#the cow pants are probably my favorite thing in this drawing. and then it’s gotta be martins adorable face :3

[samwise1548]

I’m v v depressed rn,,,,could I perchance request a little jmart??

I was supposed to be sleeping for a trip tomorrow. But instead I’m trying to cure both your and my depression with a jmart drawing. Here’s a seasonal drawing, hope it helps!

[ID: A Magnus Archives drawing of Jon and Martin. Martin is a white man with orange hair that’s faded white at the bangs, is wearing a puffy blue winter coat, a red beanie, and cow print pajamas. Jon is a short brown man with dark hair streaked with grey, cat earmuffs, a long black coat, and brown boots. Most of his face is covered by a white scarf. Both men are blushing while holding hands, as they walk together through a snowy path. Snowflakes fall around them. \End ID]

[sims-inmymouth]

Delilah Five - Ep. Six

Jan 19, 20XX

It’s snowing! The first snowfall since last December! Tamah came back two days ago with the supplies she found (a bunch of lumber and wooden parts. The most unique thing she found was a typewriter, but it's broken and we don’t have any paper. Well, besides my diary, but that’s off limits). She came back with a massive grin, and when we looked outside, the whole farm was covered in snow!

I love snow! Winter’s my favorite season, because Christmas comes around, and everything gets all cozy. I’m already excited for Christmas, and it hasn’t even been a month since Santa came around! The storm was intense that morning, so we stayed in and huddled by my new radio, listening to the forecasts. A big storm was expected to come through, but just some snow showers until then. Hossannah made mushroom soup for lunch, and when that was over, the snow had finally stopped enough to where we could go outside!

We had the most INTENSE snowball fight. Turns out that Tamah knows her stuff! She loves snow just as much as I do, and she’s COMPETITIVE with it. During the snowball fight, she accidentally nailed Hossannah right in the face! She had to go in after that, and we decided to follow to keep her company.

Now, this part is just as unexpected as it was when it actually happened. We were all warming up by the fire, and Theodora stoked up the flames a bit. And then the carpet caught fire. And then Theo's pant leg. Theo was on fire.

That was incredibly hard to watch. She was okay - she extinguished herself - but she was shaken up. She spent a few hours by herself. Eventually, she said she just wanted to forget about it and go out in the snow again. Hossannah comforted her and hugged her. It was awkward, a really long hug, but they seemed to like it.

Closer to dinner time, we all went back in the snow! Hossannah and Theodora made a snowman together! I made a snowlady with an orange slice and three raspberries. I, of course, made snow angels. Tamah fed the cows. Hey, someone's still gotta work.

We were out there all evening. Once Tamah had finished the chores, she hid herself in a little corner and made a massive pile of snowballs. Oh, yes. The war had actually begun. It was Tamah and Theodora on one team, the other Hossannah and I. Tamah and Theodora cheated because they used WATER BALLOONS. I mean seriously, who does that??

We got some good shots in, but it was all in vain. No, this time Tamah nailed ME in the face! I fell right over!

That hurt a lot, but nature exacted revenge on Tamah. She woke up this morning with a cold, probably from running around in the snow for 8, 9 hours? She woke up coughing and shivering, but that didn’t stop her from milking the cows and finishing the rest of her farmhand farmer duties. Even though she plays dirty, I hope she feels better soon. It’s midday now, and now that she’s finished all her work, she’s taking a nap on the couch. Hossannah checked her forehead, and she thinks it's a fever. We checked what we could see of her for bites, and there were none to be seen. At least she's not a zombie.

Oh yea. Zombies. You know, with all the fun yesterday, I didn't really think about Abana. I haven't gotten the chance to plant a fruit tree for her, ya know, with all the snow, but I will as soon as the weather gets warmer. Only a few more months until springtime. We could have something growing by the summer.

I felt a lot better yesterday. I think if I keep myself busy, I won't have to think about the zombies and everything. That should work, right? If I stay moving, what I did can't come back to me. It has to work.

Here's a drawing I did of Tamah smacking me in the face with a snowball. Theodora caught me drawing it, and she was a little bit pissed.

Yours,

Ruth Givens

[fandom-sheep]

Fundy 28 APR 21

Delayed Liveblog Vault Hunters Part 1/1

Our favorite fox is damp. And apparently can’t get his hair to sit right.

He’s already having to raise the redemption price. It’s been 5 seconds.

I don’t even quite get Vault Hunters I know Hbomb did it last season and that it.

Charm. Lovely.

Is the bottom right a confetti cannon?

Oh no we have to fight? We can’t be trusted.

We are the sort of people to purposefully lose the fight.

Don’t get me wrong. We love Fundy and will cry on command. But also we are rather mean to him.

Mystic Tomato. I don’t know what it is but I love it.

I was saving up Chanel points for water and ads. But now I gotta save for those and the little fun reward pack things.

Oh no. Did we hit 100 subs already? That’s what it says over his name?

Confetti canon?

5up! Hooray!

HBomb humoring Fundy with the emotes.

Fight fight fight!

So close. We tried out best to fight the giant.

Alright chat. We need another arena. Everyone get him.

Everyone in chat yelling about Phil doing stuff in OSMP. Wrong server y’all. We can deal with that later.

Ooo are we doing VC?

Everything is so chaotic already.

Tubbo and Fundy trying to figure everything out.

You know things are confusing when the original people are like “the what?”

There was a how to play meeting? And somehow these boys are still confused.

Tubbo at least has an excuse to be confused.

I love skill trees in games. They just look so pretty.

“I see a melon!” -Fundy

5up our beloved.

My streamer is being beat up with a boomerang.

Fundy doesn’t know what’s happening, but he’s rich so it works.

Tubbo is just saying every name in hopes he says the right one.

Pizza!

We attack!

WE WIN!

We did it! We’re a good chat!

Is 5ups skin still cog champ themed? Maybe not. Maybe my brain is being goofy.

Is Fundy complaining about his hair? I’m not actually paying attention. What is chat on about.

That’s one thing that can be said about all the chats. They like it when their streamers have fluffy hair.

Chat really is just crying aren’t they. Fundy’s chat has a skill of crying at everything.

Hooray 5up is active! Fundy go say hi for us!

Hooray friends!

Super good item! I don’t get it, but super good item!

ITS THE BEING!

Arena arena. We’re almost to the arena!

Aww. I missed the bets.

ARENA TIME!

Beat em up chat!

Oh no. He’s hitting hard.

WE DIDS IT!

ARENA TIME!

Oh were getting hit hard.

But we did it!

Good Job Wolf! Awesome Millionaire!

No arena box for winning. Rude.

Chat can’t even remember how many fights we’ve won.

Stupid full inventory.

Temporary base on the hill.

Pretty chest!

All the gifted subs. Such a popular streamer.

That looks so cool! I missed what it did but it looks cool!

Ooo all sorts of cool things.

Look at chat go

SHULKER SHELLS!

Look at everyone giving Fundy things.

It’s neato that they use peoples skins. That you can see the people who donated.

Shulker crates! Nice! That’ll be good for transporting things.

We’re so fancy.

Ooo sorting. The most complicated thing.

Chats over here spoiling our streamer.

Wool?

ARENA TIME!

We got this!

Beat em up subs!

WE WON!

Looting 2 noice.

Mods bribing chat to stop barking with Scooby snacks. I love them so much.

Wolf my dear you have done nothing wrong.

Oh cloud9 has a fox skin!

Ooo create mod. We know about that.

A lovely little base.

Cake is being stolen all over the place.

Stab stab the dragon.

Hooray follow goal! Music time!

Oh... that was it. Alrighty we’ll take what we can get.

Time to win an arena subs. We want music.

Our boy is confused.

Fundy just read the chat. They are telling you.

I got to get this time! The subs will destroy everyone!

Happy Halloween?

Gasp! Mega gift!

Pretty skin!

We love the Fundy mods dearly. They are so chill and nice.

The water well has run dry.

The streamer has escaped. It’s just us, the mods, and the chair.

Oh a Schlatt plush! Neato!

Schlushy I agree with that name.

“Not the hat the other one.” LOL.

Chat go Glatt

Went to get water the. Forgot to drink it.

Subs can modify emotes left and right.

Viper good job! Good book!

Fundy doing his game at middle of the night o’clock.

Streamer... please sleep. Please eat meals.

We’re almost at the Arena!

Sleep 8 hours... just at the wrong time.

Chat fully admitting to thinking our streamer is dumb enough to fall in lava.

We have learned to balance our expectations Fundy.

Oh this is going to be a long stream. A really long stream. I’ll probably need to take a break and do some work.

Arena Time! Beat em up subs!

Good job subs!! You did it!

Let’s see what we get for the arena.

So many Wolf!

Diamond!!!

Putting the winners on their boxes. Nice.

I have so much work to do, but I just want to watch the funky Fox.

Villagers? We love villagers.

PIANO!

Oh we’re switching screens it’s serious piano.

So lovely. I love listening to music people do their things.

I love the fact the subs keep shouting FundyJam!

I swear improv music should not sound this lovely

Spooky sounding tune. Sounds like a boss fight in a haunted castle.

Awesome piano!

Poor boy so annoyed by his hair. Bless his heart.

For anyone who doesn’t touch Twitter. The Fundy Updates Twitter is fabulous and amazing. They are just always so upbeat over everything.

Trying to nether portal. You go fox friend.

Wow Just portal to the center do a lava lake. Under soul sand.

You go 5up! You get that bastion.

Rip 5up.

Poor Fundy doing his best.

How’s the VC crew doing?

MENDING GOLD PANTS!!!

The drip is back!

Also I voted no in the will he burn pole. I have faith in my streamers.

We’re calling Fundy emo now. And he’s trying to deny having an emo phase, and failing.

I don’t know what’s happening half the time in this chat.

Fire Fox!

We’re still calling Fundy emo. Chat spoils the streamer and chat bullies the streamer.

Oh are we trending emo Fundy? Nice. I’m conveniently scrolling on Twitter.

Look at us bully our streamer.

The two people in chat. Those saying emo Fundy. Those going “his hair is nice stfu”. The duality of chat.

Sounds of suffering coming from the nether.

Fundy has taken responsibility for enderpearls.

We cursed Fundy? I look away for 10 seconds.

Pixel has turned on Fundy.

Fight that ghast.

Fundy’s going to get all the endermen.

Piglin goes smack.

We’re wearing the drip. Nice.

Everyone gets rich so fast here.

Well. We’ll just leave the corpse there.

Sizzle.

The people who bet on him dying are so rich in channel points now.

*sad fox noises*

Surely not. Fundy we have lost all hope in you.

Pixel doing everything they can to do anti emo Fundy.

Aww. I missed the prediction. I bet he won’t die. I believe in him.

Fundy being scared by his own body. Cant wait to see that clip everywhere on YouTube.

Back to attacking the endermen.

Tubbo is such a villain. He’s so willing to kill HBomb.

Fundy just getting back to work.

I’m sorry corpses become skeletons. That’s horrid.

Off to get the dragon. The dragon the dragon.

Tubbo was smote.

HBomb and Fundy fully ready to be that person that steals the temple.

Hbomb shaped chest. That is great.

Everyone bullying HBomb.

Almost Arena time.

Betting yes on the arena. The subs are strong and they’ve got this.

My twitch app is being stupid. This might be my signal to take a break and do my school work.

8k boosters and the chat goes nuts.

Chat from where I am is just a bunch of booster packs. I think I need to close and reopen the app.

There we go. There is the lovely chat.

Arena time!

Aww. My bet disappeared when I moved the app.

No! He’s cheating! The subs are doing their best!

Good job subs!

I mean it’s a diamond sword. It’s not diamonds but it’ll do.

I heard a du du du du?

I’ve got to go. Time to be productive with my life and time.

Let me know if I miss anything especially stupid or funny.

Alright it’s been 2 and a half hours but I’m back.

Looks like I missed a lot, and the boy has been going 5 hours.

Still on Vault Hunters? How is he not tired of this yet good gracious.

We’re enchantin’

I don’t know what’s happening but I’m watching.

Who stole all the luck from the boy?

Good that he’s drinking plenty of water

Good that he’s taking a break for foods.

What is with the lightening sounds? I don’t like it.

Spare the soup pet.

Sadness. No 3rd cow.

Yes! One more arena!

Lure da cows.

No that’s the Fundy Cow!

Nooooo. That’s worse than killing it!

Did we win our other arenas? I only say the first 5 or so.

Lightening Cow. Lovely.

Noooo the cowwww!

For once Fundy isn’t the one thriving.

He tunneled the cow out. Wow.

Bye 5up! Good luck!

Hi Crumb. The cow was snatched.

Noooo. Quit stealing our cows!

What he jumps like Superman and steals our cows.

Cow bunker.

These cows will get snatched. I just know it.

No. No taking da cows.

Our cows must be protected.

Enchanting is not on our fox’s side

Oh so they did beat the enderdragon. Good for them.

All sorts of neato elytra.

I must go again. I am called to dinner.

Good job getting you diamond sir.

30 minutes later I am back and we are chatting with HBomb.

Sharp boomerang.

Saw a bit of cat maid peaking out there.

5up judging Fundy for just sitting and mining.

Oh the facecam is off. I’m just noticing.

I guess it probably goofed up and froze.

Everyone in chat talking about how much to make the magic packs. I like the people saying 6.9k just for the funnies.

I’m voting 6.9k in the pole just for the funny.

I know it won’t win but I’m doing my part.

Goblins? What the squeak did I miss?

What. We stab the goblins. And they give us emeralds?

This mans has been going for 6 hours and a while. I hope he doesn’t forget to look after himself. He was talking about eating an hour ago.

I love all the product minions. All the donators just chilling on their chests.

Why are all the minions black and white? I missed that one?

Oh they run out. They ran out of stuff and out of color.

Wealth in the chest, since we don’t have a mouth.

Angel or Fairy? Is that even a question? (Chat chose fairy)

Fairy Fox. I want to draw that but have negative amounts of art skills.

We’re killing time until we hit 7 hours.

We’re meeting up with 5up! Nice!

Oh HBomb left and thought Fundy hadn’t done anything in 20 minutes but jump around his castle. LOL.

We hit 7 hours and dipped.

7 hours and almost a thousand subs. Look at us go.

Hello Puffy Raiders! You’re a bit late but hello!

Oh no. He’s panicking and not ending.

Please someone who feels like being annoying remind the mans to eat.

Raffle? Oh donators! They go through a raffle thingy! Nice!

Hooray OSMP but also Fundy please sleep and such.

Not even raffling. Just opening and closing.

Nice spin noises.

WOLF! Wolf earned to win the raffle.

Wait wait wait? Fundy go get some food and go to bed!

Hey look there is our streamer!

This is the max post size lol. 5up raid let’s go! Hello 5up! We are here! But now I’m going to bed. Oh nevermind. I hear the fox. Ah that’s smart 5up. Anyway. I’m gone now.

[eddiekasp]

Must Be a Better Word- Ch10

Love. There must be A better word. -Adam Gillon

OMG I’m so excited to share this next chapter since there are so many new It/Reddie fans on here after the movie came out!! And as always, sorry for not updating for a bit. I promise I’ll always be continuing this though!

My writing is also on ao3 if you wanna check it out there!

Richie’s room was perpetually messy. The floor could only be seen in small patches, the way sun peeks through leaves in a forest. The rest was covered by a thick sheet of clothing, candy wrappers, notes, papers from school dating back six years ago, comic books, video game boxes, and half-filled water bottles that crunched softly if stepped on.

Richie’s mother never bothered to tell her son to clean his room any more than she ever told him to brush his hair. She never bothered more than she bothered to do… well, anything really. And his father never looked up for long enough to notice. Because of this, the only one to even comment about his disorderly living space was Eddie.

Richie tried to clean up every time he knew Eddie was coming over. His bathroom, which was attached to the wall on the left side of his bed, had a trashcan in which Richie could quickly gather wrappers and bottles to toss into if needed. He could gather papers together into a haphazard pile to shove into the corner of his room. He could kick the sea of soiled shirts and pants into a crevice under the bed frame, and there was his hardwood flooring.

He often wondered to himself why he didn’t just do this daily. Somehow-- he truly could not give an explanation of how if he tried-- his room would return back to normal about an hour after each time his boyfriend would leave. He would toss the clothes into the middle of his room while searching for a particular pajama shirt to wear to bed, and somehow papers from the 5th Grade that he would have no reason to be touching would end up right on top of the clothes. There was no explanation for it.

Eddie could only stay out of the know for a couple weeks before Richie stopped cleaning his room in preparation for his arrival. When Eddie first walked in, he had to step gingerly on his tippy toes not to crunch on a chocolate wrapper or get his feet caught in the leg of a pair of jeans. He could see Richie’s curly locks remained unbrushed as well, sticking up left and right, as he sat on his (unmade) bed waiting for Eddie’s arrival.

“Sorry, Eds. I know it’s pretty gross. Stan would have a cow if he ever saw it, don’t you think?” Richie said comfortably, with a smile perking up the corners of his mouth. He admittedly felt a bit guilty, hoping Eddie would never have to see the full extent of the squalor Richie usually spent his time in, but Eddie didn’t mind, besides the fact of wanting to help out.

Eddie laughed too. “Yeah, definitely. Do you want me to help you clean up?”

Richie looked around his room, and raised his eyebrows. “I think that would be an all day project, my love. Maybe more than just one.”

Eddie sat down on Richie’s bed next to him, not bothering to take off his sneakers after seeing Richie had his own on. He crossed his knees under him. “I don’t really mind. We don’t have to if you… like it like this, though.” Richie laughed at the boy’s attempt to be subtle and spare his feelings. “God Eddie, you’re such a cutie, y’know that?” He broke into his Southern Belle voice. “You ain’t gotta help lil old me! Why, you’re just as sweet as sugar, sugar!” He fanned himself with a copy of The Great Gatsby that sat open on his bed, two pages in the middle nearly crumpled into balls.

Eddie smiled subtly, feeling heat burn softly in his face as Richie scooted behind him to sling his arms around Eddie’s front. Eddie looked around the room again. “I think if we actually cleaned everything, it might help you stay clean after. If we do it together we can go see Jurassic Park at the Aladdin after.”

Richie cheered at that idea before asking if Eddie could brush out his hair. He was lazy and the feeling of Eddie touching and running his fingers through his hair gave him butterflies. Eddie liked doing it too, so he grabbed a comb and slowly brushed out the dark mop on Richie’s head. It had grown out long by now, a bit past his ears, and tangled almost as quickly as it had been brushed. Eddie had to be watchful, as the red plastic comb bent and buckled under the pull of knots and tangles; he did not want the thing to snap in half. Eddie loved it though; it was effortlessly soft and always the perfect place to rest his hands. Richie quipped a couple times that Eddie was pulling his hair, so Eddie went slowly, needing to wet certain pieces in order for him to make any progress with the comb.

After his hair was detangled (and left with a bit of a strange appearance; some wet pieces hanging limply and dripping onto Richie’s dark blue sheets while others turned frizzy from repeated brushing), the first order of business was picking up all of the wrappers that were shoved under cabinets and into desk drawers. Eddie took a garbage bag and filled it, telling Richie to go take it out once it was repleted with potato chip bags and soda cans. While he was gone, Eddie began to pick up clothing and place them in piles.

He quickly organized them into lights and darks, but his heart sank as he saw Richie grab both piles together and sling them into one basket near the washing machines. Richie wondered out loud how he would find what to wear the next day, considering his drawers were nearly empty and the floor had been his personal walk-in closet for the last several months.

Eddie changed the sheets and made the bed while Richie began to clean out his desk drawers. Eddie soon sat down next to Richie to observe the contents in each drawer. “Oh my God, Rich, you always say you don’t have enough pens but there are like… dozens in here!”

It was usually Eddie’s job (by his own volition) to bring Richie any pens he had scavenged while in school, whether they be left on the desks from previous classes or kicked into the corner of hallways. Richie loved to doodle; he said that it helped him focus. During tests or while a teacher was lecturing, Richie would always have a piece of 3-hole punched college-ruled filler paper on the right side of his desk. His pen would work quickly, staining the sheet with lines of blue or red. Eddie even learned what his scribbles meant: if he made quick strokes up and down between the lines of the paper, he was having a bad day and was probably stressed. If the sheet filled up with tiny loops and swirls, he was having a good day.

Richie also had the same habit of doodling not only on his paper, but really any surface he could find. Desks, bathroom stall doors, pages of library books (much to the dismay of Ben and Mike), and his favorite, Eddie’s hands and arms. There was only so much he could fit on Eddie’s small baby blue inhaler, and the only thing that still remained was a small, faded black heart drawn in Sharpie that Eddie had never washed off.

But on his arms, the canvas space was far from limited. During Physics, which they sat together for in the back of the room, lunch, or times when they would sneak out of class (often to the auditorium when it was out of use, or the locker room), Richie would draw on Eddie’s small hands and fingers. Eddie did not mind, as long as he was able to wash it off before he came home and had his mother see the (often crude) images.

After a day of school, Richie would accompany Eddie to the bathroom near the back entrance so he could wash off smiley faces, swirls, dicks, stick figure men on trampolines that jumped when Eddie opened and closed his hand, and fancy S’s made out of straight lines. They littered Eddie’s pale skin almost daily, but Richie never thought they lost their humor. Eddie had to admit they were funny sometimes, too.

On days when Eddie would wear a long sleeve shirt to school, he’d allow Richie to write secret messages that could be easily hidden, usually to avoid smirks and nudges from the other Losers. Under his sweater sleeves were bubble letters reading “ILY” or RT+EK with a heart around it. During class, Eddie would shift his sleeve down slightly every five minutes, reading the small letters and feeling a blush creep all the way down to his chest. Those, he tried to preserve as long as possible. They were worth hiding from his mom and friends.

Because of all of this, though, Richie’s pens exhausted their supply of ink rapidly. Richie gasped at the nearly full box of black Bic pens that had been shoved to the back of his desk drawer months, perhaps even years, ago. They continued to go through his desk until it was nearly cleaned, and Eddie moved over to sit in front of Richie’s open closet door. He hung up clean shirts that had fallen off hangers and onto the floor, and piled up his shoe boxes (including one where Richie kept his secret stash of snacks, cigarettes, and condoms; Eddie made sure to put that with the rest of the boxes so it would be even more inconspicuous). Under a large sweatshirt he assumed could only be Went’s old college shirt, Eddie found another hair brush, a lighter, a really old pack of Gushers, and a marble notebook.

The corners of the cardboard cover were frayed, showing the brown underneath the peeling black and white pattern. The little asymmetrical spots of white that splattered on the cover were colored in with pink and yellow highlighter, and the white box in the middle had Richie’s name scribbled messily in the center. Eddie turned around to glance at Richie, who had laid out his newly found pens on the ground and was counting them, and hoped that he wouldn’t mind Eddie looking through the notebook.

As soon as Eddie opened the book, his heartbeat sped with each turn of the page. Richie’s scrawl of a handwriting filled each page, some short jokes that he was writing (with the addition of some sad ones: “I came home one day chewing gum I had bought at the gas station. I walk into the kitchen to say hi to my Mom, and she goes ‘your breath smells like Fireball!’ I just look at her and say, “Well, it’d just smell like cinnamon if you weren’t an alcoholic.’ Eddie almost wondered if that conversation had actually happened), lists of new voices he’d have to practice. Some pages had notes for school, about WWII or Of Mice and Men, while other pages had lists of assignments he had to complete with check marks written in red Sharpie, bleeding onto the next page. There were also some drawings in there, one of his beloved record player that sat on his desk (probably the only thing that he kept completely neat and organized in his room) or of the stuffed bear he always kept on the right side of his bed. Some graphic drawings as well; Eddie had to stifle a laugh. Richie was horny as ever, even in Middle School.

And then there were the dozens of pages about Eddie. Eddie’s eyes, lessened to small slits in intense concentration, read each word and scanned every line on the pages about him. He looked back to the front of the cover, the date written in the corner saying 1989. All the way back then? His stomach felt warm and fluttery, the way you feel after taking a shot of whiskey (not that Eddie would know) and his cheeks hurt from smiling for that long. Richie practiced his script lettering by repeatedly writing Eddie’s name. Nearly every line was filled; those that were not up to his satisfaction crossed out. One single “Eddie Tozier” mixed in with the countless other words, also crossed out. Seven pages later, a debate Richie had with himself over which side of the bed he and Eddie would sleep on respectively, who would make breakfast and who would clean up (the final decision was that they would alternate days; he had been correct about that all the way in 8th Grade). Eddie’s face was burning.

A couple of diary entries about days they had spent together intertwined with entries about Richie’s fear of telling people he liked boys besides just girls. Or how Eddie would never liked him back. Some writing about his troubles at home, especially with his mother, and one page filled with huge letting that screamed that he was “so gay”.

He stared at each page, turning the book back over to read everything from the beginning again slowly. He was taken out of his absorption of the pages in front of him when he felt Richie place a peck on the top of his shoulder before sitting down next to him. Eddie looked panicked, sure that Richie would get embarrassed of his findings and angry at Eddie for intruding, but instead Richie beamed vibrantly, the setting sun dancing and reflecting off his glasses through the window across the room.

He chuckled quietly. “You found that in there? That’s probably from like, what, four years ago?”

Eddie looked up at the taller boy sitting next to him. “You liked me… all the way back then?”

“Of course I did! How could I not have? I liked you the first day I met you.”

Eddie leaned up to kiss Richie, a feeling that felt, by now, familiar but still made him red in the cheeks each time. He supposed he liked him all the way back then, too.

[gunaerystargarygun]

mmm i’m posting it here. it’s the rough draft of it so if there’s errors in spelling/grammar please don’t mind them cause i’ll work them out but i’d love feedback and critique!!

Pin Stripes

            The store where he worked was a small grocery store, with big, colorful letters on the outside to draw customers in. The layout was minimal. Tile floors, walls of food and canned goods on the shelves, a place for fruit and vegetables and near the front sat a tiered piece of wood. Each tier was covered in plastic containers, and in each container, a different type of candy. His personal favorite place in the entire store. Near the front was also a display of clothes, cheap jackets. Each time the door opened, a strong waft of heat came in, along with the scent of fish and magnolia blossoms. The sickly sweet smell that came with Summer, and something he had grown fond of. “That’ll be $15.75.” He said, bagging up the last of the groceries. “Money just ain’t what it used to be,” the customer quipped, handing over the exact amount and picking up their brown paper bag. The only thing he could do was nod in response. It was 1970, just turned 15 himself and managed to get a job at the local grocery store. He was grateful, his family needed it, though he’d been here for two months, he already knew the ins and outs of the store. He even stopped a shoplifter once and got a warm thank you from the store owner.

           “Mr. Carvin, is that you?” He knew that voice. He turned and couldn’t help but smile, it was Jeb Jeo was an older man, probably in his late 50’s with greying hair and a mouth full of missing teeth. His skin was as black as night, and he walked with a limp. “How you doin’, Mr. Carvin!” He couldn’t pronounce his l’s, so he said ‘Calvin’ and ‘Carvin’. “I’m good Mr. Ray, how’re you doing?” “Rookit you, stir calrin’ me Mr. Ray, I done told you to call me Jeb.” His speech was a slurred mess, more than likely from his lack of teeth. The closer he got, the more Calvin could smell the malt liquor and fish on him. He wore a tattered tweed jacket, pants that had holes and an old felt hat. Said it made him feel sophisticated, like those men in the movies. From what Calvin understood, Jeb rolled into town about 30 years ago and took up residence in a shack on the water front where he would fish and catch clams to help pay the bills. He had a wife, and Jeb talks about her fondly.            Her name was Lonnie, pretty thing. Said she had skin the color of ochre, a dark, rich reddish brown and eyes the color of honey. Lonnie loved to laugh, and worked as a maid for some of the people in town, they said Jeb never talked so highly of someone and made sure that everyone in town knew that Lonnie was his girl. They said the day Lonnie got pregnant was the happiest he had ever seen Jeb. He talked to everyone who would listen and asked their opinions on names, including Calvin’s mother. She smiled, having had three children already and said. “Well, I like the name Kimberly, or maybe Phillip if it’s a boy?” “Phillip Ray…I like that, thank ya Mrs. Sutten.”            It turned out Jeb wouldn’t need a name after all. Lonnie had a miscarriage five months into the pregnancy and they lost the baby. They were devastated and Lonnie moved back up North to stay with her mother and father in order to help her work through it. Jeb started drinking, fell off the dock and had to be fished out by Mr. Russell who had seen him fall in, they said he stopped breathing for three minutes, and that’s why he talks the way he does. That was almost twelve years ago, and Jeb still talks about her like she’ll come back any day. “Gotta get that shack back in top shape,” he told Calvin one day when he bought a bottle of beer. “Lonnie’ll have a fit.”

           “You got a gir yet, Mr. Carvin?” He nudged his shoulder ever so slightly in his direction, and Calvin felt his face get hot. “No siree, not yet, Mr. Ray.” Jeb made a ‘Bah’ sound and laughed. He had a hearty, full laugh that could infect just about anybody. “You have yourself a good day, Mr. Carvin.” He waved, and limped his way out the door. “Say hi to Carolina for me!” He turned and called before leaving. Jeb came by almost every day to see him except Fridays and sometimes the weekend, and Calvin liked to think that they were friends. After his day was done, Calvin went home and was greeted by his younger sisters hugging his legs. “Hey honey,” his mother smiled up, her hand covered in flour as she dropped pieces of chicken into it. “How was your day?” “Saw Mr. Ray today, he came by and asked if I had a lady yet.” “Of course he did, he always said you’d have to fight women off with a rake. Been saying that since you were just a little thing.” She dropped a piece of flour covered chicken onto a plate and grabbed another.

           Her face turned serious for a moment, looking up at him. “Did he smell like it?” “Always does.” He answered, picking up his little sister and walking towards his mother.  She sighed. Her husband, his father, had passed away two years ago. She hadn’t picked up the bottle like Jeb, but she knew the pain that he was going through. “Poor man. Take him some somethin’ from the garden tomorrow, okay? I don’t want him goin’ hungry. Fish has gotta be getting’ old.” In truth, nobody really knew what Jeb ate, or how he got by. He could do any job you gave him. Painting, electrical work, build a shed, but in the past twelve years he became a mystery almost. Calvin nodded before going to wash up while his mother cooked the chicken and green beans, spooning them onto plates for him and his siblings.

           “I need you to get some medicine for the cows tomorrow too,” that was just one of the jobs his mother had taken up since his father’s death. The cattle were his father’s pride and joy, best ones this side of Louisiana, and most would agree. “It ain’t a good year for them.” She shook her head. They had five calves born this past spring, two of which died shortly after they were born and another in the birth canal. The others hadn’t taken. He nodded, and helped but his siblings to bed, before he too fell asleep into a restless sleep.

           He awoke the next morning to the smell of flowers and hay, getting up and dressing in jeans and a button up before headed down the stairs. He grabbed a basket and went out to their garden, picking tomatoes, zucchini, squash and cucumbers. When it had a heavy enough weight, he thought it was good. By now, the sun was starting rise. Calvin watched as his mother came out of the front door, putting on her boots and heading up to the barn to work with the cattle.

           Medicine, he remembered. He would take the truck into town.

           It bumbled along with gravel road before hitting the pavement, heading much more smoothly. His mother taught him to drive when he was thirteen, and he felt like he was an expert at driving stick now. He parked the truck downtown, maybe about a mile from where Jeb lived. He got out and started walking with the basket in tow, the sun about midway in the sky. There was river that ran through their town, and down by the water front stood a little wooden shack with a tin roof. Several pieces of wood had broken off, allowing the air to snake through and permeate through the house. There was a small table outside with two chairs; for Lonnie, he assumed.

As he edged closer, he saw Jeb sitting on the edge of the river, feet dangling over the side with a fishing pole in his hands. “Hey there, Mr. Carvin!” He waved him over, patting the ground next to him. Calvin waved in return and took his seat next to him, setting the basket down. “What’s got you out so earry?” “Ma. She needs some medicine for the cows, and I brought you somethin’.” He grabbed the basket and scooted over some, setting it between the two of them. “Ooh,” he cooed, looking at the different vegetables in the basket. “That’s mighty kind of y’ar.” He smiled, and Calvin could see all the missing teeth that Jeb had. “This’r go good with what I’m havin’ tonight.” He gripped the fishing pole and sighed. “Lonnie loved her tomatos,” Calvin was shocked to hear him say his r’s, but it obviously took dedication on Jeb’s part to get his mouth to work the way he wanted. He watched him squeeze his mouth shut and open his mouth slowly. “Her name is,” he worked his mouth again. “Lon-nie, not Ronnie.” Even after all this time, he would say her name right. “Mr. Carvin,” he said, apparently relieved to not have to work to say an L anymore. “I got a secret, Mr. Carvin.”

           “What is it, Mr. Ray?” “Boy, call me Jeb.” He looked at him, dark eyes sparkling. “Yes, Mr. Jeb.” Jeb laughed at that. “I got a secret that I ain’t terr nobody, not even my wife.”

           Calvin was shocked by that, something that he didn’t even tell Lonnie? “You didn’t even tell her?” Jeb shook his head. “Nope. Ain’t told a soul, wanted to have a surprise for her.” He pushed his eyebrows up and let them fall several times, which made Calvin chuckle. “She had big dreams, wanted to wear dresses rike them white women in the movies. Tor’ her I’d buy her one of ‘em one day, and she could twir just like that other white woman, the one with her dress all up.” He meant Marilyn Monroe on the vent.

           “Mr. R..Jeb, what was this big secret you kept from Lonnie?” He turned back to him and gave a small smirk. “You work today?” “Yes, I always work Friday.” He answered, though Calvin was annoyed that he changed the subject on him. “Good,” He reeled in his fishing line and stood, apparently having a hard time with the limp. Calvin stood up and handed him the basket and watched Jeb hobble inside his shack and shut the door, having more questions than answers. He thought that Jeb would come by his work that day, but he didn’t. He never came in on Fridays, and even though he was off on Saturday, Calvin hung around the store the entire day, waiting to see if he came by. Sunday, they were closed, and he anxiously did the chores around the house until Monday came around.

           The weather got unreasonably hot that day, and every time the door opened, Calvin thought it would be Jeb. It wasn’t. He was anxious, wanting to know what secret it was that Jeb Ray had kept almost twenty-two years. Finally, the sun began to set and the customers became slower and slower. Calvin turned his attention to the night chore and began sweeping. “Mr. Carvin!” Came the voice, and he turned so quickly he almost dropped the broom. “Didn’t mean to scare ya,” he laughed. He shook it off, saying he didn’t, but he didn’t want to say he had been waiting all day. “C’mere.” Jeb held up his hand and curled his fingers toward him several times, and so he did. Near the clothing rack, Jeb leaned in and smiled. “I got a thing to show you, Mr. Carvin.” He opened the weathered tweed jacket, and Calvin saw a pocket inside of the jacket, and what he saw made his blood run cold.

           A polished piece of metal poked out, the back end of a revolver pistol. It was obviously well taken care of, thought if it was loaded, he had no idea. “Mr. Ray!” He squeaked out. “Why do you have that!?” While Calvin’s blood pounded, Jeb smiled and shushed him to be a little more quiet. “Cause I gotta protect this,” He opened the other side of his tweed jacket to reveal another pocket. There was a bulge against it, thought there was no gun. He dug his fingers into his pocket and pulled out a wad held together by a piece of twine. The bundle was green, and he saw the face of a long since dead man, with the number 100 printed onto it. There had to be at least a dozen more of them. “M..Mr. Ray.” Calvin stuttered out. This is what he kept from Lonnie?            Mr. Jeb Ray, the man who worked odd jobs, lived in a shack and smelled so strongly of malt liquor that it would make your nostrils burn, the man who fished off the docks and waited in his rusty patio chair every day for his wife to come home. That same Mr. Jeb Ray stood in front of him holding a wad of more cash than Calvin would ever see in his entire life. “That’s what I gotta protect.” “How?” The words spilled from Calvin’s mouth before he could stop himself, his face burning with how rude the question was. He smiled that same, toothless grin. “Erry Friday, I buys me a ticket to New Oreans, ride it up there. Gots me a nice apartment, fine pin striped suit and a woman on each arm,” his smiled grew wider. “I’m good at bettin’.” Calvin paused, it took him to minute to realize that Mr. Ray had just told him. He gambled, and by the looks of it, he was a good gambler. “Ain’t nobody guess that this poor negro that stays in a shack and stinks like fish got money.” There was a slight attitude and confidence in his voice that he never heard before, and he had to admit, it was one of the smarter things he had ever heard. “This is a secret,” Jeb suddenly said, closing his jacket around himself. Calvin nodded vigorously. That’s where he went on the weekends, why he was never there.

           It was their secret, and it stayed their secret for the next four years until Calvin went off to college. Jeb caught Calvin outside the store and hug him, the smell of liquor and fish still clinging to him. He lost a few more teeth, but when he pulled away, pressed a hundred dollar bill into Calvin’s palm and winked at him. “Catch ya’ round.” Was what he said before turning and limping off.

           Calvin would call home and asked about Jeb, but his mother told him that shortly after Calvin left, Jeb disappeared. He was worried. Did someone find out about the money, did a deal go south? But college soon consumed Calvin and he met a girl, who became his girlfriend and then his wife. Six more years had passed when he decided that they would take a trip to New Orleans, a getaway weekend for them. They piled their suitcases in and drove, laughing and singing along to the radio. They stopped at a red light. “Isn’t he dressed sharp?” Calvin’s wife spoke, pointing to the man that was starting across the cross walk. “Yeah he i…”he stopped midsentence. The man was dressed in a black and white pin-stripe suit, a fedora-topped his head and a cane. There were two –noticeably- younger women on either side of him dressed in fine dresses. The man turned to them and smiled, and Calvin leaned out of the window and smiled back.