#merry callahan

[deathbypufferfish]

Prom! Heartbreak! Break-ups! Friendship! :D

[dykeomania]

PLS write smut for Hazel from bottoms..I need her so bad I fear..maybe like subtop!hazel..is her having a strap too far..I need her..

this is not. a full fledged fic. but this is the first time in a sec that ive let myself be inspired by an ask. this is weirdly switcher and just pure gay-sexier than it is subby!hazel. lmk if you want things to get subbier, bc i can probably do that. but for rn i have.. this image.. and i want you to walk with me on this but also hold my hand because i'm #supershy,

(minors [including 17 year olds 🙏🏽] dni fr, under the cut: not that proofread. strap lol (r!r), foul language, breeding... language... (my bad) (hazel has a strap tho), subtop!hazel except i could've made this shit so much worse so i guess switch!hazel but like, switch!reader, idk everyone's just a whore. there's an "i love you" (or.. multiple, i guess). there's a mirror. there's a vibrator. purely stream of consciousness, i don't even think the position they're fucking in makes physical sense fr. i was bored and i was thinking, so i wrote a lot. this whole thing is not realistic btw. i have very little confidence that hazel's blowing anyone's back out, but. it's my first day out in a min so i'm rusty. all respect to the community. next time when i pull up, i'll offer something a little more tame and saccharine as opposed to [exaggerated p*rnstar moans!!!]. reblogs and whatnot appreciated.)

so, i have this .. picture.

of you putting a bullet vibe in the pocket of hazel's strap before she fucks you from behind for the first time.

she eventually finds the confidence to blow your back out, and tbh, you think it's gonna end with you seeing stars because you can already hear the fucking lottery machines going off in your head. she's fucking you so well, and hazel's problem is that you're letting her know.

at first she thinks she's going crazy. but those fucking mewls into the pillow over how deep she is, how she's making you feel so good, how you've missed her so much, are sending shocks through her clit that the vibe keeps amplifying, everytime her pelvis hits your ass.

if she thrusts hard enough, which god knows she does, it almost makes her buckle over.

you're left clenching the sheets, and gasping against the linen while she fucks you, taking you in a way that's so uncharacteristically perverse that you don't even have the brain capacity to ask yourself why you didn't ask her to take you like this, sooner. her thrusts are quick and shallow, her words breathy and a little sharp. with every jolt of your body forwards as she experimentally blows your back out, it's like you feel yourself becoming more and more removed from this fucking planet. you can't help but cry -- sob, even -- as she makes you into a mess of limbs, leaving you tugging at your tits in one split second, and gripping at the sheets the next.

something happens, though.

where her hips rut into yours in deep, hard thrusts, spaced out by what feels like eternities, you can hear her. she's moaning now, breath quickening and chest rippling everytime her crotch hits yours at a particular angle. she's mewling, and unless you're hallucinating from how fucked up you are, you can hear her --

"fuck... f--uuh--ck, fuck, fuckfuck..."

-- silently beginning to whimper.

the girl goes from bullying your cunt to burying her strap deep enough in it to make the apex of its curve nudge against your g-spot, in a way that leaves your mouth hanging wide open with nothing spilling out of it maybe other than drool, but...

it's the slick warmth of hazel's back pressed nearly flush against yours and the heat of her breath against your shoulder that makes your eyes flutter open, facing your reflection in the floor-length mirror stationed across from hazel's bed.

hazel's in it so deep, you can't even see the strap anymore. and by no exaggeration, it's like an earthquake pulses through her body everytime she nudges her hips into your ass, making your vision blurry. she's rutting into you. greedily grinding her strap into your cunt in the effort of chasing her own high.

it wasn't a secret that hazel was sensitive. more often than not, the poor girl writhed against your mouth whenever she let you put it on her ("let you" is a loose sentence -- she begs for it, sometimes). you don't even know why you're surprised that your girlfriend is getting this close over having a bullet vibe pressed against her clit, hardly protected by fabric. "b--babe--"

what sounds like a plea, amongst the feeling of hazel's thighs trembling against the back of yours, inspires something sinister inside you.

you wind your hips against her, pressing back against the strap and the toy. the sight of your ass rolling against hazel's pelvis, combined with how good it feels is gonna actually, like, make hazel fucking--

"don't cum."

she loses her breath, entirely, and her rhythm, apparently. she slows, as if that was her body's instinct to obey your orders, despite the string of breaths that tumbles out of her mouth. "n-- wha-- fuck, no, nonono--"

you wind your hips deeper into hers, extracting a moan from your own throat -- fuck, maybe your gut, since that's how deep you could feel her. you press your ass into her until you feel the buzz of the vibe against folds, the frequency of it changing and humming as you press it further into her clit. "y--es," you grit. "don't fucking cum yet, hazel."

the dull, rolling vibrations through the fabric of the strap draw hazel's eyes into the back of her head, and then closed. she's grunting now -- or all of the above -- and she tries her best to unchap her lips, fruitlessly dragging over them. the little breaths she takes through them only brings them back to being puffy, pink, and a gateway of noise that gives evidence to struggle.

"gonna let me count you down?" you puff out your sentence in one breath, and hazel can fucking hear the grin in your still-fucked-out tone and it makes her whine louder.

"yeah? gonna fuckin' let me count you down so you can cum in me, haze?"

cum.. in you. three words that you'd never even fucking uttered to her before this, and that she never fucking thought she would ever hear and.. it looks like she can't complain, because her eyes roll into the back of her head and hazel swears that she -- at least, briefly -- meets jesus christ, "oh my god--," hazel slurs, hips rolling impossibly deeper into yours, it's a miracle she hasn't swabbed your cervix yet -- "ohmygod, oh my god--"

"three..."

ohfuck. ohfuck,ohfuck,ohfuck,ohfuck. it's the soft chorus that she whispers to herself as she starts to fuck herself into you, again, opting for thrusts as a means of trying to regain control with no consideration for your demise. the vision of her blurs in the mirror, and you feel your fists grasping at her sheets again.

"fuck--" you croak. "t--two.."

she pulls you further into her, and at this point, hazel's okay with being written off as a lost cause, 'cause fuck, it's not like she has a choice. the strap brief is soaked and it's entirely your fault, and god, she throws her head back. a mess of words, a mess of sensations, hazel just blurts, "oh my g--od--i love you--"

you burst out laughing at the random proclamation, admist everything.

she forces her head down to watch you, jaw hung open. and at this point, she's just speaking. rambling and slurring and gasping, tears-in-eyes-in-awe-and-all, as she watches you throw your ass back against her.

"iloveyou so much, you're so f--ucking hot, whatthefuck?--"

there's something weirdly sweet about it. something that makes your cunt clench around the strap in a way that hollows you out shortly thereafter, and lets hazel hit that fucking spot just right. before you know it, you're wherever hazel is, cunt fully creaming around the silicon.

"i love you--" you dumbly spit out a giggle, a gasp causing a steam of spit to cascade off your bottom lip and onto hazel's navy sheets. "babe," you warn. "ohfuck, ohmyfuckinggod, you're gonna make me cu---"

"fuckingsayone," hazel, unbelievably pleads while she unbelievably spears her strap into your cunt. "oh my fucking god, say one, please, please, pleaseplease--"

she starts begging. unprompted. "it's s-so good, it's so, so good, feels so fucking good, wanna c--um in you--" and she probably repeats it. probably repeats that she wants to cum in you until she's blue in the face and,

"o-one--"

until you let her.

the noise that's ripped from hazel's throat is .. embarrassing. virginal, almost. fully reverberates off the walls, and she trembles. her clit convulses against the vibe, twitching with every short stream of her release and she folds. poor girl was holding your hips for something -- for reassurance, to get a grip, dear life, perhaps? as her hips languidly fuck and press into the surface of your ass., rocking your near limp-frame after you've pretty much creamed all over her strap.

hazel hangs over you for god knows how long, dark hair shaggy and some strands stuck to her forehead in wavy wisps. cheeks flushed, and lower lip bitten to hell. the bullet vibe fucking dies, thank god almighty, because god knows she was not in any shape to reach down and turn it off.

she stays like that for a while, until she you feel her again. this time, only gentler, and much more like herself. soft hands caressing the skin of your back, her breath warm and shaky as she peppers a splay of kisses across your skin.

as you come from the surface of your own high, you feel yourself hum. still full of her, and dizzy with it. despite it, you manage -- slurring, slightly.

"haze?"

there's a hum, somewhere.

"did that really feel that good?"

hazel distantly nods, brown locks brushing against your back.

"uh.." hazel frowns, letting out a weak laugh. "y-yeah, honestly."

the mental note gets filed away somewhere deep in the haze of your brain and you grin, when you press your ass one against her just for shits and giggles and hear her gasp, from the sensitivity of it alone.

"that's my girl."

[anything4mymoony]

I can so tell that Ruby Cruz is gonna be on so many of yall's Christmas list this year

[xotrashratxo]

my sister made me a collage of Ruby Cruz as a Christmas present and now it is the only picture on my wall

[alexxmason]

Just A Touch

Paring: Eli Palmer x Deputy Callahan (belongs to @minilev) Word count: 2100+ Warnings: injuries, minor angst, hurt/comfort, pining, fluff Note: Merry Christmas @minilev 💕🎄a gift for you for the Christmas exchange hosted by @natesofrellis 💕 I hope you like it, and I hope I caught your deputy just right! This was really a joy to write, and I’m grateful to have this opportunity! Happy holidays! 🎄

The spotty signal of the radio made it hard for the woman to hear the request, and when she asked for them to repeat, she finally understood the caller, “Dep! Deputy Callahan? Do you copy?”

“Go ahead,” she cleared her throat after taking a sip from her canteen. Next, Wheaty requested Callahan to check in on their mutual colleague.

 He told her that Eli had taken off and hadn’t checked in for some time, “I know he can take care of himself, but it’s Christmas. So you know, for me? For the whitetails?” It was easy for Callahan to forget it was the holiday season rolling. People would rather be with loved ones and friends, yet they were fighting for their lives in the cold weather. And the snow was beginning to pillow the land.

After trekking out to the last location Wheaty gave her, it wasn’t too hard to narrow down Eli’s tracks. The snow was just beginning to pick up, not enough to wipe away Eli’s tracks but enough to keep the Peggies and Judges in their godforsaken holes.

She had been trekking in the mountains for some time, alone for once, to clear her mind with all that’s been going on. Her companions had meant to meet her but needed to resupply. So she was okay with this time alone.

The lack of Palmer alarmed her when she noticed a deep shade of red on the frosted ground and tracks. Multiple people. But a rustle behind the deputy caught her attention.

Too hard for the wind, and the wind doesn’t step on leaves; she’s quick to lift her weapon at the source. But a weak and stumbling Eli Palmer dropped his bow when he saw the deputy. Rushing to aid her bloodied friend and comrade.

“Dep,” the word was barely a mutter. Callahan ran to him to hold him before he could collapse.

She felt him wince and keep in a tiny groan when she had him. Her hand was wet with blood.

An exit wound through his shoulder. Likely an arrow from one of Jacob’s hunters.

Maybe the loss of blood, but he looked weary and exhaustsmile at just the sight of her when he peeked up through his unruly hair, ed. Almost in a daze, but the deputy swore she saw him “I’ve never been so happy to see you... Or a familiar face.”

“Damn, Eli! Are you okay?” The worry in her voice was noticeable when she pushed the hair from his face. Callahan ran her fingertips along his bearded cheeks. Even under the unkempt beard, they were cold and growing pale.

She didn’t notice when Eli sighed at the touch, almost following her hand.

“We need to get you back to the Wolf’s Den.”

Instead of her plan, Eli pointed her into the opposite of the Wolf’s Den; he explained in painful breaths, “It’s too far. McClellan's old cabin is up here.” 

Hesitant, Callahan agreed as she held him as best as she could. Unfortunately, the cold and the wind slowed them down just a bit. The man was right about it being closer.

As the deputy helped him up the steps, she asked, “Eli, what happened out there?” “It’s..” Palmer grew silent when Callahan reached for the door of the old cabin, “Bad call.” He answered her once they entered the empty home.

It’s like any other home and cabin in Hope County. A hollow shell with littered papers and dust-covered furniture. 

It was still cold but much warmer than outside. For now, her warm leather would keep her warm. She was more worried about her injured friend.

“I could say that with the cold coming in and you leaving the Wolf’s Den,” There was a slight hint of snark in her tone, but she tried to hide it when she let him go. 

The woman had him sit at a nearby round dining table with only one chair, “What were you doing out here?” 

Eli didn’t answer. His eyes avoided her own brown eyes; clearly, something was eating at him, but he only instructed her to scope out the cabin and find some medicine.

Instead of pressing her injured ally, Callahan checked the home out. The living and dining space were trashed; random papers were along the ground. Likely peggies looking for any legal papers.

With a slight nudge of her boot, she moved broken glass along the baseboards and out the way as she checked the back room and bathroom. The most simple bedroom with dark wood end tables and a matching dresser, and a made bed, untouched by the rough invaders that ravaged the rest of the home. 

Maybe cultists weren’t savages after all.

The bathroom was just as neatly kept. It could be shocking to see it so cleaned even with all the dust and lack of tenants.

Callahan raided the medicine cabinet and sighed with relief when she found a proper solution for Eli’s wound. She felt even more relief when she found a roll of gauze, maybe just enough for her friend. 

When she returned to the living space, Eli was tending to the fireplace, holding his still bleeding shoulder while blowing into the bottom of the grate.

“You know burning coals are just a bit hotter than burning wood?” A random fact as the Whitetail used a poker to shuffle the cold, old wood inside the fireplace. Like luck was on his side, the fire started slowly. 

It gave them just enough light to their space, and Callahan called to him, “You want me to patch that shoulder up?”

He doesn’t look at her. Only at the fireplace as the flames grew with his care. Each of his movements was painful, but he didn’t turn back at the deputy, “Can you believe it’s Christmas?”

“Time flies when you’re surviving,” she motioned him to her. To the seat she left him at before as she prepared for whatever medical attention she could give him. 

Eli was so hesitant, so shameful as he kept his face down. The long, dark locks covering his face.

“May I?” Callahan asked to remove his shirt. When he nodded to her and stood to make it easier, Callahan pulled the fabric up. Listening to a small wince of pain, she quickly apologized, “Are you sure you don’t want me to take you to the Wolf’s Den?”

“I trust you, Cal,” a free hand takes hers and pats it lightly, “Plus it’s gonna get too cold for me to get out there.”

Her eyes followed his and watched his hand for a moment. A tender and careful touch, but one that lasted a little too long. 

It took Eli a moment before pulling away and nodding to the sweet deputy.

With his blessing and guidance, Deputy Callahan began to tend to his wound. Lightly dabbing away the dried blood. It made the Whitetail contain any sounds of pain. His breaths were controlled and deep as she attempted to suture the open wound. Eli even guided her, his hand on hers just for a moment when he did.

 His hold was gentle, the soft drag of his thumb lightly on her knuckles made her chest twist a bit. It’s the lightest touch, tender and reassuring. It’s something she felt before.

The cabin had warmed up a bit when Callahan was finished wrapping the shoulder. She smiled to herself when Eli attempted to move his arm up.

Still, in pain, he praised her, “Not bad, you did good.”

Callahan noted the continued lack of eye contact again, and she pressed him a bit, “Eli, what’s wrong?” She heard a confused hum and asked again, “You never leave the Den, and it’s not like you to be careless. Is everything okay?”

When he didn't answer right away, Eli let out a deep sigh and rubbed his hands hard. He shook his head and his hair with him, “It’s Christmas. I.. thought about all the whitetails stuck with Jacob. Stuck at the Grand View.” She watched as his shoulders tensed, “I thought maybe with the cold, they would be lax in security. I just didn’t want our people to be left alone like that. Not on Christmas.”

Maybe he was feeling guilty. It wasn’t uncommon for resistance members to feel the weight of loss, the loss of their comrades and friends. It didn’t help that it was being dragged out for months and into holidays meant to be spent with loved ones.

“I’m sure I tripped the alarm and caused a lockdown. And worse.” He told her, “I… just wanted to bring some folks home.”

“Eli..” Callahan grabbed his hand carefully. Her scarred hand ran over his to comfort the shaken man, “You couldn’t have known what would happen.”

He went on but kept his face from hers, “No? I came home busted up and failed.” Callahan could hear him exhale a shaken and frustrated breath before he said, “How do you do it?” it confused her what he meant, and he asked how does she keep going when it felt like they were losing.

Callahan didn’t want to talk about herself; she had her own methods and drew strength from her own path. Instead, she asked him the same question, “How do you?” That caught Eli’s attention, his dark eyes peeked through his hair, and he shook his head. It coaxed her to go into more detail, “We’ve been at this for a while. We’re still here.” “I guess that’s true. We have people to fight for,” he answered. His free hand covered hers. Cradling her hands as they held his.

The touch was careful. Fragile even as the deputy inhaled deeply at his tenderness. Eli was hesitant when he lifted her hand to his forehead. She could feel his warm skin now, not at all as cold as before.

Callahan dropped to her knees before she took a hand from him and put it on his wounded shoulder as the deputy asked, “You’re gonna be okay, right?”

“I will be,” his voice was soft, still so gruff and optimistic.

It didn’t stop a slight flush build when Callahan ran her hand up his neck to his cheek, dragging a thumb along his cheekbone. It was rough with his facial hair, but it didn’t matter.

It didn’t matter. Not the terrible cold and the unavoidable danger in the county. The holiday didn’t even matter.

What was important was the company. The safety of her ally and friend. 

A companion whose face Callahan held in her face. Cradling such an unruly man that was mistaken for a Peggie, but yet so much more. 

Eli didn’t stop himself from leaning into Callahan's touch, not when he felt the deputy’s thumb caress his cheeks. Resting his hands on her shoulders, she let out a small sigh when he pressed his forehead to hers.

There was no objection when the deputy felt his nose against her, the slightest and softest touch. It was hesitant till she doesn’t pull from him. It was just them, and there he wouldn’t let her go. Now when the deputy was so close. 

It’s then he finally peeked up. Finally, locking his dark, soulful eyes onto hers. They’re more enthralling than he wanted them to be. Too inciting, her lovely cheeks were warm to his touch.

Like the raging fireplace illuminating their room, Eli’s cheeks were burning, and he was thankful for this beard. But he doesn’t stop to put the faintest kiss on her thumb. So when he felt her shudder a bit when kissed her fingertip, everything in him pulled him to her.

He’d lost so much, and his inspiration brought him his strength. The fire in Cal’s eyes, he was it then when she said his name. A soft and hushed “Eli,” but it makes it sweeter when the young woman’s hands brushed his long hair from his flushed face. His own hands cup her beautiful face.

Her eyes wandered along his face, his eyes, and his lips. Then, watching as he took in deep, shuddering inhales with her touch before grazing his lips against hers and planting the softest kiss on her lips.

It was almost more painful than his shoulder when she held his hair tightly, but it only coaxed him to kiss her more deeply. More desperate when he feel Cal’s fingers in his hair, mewling softly into his kiss.

With a burning intoxication, Eli wrapped his arms around the deputy. Holding her tightly against him, groaning deeply when he felt her tongue along his.

Her enthralling gaze and touch took hold of the Whitetail, or Eli was just weak.

It didn’t matter. They’ll be okay. They had the company.

[3-2-whump]

The Box

A Thomas Costa Backstory, as told by himself. Indented part indicates a flash back. Set during the Key Game era, though I don't know if any of the other flash backs will have any concrete place on the timeline.

Full collection of Thomas Costa Backstories here

TW/CW: slave whump, intimate whumper, blood, whumpee turned whumper (more like whumper, former whumpee), divorce, neglect, death of minor characters mentioned

Khaled had found his box. He wasn’t supposed to go anywhere near the file box that held the physical remains of the man he used to be, but Thomas had caught him red-handed, sitting on his bed with his dog tags, his paperwork, and several old photos of him spread out across the bed. Khaled paled, visibly scooting up the bed and away from the contents of the box as he realized he’d been caught.

In hindsight, Thomas was not proud of his initial reaction. He couldn’t just beat the boy without reason, no matter how much he deserved it for directly disobeying him. He was owed an explanation, at least. Once he had calmed down enough, and once the wound from Khaled’s scalp had stopped cascading blood down his face, he decided to try a different approach.

“You know I told you not to go through that box, boy,” he said.

Khaled lowered the moist washcloth from where it was compressed against his head. What used to be a white washcloth was now dyed a splotchy pinkish-red.

“Why did you go through my box?” he asked. He caught Khaled’s face in his hand before the young man could turn his head away. “Why?” he repeated.

“I… thought it was where you were hiding the key, Master.” Khaled’s confession hardly rose above a whisper. He crossed his legs self-consciously in front of him. “I-I just wanted it off, I’m sorry,” he apologized.

Thomas shook his head. “Just for that, I’ll keep you in that thing a week longer. I will take if off when I am ready, not when you are,” he grumbled. He took the box in hand and started sweeping the stuff on the bed back into the box.

He paused as he was about to collect a certain picture. It was him, his squad –Callahan, Trémeaux, Robinson, Martinez, Kruger, and Kościelsky –and more importantly, his brother Tony’s team, standing around a crude edifice of water and sand and any bits of refuse they could find to fill in the finer details. In the sand in front of the group someone had scratched ‘Merry Xmas 2002.’

Khaled didn’t miss the involuntary smile on his lips as he remembered the sandman. “What is it, Master?” The unspoken request ‘can I see?’ bubbled just beneath Khaled’s inquisitive eyes.

Thomas passed the photo to Khaled. “We were having a slow day on the base, so some of the boys got together to make a snow man. There wasn’t any snow where we were, of course, so we worked with the next best thing!” He proudly poked at the picture with his index finger. “See the lit cigarette sticking out of his mouth? That was my idea,” he boasted.

Khaled hummed, studying the picture a bit more. He poked at the soldier whose arm was slung around the snowman’s shoulder. “Is that you?” he asked.

“Yeah. Nothing gets past you, huh?” Not that it was hard to tell; Thomas hadn’t changed his physical appearance too drastically over the last twenty years. “Think you can find my brother?”

The corners of Khaled’s eyes scrunched up as he concentrated on the old photo in front of him. It took him about three tries until he gave up. Thomas pointed to a skinny brunette leaning on Ferguson’s back. “That’s him. I know, we look nothing alike,” he said, answering Khaled (and everyone else’s) unasked question. “We had different dads, same mom.”

“Oh, um, I’m sorry, Master.”

He looked up from the picture to see Khaled’s frown. “Sorry? What do you mean?”

“Did your dad die, like mine?” Khaled asked hesitantly.

“What- Oh, no, Khaled, my dad is alive!” Well, last he checked, anyway. “My parents are just divorced is all. Same goes for Tony’s dad, he divorced and left us too.”

“Fuck your horse races, fuck your little bastard, and fuck you! Fuck this entire family! I am done, Maria, done!” Those were the last words that Thomas’ stepfather uttered before he never saw him again. In the violent deluge of a summer rain, the man he considered his father wrenched off his wedding ring and threw it at his mother’s feet. He then turned his back on her –on him, on Young Tony (Thomas’ brother and the man’s biological son) –turning away from them as if it were nothing to leave his own blood in the hands of ‘a piss-poor excuse of a mother and a self-absorbed monster without a conscience’. The sound of pounding rain muted his retreating steps.

“Oh…” Khaled’s voice trailed off.

“It’s okay,” Thomas lied. He gently pried the photo out of his hand and stuck it in the box, finally closing the lid as he rose from the bed to put it back underneath them. He redirected his thoughts from his absent father to the old photo. Only five people in that Christmas photo were still alive now, and none of them were his squad or Tony. Maybe one day he would be willing to tell Khaled about the blast. Maybe he would even be willing to tell him about his overreaction that would send him back stateside, right back into the brood of vipers he had sworn to leave behind. But until then, like every other uncomfortable thing about his past, it was just easier for Thomas to put it in a box, shove it under the bed, and forget about it.

Le Tag List: @kabie-whump @rainydaywhump @whumped-by-glitter @skittles-the-whumpee @generic-whumperz @bamber344 @there-will-always-be-blood @morning-star-whump @a-la-whump @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees

[bizaar]

Cruel Summer - Part 11

First - Previous - Next

pairings: Eddie Munson x fem!reader

summary: After breaking up, you and Eddie do your best to soldier on with your lives, but you slowly begin to discover that there is a stronger line of connection keeping you together than just history…

word count: 8k

warnings: swearing, some angst (as always) discussions of closeted queer folk (just in case) probably a lot more - will go back in and edit as needed!

A.N.: I'm back, Chat! After a million years and some change, I really hope you like this chapter even though to me it feels a tad like filler, so sorry it took so long to get back into the swing of things!! - Also, my taglist is broken, so if you would like to be put on it for the chapters going forward, please let me know!

To call the last few days a blur would be an understatement, more so considering how everything that had happened over the course of the last few hours could have filled the duration of those days themselves. 

And everything happened so fast, events falling into place one after the other in such quick succession that Dustin has barely had time to process all the steps he’d taken down the road since he and Max first left his house in search of Eddie – in search of you. 

Presently, he’s stuck trying to rationalize just how he’d come to find himself sitting huddled on the Wheeler’s sofa, stuffed in between Max and Lucas under the tense scrutiny of the Hawkins PD and the worried coterie of their parents.

Though perhaps “how” is not the question, but why, considering he knows exactly how it happened: they found Eddie, then they lost him, and after a very tense few hours, subsequently found him again, camped out with you at Skull Rock, looking very much like you’d been to hell and back.

From there their road circled back to Lover’s Lake, and now here they find themselves, in police custody with half of their party lost to the gate beneath the water.

It’s the closest thing Dustin can imagine to a worst-case scenario.

That’s not true, he tells himself, Eddie’s still in the clear, so it’s not all bad… not yet…

Still, it’s beyond bizarre to be sitting and getting lectured on the Wheeler’s sofa with Mike so far removed all the way in California.

Karen is nice, sure, and Ted is … well, Ted is Ted, hardly intimidating, but something about being under the direct scrutiny of the Wheelers and the Sinclairs and his mother and the Hawkins PD, all of whom he is actively lying to, has Dustin sinking further and further into the plush cushions in the hopes of somehow shrinking out of existence.

How badly he wishes he was anywhere but here. 

It’s not that he’s intimidated or anything so foolish, particularly by the bespectacled likes of Officer Callahan, only that Dustin is painfully aware of how this looks, their merry band of misfits camped out at the water’s edge directly opposite an active crime scene with binoculars in hand. Worse still, he’s painfully aware of how it sounds.

“What were you kids doing out at the lake?” Callahan asks.

It’s as good a question as any, but it leaves the lot of them reeling with just exactly how to answer it.

What are they supposed to tell them, the truth? That they were busy sending half their party through an interdimensional gate at the bottom of the lake to the Upsidedown?

No.

Under absolutely no circumstances will he be telling them the truth, not unless he wants to see the inside of a padded cell.

He could have told Hopper the truth (or at least some summarized version of it), but Hopper isn’t here, so Dustin and his friends open their mouths and all begin to speak at once as they fumble for some sort of credible answer as to what they were doing out at the lake. 

“Swimming—” Dustin says immediately.

Max shrugs her shoulders and offers what would have been the most practical answer…  

“Nothing—”

… if not for what came tumbling out of Lucas’s mouth.

“Taking a long romantic walk under the moonlight?” He squeaks, voice lilting an octave higher as his sentence comes to a close, making the statement sound much more like a question than anything else.   

The silence in the room is deafening, and Dustin suppresses a wince, fully aware of just how well and truly cooked their collective gooses are as he exchanges a horrified glance with you, sitting in a plush chair opposite the couch, wide-eyed and gaping at him from the other side of the room.  

It’s a wonder you’re even here, considering Dustin had been sure that you’d go right along with the others, but in a stunning turn of events, you’d elected to stay behind.

It was because, as you said; “I’m the babysitter, it’s literally my job…” – Dustin had been decidedly pleased about that, in stark contrast to Eddie, who had just about capsized the boat right there on the shore trying to reach for your hand.

“Don’t be silly,” He’s insisted, despite how unbelievably practical you were being. “There’s plenty of room,” There was not, as had been evidenced by Dustin’s own rejected application to join the expedition. “– come on,” 

But there was no arguing with you, as was always the case when your mind was made up. For as many reasons as Eddie could drum up for you to go, you had just as many reasons to stay, the least of those being that you were injured. 

“I’ll only slow you down,” You’d assured him with a slow shake of your head, “It’s gonna be fine, we’ll be waiting right here when you get back.” 

It’s yet another thing that is driving Dustin to the very edge of anxiety-induced nausea: they won’t be there waiting on the shore when the others get back … if they get back.

The adults are still gawping at their little group, eyes wide as dinner plates in patent disbelief of their swimming–nothing–romantic moonlit walk at the lake. 

“It was kind of, sort of a … field trip scenario…” Dustin says, gesturing flippantly as he fumbles through the poor excuse for an explanation. 

“To the lake…” Callahan deadpans.

“Yeah…”

“In the middle of the night…”

It’s less a question than an accusation.

Dustin resists the urge to correct the deputy, considering it’s hardly the middle of the night, and he nods, swallowing hard against the cotton blooming in his throat. 

“...I mean, it’s Spring Break.” he croaks, “...No school…”  

“Dusty…” His mother presses, “Somebody was just murdered there!”

It sets his teeth on edge.

“We didn’t know that at the time.” He insists, well aware of just how lame this all sounds. 

Desperate to claw back some shred of credibility, he elbows Lucas in the ribs. It startles the boy to attention and his head snaps around to regard Dustin with an incredulous look, as if to ask what the hell am I supposed to say?

Max takes the hint for him. 

“What’s the big deal?” She starts, “So, we were down at the lake — it’s called healing your inner child, look it up.” 

On the other end of the couch, Dustin is vaguely aware of hearing you breathe out harshly, muttering something that sounds very much like “Oh, boy…”

Before he can stop this snowball from rolling, Lucas is nodding emphatically, suddenly very eager to add his two cents to the notion. 

“Right, w-we were just trying to …” he trails off, swallowing hard as the rest of his sentence escapes him, and then, “… yeah, like Max said… do that.” 

If Dustin thought the first silence was deep, this one is a yawning chasm of infinite depth. They’re great at this, actually, not at all amateurish.  

“Right…” Powell says slowly, “...and this has absolutely nothing to do with Eddie Munson?”

Once again, they’re all speaking simultaneously, shaking their heads, gesticulating, and doing anything in their power to make themselves even remotely believable.

No really, they’re doing great.  

“No, not at all.”

“Of course not.”

And then, because this is already going so well, Dustin opens his big mouth.

“That weirdo?” He scoffs, refusing to refer to Eddie by any harsher language, and cringing at the way his voice breaks on the word, “We don’t even know the guy.”  

Erica Sinclair erupts into a bark of incredulous laughter from her position in the far corner of the room, and Dustin realizes his mistake the moment the words leave his mouth. 

Erica… how could he have forgotten about Erica, who very recently had been caught up in the brief euphoria of reading from the Good Book of Eddie Munson.

Erica, who has just caught Dustin in what is perhaps the most blatant lie he has ever told and is trying her damnedest to strike him dead with the daggers she’s hurling in his direction from the other side of the room. 

Oh, whoops… it’s the understatement of the century. 

“You know they’re lying, right?” She snarls, “The whole couch is on fire.” 

Her mother is quick to silence her with a harsh utterance of her name. 

Dustin can’t help but feel a sharp stab of betrayal as he gawps at the younger Sinclair.

He’d thought, perhaps foolishly, that their triumphant victory against Vecna during the last Hellfire meeting would be some kind of a turning point for their friendship. 

He kicks himself for being so naive and sinks a little further into the couch, pouting as she sneers back at him.  

To make matters worse, the police are clearly not buying what they’re attempting to sell. Chief Powell and Officer Callahan exchange wary looks before, slowly, their gazes slide across the couch and over to you.

You begin to fidget under their collective scrutiny, doing your utmost to look anywhere in the room besides directly at the officers. 

It’s only when Powell addresses you with the firm and formal usage of Miss followed by your last name that you finally look at him.

It takes him what feels like a very long time to speak.  

“Care to chime in?” He finally asks, gesturing to the absolutely bafoonery of the couch.

You glance at Dustin, and he feels a stab of anxiety lance through his midsection as he fails to decipher the unreadable look splashed across your face. 

Your attention snaps back over to the police when Powell repeats his overly formal addressing of you, the well of his patience growing ever shallower. 

You pull an innocent face and gesture dumbly to yourself. 

“Me?” You chirp, like you can’t imagine how they could possibly think you’re involved in this. 

You? No, surely not you, who had pulled Dustin and the rest into a quick huddle and quietly instructed them on how best to lie to the cops when they’d found themselves ambushed at the lake.

Dustin had been caught somewhere halfway between impressed and appalled, but he’d stopped himself before the question could even take root in his mind: how do you know anything about lying to the cops?

Eddie. Naturally.  

Officer Callahan doesn’t seem to have the same patience as his direct superior for your act. He heaves an overdramatic sigh and rolls his eyes behind his glasses.

“No,” he scoffs, “The other delinquent in the room.” 

The mask of innocence slips immediately from your face as you level the man with a hateful look.

“Oh, sure.” You snap, “Because name-calling is the best way to ensure cooperation — real mature, Phil…” 

“Wha— how did you—?” Callahan splutters indignantly before clamping his mouth shut and setting his jaw. 

Strangely, Chief Powell coughs harshly into a closed fist, and Dustin only realizes that the man is masking a chuckle when his deputy levels him with a dour look.

After a moment to collect himself, Callahan returns to you and shrugs. 

“Okay, fine – why don’t we put you in a pair of handcuffs and take you down to the station, see if that makes you feel any more cooperative.”

You blanch at the prospect and Dustin’s heart seizes in his chest in outrage. Before he can leap to your defense, however, the Sinclairs and Wheelers alike erupt into loud protests of the notion.

The collective vitriol of the adults is enough to cause Callahan to balk and suddenly he’s standing a little less tall. 

“Oh, really, Officer!” Dustin’s mother tuts, “There’s no need for that — I’m sure whatever it was they were doing was completely innocent,” 

He’s not entirely certain how sure she is of that, but evidently enough that she’s managed to overcome the horror she’d previously been experiencing at the thought of them going down to the lake where someone was just murdered. 

Still, considering you’re more or less an honorary member of the Henderson household, she goes on to paint a shining picture of you, insisting that you are a good girl – responsible.

The others respond with varying degrees of enthusiastic agreement and Dustin’s chest swells with warm, golden pride. 

Damn right. 

While you were only ever officially his babysitter, it never stopped the Sinclairs from asking you to carpool Lucas and Erica to and from school twice a week, or Karen Wheeler from enlisting you to look after Holly when she had the odd errand to run – though perhaps more specifically, covering for her last summer and remaining the soul of discretion when a momentary slip in judgment regarding a certain public pool lifeguard had seen her very nearly destroying her marriage and perhaps by greater extension her family as a whole. 

Karen Wheeler would have defended you like one of her own children if it came down to it, as is evidenced by the way she comes flying to your rescue.

“She’s their babysitter, for God’s sake.” She scoffs, gesturing toward you in a way that makes the chunky bracelets sitting on her slender wrists clack loudly together, “She takes the boys to the arcade and plays that …fantasy game with them – I mean, really… what kind of trouble could they possibly be getting into?” 

Unfortunately, as Dustin realizes too late, the Hawkins PD happens to know exactly what kind of trouble you could be getting into, and they are all too happy to share.

“Listen, folks…” Chief Powell sighs, taking the floor and rubbing a tired hand over his face, “I’m sure you mean well, but I’m afraid that your word just isn’t enough – the fact of the matter is that your babysitter has been caught trespassing at two active crime scenes in about as many days.” 

Callahan is quick to chime in.

“Not to mention she’s a known associate of Eddie Munson.”

Dustin bristles. He’d been waiting for that shoe to drop, and now that it has, he feels a thin sheet of ice beginning to form across his stomach lining. 

A sticky silence falls heavily over the room as the adults all exchange bewildered looks. Not even Karen knows what to do with that reveal.  

“What does that mean?” Charles Sinclair demands, brows furrowed tightly as he turns a hard eye on Lucas, as if his son somehow held the answer. 

He freezes like a deer in headlights, but Erica is more than happy to explain, pushing forward to stand in front of her father and remind everyone that she is still there, hands propped up on her hips as she levels you with a particularly snotty look. 

“It means he’s her boyfriend.” She drawls, peering back at the denizens of the couch and looking entirely too pleased with herself. 

Dustin’s heart seizes with terror. 

How the hell does she know that?

“Shut up, Erica!” Lucas hisses.

She reels on him.

“You shut up!” she snaps, and her mother quickly admonishes her for it.

“Erica!” She hisses. 

“What? It’s true – I used to see them at the mall all the time, swapping spit, sticking their tongues down each other’s throats… you know, making out?” She makes a show of visibly shuddering before twisting to address you, sitting mortified with your hands fisted in your hair and your face flushed crimson, “You guys are super nasty, by the way…” 

“Er-i-ca!” Her mother warns her sharply.

She puts up her hands defensively and retreats a step.

“It’s just the facts!”  

Still, the sentiment causes a nervous murmur to pass through the adults… you and Eddie Munson?

Apparently, your dating habits had been as shrouded in mystery to them as it had been to Dustin, and unfortunately, they are less likely to be as forgiving about it. 

His mother’s voice quavers as she turns to you and quietly says your name. He watches as, in spite of yourself, you shrink back a little further into the cushions as if you yourself had been hoping that information would not come to light.

“Is that true?” She squeaks.

You don’t answer right away, but to your credit, when you do you try to laugh it off.

“Which part?” You scoff, “The dating thing or that incredibly vivid description Erica just painted for us?”

The attempt at humor falls short on the adults, and in the silence that follows, Dustin can’t help but feel a little angry at how ridiculous this all is.

True, the descriptors were a bit much, Dustin doesn’t need to be picturing that any more than he already had been, but they’re all acting like she’d placed you at the scene as an accomplice to the murders, like you and Eddie are some kind of modern teenaged versions of Bonnie and Clyde, which is ridiculous – Eddie wouldn’t harm a fly, and if anything the truth bomb Erica just set off in the middle of the room means you’re the one who can personally vouch for that.

It would be a pointless endeavor, of course, they’re only going off of what they know of Eddie’s reputation, one that is currently telling them that he is a cold-blooded killer going on a rampage through the Hawkins High School student body…

Dustin feels himself begin to sweat. 

Suddenly everyone is holding their breath to see how you will react, and how everyone else will if the truth comes out. 

“...Technically we broke up…” you mumble sheepishly, tugging a the hem of your worn t-shirt.

The room erupts in a cacophony of noise.     

All at once, the Wheelers and the Sinclairs find themselves split down the middle over whether they find that information credible, waffling between thrusting accusatory fingers at you, at the police, at the couch, and every direction in between.

Ted Wheeler and Charles Sinclair demand to know if they’re lying to the police and what kind of trouble you’re getting their kids involved in, and their wives insist on returning to the rescue of your character, assuring the men that this is all a huge misunderstanding and that you would never dream of putting their children in danger.

Boy, if they only knew the truth.

Dustin’s mother begins to weep, wailing about the state of her poor nerves, all the while you sink further and further into the cushions and do your best to become invisible.

It’s a madhouse.

Dustin wishes, not for the first time, that he was back on the shore of the lake, and silently hopes Eddie and the others are having a better time than they are. 

Wherever they are, he hopes they are okay.

+++

Eddie is absolutely positively not okay. He can’t speak for the others, who all seem to be doing a much better job at handling the whole “crossing through a portal into another dimension” thing.

They’re calling it the Upsidedown like it’s the next town over, like they simply hopped in the car and drove down the interstate to arrive in this bizarro version of Hawkins with monsters and nasty shit.  

They’ve apparently been through this before, so Nancy says, and Eddie can’t even begin to wrap his head around what that could possibly mean.

That they’ve swum to the bottom of the lake where someone has just been psychically murdered and passed through to another dimension only to narrowly avoid being eaten alive by a swarm of demonic bats? Somehow he highly doubts it’s that specific, though only because he’s having a very hard time coming to terms with the fact that basically, everything he thought he ever knew about Hawkins is complete and utter bullshit.

Eddie supposes he always knew Hawkins was one of those places, the cliche of the happy little midwestern town pretending everything is nice and shining and wholesome meanwhile grandma’s skeleton is rotting in the hall closet. He’d always assumed there was something going on just beneath the shining veneer, just not on the level of “a literal hell realm existing right beneath his feet”.

Nancy is maddeningly calm about all this as if she didn’t just go diving into the pitch black of the unknown to rescue Steve, or rip off the bottom panel of her blouse and tie a tourniquet around his midsection to keep his guts from spilling out.

Harrington himself is taking the whole “almost being eaten alive” thing in stride in a really frustrating way, already walking and talking like someone died and made him king of the goddamn Upsidedown.

In fact, the only one who seems even remotely in the realm of appropriately manic about this whole thing is Robin, talking a mile a minute about rabies and the logistics of bat bites in the Upsidedown, but as far as Eddie knows, Robin is just like that.

Naturally manic, naturally caffeinated, probably on some kind of prescription drug like Ritalin if he had to guess… not that he’d hold any of that against her, Robin’s cooler than most. 

They’d had intermediate band together one semester before he realized he’d actually be expected to wear that stupid uniform and dropped out.

They’d even been somewhere halfway to friends during that brief period of time, though that “friendship” could be summed up to nothing more than the casual snide, sarcastic remarks during class, a joke here and there, and one instance of Robin getting way too high on half a joint they’d smoked under the bleachers.

It resulted in her becoming paranoid that Eddie was trying to get into her pants, which he most certainly was not, and inadvertently coming out to him in a moment of panic.

He swore to take her secret to his grave, quit showing up to class, and they didn’t speak again until she came riding in alongside everyone else on Dustin’s little rescue mission.

Eddie wonders if she remembers any of that… 

He supposes it doesn’t really matter in the grand scheme of things, particularly since Eddie seems to be the only sane one among them, which is to say the only one teetering on the edge of losing his shit, and it’s really pissing him off because none of this is normal. 

It’s a fucking nightmare.

Beyond the dark, however, the perpetual red lightning storm, the alien network of hive-minded vines, and literal goddamn monsters trying to kill them, Eddie is, foolishly, most concerned about you, as always. 

He’s well aware of just how stupid that is, to worry about you up on the surface with all the subterranean dangers that pose a direct threat to his life and limb - he’s not even sure that’s the correct way to quantify it, but it sure as hell seemed like he’d swum through the bottom of the lake and crawled out on the other side of the world. 

He wishes more than anything that you were here if only because then at least he’d have someone who he could turn to and know with confidence would agree, “Yes, Edward, this is in fact insane.” 

Normally he rails against the utterance of his government name because the only people who call him that are typically authority figures preparing to dole out some sort of capital punishment, or his mother when she was royally pissed at him – “Edward Munson if you think I’m about to let that slide you have got another thing coming,”.

And you, of course, though you only ever do so with the utmost fondness… and very often in an affected English accent, which despite being one of the worst impressions he’s ever heard, Eddie actually likes very much.

What he wouldn’t give to have you right here, trying to liven the mood by doing that stupid accent. He can almost hear you chewing through it. 

“We’re in a right mess, innit, Edward?” You’d say, “Pip-pip cheerio and the lot…” or whatever. 

Still, a decent-sized part of Eddie’s brain is attempting to crawl out of his skull and abandon him to the madness of this place, and imagining all the ways you would try to make the situation seem less dire if you were there is doing nothing to help.

Because you’re not there.

Why in the hell hadn’t you come with them in the boat? 

He knows why, of course, rationally so – there was no room, someone needed to stay with the kiddos, and most of all you’re hurt – but there are spiders in his skull, skittering around and irrationally whispering that the real reason you stayed behind was that after everything that happened, you couldn’t wait to get away from him. 

A larger part of Eddie than he is ready to acknowledge is pissed about it because you’d only just finished agreeing not to split up anymore.

Together is better, you’d promised him that, but another part of him understands why you might be desperate to get away. 

First Chrissy, then Patrick? He’s got to be cursed, why else would he be made to bear witness to those deaths? 

Eddie is laden with the feeling, wrestling with the guilt and the misplaced anger and the confusion, and everything else his body is trying to feel all at once as he trudges through the nightmarish woods.

Step by aimless step he follows, careful to avoid the network of vines and the concerned gazes of unlikely companions, who all continue to treat this like it’s nothing more than a casual stroll through the woods, like this is just another Tuesday. 

Is it Tuesday? He has no idea what day it is… and he can’t stop thinking about you, playing the moment on the shore over and over in his mind. Thinking about the way he’d reached for your hand, and how instead of taking it you’d carefully curled his fingers back in on themselves, shaking your head and insisting you’d only slow them down. 

“Hey, you doing okay?”

The voice startles Eddie, wrenching him violently – thankfully – from the mire of his thoughts.

Steve is there, giving him a strangely concerned look, having fallen back into step with him at some point over the last few contemplative minutes. 

Eddie blinks back at him, not entirely sure how to answer and wondering just how long he’s been there. He almost doesn’t realize he’d asked him a question until Steve’s brows jump up toward his hairline. 

“Me?” Eddie scoffs, he briefly considers lying, but the truth is out before the notion can really take hold, “No, Man. I’m pretty goddamn far from okay.”  

Harrington nods solemnly, in a way that seems, weirdly enough, almost remorseful, like it’s his fault they’re down here in this mess… which, it technically is, if they’re pointing fingers here.

True, Eddie didn’t have to follow them out of the boat, he could have sat there and waited for them to come back, but he knew they weren’t coming back, and he didn’t have to swim to the bottom of the lake, he could have just as easily swum to shore …

It hits him like a brick to the face.

Why the hell didn’t he swim to shore? 

Steve casts his gaze down to his feet, exposing the dark, angry ligature marks ringing his throat and Eddie fails to suppress a shudder.

That’s why – because Steve was in trouble, and some repressed kernel of do-right in Eddie, the same one that drove him over the side of the boat and down into the depths to the bottom of the lake, wanted to help.

Or at least it didn’t want the shame of having to look Robin and Nancy in the eyes if he didn’t help and the bats went and pulled Steve’s head off anyway.

Ego is a funny thing, sanity even more so, because as crazy as it had seemed at the time to dive in after Robin, crazier still was the concept that had he not, it could have resulted in yet another death – or deaths, perhaps – that he would have been indirectly responsible for.

Still, his body is still thrumming with adrenaline from the fight, and not in the good, buzzy way either.

He’s been picking at the blackened, drying blood on his hands for the better part of an hour now, and part of him has started to wonder if it’s ever going to come off, if any of the blood on his hands is ever going to wash away. 

Before he can get very far down the road with that line of thinking, Steve tries again.

“Thanks for this… by the way,” he says, plucking at the collar of Eddie’s battle vest sitting across his broad-shouldered form in a sorry state.

It’s filthy, splattered with ichor and viscera, and several patches have torn loose, much to Eddie’s dismay, but it’s the strangest combination of freezing cold and unbearably humid down there, wherever they are.

The way he figures, Steve needs it more than he does – that and it’s the only thing shielding their eyes from the knitted sweater he has got sprouting from his chest.

He basically had to hand it over, if for nothing more than modesty’s sake. 

Still, the sentiment startles him– gratitude? Really? 

Unaccustomed to basic human pleasantries from the likes of Steve Harrington, he finds himself at a loss and he suppresses the urge to twist around and make sure he’s actually talking to him.

For lack of anything else to do, he gives a lopsided shrug and gestures vaguely.

“Oh… yeah – no worries.” He stammers, “Least I could do.”

“...And thanks for... s-saving me… that was–” Steve clears his throat in an attempt to keep his voice steady – it’s awkward, “Yeah… anyway. Thanks for that.”

Eddie gestures vaguely, suddenly unsure of whether he wants the burden of Steve’s gratitude. 

“Wheeler did all the work, I just tried to stay out of her way…” He mumbles, “She’s badass,”

Steve chuckles in a way that feels oddly secretive.

“You have no idea.” He says. 

Of course, Eddie can’t possibly know what that means, but it’s compelling, nonetheless, and entirely true. 

He makes a mental note of it in the Rolodex of his mind:

Wheeler, Nancy: Good grades, pastels, kinda prissy. Dated that douchebag, Steve Harrington – Badass. 

A sticky silence bleeds between them after that, and Eddie passes the time stealing a handful of looks at Steve, casually walking alongside him, on purpose. 

He can’t help be feel ever so slightly amazed. 

If his shitty friends could see him now – only he’s fairly certain Steve isn’t friends with his shitty friends anymore, at least so he’d heard.

Normally it wouldn’t be enough to wash away the history of torment between them. Steve had, for a time, been the driving force behind a campaign to make Eddie’s life a living hell, but this situation is just too bizarre, too outlandish to discount – there might be some merit to Dustin’s hero worship of the guy after all.  

Suddenly he can’t help himself. 

“That was pretty metal what you did back there…” Eddie posits, and when Steve casts a curious look his way, he continues with tentative enthusiasm, “Biting that thing’s head off? Major Ozzy energy.”

Steve furrows his brow. 

“…huh?”

Uh oh. In an instant, the feeling is gone, replaced by the much less desirable panic of an impending social failure. 

Eddie scrambles to explain himself and bridge the valley between their interests. 

“Ozzy Osbourne?” He tries to no avail, “Bit a bat’s head off on –?” Steve’s face remains unbearably blank, so Eddie abandons ship for his own sake, “Nevermind…” he hums, “It was – yeah, it was cool…” 

Another one of those awkward silences falls heavily across their shoulders, and because he’s never learned to leave well enough alone, Eddie simply cannot leave it undisturbed. 

Surely Steve has got to know what he’s talking about, even if only indirectly. It’s not like Ozzy is an obscure reference. 

“You know Ozzy though, right?” He tries, “Black Sabbath?” 

He pulls a face and shakes his head, much to Eddie’s chagrin.  

Shit. Okay, lesson learned. 

Harrington, Steve: Fucking jerk. Worshipped by Henderson. Doesn’t know who Ozzy Osbourne is. 

He dismisses the notion too late.

“Don’t worry about it.”

Thankfully, they are not doomed to yet another unbearable silence as Steve quickly changes the subject, sweeping the interaction away with a wave of his hand.

“Hey, so… look, I’m sorry for what I did back there… starting that fight between you and...” He trails off when he realizes the reference has flown right over Eddie’s head, “Back in the boat house?”

Oh. He doesn't know how to respond to that. Eddie is not entirely sure anyone has ever apologized to him for anything... ever.  

Still, it strikes him as an odd thing to say. 

Almost everything Steve has ever said to him has been something worth apologizing over, but try as he might, Eddie can’t think of any particularly noteworthy zingers from the last few days.

And he does try, wracking his brain and coming up empty – but he doesn’t trust it, whatever this is, so Eddie levels Steve with an unimpressed look. 

“So, this is the part where you get all mushy and remorseful because you almost died, right?” He starts slowly, “You’re gonna tell me you’re sorry for being such a fucking asshole back in the day and I'm just supposed to forgive you because you almost had your head pulled off?” 

Strangely, it doesn’t elicit the expected response - no defensive comebacks, no biting retorts, just a weighted sigh that carries the heavy burden of guilt. 

“Oh, shit… wait, seriously?” 

Steve runs a hand through his hair, which is still somehow maddeningly perfectly coiffed – it makes Eddie feel frizzy and unkempt. 

“Look, we’re not in high school anymore…” He starts, then stops like he’s only just remembered that isn’t expressly true, “– well, you know what I mean…”

“Careful.” Eddie warns. 

Steve forces out a hard, frustrated breath and rolls his eyes – he’s barely even begun to make his point and he’s already fallen flat on his face. 

“What I mean is that there are bigger things happening here,” He huffs, “It kind of puts things into perspective and makes all the stupid petty shit seem…” He trails off as he searches for the right word.

Eddie is more than happy to help.

“...Stupid and petty?” He offers.

“Exactly. I was an asshole – I’m still an asshole, and I’m working on it, but some old habits die harder than others–”

“Clearly,”

Steve clenches his teeth and flexes his jaw and apparently resists the urge to make some kind of snide remark, electing instead to swallow the blow and nod.

He's doing it on purpose, and Steve knows that as well as Eddie does, even if it's not an overt show of effort. Part of him figures if he can get under Steve's skin and rile him up, it will make him drop whatever bullshit act this is and they can go back to hating each other like normal. But try as he might he can't seem to break him.

This may, in fact, be a genuine show of remorse. 

He can’t make heads or tails of it, except that Steve had very nearly died less than an hour ago, and nothing sets someone’s head on straight like facing the precipice.

Eddie can’t help but feel a little more than dumbfounded, because this has never happened even in his wildest flights of fancy. He almost can’t believe it, and what’s more, part of him knows he shouldn’t believe it.

He should know better, that at any moment the rug will be pulled from beneath his feet and he’ll find out it’s nothing more than a big elaborate joke, he’ll be doused in pig’s blood and find out he’s not actually the Prom Queen, and that will be that. 

Still, he seems genuine, as if Eddie would know what genuine even looks like one Steve.

Maybe Robin’s right and those bats are affecting him in stranger ways than they realize.

“I guess what I’m trying to say,” Steve continues, “Is that I treated you like shit and you didn’t deserve it, and I’m sorry about that.” he averts his gaze then and gestures vaguely in Eddie’s directly, “I mean, Henderson says your decent, and he’s usually a pretty good judge of character...” 

Eddie fails to repress a sardonic snort of laughter, though not at Steve so much as the concept of Dustin being a good judge of character when he's out here double teaming friendships with people who are meant to be enemies. 

“Is he though?” He presses.

Steve fails to repress a smirk and shrugs broad shoulders beneath torn, dingy denim.

“Yeah– well. The kid’s biased, anyway, he’s pretty much obsessed with you." He mutters, "It’s annoying as hell.”

It strikes Eddie that this is the first real conversation he’s ever had with Steve that didn’t involve him antagonizing him one way or another. 

Still, he can't help himself

“Don’t tell me Steve Harrington, arguable deposed King of Hawkins High, is jealous of the town freak?”

Steve pulls a face, brows pinched tight over his eyes and glares back at him.

“Don’t be a dick," He says, though his tone is oddly not malicious, "This is embarrassing for me, okay? I’m opening up here.”    

Part of him wants to hold Steve on the hook for it, out of some long-buried yearning for payback for all the shit he has put him through over the years, but in spite of everything and against his better judgment, Eddie suddenly feels a bizarre, misplaced fondness for the guy. 

You used to say that Steve was a mean girl with a God complex, but looking at him now, Eddie can see he's really never been much more than a big fish in a small pond.

Popular kids who don’t extend their shelf life by way of scholarships and collegiate glory tend to fizzle out and implode, and Eddie imagines that every day Steve spends in Hawkins, that little pond gets a little smaller, and he shines a little less brightly.

“So…" Eddie begins tentatively, crossing his arms over his chest and hugging his biceps, "You’ve been holding on to this for a long time, huh? The guilt?”

Steve mirrors his posture and casts his gaze down to his feet, shaking his head.

“You have no idea.” He chuckles.

Eddie scoffs.

“Don’t I?” He counters, “Guilt is my bread and butter, Man… I was raised on that shit.” 

He doesn't seem to know what to do with that knowledge. The sheer valley between their upbringings is evidently too wide a gap to bridge, so Steve pivots and yet again changes the subject.

“So, are you and the Psycho getting back together or what?”

It only takes Eddie half a moment to realize Steve is talking about you.

He gives him a terse look of warning, but when Steve raises his hands in an show of no offense, Eddie shrugs. 

Before he can think better about divulging the intricacies of his lingering heartbreak to the likes of Steve Harrington, the words come tumbling out. 

“I don’t know…” Eddie hums, “Things are pretty much fucked in that department.”

“What’s the problem?”

He swings his foot to kick at a rock, send it skittering across the forest floor, but remembers where they are and thinks better of it at the last moment, electing instead to roll in under his shoe as he passes it over.

“It just feels different now. Kind of like we’re just pretending…” 

Another one of those heavy pauses passes between them.

“Hey, listen, Man, I don’t wanna step on your toes or anything, but you guys broke up." Steve says, "Things are always gonna be different the second time around. That doesn’t make it any less real. Don’t be so goddamn cynical–” 

It's hardly a blow, but in spite of himself, Eddie bristles. He levels Steve with a hard, armored look. 

“Look, don’t patronize me, okay? I’ve got no delusions about what I did. I made my bed, now I’ve gotta be a big boy and burn it.”

“I don’t think that’s the saying.”

“You know what I mean.” He snaps.  

He supposes Steve means well, but Eddie can’t help but get defensive. It's like he said ... old habits and the like. 

Still, Steve meets his gaze stares back at him long enough to make him regret his tone. Long enough even to make Eddie uncomfortable with the proximity, and so he clears his throat, averting his gaze and staring down at his sneakers, tinged nearly black from the ichor of bat’s blood.

He realizes with a start that Steve is still barefoot and wonders how much further they've got to go before they're out of this mess. 

“Did you cheat on her?” Steve asks suddenly.

It hits Eddie like a fist to the gut.

“No,” He says immediately, feeling ever so slightly winded.

Steve nods then, pursing his lips like he understands what happened.

“Got in a fight and called her a bitch or something?” He says, "That's what did Tommy and Carol in–"

The notion makes Eddie's heart seize in his chest because beyond the fact that it makes him sick to have his relationship (or lack-thereof) compared to the likes of Tommy Hagan and Carol Perkins, he would never stoop so low, no matter how angry he was, no matter what you did.

He may have been raised with a shocking lack of social skills, but Wayne had made damn sure that he knew better.

Of course, Steve could never know something like that, but he can’t help the way it leaves him bristling.  

“No.”

Steve continues to nod slowly, then pauses a moment like he has to really process the information before he knows what to do with it.   

“What was it then?" He asks, "What’d you do?”

“Nothing –” Eddie insists, feeling suddenly foolish for how defensive he sounds because it wasn’t nothing and Steve can see that as well as anyone, “I broke up with her – and I was kind of a major prick about it… I mean, not just kind of… I was mean about it.”

“Why?”

He’s loath to admit it, but now that the stopper is out, it’s hard to put it back in, and the truth comes spilling out.

“... I got scared…” Eddie mumbles, crossing his arms tighter over his chest and reaching up to tug at a snarled lock of his hair.

“Scared of what?” 

Eddie exhales harshly under the duress of this bizarre interrogation, hating the way he can feel his guts seizing up. When he got in the boat that evening, he didn't expect he was going to have to relieve all the mistakes of his recent past.

“Jesus, what are you some kind of cop? You’re kind of intense, you know that?”

Steve rolls his eyes and makes a chattering little mouth of his hand to mimic Eddie’s whining.

“Quit deflecting and just answer the goddamn question, Munson – what scared you bad enough to end your annoyingly perfect relationship?”

He could almost laugh out loud at the concept of Steve not only referring to his relationship with you as perfect, but apparently to the point of being annoyed by it. 

“Perfect relationship?” Eddie splutters, “What the hell are you talking about?”  

“Come on, Man – she and I used to run in the same circle, remember? I was there when you showed up. Don’t pretend you didn’t come in and sweep her off her feet like something out of a goddamn movie.”

It takes Eddie a moment longer than he'd like to admit to realize Steve is teasing him. Once again, he doesn't know what to do with that information.

Finally, Steve prods him sharply in the chest in a way that could almost be construed as good natured.

“What happened with you two?”

“Nothing happened…" Eddie insists, and wills himself to shut up about it after that, but now that he’s started he can’t stop, "That’s the problem." Goddammit. "It was the same as it always was and I started getting scared that it was getting too good to last … that she was gonna wake up one day and realize everybody’s right about me.” 

The silence the follows is deafening with Eddie's confession hanging in the air between them. He braces himself for a tirade of teasing and razzing and all the other kinds of verbal abuse he can expect from anyone else in this town, but instead Steve just nods sagely.

“So you pushed her away – hurt her before she could hurt you and inadvertently proved that everybody is right about you? That sound about right?”

It's the kind of observation he might have expected Wayne to make, if he'd actually had to stones to open up to him about what happened with you like this, and it leaves Eddie reeling.

Well… what do you know, turns out Steve Harrington is actually pretty goddamn insightful.  

For lack of anything better to do and more than just a little bit indignant at being so easily read, Eddie stuffs his hands into his pockets and pushes his shoulders up toward his ears.  

“Pretty much.” He sniffs.

“You fucked up,” Steve says matter-of-factly.

“Sure did.”    

“...And what about that makes it so unforgivable that things are never going to be okay again? How come she's never gonna forgive you?”    

Eddie shrugs and wonders idly how getting trapped in another dimension had turned into receiving a lecture about love.

“Because I broke her heart.”

Steve scoffs.  

“Nah, that’s bullshit.” He says, dismissing the notion with a flippant wave, “It’s a speed bump."

Eddie realizes too late he's staring at Steve when he quirks one of those thick eyebrows at him.

"What, you’ve never gone over a speed bump? No way, I've seen the way you drive." He says, and then all the teasing goes out of him and he becomes the one things Eddie never expected to see, sincere.

"Listen," Steve starts, "I know for whatever reason you can’t see it, but ask anyone here – she’s crazy about you, Man. Trust me. Apologize for whatever you said, or whatever you didn’t say – don’t roll your eyes, that goes a long way with girls – and let her know how you feel.”

Eddie shakes his head, more than a little frustrated that he could think it’s as simple as that, like he hasn’t tried apologizing again and again and blanketing you in his affection – smothering you, more like. 

“I’ve told her, Man,” He sighs, "Over and over again..." 

“So you tell her again. Keep trying until something sticks. It’s all you can do.” 

He supposes if he really sat down to think about it, it's as good advice as any.

Still, he can’t wrap his head around the fact that he’s standing there getting unsolicited relationship advice from Steve Harrington, who’d once spectacularly thrown him into a dumpster behind the movie theatre.

He reaches out and claps him on the shoulder, and Eddie fails to suppress a flinch.

“You guys are gonna be fine – hey, who’s the expert here?” 

“I’m sorry …Expert?” Eddie snorts. 

Steve shrugs like it wasn’t the dorkiest thing anyone has ever said in the history of mankind. 

“Yeah, they don’t call me the Love Doctor for nothing.”

Nevermind, that’s the dorkiest thing anyone has ever said or will ever say in the history of mankind and the world forever. 

Harrington, Steve: Fucking jerk Not so bad, I guess. Worshipped by Henderson. Doesn’t know who Ozzy Osbourne is. Total fucking cheeseball.

Eddie cannot wait to tell you about this. 

“Nobody calls you that.” He’s almost giddy as he says it.   

Steve dismisses the notion with a flippant wave of his hand. 

“That’s not the point, the point is trust me. I’ve been around the block — I know crazy when I see it, and that girl? Totally crazy about you, and I mean certifiably bat shit…”

Eddie shrugs.

“You aren’t wrong – she’s pretty much nuts.”  

“Hey, crazy’s not always a bad thing…” Steve says, and Eddie follows his gaze up the path to where the girls walk far ahead of them, blazing the trail.

He can't help but notice the faintest hint of longing pass across Steve's face, and Eddie feels his face begin to split in a wry smile.

“You know, Nancy’s pretty fucking crazy, diving in after you like that?" Eddie starts, "I mean, you wanna talk about what’s real? That’s as unambiguous a sign of true love as these cynical eyes have ever seen.”

He forces himself to swallow the bitter lump swelling in his throat and along with it the silent wish that he could somehow be different, be better, be a version of himself worth going after that like that.

Eddie clears his throat to banish the notion.

"You sure this isn’t some elaborate scheme to win her back?”

“No.” Steve says firmly, “Absolutely not.”

Eddie is not convinced - he gives a lopsided shrug.

“Well, I sure hope it isn’t Buckley you’re trying to impress, because I think you’ll find you’re barking up the wrong tree with that one.”

Steve's head snaps around so quickly that he's half surprised it didn't twist all the way around to the other side.

“What?" He yelps, "No, I mean – no. Look, let’s get one thing straight, Robin and I are completely – we’re just friends and I would never… h-how do you know about–? I mean… what do you mean?”

Eddie can’t help but roll his eyes at Steve’s fumbling attempt to stop himself from what he can only assume is outing Robin.

It’s noble, to be sure, and he’s got to give him credit for that, but Eddie’s no fool. Even if she hadn’t outright told him, he’s lived long enough in Wayne’s company to recognize the signs of a closeted person living in a conservative midwestern town, faint as they may be.  

"What do you mean?" Eddie counters.  

The question seems enough to stagger Steve, though not for the obvious reasons, it would seem.

“Nothing." He says quickly.

"You sure about that?"

"This isn’t about Robin, okay? It’s about Nancy – I mean – no, it’s not! But even if it was… look, it doesn’t matter because she’s with Jonathan now, and they seem… fine…” 

Eddie stops short and reels on Steve, causing him to stagger a step in an attempt to keep from crashing into him. 

In the distance, Robin and Nancy continue on none the wiser.

Eddie drops his tone and leans in to invade Steve's personal space. Steve inches back ever so slightly, out of impulse, he imagines, and Eddie smirks.

“And yet, you will notice that Jonathan is conspicuously absent from this endeavor.” He says slowly, quiet enough that Steve is hanging on his every word.  

He lets the notion hang between them, breathe a little, and waits to see if Steve will catch on.

He doesn’t, he just gives him another one of those quizzical looks as the yawning chasm of Jonathan Byers's absence grows louder and louder, and Nancy disappears further up the path. 

Eddie tilts his head toward Steve and raises his brows, willing him to understand.

He only knows Jonathan in passing, and from one social pariah with a mean daddy to another, he typically commiserates with him to a degree. He might feel bad about failing to discourage such behavior, but some opportunities are not worth passing up.

If Jonathan is the type of guy to stay out in California and leave his girlfriend to spend spring break swimming in Steve Harrington-infested waters, that’s his poor decision to make.

If it were you, and you had some stupid new boyfriend off in another state, Eddie would not hesitate. He'd go and bang down your door.

Steve shakes his head, still failing to see what Eddie is practically spelling out for him, and he wonders with a brief astonishment whether he could really be that dense. 

“What do you –” He starts, then stops as it dawns on him, and his eyes go wide, “Wait… did she say something?” 

Eddie shrugs and stalks off. 

“Not to me,” he calls over his shoulder, casually lengthening his stride in order to catch up to Nancy and Robin. 

It leaves Steve standing dumbfounded at the revelation, and in an instant, he’s scrambling to catch up. 

“Do you think Nance is into me?” He asks, and then when Eddie doesn’t respond, “Hey… Eddie–!”

Eddie laughs.

“You tell me. You’re the Love Doctor.” 

[glowing-disciple]

Reading List - 2024

Currently Reading:

The Book of Dragons by Edith Nesbit

Peter and Wendy by J. M. Barrie

Sweet Sweet Revenge LTD by Jonas Jonasson

Books Read:

101 Famous Poems by Various Authors

The Abraham Lincoln Joke Book by Beatrice Schenk De Regniers

The Ancient Aliens Question by Philip Coppens

The Art of Computer Designing by Osamu Sato

The Broken Dice, and Other Mathematical Tales of Chance by Ivar Ekeland

The Cairngorms by Patrick Baker

The Codebreaker's Handbook by Herbie Brennan

The Color Kittens by Margaret Wise Brown

The Complete Book of Kitchen Collecting by Barbera E. Mauzy

Dinosaurs, Beware! A Safety Guide by Marc Brown

Dracula by Bram Stoker

Dreaming the Biosphere by Rebecca Reider

Farmer Boy by Laura Ingalls Wilder

Frog and Toad are Friends by Arnold Lobel

Funny Number Tricks by Rose Wyler

Gender Queer: A Memoir by Maia Kobabe

Giant Sea Creatures, Real and Fantastic by John Frederick Waters

Great Mysteries of the Ice and Snow by Edward F. Dolan

Hammer of the Gods by Stephen Davis

Hiram's Red Shirt by Mabel Watts

A History of Chess by Jerzy Gizycki

I don't care by JoAnn Nelson

An Introduction to Linguistics by Loreto Todd

Jaws by Peter Benchley

Jungian Archetypes: Jung, Gödel, and the History of Archetypes by Robin Robertson

Keeper of the Bees by Gene Stratton-Porter

MASH: An Army Surgeon in Korea by Otto F. Apel

The Messier Objects Field Guide by Stephen James O'Meara

Out of the Silent Planet by C. S. Lewis

Precious Remedies Against Satan’s Devices by Thomas Brooks

Reflections on Evolution by Fredrick Sproull

Roadie: My Life on the Road with Coldplay by Matt McGinn

Some of The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood of Great Renown in Nottinghamshire by Howard Pyle

Strange Creatures of the Ice and Snow by Edward F. Dolan

Time for Bed, Sleepyheads by Normand Chartier

Weird Islands by Jean de Boschère

Future Reading:

A Girl of the Limberlost by Gene Stratton-Porter

Adventures in Cryptozoology Vol. 1 by Richard Freeman

All the King's Men by Robert Penn Warren

Always Running by Luis J. Rodriguez

Ancient Mysteries, Modern Visions by Philip S. Callahan

The Anti-Mary Exposed by Carrie Gress

The Arm of the Starfish by Madeleine L'Engle

The Art Nouveau Style by Stephan Tschudi Madsen

As I Lay Dying by William Faulkner

Black Beauty by Anna Sewell

Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer

Brave New World by Aldous Huxley

The Call of the Wild by Jack London

The Catcher in the Rye by J. D. Salinger

Champions of the Rosary by Donald H. Calloway

The Color Purple by Alice Walker

The Complete Works of H. P. Lovecraft

Cubism by Guillaume Apollinaire

Dear Mr. Henshaw by Beverly Cleary

Ender's Game by Orson Scott Card

Equal Rites by Terry Pratchett

Evolution by Nowell Stebbing

Expressionism by Ashley Bassie

Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury

Fearsome Creatures of the Lumberwoods by Hal Johnson

Found in a Bookshop by Stephanie Butland

Frankenstein by Mary Shelly

Freaks on the Fells by R. M. Ballantyne

Freckles by Gene Stratton-Porter

Fundamentals of Character Design by Various Authors

Graceling by Kristin Cashore

The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald

The History of Don Quixote de la Mancha by Miquel de Cervantes Saavedra

Howl's Moving Castle by Diana Wynne Jones

Humorous Ghost Stories by Various Authors

I, Robot by Isaac Asimov

Illuminated Manuscripts by Tamara Woronowa

The Island of Doctor Moreau by H. G. Wells

Joan Miro by Joan Miro

The Jungle by Upton Sinclair

Jurassic Park by Michael Crichton

Light of the Western Stars by Zane Grey

Living by the Sword by Eric Demski

The Longest Cocktail Party by Richard DiLello

Mere Christianity by C. S. Lewis

North and South by Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell

Otis Spofford by Beverly Clearly

The Phantom Tollbooth by Norton Juster

The Shining by Stephen King

The Silmarillion by J R R Tolkien

The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde by Robert Louis Stevenson

Strange Love by Ann Aguirre

The River by Gary Paulsen

Things My Son Needs to Know About the World by Fredrik Backman

The Third Man Factor by John Geiger

The Time Machine by H. G. Wells

To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee

Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson

The War of the Worlds by H. G. Wells

We Are Where the Nightmares Go and Other Stories by C. Robert Cargill

The Weiser Field Guide to Cryptozoology by Deena West Budd

The White Mountains by John Christopher

[grimmusings]

♢ canon muses ♢

Sideblogs are linked below. Each has a pinned introduction with general information about how I write the muse, wanted connections, and verses.

comics ♢ Benjamin Poindexter ⭒ Daredevil ⭒ Wilson Bethel ♢ Brock Rumlow ⭒ Marvel/MCU ⭒ Frank Grillo ♢ Bucky Barnes ⭒ Marvel/MCU ⭒ Sebastian Stan ♢ Clint Barton ⭒ Marvel ⭒ Bradley James ♢ Elektra Natchios ⭒ Daredevil ⭒ Élodie Yung ♢ Ellie Rogers ⭒ Marvel ⭒ Kat McNamara ♢ Frank Castle ⭒ Daredevil ⭒ Jon Bernthal ♢ Gwen Stacy ⭒ Marvel ⭒ Emily Browning ♢ James Rhodes ⭒ Marvel ⭒ Charles Michael Davis ♢ John Constantine ⭒ DC/Vertigo ⭒ Matt Ryan ♢ Johnny Storm ⭒ Fantastic Four ⭒ Chris Evans ♢ Karolina Dean ⭒ Marvel ⭒ Madison Iseman ♢ Mia Smoak ⭒ Arrowverse ⭒ Kat McNamara ♢ Nancy Callahan ⭒ Sin City ⭒ Jessica Alba ♢ Natasha Romanoff ⭒ Marvel/MCU ⭒ Scarlett Johansson ♢ Red ⭒ The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys ⭒ Levy Tran ♢ Steve Rogers ⭒ Marvel/MCU ⭒ Chris Evans ♢ Thor Odinson ⭒ MCU ⭒ Chris Hemsworth ♢ Torunn Thorsdóttir ⭒ Marvel ⭒ Margot Robbie

disney/dreamworks/etc. ♢ Barrel ⭒ Nightmare Before Christmas ⭒ Drew Ray Tanner ♢ Captain Hook ⭒ Peter Pan ⭒ Colin Farrell ♢ Cowardly Lion ⭒ The Wizard of Oz ⭒ Paul Rudd ♢ Dorothy Gale ⭒ Return to Oz ⭒ Emily Browning ♢ Jack Frost ⭒ Rise of the Guardians ⭒ Bradley James ♢ Jack Skellington ⭒ Nightmare Before Christmas ⭒ Milo Ventimiglia ♢ Lock ⭒ Nightmare Before Christmas ⭒ Matthew Daddario ♢ Mad Hatter ⭒ Alice in Wonderland ⭒ Jackson Rathbone ♢ Mallymkun ⭒ Alice in Wonderland ⭒ Ashley Greene ♢ Prince Cornelius ⭒ Thumbelina ⭒ Max Irons

mythology/folklore ♢ Hades ⭒ Greek Mythology ⭒ Chris Evans ♢ Hercules ⭒ Greek Mythology ⭒ Kellan Lutz ♢ Lancelot ⭒ Arthuriana ⭒ Chris Hemsworth ♢ Mordred ⭒ Arthuriana ⭒ Ian Somerhalder ♢ Will Scarlet ⭒ Robin Hood ⭒ Sebastian Stan

film ♢ Chris Beck ⭒ The Martian ⭒ Sebastian Stan ♢ David Powers ⭒ The Lost Boys ⭒ Dacre Montgomery ♢ Frank Adler ⭒ Gifted ⭒ Chris Evans ♢ Jennifer Check ⭒ Jennifer's Body ⭒ Megan Fox ♢ Jerry Dandridge ⭒ Fright Night ⭒ Colin Farrell ♢ Laurie Strode ⭒ Halloween ⭒ Lili Reinhart ♢ Lawrence Talbot ⭒ The Wolf Man ⭒ Rahul Kohli ♢ Leo Barnes ⭒ The Purge ⭒ Frank Grillo ♢ Newt Scamander ⭒ Fantastic Beasts ⭒ Eddie Redmayne ♢ Nick Gant ⭒ Push ⭒ Chris Evans ♢ Victor Frankenstein ⭒ Frankenstein ⭒ Bill Skarsgård

tv shows ♢ Alvey Kulina ⭒ Kingdom ⭒ Frank Grillo ♢ Andy Barber ⭒ Defending Jacob ⭒ Chris Evans ♢ Betty Cooper ⭒ Riverdale ⭒ Lili Reinhart ♢ Billy Hargrove ⭒ Stranger Things ⭒ Dacre Montgomery ♢ Carter Baizen ⭒ Gossip Girl ⭒ Sebastian Stan ♢ Castiel ⭒ Supernatural ⭒ Misha Collins ♢ Damien Thorn ⭒ Damien ⭒ Bradley James ♢ Daryl Dixon ⭒ The Walking Dead ⭒ Norman Reedus ♢ Dean Winchester ⭒ Supernatural ⭒ Jensen Ackles ♢ Hannibal Lecter ⭒ Hannibal ⭒ Mads Mikkelsen ♢ Nate Archibald ⭒ Gossip Girl ⭒ Chace Crawford ♢ Paul 'Jesus' Rovia ⭒ The Walking Dead ⭒ Tom Payne

books ♢ Bill Weasley ⭒ Harry Potter ⭒ Michael Fassbender ♢ Cassian ⭒ ACOTAR ⭒ Can Yaman ♢ Ginny Weasley ⭒ Harry Potter ⭒ Kat McNamara ♢ Hermione Granger ⭒ Harry Potter ⭒ Ashley Moore ♢ Oliver Wood ⭒ Harry Potter ⭒ Max Irons ♢ Remus Lupin ⭒ Harry Potter ⭒ Rahul Kohli ♢ Ronan Lynch ⭒ The Raven Cycle ⭒ Dacre Montgomery ♢ Sirius Black ⭒ Harry Potter ⭒ Rob Raco

♢ test muses ♢

Test and minor muses are written from the main, at least until they demand their own blogs, although some of them will probably always be super niche and just stay here. Bio and verse information is linked if available.

♢ Ben Hanscom ⭒ IT ⭒ Jay Ryan ♢ Billy Barker ⭒ American Mary ⭒ Antonio Cupo ♢ Camille L'Espanaye ⭒ The Fall of the House of Usher ⭒ Kate Siegel ♢ Colin Shea ⭒ What's Your Number? ⭒ Chris Evans ♢ Danika Fendyr ⭒ Crescent City ⭒ Florence Pugh ♢ Dean Redding ⭒ The Naturals ⭒ Cooper van Grootel ♢ Doyle ⭒ Merry Gentry ⭒ Idris Elba ♢ Dwayne Hicks ⭒ Aliens ⭒ Jensen Ackles ♢ Edward Forrester ⭒ Anita Blake ⭒ Alexander Skarsgård ♢ Fangs Fogarty ⭒ Riverdale ⭒ Drew Ray Tanner ♢ Feyre Archeron ⭒ ACOTAR ⭒ Riley Voelkel ♢ Grey Hollow ⭒ House of Hollow ⭒ Taylor Swift ♢ Hector ⭒ Greek Mythology ⭒ Joe Manganiello ♢ Henry Devlin ⭒ Dreamcatcher ⭒ Michiel Huisman ♢ Ian Janek ⭒ Prometheus ⭒ Idris Elba ♢ Jason Schuyler ⭒ Anita Blake ⭒ Chace Crawford ♢ Jay Kulina ⭒ Kingdom ⭒ Jonathan Tucker ♢ Jedidiah Sawyer ⭒ Texas Chainsaw Massacre ⭒ Leatherface ♢ Levi Stewart ⭒ Fangirl ⭒ Luke Benward ♢ Lidia Cervos ⭒ Crescent City ⭒ Margot Robbie ♢ Madeline Usher ⭒ The Fall of the House of Usher ⭒ Willa Fitzgerald ♢ Matthew Brown ⭒ Hannibal ⭒ Jonathan Tucker ♢ Pepper Potts ⭒ Marvel ⭒ Gemma Chan ♢ Richard Zeeman ⭒ Anita Blake ⭒ Joe Manganiello ♢ Ruhn Danaan ⭒ Crescent City ⭒ Ian Somerhalder ♢ Sandman ⭒ Folklore ⭒ Matthew Daddario ♢ Sholto ⭒ Merry Gentry ⭒ Alexander Skarsgård ♢ Tom Hanniger ⭒ My Bloody Valentine ⭒ Jensen Ackles ♢ Toni Topaz ⭒ Riverdale ⭒ Vanessa Morgan

[goldendiie]

after filing jointly. fillmore makes sarge pose for cheesy christmas card photos and he HATES IT.“merry christmas from the callahan-joneses.” they are the most obnoxious couple you know.

[wildpeachfarm]

Honestly Callahan posting 'Happy Birthday Dream' on christmas and 'Merry Christmas Dream' on Dream's birthday was the best comedy

he's just perfect

[deathbypufferfish]

Didn't I do it for you? Why don't I do it for you? Why won't you do it for me? When all I do is for you?

Marinella and Delilah spent the night together for the first time, but when Marinella woke in the morning, she was nowhere to be found.

[rdrsafehaven]

We are overjoyed to reveal RDR: Safe Haven’s very first Christmas Card! Thank you and congratulations to our Christmas Card Competition winner, @krystal-callahan, and to all the amazing members of RDR: Safe Haven. We wish you all a very merry Christmas!

[illadvisedselfships]

Merry Christmas in Australia!!!!

I have something to offer you on this holly holiday. F/O Christmas imagines!

Imagine celebrating Christmas with Callahan. He's pretty loaded, so you're definitely getting high end gifts. Buuuuuttt that's not all! You know those Christmasy fun things you see on YouTube or TikTok that you want to do, but you know it's out of your pay grade? Like a hot chocolate bar, or more fancy baked desserts that require specific ingredients? Well, sure Callahan is a jerk... But, for you, I'm certain he'll accommodate whatever you want to try... As long as you return the favor with whatever he wants to do with you 😏

Imagine trying to pull Cruella away from work. Before you, she probably worked through Christmas if she wasn't invited to any masquerades or parties. This year, nothing of the sort happened, so your mean wife is trying to get a head start on her spring fashion line. But you know that this is a once in a lifetime opportunity to have a nice, at-home Christmas with your high class Cruella. Cruella may not be so easily swayed by your femine wiles like Callahan, though you are the only one on the planet who has a smidgen of a chance at getting Cruella out of her office and in her furs with a mug of cocoa. Do you succeed?

Imagine a cozy little Christmas with Jim!! He is a tad upset he didn't get a good poaching job before; he really wanted to treat you this year his inner sugar daddy shines through on your birthday and Christmas I bet. But you know how to take his mind off of it ^^ you tell him you don't need some fancy present or anything like that. All you need is your favorite outdoors man, some Christmas movies and snacks, and a blanket big enough for you two to share- or better yet, one of his flannels 😏

Imagine that since Otis celebrates Christmas early for you, you don't have to worry about fitting him in your Christmas Visits schedule so much. You can see him first! I.... Can't guarantee that the way the Fireflies celebrate Christmas is very family friendly. But I can say that Otis is definitely gonna try to be gross about the mistletoe tradition with you. Also, you can get away with putting a Santa hat on him this year. He'll be a grump about it, act like he doesn't want it, but note how he doesn't take it off (if it were Baby, he would have. But it came from you ^^)

I hope these put a smile on your face! Even if they are a little OOC I bet 😅 Merry Christmas!

Merry (belated) Christmas Eve In America!!!

SARAH!!

I completely wasn't expecting this- thank you so so much!! As you know I accidentally woke up way too early but it was completely completely worth it to read this and thank you before all the Christmas craziness began!!

Ahhh! These are so perfect, my heart is feeling all squirmy!! XDD They fueled me all day XD No really, whenever I got tired 💤💤💤 I started thinking about them and felt better XD

And- of course- I couldn't help it and had to write lil x reader excerpts for each of these ideas below the cut XDD I wanted to write them all, but the Christmas vibes are slipping away from me- so I just did Callahan and Otis! (Truly couldn't resist XD) XD I LOVED THEM ALL, THOUGH, I ASSURE YOU! XD

(Professor) Callahan x reader:

You weren't sure about staying over Christmas eve and spending Christmas morning with Aaron- it seemed pretty close. Intimate. Sentimental, for him. Sure, you were becoming closer but he didn't seem the type to do Christmas.

Definitely a Scrooge type, you thought.

But you're surprised to see him put in some effort this morning! Sure, he's just sitting there at the kitchen table with bedhead in his pyjamas (An oddly casual navy blue t-shirt and sweatpants combo that always makes you feel a little hot. Or a lot depending on how close he stood to you) drinking a black coffee while you open up expensive presents he shouldn't have got you and peer excitedly into a box of beautiful Christmas breakfast pastries he ordered this morning for you both, but its nice. Its... conventional, except for the fanciness of his townhouse and the gifts he got you. Its just the two of you, not flirting not fucking not arguing, just spending an almost domestic Moment together. It would almost be traditional, if it weren't for the nature of your relationship hanging over your heads- though you don't really mind that. Its cosy!

Finally after thanking him profusely for the gifts, and telling him he really didn't need to get you that much!!, you go get him his present; setting it in front of him with a childish Christmas eagerness. "This one's for you! Go ahead, open it."

"I can see you wrapped it yourself," He teases, picking it up with one hand and silently laughing at the crazy bad wrapping. Sighing and rolling your eyes with a grin, you shake your head at him and urge him to go on then- go on- stop harassing me about my sad gift wrapping skills and open it!

While he opens it, telling you he was looking for one of these when he realises what it is, you go and pick out a pastry for yourself and a Christmas tree donut for him, and sit down in the chair beside him; angling your knees towards him and resting your own feet on top of his under the table. He picks up the donut and gives it a good assessment, smirking in amusement at the silly food.

Meanwhile you wait a moment, thinking about it (About how unexpectedly good this morning has been with him so far. How warm you feel inside spending it with him. You really never expected it to be good like this, you expected him to ignore the holiday, but he did all this for you... ), before leaning over and gifting him a sweet kiss on the cheek. You couldn't help it. "Thank you, Cal, Merry Christmas."

"As much as I like my gift Y/N, you can pay me back in bed later." He tells you offhandedly, not even looking up from his curious silly breakfast. You almost laugh.

"Of course." You grin instead, shaking your head.

Otis B Driftwood x reader:

After the kiss under the mistletoe that leaves your lips bruised, your mouth tasting of all the shit that Otis puts in his (An amalgamation of bad alcohol, smokes, some cum, some blood, and bad - sometimes off, - food tasting something like rot and battery acid), and your ass in need of an ice pack from the way he squeezed it, he tries to just give you a dirty filthy smirk and leave you there- but you dig your fingers into the front of his tight shiur before he can and draw him back to you. "Not so fast."

"Wh- "

"Hold on." Giving him a mischievous look, you reach with one hand into your deep coat pockets (Your other hand still holding him there) and pull out something red and white, and fluffy. Immediately a groan rolls out of your feral boyfriend, his head actually falling back a moment. Your eyes widen at him with that cheeky smile, and you nod. "Uhuh, yes."

"Fuck. no."

"Fuck yes." You don't wait for him to agree, you know he never will; you just reach up onto your tip toes against him and pull the santa hat on over his hair. When you settle back down onto the heels of your feet and take in the full picture, his cranky unamused, bearded frown and stormy blue eyes and that innocent-looking santas hat on his head!!, you cant help but laugh. "You look so good!!"

"Aghh,"

"Really!" You laugh, covering your mouth. "I think I'm hot."

"Right." He rolls his eyes, setting his strong scarred hands on his hips- but not taking it off. That really just shows how good a mood he's in; allowing you your little joke. There's even a ghost of a smirk on his mouth. "Sure. I believe that crap."

Spurred on by his almost pleasant demeanour, you give him mommy finger and add; "You gotta keep it on the rest of the night.", a teasing grin on your lips to match his.

Giving a sigh and a shake of his head, Otis just shrugs at you, like- fucking fine! whatever~, walking off towards the drinks table. You watch him go, tucking your thumbs into your back pockets, the softest look on your face. If he was always like this... well, its not a thought even worth thinking about. But- its nice, when he is.

[rckflg]

CHARCTER MASTERPOST

enjoy :) hope you like this free food

i will link each character’s masterlist in this post

MOVIE MASTERLIST

STAR WARS UNIVERSE

han solo

princess leia

luke skywalker

padme amidala

anakin skywalker

obi wan kenobi

kylo ren

general hux

poe dameron

rose tico

finn

boba fett 

fennec shand

din djarin

paz vizsla

cobb vanth

HARRY POTTER & FANTASTIC BEASTS

harry potter

hermione granger

ron weasley

ginny weasley

george weasley

fred weasley

charlie weasley

bill weasley

neville longbottom

oliver wood

seamus finnegan

dean thomas

cedric diggory

luna lovegood

cho chang

fleur delacour

pansy parkinson

viktor krum

voldemort/tom riddle

bellatrix lestrange

fenrir greyback

lucius malfoy

narcissa malfoy

igor karkaroff

barty crouch sr

barty crouch jr

professor severus snape

alastor moody

sirius black

remus lupin

nymphador tonks

newt scamander

theseus scamander

MARVEL & X-MEN

black widow / natasha romanov

yelena belova

hulk / bruce banner

antman / scott lang

tasm!spiderman / peter parker

hawkeye / clint barton

hawkeye / kate bishop

echo / maya lopez

kazi

nebula

daredevil / matt murdock

mobius m. mobius

deadpool / wade wilson

negasonic teenage warhead / ellie phimister

cable / nathan summers

domino / neena thurman

storm / ororo munroe

mystique / raven darkholm

wolverine / james howlett / logan

rogue / anna marie

phoenix / jean grey

cyclops / scott summers

havok / alex summers

jubilee / jubilation lee

banshee / sean cassidy

quicksilver / pietro maximoff

angel / warren worthington

x-23 / laura kinney

magik / illyana rasputina

wolfsbane / rahne sinclair

mirage / dani moonstar

nightcrawler / kurt wagner

magneto / erik lensher

please let me know which version of the x-men characters you would like me to write for when requesting

BIRDS OF PREY

harley quinn

huntress

black canary

renee montoya

victor zsasz

THE SUICIDE SQUAD (1&2)

harley quinn

rick flag

captain boomerang

polka-dot man

ratcatcher 2

bloodsport

peacemaker

LORD OF THE RINGS

merry brandybuck

pippin took

aragorn

legolas

gimli

arwen

boromir

faramir

elrond

eomer

eowyn

haldir

THE HOBBIT

bilbo baggins

thorin oakenshield

kili

fili

dwalin

THE LOST BOYS

david

marko

paul

dwayne

star

michael emerson

STAND BY ME

ace merill

denny lachance

eyeball chambers

billy tessio

TWILIGHT

carlisle cullen

esme cullen

alice cullen

jasper hale

rosalie hale

emmett cullen

edward cullen

bella swan

charlie swan

billy black

jacob black

seth clearwater

leah clearwater

paul lahote

sam uley

TELEVISION SHOW MASTERLIST

THE MAGICIANS

eliot waugh

quentin coldwater

julia wicker

alice quinn

margo hansen

penny adiyodi

kady orloff-diaz

mariana andrieski

henry fogg

fen

PENNY DREADFUL

vanessa ives

ethan chandler

dorian gray

brona croft

victor frankenstein

THE UMBRELLA ACADEMY

vanya hargreeves

klaus hargreeves

luther hargreeves

allison hargreeves

diego hargreeves

ben hargreeves

lila pitts

CHARMED (1998)

piper halliwell

pheobe halliwell

prue halliwell

paige halliwell

leo wyatt

cole turner

CHARMED (2018)

macy vaughn

mel vera

maggie vera

harry greenwood

abigael cain

niko hamada

PEAKY BLINDERS

tommy shelby

john shelby

arthur shelby

ada shelby

finn shelby

polly gray

alfie solomons

luca changretta

aberama gold

bonnie gold

johnny dogs

STRANGER THINGS

jim hopper

joyce byers

dr alexei

robin buckley

steve harrington

billy hargrove

max mayfield

NETFLIX’S DRACULA

dracula

SHAMELESS (US)

fiona gallagher

ian gallagher 

carl gallagher

debbie gallagher

lip gallagher

mickey milkovich 

kevin ball

veronica fisher

male!reader platonic &/or smut & fem!platonic!reader only for ian & mickey

CRIMINAL MINDS

spencer reid

penelope garcia

luke alvez

aaron hotchner

elle greenway

kate callahan

CARNIVAL ROW

rhycroft philostrate

vignette stonemass

tourmaline

GRIMM

nick burkhardt

hank griffin

captain sean renard

seargent wu

monroe

rosalee calvert

adalind schade

trubel

N0S4A2

vic mcqueen

maggie leigh

tabitha hutter

DOCTOR WHO & TORCHWOOD

9th doctor

10th doctor

11th doctor

12th doctor

13th doctor

simm!master

missy / gomez!master

dhawan!master

rose tyler

yazmin khan

river song

bill potts

nardole

captain jack harkness

toshiko sato

owen harper

MISCELLANIOUS

PEDRO PASCAL

the mandalorian / din djarin

javier pena

maxwell lord

whiskey / jack daniels

dave york

fransisco ‘catfish’ morales

marcus moreno

OSCAR ISAAC

poe dameron

nathan (ex machina)

apocalypse / en sabah nur

kane (annihilation)

gomez addams ; platonic!reader or familial!reader only

JOEL KINNAMAN

rick flag

takeshi kovacs

pete koslow

erik heller

stephen holder

ed baldwin

ANDREW GARFIELD

tasm!spiderman / peter parker

[k-evans-reads]

So y’all were mean and put carpenter chris in our heads.. and so I think it would be real cute if he surprised his girl with a house that he built without her even knowing 🥰

✨: Well I'm not going to tease you without giving you something ;)

Nora noticed just how strange Chris had been acting lately. 

He kept stopping at the bookstore while he was on his way to a job or headed to the lumber yard asking her seemingly random questions. The first one had come when he brought a coffee into the bookstore for her, smelling of sawdust, while he bluntly asked, “What do you think about wrap-around porches on houses? Does that seem useless or do you think it’s nice?” 

The next came when he was busy sanding down a beautifully crafted coffee table he had made for the elderly Mrs. Callahan who lived down at the end of the road, Chris wondering, “I kind of like farmhouse style houses… what do you think?” 

But because most of the questions were spread out over months of time and interspersed with other conversation, Nora hadn’t given it much thought until a winter day just a few days before Christmas. 

Snow was frozen on the ground, crunching underneath her black boots as she stood there shivering while attempting to get the small key into the lock on the bookstore. All the Christmas lights were turned off and the register closed out before she locked the door, but turned and came crashing into a broad chest before a pair of hands reached out to steady her. 

“I’ve got a Christmas present for you,” A familiar lopsided bearded smile shone at her. 

“Chris, it’s still three days until Christmas,” Nora reminded him as he wrapped his hands around her small cold ones to warm them. 

“I can’t wait,” He simply told her before nodding toward his truck, “Just, c’mon.” 

She did as he asked, sitting quietly in his warm truck as he drove out of the small down and down a dirt road. Nora wanted to ask where he was taking her, but when he glanced over at the flannel wearing carpenter in the driver's seat next to her she suddenly didn’t seem to care where they were going as long as she was with him. The snow fell softly as they kept driving down the narrow dirt road, it looked picturesque with all the bare trees and ground covered in the white fluffy snow but when they got to the end of the road, Chris pulled the truck into park without saying a word. 

“What do you think of that house?” He wondered, nodding his head toward the beautiful farmhouse sitting in front of them. 

Nora thought that the adorable cozy home sitting in the snow looked like it belonged on a Christmas card with how perfectly beautiful it was and she told him, “It’s gorgeous… who’s house is this?” 

“Ours.” 

“Ours?” She laughed softly, relaxing into the seat of the truck. “Chris, I’m being serious.” 

“So am I. I built it for us,” he explained as if it was the most logical answer in the world. 

But Nora didn’t think so. She just sat there staring at the house with tears in her eyes as she pictured Chris out here working tirelessly and suddenly all those questions he’d been asking made sense. 

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”