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shybunnie20 · 9 months ago

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BFF!Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

friends to lovers

★Locations ��My Masterlist

Summary: Eddie calls on you to help him plan his first date, and you wish that you were the one going on it with him.

Author's Note: This isn't quite as polished as I'd like it to be. But, I'm pushing through my last few weeks of college, so I'm working with the few brain cells I've got left lol. I still love how it turned out and the ending is worth all of the self-loathing, I promise.

No use of Y/N, est. friendship, ages aren’t specified but E & R are approx. in their early twenties & it’s an early 90s AU, Reader has never been asked on a date before. Mild angst with happy ending!

Word count: 8.9k

Warnings: Reader dwells on poor self-worth & feels undesirable, acts of eating and multiple mentions of food, includes swearing.

Nestled in the quaint corner of Campbell Ave and 2nd Street, you’re engrossed in a call with a customer, jotting down an order for two bouquets consisting of pink-white lilies and snapdragons. Your eyes follow the effortless glide of your glitter gel pen across the paper, detailing their contact information.

Similarly to Goldilocks, you’ve found a place of employment where the pace is just right. You can handle whatever tasks Joan, the owner, asks of you. Sweeping the wood floors with a stiff-bristled broom, tending to the plants, and arranging flowers adorned with decorative ribbon and crisp paper are all within your grasp.

This place gets steady business, but the concept of a lunch or dinner rush is nonexistent. However, you do face a unique kind of rush occasionally. Now and then, a frantic lover bursts through the doors, bug-eyed, having realized they’ve forgotten a special anniversary or birthday at the very last minute.

As you recite the customer’s order and callback number into the phone’s receiver, their confirmational “uh huhs” cut through the buzz of the line. Suddenly, your attention is diverted by the sight of a van pulling into the parking spot out front, slightly askew. A small smile teases the corners of your mouth as you make a conscious effort to refocus on closing the conversation at hand.

The plastic shell of the phone clacks as you hang up, and you watch Eddie hop out of his van, and round the front of it with an unusual pep in his step—more than you’d see his best days.

“What’s up, buttercup?” Eddie’s voice carries across the room, accompanied by a genuine smile that lights up his face. He strides to the register counter you’re currently manning, wearing a vermillion polo shirt embellished with the neatly embroidered String and Strum shop logo on the breast. His hair is pushed back from his face with a black bandana, resembling a biker-like edge, tied firmly to ensure no stray curls disrupt his work as he repairs guitars and sells instruments for commission.

In seconds flat, he’s already scrunching his nose like a bunny, sensing a sneeze on the horizon. Being in a room packed with fresh plants is nothing short of hell, but he’s willing to endure it for the sake of seeing you. While he can handle flowers in small quantities, the confined space never fails to tickle his system like nobody’s business.

Vision blurring with mild irritation, Eddie blinks hard to disperse it. “Hey, how’s today going?”

You shrug, suppressing a giggle at the wiggle of his nose. “As good as it can, I guess. To what do I owe this unexpected visit?”

Eddie sets a grease-stained paper bag on the counter that separates you, along with a cup of soda. “Figured you could use a midday pick-me-up.”

“Must be my lucky day because I overslept and didn’t have time to pack a lunch. Well, that and I found a penny on the sidewalk.”

Eddie crosses his arms and tilts his head. “Don’t give luck all the credit. I have instinctual powers, y’know. My Munson senses were tingling and I knew you were in need.”

“My hero,” You exclaim, clasping your hands and swinging them to the side like a swooning princess.

Eddie chuckles with you, watching as you wipe your palms on your apron and eagerly dig into the bag, pulling out a foam to-go box. As you promptly open it and take a bite of your lunch, you can’t help but groan and throw your head back in satisfaction. Your eyes meet his thereafter, causing him to twist his mouth to the side and momentarily look away.

“How much do I owe you?” You ask, your words slightly muffled as you continue to chew.

Minnie, Joan’s cat, gracefully leaps onto the counter to greet Eddie. She perches herself beside the cash register, allowing him to scratch under her chin. “Nothin, consider it a favor,” He says with a wet sniffle, the tingling in his nose unrelenting.

The silence that falls is comfortable for you, but he’s seemingly lost in his thoughts as he continues to pet Minnie. Then, he looks at you with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “Speaking of which, I just so happen to know a way that you can return the favor.”

Having taken a sip from your drink and another bite of your food, the inflection of Eddie’s voice causes you to slow your chewing. “And what might that be?”

“Come over later to find out.”

Your shoulders slump, eyes widened with mock defeat. “No! I can’t stand here and wonder all day. I'll die. The suspense will kill me.”

Eddie pouts mockingly, his sweet honey eyes betraying his faux-frown. “Then I'll be sure to have the prettiest floral arrangement for your funeral. Only the best for you.”

Your brows knit together in an authentic pouting. The irony of needing to meet an untimely demise to receive flowers from a guy isn’t lost on you.

He motions toward the untrimmed bundle of carnations on the workbench behind you. “Actually, if you’re not too busy,” Eddie smirks. “Could you string those up for me quick so they’re ready to go for your wake?”

“Ha-ha,” you leer, taking the next bite of your food rather aggressively. “You’re cruel, you know that?”

“I beg to differ since I surprised you with your favorite from Val’s and all,” Eddie retorts, biting the inside of his cheek.

You grumble, “Yeah, and it’s fucking delicious.”

Eddie checks his watch and huffs, “Alright, I’ve gotta get goin’,” he says, rapping his knuckles on the countertop and beginning to walk backward. “See you later tonight,” He points at you before spinning on his heel and exiting the shop.

The bulky keyring on Eddie’s jeans jingles loudly as he steps onto the sidewalk. Abruptly, he stops in his tracks. For a moment he’s frozen, and then he braces himself against the nearby lamppost. It hits him like a brick wall and he sneezes mightily.

Heads of nearby passersby turn in his direction, startled by the noise. As he straightens his posture, Eddie remains still, trying to find his center of gravity and regain his composure.

“You good?” You call out, your voice just barely reaching him through the propped-open doors. Taking a casual sip of your drink, you watch as Eddie steadies himself. Still clutching the street lamp with one hand, he manages to stick his other arm out and give a thumbs-up.

True to your word, you arrive at Eddie’s place straight after work. The sun is setting, casting a warm glow through the patio door onto the walls of the living room. The apartment is in its usual state of disarray, expectedly so, since it’s home to three guys who aren’t particularly concerned with tidiness.

Toeing off your shoes, you’re unphased by the subtle smell of dust in the air. What strikes you as odd is how quiet it is. Typically, at least one roommate is home, blasting the TV in the living room or music from their respective bedrooms. But the only sound permeating the silence is the erratic thumping and screech of the water pipes behind the paper-thin walls of the bathroom.

As you snoop around the kitchen, hoping to find a box of saltine crackers or really anything to stop the gurgling in your belly. Having come up empty-handed, you turn your attention to the resilient plant that you challenged Eddie to care for—Keanu Leaves, as he so proudly named it.

Finished with your fruitless search of the kitchen, you make your way into Eddie’s bedroom to settle comfortably into the chair that only you sit in; it’s your spot. While you get cozy, the beans rattle as they perfectly mold to your figure. You knock on the wall beside you, signaling your arrival to Eddie.

You resume the magazine left sitting open on the page you stopped on. You occupy yourself in the article about predicted spring fashion trends as you wait. After a minute or two, the pipes go quiet from the shower being turned off.

Eddie strolls into the room wearing nothing more than a clean pair of boxers. Droplets of water trickle down his toned and tatted chest. Harshly ruffling his curls with a bath towel, he smirks at you. “If it isn’t Little Miss Zombie, back from the dead.”

“Less than alive and in the flesh,” you reply, your annoyance at being made to wait all day still evident. You hold grudges better than anyone he knows, and Eddie is well aware that he’s not immune to being subject to it.

Your tummy rumbles loudly, the discomfort only emphasizing the sharpness of your tone. “When was the last time you got groceries? I didn’t see any preserved brains I could help myself to.”

“I’m definitely due for a restock,” Eddie says as he drapes his wet towel over the back of his desk chair. Then, he grabs the bottle of mousse from his dresser and dispenses a foamy dollop into his palm. “Funny you should ask, though. That’s sorta why you’re here.”

You flip the page of your magazine, not pulling your eyes from the glossy print. “You told me to come over to go grocery shopping?”

Eddie rubs his palms together to spread the product and then runs his fingers through his curls. “Not quite,” he starts, his tone cryptic. “I’ve been tasked with providing a meal, of sorts.”

Finally, you look up at him. Watching him scrunch his damp hair with the remainder of the product that’s making his palms go tacky, you wait for him to elaborate.

Eddie’s eyes flit to the other side of the room, rather than meeting your awaiting gaze. “I have a date.”

You stare blankly at the back of his head, as still as a statue while your blinking intensifies. Dumbfounded, you struggle to survive the bombshell he just dropped on you. It’s as if a nuclear explosion has shattered your eardrums, leaving his continued words to sound muffled through the high-pitched ringing.

A million and one questions swirl in your mind, only adding to the disorienting whirlwind of emotions. Since when is he dating? Why all of a sudden? As you try to piece everything together, you note that he hasn’t had any recent romantic interactions, at least none that you’re aware of.

You always thought he’d confide in you if he was seeing someone, but now you’re not so sure; especially since you’re only finding out about this now. Without a doubt, Eddie has never had trouble attracting attention. But he’s always seemed so content with the ways things are. So why now?

Eddie turns to face you, a splash of desperation in his eyes. “I feel like doing this is the best way to know if she likes me back.”

Your mouth has gone dry, and you try to sound more curious than interrogative, but it doesn’t quite come off that way. “Who is this mystery woman, anyway?” A couple of names come to mind, some of the most beautiful girls in town—none of whom you hold a candle to.

His side of the room falls quiet when he’s hit with your question. Eddie’s eyes drop to the carpet. While it might seem like he’s lost in thought, it’s actually a glaring sign of evasion. You can’t help but feel a little hurt by his reluctance to tell you who it is.

A small smile forms as he leans back against his dresser, as though he can’t keep himself upright during his current daydream. Folding his arms across his pecs and rubbing his jaw, eyes still downcast, Eddie begins to gush about her. “She’s just- god, she’s something else. The way she laughs, it’s like... the sun coming out after a storm.”

“Sounds like quite the catch,” you mutter, trying to keep your tone neutral. You watch closely as blush tints Eddie’s cheeks and his smile threatens to grow. Without saying another word, Eddie walks out and returns to the bathroom.

You’re quick to follow, hopping up from your chair. “Do I know her?”

“Technically, yeah,” Eddie answers. Standing in front of the foggy mirror, he wipes it with the back of his forearm. Then, he starts rummaging through the counter drawer for his pair of shears.

You stand just outside the open door, the lingering humidity from his scorching hot shower kissing your skin as it disperses into the hallway. Leaning back against the wall, you cross your arms like he did moments ago, albeit far more tensely. Technically? It must be one of your ex-friends, then. That would explain why he’s been keeping you in the dark.

It’s your duty to be supportive, but right now, you could hurl. The thick nausea swirling deep in your gut is a storm raging within, overpowering your ability to stay present.

While trimming his bangs over the basin, the shears glint in the hushed light of the wall sconce. Eddie steals a glance in your direction, but his eyes dart back to his reflection too quickly to catch the discomfort etched on your face. “So you’ll help me, right?”

As you watch yourself anxiously wiggling your toes inside your sock, you mumble, “I can't if you won’t tell me who it is.“

“Sure you can, you’re a girl. You know how this stuff works.”

You scoff, your brows shooting up as your head jerks back. You open your mouth to object, but he promptly cuts you off.

“Ah, ah! Slow your roll,” Eddie cautions, pointing the shears in your direction. “I’m not saying you’re all the same, but there’s gotta be some common ground of expectations, right?”

You don’t have the strength to argue, so you reluctantly allow for his generalization. “I guess so.”

“Like yeah, I could just study one of those lady magazines you’re always reading. But then I wouldn’t have a way of knowing what is and isn’t bullshit,” Eddie explains, his tone half-joking. “That’s why I’m going straight to the source, oh, wise one.”

Far too consumed with trying to narrow down who the chick could possibly be, you can’t be bothered to give him a huff of amusement through your nose. “Can I at least have a hint?”

“Nope,” The shears hit the countertop, their metallic resonance echoing against the porcelain. He pivots to face you, hands resting on his hips. “Alright, Sherlock. How about you quit trying to crack the case and help me pick out a tie.”

“A what now?” You squawk, eyes widening in disbelief.

Eddie chuckles softly and rinses the hair trimmings down the drain, then flicks off the bathroom light. “I have to dress for the occasion. This is a big deal for me,” he elaborates as he strides back into his room. “For her and me.”

Once again, you find yourself on his tail, trailing close behind back into his bedroom. You unfold your arms and instead, start to rub the inside of your wrist with your opposite thumb. “Yeah, I get that. Just seems a bit out of character for you.”

Rifling through his closet, Eddie pulls out a hanger with a navy button-up shirt and nonchalantly tosses it onto the end of his bed. “Maybe, but at least she’ll know I’m taking this seriously,” Eddie says while reaching for the high shelf to retrieve a tattered shoebox. Lifting the lid, he presents it to you. “Here’s what we’re working with.”

You step closer, your fingers deftly plucking out the rolled ties one by one, laying them flat beside the slightly wrinkled shirt. Side by side, your shoulders nearly brush. Meticulously comparing the patterns and colors, neither of you seems drawn to any particular one.

“Here, maybe it’s better to do it this way,” Eddie suggests, picking up and beginning to slip into the shirt. His thick fingers falter as he attempts to maneuver each small white button through its corresponding hole. Once halfway dressed—having tastefully paired his plaid boxers with a dress shirt—he smooths out the material from his chest to his belly.

Eddie reaches for the nearest tie and lays it against his shoulder. He faces you expectantly, anticipation evident in his gaze, awaiting your feedback.

Your eyes flit between the tie he’s holding, the array laid out on the bed, and the hopefulness in his round eyes. “These are easily the three ugliest ties I've ever seen. No offense.”

He blows a playful raspberry at your harsh criticism and shakes his head. “None taken, they’re not mine. But Wayne might be a little hurt when I call him next and tell him you said that.”

Shooting him a pointed look, your brows furrow in skepticism. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“I just might,” Eddie teases with a smile before turning his attention back to the bed. He tosses the first tie aside and reaches for the mustard paisley one. “What about this one, does it compliment my eyes?” He bats his dark brown lashes.

You clutch your chin in contemplation, carefully assessing the combination of hues. However, the richness of his chocolate irises captures you. You wade in their depths. The hot flash that envelops your body is enough to break the trance he inadvertently put you under. With a disapproving shake of your head, you dismiss this tie as well. “Nope, next.”

Eddie looks at you for a moment longer, even though you’re not doing the same. A faint frown creases his features as he tosses the vetoed tie aside, forming a rejection pile.

You pick up the remaining tie and drape it over his shoulder, admiring the harmonious pairing of the navy in the tie with the shirt, accentuated by its white and black diagonal stripes. While you ponder, Eddie watches your face intently, holding his breath.

You nod, a trace of delighted approval in your expression. “We have a winner.”

“Hell yeah, blue on blue it is,” Eddie exclaims. He wraps the tie around the back of his neck but struggles to recall the proper technique for tying it. Attempting a few different nonsensical loopings, he groans, his determination waning. “Stupid son of a bitch, wouldya just-”

“Don’t hurt yourself. Let me do it," You offer. Not receiving protest, you step closer to him.

Eddie uses one hand to gather his product-enhanced curls into a makeshift ball, allowing you to access the collar of his shirt. He juts out his freshly shaved chin, granting you ample room to work. Standing this closely, you catch the clean scent of shaving cream lingering on his skin.

You begin to effortlessly tie the knot. Without pausing to consider what you’re about to say, the words spill from your lips, “Why’re you asking for my opinion on stuff like this, anyway? You should be doing what you think she’ll like, not me.”

“You always know best,” Eddie’s expression softens to something more vulnerable. “When you’re taking the next step in a relationship, you want everything to be as perfect as it can be, y’know?”

It’s common sense to him. No one understands him like you do, making you the perfect person for navigating this nerve-wracking experience. But for you, it’s perplexing. You’ve never been on a proper, formal date. The idea of one remains an unfulfilled pipe dream. Yet, here you are, agreeing to help Eddie plan his.

Your only frame of reference comes from romance movies and horror stories of dates gone wrong recounted by your girlfriends. Of all the things you could be in the world, you find yourself an unassuming tree. Sturdy and dependable, sure. You serve your purpose. But you don’t captivate onlookers with blooming petals like flowers do. Instead, you take pride in your intricately branched personality, valuing it as your true strength that often goes overlooked.

Even so, it feels as though your traits fail to enchant others regardless; nobody seems willing. You go unnoticed, and you’ve come to terms with that.

Beautiful wildflowers get plucked from the ground and carried away to be cherished. Meanwhile, you simply exist, rooted in no man’s land, devoid of admirers. You may stand tall, but you’re easily overshadowed by what other women have to offer.

Perhaps this is why you like working at the flower shop. It’s somewhat cathartic to witness the delicate petals fall from time to time. It brings you a strange sense of satisfaction to hack away at their stems. The best part, though? While it’s a little twisted, you know that those flowers that dazzle in their pristine state are destined to wilt. They’ll shrivel and brown.

Whilst among your shared group of friends in public, you’ve witnessed Eddie getting nudged by one of the guys to direct his attention to a smoke show walking by. You watched as they bit their knuckles and exaggeratedly gawked. You don’t compare, it’s not even apples to oranges. It’s like… apples to rocks. A delicious, shiny fruit compared to you, mere clunky chunks of earth.

If life were an album, you’re the track that everyone skips within seconds of hearing the intro. Except for those rare moments when someone half-listens by accident and they resonate with you—that’s how you and Eddie became friends. He’d stumbled upon his new favorite song, one worth revisiting. What he sees in you is what everyone else overlooks.

Eddie is the only man on the face of the earth who treats you like you’re worth being around. Only an oddball would prefer to spend time lounging beneath the shade of a crooked tree instead of homing a rose in a crystal vase. That’s one thing you love about your best friend; he doesn’t make you feel like you fade into the background.

All fairytale cliché bullshit included, you want to be sought out in a crowd. You want to light up the room for someone. Much to your dismay, that can happen platonically too, and it has in this case.

If Eddie only knew how much the little moments matter to you—the ones where he makes you feel prioritized and valued. You know you’re not anything close to special or remarkable, but he always made you second guess that thought.

Obviously, you hadn’t meant to fall for him. It was kind of like catching a cold; one day, there was a tickle in the back of your throat that you didn’t usually feel. Unsuspecting, the days went on, and that sensation only worsened. You started to panic a little but ultimately continued to deny your worst thoughts.

Before you knew it, you were bedridden, bitten by the love bug. You didn’t go down without a fight. You thought that you could be strong and deny it access to your heart, but it had already invaded. So, all you could do was wait it out.

You tried to distance yourself, hoping to recover and act like nothing ever changed inside of you. But Eddie didn’t let you get too far away.

It wasn’t love at first sight, rather, a creeping plague. There was no swooning and giggling, no struggling to keep your hands to yourself. The change was undetectable. You were a frog in boiling water, unaware of the gradually rising temperature until it was far too late.

It wasn’t until your chest started to ache every time you said goodbye at the end of spending time together that you realized you were in too deep. You genuinely debated going to the doctor to get the pang checked out, but luckily you didn’t. Otherwise, you’d have wasted a good chunk of money to find out that you’re a lovesick idiot.

Unfortunately, this is an illness you’ve been stuck with since, and you’ve at least learned how to distract yourself from it. But when you fail to do so, your imagination wanders. Naturally, you’ve wondered if pressing a mere kiss to his cheek would burn everything to the ground.

The forbidden territory beckons, tempting you to envision breaking those unspoken agreed-upon rules that forbid things like hand-holding and cuddling. The two of you uphold mutual respect, adhering to the expectations of friendship. Both of you reserve that level of touch for expressions of romantic affection. Actions such as those have no place in a true friendship.

That’s the most confusing part of this for you. How did you manage to catch such strong feelings for him when you’ve not crossed any lines? Sure, he’s a tactile person; maybe that has something to do with it. Eddie makes physical contact with those he trusts, but it’s not like he’s hanging off of you at any given moment. You receive the same treatment as the others in his inner circle: a hand on the shoulder, a pat on the back, and a brief gripping of the forearm to get your attention.

You’re not supposed to want the touches to be more frequent, much less of a different nature. The line has to be drawn somewhere, and it’s been plainly drawn in the sand. You understand and accept that. But why, of all lines in the world, does it have to be this one that you want to cross so badly?

Most of your days aren’t all that miserable. But there are those days that are more difficult than the rest, though it’s not his fault. Last weekend, the two of you were at a mall, and some chick waved at him flirtily. He returned it immediately, though playfully enough that it was almost mocking. He was fucking around and had no intention of entertaining the idea of approaching her. Regardless, it was humbling for you, to say the least.

In that moment, the world reminded you that there’s a reason you walk at his side at a respectable distance, not tucked under his arm. If anything, it’s for the best. There’s a sense of liberation in admiring him without the burden of articulating your feelings. There’s no pressure to meet a girlfriend quota or live up to a higher standard. What Eddie expects of you now is what you’re capable of, and clearly, all that you’re good for. You’re good for filling the void, but apparently not so much anymore.

You’re not lustrous and aching to jump his bones, and you’re certainly not desperate enough to kiss him on a whim by not allowing yourself to overthink it. But perhaps you are just desperate enough that a man simply paying your emotions, interests, and existence of any mind can shackle you to him. That has to be what’s done you in; Eddie gives a shit about you.

In reality, there’s more to it than that. Eddie is selective about who and what he lets in. He doesn’t care for conformity and lack of individuality. The idea of blending in with the majority of society repulses him. You find the flawed aspects of the Munson doctrine fascinating and raw. He’s not perfect and Eddie doesn’t care what others think of him, to a degree.

Not unlike you, he’s complex. Eddie is anti-establishment but still prefers a bit of structure over chaos in his day-to-day life. He’s independent and cynical as hell, but he’s also appreciative of his support systems and isn’t ashamed to rely on them. He’s not much of a rule breaker nor is he rebellious, but he’ll happily stir up a little trouble in good fun if given the opportunity.

Eddie is a hypocrite in some ways and a walking contradiction in others. You love that he’s unapologetic about being that way. He owns it for the most part, and you admire that.

His presence overstays its welcome in your thoughts. You’ve often yearned for him to call you in the dead of night, admitting that he can’t sleep without the sound of your voice. Many times, you’ve fought the urge to do that. He owes you sleep, countless nights of it. It’s a debt that will never be repaid, an outstanding balance.

Despite the attempts at trying to talk yourself out of it, you still can’t bring yourself to stop loving him. Even as he’s actively pursuing someone else, you’re unable to shake this. You could be paralyzed from head to toe, and you’d still feel the love you have for him in your bones.

Once Eddie is officially with someone, he won’t have much time or energy left for you. The anticipation of being thrown aside for something new and far prettier has shattered your heart before any changes have occurred. Yet, any fragment of his presence surpasses total absence. The greed isn’t worth it, and you know you should be grateful for getting any piece of him at all.

The phrase fizzles on the tip of your tongue like a smoldering ember, threatening to sear through the muscle… I’m happy for you.

You should say it, but you can’t. Because if you did, that would be a blatant lie. It’s not even possessiveness that has you so bitter, it’s envy. You wish you were in her place.

“There,” you adjust the knot with a delicate tug, ensuring its tightness before letting the material slip through your fingers. Unable to meet his appreciative gaze, you offer a sad smile and take a half-step backward.

Your sigh, cleverly concealed as a deep breath, escapes as you settle back into your chair with a plop. “So, um,” you begin, picking at your cuticles absentmindedly. “Where are you taking her? Somewhere fancy?”

“Nah,” Eddie meticulously revamps his curls one final time in the mirror, wanting them to fall just right. Then, with great care, he tames his bangs to lay perfectly in place. “She’s gonna come over here. I thought it’d be more intimate. Besides, I can’t exactly swing a reservation right now. I’ve been tight on cash this week.”

Your fingers come to a halt, the stinging sensation apparent. Looking over at him, your eyes meet his in the reflection. “Ya big dummy, you shouldn’t have bought me lunch when that money could’ve gone toward buying her a nice dinner.”

“Don’t start with that shit,” Eddie warns as he digs through his dresser in search of pants to wear. “I’m happy to do that for you,” He adds, pulling a pair of dark jeans from the bottom drawer.

“It really did make my day, thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Having donned his pants, he nears his desk where his black grommet belt lies on the floor. Eddie threads his belt through the loops of his jeans, the buckle jingling before he secures it in place. “I felt better knowing you were taken care of.”

It’s only now occurring to you what he’s implied, and you think how absurd it is for him to host a dinner when he’s culinarily challenged. “Wait, since when do you cook?”

“Oh, I don’t. But you do.”

“Hardly,” you scoff, downplaying your abilities. Placing your magazine back in your lap, you flip the page despite not having read it. Unexpectedly, you feel the urge to quell his enthusiasm, to set him up for failure by trying to poke holes in his plan. “I mean, food is one thing, but atmosphere is another. Aren’t the guys going to be here?”

Eddie moves the clutter on his desk around in a quest to find something. “I kicked them out for the night.”

Like a spear plunged into your chest, you swallow hard. Not only is he having a girl over for dinner, but he’s gone out of his way to guarantee privacy because he’s hoping to get lucky too. More than likely right there, on that very bed, feet away from you. The cramped twin-sized mattress, where they’ll inevitably be body to body.

He turns to you after locating what he was searching for, fastening the slightly fancier watch around his wrist; it only supersedes his casio due to it being analog, as opposed to digital. “I’ve been wanting to try that dish you keep raving about. You can teach me how to make it. Two birds, one stone.”

“It’s not difficult, you could handle the recipe,” You shrug away the opportunity to cook with him because the domesticity of it would more than likely kill you.

“I wanna do it together,” his voice softens, genuinely asking as nicely as he’s capable. “Please.”

“Sure, yeah,” you maintain your downcast gaze and slump back in the chair, wishing for a black hole to open and swallow you up. “What if she doesn’t like it, or what if you don’t?”

“If you like it then it has to be good.”

Eddie’s seemingly endless compliments cause no sense of flattery. Instead, you’re consumed with persisting nausea as you envision a stunning girl seated across from him while they share laughter and partake in unspeakable activities in this very room.

Abruptly, a wave of heat washes over you, causing the soles of your feet and your palms to grow clammy. The scent of newly sprayed Old Spice floods the room and you’re overwhelmed by it, struggling to draw a breath. “I’ll be right back,” You all but choke on your words, swiftly rising to your feet and hastily leaving. Eddie watches curiously as you do.

In the living room, you push the heavy sliding door aside, stepping out onto the balcony to catch your breath. You inhale as deep as physically possible, and the stirring evening breeze cools the hot tears gathered along your lash line. Cars pass by, and you distract yourself by watching a person leisurely walking their dog. You do everything in your power to divert your thoughts away from him and the impending date.

A few minutes later, Eddie emerges from his room and slides open the door to the balcony, poking his head out to check on you. “Y’ready to go?” The shift in your energy is immediately evident to him, though he can’t quite pinpoint what’s amiss. He figures you’ve had a long day and you’re tired from your shift. Maybe you’re a little hangry, too.

With your arms folded on the balcony rail, you continue to look out into the neighborhood. “Go where?”

“The store, duh. We’ve gotta get ingredients, do we not?” He says to the back of your head.

You nod meekly before turning to face him. “Right. Yeah, I’m ready.”

Eddie flashes a warm smile before sliding the door open wide enough for you to pass through. “Let’s blow this popsicle stand then, hot stuff. We’re losing daylight,” He says, striding toward the front door.

Arguably, you’re not losing daylight fast enough. You wish the sun would fall from the sky. That way, it would always be dark and you could hide in the shadows forever. You follow him inside and slide the closed with a subdued thud.

His car keys drag and jingle while he swipes them off of the counter. Once he reaches the entryway, Eddie drops the keys on the floor beside him as he kneels to put on his sneakers. A few seconds later, you’ve joined him to do the same. Eddie glances at you as he feels the evening breeze that slipped in finally reaching this side of the room. “It’s a little chilly out, wanna borrow a hoodie or something?”

Quickly tying your shoes to avoid prolonged eye contact, you get to your feet, hugging yourself as you do. “No, I’ll be fine.”

Eddie snorts and stands, his shoes now tied as well. “I’m getting you one,” He insists and heads to his room, gesturing for you to follow.

“I said I’ll be fine without one,” You opt not to follow, instead calling out to him to compensate for the distance and his half-open door.

“Shut up, I’m getting you one and you’re gonna wear it ‘cause I said so,” his tone drips with feigned amusement at your stubbornness. “Come in here.”

As you step into the room, Eddie offers you the hoodie, watching as you just stare at it. “Sweetheart, put it on. You’re gonna freeze to death if you don’t. Then, I’ll have no choice but to cancel my super hot date because I’ll be too busy defrosting my ice sculpture of a best friend with a blow drier. You want me to blow you all night? I know you-”

“Okay, okay! I’ll put the damn thing on,” you say, begrudgingly taking it from him. “Happy?”

“Try elated,” Eddie smiles from ear to ear and winks at you, content that you’re allowing him to do what he deems best for you, knowing you’re too stubborn to do so for yourself. He’s got your back, always. Even if it means enduring a bit of attitude in the process. Eddie likes that about you, he always has. With a final glance, he leaves the room, flicking off the light switch.

Left standing in the dark bedroom, you blindly navigate the article of clothing to locate the opening. However, as soon as you go to put it on, it occurs to you that this hoodie is not fresh out of the wash.

The distant floral scent left behind by dryer sheets mingles with his natural aroma, enveloping you as you pull the sweatshirt over your head. He grabbed whatever was at hand, inadvertently submerging you back into the very sensory experience you fled from. The spicy notes from his cologne turn you into a human lava lamp, effectively melting you on the inside.

The mingling of Old Spice, tobacco smoke, his unique essence, and a hint of spring meadow flood your mind. You consider the idea of keeping the hoodie. You could tell him that you forgot to return it, and he’ll forget about it. Eddie can afford to lose one hoodie, he’d survive.

“Let’s go!” He barks, impatience peaking as nerves gnaw at him with each passing minute bringing him closer to the dinner.

Exiting his bedroom, you find Eddie stationed at the front door, propping it open with his foot. Once within his view, you extend your arms and twist your expression to emphasize your annoyed compliance.

“One last thing,” Eddie withdraws his foot, causing the door to slam shut, its latch clanging twice against the wood from the force. He reaches out and pulls the hood up, adjusting it to cover most of your head. “There.”

You stick your tongue out at him, your grin eliciting one from him in return. “Alright, let’s-” He begins, but instead of turning, he fakes you out and grabs both drawstrings. Eddie tugs them, causing the hood to cinch tightly around your face.

“You’re an ass,” You whine.

“Yeah, well,” Eddie turns around to leave this time and holds the front door open for you. “You’re stuck with me.”

With a narrowed glare, you fix the hood and your hair on your way out of the apartment. Eddie is close behind, closing the door and locking it. You take the opportunity to collect yourself and adopt a supportive, cheerful demeanor.

These are gonna be the longest two hours of your life.

You can’t fucking believe it. You’re preparing a meal for another woman, and doing so willingly. You tried to guide him through the prep process, but he grew frustrated. Now, he’s on dish duty, conquering the mountain of dirty dishes piled up on the counter.

She may be getting a delicious and intimate dinner, but at least you get moments like these. But soon enough, she’ll have them too. If everything goes to plan, the memories of these moments will be all you have left of Eddie. As you lose yourself in the sound of his voice, the ramblings about a sale he made at work eventually circle back to the topic of his evening.

As he excitedly goes on, his voice carries a boyish enthusiasm. Unseen by you, Eddie bounces on the balls of his feet while standing at the sink. Ten minutes seem to fly by unnoticed as you both focus on your tasks.

After taking the food out of the oven, his demeanor flips like a switch. “Oh, it’s time for me to leave apparently,” you acknowledge, barely having the chance to take off the oven mitt all the way before he’s practically pushing you out of the apartment. “Be sure to heat it up at 375 degrees,” You suggest as you struggle to put on your shoes fast enough.

“Sure thing,” Eddie confirms, “I’ll let you know how it goes!”

“Looking forward to it,” You lie. Eddie waves you off before closing the front door. Left standing alone in the eerily quiet hallway, you feel foolish.

Finally arriving home, you crawl onto your bed. The weight of reality crashes down upon you, and you physically collapse under the weight of your emotions. The pain in your chest burns up the back of your throat as you sob. This was a harsh wake-up call, but it’s what you needed to finally confront yourself.

It’s better this way. Not having to reject you outright or politely turn you down, Eddie doesn’t have to hurt simply because you are. This is best because Eddie doesn’t have to feel guilty or pity you. Just as you’ve loved him in silence, you can grieve the loss of him in it too.

Ten minutes pass and just as you’re starting to drift asleep from exhaustion, your telephone rings. The ringing in the kitchen pulls you from your room. You drag your feet on the way there, clearing your throat and taking a deep breath before answering the phone.

“Hey, uh,” Eddie sounds panicked, “Can you come back over? I forgot the most important fucking thing and-”

You cut him off, “Relax, I’ll be there in twelve,” Abruptly ending the call without another word, you rub your sore eyes, blow your stuffy nose, and splash your face with warm water. The last thing he needs is for his night to be ruined because he notices how hard you’ve been crying. If your feelings get in the way of him having a good time with the girl he’s head over heels for, then you don’t deserve his friendship.

Entering the building and letting yourself back into his apartment, you’re caught off guard by how different the space looks. He worked his butt off to tidy the living room and make certain that everything is presentable. Besides being notably neater, you also notice the faint smell of air freshener.

The apartment is blanketed in darkness, illuminated only by the flickering flames of candles and the light from the table lamp in the living room. Hushed music emanates from the record player in his room. It’s a genre you wouldn’t have expected him to own, because of how slow and romantic it sounds. You wonder whether he bought it specifically for this occasion.

Upon hearing the front door creak open, Eddie halts his pacing in the living room. “Thank god, you’re here.”

You teeter on the heels of your feet, feeling out of place in the carefully arranged setting that isn’t meant for you. “I really shouldn’t be. It’s quarter to seven, she’ll show up any minute now.”

Eddie makes his way over to you, rounding the dinner table and draping his arm along the back of the dining chair farthest from where you stand. “No, no. Don’t worry about that, she’s already here.”

Your eyes flit towards the bathroom, expecting to see a sliver of light escaping from beneath the door, yet the hallway is pitch black. There’s no dolled-up gal standing in his room either. You look back at him with a furrowed brow, confusion etched on your face. “Where, exactly?”

He can’t think of a time he’s ever had to remind himself how to breathe correctly. Eddie holds his hand out to you, his anxiety mounting. With hesitation, you extend your hand and place it in his. He wraps his trembling fingers around yours.

Rarely have you been in this position, and in those instances, it was never an act with deeper meaning. It’s only ever happened in urgent moments, like darting across a bustling street to avoid being separated—a mere safety measure.

Eddie’s attention fixates on your hands, willing them to respond to his touch. Then he notices your puffy, reddened eyes. “What’s the matter?” He asks, instinctively squeezing your joined hands.

“It’s stupid,” You pull away from him, retracting your hand to wipe away the smeared mascara beneath your eyes.

Rather than forcibly turning you to face him, Eddie gracefully moves around to stand in front of you once more. “I bet it’s not,” he says softly, his compassionate expression tinged with concern. He reaches for both of your hands this time, praying you can’t feel his pounding pulse through the contact.

Eddie delicately lifts your hands and peppers velvety kisses across the tops of your knuckles. The warmth of your skin against his lips sends a shiver shooting through his core, goosebumps rising across his body.

You emit a wet giggle from the shock, uncertainty, and embarrassment bubbling within you. “What the hell are you doing?”

He chuckles a little too, his eyes sparkling as they reflect the dancing flames behind you. “What’s it look like? This is all for you,” Eddie presses one more featherlight kiss to your hands before lowering them, but he doesn’t let go, keeping them securely in his own. “It’s our first date.”

You’re the prettiest little package of unusual. From the moment he first heard your song, he couldn’t shake you. Eddie couldn’t get your tune out of his system, but it’s not like he wanted to. Never before had anyone shown him such unconditional care; no one had ever gone out of their way to get to know him like you did. You’re the safest thing he’s ever known, but you’re also the scariest, in the best ways possible.

The thought of confessing how you make him complete, unlike anything he’s ever experienced, is nothing short of terrifying. Yet, the fear of not seizing the opportunity to love you outweighs the fear of rejection. There’s no turning back now.

Your eyes wander to the table, taking in the details: the thoughtfully arranged mismatched plates and silverware, the glasses filled with expensive wine. At the end of the kitchen island sits a teddy bear beside a bouquet. In addition to the flower petals, there are red, white, and pink balloons scattered across the floor.

You turn away before he can see your face contort, biting your lip harshly to suppress the sob rising in your throat. It’s all useless, though. A broken cry escapes your lips.

Eddie’s stomach lurches and pressure builds behind his own eyes. The change he just caused is palpable, the damage has been done. He releases both of your hands and plants his on the sides of his head, stepping away. “Shit, shit, shit. I’m such a fucking idiot. I read this all wrong, I thought-”

“You’re not and you didn’t,” you choke out. “They’re happy tears now.”

His frantic expression mellows out, his arms drop to his sides, and the tension in his body gradually dissipates. “Happy tears?”

You respond with a soft hum and nod, a grin forming as you admire the table setting and gifts once more before looking back at Eddie.

“Oh,” he chirps, wearing a cheek-splitting smile as he brings his palms to your face. He wipes away your fallen tears with his thumbs. Eddie studies your expression intently. “I didn’t mean to make you cry sad ones.”

“It’s not your fault,” You close your eyes, relishing the sensation of his fingers calmingly swiping along the apples of your cheeks.

“It is and I’m sorry,” Eddie inches closer, his toes now touching yours. “I wanted it to be a surprise ‘cause I thought spontaneity would make it more memorable.”

You look at him questioningly. “It’s not exactly spontaneous when you had me cook my own dinner.”

“Fair enough. You’ve got me there,” Eddie thought it was a foolproof plan. If you made the food, there was no chance that you’d hate it. “I went about this all wrong, huh? I should scrap the whole thing and start from scratch,” He becomes distracted, his train of thought shifting to how he’s going to clean this up and figure out a different approach.

“Don’t do that. Just ask me,” you grasp his forearm to regain his attention. “Ask me out and maybe I'll say yes.”

“Maybe?” Eddie scoffs airily, unsure if you’re teasing or genuinely undecided. He clears his throat and theatrically composes himself, gesturing with a downward motion of his hand in front of his face. “Okay, uh, would you like to have dinner with me?”

“No.”

Eddie’s mouth falls open.

“I’m fucking with you,” You smile devilishly and wrap your arms around his middle.

Finally, he can hug you the way he’s always wanted. Eddie brings you in close and tight, his arms encircling your head. “You think you’re so funny, don’t you?” He murmurs into your hair, inhaling deeply to indulge in every aspect of you he can.

“A little,” You laugh. You remain in each other’s embrace for a moment longer before easing apart, though still connected by your pairs of lassoed arms.

Eddie’s laughter melds with yours, the relief in his tone evident. “Now that the cat's outta the bag, I can finally tell you that I absolutely love when you’re a crybaby.”

You pull a comical expression, raising your eyebrows and widening your eyes. “What, why?” You take in the scattering of freckles across his T-zone while he responds.

“Honest to god, it’s mesmerizing to watch you experience things so intensely. It’s fucking beautiful,” With nothing but adoration in his eyes, Eddie strokes your hair, relishing the way it feels against his skin. “Can I call you my crybaby?”

“No, you cannot!” You swat at his chest and attempt to push him away, but he laughs smugly and brings you back in close. Your hands find purchase on his biceps, surrendering to him entirely. Locked in each other’s gaze, time seems to crawl.

Eddie’s hands, having made their way down to caress your hips, settle on the small of your back. “How about just baby?” he nudges the tip of his nose against yours, his voice taking on an almost sultry tone. “You like the way that sounds?”

All you can do is nod dumbly, watching his eyes fall to your lips.

Eddie mumbles, “Me too,” His hands flex where they lay, tugging you slightly so that your bodies are flush and you have no choice but to lean against him. “Would it be okay if I kissed you?” Eddie licks his lips, his eyes finding yours again, the chocolate pools of his irises swirling.

You nod, slide your hands up his shoulders, and wrap them around his neck. The air was stolen from your lungs, rendering your voice a ghost. Eddie leans in and his lips hover over yours, your eyes fluttering closed in time with his. Then, you feel the gentle pressure of his lips against your own.

For a few moments, you’re out of sync, a mere beat behind due to nerves. But after taking a brief breath, you find each other without trouble. When you slot your lip between his, it’s as though there’s a sunrise in his veins; a new dawn spreads through his body. You tug a fistful of curls at the nape of his neck, your lips clicking wetly with one another, chests heaving in unison.

When the two of you finally have to part to breathe, Eddie whispers, “Holy shit.”

“You can say that again,” You exhale, releasing the grip you have on his hair and soothingly scratching the area with your nails.

“I mean I could,” Eddie borderline purrs, tightening his arms around your waist. “But I’d much rather keep kissing you.”

“Hard to argue with that,” you smile against his lips and give him a quick peck, which he happily returns. Then, your mind begins to wander. “You got me flowers?”

He can’t discern if there’s a trace of disdain or disbelief in your tone. Eddie knows that you consider flowers cliché and overrated; after all, you deal with them all day. But just because you see them that way doesn’t mean he does.

Eddie pulls away slightly to get a good look at you, “Yeah, of course I got flowers for my flower. How could I not?”

Truthfully, he’s bummed about not being able to find a bouquet as exceptional as you. You’re unlike anything from this world, resembling something from his cherished sci-fi novels. You’re resilient, showing up any old rose or daisy. You unfurled your petals solely for Eddie and allowed him to see you bloom. Nothing on earth compares to you. So, a regular bouquet would have to do.

You comment with a slightly teasing tone, “I had no idea you’re a hopeless romantic.”

“Too much?” Eddie bites his lower lip, afraid that you’re offended.

“No, not too much,” you remove your one hand from his hair and rest it on his chest, drawing mindless shapes while you avoid eye contact. “Far more than I deserve though,” You’re slightly taken aback when Eddie cups your face without hesitation, forcing you to look at him. Despite his assertiveness, his touch is tender.

“Sweetheart,” Eddie’s eyes carry an intensity you’ve never seen, brimming with affection and sincerity. “You deserve everything good that this world has to offer. I can’t give you that, but I can give you all of me. That much I can promise.”

Reblogs are greatly encouraged and appreciated! ♡

★My Masterlist

tags:@nj01@tlclick73

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aeolianblues · 2 months ago

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‘Indie sleaze’ is not 2014, ‘Indie sleaze’ is not 2014, ‘Indie sleaze’ is not 2014, ‘Indie sleaze’ is not 2014!

It’s not tumblr-core and it’s not Lana Del Ray or 2013 AM, it’s not #girl interrupted, it’s not Ethel Cain (she literally is an artist of our time, what are you on about.)

It was 2001 with the Strokes on the cover of the NME every 2 weeks, it was cabaret night and English poetry with the Libertines in 2002, it’s those red and blue military jackets, it was the fucking grease in Julian Casablancas’ hair, it’s ’cocaine was the banker’s drug’ quoth Alex Kapranos, it was Don't Go Back To Dalston and the heroin, it was red and black horizontal striped tops and tight black shirts as evening wear, it was Russell Lissak’s mop top and a full page interview with London hairdressers in the NME in 2005, it was Jack and Meg’s saturated red and white dresses, it was cut-and-paste glitter on the cover of Santigold’s first album, it was the sleaze and the sex of CSS’s music, it was ‘cold light, hot night’, it was the anti-Bush and anti-war stances of the bands at the time, it was America by Razorlight, it was Popworld on telly and Simon Amstel being a little shit to musicians, it was Karen O defying death on stage nightly, it was throwing up in shitty nightclubs on god knows what drugs, it was the fucking danger knowing this could all collapse any second—and rightly, it should. It was the godawful egos at DFA, it was knowing that while you were lucky to be seeing these bands live, you’d fucking hate them if you had to spend even a minute in their individual company. It was Amy Winehouse telling the world to get the fuck out of her business, it was Leslie Feist and Peaches sharing a dilapidated flat above a sex shop in Toronto.

It was horrible camera flash and red-eye editing softwares and putting your feet by the warm, spinning fans of your computer while it whirred away and downloaded your albums in *checks* 46 more minutes. It was horrible, it was dirty, it was gritty, we all hated it and thought the 90s were the last time music was good and that nothing good had happened since 1997. It was garishly bright clothes we were all embarrassed of by 2011, it was multiple layers and leggings and asking your mum to cut the itchy tag on the back of your low rise jeans only for her to snip your back. It was bell bottoms at the start of the decade. It being thankful that by 2017, no one would dream of wearing low rises anymore, please please, please let them never come back.

It was faux nostalgic of the past itself. It was ‘please make sure baby you’ve got some colours in there’ in your clothes. It was moral panic over emos. It was wanting to escape into a better past that you could see was visibly impoverished in the present. It was watching your favourite programmes become less and less relevant on air. It was watching MTV decisively die a horrible death. It was watching important venues and nightclubs get bulldozed. It was watching the last regular broadcast of Top Of The Pops in 2006. It was seeing how the 2009 financial crisis most definitely put a stop to independent music in the western world for a decade, it was watching the rise of bedroom DIY and electronic music. It was seeing the phrase ‘SoundCloud rapper’ being coined. It was the rise of Disney pop. It was counter-culture Justin Bieber hatred. It was the MS paint meme of those tumblr girls thoroughly unimpressed by the guy.

It was not using the words ‘indie sleaze’ at all, in fact. That’s a retconned word. It was garage rock revival. It was ‘post-grunge’. We didn’t care what it was called, we hated it all the same. It was a lead into a decade of despair and nihilism, it was the last hurrah for the music industry before it splintered into a thousand little online ecosystems, it was the last time we had physical community and any shared pop cultural moments. It was Live8 2005. It was the same as it is now, and it was a time that’ll never happen again, for better and for worse.

But one thing is for sure: it was decisively dead by 2014. Santi and Karen O’s 2012 collab was its last hurrah and it was dead by Comedown Machine by the Strokes (2013). It has nothing to do with 2014.

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rom-e-o · 11 months ago

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Found some pretty brownish thrifts for Connie

I know the tan one isn't as glam as her usual vibe, but I just see her in it for some reason. Might be a good, safe outfit for her first day as clerk when she starts at the bank. They could always send it to Josie to do a glam-up too.

The last one is kind of the same. Idk where she'd wear it or what for, but I see her in it. Maybe it'd be a cute beach dress?

All of these are so perfect! seriously, her in this very posh, chocolate/coffee brown is just clicking so well.

Okay, I legit adore these, so each one is getting an occasion:

This feels like a date dress for a night at a jazz club or dueling piano bar. Just sitting, drinking a nightcap and savoring the music. I want her to pair it with some wedge shoes for ultimate 90s babe vibes.

Absolutely a shopping day dress. Easily gets paired with tall boots and a messy updo. It's the perfect 'lunch then shop' look because it's breezy but still elegant.

Definitely a first-day dress for her time as a clerk! She wants to look as formal as possible. What's more classy and formal than an A-line belted dress? She does wear it with heels and some gold jewelry too! Quite a few people stare on her way up and wonder who the hell got lucky enough to get HER in their office? (She also brought a briefcase).

LOVE this for the beach! It's almost a raisin-brown shade, which is so unique. This is one where she feels comfortable enough around the Pack to be herself, so she kicks off her shoes and is like...thigh-deep in the surf, twirling and having a blast. Love this dress with her hair down nice and loose.

#Quill NEVER MISSES with the outfit recs people #I'm telling you #always perfect and on-point

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ominoose · 7 months ago

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𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐜 𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐧 𝐊𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐒𝐲𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐦 𝐇𝐂'𝐬

Character(s): Steven Grant, Marc Spector, Jake Lockley Summary: Not x reader, just random silly thoughts about the lads. Kinda summer themed. They're still in London. This came out more British than intended. Warnings: None

𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐭

Now that he's not constantly tired and getting two hours of sleep every fifth night if he's lucky, the Brit goes between quiet moments with a book on the couch to hyperactive spiels with no warning.

The newfound energy also takes his sass and mischief to the next level. If Marc or Jake (usually Marc, Jake's too scared) piss him off he will not drop it. For days Steven will slyly bring it up, make offhand remarks or fully kick up the argument again. It's never serious, he's still the one to step in if the other two are at arms, but Steven is no pacifist. "Y'know I just bought all these ingredients to make a lovely homecooked dinner with enough leftovers for Jake's taxi shifts and Marc's workouts... But-" "Steven please, we're starving, come on." "Since my cooking apparently tastes like a grannies garden!" "Por favor, I didn't even say it, Marc did-" "But you didn't disagree bruv!"

Takes Eurovision seriously. He made a point of not watching the BBC broadcast this year, although he's kept tabs on it through other websites. He's still not over last year. Jake tried to look into it and made a small comment about listening to the winner, commenting on Sweden's contestant being good. Steven went on a rant for a good twenty minutes about how it was rigged before Jake learned this was a lot more than a friendly song contest.

Whines when its hot out and forces Marc or Jake to front outside. Then forces them to buy a Mr Whippy for him to front and eat.

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜 𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫

Gets really into British football. It started with hearing chants and noises outside on match days, the comradery and stupid sing-songs from fans in matching team colours bringing him a sense of nostalgia. He's still a diehard cubs fan, but going to the local pub to watch the match, getting a healthy outlet to yell and bang a table amidst others oddly suited him. Steven's just glad he's socializing.

Secretly folds up Stevens more "colourful" shirts and hides them.

Loves British chocolate, hates British crisps. He see's a packet of pickled onion Monster Munch and physically cringes away.

While Steven fronted and browsed through a charity shop, Marc spotted an old ds, just like one he had as a kid. The Brit could physically feel him eye it up from the inside and bought it. Now Marcs post-workout routine includes playing Pokemon.

Marc gets visibly sad and sighs whenever they phone in pizza because its never like the ones back home in Chicago.

Loves a greggs sausage roll.

𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐞𝐲

Half the reason the other two found out about him was when the old lady that Steven scared off in the elevator to the point she avoided them like the plague suddenly smiled and offered them tea. Turns out Jake had been helping her carry the shopping back to the flat when they bumped into each other. Their odd tea and biscuit afternoons helped Jake keep tabs on the boys.

Naps in front of the telly, usually to some reality tv like Eastenders, snoring away. The moment Steven or Marc slowly try to control the arm holding the remote he jerks away, pulling it to his chest and telling them off because he's still "watching" it.

Knows Marc folds and hides Stevens shirts that he hates. He puts them at the top of the pile just before Steven fronts. Marc has no clue and it drives him nuts.

His favourite passengers to pick up are drunk women. They're always either very funny or tell the most downright devious gossip, never afraid to openly include him in it too.

Made a solemn vow to himself that if he ever drove past Rishi Sunak he'd egg him.

Since he prefers night-shifts, the cat distribution system seemed to give him an 90% chance of meeting kittens on the street. If he has a passenger when he spots the little critter he'll make a mental note to return after drop off, Jake Lockley will not pass a chance at checking up on and cradling a gatita. Marcs learnt to be somewhat present during these shifts to stop Jake sneaking home with several kittens in his coat.

#jake lockley #steven grant #marc spector #moonknight #omiwrites

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palmtreesx3 · 1 year ago

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ACT 4 GOING ALL THE WAY - Steve’s Chapter OUT NOW!!!!

SexShop!Steve x Reader : SexShop!Robin x OC

Summary: Steve and Robin have about had it with Hawkins, so on Robin's 25th birthday, the pair decides that there's nothing holding them there anymore and they start packing their bags. The friends move to Chicago and quickly find an apartment to call their own. As luck would have it, within hours of arriving to the city, Robin stumbles on a no-strings-attached job offer for both of them - what could be better?! Now just to break the news to Steve…. This multi part story will both explore their platonic relationship and their chaotic experience working at the sex shop together as well as their own paths of self discovery as they plant their roots in their new city and finally deal with the invisible baggage they drug along with them when they moved.

Warnings: Eventual smut (f/m, f/f and both m+f masturbation); a whole lot of sex talk, sex toys and NSFW topics; LGBTQ+ but in the late 80s/early 90s; inexperienced Robin; reformed King Steve; exploring topics or implied reference of ADHD and anxiety. Some non cannon in this AU but cannon themes and Easter eggs a-plenty. Chapter specific warnings will be included.

Prologue (7.9.23)

The-V-Card (7.14.23)

Act 1: Foreplay - Aphrodisiac (Robin’s Chapter) (7.24.23)

Act 2: Exploration - Lube (Steve’s Chapter) (8.18.23)

Act 3: Getting Lucky - Praise Kink (Robins Chapter) (10.16.23)

Act 4: Going All the Way - Queening (Steve’s Chapter) (1.26.24)

Act 5: Right on the Edge

Act 6: Climax

Aftercare

Acts will be comprised of separate Steve and Robin-centric Chapters, but they will not be standalone stories. They are co-existing. Bits and bobs of Steve’s storyline and character development will occur during Robin-centric chapters and visa-versa. These two are co-dependent, just like our favorite guy and gal.

Extras Below the cut!

Playlist

Click Here to get in the mood!

Mood Boards

Prologue

The-V-Card

Act 1: Foreplay - Aphrodisiac (Robin’s Chapter)

Act 2: Exploration - Lube (Steve’s Chapter)

Act 3: Getting Lucky - Praise Kink (Robin’s Chapter)

Act 4: Going All the Way - Latex (Steve’s Chapter)

Act 5: Right on the Edge

Act 6: Climax

Aftercare

Blurbs

Yeah, I know I’ll write these, too... I hav too many head-cannons already piled up for these two in this AU. Don’t hesitate to share your thots or questions with me on these two and you may get yourself a little freebie in your bag straight from the sex shop.

*AU Note: Cannon events from their past are still laced in their character experience. Hawkins is weird and they have experienced Upside Down related events, however not to all characters you know and love. If characters exist in Chicago in this AU, they’re not connected to Hawkins.

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sovietpostcards · 1 year ago

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Do you remember what supermarkets were like in Soviet times?

The best I can offer is memories of late 80s/early 90s. Most of the shops in my city weren't supermarkets, they were smaller scale shops that specialized in something. For example, shops were called "Milk", "Meat", "Vegetables", "Haberdashery", "House supplies", "Toys" etc. You could tell by the name what kind of products were sold there. Supermarkets also existed but they weren't ubiquitous. There were under 10 of them in my city. One was quite close though so I remember it well. There were big metal baskets filled with stuff like toy balls or house slippers. Lots of cans and tins spread out on the shelves. Sometimes they would wheel out a cart filled with something more interesting--sausage or pineapples--and people would come running and get it asap, whatever it was.

I also remember the bread department. There were tall metal racks filled with fresh hot bread and buns that you could grab. There was also a fork attached to each rack with a bit of rope - it was used to feel the softness of bread without touching it with your (dirty) hands. The city bread factory was nearby so I was often lucky to get bread that was still hot. Oh to be a kid walking back from the store, nipping at the crusty loaf corners! :)

#shops

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chrisbitchtree · 3 months ago

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There seemed to be interest in a part two of my little fic about Billy wearing short shorts to Family Video, which can be found here, so here you go!

***

For the first while, Billy had enjoyed the unseasonably hot weather. Being from California, he’d always been partial to warm weather, so he’d loved slipping back on shorts and tank tops in mid September.

Now though, the temperature had stopped going up and down, and it was early October and in the low 90s for the sixth straight day. It was made worse by the fact that he’d barely even started a long Saturday shift at the auto repair shop he’d picked up a job after the pool closed down for the summer. Already drenched in sweat, he was so fucking over it.

At least he had a night out in Chicago to look forward to at the end of the day. He was feeling flush just thinking about his date, and between that and the heat, he had to take a quick break to chug some water.

Just as Billy returned to the old, beat up car he was working on, trying to get himself in the right frame of mind for figuring out what the root cause of the grinding noises that the hunk of junk was making, Harrington drove into the parking lot, a dorky smile lighting up his face as he spotted Billy.

Billy put down the wrench he was holding and made his way over to Steve’s car as he parked it and cut the engine. “Hey, pretty boy,” he said by way of greeting. “What brings you here?”

“Well,” Steve replied, his smile growing wider, “I have a hot date tonight, in the city, and I want to make sure everything’s in tip top shape with my car before we head out.”

“Hot date, huh? Who’s the lucky lady?” Billy gave Steve a wolfish grin.

“Who says it’s a girl?” Steve laughed, winking.

“Certainly not me,” Billy replied. “Now about your car; it’s going to be a bit of a wait to get it looked at. We’re pretty busy today. Will that be a problem? You can wait inside the office. There’s air conditioning.”

“Oh no, no problem at all. I can’t start my night out until my date’s ready anyway.” With that, Steve stepped out of the car, and Billy noticed for the first time that Steve was wearing indecently short jean shorts.

“You’re wearing my shorts,” Billy managed to choke out, his throat suddenly dry.

“Well,” Steve said, looking down at himself. “You forgot to take them with you this morning when you snuck out of my house without even waking me up for a goodbye kiss. I figured I’d return them later, but I can give them back now if you’d like?” He started to reach for the button and Billy grabbed his wrist to stop him before he got reported for indecent exposure.

“You know, I think later will be ok. You could even wear them out tonight. I bet your date would love that.”

Steve snorted. “Did you forget this was a double date, Hargrove? The last thing I need is Robin and Heather making fun of me for that for the rest of my life. The shorts stay at home. I can wear them for you later if you want though.”

“Oh, I want,” Billy replied, pushing Steve towards the office before he did something dumb like kiss him in public. “I most definitely want.”

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #billy x steve #harringrove ficlet #chrisbitchtree writes #my fic

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luck-1992 · 2 months ago

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Lucky 90 Shopping Deals: Unleash the Savings!

#Lucky 90 Shopping Deals #Discounts #Savings #Limited-time offers #Electronics #Fashion #Home essentials #Exclusive deals #Shopping spree

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where-dreamers-go · 8 months ago

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“Teasingly Sweet” Dick Grayson x Reader

(A/N: Here’s part three after “Lucky Treat” of 90s Robin and Reader. What happens when Robin thinks he’s the one having bad luck? Also, do they know what’s even going on between them?

Warnings: Use of (Y/N), slight angst maybe, spicy times of a makeout session, and fluff.

Word Count: 2,321 words)

~~~

Gotham City had its fair share of people. Even masked heroes and creative villains who had eventful nights compared to their civilian days.

You, on the other hand, were having a pretty tame evening. The day had been productive, however nothing was too much to handle. A really decent day that lead to you grabbing a well deserved treat from a confectionary in the city.

Street lights and buildings kept the streets lit well enough.

You kept an awareness to your surroundings. Keeping your mind mostly on what moved around you and partially on ideas of what a certain masked hero could be up to.

Hopefully, Robin is alright, you thought as you held a light box of delicious treats close. He usually is. That we know of. You kept your jacket zipped up, an extra layer against the chilly night air.

After deciding to take a detour to avoid the growing crowd at a coffee shop, you annoyingly realized there was even more activity down the busy street. Lights flashed and news vans lined the road to boarder the sidewalks. Much too close for you to ignore.

Really? You thought, I don’t need this today. Pivoting on the spot, you turned with every intention of squeezing passed the line for coffee on your route home. Safety first.

You had very good intentions and determination to avoid any trouble. The good luck you were having again recently was not going to be thrown away on your watch. No way. There were treats to be had.

Just keep walking and you’ll be fine. No big deal. Average Gotham City night.

Average night, was it?

Was it not uncommon for a crook to flee from a police car?

Was it also the usual night for a crook to head straight toward you without your knowledge?

Definitely not.

Heavy footfalls came in rapid succession behind you.

Alarmed, you turned to the noise and saw a person, wrists cuffed, headed your way. Despite the initial scare, you were able to see a positive. Another person coming your way.

Robin sped forward, almost flying across the concrete to intercept the crook. Cape rippling behind him, your hero launched himself through the air.

Whoa.

You watched on in awe as Robin flipped over the guy and took him down in the process.

Oh, dang.

Hopping back to his feet, Robin spotted you as the crook peered around in a daze.

“Close call, sweets.” Robin said, looking you over. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah.” You clutched the dessert box in your grasp. “You?”

“I’d be better if this guy didn’t run off, especially too close to you.”

“I’m okay.”

“Good. How ab—hey,” Robin held the guy more firmly as he struggled against the hero. “I’ll be back.”

“Okay.” You stood quietly beside a building. The chill in the air made you shiver slightly.

All the movement remained about seven yards away, reporters trying to get closer to Robin and the dark looming figure of Batman stood by officers. Quite the sight really. There was no way you would want to be tangled up in that mess, even if it was under control.

Taking the time to check around, you deemed the area around the sidewalk boring and safe. Almost an oddity for Gotham City.

Can’t believe how fast Robin got that guy, you thought. He just…flipped and… Did he use his legs? I don’t know.

In less than about five minutes, Robin strutted towards you. Really heroic in that cape too. Yet he wasn’t smiling as you thought he might.

Is he okay? Did something else happen?

“Hey,” you said softly, “are you okay?”

“Yeah. Just…a lot of little things going wrong. Nothing I can’t handle, but it’s irritating.”

“Bad luck today?”

“Yeah,” he laughed half-heartedly. “You know a bit about that, huh?”

“A bit. But I know what can make it a little better.” You smiled as he perked up at your words. “I have some ice cream at my place and cookies, if that’ll make it any better.”

Robin smirked, “Are you inviting me to your place?”

“Yeah. If you want,” you shrugged, shy. A little nervous perhaps considering how much of a fan you were of Robin.

He’s walked me home before, you thought, and drove me home on his bike. Plus we’ve… Woo. Yeah. Okay, this could be interesting.

“Sounds better than how my night’s been going so far.” Robin replied.

“It can be my gift to you.” You quickly added, “You’ve helped me before and now. Why not give you something? You do so much already for everyone.”

“I can’t argue with that.”

You smiled. “I was headed home now. If you’re not through crime-fighting, I won’t take the ice cream out just yet.”

“You’d wait for me?”

“Yeah. It— Is that weird?”

“No,” he shook his head. “I’m flattered, but you shouldn’t have to wait that long. Give me a minute.”

You nodded and watched as he returned to the busy press-filled sidewalk.

I can’t believe this is happening again, you thought, feeling your heart rate pick up again. But…inside my apartment. I’m so glad it’s not a mess.

After wrapping up business with Batman, Robin jogged over to you with a charming smile.

On the way to your place, you two talked, caught up on anything new, and were very close. For chilly weather reasons, obviously. Robin was easy to talk to and wasn't completely full of himself. He knew what he was capable of and he didn't flaunt it.

Entering your apartment, you kicked off your shoes by the door.

“Make yourself at home.” You said as you set down the box of treats on the counter.

“Thank you. Nice place.”

“Thanks,” you smile warmly to him and walked over to the couch a few feet away to unzip your jacket.

“Is the box off-limits?” Robin asked, coming to stand by the end of the kitchen counter.

“Sorry, it is. This was for a well-productive day. From me, for me.”

He hummed in appreciation, “Is it cake?”

“…No.” You turned away slowly and took off your jacket.

“Sure.”

It was then that you realized what you were wearing.

Crap, you thought and tried thinking of a way to hide the prominent ‘R’ decorated on the upper left of your Robin fan club shirt. Be subtle about it.

Left arm raised, pretending to scratch your neck, you attempted masking some of it from view as you walk back into the kitchen.

“So, uh, you can pick whichever cookies you want out of the pantry there.” You offered and quietly sighed as he did so.

“Hmm.” He turned around with a sleeve of cookies. “Sweet as you.”

“Gotta have some on hand in case of a bad day,” you shrugged.

“I’d say my bad luck has disappeared at the sight of you.”

Smiling, you replied, “I could say the same. You did show up when I was having a terrible birthday.”

“And how’d that go?” Robin smirked.

Like he doesn’t know! You flirt.

“Well, after a really nice walk, I got a gift from you. So, I think it went really well.” Moving in the kitchen, you reached into the top cabinet, grabbed two bowls, and turned to set them onto the countertop. No clumsiness included.

“Did you like your gift?”

Oh, now he’s full on teasing.

“Very much.”

He smirked, happily confident. Blue eyes sparkling in the warm light.

Opening a drawer, you took out two spoons and quickly set them by the bowls. “I hope you don’t mind (flavor) ice cream.” You said and stepped to the refrigerator.

“I don’t mind any flavor you give me.”

After nearly choking on spit from Robin’s words, you pulled out a carton of ice cream with images of its contents all over. The thin ice coating its edges relieved some the heat radiating from your hands.

I’m going to be fanning myself with a magazine if he keeps this up, you thought.

Leaning on the counter, Robin watched you prepare to bowls of ice cream with a smile. Every move he caught with curious and attentive eyes.

“Is this good?” You asked, spoon in hand.

“Yeah. Thanks.” Robin walked over to stand beside you and took up the second spoon.

“Beats running around outside?”

“I’d take being here with you over chasing down some guy determined to ruin people’s day for the thrill of it. This is more fun.”

Apparently smiling while eating ice cream was a minor challenge. The two of you took that challenge with ease. Ice cream with good company definitely brightened both Robin’s and your day.

It was a wonder how you were comfortable enough with him to invite Robin inside. Then again, you were a fan and had gotten to know him quite a bit during your last two meetings. You were proud of yourself for asking.

Why shouldn’t you gift a little with whatever type of relationship you two had going?

What’s he thinking? You wondered as you saw him looking at you with your peripheral vision. I mean, he probably has to leave soon. I guess. You quietly set your spoon down in the empty bowl. I wish he could stay a little longer.

“You know,” Robin started as he put the spoon down, “I owe you a ‘thank you’ for your gift. Inviting me in and treating me to ice cream and cookies. You didn’t have to.”

“It’s about time I gift you something. Something other than one piece of candy.”

“And about thanking you…”

Robin’s gloved hand pulled you in by the waist. A move he definitely perfected as he instantly kissed you. Stealing your breath, Robin kept the pace slow as his lips pressed against yours. Dizzyingly passionate as he curled his other arm around your back.

Another kiss for the record.

Eyes shut for a moment, you broke for air. Your hands finding purchase on his biceps.

Even with his knee-shaking kisses, you needed to know something. To ask one thing.

“Is this...casual for you or…?” You left the question open ended.

How do I even ask this?

Robin took one of your hands and pressed it against the pulse point on his neck. A rapid pulse. “Lately, I've been wondering the same thing, but... I think I only want this from you.”

“Your heart racing?”

“It can be calm too. But not when I think of seeing you again. You’re all I can think about some times.”

“Just me?”

“You and me.”

You pulled him in for a hard kiss. Fingers in his hair, you deepened the kiss with all you had. In turn, Robin held you impossibly close to his body. Both of you expressing what you wanted and tasting of frozen dessert with no signs of stopping.

Neither of you had to be anywhere else.

Leading you backwards through the apartment, Robin continued pressing his lips to yours. You stumbled to keep up, not knowing where you were headed when you mind was on how he teased your lips with his tongue.

“Oof.”

Your world turned sideways and Robin was all you could feel as you landed onto the couch. The cushions softening the fall onto your back. His cape covering you both as limbs entangled.

Time passed further into the night. Both you and Robin showed no hints of leaving the couch. If anything, it appeared as if you two would remain there much longer.

Panting breathes were exchanged between wet lips and heavy gazes. It was getting a little hot in the apartment.

Hands intertwined tightly over your head, neither of you dared break contact.

“We should probably stop,” you murmured.

“Probably,” Robin said into their neck. He rolled his pelvis onto yours. “Ahh. I should go.”

You bit your lip, keeping yourself quiet as your legs instinctively hugged him closer. Fingers still locked together with his gloved hands.

Robin. Oh, please. You thought as you felt your mind slowly floating away with pleasure, of being with him.

Placing another kiss on your neck, Robin kept a slow and sensual pace with you. His eyes fluttered shut as the two of you continued.

No thoughts of responsibilities or anyone else. No worries of where either of you should or should not be. Only thoughts of being closer together and all of the feelings that came with it all.

“Robin.” Back arching, his name escaped you like a plea.

Above you, he stopped completely and released your hands. “We can’t. As much as I really, really want to…” He looked you over in your half blissful state as he blinked away his own fog of pleasure. Shaking his head, he added, “Not while I’m like this…as Robin.”

You nodded, processing his words. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” you kissed his forehead.

Smiling, Robin kissed you again. Much shorter that time, but with no less affection. He pulled you up with him into a sitting position, chuckling at your disheveled appearance.

“And maybe we can pick up on where we left off?” He lightly pulled at your shirt and added, “With your fan shirt.”

“Sure. Maybe without your mask and cape?”

His hands held you to him, “More cotton and less…”

“Whatever this is made of?” You knocked your knuckles onto the front of his suit. “As long as it protects you, it’s fine.”

“It does the job.”

“Good.” You pecked his lips.

Reluctantly, the visit had came to a close as you walked him to the door. The pair of you shared one more kiss, a promise.

“Good night,” you murmured.

“Good night. See yah soon, (Y/N).”

Robin left your apartment quietly and went off into the night air.

What have you two gotten into?

Was he, the Robin, really going to reveal his civilian identity to you?

Was that even allowed?

Was it safe?

Best wishes and happy reading.)

~~~

PART FOUR

~~~

(If you love my writings and want to support me, I have a Ko-Fi where you can buy me a coffee. I would be eternally grateful.

coffee

~~~~~

DreamerDragon Tags: @

90s Dick Grayson Tags: @

**Let me know if you would like to be tagged in insert readers, either through replies, ask, or message.**

#90s robin #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson #batman forever #batman and robin #where dreamers go #dick grayson imagine #imagines

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jamdoughnutmagician · 1 year ago

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A Cut Above The Rest

Mechanic!Eddie x Hairdresser!Fem!Reader

Good As New (Part 2)

Summary:Just as he promised Eddie fixes up your car, and you take a visit to Hawkin's library in the hopes to get your business up and running once more.

Word Count:1,626

A/N:Let it be known that this author knows absolutely nothing about cars or mechanics, so please don't come for me lmaooo

<- Previous Part Next Part ->

Masterlist Series Masterlist

After making yourself comfortable in Robin’s spare bedroom the night before, you find yourself waking up a little later in the morning.

Your head is buzzing with everything that happened. It wasn't just a terrible dream, he was just a terrible boyfriend. You push down the hurt you felt, not wanting to start the morning on a sour note.

Still in the pyjamas you wore to bed, you slide on your slippers and shuffle out of the bedroom.

"Morning Sleepy-head." Robin asks over her bowl of cereal, nodding over to the counter-top, telling you to help yourself to some breakfast. “Grab yourself a bowl!”

“Seriously Robin, Fruit loops?” you laugh, shaking your head at your friend’s choice over sugary breakfast cereal.

“What? I’m pretty sure it counts as one of my five-a-day!” She garbles over a mouthful of cereal. “Anyway, How’re you feeling?”

"I don’t think that’s true, Rob.” you say, making yourself comfortable on the couch beside her. “I'm holding up if that's what you mean" you chuckle half-heartedly, filling up a bowl of your own.

“So what’s the plan today?”

“Well I’ve got to go over to the garage later on today, Eddie said he’d try to fix my car.”

“Oh going to meet up with Eddie, are we?” Robin laughs, raising her eyebrows up and down, which earns her a matching laugh from you.

You shake your head at her, ignoring the insinuation that she was alluding to.

“Right! I should be off to work. Those books are not going to stack themselves.” Robin says, leaving her bowl in the kitchen sink, and grabbing her coat before heading out the door “The library waits for no woman!”

You busy yourself with tidying up to the apartment whilst Robin’s at work. You figure it’s the least you could do, since she’s letting you stay here.

Once you finish tidying up the place, you go to get changed out of your pyjamas, deciding on a simple pair of jeans and t-shirt, not wanting to be too dressed up for going to the garage.

You take a walk down the street where Eddie told you his mechanic garage was and sure enough there it is, Munson’s Motor Repairs.

You walk up to the garage and are immediately hit with the strong smell of motor oil that wafts through the air.

"Excuse me, Ma'am? Can I help you?" You turn around to see where the voice is coming from and are met with an older man. The remnants of his grey hair are receding, and his faded flannel shirt is stained with dark grease spots, his bright blue eyes are surrounded by a few wrinkles as he offers you a kind smile.

"Um, I was looking for Eddie? He told me he works here? My car got taken in last night."

"Oh, so it's your old Chevette out the back?" He says nodding his head towards the garage's yard out the back.

"Yup, that would be the one, Mr…." You trail off, realising that you didn't yet know this man's name.

He wipes his hands on the oil-stained rag hanging from his jean's pockets before offering you his hand in a welcoming handshake.

"Munson. Wayne Munson" he introduces himself.

"..Looks like that old chevy just needed a new alternator.." Eddie said as he strolled into the shop from the back. "Hey! There you are! I just finished up on your car, the alternator needed replacing, it's as good as…" he trails off, he couldn't in all good conscience say your old car was as good as new. "Well, it's fixed anyway." he smiles.

"Thank you so much Eddie!" You say, as you reach for your purse, "How much do I owe you for that?"

"You're lucky your car is as old as it is, otherwise it might have been a lot more expensive to replace these bits. That'll be $90" he tells you.

You rifle through your purse and hand over the handful of notes to Eddie.

"Thanks again Eddie! You're an absolute live-saver!" You squeal as you wrap your arms around him in a hug.

Eddie finds his heart warming. Fuck. Why did you have to be so cute?

He watches as you wave him goodbye, as you pull your car out of his garage.

“So, you wanna tell me why you’re giving this girl a $20 discount, or do I have to guess?” Wayne teases, standing with his hands on his hips.

Eddie flushes scarlet, heat rising from his chest and across his nose. Busted.

“I’ll work extra shifts next week to make up for it, I swear.” Eddie promises.

Wayne waves him off with a smile tugging at his lips, and a raspy chuckle.

“It’s alright son, I won’t tell anybody about your little crush” Wayne smirks, pretending to zip his mouth shut.

Robin is already home once you arrive back at the apartment, lounging comfortably on her sofa in front of the tv.

“Hey, thanks for cleaning up whilst I was at work.” She says turning to look at you over her shoulder. “How’d you get on in the garage? He fixed your car?”

“Yeah, he fixed my car…and…” you tell her, trailing off for a moment, thinking about how you had hugged him as you thanked him for his help. Oh god I hugged him! What on earth did I do that for?

"..and what?" Robin prods, hanging on your every word.

"I-uh..I hugged him.." you say, the heat of embarrassment burning in your chest.

"Ooh! Scandalous!" Robin laughs "Should I buy my hat for the wedding now or later?"

You playfully smacked her in the shoulder.

"I'm serious, Rob! What if he thought I was being, like, creepy or something?"

She turned to look at you, narrowing her eyes at your panicked state.

"Relax, it's just a hug, it doesn't have to mean anything, and besides if it's one thing I know about Eddie, it's that he totally wouldn't mind getting a hug, especially from you"

"What do you mean by that?" You question, your eyebrows drawing together in confusion.

“You can’t tell me you never noticed how that guy used to look at you? He used to stare at the back of your head all the time in Ms. O’Donnell’s class!” Robin laughs.

“I can’t believe that you, my best friend, never said anything about it!” you shook your head at her, joining in on the laughs.

"I guess I thought he'd eventually man up and ask you out. I'm honestly surprised that he never did" Robin explains.

"Hey Rob, do you mind if I come by the library with you tomorrow, I wanna make a few flyers, see if I can interest a few of the residents of Hawkins for a haircut. All of my clients are back in Chicago and I need to drum up business. I can help you pay the rent."

"Sure, come on down, I'm sure Margaret won't mind if you wanna leave a few flyers in the library, maybe put one up on the notice board."

The next day you drive Robin to her job in the Hawkins public library, parking your car in the parking lot.

Hawkin’s public library had been standing proud since 1894, even through the devastation of the great earthquake of 1986, the building still stands tall.

Walking in with Robin, she immediately goes over to the older lady already behind the front desk. Her silver hair is styled up, with loose curls gently falling around her face, and her wire frame glasses sit perched on the bridge of her nose.

“Good morning, Margaret!” Robin shouts loudly and brightly.

Margaret is all too quick to shush her with a finger to her lips, once again reminding Robin, as she does every time she comes into work, of the number one rule of being in a library is to be quiet.

“Sorry.” Robin cringes. “Margaret, this is my friend, Y/n." She introduces you.

You wave a little awkwardly, offering a kind smile to the older lady.

“It’s lovely to meet you, ma’am. I was wondering if you could point me in the direction of where your computers are, please?"

She points down the corridor between two rows of tall bookshelves, stacked full of book.

"Down there, right between Science Fiction and Fantasy. There's some computers set up in the tech lab, my dear."

"Thank you so much!"

You make your way down to the computer lab, and sit yourself down in front of the big desktop monitors. You spend a few moments to make sure your flyers are as perfect as they can be with all the services that you offer and a list of the prices, as well as your business phone number for people to call should they be interested. You print out a handful of copies, and kindly ask Margaret if it would be okay for you to pin a copy of one of your flyers to the library’s notice board.

“Go ahead, Dear. It’s what it’s there for!” Margaret smiles at you.

You pin your flyer to the cork-board before thanking her, and giving Robin a hug and letting her know that you’ll see her back at the apartment after work.

“Oh no! It’s a Friday night! I’m treating you to a night out. We’re going to The Hideout. They have a live band there, we can have a couple of drinks, it’ll be fun!” Robin promises. “And anyway, I think after what you’ve been through, I think you deserve to let loose and have a little fun.”

Maybe she was right. Perhaps what you needed was a fun night out with your best friend to just unwind and forget all about your terrible ex-boyfriend.

@sunflowerdaydreamer @xxhellfiregirlxx @penguinsandpotterheads @munsonology @seatnights @avalon-wolf @jesssssmaybankk

#Eddie Munson x Reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #Eddie Munson Fanfic #Eddie Munson x reader fanfic #Eddie Munson x reader fluff #Eddie Munson x fem!reader fluff #Eddie Munson fluff

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30sims4ever · 4 months ago

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30+ Sims4Ever Save File

30+ Sims4Ever is a group of adults aged 30 and up. The group was created back in May at the request of a Redditor. The group has taken off since then with 165 members with the anticipation of more leading up to the drop of our save file.

We are looking to release 4 worlds as early as December 1st and as late as December 31st:

Willow Creek

Magnolia Promenade

Newcrest

San Sequoia

Willow Creek (Heavily inspired by Georgia)

Lore:

The biggest industry left in Willow Creek is tourism, and even that is beginning to fade. Desperate to revitalise the city, the mayor relaxes several local restrictions to allow more fishing, and restart the previously decommissioned riverboats. Meanwhile, he heavily advertises to the movie industry, leading to a surge in movie tourism after a major period drama is filmed there. Overall, the plan works, and Willow Creek begins to distinguish itself as a destination, but the costs are high. The historic downtown area is cleaned up but also gentrified, and many workers can’t afford to live nearby, being pushed to the outskirts of Newcrest. The fishing and riverboats have brought in tourists but also gangs of environmental protesters, angry at the pollution and habitat destruction. But hey, the money has been good, and construction on the mayor’s new estate has finally finished.

Newcrest - 90's Time Capsule (Heavily inspired by Maine)

Lore:

Newcrest has a reputation as a quiet bedroom community. The schools in the area are some of the best in the country for beginning and intermediate education. One such school is Newcrest Charter, a well-funded private school. The reputation is glossy on the outside but there are cracks. The police chief and Charter administrator have a deal to keep both their kids out of trouble - one with the law and one with their grades.

Mayor Azalea Simmons is oblivious to this scheme, and likely any others in the world. Unlike her surrounding politicians, Azalea doesn’t get wrapped up in legislating mumbo jumbo, she’s too busy keeping Newcrest affordable, and pleasant to live in. Which in her mind means - keeping it 1996 forever.

Magnolia Promenade (Heavily mixed with Georgia & Maine)

Lore:

Many of the buildings in Magnolia Promenade are old. Once historic structures like schools, warehouses, and homes, many have been converted into businesses. Maerina Walsh owns one such business in the prestigious shopping district - a quaint bed and breakfast. She has a reputation as an absolute nightmare of a boss. It's said to be lucky if she fires you on the first day, as she punishes others with impossible or gruelingly menial tasks. There is a longstanding rumor among locals that the ghost of an employee she once locked in the basement now haunts the establishment, though older residents say the ghost dates back to the original building. Maerina is well aware of the rumors but hasn’t disputed them, because as many people as they scare off, they also attract potential customers looking to catch a sight of the ghost.

San Sequoia (Heavily inspired by San Francisco)

Lore:

Ricky Pyler has grown San Sequoia into a major contender in the pharmaceutical and medical fields. Many large companies, production facilities, and conventions have relocated to the city, bringing a boom to the economy. Pharmaceutical companies have manipulated development deals, health information, and begun to illegally dump their waste in the river that runs downstream to Willow Creek. Zara Marquez, has been a nurse in San Sequoia for decades. She’s noticed an uptick in certain illnesses that are symptoms of this pollution which has brought her to run for Mayor herself. Another campaign opponent comes onto the scene in the form of Caleb Vargas - a rather young man from the business sector. Nobody really knows who he is, but he is extremely and strangely well funded. In reality he’s starting to bribe and bankroll many of Ricky’s old contacts with the intention of using them for his own devices

The contributors to this save file are as follows:

mstyBL95

s0pran0d1va

Nowheregirl94

Kylynara

Rieche

sabrinaakayy

whiskyrick

phronetiq

sparkersims

Tatselk

prncssHermione88

southernpeach

fluffyrhino

captainwondyful

*More contributors will be added to this in the coming months as we update as we have left lots open for monthly challenges to our discord memebrs. If you are over the age of 30 and would like to be apart of our save file please join our discord server here: https://discord.gg/3552rQ7r

Important to note:

As we move closer to the deadline for the release of the save file a release of which simmers worked on which lot will be released

A list of all expansions, game, stuff and kit packs will be released advising what was used for the save file. There are no pack restrictions for contributors

All townies will have base game outfits so that no single townie is walking around partially naked

All townies have been assigned careers, children have grades and everyone has a relationship with their current houehold and others

Ghosts will be available in game

Townies will be added to clubs

Newcrest is a 90's time capsule

All lots that have additional structures were built in mind that if the structure differed from the lot type it would not impact the overall gameplay. (this means that a lot set as a Resturant with a resturant and movie theatre does not impact the overall function of the lot)

All lots have been game play tested

There will be a tool mod version of this game

Any simmers who are not comfortable downloading a tray file or those playing on console will be able to follow a legend to download from the gallery to upload lots and families

What to Expect in the coming months:

As we move closer to deadlines we will have more members submit. From the time members submit the lot is play tested by a second person to ensure that everything functions correctly and the lot has met minimum requirements. Once that is completed we have the file upload to the save.

Streetview pictures

Pictures of the lots

Picture and bio of the contributors

Lot details - Member, traits and pictures

World map overview filled in

Townie pictures and global lore

A list of all packs used in the save file

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homestuckreplay · 3 months ago

Text

A Hole in the ACE: Anderson, Caveney, Egbert

[This is a deep dive into the pages of Harry Anderson: Wise Guy by Mike Caveney, seen on Homestuck pages 629-630, and its role in the story. About 2.5k words, somehow. A transcript of these pages can be found here.]

=> Read book. Be the wise guy.

Harry Anderson, born in 1952, was a real magician and comedian who achieved mainstream television success in the 1980s and 90s with starring roles in sitcoms and appearances on Saturday Night Live. A street magician since his youth, he continued to tour and perform magic shows well into the 2000s, and opened both a magic shop and a nightclub in New Orleans with his second wife. Wise Guy is the name of a one-man show he presented in his own nightclub beginning in 2005, although he may have used the phrase earlier.

Mike Caveney, born in 1950, has similarly been a magic enthusiast since childhood. As well as performing, he has written over 50 books about magic and its history, including Magic, 1400s-1950s (2009) and of course Harry Anderson: Wise Guy (1993). This is a real book documenting the secrets behind Anderson’s most famous tricks, interspersed with personal anecdotes. John Egbert is lucky to own this – it’s currently out of print, and secondhand editions sell for over $100.

In my attempts to find an online copy of Wise Guy, I found a PDF that billed itself as the book’s introduction, but quickly devolved into a plot summary of Stephen King’s IT. While clearly not the actual introduction, I later learned that Anderson played Richie Tozier in the 1990 television adaptation of IT, which at least explains the connection.

Unfortunately, very little of Wise Guy’s text is available online. One excerpt survives, and accompanies several online publishers’ listings for the book – for example, here. This excerpt describes Harry’s trick ‘The Finger Chopper,’ with his early-career assistant who happened to be missing half a finger. I am almost certain that Andrew Hussie doesn’t own a copy of this book, but that they found this real excerpt, and used it to write their own entirely fake pages for Homestuck.

Some specific phrases appear in both the real excerpt and the Homestuck pages: ‘Here is a perfect example of how Harry could…’ ‘the close up room at the Magic Castle’ and even the full paragraph ‘[he] had one of those little wooden finger choppers that Micky Hades used to sell. The kind where the blade could be removed and clearly shown. It was a very convincing little guillotine that did not look like a novelty store toy. Harry would get a guy to examine the chopper and then cut a cigarette in half. Then he held the guy’s hand up and told this silly story.’

The Magic Castle is a famous performance venue that Anderson really performed at, however it's located in Los Angeles, not New Orleans as the Homestuck version suggests.. Micky Hades is another magician 25 years Anderson and Caveney’s senior, best known for writing and publishing books and magazines on magic. An unverified primary source says that he invented the Finger Chopper while working deep underground in the freezing cold Yellowknife gold mines, which is definitely cool if true.

The rest of what's in Homestuck is invented. In Caveney’s book, Anderson’s trick is successful, no audience members are harmed, and Anderson is presented as a charismatic entertainer in control of the crowd. In Hussie’s version, Anderson’s trick goes horribly wrong, and is presented as overconfident, unpleasant, and ridiculous. There’s a flip back and forth from praising and criticizing Anderson, painting he and Caveney as jilted former business partners who maintain professional respect, or toxic ex-lovers who can’t let each other go.

Hussie also refers to a ‘two foot, six inch height differential’ between Anderson and Caveney, with Anderson implied as the shorter party. Anderson was 6’4”, and while I can’t find a source for Caveney’s height, I think it would have been well documented if Caveney was almost nine feet tall.

Hussie’s version states that once Anderson’s finger chopper trick was successful, he achieved ‘fame, fortune and the crowning position in the television judiciary.’ This refers to his starring role on the sitcom Night Court as Judge Harold T. ‘Harry’ Stone, a 34-year-old night court judge appointed to the bench when none of the other applicants were available to answer their phones. Harry’s methods in the show are unorthodox, including flipping a (secretly double-headed) coin to decide if a woman should go to jail, suggesting in 1984 that the three members of a love triangle try polyamory, and giving a man dressed as Santa information from two teenagers’ government records so that ‘Santa’ could trick the teens into believing in him.

I’d never heard of this show before reading Homestuck, and neither has Rose Lalonde, but John mentions it on p.636. The show appears fairly well received during its original run, winning eight Primetime Emmys, including four consecutive Best Supporting Actor wins for John Larroquette (who withdrew his name from the ballot for future years). I watched a few episodes before making this post and thought the pilot was really great, with subsequent episodes either not living up to its promises, or already feeling stale. It’s over-acted in a way that makes it feel older than its airdate, and definitely tracks as a cheesy thing for John Egbert to enjoy.

The other name mentioned in Hussie’s edition – Blind Willie ‘Buttermilk’ Stubbs – is not a real person, but a legendary jazz musician from Problem Sleuth. This is most likely a reference to the real 1900s blues musician Blind Willie McTell, or the Bob Dylan song of the same name. However, there’s an outside chance it could be another Stephen King connection, as he has a 1994 novella named Blind Willie.

The second trick described in Homestuck, ‘A Hole in the Ace,’ doesn’t appear to be a real Anderson trick. It’s not on this list of the book’s chapter titles, and while I have found evidence of Anderson tearing up cards as part of tricks, I couldn’t find anything about him punching holes. In general this second page is more artistic license and less connected to Anderson’s real life than the first. It seems like this hole-punch trick was invented by Hussie purely to give John the inspiration to advance his alchemy. Narratively this works really well, because John’s not somebody who would come to these ideas by careful thought, but it’s also not satisfying to have Rose always give him the answers.

We’ve seen another Harry Anderson property in John’s room – the fictional video game Call My Bluff, seen on the CD rack (p.31). Although Anderson never had a show named Call My Bluff, in 2000 he hosted an unsold pilot episode of What’s My Line? for Mark Goodson and Bill Todman. Goodson & Todman were famous for creating a variety of TV game shows, including 1965’s Call My Bluff. Is this a coincidence? I genuinely couldn’t tell you.

I really love what Hussie has done with this book. I’d say this qualifies as a transformative work – taking the real text and premise of Wise Guy and mixing it with established MSPA lore, mimicking Caveney’s original writing style while using it to paint a far more absurd picture of Anderson, using it to advance the plot while still feeling like this book could really exist, at least in the Homestuck universe. It shows how much work gets put into Homestuck, even while some plot elements (possibly even John’s decision to read the book) are decided by readers.

=> Read Colonel Sassacre’s text.

Wise Guy is only one of John’s two favorite books. The other of course is Colonel Sassacre’s Daunting Text of Magical Frivolity and Practical Japery, and we’ve now seen inside both. They’re fairly different overall. Sassacre’s is a lot more overwrought and soaked in Southern stereotypes, written like it’s trying to squeeze in as many old-timey Southern words as possible, while Wise Guy focuses on telling a story and creating a character. Both texts lean into some grosser imagery than Homestuck usually goes for, with Sassacre’s describing ‘wriggling regency of rubber bugs, plastic parasites, squirming serpents, pliable pests…’ and Wise Guy mentioning ‘a bloody sausage sized piece of a guy’.

The most direct link between the texts is the uncommon phrase ‘listless octoroon,’ which appears in both. Used in the mid to late 1800s, an octoroon was a social and sometimes legal word for somebody who was one-eighth Black. It’s an offensive term that definitely should not be used to describe a real person, and I don’t think it’s funny in fiction either. It reads like another example of ‘post-racial humor’ where Hussie, a white author, uses Blackness as a joke due to a mistaken belief that racism is a thing of the past. This isn’t the first time this specific brand of humor has appeared in Homestuck, and it’s worrying that it’s becoming a pattern.

Sassacre’s, the ‘family tome of humor’ passed down through Egbert generations, focuses on pranking friends and family members, taking those around you by surprise. Wise Guy, which appears to be John’s own interest, is about performing tricks for an audience – both descriptions of the trick and of the mannerisms surrounding the trick that make it successful, leaning into the draw of the professional magician and the cautionary tale of their failures.

Colonel Sassacre’s relevance to Homestuck has so far been as a physical object. It’s what killed Nanna in her human life, it’s been a heavy item in John’s sylladex that he’s used to set off smoke pellets and slay an imp, it was teased as a Tier 2 sprite prototype, and it was found hidden inside Dad’s safe. In contrast, Wise Guy’s relevance has been about the text inside the book, and John’s interpretation of that text.

Which of course makes me wonder about other books we’ve seen in the story. Data Structures for Assholes, the second book of John’s that’s about A-holes, is clearly written to be so over-the-top it becomes funny (like Sassacre’s) but is used for the same purpose as Wise Guy, teaching John a new game mechanic that helps him advance his own story. Other books we’ve seen but haven’t opened are The Fatherly Gent’s Shaving Almanac, found in Dad’s safe, and the writing journals Rose keeps under her bed. Finally, we’ve seen inside Rose’s Grimoire for Summoning the Zoologically Dubious, however as this book is written in the eldritch tongue, it’s hard to offer meaningful insights.

All of these books have been highlighted when they appear, and are more than just a spine among a bookshelf collection. My guess is that all of these will become relevant to the story at some point, whether as objects or as texts.

=> John: Punch card.

Wise Guy first appeared on p.8 of Homestuck, as part of the contents of John’s MAGIC CHEST (now and forever on the roof), which also contains a picture of Anderson stuck to the inside of the lid. John being an ‘aspiring AMATEUR MAGICIAN’ came up even earlier, on p.4. John claims to love this book, which is ‘one of [his] favorite books of all time’ (p.123), but in truth he only likes specific aspects of the book. In real life, Caveney had great respect for Anderson and wrote his book as a tribute, but this isn’t true in Homestuck – Caveney’s ‘ambivalent attitude toward your favorite magician in these anecdotes always struck [John] as a little weird,’ suggesting that John doesn’t enjoy criticism of his heroes and doesn’t want to engage with the more complex and emotional parts of the text.

John ‘mostly like[s] to look at the diagrams for all the cool tricks.’ Given his aspirations, it makes sense that he’d use it as a manual similar to Sassacre’s instead of a biography – but he’s not reading the book as the author intended. If he did, he’d like it less. In most webcomics, any text is contained within the panels themselves, and any blocks of text below are commentary that isn’t necessary to enjoy the joke or story. MSPA is fairly unique in having narrative text that’s story critical, and I wonder if there are some Homestuck readers who just look at the pictures and think the text is ‘weird’ or extraneous. John’s method of reading Wise Guy fits with the fact that he flits from one thing to another, giving up quickly when something is too much effort, whether that’s hole punching through several cards at once or reading stories that are critical of his hero and hard to understand – but it could also be meta-commentary on readers of Homestuck.

John’s relationship to magic, both past and present, is something I’d really like to see explored in more depth. Now that he has unlimited captchalogue cards and engages with them as physical objects, the possibilities for card tricks are off the charts – and the reasons John likes magic aren't yet known. A magician is a showman, somebody who surprises and delights an audience, but can only do this by concealing much of what they’re doing. A magician has to be a master of their craft and in control of the situation both socially and technically. Magic is believed to be among the oldest performing arts, and while magicians are often thought to be secretive about their tricks, Wise Guy is just one of a huge number of books containing detailed instructions for magic.

John's not usually the character we'd expect to want an air of mystery around himself, but he often tries to hide his emotions, with various degrees of success. He also likes the idea of coding, which is a type of magic - producing an effect (a website) while concealing the methods (lines of code) that went into it. There's not much he's good at yet, but he has the manual dexterity to play piano well, which could translate into sleight of hand tricks. I can see why, as someone who struggles with basically everything, John likes the idea of having a high degree of mastery over something and of making it look effortless. I also see how someone who feels like they're always performing their role in the world, instead of actually embodying it, would gravitate towards being another kind of performer. However, that's just some initial instincts, and as I keep reading and re-reading I'll be on the lookout for more connections between John and stage magic.

Additionally, John now has access to real and powerful magic via alchemy. This is magic that can’t fully be explained by sleight of hand and diagrams in a book, and it’s magic that can provide a shortcut to achieving goals, conjuration instead of illusion. Now that John has this power, will he become disillusioned with the artifice of practical magic, or will he lean into it even harder? Will there continue to be connections between alchemy and the tricks John already knows? Instead of always putting that bunny back in the box, will he start pulling that bunny out of the hat?

Finally, it is surprising that John’s never talked to Rose about Harry Anderson before. Given the depths of his interest, I’d expect it to have come up, but Rose is clueless. When explaining who he is, John says ‘EB: he's awesome EB: that's really all there is to say on the matter!’ which directly calls back to what Dave has said about puppets on p.537. In Dave’s case, he’s trying to convince himself he thinks this, but it’s clear he actually doesn’t. Is it possible that deep down, John actually doesn’t like Harry Anderson? Is magic too close to Egbert family traditions of clowning for John to really feel good exploring it? Is John’s greatest trick of all convincing us that he loves magic?

#homestuck #john egbert #analysis #harry anderson #posts like this are the absolute joy of this project tbh. getting to research something that id otherwise probably never have learned about #magic is. a topic i will return to quite a few times i think #chrono

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