch box, how he managed to lose it you have no idea.

He sits down on the other side of the small couch. He pulls out a bag of weed and eyes it over once before opening another bag to steal 2 nuggets from. He puts them into your bag.

"Oh, I really don't need that much."

"You sure? I thought I'd give you extra. Y'know, first time customer discount."

"No, that's okay. The amount that was in there before might even be too much" Eddie's idea of $50 worth of weed was about twice what yours was.

He shrugs and fishes out the two buds and places them back in their bag.

"You always touch your merchandise like that?" You gesture to the bag.

"What? My hands are clean!" He waves his hands in front of your face. They're big and the thickness of his fingers makes you dizzy. You pull yourself together.

"Sir, you just touched every single item in this home while you were looking for your fancy little tin."

"Fancy, huh? Well, yeah. but then I licked 'em so we're good, right?"

You grimace at him and he winks.

"You, uh, need me to teach you to roll?"

You smile at the offer. "No thanks, I got it." Rolling the joint was part of the ritual for you.

He leans back and places his arm around the back of the loveseat. His hand is right behind your shoulder and his legs are spread wide, your knees are barely touching.

"What else have you got planned for the day?"

"I was going to find a place to smoke this since I don't love the idea of smoking at home." You say as you pull out the $50 you owed him.

"I was thinking of going on a walk in the forest or maybe to the lake." You hand him the money and he stuffs it carelessly into his pocket.

"Oh yeah? Well, we don't have the same fancy amenities as the lake or the forest here. But we definitely make up for it in hospitality." He says as he gestures around the room.

"You want me to smoke here?" You ask.

"Yeah! I mean, if that's okay. I'm never up this early so I really don't have anything else to do." You think for a moment then agree to stay.

He pulls out a grinder and papers from the tin. As he does, you take a peak and see a couple of small bags of weed, a lighter, and a few loose pretzels scattered along the bottom of the box.

"Wait, are you just letting me smoke here so you can sample your own product and get paid for it?"

"Shit, you caught me." He laughs as he takes out the money you gave him earlier and places it on the table.

"Since you're such a little detective, I'll let you pay after."

He picks apart a bud and drops the pieces into the grinder. Watching his hands twist back and forth to break the flower down is mesmerizing. Once it's ready, you grab a rolling paper and carefully line it. You shape and delicately roll the joint until it is ready, then softly lick it closed.

Once it's ready, you look back to Eddie who is staring at you in awe.

"Shit, I may need you to teach me to roll. Mine never look like that."

"Why did you offer to teach me if you can't roll?" You ask.

"I can roll, okay? They're just not usually so… smooth."

"Oh my god, do you teach your customers to make lumpy joints so they waste product and come back sooner? You evil genius."

He blushes and raises his hands, "Look at you, figuring out all my schemes. Smart girl." You feel warmth in your cheeks as he speaks. He leans forward to you, the eye contact is almost too much to bear.

"Seriously, though. Will you show me?"

You grab a paper and place it in his hands and dust an even line of flower for him. You lean into his side and explain to take your time and shape the joint as you go. His tongue peeks out to touch his top lip as he concentrates. Once it's rolled up, he looks at you, awaiting instructions.

"Looks good! Gotta lick it now. Just like with your hands, remember?" He huffs out a laugh and licks the joint closed.

"Perfect!" You exclaim.

"It is pretty perfect. Think I should hang it on the fridge for my uncle to see when he gets home?"

"I'm sure he'll be so proud."

He grabs his lighter and holds the joint up to your lips. "Shouldn't we smoke the one I'm paying for?"

"Nah, this is me paying you back for your demonstration."

Once the spliff is between your lips, he lights it for you. You take a deep inhale and feel a tickle in your throat on exhale. You turn away from him as you cough a bit and he gently pats your back.

You compose yourself and hand him the joint. He takes a puff and you two pass it back and forth for a bit. Your brain starts feeling fuzzy as you stare at his lips. They're all pink and pillowy, begging to be kissed.

He notices you staring and takes the joint from you. "Think you've had enough, Teach."

You lean back into the couch and rest your eyes. The whir of the fan is soothing to your ears and your body feels warm and calm. You feel Eddie move next to you.

"You fallin' asleep on me?" He asks.

You peek an eye open at him, his back is against the arm of the couch, one leg is tucked underneath the other and he's resting his head in his hand.

"Not yet." You slip off your shoes, turn to face him and tuck your knees to your chest.

"So if my math is correct, you're 20, and I'm 21 that means I graduated your Junior year. Did we have classes together?" You rub little circles on your shorts, enjoying the texture in your heightened state.

"Uh yeah. We kinda had one." he rubs his face and furrows his brows. "You were the TA for Mrs. Baker's US History class my sophomore year."

You think back to the class, racking your brain for any memories. Most of your duties as the teacher's assistant were to clean the chalkboard, gather supplies for assignments, and grade papers.

Then it dawns on you and your eyes widen.

"Eddie! You would always draw on your worksheets and assignments! Little skulls and monsters. I do remember you!"

He smiles and bashfully hides his face.

"You do remember me. They weren't monsters, by the way. They were portraits of Mrs. Baker."

You snort, from what you remember they were usually dragons and wretched beasts.

"God, she did not see your vision." You remember the middle-aged woman complaining to you about the doodles and threatening to mark down Eddie's grade if he kept them up (which he obviously did)

"You should've seen what I drew on my actual tests."

"Oh, God. Blood and guts and tits?"

He giggles which makes you giggle.

"No tits but damn, could you imagine if I did? I think she would have called the police."

"Or a priest."

You two continue your tee-heeing for a bit. At one point, you've both been laughing so long that that makes you laugh. It's ridiculous, you've got tears in your eyes and Eddie is cackling. At some point his hand found it's way to your ankle and he rubs little circles with his thumb.

Thanks for reading! 💗

#eddie munson #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie x reader fluff #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader

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londondungeon2 · 6 months ago

Text

SOMETHING I AINT GONNA FINISH BUT

ITS 7562 words so i at least have to share some of it; main is @rel124c41 if u want to read finished hazbin works lmao, this'll be the only non-twst thing on londondungeon, i just want it out of my computer so badly

tags: nudity, blood and gore, referenced torture, pining and yearning, imp servants, hc on what alastor's radioshow might be like, and unfinished *jazz hands*

“You did not need to do that.”

The Radio Demon’s broadcast tower sits like a knife plunged into the Earth. A spindly warning to the Pride Ring that something was looming always, far up above but no less dangerous. Annoyed, you risk the odious climb and challenge The Radio Demon with those words.

The expanse of his shoulders deflect the interruption quite well. He neither flinches or turns at your voice. Steadfast in his broadcast, the reaction that lets you know he heard you is a flick of his left ear tufts. His voice does not waver. Alastor speaks devote into the vintage pyle microphone head:

“- wish our dear librarian the best with removing the basilisk out of the children book section of her bookshop. Remember! Do not look it in the eyes, lest you value that your organs are inside your skin.

“Now, the Postmaster would like to extend a proper thank you to everyone who participated in yesterday’s Blood Drive. Blood drives are an essential part in the mailing process. Through the genetic makeup of your blood, the Postmaster will be able to send you articles tailored to your taste. Today, a deep voice sludged out of the mailbox in front lawn of the post office, crying ‘Blood, feed me more blood, BLOOD!’ and then end up coughing out some thick black liquid, one eyewitness says. The Postmaster looks forward to another successful Blood Drive. Please consider giving us your blood! He says!

“Now listeners, it appears that I have a guest in the studio.” You straighten up at Alastor’s words. He is still facing his machines. Mentally, you prepare. A handful of times you have been leashed into his broadcasts because you visited him at an inconvenient time. This time you will put your foot down as you have an important matter to discuss.

“So, here is an early sample of the symphony your dear Radio Demon has been constructing. Let us indulge in music together! I leave you with these parting words: If at first you do not succeed, look around and find out who is trying to sabotage you with telepathic interference. It is someone you knOW.”

His voice distorts in his last sentence. A few dials on his desk jolt back and forth in pain. Around him, a red fog spins for a moment then dissipates with the last of his words, before he clicks a button.

The symphony … good, that is what you were looking to discuss. It is what prompted the words: you did not need to do that. You step closer, folding annoyed arms, as Alastor rotates his chair to face you. A symphony is by definition an elaborate musical composition and Alastor’s orchestra meets that definition, though in an entirely sick way.

You know you are clear to talk when Alastor sends you a wide, welcoming smile. You fly into it: “What you did was completely unnecessary and insulting. Do you think me impuissant? I expect an apology, not a gloat. Alastor –”

“Come now. I was only acting in an amicable way.”

“It was out of line. It was demeaning to my image.”

“It was a gift,” Alastor says, eyes imploring you to understand despite the permanent stain of a smile on his face. You bristle at that and glare over his shoulder at the playing symphony.

In the arms of an elongated shadow, almost a romantic pose, lays a dead body. The dead body once had a name but it is void with its death. Though it still heavily holds the resemblance of the person’s name despite the gore massacring it.

Alastor’s shadowman plucks at the cello strings embedded in the jam pink throat. Her feather bridal robe is stained in gore, spilling over the studio floor in wet clumps. Her crown is gone and her legs are bent in unnatural directions. The bridge of a cello sits stabbed into her ribcage. When certain strings are plucked, a different reverbing scream sings from them – the C chord is a fearful scream, the D chord is a wet teary scream, the G chord is an angered cry, and the A chord is a begging please. Glassy jade eyes stare unseeing at the ceiling, snail-trails of mascara streaking down. She is not the first demon you had seen Alastor butcher into an instrument but her presence still pricks at you, causing anger and indignity.

“What a gift,” you deadpan.

“Don’t look so wary. She is not worth your time.” Alastor’s shadowman plucks a lengthy D chord, reminding you of the presence of mascara on her gaunt face. “Truthfully, I do not understand the hostility I am being subjected to.” If Alastor ever cried, it would be crocodile tears.

“It is not that she is dead that is causing me strife. It is because you killed her.”

“I would have killed her anyway!”

Your eyes narrow and sneer at Alastor’s jovial exclamation. Jovial as if those words would erase all your shimmering anger. “Yet, you killed her when she was in the midst of threatening me. Do you not see the problem with that?”

“Not particularly!”

Finding your anger to be mounting up, you release frustration through your fists. Leather gloves on your hand whine with the force. “Young people like you never do.” You find a floating speck of dust in the corner by the antler coat-rack to glare at. “It is meaningless having conversations sometimes.”

The grin on Alastor’s face wilts at your eyes’ motions, never leaving though. He is unsure why that sentence hit him so hard. He placates, “I am sure that this one incident is not going to do the damage you think it will. There might be some rumors, yes. Some bull sessions but nothing that should cause you worry, I assure!”

You ruminate on that. The Radio Demon has been going after strong, minacious Overlords since his manifestation. This could be overlooked rather easily; or, it could be scrutinized to death until they point at you, declaring you under contract with the Radio Demon. You never make contracts.

A beautifully haunting cry of please I’m sorry aaaaah plays in the studio and you almost judge that Alastor is using his monstrous instrument to actually apologize to you. It is as close to guilt you will get from Alastor. With a sigh, you relent.

“Make sure if you are going after Overlords, it is not the one I am trifling with.”

“Ab-so-lutely dearie! A slip up on my part! Now, I do believe this musical number has gone on quite long enough.” You nod your agreement at the double meaning. As long as he heeds your words, you two are quite done talking for the day. You make a move to leave and a single red claw rises in a ‘one second please’ motion. “Though, I do have quite interesting news to report for today. I would not mind an extra ear in the studio.”

Suspicious eyes narrow, the orange eyelashes of yours tightening down. Your interludes often cause him to scheme up something, and you already have one foot rotated towards the trap-door to escape that scheme. “I’m sure that I can hear it all on my radio at home.”

“But, (Name), this is where the magic happens! The piece de resistance of radio broadcasting! I urge you to join me.”

“Alastor.”

“I would be most honored.” He even slides a few inches on the couch to make room for you. His shadowman manifests an inky black bow, wisps of dark magic curling and congealing into a solid tool. With a presenter flourish, the shadow runs it across four ivory strings. A harmonizing AAAAHHH and EEEEEEEE and AAAAAAA and PLEASEEEEE billows up in the studio. “Most honored,” he repeats through the discordance of that one long, screeching note.

What do you have to do today? A trip to the market to restock the refrigerator or a visit to the tailor? The answers to those are: no and no. Alastor’s grin grows as he watches you, all his yellow teeth on display, as you struggle to find an excuse to leave. It is really important that you restock on that blend of tea that a guest of yours liked in case he dropped in unexpectedly – ugh, who were you kidding?

“I’m not here to participate; I will listen and nothing more,” you say, squeezing yourself onto the couch. Your posture is impeccable and you fold gloved hands in your lap with sophistication. “Nothing more.”

With the expression of a cat who got the cream, Alastor turns back to his broadcast station. His fingers piano across his mechanical instruments, changing frequencies with flips of switches and pushes of buttons. Technology is such a headache for you that you wilt away from watching him.

The shadowman finishes his performance as Alastor finishes with his soundboard. In a passive motion, the last notes of the symphony dies and the throat of a previous Overlord grows as quiet as a cemetery. Alastor … does not pick up the paper on his desk.

Before you can process that, he is speaking animatedly into his cane, “Dear listeners, I would like to announce a very special guest who will be joining me on our broadcast. Hell’s Beldam, an apostate to God, your favorite Overlord, (Name).” You glare as he holds out his cane to you, silently urging you to say hello to his listeners.

♫♪.ılılıll|̲̅̅○̲̅̅|̲̅̅=̲̅̅|̲̅̅○̲̅̅|llılılı.♫♪

The first time you ate meat that came from a more intelligent source of flank, it was to appease Rosie. You still remember how she held your trembling wrist, tender like a mother, and guided a fork of a prime cut a human’s tendon joint to your quivering mouth. Soft, gentle words whispered to you: if you wish to survive, you must adopt a paleolithic diet and attitude, love. You have a much steadier hand now as your fork and knife glide through the maroon filet.

“-- and we should have a delivery for that sweet girl in the next week or so. Franklin, you tell her that I want her eating but the most wrinkled brains and most youthful muscles during her pregnancy. None of that cheap stuff for that sweet thing. And I know her husband can foot the bill. Now, there’s an idea … feet … where’s my?”

Lifting a forkful to your lips, you watch as Rosie twirls around in the open doorway. She pats her hips twice, frustrated and glancing around her bedroom. You were once surprised that Rosie conducted meetings in her personal chambers – just a testimony to how friendly the Overlord is. Finding her notepad, she starts to scribble on it and return to the doorway.

All you watch now is the plumes of pink and black feathers on her hat as they sway with her animated motions. “Franklin! Franklin! How does pinkie toes wrapped in crescent rolls; a rendition on pigs-in-a-blanket! Franklin? Franklin!” You startle when the Overlord takes her fist and pounds it on her door. “Franklin, please, tell those girls to turn down the radio!”

She turns to you, apologetic in her gestures. “Those sweet girls. I thought they would tire of it after the first quinquennial but they’re still going strong with it.”

You smile warmly, still chewing on your previous bite. Those girls were very devoted in their attendance to The Radio Demon’s broadcasts. Gathered amorously around the radio in the parlor, you amusedly watched their shuffling bodies push close to the radio wires, blushing prettily behind delicately painted fans, before you went up to Rosie’s. Once, a brave girl aged about fifteen gave you her fan – a scene of carnations and butterflies painted on it – and politely asked you to get a signature from The Radio Demon on it. When you returned it, you swear stars lit up her eyes.

You go in for another bite as Rosie turns back to peeking her head outside the door. She listens for either Franklin’s voice or the decreasing volume of the radio. Still Alastor’s voice stays strong, sultry and theatrical, as if he is personally standing in the downstairs parlor talking to everyone.

“Christ on a cross,” Rosie curses, a delicate hand touching her cheek in surrender. She steps back into the room, scribbling away and closes the door behind her, allowing you two privacy. “Now, do not get me wrong, (Name), that young gentleman is charming but to have all my best girls acting so cockeyed. It’s tiring.”

Rosie finishes with penning her meal idea and sets it on her dresser. A white curl of hair is tucked behind her ear and a sigh escapes her. You offer up your condolences, “Maybe you just have to wait for the decade instead of the quinquennial to pass. I’ve seen those girls switch fancies like a woman with her shoes.”

At least this time you get a small chuckle instead of such despondent looks or sounds. Regaining herself, her teeth make an appearance, springing up into a flashy smile. In a look of thoughtfulness, she puts a finger on her chin. “Perhaps you are right. Though, can we say the same for you?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” you defend, knowing exactly what she means. This is the exact situation you were hoping to avoid until that cursed man had to swoop in where he was not wanted.

“All I am saying is that Alastor’s voice is not the only voice that I’ve been hearing in my emporium. Speaking of which,” Rosie pulls a letter from her pocket. “Helen wants to know if you can deliver this to Alastor. Little lady has been bitten by the love-bug like an implanting tick! I believe he struck up a conversation with her at the tailor.”

You gracefully take the love letter. The plain white letter has Radio Demon written on its front in elegant scripture and … oh, that is a nice touch … and is fixed together with a wax stamp of a buck’s head with golden antler. Green and gold are a refined color combination. “If I run into him, he will surely receive it.” With a snap, a flame runs itself up the love letter, consuming it and vomiting it out on the desk you have at home.

“If I run into him, they say,” Rosie repeats with a giggle. She takes her seat and folds her hands over her lap. “I will then assure Helen that her letter will see Alastor within the week.”

“Climb off it.”

“Oh I most definitely will not!”

“Rosie.”

“You know that you are the only living and willing guest that has ever spoken on his broadcasts. Though, I’m not too sure if the screams he has playing in his ether are living or not. Certainly not willing though!”

“I am not so willing either. I come to discuss business, he pulls me into his broadcast. I go to get a bite from the street, there he is with his microphone.”

“Oh so the shoe is on the other foot. He is smitten with you?”

“No one is smitten with anyone.”

Rosie remains unconvinced. “Dear, you know love is my speciality! If you ever need a listening ear or some advice, you just tell Rosie and I’ll –”

You try to burn harshness out of your throat, truly you do. Despite your best efforts, the words that you say next are coated in hostility wrongfully aimed at the cannibal. “It’s not love. It will never be love. Especially not with me.”

That finally snaps Rosie out of her teasing. Her warmthful attitude is watered down and a fretful hand rises over to her black lips. Uncomfortable, you try to shrink away from those regretful eyes. You pick up another bite you had cut off the filet, chewing furiously. Rosie tries not to make it obvious but it is fruitless. Her eyes conveniently fall down to the sight of your plate, the space where your hands sit and thus, in addition, to your ungloved digits, your wedding band. The inscription is on the inside of the band, never revealed to any Overlord or Sinner, the words sweetly engraved: Two bodies, one heart.

“(Name), I’m sorry.”

You swallow. The raw regret in her voice feels like a high-pitched whining frequency in your ear, causing you to wilt. You fold your hands over one another, hiding your wedding band from sight. Orange eyelashes flicker with all the insects and bugs of emotion crawling over your skin. “Can we simply turn matters of discussion towards what I came here for?”

“Of course,” Rosie breathes out. She picks up the folder on the table, leaving her own plate untouched for the time being. A bit of rustling and fluttering distracts you. “Here … and here.” Rosie sets down the papers.

“The population of Cannibal Town is 2254. Since the last monthly visit of yours, only three people have died. Leroy D., Ruth T., and Mieszko M. – Leroy was eaten by his wife, Ruth ate a bad spleen and she got food poisoning, and Mieszko got killed in the crossfire of a turf war. We welcomed one new Sinner about a week ago. This gentleman named Wayne, from California, was a serial cannibal. He actually has this funny –” Rosie wilts under your look. She admends her previous gossip by continuing, “Ahem, and this is the population of Cannibal Town as of now. 2254. No less and no more.”

“No strange sightings or break-ins?”

“None for this month.”

“No rumors of anything suspicious?”

“Not for what you are looking for, dear,” Rosie says apologetic.

“No one has seen anything out of the ordinary? No unfamiliar persons at all,” you press.

Rosie only gives you a gloomy shake of her head. Forlorn, you rest your forehead onto the hand resting on your knee, a sigh escaping you like stubborn smoke. You actually have to take a moment to yourself, crawling away into the realm of your mind.

With Extermination coming so close … You two were two separate bodies but joined in your hearts … If anyone knew he was alive, it would be you. Yet, despite that connection that twines you together, you have not been able to locate him. His second pulse rested in your ribcage, a bit weak but still there. Rosie moves to put a hand to your shoulder as she sees you slip into a cavern of dark thoughts but stops when she remembers that you hate being touched. You have to find him.

“Thank you, Rosie.” You open one eye, ignoring the fullness of your waterline, and give her a sad smile. Her hand hovers but never lands. “I appreciate that you do this for me.”

“No worries, (Name). Cannibal Town is close knit after all. I promise if I see anything, you will be alerted first.”

It is a foolish but friendly effort of her to try and quench the fire in your eternal, damned soul.

♫♪.ılılıll|̲̅̅○̲̅̅|̲̅̅=̲̅̅|̲̅̅○̲̅̅|llılılı.♫♪

The heartbeat of soft pittering rain joins the consonant voice on the radio. Your umbrella (material eaten like a leaf under the consumption of a caterpillar) sits by the doorway, leaking the residue of acid rain onto your carpet. You hear another noise too: the steady flow of a turned on faucet. One of your servants is already washing the cherries in preparation. Shredding your ebon cloak, you venture into a home that is intruded by an uninvited guest you cannot ask to leave.

At least turn on the lights, if you invite yourself in, you think. You raise a finger up, sparking the flames inside lanterns as you go. Like fireflies awoke, they stirred in your presence. You enter the parlor when he is dramatically sitting in the shadows. A thespian until death and beyond.

On the radio, surprisingly in harmony with the acid rain pounding outside, the voice of thespian narrates: “Road crews have shut down all streets in all directions due to an ongoing turf war. So if you are looking to go anywhere, do NOT.”

You have another dramatic thespian to deal with though, separate from the Radio Demon. A finger of yours points skyward and a spark leaps off it, the three-tiered rings of candles on the chandelier stirring to life. You fix him with a vexed look, eyes narrowing.

You close the heavy doors behind you. Trapping him in there with you. Trapping you in there with him.

“So, we just come in uninvited now, Zestial?”

Zestial ignores you. He takes a loud sip of his tea, his four neon green eyes focused on the radio. His legs are elegantly folded and he looks as deadly as a weapon left unattended in the house of an alcoholic. His presence is perfumed with the scent of nightmares.

The Overlord has already set up his chess board, his side black and your white. Some residues of souls trapped in the pieces cause them to shift from an eggshell to an ivory white or from violet-black to charcoal. The rooks are particularly restless it seems, their imprisoned souls leaking through the pointed tips of their pieces and shaking on the board.

On the radio, Alastor animatedly speaks, his voice almost cracking boy-like in his enthusiasm.

“He is good for thou,” Zestial says, nodding towards where the radio sits above your empty fireplace.

“I have indulged in this subject one too many times this month. Not again.”

To you, he is not good for you. He is a dog playing around in the forest of wolves, ignorant of the biological differences. He is going to get a reality check of one these days and find himself making a deal that will metamorphosis into his own hands being shackled. Just like Husk.

You shift when the door of the parlor is knocked upon. You know that you told your servants to always obey the whims of a guest, but you always like to be there to medicate between the three volatile imp brothers and Zestial. “Enter.” You are relieved to see it is Lucius who opens the door, bowl of water-dotted fruit in hand.

“Master.” The oldest of the three brothers bows deeply at the pleasurable sight of you. You can pick up the tiniest hint of relief in his voice too. He extends the bowl out of you, “I have the cherries that Sir Zestial has asked for.”

“Thank y–”

“The boy can deliver it to thee himself.”

You snatch up the bowl before Lucius can even register the words. If you were a porcupine, quills would most certainly be raised. Austerity paints your voice.

“You are dismissed. Tell Agnar and Mars to go to their bedrooms and set up a light novel for me.” You two break apart as you turn back to Zestial, glaring. As soon as the door is closed, you say, “You know that a hair harmed on them is the equivalent of you attacking and threatening me.”

“There was no such thing.” Zestail sets down his saucer of tea. You eye it, wondering which one of the imps had to serve him. You mourn not coming home sooner as Zestial picks a cherry out of the bowl you set down. Taking a seat, you listen to his amends, “Thou employs a capable collective.”

“They’re not for sale.”

“Not a collective thee would seek company in.” You eye the board silently. “I believe we hast started out on the wrong foot. The Angelic Extermination is encroaching.”

♫♪.ılılıll|̲̅̅○̲̅̅|̲̅̅=̲̅̅|̲̅̅○̲̅̅|llılılı.♫♪

Corinthians 6:18.

Flee from sexual immorality.

After years and years and years, the night was still vivid in your head. The names and faces of your parents had dissolved through the sieve of time, irrelevant. You kept that night’s memory tight to you, shielding it away from the assault of time, remembering and remembering, reliving and reliving it so you would never forget it. Cauterizing a thousand images of that night into yourself until it was all you knew and breathed: the feel of him inside as you took him against his will, the softness of her as you forced a knife up and up into her womb, the warmth of blood as you offered yourself to whatever deity would listen to the bleats of a lamb, begging for their justice.

All other sins a person commits are outside the body,

You knew blood intimately. Squished juices of it flowed down your inner thighs. You collapsed into your mother’s arms, trembling and worrying over what the apple-red liquid meant, until you were taught this experience was an experience all women knew. You learned the taste of blood. In dizzying motions, it swam like a tadpole in your mouth until you spit on the kitchen floor, mouth dripping with it and apologies. You felt the satisfaction that came from drawing blood from someone else. In and out his stomach. In and out her vulva. The liquor of life spilling out, you knew it intimately.

But whoever sins sexually,

Lucius prepares the light novel. He cleans the tools and tightens the straps. When you eventually descend after your meeting with Ziestal, he offers you a baselard, a short sword, first. The weight of it is tangible in your hand, reliable and non-slippery like memories or blood. You may have been cursed with a putrid body but she got dealt worse.

Sins against their own body.

♫♪.ılılıll|̲̅̅○̲̅̅|̲̅̅=̲̅̅|̲̅̅○̲̅̅|llılılı.♫♪

“A love letter to keep you warm during Extermination,” you smile, offering up the letter to Alastor.

You two collide at the butcher shop, famished for a bite. Relenting to his whims, you let Alastor excitedly point out his favorites for this week’s selection, the shark teeth in his mouth moving a mile a minute. You even let him tip up your chin to hand feed you his concoction of summer sausage, honey pineapple mustard, and farmhouse cheddar slices. If he has a tail he is hiding, it must have wagged fast at your praises over his food combination. With both of your baskets full, you two left the butcher shop, your youngest servant following. Then, you presented him with Helen’s love letter.

His red eyes widen considerably. Behind the both of you, your servant is having a similar reaction, staring like he is a blind man gifted sight. A buzz of static drips into the space between you and Alastor, his gloved hand dipping down to collect the letter.

“How kind of you, (Name). I suppose all is forgiven?”

“For the matters of the Overlord? Yes. I can put that behind us as long as there is not a repeat of events.”

“Good. I would hate to disrupt the delicate balance we have,” Alastor mutters. He is starting to observe the letter, checking its front and back. The gold and green wax seal is very classy, nice touch, (Name). Though, your hand must have cramped at the end because the front does not look like your handwriting. Also Radio Demon? Why not Alastor? “We have to tread so carefully in our waltz.”

You laugh at his words, making the demon wilt. Alastor? Careful? He was completely without any tact and his fake humanitarianism was like an ill-fitting suit with buttons bursting at the seams. You see right through him. He was a man excited and overjoyed with his eternity, hungering for it. Between laughter, hand up to cover your smile slightly, you say, “Oh yes, of course. We have to be very careful.”

Alastor sours at your words. He had meant to sound poetic, not comedic.

He puts his thumb over the edge of the envelope, letting shadows consume it and leave it on the couch in his radio tower. He is a bit anxious about what you wrote to him. Fixing his suit, he admonishes, “We should always be cautious in a world such as this. Ah, just at midnight, we will have a rainstorm of death approaching us!” Alastor gestures a hand out to the red pentagram in the sky.

“Yet, I assume you will be out in it, broadcasting?”

“Rain or shine, I go where entertainment is, dear!”

“Like a moth to fire.” Not entirely cautious despite your previous statement, you think fondly.

THIS SECTION IS UNFINISHED AND WILL NOT READ SMOOTHLY

“Precisely!” His yellow teeth are whet in his snarling black gums. “Why, I am a bit mournful to not be up there as the Cold War goes on – why, that would have been quite a broadcast! I just read in the papers that those brave men upstairs have tested this thermonuclear device about a few thousands miles off the coast of Hawaii. A workshop of bombs made by idle hands – how novel!”

“Do you think the Soviet Union will fire first?”

“One can never be too sure with these things. It is a dime throw!” Alastor materializes a dime, weaving it between his ebony hands and red claws. “Heads or tails?”

“To what?” You watch the dime in his hand (...)

“Why, to see if we will survive this Extermination and live to greet 1951?”

That seems to sober you up considerably. (...)

“As they say, beware an old man in a profession where men usually die young.”

“I taught you that phrase when I introduced the two of you.”

“My apologies. As the Belam says, beware,” you whack him on the shoulder and both of you share a laugh. (...)

THIS SECTION WILL CONTINUE SMOOTHLY

♫♪.ılılıll|̲̅̅○̲̅̅|̲̅̅=̲̅̅|̲̅̅○̲̅̅|llılılı.♫♪

“Helloooo! Anybody home?”

The fire enveloping the Belam’s house raises itself up like the fingers of a child, pitching to reach the out-of-reach candy on the top shelf. Relentless and acrimonious, it burns in a glowing wave of white and amber, a warning to not come close. Alastor challenges the roaring fire with those words, arms crossed behind his back and his imprisonment of cheer present on his lips.

Ignoring or ignorant of his presence, the fire does not stir beyond its usual waving and billowing pattern. It continues to chew on the mansion exterior, from the window trims to the roof gable to foundation. Alastor had anticipated – or more correctly, was looking forward to – some reaction, perhaps a forceful flare of flames as it grew in size. The fire continues, devoted in the motions of burning, not wavering into less or more strength.

Somberly, Alastor removes a hand off his cane. Exuding droplets of your door knocker climb down the wood like snot. It is still slightly usable. Alastor wraps his hand around the soft ring of metal hanging from the lion’s mouth. He lifts it up. Slippery metal indents to his hand’s shape and, as he goes to knock again, the door is suddenly opened.

Startling a bit, he is quick to flick the liquid metal off his gloves, wanting to be presentable. Alastor grins wider as the innards of your humble home are revealed to him. Is he getting further than Zestial did, he wonders with excitement.

The first sign that anything is amiss after the Extermination is the wound on Zestial’s face.

Ah. Perhaps not, he thinks as he locks eyes with one of your imp servants, brows creasing.

Alastor tries to rack his mind, smile strained. He has been in your lovely presence many times. With you often comes a shadow. However, the shadow has three variations without easily identifiable features such as diverse horn shapes. All your lousy, low class company shared the horns of a hebridean sheep – an obnoxious, gross shape. Which one is this? With his height, he might be –

Before Alastor can guess, the imp speaks. He has his arms crossed over his chest, glaring up at the taller demon. “The Master is not receiving guests at this time, Radio Demon.”

Oh, it is the one who does not like him! Lucius!

Cheerful at his gained knowledge, Alastor says boisterously, “Now now, dear chump, that is no way to send away unwanted company! Why, I elect for a much firmer tact!” A black gloved hand wraps around Lucius’s arm, squeezing above the elbow.

“By using physical strength, we notice a change in power dynamic. Then, we should work on your voice. The Master is NOT–” Alastor’s voice drops into a dark static octave, “receiving guests at this time. Emphasize, young man; it is the key to conversing as I have found in my time as a radio host. The most powerful instrument we have is our voice! And, to respond to your statement (because conversing clearly is key too!), I would say –”

Alastor suddenly pulls, causing Lucius to stumble as his palm is inches away from the porch’s foundation. Alastor uses that praised emphasis in a non-verbal way, gaining a few inches in height. His lanky body stretches unnaturally, the corners of his mouth grossly inching up. “I am coming in, no matter what your Master says, you fucking, insignificant IMP.”

Letting Lucius drop to the ground, Alastor laughs and steps in, having fun. He takes the hand that was behind his back and brings it to his front, smiling at his cane. Finger on the pulse point of the pyle microphone, the Radio Demon calls over his shoulder, “Firm tact next time!” Now will that little stunt bring you out or will he need to do more?

“Where is your Master, Lucius?” Alastor asks breezily into the heat radiating off the burning walls. As he walks, he sends glances around the mansion.

His luxurious stroll grinds to a halt when the cool touch of a weapon hits his nape. If pouting were a possibility, his lips would be pulled into the most childish frustrated pout. Lean body twisting, he sends a glance over his shoulder to see Lucius holding a gun to his throat.

“Exactly what I was talking about! Firmer tact!”

Alastor’s tone is like a father proud that his son has adopted the correct baseball swing after numerous failed attempts. Lucius’s eyes narrow into a glare, amber sclera shining brightly and rivaling the glow of the fire eating your mansion’s walls. He hisses out his previous statement (“The Master is not receiving guests at this time, Radio Demon.”) as his tail whips up and down wrathfully.

The collective you keep is quite cute. He is still trying to unearthing how these three fearless, loyal brothers fell into your unfriendly hands. The oldest is especially fond of you; Alastor has wondered if you noticed the crush Lucius harbors towards you. If he takes a bite out of the ill-tasting imp, will that lure you into the opening?

“Now, Lucius,” the gun presses deeper into Alastor’s fourth cervical bone, “I think it is the right time to stop acting like I am unwanted company. You yourself have seen how your Belam looks at me.”

The gun is fired.

When a weapon is fired, a change of moods is often a natural following event. These said moods can turn even volatile when someone has previous history with being at the receiving end of a gun.

THIS SECTION IS UNFINISHED AND WILL NOT READ SMOOTHLY

The ‘X’ stamped on the center of Alastor’s forehead glows a vicious crimson. (...)

“They’re in the parlor,” Agnar interrupts. If the Radio Demon has not been burnt out, then it must be that some part of you wants to meet with him. He might not understand it but he is not enveloped in a cloud of envy like his older brother, thus he can see it perfectly and clearly. “The door is unlocked.”

Alastor turns, red sclera returning with a blink. His eyes upturn and a pleased grin tugs his features into something with a centimeter less malice than it held before. “Good dog,” Alastor says, and taps the head of his cane on Agnar’s shoulder.

THIS SECTION WILL CONTINUE SMOOTHLY

Alastor brushes past Lucius with a sycophant grin, static laugh track bouncing off him along the way. Well, it is an ideal turn of events that he does not have to harm one of your imp servants to get you to come out. The palpable glare bruising on his back tickles Alastor as his everlasting static feedback laughs and laughs.

He sends a few amused glances to the walls. Melting iron cascades down overheated lanterns and portrait frames hold nebulous black mouths in them. Perhaps, you heard it all. He did not know the extension of what you could do – were you engulfing this entire place or was there a physical form or mental consciousness in the parlor as your imp said? Wasting no time, he pushes open the entrance to that very room, thrilled to see what could possibly lie beyond.

The design is quite modern from what Alastor can make out in the covering curtains of fire you had thrown throughout your house. There is still that outdated chandelier from whatever time period he has yet to figure out. It now hangs down instead of up like congealing stalactites of silver.

His eyes draw down to the long table surrounded by one chesterfield couch and a twin set of club chairs. Blackened and concave like melted sugar. The back of the chesterfield blocks the fireplace which roars loudly. Alastor takes a moment to notice the radio above the crashing riptide of fire that your inglenook churns with. Melted, unfortunately. His eyes squint in displeasure. You lay nude and supine on the ground.

He knocks fruitlessly on the parlor door, announcing a presence already known. You do not glance away from the downturned blades of a chandelier liquefying into a reverse mirror of itself. Alastor steps in and you do not stir.

Come now, (Name), do not be such a bore. The Radio Demon steps into the room.

“Now, they say the best medicine is laughter! Though, that was snipped from a Proverb and we are, delightfully, trapped in Hell. Sooo,” Alastor sits on the table, crossing legs and holding his cane in folded hands “So I think the next best medicine is a bit of crying! Thus, may I suggest a night on the town, terrorizing the screams and tears out of Sinners and Overlords alike?”

You glance at Alastor, especially since he is holding out his cane’s head to you, waiting for a reply. The energy to muster up a glare or any form of reply is popping and crackling around the two of you. Thus, you stare silent at the theatrical man.

“Hello,” Alastor brings the cane to his teeth. “Is this thing on?” He taps it with a claw, pops of static thumping with each delicate hit. “No, I think I’m good! Excellent! (Name)!”

And with a sudden jerk, he spreads his legs and leans his body forward towards you, face hovering over yours. His teeth hang over you like a crescent moon, glowing. “If you would give me the pleasure, I would like to conduct an interview with Hell’s Beldam. Have you seen them around by chance?”

“…”

“Come now, dear. I am a radio host, not a comedian. And as a radio host, I rely on the conversations that I can have with my audience!”

Slightly dejected with your blank staring, he sends a scrutinizing gaze over your nude body. People change upon entering Hell. You were no different from him. An unknown being had taken the worst parts of your death and made them prominent in your physical form.

There is still an outline of where you end and the flame circling the house begins. One of your hands rests on your ribcage between the large globes of your breasts; the other with the wedding band lies across your forehead. Absent of a nose or a moving mouth, blank white eyes highlighted by orange eyelashes reveal the most expressions you can give. Your form is thin, the black of your ribcage is seen under the roaring fire that is your skin. Between your legs lies a thick, inhuman phallus and vulva – both separate human genitals. Your legs are shapely and curvy in that perfect feminine allure.

He is still unsure of what circumstance led to this being your physical form. The wedding band is currently the most intriguing part of you. He had no idea you were married. Mystery enshrouds even what your crimes could have possibly been in the living world –

“Radio Demon, what do you live for?” Your voice sounds like the crunching and popping of a thousand branches. It is distorted like you are trying to speak over a campfire that has grown too tall and too wide.

“Why! Entertainment, of course!” He spins back to a sitting position, crossing his legs and perfecting his posture. “I live for the Shakespearen entertainment of a stage! Divertissement, as the French say! Why I became an Overlord just for the very notion to be more entertained!”

“I live for revenge.”

#is it really a WIP if i will NOT FUCKING FINISH IT #alastor x reader #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor #hazbin hotel #WNIP #work not in progress #:) <3

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r-edacted · 1 year ago

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skateboarding isn't that hard guys I promise (ZeexEmma)

a/n: this is literally the first time I've EVER written a fanfic so I apologize if this is crummy. There were no cooks in the kitchen so I had to make my own food. I don't have an ao3 account so imma have to slap it here until I can get one! enjoy! Emma has never touched a skateboard in her life despite her athleticism. She always gravitated more toward things like tennis or volleyball. But finding out that one of her good friends did skateboard she decided she wanted to try. So they agreed to meet at the skatepark after school. It can't be as hard as riding a bike right?

Oh how wrong she was.

"Hey ems you don't have to get on the board if you're not ready," Zee assures, noticing Emma's nervous expression. She's seen people skateboarding on TV before. Chase even used them in his stupid pranks but has never actually tried to ride one before. She was now remembering all those epic skateboarding fail compilations she's seen go viral online. But she was ready! Emma made sure to get the proper protective gear before asking Zee to teach her.

"Don't worry Zee I'm ready! Besides, I always get a bit nervous before doing stuff like this." Emma replied. She didn't want Zee to think she feared a board with wheels.

"Alright, well first you get on the board. Remember balance is important and so is staying chill." Zee demonstrates by standing on his board with the greatest of ease. They take a swig of their soda while balancing on the board. "Easy as one, two…uhhhh.." zee trails off. "Three?" Emma finished. "Yea! Three! There are so many numbers to keep track of, it's crazy!" Zee laughed and Emma giggled. Zee got off their board and gestured to Emma to give it a go. "Your turn ems!" Emma took a deep breath and slowly placed her right foot on the board feeling it shift slightly. Then her left foot, keeping her feet on the two couples of screws that are screwed into the board. "That's it ems!" Zee cheered. "Bend your knees a bit to give yourself more balance." Zee bent their knees as an example. Emma mimicked Zee and felt the board roll a bit to the right causing her to yelp in surprise. She instinctively started holding her arms up to keep her balance, making her wobble a bit. "Woah! Easy skateboard!." She nervously shouted. Zee rushed behind Emma just in case she fell. "Don't worry ems if you happen to slip I got you. You won't fall." Zee assures. "Thanks, Zee." Emma calmed down and was back to being balanced on the board. “Do you want me to push you a bit so you can get used to the board moving?” zee asked. “ Totally! If I can't skateboard I at least wanna feel like I can” Zee smiled. “Cool! Alright here we go, keep your arms out ems." Zee gingerly held Emma's waist and began to push Emma across the skate park. Starting slow but gradually gaining speed until Zee was lightly jogging across the pavement. “WOHOOO! THIS IS SO MUCH FUN ZEE!” Emma laughed. Zee grinned looking at Emma's excited face. However, Zee probably should've focused on the ground because they tripped on a rock causing Zee to let go of Emma. Emma shrieked waving her arms in the air as her skateboard speeds to a chain link fence. “Emma look out!” Zee bolted off the ground and sprinted to the board and pulled Emma off, but being a string bean meant that he wasn't able to hold her. Zee folded like a lawn chair but was able to shield Emma from the impact of falling on the pavement and landed on Zee’s lap. “OMG zee are you ok?” Emma looked down at Zee. “Yup..im ok!” Zee gives a weak thumbs up as they open their eyes to see Emma above them. Emma’s face softened when seeing her friend had no series injuries. “I'm just glad you didn't get hurt bro” They smile at each other before Emma realized how close their faces were. Emma's face gains a light pink hue and bolts up. “Haha yea, that was so much fun! We should totally do this again sometime or not I don't know whatever you like haha!” Zee gets up and walks to the fence to grab their board. “Yea, I think we should pause the skateboarding lessons until tomorrow. Wanna go get some ice cream?” Emma's face brightened with excitement while putting her skateboarding gear in her backpack. “Heck yea! You buying?” “Who said I was?” “Says me Hezekias” Emma taunts. “Well considering I did save your life today id say you owe me one” Zee gives a triumphant look at Emma and she caves. “Alright alright fine.” She grins and gives Zee a soft punch on the arm while the two walk to the ice cream parlor nearby.

#zemma #td zee #td emma #tdi2023 #total drama emma #Total drama zee #total drama 2023

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starklyscifi · 1 year ago

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Cursed By The Blood

(a flash fiction story by EJ Stark, for @flashfictionfridayofficial's prompt "blood is thicker than water")

CN: death

Great Aunt Ida’s death was the best thing that ever happened to her. At the funeral, Emma made a long-winded speech about the best moments of her young life, sitting in great Aunt Ida’s living room, drinking bitter coffee, listening to Ida tell her stories.

Emma’s mother did not appreciate the “best moments of her life” line.

Emma did not care. It was a lie anyway.

Her best memories were the moments in between. Driving her 1991 blue Volvo down the highway with her fingers out the window. Stopping at the gas station and putting too many creamers into a cup of bad coffee. Sitting in the public park behind the old elementary school for five minutes of blissful freedom.

Ida left all $30,000 of her life savings to Emma.

And she was nice enough to die just after Emma had finished her online college degree. Her mother insisted she do a remote degree rather than moving away. So the day the bank transfer came through with her inheritance, Emma paid six months rent up front for an apartment in the mid-sized city two hours away, where everyone went to do their monthly Target run and packed a suitcase. Even her family’s methods couldn’t convince Target to come to a tiny town in the middle of nowhere.

She left. After burning everything else she used to own on the lawn, leaving a giant scorch mark for her mother to come home to.

The apartment was damp and dark. Emma stopped using the harsh overhead light. She bought a lamp at Goodwill that made a disturbing crackling noise every time she turned it on. She turned the lamp on early tonight as a storm rolled in.

She hunched over her laptop. The rain intensified, pounding on the window so hard she couldn’t hear the knocking until it let up.

The knocking didn’t go away.

Opening the door, she wished the rain had kept up.

Her mother was standing in the hallway, dripping water onto the stained carpeting. She stared at Emma. Emma stared back.

“Don’t you dare close that door in my face.”

The old woman down the hall, the one that Emma was sure had called the landlord and complained about Emma making too much noise, cracked her door open.

“Then I guess you’d better come in.”

They continued to stare at each other. Emma from the broken chair and her mother from the only couch cushion that didn’t have a mystery stain on it.

“I see you’re still running from your responsibilities.”

Emma folded her arms. “I don’t think I should have to pay for decisions made before I was born.”

“How is your abysmal minimum wage service job?” her mother asked, eyeing the Facebook Marketplace chair, missing a leg and currently propped up with the pile of books Emma had brought with her.

This is what happened when you came from this type of family. She knew what really lived in the woods, how to summon it, how to keep it out. But she was terrified of customer service. So she hunched herself over her computer, her spine rounding like a shrimp’s, desperate for a remote job. Punching keys and inputting numbers in exchange for her rent.

All she had to show was two months of rejection letters.

No.

She was convinced no one would ever say yes to her unless they were terrified of her family’s connection to “the land.” That was what the locals called it. She knew what they meant by “land” even if they didn’t.

She’d been down with her mother to the deep, dark place in the forest. She had looked long through the trees and seen what was really growing in the mountains so ancient they predated the seas.

“I won’t come back. I never wanted to stay in that town. So carry on with your shit and leave me to mine.”

“Being born into this family comes at a cost.”

The rain continued. Emma worried slightly that the window would break, shattering into a million pieces that would never come out of the carpet, no matter how much she vacuumed.

“Nothing bad is going to happen because I was a little independent.”

“The town will rot into what it was before us.”

Emma looked her mother straight in the eyes.

“Then let it rot.”

Her mother had realized twenty minutes ago that her daughter wasn’t going anywhere. Emma had realized that her mother would realize her daughter wasn’t going anywhere the moment she opened the door.

So when her mother tried to get off the couch and couldn’t, Emma smiled.

“Having trouble, Mother?”

“There is a price for this,” her mother hissed.

Emma leaned forward and whispered, “I know.”

Her mother continued to struggle, the hidden bundle under the couch sucking the life out of her. Emma knew her mother would only sit on the cushion without the stains.

The bundle had sat under that cushion for three weeks. Ever since the day Emma realized she would have to completely cut ties with her family and everything they were attached to.

She looked away as the skin on her mother’s hands flaked off and her eyes went glassy and still.

The rain disappeared. The Goodwill lamp flickered and died. Moonlight pooled on the carpet.

A shadowy figure existed on the other end of the couch. It had always existed in that spot. A tiny part of her brain tried to protest that fact, but it was wrong.

“We’re even now,” she said.

The figure smiled. “What a child you are.”

Emma sat up straighter, looking at the figure’s face, or where the face should have been. Her hands did not shake. “I know how to deal with things like you.”

“When you deal with ancient things, you put yourself at their mercy.”

“But the rules—”

The figure cackled and vanished.

#flash fiction #flash fiction friday #writers on tumblr #writeblr #writing #fiction #original fiction #horror #tw death

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discodeviant · 2 years ago

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Only You; Only Me

Billy/Eddie | Mature | 1.5k words California AU

Got Mungrove on my mind... It's wild to me how many times an idea can change in my head before it's done; this sort of reflects my mood for the last few days. That is to say, softer than intended but feelgood nonetheless. Anyway, Billy's whipped and folds like a lawn chair. Enjoy! <3

Made for @billyhargrovebingo!

They'd slept together a more than few times before, each a one-night stand that contradicted itself with the next. The first was a one-night stand, but the second promised another, and the third promised another after that, and soon it became a weekly practice. Important business, as Billy put it whenever Max asked why he went out so late on Monday nights, but she wasn't a kid anymore; she knew better than that. So she was left alone in their San Jose apartment, probably to leave and visit her friends in their college dorms anyway, and Billy was ready to sacrifice another night's sleep for his business partner.

He never asked for Eddie's last name or phone number, and Eddie never asked for his. They met at the same café bar on Pine and Fifth, drinks on whoever showed up first, and that night it was Eddie--but he didn't have any drinks. Nor was he inside at the bar. He was waiting by the front window with a cigarette in one hand while the other tucked under his arm, dirty white leather glowing yellow in the light. Billy snuffed out his own and jaywalked over to him, hands in his pockets and eyebrows knit closely together.

"Hey," he said, fiddling with a cluster of spare change. "Why aren't you inside? Something happen?"

"Why the hell do you care." Billy reeled back, the question like a punch to the throat and gut with both fists. "Still wanna go?"

"Do you?" Eddie sighed, spit behind him, and turned back around, head cocked like he was expecting something from Billy that didn't come. "I'll leave if you don't."

"I don't know. Seems like you had fun without me last night."

And the fists dug deep to wring Billy's guts and esophagus dry. "What?"

"If you're bored of this, speak now. I won't mind." He almost sounded bored himself, but that wasn't it.

Billy held up his hands, still in his pockets, and the corners of his jacket flipped up like wings as he spoke. "I'm here, aren't I? Of course I'm not bored. Christ." Back down they went; he wasn't going to fly away. "How the hell do you know I was out last night anyway, huh? You stalking me?" he asked with a smirk--low, sensual, a step closer to Eddie before he puffed a thick cloud of smoke between them. Billy breathed it right in.

"Buddy wanted me to go for drinks after his slam poetry reading." Eddie laughed a sad little huff. "I'd have said hi, but you were taken for the night, so I didn't bother."

"But you still came."

"Yeah, to see if you still wanted to do this. Not like I can call you." At that, Billy plucked the cigarette from Eddie's fingers and took a drag for himself. "Come on, that was my last one!"

He tossed it into oncoming traffic. "Let's go inside." Eddie glared and rolled his eyes, then led Billy into the café and bought their drinks as per the deal. Iced tea for Billy, a hot Americano for Eddie, and they were a little behind schedule, but it was okay. The music was nice, and the chairs were comfortable, and they watched their reflections in the window more than passers by on the other side.

"If it's any consolation," Billy said after a few too many silent minutes, "I didn't fuck the guy." He flattened his hands on polished wood. "I brought him into the alley and let him give me a blowie." Eddie remained silent, sliding his finger around the cup's ceramic rim, leg bouncing furiously beneath him. "Not that it's your business."

"I know it's not, asshole. Just--"

"I'll be honest, he looked more like you from far away than he did up close. Pretty disappointing." And Eddie's hand stopped, but his leg kept bouncing independently of his consciousness. Billy leaned in closer and told him softly, "Shit, if I'd known you were there, I'd have taken you home."

"You couldn't wait another day?"

Billy said, whispering, "I was really riled up, man," then sat back straight, drank his tea, and watched Eddie squirm from the shadow of his periphery. They didn't talk any more until both of their drinks were down to the grains, and Eddie returned his mug while Billy tossed his cup away. "Why don't we go home, and I'll make it up to you, hm?" Billy asked once they were outside again.

Eddie nodded.

So they walked to Eddie's place, a studio just a few blocks south with dangerously thin walls and creaky floors. But it was cozy with all of his rock-scene memorabilia, stuff that Billy had in high school that was broken by foul hands once he and Max moved out. It wouldn't have been the same to replace it; Eddie's apartment was nostalgic in that way, and Billy sank into the bed with ease once he got his boots and coat off.

Eddie followed him, still displeased, crawling onto the bed to meet Billy face-to-face. He put a hand up to Eddie's cheek and smiled fondly, rubbed a thumb over his mouth. "He wasn't good," Billy said. Eddie licked at his fingerprint.

"No?" Billy pushed further in. "His lips probably weren't as soft as mine, were they?"

"Not even close."

Big brown eyes looked up through long eyelashes: "Didn't know how to use his tongue either?" Eddie asked, pulsing a slow heartbeat into the roof of his mouth, Billy's thumb settling right in between. Billy shook his head as his thumb was pushed to the side of Eddie's cheek so he could talk more easily. The other fingers pressed into his jaw, scratched at the sideburn and two days worth of facial hair he had growing in.

"I don't think he ever had."

Eddie pushed Billy's thumb out but let his whole hand rest over his cheek, not caring about the wet spot afterwards. Billy ran it through his hair as he sank down a little lower, dejected if anything, but the head scratching seemed to help.

"Eddie."

"Hm?" His eyes were closed.

"You gotta tell me if you just want this to be an us thing. I can't read your mind."

"I thought kissing meant it was..."

Billy couldn't stand to see his moping face anymore, so he turned himself over and lay on top of Eddie, eyes deeply focused on the outline of his lips and every detail within them. "You're the only person I've kissed in years," he confessed. "You're the only one I want to kiss." And he tried to lean down further for another, but Eddie turned the tables and rolled on top of him, a challenging glare underneath the shadow of his hair.

"If you're serious," he said, pressing his knee harder into Billy's thigh, "I don't want anyone else sucking your dick either."

"No skin off my back."

"No flirting with guys at the bar."

"I won't even look at them."

Eddie softened just a bit, then let their lips meet in the empty space between them, rough enough so it was clear that he meant what he said. When he tried to pull away, his bottom lip was caught between foxy teeth, a grin when Billy finally let him go and rolled his hips against Eddie's. "And--"

Eddie shifted his jaw to the side in thought.

"And what?"

"... And I want your number. Before you go."

Billy smiled. "Only if you promise to take me out to dinner."

Eddie laughed--"You fucking brat,"--and kissed him again, hands on shirt buttons that were only fastened because of the cold October air. Billy shuddered when Eddie's rings touched his skin, freezing metal on the surface heated by a racing heart. Fingers prodded until he bruised, clothes were tossed aside, teeth bit into nipples, and tongues slid down softly sculpted muscle.

"Say it," Eddie demanded against Billy's ear, sending goosebumps so dense that Eddie felt them under his fingertips. "Come on, baby."

"Only you suck me off." His eyes were closed as Eddie stroked him with one hand. "Only you fuck me." A lone finger trailing further down to tease and promise in one fell swoop.

"And..."

In a tiny, near-silent whisper, Billy said, "Only you kiss me."

"Good boy," Eddie said, rewarding him with another bruise high enough on his neck that he'd have to cover it up in the morning. Billy searched for Eddie's lips with his own and groaned when he found them, yearning for something he hadn't ever admitted to wanting before, and maybe this was it.

"Please fuck me," he asked, begging, and Eddie laughed.

"Am I still big enough for you?"

"Yes," Billy answered. "Christ, what kinda fucking question is that--mm..."

And another kiss shut him right up as Eddie took the plunge for both of them. Something more than a twenty- or thirty-night stand because they'd long lost count, and even Billy recognized the distinct rhythm of his heart when Eddie came to mind and was around him, with him, inside of him.

Billy didn't get home until sunrise; the promise of a phone call kept him wide awake.

#.discowrites #stranger things #stranger things fic #billy hargrove #eddie munson #mungrove #one shot #fanfic #billy hargrove bingo #smut #almost

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