#stretch emerson

[laziestgirlintown]

Having amused myself writing a short fic, let me introduce a fandom of mine that's even more obscure than Those Magnificent Men In Their Flying Machines (at least John Finnemore knows about that!)

It's a Wild West series by Australian author Leonard Frank Meares, writing under the pseudonym Marshall Grover. He wrote over 700 novels. Short ones, sure, but yeah. *

The protagonists of ”my” Marshall Grover series were, in Australia, called Larry & Stretch: Larry Valentine and Stretch Emerson, two Texan cowboys roaming around the West, riding into a town, getting into trouble though they didn't go looking for it, ensuring a kind of justice with hard fists and hard guns, and riding on. Always having each other's backs. (Almost) always politely/awkwardly/very quickly backing away when a lady shows an interest.

In America, they were renamed Larry & Streak. But the series also became very popular in Scandinavia, published in Sweden from 1962 and read by all kids who wanted to grow up to be cowboys. Here, they were renamed Bill & Ben. My dad and uncle read them when they were kids, and then I did, and that was the start of my collecting these cheap, simple, predictable guilty-pleasure paperbacks (which, not gonna lie, totally are products of their time).

My obvious headcanon is that of-fucking-course these two vagabonds are doggone married, so I simply had to put this down in a short fic, predictably titled Two Tall Texans. If by any chance you've read the Australian editions, Bill is Larry and Ben is Stretch. **

* Yes, I have a weakness for pre-grimdark Wild West, see: Blazing Saddles, Alias Smith & Jones, The Young Riders, Doris Day(!)'s Calamity Jane, etc. Two more encouragements for the fic, besides the obvious Brokeback Mountain: Days Without End by Sebastian Barry, following a queer couple up to and through the Civil War and beyond; and Alex Clairmont-Diaz of Red, White and Royal Blue being a proud Texan. Not to get your hopes up: it's a short fic, mostly to establish that Bill/Ben=Larry/Stretch now exists.)

** I have also learned that ”Larry” is the ship name for an RPF One Direction ship. The more you know.

PS I might be writing a Blazing Saddles crossover.

[pullingyourstrings]

what do you think are gareth and eddie's opinions on body hair?

They don't mind body hair at all, it was never a problem.

They also don't care about stretch marks, cellulite, scars, birthmarks, dark spots, acne, etc because they genuinely think this is just part of being human. It just means your body is going through constant change and it is one of kind. Nobody has a body like yours and they love you just like you are.

[jamdoughnutmagician]

Not whilst Teddie's around (18+)

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Warnings:Fluff, Smut (but like the softest sweetest mushy-gushy kind) cock-waming, kissing, cuddling, horror movie mentions

Word count:1,705

writing this fic was an UPHILL BATTLE, so I'm sorry for the questionable quality, but it's finished at least.

Eddie Muson Masterlist // Main Masterlist

divider by @strangergraphics

“Dude, I’m telling you, horror movies get chicks wetter than you can even imagine. Trust me.” Gareth swears downing the last few sips of his beer.

“Yeah right, like any girl in her right mind would let you come within a ten-foot radius of her, let alone get close enough to get all up in her ‘sex-o-sphere’” Jeff laughs incredulously at his friend.

It was the way that all Corroded Coffin jam sessions ended, with a few beers and typical guy talk.

“You know Cindy Nolan? Works down at the roller-rink? We’ve been hanging out, and I rented Friday The 13th the other night, let me tell you that that girl couldn’t get any closer to me if she tried.”

“Yeah right, you’re full of shit Emerson.” Brandon said, shoving his friend with a nudge of his elbow.

“No, no, come on now, let’s hear him out. Maybe you two girlfriend-less losers could learn a thing or two from him.” Eddie says, shushing Jeff and Brandon’s guffawing. Truthfully, Eddie himself was eager to hear what Gareth had to say. Not that he thought he needed any help with his love-life, far from it, actually. His relationship with you was perfect in his eyes, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t learn a thing or two.

“So we're watching the movie right? and it gets to the real scary bit, the music's all tense and shit, and she's pressed up against me, tucking her face into my shirt, and that's when I make my move.” Gareth says, throwing up finger guns.

“Your move?” Eddie asks with a raised brow.

“Yeah, the ol’ ‘yawn-and-stretch’, I fake a yawn and then I stretch my arm around her shoulder. Then to really sell it, I hit her with the ‘don't worry, I'll protect you from the scary serial killer.’ spiel. From then on, she's practically eating out the palm of my hands. Horror movies, I'm telling you guys, are the way to go.”

Both Jeff and Brandon hold their hands up in defeat.

And all that was on Eddie’s mind was that he was definitely going to have to swing by Family video to check out their selection of horror movies.

You rounded your way into the living room with the freshly popped bowl of popcorn getting ready to settle next to Eddie under the throw blankets on the couch.

“So what movie did you pick up for tonight?” you asked, reaching for a handful of popcorn.

He flashes you the vhs cover, a jack-o-latern pumpkin with a knife. He gives you a wide and boyish smile as his deep brown eyes sparkle with a cheeky glint. Tonight was the night that he was going to put Gareth’s claim to the test. He had swung by Family Video right after band practice and slapped Halloween tape down on the counter, causing Steve to roll his eyes and let out an annoyed huff. Oh yeah, Eddie had his plan all figured out.

“Jamie Lee Curtis is an absolute force to be reckoned with in the movie.” he says, reaching over to steal a few pieces of popcorn out of your hand.

This is where your tastes in movies differed from Eddie’s. You were more John Hughes, where the laughs were aplenty and the guy got the girl, whilst Eddie was much more John Carpenter, where the screams were aplenty and the killer got their victim.

But despite horror movies not being totally your thing, you were willing to sit and watch if it made Eddie happy.

Snuggled up to Eddie, with the soft blankets keeping you both cosy, he pressed play on the movie.

You wish you could say that you weren't scared, but then you would be lying. Laurie Strode was certainly a much braver woman than you could ever be, because the very idea that Michael Myers was still on the loose sent a shiver down your spine in the worst way. It didn't matter how much you tried to reason with yourself that it was just a film, and that it wasn't real, the scared and uneasy feeling had your heart pounding against your chest as you tucked your face into Eddie's shirt. Hoping that hiding away in the familiar comfort of your boyfriend would go someway to quell the racing of your heart.

Eddie felt terrible. Scratch that, he felt worse than terrible. He felt like the worst boyfriend in the world. As the tense music in the movie swelled, more and more he felt you shrink into yourself and tuck yourself away into his chest. You were scared and it was his fault. 

Flicking the remote at the tv to pause the film Eddie softly turns his attention to you.

“Hey, you know we don’t have to watch this if you don’t like it.” he says, brushing a stray hair from your face.

“But I know you like this film, so I thought we could watch it together.”

“Sweetheart, you've had your face hidden in my shirt for almost the past hour, it's okay if you're scared, I'm not going to be mad at you.” 

“I'm sorry Teddie, I just really don't like scary films.”

“Come on, nothing’s going to hurt you, not whilst Teddie’s around.” Eddie says, flicking the tv off and throwing the blankets off your bodies before taking your hand in his. “How about we head off to bed, where we can snuggled up and I can keep you safe in my arms.”

Cuddled into Eddie’s chest, his arms wrapping around you protectively, you feel his lips softly kiss the crown of your head. It’s safe, it’s comforting, it’s everything that you need right now, but somehow it still doesn’t feel like enough. 

Eddie feels you squirming in his hold and so he rubs his hand up and down your back in his best attempt to ease you.

“What’s going on with you, huh? You’re still scared about that movie?”

Wordlessly you nod your head, feeling so stupid for letting a fictional murderer frighten you like this.

“You know I’m not going to let anything happen to you right? I’d fight Michael Myers a hundred times over if it meant keeping you safe.”

“Just want to be close to you tonight.” you say softly, as you looked up at him from underneath your eyelashes.

“Yeah? You mean close to you like this?” he says softly as his hands began to wander underneath your oversized sleep-shirt. Underneath your shirt where your skin is soft to his touch. Soft and warm, and the sweet scent of your coconut body wash still lingers on your skin. 

“Wanna feel you, please..” You plead, your eyes almost sparkled in the cosily-lit bedroom. 

As if he could ever say no to you.

Reaching down between your closely pressed bodies he stroked a hand over himself, already half-hard, because truly it didn't take much to get him excited. Everything about you drove him wild, and just the intimacy of getting hold you close in his arms stirred a growing heat in the pit of his stomach. 

He works on taking his boxers off, whilst you work on sliding your panties down your legs and once there is nothing separating you from him he slides himself into you. Filling you slowly to just let you feel every inch of him. Eddie knew that you loved feeling him like this, loved the feel of him inside you. Two bodies moving together as one. Your leg hitched up around Eddie’s slim hips, with your heel pressing into his backside, urging him closer and closer to you. 

“This what you wanted, Sweetheart?” Eddie’s voice rasps out as his lips kiss just below your ear, finding that steadily racing pulse point in your neck.  “Just wanted to be close to me, isn’t that right?”

You nod against Eddie’s chest, moaning softly when he shifted his hips ever so slightly.

Eddie manoeuvred around with you in his arms laying you down on the bed, caged safely underneath him. 

“You're so beautiful.” He smiles, brushing a stray hair from your face, his deep brown eyes so entirely focused on you. You're the centre of his universe, there's not a moment that he's not thinking about you. And there's no place he'd rather be than right here with you.

Slowly he rolls his hips into you with deep, steady strokes. Drawing back just enough until his tip remains, before sliding himself home into your heat.

Your breath is stolen from your lungs every time Eddie fills you. Playing your body in the perfectly precise way that only he knew how. 

Your nails leave little red half-moon crescents in the pale skin of his shoulders as you hold him close, for fear that if you didn’t you might float off into a universe. The calming warmth of Eddie’s skin on yours is the thing that always grounds you to reality. His touch feels like home.

His skilled fingers reach down between your closely pressed bodies to rub eager circles around your clit.

“Just want you to feel good, pretty girl.” his praises rumbled from the back of his throat, heavy with adoring desire.

 Your quiet whines turn into breathy moans with every roll of his hips, whilst his deep groans of pleasure are muffled into kisses pressed to the column of your throat.

“I’m close, Teddie..” you manage to get out between unsteady breaths.

“I know, pretty girl, I got you.” he kisses your lips sweetly. 

With a few more well-precisioned thrusts he takes you over the edge of pleasure, guiding you through your shuddering high.

And with you looking every inch the goddess of his dreams splayed out underneath him, squeezing him through your orgasm it didn’t take very much before Eddie was stilling his movements, spilling his release into you with a shuddering moan of his own.

He held himself on his forearms above you to brush a thumb over your flushed skin.

“I told you, I’m not going to let anything happen to you. I’m going to keep you safe. Always.”

And you believed him. Because if it was one thing you knew with certainty, it was that Eddie Munson was a man of his word.

@penguinsandpotterheads @sweetdreamjellybean

@mrsjellymunson @eddiesxangel

@userchai @aphrogeneias @sidereustales

[ginnsbaker]

fic: if i bleed (you'll be the last to know) (17/17)

Part Summary: “I firmly believe that when you do the right thing, everything will eventually fall into place. It might not turn out exactly as you hoped, but you’ll find a sense of understanding and peace with your decision.”

Pairing: Leigh Shaw x Fem!Reader | Word count for this part: 7.600+ | Tags/Warnings: angst, fluff, mentions of smut Author's note: Wow! Those five months went by so fast. Thank you so much for being with me on this journey. It's been my honor and pleasure sharing with you this story :)

Masterlist | Part I Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX | Part X | Part XI | Part XII | Part XIII | Part XIV I Part XV | Part XVI

-

“Tell me that your love is a sure thing” - Golden Vessel, Emerson Leif (“Hesitate”)

“Do you think I should ask Y/N to come with me?” Leigh asks, idly twisting a gold bauble between her fingers. She stares at it a beat too long, like she might find the answer in the curve of its shiny surface. 

It's three days before Christmas, and true to Shaw family tradition, they're just now getting around to setting up the decorations. It wouldn't have happened at all if Amy hadn't taken the initiative to remind them. She was supposed to help, but she's vanished again to meet another “friend.” Leigh and Jules are suspicious, thinking their mom might be seeing someone in secret.

Jules, teetering slightly on the ladder, twists around to give Leigh a raised eyebrow. “To the Harrison’s bash for New Year’s? Hell yeah, why not? She’s a blast. Could shake things up a bit.”

“No, not that,” Leigh exhales, now regretting even bringing it up. “I mean the comic book tour for Matt.”

Jules steps down, one rung at a time, until she’s down to Leigh’s level. “Oh. That’s…quite a step. But, why not? Sounds like an adventure for you both,” she says.

Logan zips by, a sheeny red bauble in his mouth, set on a mission to place it next to his bowl in the kitchen. He keeps fetching or chasing after the scattered Christmas balls, sending them rolling all over the house. Leigh and Jules have been running around, picking them up and putting them back on the tree.

“It’s not just that,” Leigh says, glancing out the window where the first hints of evening are brushing the sky. “Asking her to come means asking her to leave everything here behind. Her life, her responsibilities. It’s different for her—she has a real career.”

“Hold up—what we do is a real career too. We’re improving lives with healthy habits, remember?”

Leigh laughs sardonically. “Come on, Jules, we're kinda just floating, working for Mom. Y/N is a doctor, owns her clinic, has staff. That’s...”

“That’s a big deal,” Jules agrees with a solemn nod. “It’s a huge ask, for sure.”

Silence hangs for a beat, the only sounds being Logan’s light panting as he settles down, ornament forgotten. 

“Do you think she'd actually say no?” Jules suddenly pipes up, climbing back up the ladder to resume her decorating. Leigh spots a stray ornament a few feet away, points at it, and calls out, “Fetch!” 

Logan springs into action, scampering to retrieve it. As he returns, triumphant, Leigh gives him a pat on the head and passes the ornament up to Jules.

“Actually, it’s quite the opposite. She’d jump at the chance,” she tells Jules.

“So, what’s stopping you?”

“She might regret it later,” Leigh says quietly. “And that could mean losing her.”

Jules frowns, understanding the bind her sister is in. She stretches out a hand, and Leigh takes it, their palms pressing cold and warm together. “I’m sorry.”

“And if I leave her here, I might lose her anyway,” Leigh adds, the heaviness of two futures making her shoulders sag. 

Jules gives her hand a firm squeeze. “But what if you both end up regretting not taking the chance? It’s only a few months. Maybe Y/N can sort something out with her clinic?”

“It’s still too risky for her business. She’s poured everything into that place, Jules. Asking her to step away, even briefly—it’s…it’s selfish.”

“Life’s full of risky asks, Leigh. Sometimes, you gotta bet on what’s scary. Risk a little heartbreak on the chance it’ll bring you both something remarkable. Maybe this is one of those times?”

Leigh releases her hand and moves to another bare section of the tree. “Is that the kind of thinking that made you decide to look for your biological parents in Vietnam?”

Jules snaps the tinsel down, her response coming quick and a bit sharp. “Yes.”

Leigh winces slightly, realizing her question might have prodded an unintended sore spot. “I didn’t mean—”

“I get it,” Jules interjects, sighing as she tries to bring the conversation to a close. They’re both dealing with their own issues, and as much as she loves Leigh, she knows she’s not in the right headspace to offer solid advice—especially advice she’s not even sure works.

Leigh clamps her mouth shut. She doesn’t want this to turn into an argument either.

“Maybe just talk to her? See what she thinks? Who knows, maybe the biggest leaps make the most sense when you’re doing them for the right reasons... for the right person,” Jules says after some time. 

“You really think so?” Leigh asks, her voice threaded with hope.

“I do,” Jules nods, her hands busy rewrapping the tinsel Logan has graciously returned. “Just talk to her. It’s either a ‘what if’ or a ‘what now.’ Better to find out which.”

-

Leigh comes with her mouth open, but no sound escapes. Her body trembles as she experiences what she knows is the best orgasm she's ever had—though she remembers saying the same thing about this morning’s quickie in your bathroom. It just seems to keep getting better each time.

You slowly climb up from her pussy, trailing soft kisses along her stomach. As you move upward, you let your tongue lightly trace a stripe across one of her nipples, eliciting a shiver from Leigh. She’s still catching her breath, but when you finally reach her lips, she pulls you in for a deep, consuming kiss. The way her tongue wrestles with yours tells you she’s already eager for more, her hands tangling in your hair as she holds you close.

You break the kiss, smiling down at her. “Hi,” you murmur, almost shyly.

Leigh, still a little dazed, brushes the strands of hair off your forehead and gently traces your lower lip with her thumb. “You know something?” she asks, her eyes wandering over the marks and lines on your face.

“Hm?” 

She kisses the corner of your mouth. “You're kind of amazing,” she says softly.

“That good, huh?” you tease, a playful smile tugging at your lips.

Her hand, which has been cupping your face, slides down your neck before she pulls it back to herself, biting at her index fingernail.

“I’m sure you can tell,” she whispers, her voice low and sultry. To emphasize her point, she arches her hips, the slickness between her thighs evident against your skin.

“You’re going to have to give me a minute,” you sigh, letting your head fall to her sweaty chest. “You’ve completely worn me out.”

Leigh laughs, a soft, melodic sound. “Really? Getting tired already? What happened to your stamina?”

You don’t bother to retort, content just to lie there listening to the rhythm of her heart. “It’s hard work keeping you satisfied,” you say after some time, your voice muffled against her skin.

She tightens her hold around you, the gentle stroke of her fingers in your hair making every thought slow down. The security of her embrace makes everything seem right in the world, and it emboldens you to voice a thought that's been on your mind more and more lately.

“You know,” you start, lifting your head to catch her eyes, “I was thinking… maybe you should move in with me.”

Leigh stiffens just a bit, her eyes darting away for a moment, and you instantly regret how fast you’ve blurted it out. You sit up, trying to backpedal, “Only if you want to, I mean... it was just a thought. You're here most nights anyway, and your toothbrush is already—”

Before you can ramble on, Leigh leans in and silences you with a gentle kiss. “Slow down,” she whispers against your lips, her smile reassuring.

You chuckle, giving her a sheepish, lopsided smile. “Right, right,” you agree, settling back down beside her. 

Leigh shifts to lie on her side, propping herself up on one elbow. Her eyes, still dark with want, sweep over your body—flushed, soft, and still quivering slightly from your efforts to pleasure her. She catches herself, though, and with a more composed motion, she pulls the blanket up to cover you, tucking it around your chest.

You look up at her, your expression ironically innocent, waiting for her to say what's on her mind.

“I’d love to,” Leigh finally says. “But do you really think it’s the right move?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, we’ve just started exploring what this is, what we could be, and I’m already planning to leave. It feels like I’m setting us up for...” Leigh doesn’t finish the sentence, but she doesn’t have to.

Matt's book tour looms over both of you, an ever-present shadow no matter how tightly you try to cling to each other. It's as if you believe that by melding into one with Leigh, you could somehow will her impending departure into nonexistence.

Though before you can say anything, your phone rings from the coffee table beside you. You reach over and grab it, your mom's name flashing urgently on the screen. A quick glance at the time sends a jolt through you—you were to pick her up at the airport but completely lost track of time.

Leigh sits up too, clutching the sheet to her naked torso. “What is it?”

You wince, the irony of the situation not lost on you. “It's my mom,” you explain hurriedly. “I should have left, like, half an hour ago to pick her up at the airport. She’s staying with me for a few days until right before New Year’s.” 

A moment ago, you were discussing moving in together, and now you find yourself needing to ask her to leave. 

Leigh raises an eyebrow, smiling coyly as she realizes the implications of your mother’s arrival. “And let me guess, she's staying here? In your one-bedroom palace?”

“Yeah,” you say, scrambling to get dressed. “Which means I need to air out the place, change the sheets... make it look like I live like a monk.” You stop for a second, looking at Leigh with an apologetic frown on your face. “And I kind of need to ask you to leave now. Please don’t be mad.”

“Mad?” Leigh laughs as she swings her legs out of bed and starts gathering her clothes. Once she's collected them all, she steps closer, gives you a quick kiss, and murmurs right next to your ear, “I’m furious.”

You kiss her hair gently before stepping in front of the mirror to check your appearance, making sure you don't look as disheveled as you feel.

“Gives us both some time to think about everything. The tour, us moving in, all of it,” Leigh says, slipping into her jeans.

“Absolutely,” you agree, watching her.

“Change those sheets well, huh?” she teases, zipping up her bag. “You know how moms can be.”

You grimace jokingly at her comment. “Please, don't ever use 'sheets' and 'mom' in the same sentence ever again.”

Leigh laughs again, clearly enjoying you squirm. She slings her bag over her shoulder, waiting for you to finish getting ready.

As you cap your lip gloss, an idea suddenly strikes you. Seeing Leigh's expectant look reflected in the mirror, you ask, “Hey, how about you join me to pick her up at the airport?”

Meeting your mom seems like another huge step in your relationship, but she doesn't hesitate.

“Is it okay with your mom?” she asks, a bit wary.

You shrug, taking her hand confidently. “Why wouldn't it be?”

-

Apparently, you’re the spitting image of your mother.

At least, that’s how Leigh sees it as she watches you both hug it out in the arrival section of LAX. As a fitness pundit, Leigh immediately notices your mom's excellent posture, despite her petite frame. It's the first thing she observes in anyone, and your mom is no exception. Beyond that, you both share the same quick smile and the way your eyes light up in laughter—deep brown, the color of rich coffee, which Leigh finds particularly striking. Even the gestures are mirrored; the way you both tuck hair behind your ear when nervous, or the confidence in your strides.

What distinctly sets her apart from you, though, is how intimidating your mom appears to be.

As you walk to the parking lot, holding your mom’s hand in one of yours and Leigh’s in the other, your mom chats animatedly about a hot spring resort she discovered near your hometown. Leigh keeps half a step behind, doing her best to stay engaged while keeping up with your pace.

“So, how was your flight?” Leigh asks, finding a moment to wedge herself into the conversation.

Your mom barely glances back, responding briefly before turning her attention back to you. “Long, but it’s always nice to spend Christmas with my daughter,” she says, squeezing your hand affectionately.

Leigh tries again. “It's pretty nice weather here, isn't it? I bet it's a lot colder on the East Coast right now.”

“Oh, it’s freezing out there, Leigh,” you chime in, completely oblivious to the awkward interaction between your mom and your girlfriend. 

Your mom nods but doesn't elaborate, her focus still on you. “We should stop by that bakery you always gush about,” she says, eyes bright with excitement.

Leigh's grip on your hand tightens slightly, and she lags further behind. “Oh, that store closes at five. It’s seven already,” you say. 

Desperate to connect, Leigh tries for the final time. “There are special light installations in the park for the holidays. Would you like to go see them?”

Your mom finally looks back, but her smile is thin. “I’m not much into these ‘light installations’. Too much walking.” She quickly shifts back to you. “How’s work been?”

“Work’s been busy, but manageable,” you say, glancing back at Leigh, who offers a small, strained smile.

The three of you continue to the parking lot, the conversation feeling increasingly one-sided. As you reach the car, you open the trunk and help with the bags, all the while trying to think of a way to include Leigh more naturally.

“Leigh and I were thinking of checking out that new restaurant downtown,” you say, making an effort to draw your mom's attention to her.

“Sounds nice,” your mom replies. “But actually, I'm not hungry—just a bit tired.”

Leigh’s expression falls just a bit, but she quickly masks it, helping with the last of the luggage. She figures that’s her cue to leave. 

You can’t hide your frustration. Your plan was to have a nice dinner, a proper introduction. “Are you sure, Mom? It doesn’t have to be a long meal,” you push back gently.

“Let’s just get your mom home, she’s had a long day,” Leigh tells you softly.

You glance at your mom, silently pleading for her to reconsider, but she only smiles. “Maybe another time, dear.”

Reluctantly, you agree.

-

You lead your mom into the living room, urging her to make herself comfortable while you hurry to get the bedroom ready. The sheets need changing, the windows thrown open to freshen the air, and the whole space needs a bit of tidying. 

“I’ll be right back,” you mumble, disappearing into the bedroom.

In the bedroom, you work quickly, stripping the used sheets and flinging the windows wide. You hustle, smoothing on fresh sheets, fluffing pillows, and straightening up—getting rid of all the evidence of what you and Leigh had been doing all week. 

Meanwhile, your mom isn't one to just sit around. She takes in the scattered magazines, the couch cushions askew, and the dishes piled up in the kitchen. With a small sigh, she gets up and starts putting things in order. She straightens up the living room and moves on to tackle the kitchen. Before long, the sound of running water and clinking dishes fills your tiny apartment.

When she’s done setting things in order, she starts rummaging through your fridge and pantry. With only a few ingredients at hand, she decides to make do with what you have. Soon, she's boiling spaghetti and slicing hotdogs to toss into the mix. This dish was a childhood favorite of yours and remains a go-to comfort food. As soon as the familiar aroma wafts through the air, you find yourself irresistibly drawn toward the kitchen.

“Is that...?” you start, a delighted smile spreading across your face at the sight of the generous layer of shredded cheese melting over the thick red sauce.

“Sit down and eat while it's hot,” your mom commands with a warm smile.

You don’t need to be told twice.  Fork in hand, you dive into the spaghetti as though you haven't eaten in days. Considering your usual diet of takeout and quick fixes, that's not too far from the truth. You chat about small, inconsequential things—the new coffee shop you tried last week, the remarkable cases you’ve encountered in the clinic this month, the shows you’ve been watching on Netflix. 

Finishing your meal, you lean back with a satisfied sigh, feeling truly content for the first time in a long while.

“Mom?”

“Yes, dear?”

“So... what do you think of Leigh?”

“So that’s Leigh, huh?” Your mom pauses, setting down her cup of tea with deliberate care. “The widow of the guy you unknowingly dated for a while, not realizing he was married?”

“Yeah, that’s her,” you confirm, nodding slowly as your nerves start to build. The last time you brought up Leigh to your mom, you were almost ready to throw in the towel until she urged you to give it another shot. Now, more than anything, you're hoping she'll give her approval.

She nods thoughtfully, then with a sly grin, says, “Well, she's definitely out of your league.”

“Mom!” you exclaim, embarrassed.

She chuckles, clearly pleased with her little joke.

“Come on, be serious,” you plead.

Your mom clasps her hands on the table, and gives you that look—the one that means business. You can't help but roll your eyes at her theatrics, clearly aimed at getting a rise out of you.

“Leigh seems lovely,” she says. You can tell she’s sincere and that makes you sigh in relief. “And I really appreciate how she tried to engage with me earlier.”

You relax slightly, but then, as you replay the earlier interactions in your mind, you realize Leigh seemed frustrated and your mom wasn’t as welcoming as she usually is. Your face scrunches up as this sinks in.

“Wait, you were really standoffish to Leigh earlier!”

She holds up her hands in a half-shrug, her smirk fading into a more thoughtful expression. “Oh, honey, I didn’t mean to come off that way at all,” she says. “I guess I was just being overprotective. You know, considering how everything started between you two.”

You appreciate her motherly instincts but wish she'd given Leigh a fairer chance from the start. “I get it, Mom. But Leigh is really important to me now. It would mean a lot if you could try to get to know her better. For me?”

“Of course, sweetie,” she says. “What do you need?”

“Well, for starters…” you start, pausing as you try to find the right way to explain. You're about to share that you'll be spending Christmas dinner with the Shaws this year. It's always been just the two of you for the holidays, so you're not sure how she'll take the news of including others she hardly knows. “You’ll have an opportunity to bond with her the day after tomorrow.”

“What’s on Tuesday?”

“Christmas Eve dinner,” you reply. “At the Shaws.”

“Dinner at your girlfriend’s?” she clarifies.

You nod, your lip catching between your teeth. It still feels a little surreal—exciting, actually—being able to call Leigh your girlfriend. “Yeah, Mom. I thought it’d be nice for us to join them this year.”

Instead of giving an outright yes, she asks, “What should I bring? I want to make a good impression.”

You stand up and walk around the table to give her a hug. She wraps her arms around you and plants a kiss on your forehead. “Thank you,” you mutter into her shoulder. “Maybe bring your blueberry pie? Everyone loves that.”

“You love it,” she says cheerily. “Consider it done.”

Slipping back into old habits, you start clearing the dinner dishes, just like you used to when you lived with her. As you stack dishes and run water in the sink, your mom begins unpacking her bags in your bedroom. As you scrub the dishes, thoughts of following Leigh and leaving everything here behind start to overwhelm you. Once the kitchen is spotless and the last dish is put away, you realize you can't keep these feelings bottled up any longer. 

You call out to your mother as you dry your hands on a kitchen towel. A few seconds later, she reappears in the living room, her face expectant.

“Hey, uhm,” you say, not knowing how to start. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something.”

“Go on,” she urges gently.

You take a deep breath before continuing, “Matt’s comic book is getting published posthumously. The publishing company wants Leigh to join a tour to promote the book, and I'm… I’m thinking of joining her.”

Your mom's expression becomes inscrutable as she processes the information. She walks to the couch and takes a seat. After a long pause, she asks, “What will happen to your clinic here?” 

You look down, fidgeting with the towel in your hands, and then meet her gaze. “I’ve thought about that,” you say. “I’d need to find someone to cover for me. It wouldn’t be easy, but... I feel like I need to be there for Leigh. This is important to her, and… she’s everything to me.”

You try to read her reaction, but every line on her face remains perfectly still and composed. “Is it because you want to be there for her,” she says slowly, “or because you're afraid that if she leaves, you might lose her?”

Your eyes drop to the floor, and that's answer enough for your mother.

“Come here,” she says, patting the empty spot on the couch next to her. Wordlessly, you oblige.

“It's okay to be scared,” she whispers. “Loving someone means taking risks. Just remember, you need to be true to yourself as well. Leigh is important, but so are you.”

“I just don’t want to regret not giving my all to see this through with her,” you say.

“You love her,” she states, not as a question, but as a fact.

“I really do,” you say quietly.

“I firmly believe that when you do the right thing, everything will eventually fall into place. It might not turn out exactly as you hoped, but you’ll find a sense of understanding and peace with your decision.”

-

Your mom's words stay with you throughout the night. As you lie in bed, you can hear her soft breathing, her back turned to you.

You’ll find a sense of understanding and peace with your decision.

Your phone vibrates gently beneath your pillow, and you smile when you see a message from Leigh.

Leigh [10:45 PM]: Can’t sleep. I miss you.

You [10:45 PM]: Miss you too.

She doesn't reply, but she fills your head well into the night. The future is uncertain, but one thing feels right: going with Leigh on her tour is the decision that brings you peace.

-

Christmas Eve dinner arrives sooner than you expected.

Pulling up to the Shaws' house, you're amazed by the decorations that the siblings have tirelessly worked on for the past two days. The house is transformed into a festive wonderland, with twinkling lights draped over every surface, garlands of holly framing the windows, and a towering Christmas tree visible through the living room window, adorned with shimmering ornaments and tinsel.

You watch your mom's reaction as you both step out of the car, seeing the lights reflected in her awe-filled eyes. You beam at her, proud of your girlfriend's decorating skills and holiday spirit.

You and your mom walk up to the doorstep. She clutches her much-loved blueberry pie, which you’re looking forward to having a hearty slice of tonight, while you carefully hold Leigh's gift—a Lego typewriter modeled after a vintage 1950s design. You feel a twinge of nervousness about how she’ll receive your gift.

Moments later, the door swings open to reveal Leigh, all dressed up, and for a moment, you're speechless. Leigh has always been beautiful. No matter what she wears—be it casual joggers, sleek dresses, or even just her underwear—she never fails to leave an impression. Tonight is no different; she takes your breath away all over again.

“Merry Christmas!” Leigh greets brightly. “Almost, anyway,” she adds with a nervous laugh.

“Your decorations are incredible,” your mom says, smiling at her.

“Oh, thank you!” Leigh replies, her cheeks flushing at the unexpected compliment. 

“Where should I put this?” your mom asks, holding up her pie.

“You didn’t have to, but wow, that looks amazing! Come on in, I'll show you,” Leigh says, stepping aside to let you both in. She leads you to the kitchen, where the smells of holiday cooking are even stronger. “You can set it right here,” she points to a spot on the counter already laden with various dishes and desserts.

Just as your mom sets the pie on the counter, Amy walks in. Leigh introduces her mom, and the two women share friendly greetings before Amy’s attention quickly turns to the blueberry pie. They dive into a lively discussion about cooking, swapping recipes as if they’ve known each other for years.

Leigh turns to you, her eyes shining. “I'm so glad you’re here now,” she says softly, her fingers lightly brushing against yours. Craving more contact, you gently grasp her hand and guide her to the backyard where Logan is nonchalantly marking a geranium. With no one around now, you draw Leigh close and kiss her deeply. Leigh responds just as fervently, her hand coming to rest on your waist and then squeezing, making you moan into her mouth. She takes advantage of the moment, slipping her tongue in. Her other hand finds its way to your neck, pulling you even closer. You can feel her heartbeat against your chest, matching the rhythm of your own.

When you finally pull back, breathless, you rest your forehead against hers. Leigh's eyes are half-lidded, her lips slightly swollen, tempting you to lean in once more. Just as you're about to, she finally takes notice of the enormous box under your arm.

“Is that for me?”

“Yes,” you say, handing it to her. “I hope you like it.”

Leigh's eyes widen as she takes her gift, her excitement further lighting up her soulful green eyes.

“I've got something for you too,” she says, giving the box a little shake. “It's upstairs in my bedroom. Want to get it now?”

You shake your head, matching her giddy smile. “Maybe later. If you take me to your bedroom now, I can't promise we'll be back in time for dinner,” you say.

Leigh chuckles. Honestly, she feels the same way. “Well then, can I open this now?” she asks.

“Absolutely! Go ahead. I really hope you like it.”

Leigh quickly starts unwrapping your gift, her fingers deftly tearing through the wrapping paper. As the paper falls away, her eyes widen in pleasant surprise at the sight of the Lego typewriter.

“Oh my gosh, it's perfect! Thank you so much!” She carefully places it on the ground before wrapping you in a tight embrace.

“You're welcome,” you whisper, circling your arms around her waist and pulling her close.

When she pulls back, her eyes are brimming with happiness and something deeper—pure, unfiltered love. She stares at you, her gaze soft and intense, as if she's seeing you for the first time.

“I can't believe you remembered,” she says, referring to a conversation you had weeks prior. “This means so much to me.”

You smile, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I just wanted to make you happy.”

Something in your words strikes a chord within her. Without thinking, she blurts out, “Come with me to Matt's comic book tour.”

Her eyes widen slightly as she realizes what she's just said. But she doesn't take it back; instead, she buries her face in your neck, breathing in your scent. With each breath, she finds the idea of being apart from you increasingly unbearable.

“I want you to be there with me,” she continues with more conviction. “I can't imagine doing this without you.”

She pulls back slightly, needing to see your reaction. In your eyes, she finds the same depth of love she feels for you, mirrored back at her.

“As you wish,” you whisper, leaning in to seal your promise with a kiss.

-

Dinner is a success, largely due to Amy's and your mom's excellent cooking skills. The pasta prepared by Leigh and Jules wasn't a total disaster, but it had its mishaps. After the first batch turned too soggy—practically mush—Jules had to dash out in the middle of dinner to buy another pack of pasta.

Leigh’s father made a brief appearance with his new family, stirring a bit of awkwardness between the exes. Luckily, your mother defused the tension by suggesting a family game. It wasn’t long before laughter filled the room, with Jules energetically shouting clues at those struggling to guess the words on their foreheads.

In the middle of the game, Leigh volunteers to do the dishes. You offer to help, but Jules quickly drags you out of your seat to be the next one to guess the word. While you’re preoccupied, your mom quietly slips out of the living room and follows Leigh into the kitchen.

Leigh is surprised to see your mom. “I've got this,” she assures her with a polite smile. Despite your mom having considerably warmed up to her, Leigh still feels a bit anxious in her presence.

Your mom simply picks up some dinnerware that has already been washed and starts wiping them dry with a towel. “Do you know why Y/N became a veterinarian?” she asks casually.

Leigh smiles, recalling your story about Max, the first animal you ever helped. “Yes, she told me about rescuing a pup. It was really touching,” she says, her eyes softening at the memory.

Your mom observes Leigh, who has already returned to busily washing the dishes. “That’s right. But there’s more to it,” she says.

Leigh stops what she’s doing and tilts her head. “What do you mean by that?” she asks.

“Y/N did get into veterinary school,” your mom begins, placing a dry plate on the stack. “But she dropped out after the first semester. She had this deep-seated dream of traveling the world.”

Leigh listens attentively, wiping her hands on a dishcloth.

“Her father and older brother are both veterinarians, running a small clinic in our town. Naturally, they encouraged her to follow the same path,” your mom continues, “and while she loved animals, she also wanted to explore every corner of the world ever since she was a kid.”

Leigh's hands pause in the sudsy water as she absorbs every word.

“Her father gave her his blessing, and off she went. She traveled the world for two years.”

“What brought her back?” Leigh asks.

Your mom takes a deep breath, her knuckles whitening as she grips the towel more tightly. “H-Her father and brother were killed in a car accident,” she says, each word seeming to be painfully forced out of her.

Leigh's hand flies to her mouth in horror. “Oh no, I... I didn’t know,” she stammers, feeling a rush of guilt and confusion. Why hadn’t this crucial detail come up before?

“It was a terrible time,” your mom says quietly, “but it brought her back home.”

Leigh is silent, guilt gnawing at her for not knowing such a significant detail of your life. She’s been so caught up in sharing her own thoughts and plans, and you’ve always been the listener, never pressing her to ask about your past. She realizes now how little she’s asked about your family.

Leigh abandons her chore altogether. “W-What happened then?”

“After the accident, without their expertise, we couldn't keep the clinic running,” your mom replies, her voice steadier now but still tinged with sadness. “We had to put it up for sale. It was devastating to lose what they had worked so hard for.

“For a long time, Y/N was depressed. She blamed herself for not being there in the last two years, for putting her own interests first. And with the clinic gone, she felt like she had failed to preserve their legacy.”

Leigh is at a loss for words, her eyes growing bleary. “I’m—” 

“Being a housewife all those years, I suddenly found myself needing to help put food on the table so Y/N could go back to school,” your mom explains. “For a year, she was just a shell of herself, hardly the vibrant person you know now.”

Needing a moment to process all these revelations, Leigh moves to the dining table and sits down. Her legs feel weak at the thought of you being so heartbroken. She knows grief all too well. Losing one person she loved nearly destroyed her; she can't imagine losing two at once.

“Y/N is the most… beautiful, wonderful and well-adjusted person I know,” Leigh says after a while. “I wouldn't have guessed she went through all that.”

“My daughter is a miracle,” your mom states with a soft smile.

“Thank you for telling me all this,” Leigh says sincerely.  “It means a lot to understand what she’s been through.”

Your mom nods and says, “I'm not telling you this just because you're her girlfriend. I'm telling you because I know she’s planning to follow you and leave her practice here in LA behind.”

Leigh's breath hitches as she takes it all in. Learning about your father and brother, she realizes she nearly forgot what she asked of you just hours ago. It's not just a job or a business you're leaving behind—it's a dream that keeps their memory alive, a part of you where they still live on.

“Please, don't ask her to leave everything behind,” your mom says, her voice almost pleading. “Just promise her that you'll come back for her.”

It’s not an easy promise to make—or keep. The mere uncertainty of what lies ahead holds her back. She can't stand the idea of breaking a promise to you or betraying your trust in any way.

Leigh's silence stretches on, and your mom speaks again. “If you can't promise to come back for her, just end it. Don't let it drag on. She's tougher than she knows. It'll hurt, but she won't be alone—I'll be there, and so will her friends and coworkers.”

Leigh balks at her. “I don't want to rush into a decision.”

But your mom isn't listening. Her concern cuts through her caution, compelling her to share more. “After we lost half our family, she was never the same. She’d sacrifice everything for someone she loves, always skeptical of a second chance. She loves like there's no tomorrow.”

It’s the one thing your mother said tonight that rings truest about you. You do love as if it's the last thing you'll ever do.

Before Leigh can respond, Amy walks in, sensing the tension immediately. “Is everything alright?” she asks, her eyes darting between Leigh and your mom.

Leigh suddenly realizes she's been crying, and so has your mom. Your mother excuses herself to the bathroom, leaving Amy looking concerned and bewildered.

“What was that about?” Amy asks.

Leigh, shaken and overwhelmed, struggles to speak. “I-I need to get the gifts for everyone. They're upstairs,” she stammers, then quickly heads to the bedroom, needing to escape and collect herself.

Amy watches Leigh leave, then reaches for the blueberry pie, trying not to read too much into the haunted look in her daughter’s eyes.

-

It’s a cold January evening when Leigh finally gathers the courage to talk to you. Your mother flew back to Maine three days after Boxing Day, and the rest of the holidays passed by in pure bliss. The two of you are curled up on the couch, a blanket draped over your legs, the remnants of dinner still on the coffee table. She’s been avoiding this conversation, clinging to the hope that something might change. But the more she thinks about the family you lost when you were younger, the more convinced she becomes that your mother was right.

“Can we talk?” Leigh’s voice is soft, almost drowned out by the movie playing in the background.

You mute the TV and turn to her, a look of concern immediately crossing your face. “Of course. What’s on your mind?”

“I’ve been thinking a lot about us, about our future,” Leigh says slowly.

It doesn’t immediately ring any alarm bells in your head, but your heart starts to race. “Okay…” you murmur. You can't help but notice her hands twisting nervously in her lap. You reach out to steady them, and as she looks up, her resolve breaks.

“I love you. You mean the world to me, but…I don’t know if it’s right for you to come with me.”

You frown, eyebrows stitched together in confusion and denial. “Leigh, what are you talking about?”

She looks away, her hands slipping from your grasp as she inches further into her corner of the couch. “I can’t be the reason you give up everything you’ve worked so hard for,” she says.

“I’m not,” you reassure her, trying to keep calm. “It’s just for a little while, right? Less than six months on tour. And it's not like we'll be non-stop; the schedule allows breaks. We can come back home in between. We’ve discussed this, remember? We have a plan in place.”

Leigh grows quiet, her gaze fixed on a spot on the floor. She takes a long breath through her nose, as if preparing herself for something even harder to say. “That's the thing,” she whispers. “I might not come back.”

Everything around you stills.

“What do you mean, you might not come back?”

Leigh’s eyes remained glued to the floor. “For the longest time, I’ve thought about leaving. Now that Jules is embarking on her own trip to Vietnam, and Mom is planning a long vacation in Europe, it feels like the best time to explore what's out there.”

“Leigh, we've been planning this together. It's just a tour. We'll be back,” you reiterate in frustration, starting to grasp at straws.

She merely shakes her head. “Everything about this place reminds me of Matt—both the good and the bad memories. Maybe I—”

“Great. The Matt card again,” you snap.

Leigh bristles at your comment. She stands abruptly and begins to pace. Seething. “Card?” she retorts sharply. “This is my life, my pain—”

“And you’ve just been running away from it all!” you counter, standing up too. “Running away from me!”

“Didn't you?” she fires back, her voice breaking. 

“What—”

“Didn't you do the same thing when you lost your—” Leigh can't finish the sentence. It hurts too much to even say it.

You take a step back, shocked. “How did you—”

“Your mom told me.”

The room certainly feels like it's closing in. Unable to stand any longer, your legs give out, and you collapse onto the couch, burying your face in your hands and massaging your temples. Leigh watches you for a moment, then sits beside you. She reaches out tentatively but pulls back, unsure of what to say or do.

Your hands fall away from your face, and you turn to her, your eyes filled with pain and betrayal. “You learned about me losing my dad and my brother, and your response is to... leave me as well?”

Leigh's eyes fill with tears again, and she looks away, unable to hold your gaze. “It’s not like that,” she whispers, her voice trembling.

“What if I promise that the clinic will be okay? Foreman can manage things while I’m away, I trust him,” you suggest, your voice wavering as the reality of the situation starts to consume you.

Leigh shakes her head, dabbing at her eyes with the back of her hand. “I can't,” she murmurs. “I can’t feel good about myself knowing I'm pulling you away from something important to you.”

“But you're what's important to me, Leigh,” you argue weakly.

“That’s not how it works, Y/N,” Leigh says, trying to fight more tears threatening to spill over. “It’s too imbalanced. We don’t need a relationship where one of us is sacrificing too much. That’s not healthy for either of us.”

You sit in stunned silence, her words sinking in. You've always been willing to sacrifice for the people you love, but now you see how it could be a burden for Leigh. 

You swallow hard, trying to compose yourself, the words sticking in your throat. “And you think the best for us is to be apart?”

She nods reluctantly. “I think the best for you is to not have to choose between your love and your life's work. I can't ask you to put anything on hold, not for me.”

“But I choose you, Leigh,” you say, tears now streaming down your face. “Doesn't that count for something?”

Leigh can’t help herself any longer. She moves closer, needing to comfort you despite being the source of your pain.

“It does,” she whispers, gently wiping away your tears with her thumb. “It counts for everything. But I need to know that you're not losing yourself to be with me. I can't live with that.”

With that, she pulls you close. You hold each other tightly, falling asleep on the narrow sofa, clinging to each other as if letting go would mean losing everything.

But by the time the sun has risen high in the sky, Leigh is already gone.

-

There are days when you feel bitter about Leigh deciding to break up with you, especially with weeks still left before the tour begins. You oscillate between anger at her decision and a reluctant acceptance that it might have been the right choice for both of you. More often than not, the anger prevails, leading you to drink yourself to sleep, only to wake up the next day to discover that nothing has changed.

Leigh is still leaving.

-

To your surprise, Amy willingly provides you with Leigh's flight itinerary out of Los Angeles. In the days leading up to her departure, you find yourself constantly formulating and discarding plans. Will you show up at the airport and whisk her away? Convince her to change her mind? Perhaps even show up with your own suitcase, ready to join her if you can persuade her at the last minute that she’s making a huge mistake?

Ultimately, none of your scenarios play out. However, you do find yourself at the airport, arriving ten minutes before her boarding gate closes. There, you spot Leigh standing in the lobby with a small suitcase. In that instant, you feel like you’ve accepted—for real this time—her decision to do this on her own.

You watch from the shadows as her gaze darts around as if searching for someone. Your heart swells with a mix of hope and sorrow, realizing she might be looking for you. You stay hidden, watching as she pulls out her phone and dials a number. Your phone vibrates in your back pocket. With your eyes still on her, you answer it.

“Hey, it's me,” Leigh starts awkwardly, as if implying that you might not remember how she sounds. You haven’t spoken to each other in weeks.

“I know it's you,” you reply softly.

“I'm about to board,” she says, and you can hear the reluctance in her voice.

“I see,” you say, struggling to contain the emotions that might slip through the cracks of your nonchalance. “Did you pack some food for the flight?”

She laughs, a tearful sound that squeezes your heart. “Yes, I picked up some donuts.”

“Sounds unhealthy, Ms. Shaw. Try to order some broccoli in-flight,” you tease her lightly.

“I hate broccoli,” she deadpans, her voice layered with a stubbornness you know well.

Then, she asks the harder questions, “Where are you? What are you doing?”

You mull it over, caught between honesty and the need to protect her decision. “I'm just hanging out in the clinic,” you lie, unwilling to reveal that you are there, watching her last moments before departure. “Will you call me when you land?”

She sounds like she wants to protest, but you cut in, “I need to know you're safe. It would really help me to know you're okay out there.”

After a few seconds, she agrees softly, “Okay, I'll call.”

“I’ll wait,” you say. “However long it takes,” you add, leaving the meaning of those words open for her to interpret.

They announce final boarding.

“Listen, I—I have to go,” Leigh says quickly. “Please, take care. Goodbye, Y/N.”

“Goodbye, Leigh,” you manage to say, your voice catching as you watch her walk away.

You end the call and pocket your phone. Watching her wipe away a tear and head towards her gate is almost too much to bear. You allow yourself a moment, a small smile playing on your lips, proud of her courage and saddened by her departure. You’ll be waiting for her call, but if it never comes, you'll understand. These moments don't erase the past several months you've spent getting to know Leigh.

And you wouldn’t trade them for the world.

-

At exactly ten in the evening, Leigh calls you from Boston.

[munson-blurbs]

for the meet-cute!!!

she/her - eddie - into playing guitar and painting - i’m shy at first, a hopeless romantic, and a quick wit!!

You meet Eddie at Hawkins High's art show!

CW: brief mention of anxiety, Will is part of the Hellfire Club, I wrote this while my flight was boarding so I'm sorry if it's wonky WC: 542 Divider credit to @hellfire--cult

Hawkins High’s annual art show was never the most well-attended event. It was always overshadowed by basketball playoffs, and with Jason Carver seemingly leading the team to a championship win, the art show hadn’t even made the school paper. 

You stood in front of the piece you’d selected for tonight: a painting of your guitar, leaned up against your unmade bed, laundry and books strewn around. It was entitled “Peace Amongst Chaos” and was your favorite one yet, serving as a reminder of the hobby that kept you sane. Any stress temporarily melted away when you were playing, even if you were just strumming some chords without any song in mind.

Will Byers, who was another Art Club member, had set up beside you. Despite your senior and his freshman status, you’d formed a sort of camaraderie. He was similar to you in that he was more reserved upon first meeting, but was a chatterbox once you got to know him.

“My friends will be here soon,” he said excitedly. “The whole Hellfire Club, actually.”

You nodded, a flutter of relief in your chest. So far, the show’s only attendees were other members and the occasional teacher. Anyone else–including the school’s infamous Dungeons & Dragons club–would be warmly welcomed.

Sure enough, seven guys filtered into the gymnasium-turned-symposium a few minutes later, each of them taking turns to give Will a hug or a clap on the back.

“This is awesome, dude.” Nancy Wheeler’s kid brother, Mike, said with a grin. He wasn’t lying: Will’s painting of a dragon decimating a city was extraordinary, showing just a glimpse of his immense talent. 

The other two freshmen echoed the statement, as did Gareth Emerson, Jeff Anderson, and Grant Smith.

It was Eddie Munson’s reaction–or lack thereof–that caught your attention. “Looks great, Little Byers,” he muttered, but his eyes were focused on you. Well, not you; your painting.

And, well, maybe a bit on you as well.

“Do you, um, play?” he asked you, shoving his ringed fingers in his jean pockets.

“Hmm?”

His cheeks reddened, and he scratched the back of his neck absently. “Guitar. Like, the one in your painting.”

“Oh!” The word came out louder than you’d intended, and you hoped no one noticed. “Y-Yeah, I do. It’s my…my peace amongst the chaos. Like the title says.” 

A smile stretched across Eddie’s face. “Mine, too. It’s like a magic cure for all of my problems, y’know?”

You knew. You knew exactly how it felt to let the world slip away, to let hours pass you by as you succumbed to melodies unknown.

“I, uh, have a band. We have a band,” he quickly amended, gesturing to where Grant, Jeff, and Gareth were standing behind him. “We play every Tuesday night at The Hideout. It’s kinda a dive–”

“Kinda?!” Jeff broke in, his laughter ceasing when Eddie threw him a scowl.

Eddie continued as though he hadn’t been interrupted. “Anyway, we go on around ten, if you ever wanna stop by. They don’t check ID, so maybe I can buy you a drink or something?”

You nodded, perhaps too emphatically, but you couldn’t be bothered to care. Maybe you could find another little slice of peace with a cute guitar player by your side.

--

[czennieszn]

the magic of christmastime | l. castellan ❆

part 1: s(mitten) for you, luke castellan

child of aphrodite reader (Y/N) x luke castellan (fluff, a bit of angst, some anxiety)

It's Christmastime, the season of magic, miracles, and snow in the city. Celebrating their first Christmas together as a couple, Luke and Y/N are eager to participate in Christmas traditions. And what better way to get in Christmas spirit than going shopping in the Big Red Apple, the splendid New York City. There is only one problem, getting the permission of Chiron and Mr. D.

w.c. 2.5K (let me know if you would fancy a part 2!

______________________________________________________________

I love Christmastime. From the flurry of people that crowd the malls of New York City, to the actual flurries of soft white snow that encase the concrete, making the Big Apple look like a giant snow globe, it's safe to say that Christmastime sparked a little bit of magic in you. Every year after Thanksgiving, a silent countdown would begin; the countdown until Christmas. Thirty days. Twenty-nine days. Twenty-eight days. Time didn't move any slower. But during these thirty days, the Christmas traditions got you through the month.

Baking and decorating Christmas cookies, wearing matching sweaters, drinking hot cocoa, and watching Christmas movies on your old DVD player, were things that you were anticipating doing this Christmas. Except, this Christmas would be different. It would be a little bit more magical, because this Christmas, you had the golden-eyed curly-haired Hermes boy with a crooked smile to spend it with. And you were delighted.

"Luke..." you gently nudged your boyfriend, teasing him with a smile. He was lying on your bed with his hands stretched out, your monthly subscription to Vogue magazine in his hands. Even under the dimly lit florescent fairy lights, Luke looked magical.  His lips were pursed in concentration, and his faint freckles were dotted across his nose. Eyebrows furrowed, he diverged his attention to you.

"Yes Y/N..." he responded in an equally teasing tone. Turning his head, you softly played with his curls as he rested in your lap. He twinkled his eyes like a newborn puppy, a look he knew was impossible to resist. You tried to endure the nonchalant disposition on your face, but the corner of your mouth gave you away. Smiling gently, you looked away and giggled. The effect this boy had on you couldn't be explained by science, it couldn't be explained by the gods. Gods, you were so in love with each other.

"What if we-" you began to say. He jokingly rolled his eyes. "I can't wait for another one of your "grand ideas" again Y/N. The last time you started with "what if we", we ended up in trouble with Mr. D and had to spend two months on stable duty," Luke laughed.

"No wait I'm serious! I promise we won't have to shovel horse shit ever again!" You said, trying not to laugh. 

"That was miserable, never again," Luke mocked you.

"I'm genuinely being serious, here me out!" You playfully eyed him.

"Okay Princess, what is it?" Luke whispered as he stared at your lips.

"What if we go into the city for some Christmas shopping..." you trailed off, unsure whether he would be willing to go with you. 

"Hmm," Luke closed the magazine and returned it to the magazine rack that Aphrodite gave you for your sixteenth birthday. You remember how elated when your mother met with you on your sweet sixteenth and winked at you, urging you to pursue Luke. Now here you were, two years later, with her advice fully followed through. 

There was a pregnant pause as Luke played with your fingers. "I hope you don't mean Christmas shopping at the camp gift shop," he jokingly said.  You shook your head quickly while you laughed, your curtain bangs swinging from side to side. "I've kind of had enough of the Stoll brothers and their practical jokes on these not-so-practical gifts." Rolling your eyes, you recalled last year when the Stoll brothers had slipped you two love potions, giving you googly eyes for Chiron and Luke groveling at Mr. D. It was a whole fiasco, leaving you and Luke thoroughly embarrassed for a minimum of two weeks.

"Noooo," you dragged on the word as you tilted your head. "I mean like, what if we went into the city to go shopping? Wouldn't that be fun," you suggested. "Do you think Chiron would let us?" You lightly breathed.

"Well, there's no way we'll know if we don't ask," Luke grinned. 

"Wait so you'd be willing to go shopping with me?" you held your breath. 

"Of course, anything for you Princess," Luke caressed your face. You were leaping with joy, and you practically ran out of the Aphrodite cabin to stalk Chiron for his permission. 

"Let's go, let's go!" You attempted to drag Luke as he groaned. "I'm comfy here, can we wait until tomorrow to find Chiron," Luke attacked you with his puppy-like eyes. Nope, you weren't going to fall for that now, no matter how impossible it was. 

"Please Luke we should go now, tomorrow morning is in twelve hours, something bad could happen and he may not let us go," you flashed him your best smile in retaliation. Playfully rolling his eyes, he tugged your hand and you fell onto the mattress. Squealing, you lay on top of him, what a goof. But you are so into this goof. Cheekily smiling, he smothered you in kisses: on your face, on your neck, on your collarbone. Peppering all surface areas of your body with love. 

You were violently blushing, turning a shade of red from your cheeks down to your neck at the sudden PDA. All of a sudden, you were self-conscious of your siblings in the cabin. But, they certainly paid you two no attention as they were used to the displays of affection. Awake and animated, Luke's eyes momentarily flickered animalistically, but they quickly returned to his typical soft-golden retriever demeanor. You both knew what he wanted at that moment, but given the circumstances, ew, gross.

"Okay," he whispered, satisfied at the reaction he got out of you. "Let's go," and he tugged you up suddenly as you guys ran out the door. The run eventually turned into the light jog because (a) you guys had just finished dinner and didn't want indigestion and (b) you had already exercised enough for today (the Apollo kids had run an archery obstacle course that was grueling, leaving a dull ache in your arms and feet)

"Chiron!" Luke called out into the distance, as we saw a faint outline of the centaur's shadow. He was going into the big house, probably to put curlers in his tail before he retired to his bed for the evening (Grover's words, not mine). Before he disappeared into the shadows, he gestured to us, letting us know to enter the Big House. Panting, as you were nearly exhausted at this point (don't get me wrong, I'm not unathletic, but the distance from the Aphrodite cabin to the Big House is quite far) At this point, you were going to get appendicitis before you could step into the Big Apple.

"Luke, wait a minute," you said, running out of breath. For a powerful demigod, you certainly had limited endurance.

"Are you okay Y/N," Luke dramatically gasped as he held your hand.

"I'm perfectly okay, just a tad out of shape," you sighed.

"Well Princess, just a few more steps and then we are there," Luke softly replied. Silently nodding your head to Luke's words of encouragement, you two approached the Big House. Unconsciously, you began to peel your cuticles, and Luke gently pried your hands away from your delicate, beaten skin. You deeply appreciated when he did things like that, paying attention to every detail, focusing on you, and double-checking that you were healthy and mentally okay.

The waning crescent that brightly illuminated the night sky depicted your mood; the fading of a bright idea in an endless world. This feeling wasn't new to you, and you could feel your energy waning. All the bravado that you had previously shown to Luke had wilted. Instead, you were now left uneasy, waiting for Chiron and Dionysus to chagrin you for your dangerously silly idea. A sinking pit of anxiety settled in your stomach. Damn, for how often my anxiety just shows up, it may as well start paying rent, you thought, trying to ease the war of emotions swimming in your mind.

Are you sure that you are okay? Luke bent down his head so he could be at eye level with you.

Yes, hopefully, you silently blinked back. He understood the scope of your anxiety, and during the especially bad days when you were left hugging yourself and biting at your nails, he would hug you instead and play with your fingers. Besides being a great boyfriend, he was an even more understanding person, and you loved that part of him.

Alright, gametime, Luke winked to you, as you two crossed the boundary between fun! rainbows! camp! and imminent doom featuring half a horse and an overgrown drunk toddler. The floorboard creaked as you two entered the Big House. Mustering up the remainder of your confidence, you took a deep breath and entered a book room where Chiron and Dionysus were sitting.

"We have a proposal for-," you gestured before being rudely interrupted by Mr. D slurping his diet coke. He raised an eyebrow, challenging you to continue. You momentarily glared at him before resuming your composure.

"Like I said, Luke and I have been thinking of-," you continued before being rudely interrupted for the second time by the overgrown diet coke-addicted toddler.

"Please, Dionysus, respect for the demigods for once," Chiron rolled his eyes, partially annoyed at Mr. D for acting childish, and possibly because we had interrupted his nighttime routine. Hey, if someone asked me to do something if I was in the middle of a manicure, I would also be thoroughly annoyed.

"To state the point that was never said," you pointedly glared at Mr. D and he tilted his head back at you to say fair point, "Luke and I were thinking of going into the city for one day to do some Christmas shopping."

The room was silent. All you could hear was the crackling of the fireplace, and even then as every log burned a hiss of malice escaped the chimney's base. Then Dionysus let out a big guffaw, startling everyone in the room.

"Oh my gosh you're joking are you? You came all the way to tell us that?" Mr. D gasped for breath and wiped his tears as he was laughing too hard. 

Dead silence echoed (can silence echo?) throughout the room. We were serious (for once). Mr. D could sense that no one else in the room was in a playful mood, and soon shut his mouth, a rare occasion. Under different circumstances, I would have probably pointed that out to Luke and given him a sly look, but tonight was not the night.

"Wait, you two are serious," Mr. D gestured to both of us while giving us both a pointed look of disappointment.

"Please Mr. D, we promise to be safe-" Luke began.

"For two senior counselors who have been at camp for a very long time, might I add, you two surely haven't gained any knowledge for all the time that you've been here," Mr. D frowned. 

"Please, we haven't gone anywhere in years. We promise to be safe and take any precautions needed," you pleaded. You just wanted this one thing. It might have been selfish, putting your lives in danger for a silly whimsical idea of yours, but it would make your first Christmas spent with Luke magical.

"You two are year-long campers for a reason," Mr. D firmly stated. He was correct in that respect, powerful campers like you two attracted monsters from far and wide. With your powerful charm speaking abilities and ability to create illusions of someone's greatest desires, and Luke's incredible sword fighting abilities, and not to mention his ability to bend the air in ripples as a traveling method, you two were quite a dynamic couple.

"Chiron," You pleaded, as you turned to Chiron. Chiron seemed deep in thought, as he pensively stroked his goatee (do I call it a horse-tee? centaur-tee?).

"These two of our campers are some of our best campers. They know how to adequately defend themselves in any situation tossed their way, am I correct?" Chiron turned to you two, the right corner of his mouth fighting a smile. You had never been so grateful for Chiron's existence until that moment (putting aside that time that he taught you the full extent of your illusional abilities, that was amazing of him).

"Yes, yes Chiron," Luke said, as you vigorously nodded your head.

"Yes, we will carry golden drachmas and Iris message you in case anything goes wrong," I tried to persuade them. "Not that we will inherently cause anything to go wrong," you trailed off.

"We will also bring weapons, just in case anything happens," Luke jumped in right away. "We will take care of ourselves, we promise."

"Think of this like a test, if we come back, we live, if not, well, we die. If we can't even handle the city that surrounds us, if we get called to a quest, well, that means we are screwed," you joked, also not joking at the same time. Hoping that this would persuade Mr. D, you gave Chiron a quick thumbs up, a symbol of your gratitude for having trust in you two.

"Hmm," Mr. D hummed for a while. You hoped he wasn't asleep, it was past that groggy toddler's bedtime.

"Well I permit Luke Castellan and Y/N L/N to spend the day in New York City tomorrow, granted they come back with gifts for me as well," Chiron winked.

"Oh yes, yes!" You excitedly said, a wide smile spread across your face.

"Of course, we will buy gifts for you Chiron, and for you as well Mr. D," Luke continued.

"Hmm, alright. And you two promise that you will stay safe?" Mr. D questioned.

"Yes sir," you two responded stoically.

"And within reach at all times?" Mr. D continued.

"Yes sir," you two nodded.

"Well I permit Lukas Clarkson and Y/nN La/N to spend the day in New York City tomorrow, granted they come back with gifts for me as well," Mr. D retorted, horribly butchering our names. Neither Luke nor I corrected him, fearful that he could suddenly have a change of heart and change his mind.

"Thank you so so so much!" You grinned.

"Have a great night!" Luke said, as he practically dragged you out the door.

"We did it! Oh my gosh, we are so good!" You excitedly hugged Luke the moment you exited the Big House. Hugging you and lifting you in the air, you two laughed joyously as you two landed on the lawn. Landing on top of Luke, you played with his hair. You hadn't left Camp Half-Blood without your mother, who would whisk you to some location in New York City for a day-trip gossip session.

"We did amazing, Princess," Luke smiled up at you. He squeezed your waist, causing a tornado of butterflies to travel up your navel.

"Well, we better get a long night's sleep tonight. We have an extremely long day tomorrow," you shyly smiled.

"Great idea babe, but first," Luke cheekily grinned, as he flipped you upside down. Startled, your eyes widened as Luke began to unabashedly pepper kisses across your face, neck, and collarbone. You didn't care that you two were in public, you were just grateful to have a wonderful boyfriend and wonderful people who could trust you two. You couldn't wait for tomorrow. 

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xoxo, cznszn 𐙚₊❤︎

© czennieszn on tumblr. do not repost, translate, plagiarize, or claim any of my works as your own.

[steddieasitgoes]

Stolen Kisses & Sundae Wishes

3.4K Words | Teen and Up | ao3 link

This was written for day three of @steddie-week. The prompts I used were first kiss and discover! As always it ended up way longer than I intended! You can read it below or on ao3. Enjoy!

"You know this basement used to be mine before Mike took it over?" Nancy says, looking around the cluttered basement fondly.

"Those little thieves," Eddie teases, stretching out on the worn, scratchy blue carpet.

They're all gathered in the Wheeler's basements — the kids banished to the Byers' new place for the weekend — to celebrate one last hang out before their lives change for the better. Nancy leaves for Emerson tomorrow afternoon. Argyle and Jonathan to New York on Monday. Robin, Steve, and Eddie scheduled to get the keys to their new apartment near Indiana State in a little over a week.

They're growing up.

And yet, the basement looks like they're still kids who don't know what they're doing with their lives.

The coffee table is piled high with pizza boxes and other snacks. A soda can tower barely hanging on as Robin adds another empty Coke can. The basement should be filled with beer cans and Palm Tree Delight joints, but none of that stuff has the same effect on them it once did. Getting drugged by Russians, making a drunken scene at parties, and waking up from on bad drug-enhanced nightmare has them all acting a bit more sober than usual.

Still, there's a rawness in the air that Steve's only used to being around at parties when everyone is under the influence, feeling happy and chatty.

"I had my first kiss right here," Nancy says, patting the paisley couch.

"Oh, are we talking about first kisses, brochachos?" Argyle asks, sitting up from where he's been sprawled out under Mike's designated DnD table. "Mine was wild."

"I'm sure it was," Jonathan says, rolling his eyes at his best friend. "But I don't think Nancy meant for everyone to share their stories."

"Aw, come on, my dude. It'll be fun!"

“I don’t know Argyle. I think Jonathan’s right on this one,” Steve chimes in.

It’s not the answer everyone was expecting from him by the way everyone’s heads whirl around to face him. Sure, he spent his high school years making out in crowded Hawkins High hallways, not caring who was watching. But this feels different.

First kisses are special and awkward, and well, if he’s honest, Steve doesn’t want to hear Eddie wax poetic about his first kiss like he knows he’ll do because Eddie is a storyteller. He doesn’t know how to tell them anything unless it’s woven with dragon slaying and metaphors that go over Steve’s head.

Last week, Robin had to give him the SparkNotes version of Eddie’s terrible interview after Eddie went on a ten-minute rant about the horrors of job interviews.

“Now we have to hear your first kiss story, Stevie. It must be really terrible if you don’t want to share with us,” Eddie teases, sitting up from the floor.

“Hate to break it to you, Munson, but it wasn’t anything exciting. Just an innocent first kiss in a dark room. I don’t even know what she looked like.”

Eddie groans, tossing his head back onto the empty space next to Nancy on the couch. His hair flops around him, draping over her thighs. “You’re the worst storyteller ever! Come on, Wheeler, paint us a picture of your first kiss. Show Stevie how it’s done.”

Steve doesn’t think Nancy is going to take Eddie’s bait, but she does, and Steve’s reminded yet again that he really has no idea what goes on in Nancy Wheeler’s head. Never did and never will.

Nancy goes on to tell them about Connor Fritz. They were childhood best friends before his family moved when his mom got a better teaching job at Northwestern. The basement was their post-school hangout, but unlike Mike and his friends, all they ever got up to down here was homework until one summer afternoon.

“We were supposed to go to the pool but stayed in instead. It was our final day together before he moved, and he was really nervous. I was too. We were starting middle school in a few weeks, and now we were going to be totally friendless. And kiss-less since we didn’t go to Carol’s 11th birthday party.”

“The spin-the-bottle party,” Steve snorts in remembrance. He still has no idea how Carol convinced her parents to leave them unattended in her basement for hours. It’s a good thing they all thought kissing was sex at that age. If not, well, Steve’s certain at least one kid would have been conceived in Carol’s game closet.

“The very one,” Nancy smiles. “So anyway, we were just talking about how mad we were that we weren’t going to be there for each other, and then he said something like, “well, I can still help you with one thing,” and then he kissed me.”

“That’s the sweetest first kiss story ever,” Robin coos from the floor. She’s lying on the same itchy blue carpet as Eddie, her head using Steve’s lap as her very own pillow.

It’s easy from their position for Steve to glance down at Robin to check in with her. Robin has her own streak of jealousy that runs through her, so he can’t imagine this conversation is any fun for her either. Instead of finding her lips pressed thinly together and a vacant look in her eyes, though, he finds her smiling.

Huh? She’s stronger than me, he thinks.

“What about you, Robin?”

“Oh me?” Robin laughs dryly, lifting her head out of Steve’s lap and pushing herself up into a seated position next to Steve. “I mean, I guess it was at summer camp in 1980 with this kid whose name I don’t even remember. But uh, I don’t really think it counts since I don’t exactly, you know, like kissing guys.”

“What’s the girl story then?” Eddie asks.

Without hesitating, Steve reaches a hand out to Robin. Lets it rest on her crossed thigh before giving her a reassuring squeeze.

This is also why he didn’t want this conversation to take place.

“It, uh, hasn’t happened yet.”

“No need to fret, Robin Hood! There will be plenty of dudettes to mack out with at that fancy school of yours. So many little fishies waiting for your lips.”

Robin snorts, shaking her head. “I hope your right,” she says, ducking her head for a moment. “What about you, Argyle?”

“Picture this, my dudes,” he says, hopping up onto his feet. “You’ve got Palm Tree Delight in one hand, a beautiful girl holding your other hand. The sky is doing that weird painter with the missing ear thing it does when all the colors start twirling together. And then everything starts spinning, and the next thing you know you’re in the grass with a beautiful girl on top of you, and she’s not just kissing you for Purple Palm Tree Delight, but she’s kissing you because she wants to taste your lips.”

“See, that’s how you tell a story!”

“Thanks, my dude.”

Eddie hops up on his feet, crossing the small distance to high-five Argyle. Their hands’ clasp in the moment, turning the innocent high-five into a weird handholding moment that neither seems to want to break.

Steve absolutely isn’t jealous.

“Yeah, well, not all of us are storytellers, Munson.”

“Allow me to give you a lesson in storytelling then,” Eddie says, finally prying his hand free from Argyle’s grasp. He saunters into the middle of the basement and gestures with his hands. “Everyone take your seats, please.”

Robin snorts as she crawls over to the couch, taking a seat on the floor where Eddie previously sat. Nancy’s still perched on the couch next to Jonathan, and Argyle collapses to his left. Steve’s the last to find his spot, making himself comfortable next to Robin.

“First, you start with the set up,” he says, talking directly at Steve before moving to address the rest of them. “It was 1976. I was ten years old, and I was in Hawkins visiting Wayne for the summer. Usually, my dad would bring me out to visit for a few days, but he got caught up with “work,” you know, hot-wiring cars and stripping them for parts, so I spent the whole summer here with Wayne.

“It was a humid July day. The air thick and hard to breathe,” he says, pausing to turn to Steve again. “A good story always has details about the senses, Stevie.”

Steve rolls his eyes, but keeps listening.

“I remember I was covered in sweat ‘cause Wayne had the day off and needed to patch up the patio of the trailer after I tore it up, saving a raccoon family. Course, I had to help. I was sweating buckets. My hair was shoulder-length at the time, and it was sticking to me, and so was everything else.

“We finally finished as the sun was setting and Wayne must’ve felt bad for keeping me hostage all day — not like I had anywhere else to go, really. Everyone already had their own friends in Hawkins. I was just some weird outsider who liked to feed raccoons. So, he felt bad and told me to take a quick shower ‘cause he was taking me out for ice cream.

“I’m thinking he’s taking me to the new Dairy Queen that I saw on the way into Hawkins a month ago. But no, the old man takes me to some rundown, hole-in-the wall ice cream parlor in the old downtown of Hawkins. The part they eventually tore down for Starcourt.

“And this place. Man, I’ll never forget it. It was like ice cream threw up inside. Every wall was painted after a different ice cream. And not the normal ones, either. There was a rainbow sherbet wall and turtle tracks one. A giant abstract sundae mural behind the counter.

“Jesus H. Christ and the name! I was only 11, but even I knew the name was an issue. I mean, who names an ice cream shop The Lick —-

“N’ Bite,” Steve supplies.

There’s a sinking feeling in Steve’s stomach when Eddie turns towards him again. Eddie hates being interrupted, a fact Steve knows because he’s constantly getting reprimanded for interrupting Eddie’s story flow. Whatever the hell that means. But the look Eddie’s giving him isn’t his usual one of annoyance; it’s one of pure curiosity.

“You know it?”

Steve nods. “Tommy’s mom used to take us there after basketball practice.”

“Huh, wouldn’t expect to see your type at a dive ice cream shop,” Eddie shrugs, then launches back into his story.

There’s another five minutes of Eddie describing all the flavors he sampled that day in great detail — “they had this one called fresh and clean that tasted like Wayne’s laundry detergent. I was so convinced it was one of the ingredients!” — before Eddie finally gets to the kiss side of the story.

“Wayne’s catching up with the only guy working the place, and I really want another scoop of Sinful Cinnamon, so I figure, what the hell? I’ll scoop it myself. But there’s none left in the tub, so I head into the back. There’s this giant walk-in freezer in the back that has all the tubs in it, and it’s cracked open.”

The sinking feeling in Steve’s stomach returns as Eddie keeps talking. He tries not to squirm next to Robin, doesn’t want to draw any attention to himself, but he can feel his heart beating faster and faster as realization hits Steve.

“Didn’t you used to hide out at an ice cream shop when your parents started arguing?” Robin whispers.

Steve nods, too scared of what his voice will sound like if he answers verbally.

"The damn door closes behind me, and it's pitch black in this room, right. And it's cold. So fucking cold. I thought my eyes were going to freeze over. Course, the door is locked from the inside, so I'm thinking, great, I'm going to die in a damn ice cream freezer, and my dad is gonna have my uncle arrested for child endangerment even though my dad's done way worse when I catch something out of the corner of my eye.

"Next thing I know, there's this kid standing in front of me. I thought I was hallucinating! All I could see were a pair of light-colored eyes in front cause everything else was so dark, but then he lamely asked if I was here looking for ice cream too, and I knew I didn't imagine him cause, dammit he would have said something a lot cooler if I was."

“What else was I supposed to say? I was a kid!”

Eddie whirls around so fast, his legs tangle as he moves to face them, but mostly Steve. Robin’s mouth is open wide beside Steve, jaw unhinged like she’s about to have it broken in two by fucking Vecna. Steve can’t see Nancy, but he can tell by the quiet “oh my gods” she’s uttering that not even she was expecting this plot twist.

“You were there?” Eddie shouts, voice high pitched and eyes wide in utter disbelief.

“Woah, my dudes,” Argyle says, glancing between the two of them. “You guys were both locked in the ice cream freezer together? That’s wild.”

“They weren’t just locked in there, Argyle,” Jonathan hisses, elbowing him in the ribs. “They’re each other’s first kisses.”

“That can’t be true!” Eddie throws his hands in the air and begins pacing. “Steve said his first kiss was with some girl in a dark room. That’s not what I’m describing!”

“I mean, I thought it was a girl. They had long hair, and I didn’t know any guys who had long hair back then,” Steve says, pushing himself up to his own feet. He doesn’t start pacing, though, feet frozen to their spot on the floor instead. “But I did have my first kiss in an ice cream freezer. That’s why it was dark.”

“Okay, yeah, that’s, uh, that’s a little weird, but we don’t know if it was the same ice cream freezer.”

“Do you regularly make it a habit of getting locked in ice cream freezers, Munson?” Steve snaps.

He doesn’t know why Eddie is reacting like this. A minute ago, he was fondly recounting the story of kissing some boy in a freezing cold ice cream freezer, and now? Now he’s trying way harder than he ever did in school to prove he didn’t kiss Steve. As if kissing Steve is a bad thing?

Is it a bad thing?

Sure, Eddie and Steve are friends now, but maybe there’s a part of Eddie that still hates Steve for who he was in high school.

Maybe, learning that Steve took this precious first from Eddie is the final straw.

“Hey, guys, why don’t we give them a minute to work this out?” Nancy says, already yanking Jonathan and Argyle up from the couch.

Robin hesitates as she looks at Steve. He knows she’s giving him an out, but he doesn’t take it. Gives her a small nod and a tight lip smile in return and sends her up the steps after Nancy and the guys.

When Steve turns back around, Eddie’s on the couch, head buried in his hands. He takes a deep breath before carefully lowering himself onto the opposite side of the couch.

“Everything okay over there, Munson?”

“Pretty far from it, Harrington.”

Steve tries not to wince at the mention of his last name. It’s been months since Eddie’s called him anything but Stevie in that annoying tilt of his voice. But here the ugly nickname is again. Driving a dagger straight through Steve’s heart.

Steve tries to assess the situation. Digs deep into that retired athlete's brain of his and tries to come up with a game-winning plan for how to navigate this conversation. But Steve's never been good with words. It's a lot easier to find the winning move when there are actual pawns to move instead of random letters spiraling through his brain.

The way he sees it, he has two options.

Option one: apologize. For what? Steve’s not sure, but that’s never stopped him from apologizing before. It’s not the ideal plan, but it’s the only plan Steve thinks will get Eddie to look at him again. And damn, does he miss Eddie’s eyes looking at him.

Option two: take the once-in-a-lifetime shot and tell Eddie the secret he’s been harboring since a certain March night when a broken bottle was dangerously close to his throat.

Steve closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

“For what it’s worth, it was a great kiss.”

“Don’t bullshit me, man!” Eddie groans. “This is embarrassing enough as it is.”

“Wow, I didn’t realize kissing me was so embarrassing,” Steve winces, recoiling in on himself.

“That’s not—“ Eddie groans again as he finally pulls his hands away from his face. He takes a moment before he turns to face Steve. “Why aren’t you more embarrassed? I mean, your first kiss was with a guy. Doesn’t that weird you out?”

“No? You know I don’t care about that stuff.”

“Yeah, but this is different. This isn’t Robin kissing Vickie or me kissing some random guy at a club. This is you! Patron Saint of Heterosexuality, Steve Harrington, having his kiss virginity stolen by some guy!”

“You didn’t steal it! I kissed you if you remember the rest of the story,” Steve says, jabbing his finger into Eddie’s scarred bicep. “And I’d do it again, because I’m not the Patron Saint of Hetereo—whatever it is you said!”

Steve's not sure how to describe the sound Eddie emits from the depths of his throat. It's a shill, almost demogorgon-like, but it lacks the danger that comes with a screech like that. Eddie's eyes are big and wild, pupils taking over every inch of the rich, warm brown Steve's come to lose himself in.

“What are you saying, Steve?”

Steve shifts closer to Eddie on the couch, eyes glued to the shell-shocked expression on his face.

It’s now, or never, he thinks. The seconds are ticking by, and he has to take the shot now if he wants the satisfaction of the win.

“I like you, Eddie,” he whispers, loud enough for Eddie to hear but not loud enough for Robin and the rest of them to hear if they’re spying on them. Which he’s willing to bet they are. “I’ve liked you since March, and I spent the entire summer of 1976 liking you before I even knew who you were.”

“Steve, that’s—” Eddie shakes his head. “That’s ridiculous, you didn’t even know what I looked like. You thought I was a girl! It could have still been a girl! We don’t know for sure it was you I kissed!”

“Maybe this will help.”

Steve scoots closer, closing the gap between them but leaving enough space for Eddie to move away if he wants. He waits for a moment, and then another and only starts to lean in when Eddie gives him the smallest nod of his head.

Eddie shakes under Steve’s steadying hand as it moves to cup his cheek. He lets his thumb trace over the still-healing flesh of his scars as he tips Eddie’s head subtly to the left. And then Steve leans in, hot breath fanning over Eddie’s face. He watches Eddie’s eyelashes flutter shut and only when he’s certain they’re closed does he press his lips to Eddie’s.

It’s soft and tentative.

Maybe even a little bit awkward.

But then Eddie presses into him ever so gently, and the sparks fly.

Steve’s entire body breaks out with goosebumps. The same way they did all those years ago in the freezer, except this time, it has nothing to do with the arctic temperature.

They keep kissing. Gentle pecks, nothing more.

Steve’s too scared of scaring Eddie away with how deep his want is, and Eddie, well, Steve’s not entirely sure what’s going on in Eddie’s head, but he imagines he’s still reeling from this new discovery.

When they finally pull away, Eddie’s smiling. Dimples deep and on full display. He’s got a mischievous glint in his eye that Steve’s come to love from afar, but now that it’s directed at him? Well, Steve’s inside turn molten.

“Think our first kiss was sweeter, Stevie.”

Steve laughs and lets his head knock against Eddie’s boney shoulder as he buries his laughter in the crook of Eddie’s neck. “I did eat like three Turtle Track sundaes before I kissed you back then.”

Eddie hums. “Guess we better go get you a sundae then and try again.

Steve pulls away and looks at Eddie with his own face of bewilderment. “You want to? With me?”

“Steve,” Eddie jests. “I dreamt about the ice cream-flavored boy I kissed for years, until I found someone new to dream about in high school. Turns out, they turned out to be the same boy after all.”

[umlewis]

Exclusive: Lewis Hamilton Will Drive Ayrton Senna's McLaren In Tribute At the São Paulo GP

Action will be held at 5 pm on Saturday in Interlagos, after the end of the official Formula 1 track activities

According to information from Grupo Bandeirantes, Lewis Hamilton is the driver chosen to drive Ayrton Senna's McLaren in the tribute that will be held at the São Paulo Formula 1 GP. The action, called "Senna Sempre," is scheduled for 5 pm next Saturday (November 2), when all official track activities have ended. The car chosen for the tribute is the McLaren MP4/5B, with which Senna won his second championship in the 1990 Formula 1 season. Before that, on Thursday ( October 31), the car will be displayed at an event on Avenida Faria Lima, the economic epicenter of the capital of São Paulo. The agenda will feature the presence of Emerson Fittipaldi. The tribute car was even highlighted in the program this Tuesday (October 29) at the Autódromo de Interlagos, in the final stretch of the 2024 São Paulo Grand Prix. Hamilton never hid his idolatry and identification with Ayrton Senna. The Brit, who even has honorary Brazilian citizenship, already drove the three-time champion's 1988 McLaren when he was still a driver for the British team. Hamilton was also thrilled in 2017 when he won a helmet from his idol after equaling Senna's number of pole positions at the Canadian GP. The person who also paid tribute to Ayrton on the 30th anniversary of the Brazilian's death was Sebastian Vettel, who drove the 1993 McLaren at the 2024 Emilia Romagna GP, in Imola. On that occasion, the German, who owns the car, stopped on the main straight with the flags of Brazil and Austria, in tribute to Senna and Roland Ratzemberger, who also died on the weekend of the 1994 San Marino GP. Senna will be one of the honorees at the São Paulo GP this weekend, alongside Gil de Ferran and Wilsinho Fittipaldi. The race is the 21st of the 2024 Formula 1 season.

[butmakeitgayblog]

I think your understanding of canon Clexa and their characterization/dynamics is really spot on, which makes me really excited to read your canon story. The ask about canon Clarke being Loud made me wonder what your take would be on how their first time went? It’s obviously a scene that’s been written in fanfic a ton but since you seem to be against the typical “heda got fucked into a nap” narrative I’d love to know what the version of events is in your head?

Oh no, I do believe Lexa got fucked into a nap 😂

I just don't believe that was all that happened, nor that it happened the way a lot of people think 👀

Sorry in advance for the rant.

I've said it before and I'll say it again: I don't agree with some people's fandom interpretation of Lexa being this ultimately hesitant/demure or reserved person. At least not when it comes to how she expresses herself romantically. Now, I'm not shitting on the people who do see her like that and have written her like that for canon by any means because it's certainly understandable given the way she carries herself overall. I do get it.

But to me at least, Lexa is not a reserved person. Not when she's interested in someone. Not romantically, and certainly not physically.

From the very second she decided she was going to go for what she wanted with Clarke - when she decided to be honest and active about her feelings - what did she do? How did she behave?

Well. She took the reins and kissed Clarke exactly how she'd been wanting to kiss her for days

She took command and pushed into the feel of it and chased Clarke's lips to stretch the moment as long as she could

Yes she backed off when Clarke pulled away and said not yet, but that doesn't negate the fact that she very much did exactly what she wanted to do. That doesn't negate the fact that Lexa slipped her hand through Clarke's hair and tugged her in by the neck and kissed the living shit out of her simply because she wanted to.

Now here's where things get jumbled up imo and where people kind of... lose sight of Lexa for who she is. Because after this comes the mountain and then the subsequent betrayal, and after that Lexa is left hanging in this weird love/hate limbo (Clarke's, not hers. Obviously.) Was Lexa reserved during that time? Yes. Because she was trying to be respectful. She assumed Clarked hated her and would probably never forgive her. She felt she'd already done enough damage to ruin any hope for a relationship between them, so all that was left was to be respectful and love Clarke from afar. (That's glossing over many instances of Lexa still, STILL, showing her affections outright i.e. touching her when Emerson charged at her, the vow, showing up to Clarke's room dressed like a harlot a relaxed woman who just happened to like showing a whole lotta leg. You get it)

Which brings us to the afternoon Clarke was going to leave, and my God the girl was devastated. She was holding it together because that's what Lexa's does. Because Lexa was used to losing everyone she ever cared about. That's just how her life went. But also she was trying her best to keep it all together for Clarke's sake. To not make the decision of going back to Arkadia any harder for her than she knew it already was.

But even then, even in her facade of strength for both of their sake, Lexa still gave in and showed Clarke the crack in her armor. Lexa was methodical in everything shw did, and yet still she let slip, "That's why I...". Because she knew. She knew Clarke would understand what she was saying even when she wasn't ready to actually hear it. She let it "slip" because if that was going to be the last time they were together, she needed to at least know that she'd put it out there. That Clarke could carry that with her forever, if she chose to.

And then Clarke fucking kissed her.

Not once, but twice. Lexa gave her a chance to pull and think it over because of how shaky everything still was, but then Clarke leaned in and kissed her again.

And Lexa didn't hesitate again for one goddamn second after that.

Instead she kissed Clarke deeper than she'd kissed her before. Ran nervous hands all over her and caressed at her wherever she could.

She held Clarke close and actually tasted her with all the hunger she'd been pushing down for weeks (whew, thank you Alycia😮‍💨🫦).

She quite literally took Clarke's hands and tugged her to her bed. Like??? Heda really said through body language "oh we are going to fuck" (but... sweeter)

Yes she was patient and gave Clarke a chance to say no because, again, she was still very aware of how tenuous this seeming forgiveness probably was in Clarke's eyes. But that doesn't change the fact that she made it clear what she wanted. She put her affection and her yearning - all of her vulnerability right out there for Clarke to take or leave, and she did it in way that there was no mistaking exactly what she was asking for.

But Clarke didn't pull away, and what did Lexa do?

She grabbed her again. She pushed their intimacy forward again. She tugged Clarke down to the bed and not only gave herself to Clarke, but also took everything she had wanted.

So you see, Lexa was never passive in her expressions of attraction toward Clarke. She was never truly hesitant when it came to physically going for what she wanted when it came to wanting to be intimate with her. She kissed Clarke and she touched Clarke and she reached out for her time and again without shame, only stopping herself when Clarke put a stop to things because Lexa would never take something Clarke didn't openly give.

Which makes me believe Lexa would've been even less reserved when she was finally, finally, allowed to do all the things she'd yearned for. Yes she'd given Clarke the control to begin with because they both needed that kind of reassurance in their intimacy, but afterward? When it was Lexa's turn to show Clarke exactly how much she wanted her?

I believe Lexa would've been exactly who she always was when it came to being in love: giving and expressive, unabashed in her naked want. I think she would've kissed Clarke until their mouths ached and tasted every drop Clarke had to give. I think she would've begged Clarke to moan for her just so she could have those memories of making her lose control to keep with her forever. I think she would've fucked Clarke like it was their first and last time all rolled into one, because as far Lexa knew, that's exactly what it was. I think she would've teased her just to see Clarke smile and then teased her just to hear her whine. I think she would've done everything to stretch the afternoon out even while knowing they were racing against the clock. And I don't think she would've felt hesitant about any of it. Not about giving herself entirely to Clarke, both dominantly and submissively.

Cuz yeah Miss Lexa was a very happy camper after round one

But she sure as hell still wasn't shy about having her own turn

[corroded-hellfire]

Prompt Day 2: In the Beginning

Word Count: 947

Rating: T

Pairing: None

CW: Language, weed

Summary: The guys try to come up with the name for their band.

Special thanks to my darling @offensiunculaee for all the C words, Gareth’s middle name, and inspiring this ❤️

@corrodedcoffinfest

“Alright,” Eddie says as he plops down on one of the ratty old couches in Gareth’s garage. “Last time we managed to figure out we want the word ‘coffin’ in our band. That only took fucking months.” He mumbled that last part to himself before sighing and continuing. “Now we just have to figure out the rest of it.”

In anticipation of this being another long evening, Eddie pulls a joint and a lighter out of his pocket. Gareth’s mom is in the house and will occasionally come into the garage to use the washer and dryer, but the guys have convinced her there’s a family of skunks who like to come and go under the house. That’s why there’s that smell sometimes, of course. 

“Iron Coffin?” Frank suggests.

“Too close to Iron Maiden,” Jeff says, taking the joint from Eddie so he can get a hit. 

“I am Iron Coffin!” Gareth does his best interpretation of the robotic voice that kicks off the song Iron Man. 

“Silver Coffin?” Jeff asks through a cough.

“Reminds me of Silver Surfer,” Gareth says. He twists himself around on the couch so his legs are hanging over the back and his head is upside down, inches from the floor.

“The who?” Frank asks.

“That name’s taken,” Jeff jokes.

“No, who’s the damn Silver Surfer?” Frank clarifies.

Gareth picks his head up enough to stare at Frank, two cushions over from him, as if he’s insulted by the very question. 

“Seriously? From the Fantastic Four?” Gareth says.

“Fucking nerd,” Frank says with a laugh.

“Says the guy who can recite every line the lion says in the Narnia books,” Jeff shoots back.

“His name is Aslan,” Frank defends, his cheeks turning pink. 

“My apologies.” Jeff gives a sarcastic bow—the best he can from his seated position, anyway. 

“Can we get back to naming the band, please?” Eddie asks before taking another hit of the joint.

Gareth stretches his head back to look at Eddie in his upside down position. He throws out his arm and points at Frank.

“He thinks comics are nerdier than Narnia,” Gareth whines. 

Eddie lets his eyes slip closed, the effects of the marijuana kicking in being the only thing keeping him from getting irritated.

“Fantastic Four has the fire dude, that wins right there,” he says.

“Ha!” Gareth gloats.

“What about celestial?” Jeff asks.

“Who’s that?” Gareth asks. He stretches his arm out towards Eddie who hands him the joint.

“No, for our band name. Celestial Coffin.”

Frank tilts his head from side to side, considering it. 

“Meh,” he decides.

“I do like it being two C words, though,” Eddie says. “Maybe a hard C sound, though? Alliteration.”

“Cursed Coffin,” Gareth says. 

This kicks off each band member thinking of any and all words that have the hard C sound.

“Creepy Coffin.”

“Cannibal Coffin.”

“Candy Coffin.”

“Coughin’ Coffin.”

“Commode Coffin.”

“Coffee Coffin.”

“Correlating Coffin.”

“Cunty Coffin.”

The moment the words leave Gareth’s lips, the door opens and his mother gasps. Her brow furrows as she steps into the garage with a laundry basket on her hip.

“Gareth Bartholomew Emerson, I better not have heard what I think I did,” she warns as she stalks over to the washing machine.

Frank snickers. “Bartholomew.”

Gareth punches Frank right in the shin to get him to shut up. 

Mrs. Emerson quickly disappears back into the house and the name game continues.

“Combusting Coffin.”

“Crowded Coffin.”

“Children’s Coffin.”

All the guys stare at Gareth after that one.

“Dude, that’s too fucking dark even for us,” Eddie says. 

“Yeah, doesn’t have the hard C either,” Gareth sighs.

“Cool Coffin.”

“Crunchy Coffin.”

“Corny Coffin.”

“Cantankerous Coffin.”

“Clitoral Coffin,” Frank suggests.

“What’s that mean?” Gareth asks. 

“This is why you don’t have a girlfriend,” Eddie says with a snort of laughter. 

“Girls have asked me out before!” Gareth insists, but other guys ignore him.

“Man, what the fuck are we going to call it?” Eddie asks, rubbing a hand over his tired face. 

Jeff leans forward and holds his head in his hands.

“What would look cool written on the drum set?” he muses. 

“What gives off a metal image when you hear it?” Eddie poses. 

“Now I’m picturing a metal coffin,” Frank says. 

“Is that a thing?” Gareth asks, passing the joint to his couch mate. 

“I don’t think so,” Eddie says. “The metal would get all cor—oh shit.”

“What?” Jeff asks, turning his head to look at his friend. 

A smile slowly grows on Eddie’s lips until it’s a full blown grin. There’s a spark in his eyes as well, Jeff notices. 

“Corroded,” Eddie says. He looks from band member to band member, gauging their reactions. “Corroded Coffin.”

“Holy hell,” Jeff says.

“Well, shit,” Frank says through a laugh.

Gareth rights his position on the ripped plaid couch and leans forward.

“That’s fucking good.” 

Eddie feels proud of himself for coming up with that, not that he’d say that out loud to the guys. But he feels the name rolls off the tongue and sounds pretty damn cool. 

“Corroded Coffin.” Gareth tries the name out. “Yeah. Yeah, I like it.”

“So, we’re agreed?” Jeff asks, looking between his three friends. “We are officially Corroded Coffin?”

“Hell yeah,” Frank answers. 

“Let’s do it,” Gareth adds. 

Jeff looks at Eddie, who still has the ghost of a smile on his face.

“Let me try it out,” Eddie says. He clears his throat and then says in his best Dungeon Master voice, “Madison Square Garden, please welcome…Corroded Coffin!”

The other three pretend to cheer and hoot as the audience. 

Eddie licks over his lips and nods his head. 

“Corroded Coffin it is.”

[biancadjarin]

bully!eddie makes you jealous

As you walk to your locker after your last class, you see the familiar profile of Eddie’s back under his leather jacket, his wild brown hair falling over his shoulders. As he shifts positions, you see he’s holding the hips of another girl. “Is this good here, Eddie?” She asks, pinning a flyer to the cork board lining the hall. “Hmm..” he says, leaning into her hair as he speaks lowly into her ear. “A little higher baby.” He says as his hands creep under her skirt while she stretches on her tiptoes. He gives her ass a couple little spanks. “Perfect. You’re so helpful.” He hugs her from behind as she giggles. Your eyes scan the flyer as you walk past, wanting to look at anything but them.

Party tonight at Gareth Emerson’s - music by Corroded Coffin!

You take a steadying breath as you spin the combination into your locker, wanting to grab your purse and leave for the day. But of course Eddie notices you.

“I’ll see you later baby.” He says to the girl you’ve decided to nickname Giggles. He walks causally over to you, ducking behind your locker and cornering you, your back almost pushed into it. “Ready to head home, princess?” He asks, leaning in for a kiss. “Yes, I’ll be walking home today.” You say coldly, maneuvering out of his space and closing your locker in his face.

“What’s wrong Angel?” He asks, puppy dog eyes on full display. “Nothing.” You snap. “Oh no.” He says, lips curling into a grin. “You’re not jealous, are you?” He asks as he points a thumb over his shoulder to where he was just standing with Giggles. “I thought you said you’re not ‘mine’.” His fingers coming up to air quote the last word.

“I’m not…” you mutter, lips pouty. He tuts at you, “Aw, you didn’t think you’re the only girl who has my attention did you?” He asks, smile growing wider. You roll your eyes, shaking your head softly as his fingers trace down your neck to graze your collarbone, brushing a lock of hair over your shoulder.

“Silly little girl.” He says poking your forehead, emphasizing how empty it is. “All you have to do is say it. Just admit you like me as much as I like you and we can forget all this other shit. I’ll give you all my attention.” Your eyebrows furrow in anger, shimmering eyes shooting daggers into his sweet brown ones. “You’re an asshole, Eddie. Which is why I don’t want to be yours. I don’t like you!” You say, shoving him off you and heading to the door to walk home from school. He laughs a mocking laugh before chasing after you, hand quick to find your waist and slow you down.

“Then why are you so mad, y/n? If you don’t care about me talking to another chick then why won’t you let me drive you home like I do every other day?” You keep walking, not letting him catch up to you. “Fine! Be a bitch, I don’t care!” He shouts behind you. “Guess you don’t want your gift then!”

You stop in your tracks. You know it’s probably a trick but you entertain him. He walks up behind you and places a folded party flyer into your palm. His eyes focus on your hand, lips parting and tongue poking out of the side of his mouth.

“This? This is my present? An invitation to your little band’s stupid gig?” You know you’ve hurt Eddie’s feelings when his eyes shoot up to yours. “Just open it up and read it.” He says softly, leaning in to kiss your cheek. “I hope you come tonight.” He says before walking to his van and driving off.

You wait until he’s pulled out of the parking lot before unfolding the paper. It has your name written at the top in sharpie, little lightning bolts and skulls doodled around it. A little note towards the bottom reads in his messy handwriting:

I’m sitting in O’Donnell’s class pretending to take notes but really, I can’t wait to see you after school. You look beautiful today and I know you’ll look so hot tonight when you come see me play. Consider this your backstage pass ;)

-Eddie

more bully!eddie HERE

masterlist HERE

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.

.

[asexual-squidward]

Michael Emerson’s most iconic characters really are the full stretch of the morality sliding scale.

Harold Finch - Sweetiepie earnest good guy, can do no wrong.

Ben Linus - Emotionally damaged and manipulated into becoming the bad guy, steers more morally grey before getting a redemption arc

Leland Townsend - Literally the most evil person you can think of, literally no redeeming qualities or tragic motivations. Harold and Ben would actively team up to kill this guy.

[jo-harrington]

Corroded Coffin Fest - Day 1 - Firsts

Summary: The boys' first official practice together has a bit of a bumpy start.

Word Count: 669 (nice)

Rating: T

Warnings/Themes: Friendship, angst, mentions of FOI, Freak #3 is named Dave in my universe.

Check Out the Main Post for @corrodedcoffinfest here! Even if you don’t start on Day 1, you can still join! <3 Thanks @thisapplepielife for organizing, this event is going to be so fun!

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

There was tension in the air.

Tension and maybe a little bit of BO. It was the last stretch of summer, after all, and they were four teenage boys standing in a garage.

The setup wasn't bad though, and Mrs. Emerson had set up a card table full of snacks and drinks in the corner.

"Alright," Gareth cleared his throat awkwardly. "So do we want to eat first or should we just get right to it?"

Jeff's head turned to Eddie, immediately deferring to the leader of the band for the final say, and the other two were quick to follow suit.

And in that moment, Eddie faltered.

No matter how excited they'd all been discussing this in the cafeteria the other day, it still felt wrong. Like something was missing.

There was no Ronnie.

No Dougie.

And no more second chances when it came to his friends.

Eddie looked down at his feet and let his sneakers shuffle against the smooth concrete floor as feelings of self-doubt crashed into him.

What if he fumbled it all again? What if he let them down? What if their sound really wasn't as good as Corroded Coffin's had been the first time around? At least they had something then; this was new, this was fresh, this was different.

Even worse, what if he tried to push them to be better and they just thought he was chasing after the fame game again? Even though he'd sworn to himself that if they were going to do this, they were going to do it right.

He hadn't exactly done much to earn anyone's trust back yet; a summer wasn't gonna undo all of the bullshit he'd put his friends through.

Eddies thoughts--his fears--grew and grew until they were just a buzzing drone in his head and there was a tight, anxious grip on his heart that made him feel like he was about to pass out.

"You know," Jeff spoke up after a few short, painfully quiet moments, "the first time I picked up a guitar to play with you and Dougie and Ronnie, you told me I sucked."

Eddie's head snapped up and he watched acrooked smile grow on Jeff's face.

He remembered those early day, before Jeff was officially part of the band. He said that he wanted to learn guitar he would give anything to sit in on their practices. Showed up the next day with an old out-of-tune fender and no idea what a chord was.

"I didn't have callouses yet so I kept having to stop for a break," Jeff massaged his fingers, remembering the phantom pains. "Then I got frustrated when I wasn't getting any of the things you showed me. I almost gave up, actually. I wasn't gonna show up for the next practice, but you stopped me before I got in my mom's car. Told me that I wasn't gonna get better if I just quit."

There was a heavy emphasis on the word quit, and Eddie closed his eyes, as if his friend would stop seeing directly into his soul if he did.

"I don't know how you knew man," Jeff continued, voice laden with intention. "But you did. And look at us now."

"Still a garage band in Indiana," Eddie snorted in self-deprecation.

"Uh, we're only gonna be the best garage band Indiana has ever seen," Dave interjected. "We just...have to play some music."

Gareth let out a whoop of agreement and Eddie opened his eyes to find the three younger boys staring at him expectantly once again.

"What do you say man?" Jeff asked. "First official song of the first practice of the new Corroded Coffin. What should we play?"

And Eddie stood there for a moment, contemplating, weighing and judging his options like this was the most important decision he would make in his life.

Maybe it was.

Finally, with one last glance down to his feet, he took a breath, pulled his shoulders back, and asked,

"How well do you guys know Flight of Icarus?"

[thepursuitofunderstanding]

The mind, once stretched by a new idea never returns to its original dimensions.

Ralph Waldo Emerson

[autisticjellybean]

Only Girl In Hellfire

Pairing: Gareth x Reader

Tags: fem!reader, (idiot)friends to lovers, background HellCheer, basically Gareth and Reader trying to help Eddie romance Chrissy and vice versa, inexperienced!Gareth x experienced!reader, additional tags to be added.

Disclaimer: This is a ~400ish word blurb introducing a small series I’m working on rn. I’m not finished with the fic but I love this intro and couldn’t wait any longer to post it! I hope you enjoy

Gareth Emerson is in love with you. It’s been a long time building up, since the first day you met. He can still remember being a quiet, pimple-faced freshman that Eddie—on his first try at senior year—had singled out in the cafeteria and immediately taken under his wing. He remembers Eddie bringing him to their table, going around and introducing him to the friends he’d remain with for years. And at the end, he remembers Eddie introducing him to you. 

You were the only girl in Hellfire—still are. You were just his type, wild hair and dark eyes and the lettering of your club shirt stretching deliciously over your chest. You’d shaken his hand, red manicured nails matching the blood bold color of your lips that day, and he’d almost turned to jelly on the spot. He’d tried, really tried, to play it cool, but apparently he had not succeeded, because after lunch, Eddie had pulled him aside again to explain what exactly your ‘deal’ was. See, being the only girl in a group rumored to be plagued with sin and debauchery had led to some less than savory opinions of you forming amongst the student body. Mainly, of course, the basketball team, who had taken to dubbing you the “Hellfire Whore”. And while, yes, it was true you did fool around with a boy or two from time to time, you’d explicitly staved off any school boys so as not to give in to the rumor mill. Essentially, Gareth could look, but never touch.

Which would have been fine if you were just pretty. Gareth could have gotten past his little crush on you if you’d turned out to be preppy or boring or something, something that could have turned him off from you. But no, you were perfect. You were kind and funny and witty and cool and it felt like with everything he learned about you, you became more and more perfect for him. 

So, two years later and that crush is still plaguing him, begging him to take you and kiss you and tell you how beautiful and wonderful you were. But he couldn’t. And besides, your friendship was perfect, and he wasn’t about to risk it all. No, unfortunately, the more you hung out and the deeper he fell, the more he was also assuring himself that ever confessing would ruin absolutely everything. 

Until one autumn, a run-in with a familiar cheerleader would cause the nature of your relationship to change forever!

[munson-blurbs]

@corrodedcoffinfest Day 19: In the Garage

Word Count: 732/Rating: G/Pairing: None/CW: Principal Higgins is an ass, anxiety about being accepted, divergent from FoI/Tags: Eddie Munson, Gareth, Jeff, Grant, Principal Higgins, Corroded Coffin

Divider credit to @silkholland

November 1984

“On my count.” Eddie slings his guitar over his shoulder and adjusts the strap. He turns to his other bandmates, all of whom nod in acknowledgment. “Two, three—”

“Mr. Munson!”

Eddie looks at the band room door when he hears Principal Higgins bellow out his name. A smirk slowly stretches across his face. “We were actually looking for four.”

Higgins sighs, trying his best to ignore the snarky remark. “Mr. Munson,” he repeats, “I’m going to have to ask you and your buddies to leave.”

“Ooh, no can do, Higgsy-Poo. We’ve got a big gig this weekend,” Eddie says, not making eye contact as he strums a few random chords. “Gotta practice, y’know?”

“That was an order, Mr. Munson; not a suggestion.” Principal Higgins points his forefinger at Eddie. “You have two minutes to pack up your stuff, or you’ve earned yourself another suspension.” 

Eddie rolls his eyes but concedes, flipping off his principal once the older man has his back turned. “Fuckin’ asshole,” he mutters, hoisting the guitar up and over his head and placing it back in its case.

“Now what?” Grant asks.

And isn’t that the million-dollar question.

Eddie’s place is obviously out; the trailer barely holds him and Wayne, let alone three other men and a drum set. Same goes for the tiny apartment Grant shares with his mom. Jeff’s grandma is still convinced that heavy metal is used to summon Satan. Which leaves…

“We can use the garage at my house.” Gareth speaks up from behind his drums. The freshman is the newest member of the band, and also the quietest. “I don’t think my parents will mind.”

Jeff raises his eyebrows. “Y’sure about that, freshie? Doesn’t your mom keep a rosary in her car?”

Gareth shakes his head, curls bouncing. “Nah, that was my grandma’s car. She was just borrowing it while hers was in the shop.”

“I dunno, man.” Grant gnaws on his lower lip. “Your parents look like Ward and June.”

Jeff snorts. “Does that make him Wally? Or the Beav?”

“Shut up!” Eddie launches his guitar pick at Jeff’s head. Grant was right–Gareth’s folks seemed a bit too straightlaced to tolerate Corroded Coffin’s music. But with Higgins now barring them from using the school’s practice room, they’re out of options.

“All right,” he says finally, rubbing his nose with his palm. “We’ll give it a shot. But if your parents call the cops, I’m lighting your hair on fire.”

Gareth nods. “Noted.”

The freshman’s words are insufficient for calming Eddie’s nerves. All he could picture as he drives up to the Emerson house is Gareth’s parents taking one look at his torn jeans and wild hair and dismissing him. Chastising him for being a “bad influence” on their son. Which, chances are, he is. But that’s besides the point. 

The garage door is open; Jeff and Grant are already inside warming up. Gareth waves at Eddie, and the man and woman next to him smile. 

“You must be Eddie,” the man says, sticking out a hand for him to shake. “Mark Emerson. Gareth’s dad. And this is my wife, Christine.”

“Nice to meet you both,” Eddie says warily. “You’re, uh, really okay with us playing here?”

Mark laughs. “You kidding? This is the first time I haven’t had to yell at Gare to clean out the garage.”

“Dad.” Gareth mumbles through gritted teeth, clearly embarrassed. 

“We like all kinds of music,” Christine Emerson says simply. “Metal, rock, country, jazz…” She trails off, cocking her head. “Your last name is ‘Munson,’ right?”

Here we go. A pit forms in Eddie’s stomach. The Munson name has bitten him in the ass once again. What’ll it be this time—his dad’s reputation, or his own?

“Y-Yeah.”

Gareth’s mom grins and turns towards her husband. “He must be Wayne’s nephew! The guy who helped me when I had a flat tire.” 

Relief floods Eddie’s chest. “Sounds like my uncle.”

“Seems like a good guy. Always looking out for people.” Mark smiles. “Gareth told us how you asked him to sit with you at lunch. Looks like the apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree.”

“Dad!”

With a chuckle, Eddie takes his guitar out of its case. “Let’s see if you still like me after the neighbors complain about the noise.” He adjusts the microphone to his mouth. “All right, guys. On my count—two, three, four!”