#would talk your ear off about how OIL PAINTING it is | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

trashmouth-richie · 2 years ago

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Eddie x Fem!reader

master list

summary: feelings burst. Fluffy. Fluffy fluffy. Eddie helps reader when she finds herself in a bind.

warnings: no minors gtfo- eventual smut in the series.

W.C: 11.8k 🫣

A/N: per usual thank you the my beta readers @sweetsweetjellybean

Clunk

Clunk clunk humm

You were already late for work this morning and now this? Must be a fucking Monday. This must be that bitch karma’s payback for you talking shit about Eddie’s van the other night when he backed it up to the garage to unload some shit he salvaged from the junkyard.

“You would think that since you’re a mechanic, you could tune up that piece of shit so it isn’t so fucking loud.”

Eddie scoffs and rolls his eyes, unloading another arm load of car parts from the back of the van to the middle of the garage, “don’t dog on the shaggin’ wagon, you know how much ass I get in this thing?”

The unspoken agreement you had with Eddie the other night after spilling your guts about your past, gave you more patience towards him than ever before. Instead of finding him repulsive, you two were almost friends.

“No I don’t and also I don’t care.” you say taking a bite of a ham sandwich.

“More than a public toilet seat,” Eddie boasts, “Ladies love it, feel like I’m Shaggy or something.”

More like his other four-legged snack-loving friend.

“I really hope you use a rubber, don’t wanna extend the Munson blood line anymore than you have to,” you bite back.

“Oh sweetheart, I always wrap it with the groupies, especially watching Jas bounce from Gareth, to Big D to Walt all in one night.”

“Well look at you, Mr. Perfect bill of health.”

Eddie smiles widely a stupid grin plastered on his face, “I’m so good at the doctors they even give me a sticker. ”

Now here you are, stranded at the gas station east of town, past Merrill’s pumpkin patch. Losing all faith in your sanity, you slam your hand into the steering wheel one more time. Your chunky boots clunk across the pavement as you pull the door towards you, a dingy brass bell dings overhead, alerting the gas station attendant that someone has entered the store.

“Back again?” the balding creep with the greasy combover presses. His coke bottle thick glasses full of breakfast pizza slime from his fingers from pushing them up on in place after sliding down the oils on his nose. A brown paper bag with orange spray paint sitting next to it sat on the counter, and a tinge of orange around his mouth.

With no time for small talk or shooting the shit with the local bachelors of Hawkins, you simply need to borrow the phone and call… fuck. You didn’t want to have to call Boom’s, but the other shops didn’t open yet, and you didn’t know any of them. The decision was made.

“I need to use the phone,” you say laying your hands on the counter.

“No can do, this is a business line,” he spits, bits of his barely chewed breakfast falling from his over stuffed mouth.

Irritated beyond belief you say through gritted teeth, “What? My car broke down, I need to have it towed.”

Showing no sympathy, the combover greaseball says, “That sucks, don’t it,” a throaty chuckle erupts from him. Clearly the man got off from making next to little effort in helping someone.

“Listen,” you say peering over the counter to read the slobs name tag, “Ralph— you’re going to give me the goddamn phone so I can get my car towed, or I’m going to tell your boss about your little huffing habit. Got it?”

His cheeks crimson at your threat, “…what’s the number?”

After dialing it wrong three times, Ralph’s oversized fingers and his altered mind getting hung up on where the 4 was on the dusty rotary phone, you hastily reach across the counter and grab it and the Hawkins phone book. Flipping through the worn yellow pages, finding the number yourself and slotting your fingers in the appropriate places to get the number correct, it finally starts ringing.

Angrily tapping your foot, the serenade of dial tone ringing loud in your ear.

“Boom’s” a bored voice says, after ehat seems like hours of waiting.

“Hey, — is Eddie there?”

A scoff is heard from the other end of the phone, followed by an annoyed voice, “Why who wants to know?”

You don’t have time for childish games with whoever this fucking prick is. “Jesus Christ what is it with assholes today? Is he there or no?”

“I don’t know, you stupid bitch— why don’t you tell me if Eddie is here or—”

A scuffle is heard as the phone falls to the ground.

“What the fuck did I tell you? Huh? I’ll drop your ass just name the time and place mother fuck— hello?”

“Eddie?” You ask exhaustedly.

“Tooty? Oh shit, you miss me so much you’re making calls to my work?”

“E—” you begin, frustration rising.

“Or did you call to gossip? Ooooh, tell me all about the salon drama, is it that blonde again, damn just slap her already I know you want to.”

“Ed—!”

“Shit if you’re worried about going to jail I’ll come bail y—”

“Edward Joseph Munson!”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, “Did you just use my full name? I only hear that when I’m in trouble with Wayne.”

“Will you listen to me?! I need help. I’m at the gas station east of town and my car won’t start.”

“What? What happened?” Eddie asks, his joking tone immediately fading to concern.

“I have no idea, but I’m already late for work—can you come pick me up?”

“Usually this is where a please would be.”

“Eddie!”

“Ooh even begging?”

“Goddamnit,” you say under your breath, “Eddie will you please, come get me?”

“That a girl, see that wasn’t so hard. So where are you?”

Eddie rolls up in an old orange and white tow truck, head banging with a cigarette hanging limply from his bottom lip. “So what happened?”

“Well I drove here, got gas, and then it just wouldn’t start.”

“Damn, I wonder if your starter is out.”

“Great, so what the hell does that mean?”

“Well, I’m not sure if it is that or not, but if it’s not that— it means that your car is probably going to need more work than it’s worth, but I won’t know until I get it in the shop.”

“Son of a bitch.” you curse, covering your face with your hands and tipping your head back up to the sky. Could this fucking day get any worse?

After buying the house last year, your savings were completely wiped out, the last few months you had been pinching pennies trying to build it back up

“I’ll tow it, but I don’t think Boom has any loaners right now,” Eddie explains, “but since I’m such a kind, handsome, good roommate….”

You roll your eyes.

“I’ll bring you to work.”

Shock evident on your face, “You sure?”

“I mean its either that or the city bus, and last I checked—Hawkins doesn’t have one.”

Eddie agrees to give you a ride until your car is fixed on one condition, the band gets to use the garage for practices again. Too tired to fight with him, you give in.

He backs the truck up, moving the steering wheel with one hand the other hanging out of the window, his tongue poked out through his lips. He jumps down from the truck and maneuvers the wheel lift into place by your front tires.

The muscles in his forearms jut out, tattoos dancing with each movement and covered in a thin sheet of sweat as he grabs the chains from the flatbed and hooks them along your front tires, securing them into place. Your car is lifted slightly giving enough clearance to be able to tow.

“Ready?”

Bouncing along side Eddie in the tow truck you sigh heavily, “fuck, I hate Mondays.”

“Okay, Garfield,” Eddie chuckles, turning down the radio and glancing towards you, a cigarette balanced between his teeth, “could always be worse,” he digs into his front pocket for his pack of cigarettes and hands them to you.

You smile weakly and take the pack from him, plucking a tanned filter from the pack and shoving it between your lips. Before you can even say that your lighter is in the car, he’s leaning over. A scratched zippo with a fading design on it, in his hand already flicked open, the flame threatening to go out with the help of the lazy breeze through the open driver’s side window. It’s the same lighter he’s had since you first bummed a cigarette from him when you were thirteen.

Leaning towards him you put the cigarette into the flame, inhaling deep— the cowboy killers burning the pinky tissue of your lungs. He flicks the lighter closed with a metallic snap and smiles out of the corner of his mouth at you. Suddenly your lungs aren’t the only thing burning.

“Thanks,” you say, trying to avoid the skips in your stomach, “I usually prefer menthols, but I guess, these’ll do,”

“Always gotta bust my balls dontchya?” Eddie laughs, a stream of smoke billowing out from his nose. “Hey, uh— I’m not trying to tell you what to do, but that gas station is rated 5 stars on the creepiest place in town.”

You glare your eyes at him, absolutely not having it, “they have cheap gas.”

“There’s a reason for that, and every drug dealer in town sells out of there,” Eddie scolds.

“You would know,” you say in a hateful tone.

“You’re right,” Eddie protests, looking at you earnestly, “I would know— it’s not a good place to be— no matter what time of day, so stay away from it.”

You knew he was trying to look out for you, and from what Steve said, — he blamed himself for the things Chad did to you. But it was never his fault, he didn’t know just like most of Hawkins didn’t. You lived with the Wheeler’s and not even they noticed until you walked home that night. You decide to let it be. For once in your life agreeing to what he had to say.

“Alright,”

Boom’s was on the opposite side of town, the rest of the drive you listened to Eddie hum along to the radio and snuck a peek at him playing air guitar. Despite him being so foul, and a royal pain in the ass, he was actually a decent human being.

No other men in their twenties could help you through your panic attack, aside from Steve. But Eddie? He was different from Steve in ways that you couldn’t grasp. You didn’t find yourself staring at Steve. Even if you had been swimming with him on more occasions than you can count. Sure he was good looking, but you never once understood why the girls at the pool practically flocked to him. Eddie hardly ever wore a shirt around you and your stomach ached each time you saw his broad shoulders and tattoos. Steve was like a brother to you, he scolded you and gave you advice, all with his hands permanently attached to his hips. A mother hen among his friends. Eddie teased and taunted you, his irritating behavior and the way he chewed his food, the way his hair was everywhere in the bathroom, the way his hair looked when he was fresh out of the shower, a towel slung on his hips. The way his hips made a ‘V’, small trail of hair from his belly button to his waistband. Fuck.

Is it hot in here?

What the hell were you doing?

There’s no way.

No fucking way.

Nope, not today.

Not ever.

…

But what if?

Eddie couldn’t understand what was going on with you in the passenger seat. Instead of bitching at him like normal, you were staring out the window. Looking as if you were fighting a storm in your cute little head. Maybe you were reliving the past. Silently suffering through something that he should have been there to stop. But judging from your reflection against the dirty window, you didn’t seem to be crying.

After that night, Eddie was putting in more effort to make sure you felt safe. He gave you distance. Avoided the bathroom in the morning, and stopped making dick jokes altogether. He still joked around, still acted like an idiot— but his perverted meter was dipped into the green zone, the safety net.

He meant what he said, you didn’t have to be afraid with him around. And he would do whatever he could to prove that to you. So when you called Boom’s earlier and asked for help— he dropped everything to make the trek across town to pick you up. Especially when you told him the gas station you were at. Known for being the skeeziest one in town, he worried about you being there alone.

Seeing the tow truck pull into the parking lot, Sean and Aaron had their noses pressed against the glass, the cheap flimsy blinds hung crooked over their heads.

“Damn,” Aaron exclaims, “you were right, that is her.”

“Told you, Munson hasn’t shut up about her since he moved in. Wonder if Chad knows where she’s been hiding.”

Eddie parks the tow truck and you both climb out. He gives you the keys to his van and tells you he’d be right back. Walking into the shop with a whistle on his tongue, he goes into Boom’s office. He’s sitting at a worn down wooden desk. Papers, and receipts clutter space where a framed family picture might be. A steaming styrofoam cup of coffee in Boom’s left hand suggested he stopped at the donut mart, and a dozen of glazed holes from heaven would be sitting in the break room, their sweetness tantalizing the crew all day.

Eddie raps his knuckles against the yellowed paint by the door frame.

‘Yep,” Boom chirps without looking up, reading the daily arrest records in the Hawkins Post.

“Hey, I brought Tooty’s Escort back, I’m going to bring her to work quick and when I get back I’ll move it.”

“What’s wrong with it?” Boom gripes, not looking up from the paper, sipping the coffee slowly.

“Dunno, I’ll take a look at it— “ Eddie shifts his weight from one foot to another, “I was wondering if I could maybe work on it after hours, or on the weekends.”

Boom considers what Eddie is saying, “off the clock?”

“Yeah, or maybe I could take some of my tools home? Work on it there?”

Boom thinks for a while, taking a sip of his coffee. His pudgy finger hovering near the name “William Hargrove” mulling over if he knew him. He finally looks up, “Whatever you wanna do, Eddie, you’ve got keys—I trust you.” Boom offers, “just don’t let those other two jackasses know what you’re doing and who for— that’s all they’ve been yappin’ about since you left this morning.

Eddie rolls his eyes, “I’m just helping out a friend, don’t know why they give a fuck.”

“Personally, I don’t give a shit— but you’re my best mechanic, and those other two are on their last strike with me. One more time I read their name in this paper and they’re both out of here, and when that time comes— I’m sure they’ll be lookin’ for someone to blame.”

The familiar scent of stale weed and a spilled rotting beer in the back of the van flood your nose. Even though his van was a dirty pile of shit and it stunk like hell, you’re thankful for Eddie taking time out of his day to help you.

He could have easily told you to fuck off, hung up on you the minute you called. But he didn’t. He kept good on his word even when he didn’t have to. He doesn’t owe you anything and yet here he was, proving to you again, that he could be someone to rely on. You peer at him through your lashes, falling deep into a spell of fondness. He was always clean shaven, showing off his babyish features. If you didn’t know his age you wouldn’t guess he was over twenty two, his youthful pale skin a glow like the moon across a lake at midnight. The deep browns of his eyes squint in the bright sun, his dark eyelashes almost kissing his cheeks. His thick ringed fingers tapping on the steering wheel as ‘Holy Diver’ plays gently in the background. The bob of his Adam's apple jutting out as he swallows and takes a drag from a cigarette.

You barely recognize your own voice when you say barely above a whisper, “thank you, by the way— not just for today but for the other night,” your fingers go back to the same nervous habit, twiddling the end of your cream lettuce hem shirt.

“Of course,” he says, a look of shock on his face, “I know I like to give you shit, but I wouldn’t leave you stranded somewhere.” He looks over at you lazily and smiles. The kind of smile associated with cool guys on tv, the kind of smile that’s crooked and truly only on one side of the face. And for the first time, you smile too, letting the warmth radiate through your body, venturing into places that you have to readjust your crossed legs to avoid entirely.

Pulling into the backlot of the salon, where you and Nancy smoke cigarettes and read trash magazines, you jump out thanking him again, the creak of the door slamming back into the frame as you wave goodbye.

“What time?” Eddie yelled after you, silently admiring the way the sun catches your face, highlighting your features, the slight breeze catching your hair, he can’t help the smile that dances on his lips. “What time are you off work?”

Walking back to him, he’s leaning his head back on the head rest, an arm hanging out of the window, a stupid grin on his face.

“My last client is at five and it’s just a cut, so probably six o’clock, why?” A creep of jittery shock threatens your nerves, fluttering your stomach and sending waves of fluster through your body.

“Thought I’d pick you up, unless you wanna walk home?” He smirks, tracing the small paint chip near where his fingers set on the door.

Biting your lip and moving back on your heels you make your way back to the door, “Okay.”

“Alright, I’ll be back at six.”

“Six” you repeat, turning on your heel and walking into the salon.

Eddie has thought about you all day, the cards of life and the hand you were dealt were shitty. But he was happy he was around to help in any little way he could. He thought maybe he was crazy, seeing shit when you smiled at him, a sort of shyness in the way you flirted by dipping your head into your shoulder almost giddy at him picking you up.

But that couldn’t be.

The rest of your day was monotonous. Shampoo sets, perms, cuts, rinse and repeat. The long haired metalhead hardly left your mind. When it’s just you and Josie left in the salon after your last appointment, it’s 5:30. She sits down, exhaling loudly. Her long dark braids trailing to her waist, cascade down the length of the chair as she leans back.

“Broke down again? Girl, you need a car that actually works.” Her hot pink fingernails dip into a bag of skittles, popping them into her mouth.

“I know,” you sigh, throwing yourself into your salon chair, “hopefully in the next few months I’ll have enough saved to get myself a new one.”

“So how did you get here? If we had someone else in the salon today I would have came and picked you up,” her mouth puckered into a sucking expression as she pops another skittle into her mouth.

“My roommate… he works at Boom’s so he towed it there and then brought me to work,” you express nonchalantly.

“Ooh the rich one who you used to work with?”

“Steve?” You say with a laugh, “No, Eddie Munson.”

“Eddie Munson? Why does that name sound so familiar? Ohh the infamous Hawkins bad boy, my cousins used to run around with him, some club or somethin’ ”

“Yeah, that's him, he’s turned himself around quite a bit since high school though.” The annoying need to defend him is obvious in your tone.

Josie’s eyes go wide, “Wait—“ she says, pointing a pink nail at you, “he had a girlfriend. He’s living with you? Shit, you’re a brave one.”

Heat creeps to your cheeks, the thought of Eddie having a secret girlfriend that you didn’t know about was almost torture on your soul, “no, no girlfriend… that I’m aware of at least.”

Speak of the devil and he will be present.

Opening the door with the sun waning behind him, peeking an orangy-yellow glow through his unruly curls, stood Eddie. His coveralls are full of motor oil and brake fluid. Black grease is smeared across his face, and his hands. Bandana still snug around his head.

“Oh shit,” Eddie blurts, eyes scanning around the room, bouncing from your face to Josie’s. Clearly uncomfortable in such a clean establishment. “Sorry, I’m uhh, a little early.”

Josie’s eyebrows are turned up in shock, her mouth slightly agape. “Damn, you’re the roommate!?”

Before she can embarrass you any further you blurt, “Josie, this is Eddie,” holding out a hand and pointing, introducing him to her, “Eddie this is my boss and the owner of the salon, Josie.”

Eddie waves with his fingers, “so you’re the one lookin’ after our girl here, the mechanic?” Josie asks.

“Uhh, yeah that’s me.” he puts a hand on the back of his neck and rubs it slow

Josie stands and walks towards you, a clicking of her heels and munching on her candy as she grabs your hand and drags you upwards, dragging you to the back of the salon.

Eddie looks around the room. The salon is decorated in light washes of pink and green and flowers decorate almost every surface, White painted baskets hang from the ceiling holding fake flowers. The salon chairs are black as are the mats under them. Green sinks in the back and cabinets overhead. Two mirrors on each wall and station with a name and family pictures decorate them. Eddie can’t help but notice that where you were sitting, there are only three pictures. A photo of you and Nancy looking like it was taken last summer, you’re holding up the keys to the blue ranch style house he now calls home. Another picture is of you Robin and Steve, in green Family Video Vests in front of the counter. You and Robin are both pulling one of Steve’s ears and he’s making a monkey face. The last picture is of you and Eyeball as kids, a portrait more than likely taken at a JC Penney’s.

“Don’t forget to lock up, okay? Enjoy your day off tomorrow. Eddie, be good to her!” Josie calls from the back, the heavy metal door slamming as she leaves for the night, a smile painted on her lips, shaking her head.

You walk back towards Eddie, he’s sitting in your chair, poking around at all of the different brushes and curling irons that were on your station. Your tired eyes scan him and find him in the mirror. “What is all this shit?”

“My tools to style, cut and color people’s hair.”

You’re standing behind him. You hesitantly grab one of his curls in between your fingers, noting how silky and smooth his hair is despite the split ends. “You could probably use a trim, Eddie. When was the last time you had your hair cut?”

“You think these curls have been in a salon? Please! I cut it myself thank you,”

“I can tell,” you mutter under your breath, going full hog and untying his sweaty bandana and tossing it onto the counter. “Come on, let’s go wash your hair, and then I’m gonna give you a trim.”

“You’re not cutting my hair.” Eddie protests, arms crossed and resisting.

“Your ends are dead, if you don’t take care of it now, it’ll keep going further up and then you’ll have to shave your head.”

Eddie practically trips standing up quickly. “Those are fighting words.”

“Do you really think I’d do that?” You ask in a bored tone.

“Actually no, but— okay fine! Only because you went to some fancy school.”

Eddie stomps over to the sink and sits down with a plop in the smooth cushioned black chair. You follow behind him and place your apron back around your neck, tightening it around your back. You lean his chair back telling him to lift his head from the headrest as you gather his curls into the basin.

Turning on the water and testing the temperature on your wrist, like a mother testing a bottle making sure it isn’t too hot for a baby, you gently put the spray into the ends of Eddie’s hair, gently working the spray up the length of his head to his scalp.

“Is the water okay?”

“Ow, holy shit!” Eddie yelps, his body flopping around like a fish out of water. You immediately turn the faucet the other way, apologizing profusely until you realize Eddie is shaking with laughter.

“Oh fuck, … you…” more laughing as he chokes out his words, “should have seen your face.” He mimics your face and bursts into a fit of giggles, you aren’t sure how long he would have kept it up if you didn’t put the hose directly into his face and throw a towel at him.

“Wipe that grin off your face or I’ll wax your eyebrows.” You spit at him, letting out a small laugh.

Mumbling from under the towel is faint but you swear you hear the word bikini.

Eddie finished cleaning his face and lays his head back into the sink again, you don’t ask this time but immediately start wetting his hair. “So,” he says, closing his eyes, so water won’t get in them, “I think I figured out what is wrong with your car.”

“Oh really? Is it going to be an easy fix?”

Not wanting to admit to you that he was working on your car for free or that he would borrow as many tools as he had to to get your car fixed, he settles for a half truth.

“Shouldn’t be too bad, gotta get some parts ordered for it.”

You let out a groan, “oh God— how much are they?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Exactly what I just said, don’t worry about it, now treat me like one of your clients and tell me all the hot gossip in your life.”

Taking three giant pumps from the white shampoo bottle in the cabinet, you gently massage it into his scalp. Letting the cool smooth pearlescent liquid suds up. His hair feels like brown ropes of silk in your hands. All the years of having your hands in someone else’s hair were nothing compared to the odd feeling of lightly working the suds into Eddie’s mane. Baby soft. Luxurious in ways that contradicted the metalhead image he wore so well like a coat of armor.

You weren’t the only one admiring the way his hair felt in your hands.

Eddie is fighting hard not to melt into a puddle right there in Josie’s salon. Your hands were like magic against his scalp, your nails lightly scratching small circles against his skull. He was sure he’d fall asleep if he kept his eyes closed for any longer. It was the closest thing he could compare to what heaven would be like. Hints of tropical coconut mixed with crushed pineapple filled the air. He didn’t even realize you were talking until he opened his eyes and caught a glimpse of your mouth moving over him. Your face was concentrating on the story that you were telling, but it fell on deaf ears. He was in a trance. The scrape of your nails against his head was almost pornographic to him. The way your eyes were trained on the job at hand. The way your lips parted and moved as you told the story. The animated look in your eyes, sparkling with each slow blink, your eyelashes teasing him.

He had never noticed the features of your face before. Usually if he was this close you were staring up at him and pointing one of those glorious fingernails into his chest, yelling at him— eyebrows pulled in, your face set in a scowl. But now here you were, scratching an itch he didn’t know he had. Filling a void he wasn’t aware was missing. He could die right now and he wouldn’t even know it. It was almost orgasmic the way you were making him feel, all with just simply washing his hair.

He caught himself before you could notice it. He crossed his legs and willed himself to think of anything else. Shutting his eyes and imagining the least sexy thing he could think of. Not wanting to ruin the moment between you both and make you never want to trust him again because he had got an accidental semi while staring at you while you were wrist deep in shampoo, scrubbing his scalp like a woman in the 1800s washing clothes on a board in the creek bed.

Nobody had ever washed his hair before, that he could remember at least. He never wanted it to end.

“…but that’s crazy right? Like she’s a psycho!” The hazy fog of lust finally left Eddie’s mind, his other four senses returning. Looking at your face and seeing that you were hurt by the story you had explained, and ashamed that he wasn’t even listening, he agreed, not even knowing if he should.

“What a bitch.”

You giggled, smiling down at him. Finally realizing you had been scrubbing his hair for almost five minutes, lost in the story. A stupid distraction to force yourself away from the feeling of the silk length of his hair, the way it felt in your fingers. Not wanting to let it slip away. You gather it all in one hand and grab the hose with the other, starting at the crown of his forehead, you rinse the suds from his hair.

Bubbles circle the basin. Disappearing down the drain along with the same shared feelings of lust and yearning. Shoved down deep away from the surface, hidden beneath hardened surfaces, shielded away from the inner depths of the softening heart.

You ended up cutting half an inch from Eddie’s curls, careful to not lose yourself in his hair again, almost cutting yourself in the process. Hee watched with wide sad brown eyes with each snip. “It’s like I’m watching you cut parts of my soul away.”

You roll your eyes, “It’ll grow back, and when it does it’ll be healthier and longer.”

His bangs were the next to be trimmed, not even half an inch taken off. You place a leave-in conditioner spray to keep his curls soft and to help with the tangles. Knowing full well that Eddie didn’t even own a hair brush.

When you finish and are sweeping up his curls, Eddie stands shaking his head like a dog and running his fingers through it. “Alright, I’ll admit, it does feel better.”

Since the agreement was made for the band to practice every other day of the week in the garage, Eddie had been bringing you to work, and picking you up. On days the band wouldn’t be practicing, when he dropped you at home, he would leave immediately after, sometimes not showing up again until midnight. Coming home tired as all hell, and just like you had done weeks before, a Tupperware of food with instructions on how to warm it up taped to the lid, would be waiting for him in the fridge, each and every time.

There was no more yelling from you when the three members of Corroded Coffin showed up. There were also no more beer cans or greasy food wrappers on the ground either. Instead a trash can sat in the corner, and Eddie paid for pizza after you ordered it.

Actually the band was pretty good. You would never tell him that, that would simply go to his head. And with the ego he already had, he didn’t need another boost of confidence, leave that for the groupies. So every Sunday, Tuesday and Thursday night the band got together, playing covers from their beloved 80’s metal Gods and sometimes original songs they would write. All of them thankful that you let them practice in the garage, Big D picking you up into a bear hug and swinging you around like a rag doll.

“Jesus Christ, D, this is why the ladies run from you, you’re too aggressive, put her down!” Eddie barks. A pang of burning in his chest at the sight of you in someone else’s arms.

Big D sets you down and apologizes, “sorry Toots, and hey speaking of ladies, whatever happened with you and those hotter than hell twins?”

“Oh shit, Gareth hollered, “Fuck dude they were all over him, surprised he’s even able to walk with the way they were strung around him like cats in heat. You usually can’t wait to tell us about it, bragging until the next gig about it at least.”

“That’s cause he probably didn’t do shit, too chicken shit to handle them.”

Your stomach flips, so it wasn’t something you remembered wrong, there were two girls that Eddie had brought home that night. A strange feeling of angst washes over you, coating your mind with uncertainty mixed with inadequacy. Your cheeks warm, embarrassed by the way you are feeling. Excusing yourself to go order the pizza, you don’t see the way Eddie dismisses the guys, blowing them off with a “why don’t we keep our sexcapades to ourselves.” Or the way he throws a full beer at Big D.

After ordering the Corroded Coffin special, two large pepperonis, two large sweet and swine, and an extra large order of cheesy breadsticks— you go into the cupboard and bring out several bags of chips and five paper plates. Your favorite, sour cream and onion, and Eddie’s favorite, cool ranch Doritos. You let your mind wander. Thinking about him with those two girls. Realizing this is probably where he went at night after he dropped you off.

No need to feel like that when he was just your roommate, you shake the jealousy from your head. Just Eddie. Barely a friend. Yet he was still going out of his way to take you to work every day, till doing the chores you both shared. You let the silly feelings drop, carrying the chips and plates to the garage, shutting the door behind you. Pulling up your usual lawn chair, listen to the band play and finish painting your toenails.

When the boys end the song, they start again on the conversation they had started before playing, “dude I’m not dressing up as KISS again this year,” Jeff whines to Gareth “took me forever to get that white paint off my face. And don’t even get me started on the eyeliner.”

A spray of beer soaks the ground as Eddie spits it out, laughing hysterically about the memory of watching Jeff struggle lining his eyes like Paul Stanley. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, “yeah I agree, I’m not painting your ugly mugs again this year, what else are you thinkin’?”

“We could all be different villains from scary movies. Freddy, Jason, Michael Myers’s, and Pinhead.” Big D suggests, taking a drag from his cigarette.

“Nah, no chicks wanna fuck something scary. I don’t know about you— but I tried all of last Halloween to get some tail and no girl would even look my way with all that clown paint on.” Gareth huffs twirling his drum sticks in his fingers.

“What about you Tooty?” Eddie asks earnestly, “Do you and Robin go bar hoppin’ on Halloween or do you usually stay home like an old lady knitting sweaters and handing out black licorice and molding fruit?”

Making a face at him, you paint the last coat of polish on your toe nail. “Actually, Nancy and I usually throw a party. Costume contests, kegs, beer pong… we kinda go all out.”

Eddie picks his jaw up from the floor, scoffing, “no way— Nancy Wheeler and you, throwing a rager on Halloween? I don’t buy it.”

“Call Steve and ask him, he’s the reigning Cherry Lane Halloween costume contest winner for two years running.” You say with a smirk on your lips, stretching your legs and crossing them at your ankles, the pretty maroon polish catching the dim light in the garage. “You guys are more than welcome to come, obviously it’s on Halloween night, and the only stipulation is to bring a good costume, and $5 for the keg.”

Eddie moves his tongue over his teeth, twisting his body to look at his band mates, all three of them shrugging and nodding. “Yeah, we’ll be here,

“Yeah, if you think you’re up for it. Sure.” You say nonchalantly.

The smell of mildew and damp carpet currently being air dried with a fan stung your nose. The soggy basement and the crumbling foundation of Sally’s Secondhand in downtown Hawkins was a hidden gem and only open in the afternoons on Mondays and Wednesdays, but they had decent prices and good quality items when you were in a pinch if you could learn to breathe through your mouth for the time you were there.

“So how’s the roomie situation going?” Nancy asks, holding up a hand mixer with two mixing parts and a wooden handle labeled for .10¢. You had scored gold when you found a gently used, practically brand new waffle iron. It was wedged between two cook books for only $2. The same one Karen Wheeler had used on Sunday mornings. You were hunting for discounted Halloween decorations still not sure on what you were going to dress as and Halloween was this Saturday, Nancy was searching for spare camera parts for Jonathan and a toy cowboy hat for her costume that she wouldn’t tell you about.

Putting a masking taped bundle of forks into the blue plastic grocery basket, your forks magically kept disappearing everytime Eddie brought leftovers to work, you let out a sigh, “It’s going okay, better than it was in the beginning. He’s fixing my car up and I cut his hair a few weeks ago. I um.. also told him about Chad.”

Nancy stops dead in her tracks, blue eyes wide, her small mouth agape, “wh-what?!” Nancy was shocked at the news, you nonchalantly delivered like saying ‘fine’ when some asked how you were. She knew how frightening that situation was for you, it was scary for her too. Seeing someone she loved and cared about hurt in ways she couldn’t even fathom.

“We ran into him while getting groceries—like a month ago. I had a full blown panic attack, and Eddie, he helped me through it.” You go into detail explaining everything that had happened. Leaving out the part of you being comforted by Eddie and the gentle way his thick hands caressed you while you sobbed into him like a child who lost their cat.

Nancy's face goes from shock and softens into content, “wow, honestly didn’t think he had a caring bone in his body, he always seemed like such an asshole.”

“I mean he still is, don’t get me wrong— I don’t think he’s giving donations to the local churches or anything, but he seems a little more reserved, if you will,” you say, adding a floral embroidered set of towels for every day of the week to your basket.

“Hmm,” Nancy says with raised eyebrows, and nodding her head, a silent confirmation of approval. Always looking up to Nancy, almost as if she was your real life sister, you admired her. She was always put together, whether you were shopping during the week or at home, she was stylish in a way that said, I will run the world, and have dinner on the table at 6. Her white huarache sandals matched her high waisted pink pastel shorts and white button sleeveless blouse. Effortlessly stunning.

Moving along the aisles you and Nancy both finger through the clothing racks. Pulling out neon prints and a pair Madonna—esque white lace gloves, they probably belonged to that muppet singing idiot, Tammy Thompson. Chuckling at how fashion trends in high school were borderline ridiculous. a denim vest in your size with safety pins on each hem gave you an idea for your costume. Finding everything you needed you were ecstatic to put it all together.

The carpet squashed beneath your feet the further you got into the store. The back room held vhs’s, records, tapes, and books. The records were in a milk carton next to a shelf of adult themed books. The fading sharpie written sign reading “Adult fiction for Women 25 cents” posted bold along the top of the shelf. Nancy discreetly placed, “Thursday and the Lady” by Patricia Matthews into her basket, covering it with matching salt and pepper shakers, a crimson tinge to her rouged cheeks.

Diving into the records you flip them towards you as you lazily scan through them. Fleetwood Mac’s Rumours, Thriller by Michael Jackson, Abbey Road by the Beatles, Kind of Blue by Miles Davis, stuck to the back of it was a small single, Ode to Billie Joe by Bobbie Gentry. It had been years since you heard it, tucking it into your basket, Nancy clears her throat nervously, the blush evident in her cheeks, “I’m ready if you are.”

The Saturday of Halloween the salon was closed, giving you Robin and Steve plenty of time to decorate for the party tonight. Eddie was working but was scheduled to get off around 5, just in time to come home and get his secret costume on.

Orange pumpkin printed garbage bags filled with autumn foliage lined the streets of Cherry Lane. Toilet paper streamers were in Mr. Derry’s tree, a prank the seniors of Hawkins High did to him every year, including egging his front door. Vinyl witches hung from doorknobs. Plastic ghosts holding jack-o-lanterns littered lawns. Fake strings of cotton resembling cobwebs with bendy plastic spider thrown around like glitter, lay atop shrubs. Orange lights were wrapped around the trees in your front yard, flimsy ghosts made of white sheets were hung from the branches. It was a child’s Halloween paradise.

“Higher, no lower, well now you’re just doing it wrong.” Steve was in charge of Robin who was in charge of decorations. The beer pong tournament would be in the basement, every strand of Christmas lights you could find were lighting the ceiling, table set up and cups in place. The tournament bracket started with Mike and El playing against Jeff and his girlfriend Ash. The kegs would be delivered later. Buckets ready for ice sitting on the deck. Robin and Steve were still arguing over who had the better costume last year. Twisting black and orange streamers together and hanging them in the doorway to the bathroom.

In the kitchen, you’re finishing up the Jell-O shots, small clear dishes full of cherry red jello made with everclear. A bitter threat to anyone brave enough to eat them. The spinach and artichoke dip is prepped in the fridge, along with 10 packages of crescent rolls, 5 packages of hotdogs, the fruit cut and ready to be put into Steve’s horrendous Jungle Juice that you would actively be avoiding. Nancy and Jonathan were bringing pinwheels and rotel dip. Dustin and Susie are in charge of bringing candy. It’s going to be a blast.

“Be right back,” Robin and Steve call out as they leave to go get their costumes. Putting the finishing touches on your costume your hand shakes with nervousness while swiping mascara on your lashes, the pre party jitters wracking your nerves. The ring of the doorbell startles you. The obnoxious ringing should be a dead giveaway but you don’t recognize it until the door is wide open and you’re face to face with Jesus Christ himself and three nuns. Or as you knew them, Eddie, Gareth, Jeff, and Big D.

You aren’t sure whose mouth is hanging open more. Yours or Eddie’s. Eddie is wearing a long sleeved cream colored gown, complete with a crimson sash. His usual black leather boots on his feet and a crucifix in his hand.

Eddie is the first to laugh, hands held out like he’s blessing the house before he enters it. “Aww sweetheart, you really are my #1 fan aren’t you?”

You are dressed as the most annoying on the planet, pain in the ass, voted most perverted of all of Hawkins: Eddie. When shopping with Nancy you found the vest, adding a few hand sewn patches and the best replica of Eddie’s DIO patch on the back, even shoving a pack of reds into the pocket, it looked pretty good. A twin of the aforementioned jackass. Borrowing Nancy’s cheap leather jacket when she went as Sandy from Grease last year, and putting holes into a pair of jeans and washing them as many times as you could to fray the edges, it was perfect. Complete with a horrible curly wig that you thought was a life dog upon seeing it.

“I was going for scary and scary annoying,” you shrug, “think I nailed it.”

“As hilarious and surprisingly accurate your costume is, the real winner for the party is going to be us” He gestured to him and the nuns. “figured I’d go as something that everyone says I need more of and you recognize the boys right? They’re dressed as your friends from work.”

The kegs finally show up and Eddie blesses the delivery man before he leaves. Fully throwing himself into character. Dustin and Susie are the first to arrive, dressed as Mrs. Doubtfire and Sally Ride, the first woman astronaut to go into space.

Dustin laughs so hard he cries at your costume. “Oh my God please you have to say, ‘forced conformity, it’s what’s killing the kids!’ Please Tooty Holy shit!”

Mimicking Eddie perfectly you saunter away and scream about society and how good Metallica is.

“Oh haha, so funny Tooty,” Eddie pouts, holding a beer funnel in his hands, “come on Henderson let’s see you put your money where your mouth is.”

The backyard is sprayed with foamy beer as Dustin very much can not put his money where his mouth is. Gareth’s up next, chugging like a champion and doing a lap around the backyard like he won a trophy. Eddie and Jeff shotgun beer, Eddie winning by a mile. Laughing and putting his hands in a praying gesture to bless Jeff for his shortcomings.

The rest of the party goers show up, Nancy is dressed like Annie Oakley wielding a fake shotgun and a straw cowboy hat and a long brown dress with fringe hanging from the shoulders. Jonathan and his long haired friend Argyle arrive behind Nancy dressed as Sonny & Cher. Argyle had given up the fast moving life in California once a Surfer Boys pizza arrived in Hawkins. He delivered to the house so much during the nights that Corroded Coffin was practicing that he had your order prepped and ready to go by the time you had called it in. He’d show up so blitzed out of his mind that he’d forget he was at work, sharing his different strains of weed with all the Corroded Coffin boys.

Robin and Steve are in the kitchen, ladling jungle juice into empty cups. The duo dressed as Thelma and Louise, Robin wearing a black muscle shirt and sunglasses, and Steve wore a white tank top with a neckerchief. Both talking in horrible southern accents.

Eddie is standing next to Argyle in the living room both holding almost empty cups of the forbidden jungle juice, deep in conversation about something called Purple Palm Tree Delight, but knowing them, it had nothing to do with a lavender paradise. You reach around Eddie to grab a pinwheel, taking a bite when Argyle, clearly stoned, goes wide eyed leaning into Eddie his eyes still transfixed on you he whisper yells.

“Yo, I swear to God, I just saw two of you.”

“Argyle it’s me, Tooty.” You explain standing next in front of them trying not to laugh. “This is the real Eddie, I’m just dressed like him for Halloween.”

Argyle leans forward and whispers into your ear, “Yeah okay man that’s what the aliens would say before they clone us and take over.”

He leans back and takes two big steps backwards, eyes wide in a horrified daze, before disappearing down into the basement.

“Don’t think I’ve ever said this before, but that guy smokes way too much.” Eddie chuckles, downing the rest of his jungle juice and eating the fruit at the bottom of the cup.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” you warn him watching with your own gut twisting as the sweet juices of strawberry slither down his chin and down the slope of his neck.

“Sweetheart,” Eddie says, smacking his lips, “I’m twenty six years old, I can handle my liquor.”

“Okay,” you reply, “just so you know, the fruit soaks up all the alcohol and Steve presoaks it all in everclear the night before. Last time he ate all the fruit he spent an hour in the bathroom crying about his love life or lack thereof. And besides, we have to play in the pong tournament in a half hour.”

“We?” Eddie asks, lips turned up and a slight blush to his cheeks, “I didn’t sign up for beer pong.” His dark eyes pour into yours.

Heat creeps up your neck as you reach for a Jell-O shot cracking the lid off and circling the dish with your finger before sucking it into your mouth.

“I signed you up,” you say, reaching for another Jell-O shot, “everyone had a partner but Argyle and Will, so I paired you with Argyle, and I’m with Will,” you slide your finger around the Jell-O dish and suck the cherry gelatin into your mouth, savoring the bitter bite to your tongue before you crush it between your teeth.

“You better bring your A game Munson,” you say, taking a step into him and poking him in the chest, “because I don’t lose.”

Eddie isn’t sure if it’s the alcohol that’s making him feel this way or you but suddenly he can’t stop blushing, laying the charm on thicker than peanut butter, “oh really?” he asks intrigued, “Well babe, I don’t think you know this but I’m the Forest Hills Trailer Park Pong Champion for eight summers in a row, so technically,” he’s leaning forward now, whispering low to get his point across. Your breath hitches in your throat, you can feel the tickle of his lips against your ear, his hair is brushing against your face, the faint smell of motor oil stuck in his curls, “I never lose either.”

He pulls back and your eyes lock. The heat flooding your cheeks burn, the ache in your stomach travels south and pulses with want. You can’t deny it to yourself, even dressed as Jesus Christ, Eddie is the best looking guy you’ve laid eyes on, and you were melting at the way his dark eyes gazed into yours, a smirk placed on his lips as he brushes his tongue over his bottom lip to catch the remnants of the horrific fruit juice. His eyes never leave yours as he takes the Jell-O shot dish you’re holding and sets it behind him on the table. The tension could be cut with a knife, thick and heavily hanging in the space between you both. Eddie opens his mouth to speak but is interrupted by El screaming for Mike to get to the backyard instead of puking in the kitchen sink. Her Alice in Wonderland wig askew on her head and holding Mike’s mad hatter hat between her hands.

Running to open the sliding door you get it open just in time for Mike to projectile vomit off the deck.

“Christ, what did he eat?” Eddie asks from behind you, “damn Mike you’re such a pussy!”

“His dumbass didn’t eat all day and when he got here he decided that Jell-O and fruit would be a good option.” El says, rubbing his back as he pukes again and again, “I don’t feel bad for you Mike!”

Wiping his mouth on his forest green jacket sleeve, he murmurs, “Babe, I’m fine, seriously, a few pieces of bread and I’ll be in tip top sh—“ puke splatters wetly against the grass again.

You grab El’s hand and squeeze, “let me know if you need anything, okay?” She nods and smiles sweetly.

“C’mon,” Eddie says behind you, “let’s go so I can kick your ass in beer pong.”

You turn your head, half facing him, “game on, Munson.”

The sharpie bracket on poster board continued moving forward thanks to Steve’s basketball knowledge. Jeff and Ash beat Mike and El, Nancy and Jonathan beat out Gareth and Big D in a very close came both opponents having one cup left. Steve and Robin were beat out in the first round by Dustin and Susie, something King Steve would never be living down. Nex on the bracket to play would be you and Will playing Argyle and Eddie. Honestly it should be a piece of cake, a walk in the park. Will wasn’t the most athletic but last year him and Jonathan got second place against you and Nancy so the odds were pretty high. One thing you were absolutely certain of was that you would not be losing to Jesus and Cher tonight.

The basement is packed with everyone besides the ill Mike and faithful El. Argyle and a pink lensed Will are in the corner smoking a fat blunt the sequin jacket he’s wearing sparkles through the haze of smoke and the catches the lights. You haven’t seen him since Nancy and Jonathan’s wedding. But he’s letting his hair grow out, finally letting the bowl cut Joyce insisted on him having all throughout middle school and high school go. Steve has Dustin in a headlock for teasing him about winning against Mr. Hawkins High basketball star of 1985.

“Ya know for once, I was actually good, like really good, Steve overthrew the last cup and it was game over once Susie got the ball. She’s strangely amazing at beer pong. Probably found the mathematical equation from the distance of the table and her elbow to the solo cups.” Robin rambles on, only stopping to get her breath. “How are you? I haven’t seen you all night. Killer costume by the way, if you can’t beat ‘em be ‘em right?”

Robin and her absolute no filter mouth, always make you laugh, linking your arm with hers, “I really like your and Steve’s take on best friends driving off a cliff together to evade police.”

“JESUS CHRIST!” someone yells from upstairs.

Not missing a beat, Eddie can be heard returning the exclamation. “You rang?”

Rolling your eyes and looking his way, you laugh when you see him, holding up his arms in praise.

Robin’s voice bringing you back to the conversation, “Epic right? Steve thought we could be conjoined twins but then decided against it when he figured there was a small chance he could possibly get lucky tonight when that black haired girl at his job kept hinting that she wanted a date with him.”

“What!” you shout, “He never told me this!”

Robin rolls her eyes and takes another drink from her too foamy beer, “he’s nervous, I think he really likes her but doesn’t wanna fuck it up like he does everything else.”

Steve deserved to be happy and to have someone love him. He was always making sure everyone else was okay, you smile at the thought of him with a girlfriend.

“So,” Robin presses, wiggling her eyebrows, “Eddie looks good tonight,” a wicked smile dances wildly on her lips.

“I’m not at all buzzed enough to have this conversation,” you say, taking a peak at Eddie through your eyelashes, he was laughing loudly at something Steve had said, head thrown back, exposing his neck.

Will joins your side, reeking of weed and heavy musk cologne. “Tooty!” He squeals, wrapping you into a tight hug, “the house looks so fucking good I can’t believe it, also I heard that you’re living with Eddie? I’m going to need all the details!”

“It’s so good to see you, look at your hair!” You say holding his arms. Will threads a hand through his hair and laughs a little.

“Thanks, it’s new but it’s kinda growing on me, now, spill it. Tell me everything.”

“Next game!” Nancy announces, advancing her and Jonathan to the next bracket. “Argyle/ Eddie vs Tooty/ Will.”

Will grabs your hand and drags you to the beer pong table, “after?” He asks and you nod your head.

Eddie and Argyle are standing on one end, you and Will on the other. The cups are arranged into a triangle and filled with the warming pitcher of keg beer.

“You ready to go down groveling, sweetheart?” Eddie sings from across the table, eyes squinting when he leans on the edge of the table smiling at you.

Your stomach flutters, taking a long swig of Will’s jungle juice, staring Eddie down as you gulp the vile liquor and fruit punch combo down, “You ready to get your ass kicked, Munson?”

“Woo! That’s balls back ba-by,” you sneer, hooting and hollering as Eddie begrudgingly tosses the balls back your way. It was almost as if Argyle and Will weren’t even there, this game was between you and Eddie. You were definitely buzzed, between the warm beer and the Jell-O shots you had eaten you were feeling good.

When you miss the first cup, Eddie makes devil horns at you and howls at the moon like an idiot. You sink the next cup, earning a high-five from Will, and a sly grin from Eddie as he removes the cup and chugs the warm beer. He’s secretly excited that you’re so happy, letting loose, in your element, surrounded by your loving friends. You glowing with a sense of freedom. In that moment when your eyes caught his, he knew he was in trouble, you were wrapped around his finger and he didn’t think of hardly anything else, but you, your beautiful smile, the way your hair caught each light you were under. He was in deep, and for right now, he was perfectly and utterly okay with that.

It’s Argyle’s turn and he surprisingly sinks both cups, being awarded with balls back, as you and Will each take a cup and drink the suds down. Trying to distract him, you whip off your Eddie- esque wig and toss it towards Eddie, shaking your hair out like a wild woman.

Unphased by your antics he does it again and you groan. Four in a row? This guy was half asleep the entire game and all of a sudden he’s an athlete? They only have 1 cup left. Tension rises and the room goes to silence at Steve’s request. Argyle sinks it. Eddie erupts into cheers grabbing Argyle by the shoulders and jumping up and down.

“Redemption attempt!” Steve shouts, giving Will the ball. Will takes it with nervous fingers, blowing the ball to dry it slightly as you chug the last cup. He only has two cups to make. Will tosses the ball and the room goes silent, it feels like it’s in slow motion, or maybe that’s the alcohol. The ball soars through the air, bouncing against the rim of the cup lapping up the foamy beer, before it falls off and teeters off onto the table.

Argyle raises both hands in the air, “VICTORY!” the room erupts with cheers. Will apologizes profusely but you hug him tight, telling him you were happy he was your partner.

“Next game is Jonathan/Nancy vs Jeff/ Ash starting in 20 mins!” Steve hollers. The basement clears out as people go upstairs to use the bathroom and refill their drinks.

You expect Eddie to be gloating, cocky beyond belief. But he’s the opposite, coming up to you slowly, head bowed, upper teeth practically biting his lower lip in half.

“Good game sweetheart,” he says barely above a whisper, “not gonna lie, I really thought you guys were gonna win.”

Holding your chin high, face only inches from his, the brown pools of colored whiskey stare into your eyes. Placing a hand on his chest, the alcohol gives you enough of a push to cross the line. The thin gauzy material of the gown he’s wearing is sticky with sweat and warm from the heat radiating from his body. “Told myself I wouldn’t lose to Cher and Jesus tonight.”

Eddie let’s out a throaty laugh, “can’t believe he pulled that off, he didn’t make a cup all game.”

“Guess you get to continue wearing that tarnished crown, speaking of wardrobe… where the hell did you get this outfit?”

“You know that church across from the police station?”

“The one with the Jesus statue inside?”

Eddie raises his eyebrows and gives you a knowing glance, waiting for you to catch on.

“No way! Eddie! You broke into a church and stole an outfit off of a statue?”

“Amen,” Eddie says roaring with laughter, “ahh c’mon you can’t tell me it wasn’t a genius idea.”

Rolling your eyes, “I wouldn’t exactly call it genius, but funny? Yes.”

He laughs again, “not everyday I get a compliment from myself,” he says eyeing your costume, “you do make a pretty cute Eddie Munson if I say so myself.” he wasn’t even thinking anything of it, just blurted it right out.

Flirting came easy to him almost as a second nature, he was never nervous around women, usually finding the game of sex not just something he was good at but conquered with ease. But this, here, with you? Was a slippery slope. A different game for him entirely. He was a pawn amongst you and you were the queen, striking down whoever came near, holding all the power.

Your cheeks heat from his compliment, blood rushing through your body and warming your skin, he holds your hand to your chest, stroking your fingers with his thumbs.

A thousand bolts of lightening ignite you, he smells like smoke, ashy and burning, the cheap keg beer on his breath as he smiles softly at you.

“Tooty!” Steve calls from the top step, clinging onto it for dear life, “are you down there?!”

You’re the first one to break away, pulling your hand from his grasp, threading them together at the last minute, finger tips clinging to each other like velcro. The flames between you both extinguished fast, no oxygen left in the room to keep it going.

Getting to the bottom step and turning, you give him one last glance and a small smile, before trotting up the stairs to Steve.

Eddie opens the patio door to find Gareth and Big D blowing smoke into the sky and talking about the best DIO song.

“Shit man, where have you been? Didn’t your game end like 15 minutes ago?”

Eddie thinks of a lie quick, “Taking a piss why you wanna watch?”

“That’s weird,” Big D questions, “cause Gareth just came out of the bathroom unless there’s a magic bathroom you haven’t told us about.”

“What are you guardian of the toilet?” Eddie says slotting a cigarette between his teeth and flicking his zippo open.

“I mean he’s got a point,” Gareth interjects, “where have you been tonight, turning water into wine? Or are you healing the blind?”

“Cool it, Whoopi,” Eddie bites, “the fuck does it matter where I was or wasn’t?”

“You’ve changed dude. Used to be a ladies man, different chick every night. Smoking and drinking all night watching the sunrise. Fuck man you were hell on wheels. Then all of a sudden you move in here and you’re acting like the Pope, fixing up her car off the clock, bringing her to and from work, you’re like her fucking babysitter.” Gareth exclaims.

“Fuck off man, she’s Eyeball’s sister, and I’m just looking out for her.” Eddie grits through his teeth.

“Or,” Big D suggests, “you like her, I mean you still haven’t even told us about the twins— and you stare at her like she’s about to combust at any moment.”

“Yeah and what do you two know about anything?” Eddie spits.

“Clearly not shit, but you’re all fucking riled up about a girl you don’t like.” Gareth flicks his cigarette and goes inside, Big D following.

The door opens again, “listen man, I’m not in the mood for your stupid fucking advice.” Eddie groans, turning to see Steve standing at the door, an empty pitcher in his hand. “Shit, sorry, thought you were Gareth.”

“Nope kept my habit at home,” Steve says with a chuckle, setting the pitcher on the edge of the deck, “nice party, huh?”

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees, “ya know when Tooty first told me that her and Nancy threw a party every year I didn’t believe it, turns out I was wrong about her, seems to be a theme of mine lately.”

“She doesn’t let a lot of people in, but once you’re here, it means she trusts you, respects you.” Steve explains.

Eddie smiles softly, ashing his cigarette.

“She cares about you, ya know? She might not want to admit it— may even be scared to admit it to herself, but she likes you.”

Eddie gives him a look. Sure you were nicer to him, not threatening to kick him out anymore. You had let the band practice in the garage, even staying out there to hear them play. But that didn’t mean anything did it?

“How many times do you think she’s cut my hair?” Steve inquires, leaning next to the railing on the deck beside Eddie.

“I don’t know,” Eddie says honestly, “a dozen?”

Steve chuckles, “Never, not once, never even offered. You think she made elaborate meals for Nancy when they lived together? Wrong— she barely touched the stove. You move in and she’s changed, for the better. It’s like she’s coming back to life, and the only common thing in that equation, is you.”

Eddie mulls this over, could Steve be right? “I don’t know man.”

“I may not be Mr. Relationship but I do know Tooty, and you’ve softened her edges. Tamed that frightful girl we all love and adore. She’s got walls up, keeping people out, but not around you, not anymore.”

Eddie hangs his head, his heart bursting with sad euphoric bliss. He couldn’t go about this like any other conquest. And with you it would never be how it was with the other women. Faceless broads in mini skirts, praising him, doing whatever he wanted them to. He never saw you in that way. Holding you on a pedestal about the rest. He hadn’t been in a relationship in years. One too many times of being cheated on was enough for him. But you were hurt too, more so than he was. He was still licking his wounds with anything willing and able. You? You were a shell of yourself. He couldn’t act on this like he would with anyone else. He cared about you too damn much to make you feel like you couldn’t trust him again.

“And I know you care about her. Everytime I look at you you’re staring at her like a sad little puppy.”

Eddie looks up then, looking at Steve like he held all the answers to life’s questions. He turns and leans against the deck, elbows on the railing just how Steve was facing the house.

“Yeah, you’re right, I do care about her, more than anything. So what do I do?” He asks Steve.

Steve shrugs, letting out a loud sigh, “keep doing what you’re doing, she knows you care about her, just don’t disappear on her.”

Eddie turns his head from Steve and catches sight of you through the patio doors. He can see you taking a Jell-O shot with El, Robin and Nancy. A sleeping lump of clothes on the kitchen table with black hair must be Mike. You light up the room as you laugh when Robin makes a repulsive expression after taking her Jell-O shot. He can’t hear your full laugh, it’s faint through the glass. But, he doesn’t need to hear it to know the sound—having heard it more and more the last few weeks, the way you throw your head back when something is really funny, sometimes covering your mouth. He’s certain he’s never seen anyone more angelic in his life. Like you have sucked all the air from the room, even dressed in a sheer mockery of him, you’re radiating a glow that makes his heart swell. He has never cared about anyone the way that he does for you.

Seeing him through the doors standing next to Steve, he has a smirk on his face. A sudden rush of shyness creeps up your neck and you turn away from him, but you reciprocate his actions, smiling at him. A small gesture that melts him on the spot.

Eyes trained on you but still talking to Steve, Eddie beams, “I’m not going anywhere.”

A/n: see you in volume vii

Hope you all enjoyed this. There were some little hidden Easter eggs in this chapter, go to my askbox if you found them 💕

readmore eat my ass or this line you decide, whore.

—

#eddie x fem!reader #eddie x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson #eddie munson angst #eddie x y/n #stranger things season 4 #stranger things #eddie munson smut

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2demondogs · 3 months ago

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With Chrismas around the corner (not really but basically), i would love an Arthur x GN!reader where Arthur proposes to reader for Chrismas and they obviously say yes because, well, it's Arthur, who wouldn't?

Anon did you read my mind. I was just thinking about proposal fics when you sent this ask because I have yet to stumble on one somehow... I'm sorry this took forever btw T-T

Shoutout to my platonic boyfriend for helping me with ideas because I got writer's block <3

Words: 3k oh my good lord Tags: canon divergence (it's just people leaving the gang a chapter early), Arthur does not have tuberculosis, INSTANT spoilers for character death, cheesy shit

It's been too long, you're realizing, since holidays like Christmas felt like special things. There is a double-edged feel to this one — it is the first since Hosea's death, since leaving the gang — but it is the first, in a very long time, that you've spent in the so-called right way: in a warm house with four solid walls and someone you love, how those fanciful books Mary-Beth used to talk your ear off about always wrote.

The house is warm enough, anyways.

There's work that needs done on the cabin. Some of the wood is rotting out and chipped at the corners, forming into sharp splinters that you've brushed against one too many times, but it is a house. You haven't had this pleasure since before joining the gang.

Sometimes, with how content Arthur seems at baseline, you wonder if he's had this pleasure since early childhood. On quieter evenings, ones less reserved for happiness than this one, there has been clipped discussion about how Arthur has never had domesticity like this. Silently, it was an admission of how good it is to share this freshness with you.

During a ride into town, he'd admitted that he had never picked up painting because it was the sort of thing only steady folks got to enjoy. You'd gotten him a set of oil paints when no one was looking — he's worth much more than a few measly dollars, but that means little if you haven't got them to begin with. Some habits die hard; he was happy you remembered what he'd said only a few hours before.

Come the new year, Arthur plans to find work that will pay. New things are a luxury neither of you care much to indulge in, but the repairs will take lumber and maybe a few extra hands. Ones with more expertise, at least, because Arthur's houses usually have not had foundations.

You could simply move now that time has passed, yes. You could find somewhere much farther away, maybe even New York, and pack yourselves in alongside the other sardines bustling about a city, undetectable in uniformity. Shave beards, got jobs, change clothes, cut hair and color it, too, if paranoia strikes— but keeping low to the ground has worked itself out so far, and there is no more of that deathlike stagnation in the air of this place.

Sentimentally, you think this Christmas will seal off whatever makes this cabin yours. Shadows linger, there's been a few odd creaks that've spooked the horses, and maybe it's going to shit a lot quicker than either of you want to admit, but it's your shit-house and the shared stubbornness between you has always brought you nothing but closer to one another.

Arthur is tired of running, and so are you. Last week, he talked about writing to Mary-Beth and Simon, maybe checking if Kieran — the utterance of the man's proper name was a confirmation of the last of that stockholmlike regret having worked out of his system — had broken and followed his little girlfriend. It wasn't said with malice, just some amusement.

"Why do you think he would?" You'd asked.

"Dutch only saves people who don't ask for it," he'd said, and that wistful look in his eyes vanished before you could ask what it meant.

Maybe it's the hard work that makes it feel like a real, true holiday. Pearson and Grimshaw stopped working everyone harder in the winter over the years, once the familial glamour faded with each new addition to the gang. It was no longer a tight-knit group, but a posse, more or less, of runaways and strays all against a big, evil thing like the rest of the world, or whatever it was that Dutch grew to fear.

Since November, Arthur has been saving the best catches to be salted and stored for Christmas dinner. Each addition is cleaner skinned and cut than the last, and the newfound worst of them ended up being ate upon his return from hunting. You've both been saving back herbs since summer, dried and ready to be crumbled into the heated up pot come time for a real feast. Cornbread was made by hand for the first time since you settled down here, drizzled with honey from the general store a ways out.

The latter was Arthur's only specific request for a fancy dinner. If you hadn't gotten him a single gift save for making it, he'd still be happy as a clam.

He's been putting that goddamned honey on everything. You're glad he seems to be enjoying things again, not as tightstrung as he was before you'd made off with him. That's how it feels, anyways, after the long and struggling conversations that were had before the decision was made. Family or life? It's a hard question for someone who has such little concept of either.

Now, the grey hair in his beard is catching the light from the fireplace where he's sat himself on a chair before it. They'd sprouted through the sun-bleached blond atop his head has been looking lighter and lighter in recent months, grey finally catching up to the discoloration and giving him some malcolored sort of tabby look. It's a good one on him, as much as he complains about looking old as dirt and that it's all formed by stress.

For all the lacking color, it adds a ruddy warmth to his face. Daydreams of growing old together find you when you focus on it, or on his wheezing laugh that's gotten worse with the cold weather. Despite the woolen vest he's been sporting, his fingers are as chilled as yours whenever they've brushed. Idly, you wonder if he's gotten whatever Hosea grew into, then remember they were never by blood.

Arthur hadn't wanted you to get him any gifts. When you asked if he would get you something, he'd flushed and changed his mind, apparently already having done it.

Whatever it is, it's good-sized, wrapped in one of the dustcloths you'd gotten him alongside the paints. He's been spending more time painting, lately, tucked in the treeline and looking over the cabin or deeper into the woods, studying something plein air the way those professionals do. He'd propped it against the wall this morning, and once you've settled on the floor before the fireplace — too cold outside not to crowd close to it — after dinner, he looks between you and the cloth like he isn't sure what to do.

"D'you wanna do the honors?" He asks, and grins although the twitch of his eye tells you he's covering timidity with faux cockiness.

"You go ahead," you say, half because he's closer. Tormenting him in small ways must be part of any good gift.

The painting is an image you recognize. A photo that one of the girls took for you months before things went down the hole, using the camera Arthur was loaned by some feller in town who wanted photos taken for a book. He never returned it, and it more or less became something he tucked beneath his cot and let the elements beat around. You can't remember, now, who it was or where he went to get it developed.

The little inkling of pride you felt knowing he kept putting off getting the negatives developed — not enough money, not enough time — yet was gone the next morning to have yours developed returns, now.

It's a much nicer rendition of it, your clothes not dirty and his arm around your waist, the other holding his hat to his chest. It's clear he preferred to give your portrait more detail, his own lagging somewhere behind in clarity and looking closer to the photo. You suppose it's easier to look at someone besides himself, but there's a clearer enjoyment in the lines of you, more care taken in the color mixes.

Ignoring the dense joy of the implications of that, of how obvious it is, proves difficult. Your cheeks twinge some from the wide smile before you realize you're even reacting.

"You'll be a big name someday," you say, and he may as well shrink in on himself beneath the praise, although he's heard it plenty of times before.

"Naw," he waves a hand. "Quit that."

"Really, Arthur." Scooting closer, laying your hands over his knee. He's moving his jaw when your eyes meet his, lays a hand over one of yours, heavy and warm. "It's beautiful. I love it."

"Good," he says. His jaw clicks. "I— uh, I love you."

The hunting knife you got for him seems small, though relatively equal. Arthur looks as pleased as ever studying it, half-mumbling appraisals of yeah, nice and sharp, sturdy to himself that likely would've stayed inside his head, if it weren't for wanting to show you he liked it.

A bone handle, which he feels over with his fingers before noticing it's engraved, fits easy in his palm. You were afraid you push your luck with maintaining its quality too far adding the tiny, vague bear shape next to the deeper cut of his name. Already impressive was the fact that you hadn't ruined it with the letters, being one of your first expeditions into anything of the sort.

"I would've gotten you one of those folding knives," you explain. "But they don't hold up as well, and I know you have one."

The army knife was Hosea's.

"Needed me a new huntin' knife," Arthur says. You know, because he's complained about his current one being close to snapping with all the skinning he does anymore. He squints at the handle, turns it over in the light from the fire. "Did you engrave the handle?"

"Yessir."

He smiles. "It's real nice," he says, pats his palm with the blade softly. It makes a dull noise, sturdy metal on skin. "Why a bear?"

"They remind me of you," you admit. Really, you'd spent a long time considering what else to add, because only his name seemed so plain; although he wouldn't be opposed to flowers or vines, they are a little more intricate than a simplified bear head. "Big and strong. Hairy, too. I'd like to hug one."

He snorts a laugh, but it seems thin. His eyes are fond enough on you that it couldn't be any rejection of your words, and so you brush it off. "You wanna hug a bear?" He asks.

"In a perfect world," you amend. "Don't they look warm?"

"You'd better stick to me," he says, smooths a palm over the thigh of his jeans. The nicest pair he owns, he promised you, because he feels ridiculous in slacks and seems to think you care what he wears.

Beyond thinking everything looks well on him, at least. You often find yourself concerned with that thought.

"I got you somethin' else," Arthur starts, running a finger over the bunched inseam at his own knee. "Well, uh— it's f'both of us, really."

Isn't that intriguing, you think, but your silent, undivided attention seems to make him outright nervous, so you say: "Oh?"

Some conflict happens over his face as he pulls his vest collar away and reaches into the inner pocket, takes out a stack of thin papers that he glances over before apparently relenting to something. Confusion finds you, until he takes a deep breath and holds them towards you.

"Read these," is all he says, and he sounds like it's almost painful.

He's written much, much more than that. Your stomach turns, once or twice, realizing they are pages from his journal. Uncertain why, until the first entries which are skittering on affectionate fade into ones much more flowery. They are all about you, days you'd spent together or times you hadn't, the things you've given him over the years and the things he wished he could've given you.

Each page makes your chest feel tight with a panicked joy, as if his hands were not fiddling with the new knife to occupy — distract? — himself but clenching hard at your heart.

One, near the beginning, says he thought of pickin' a pretty lil' flower, God bless it, I feel ridiculous; on the back of the next is pressed a variegated tulip, crumbling with age but holding firm to whatever adhesive glues it to the paper. Again, that creeping smile, like thyme. Another entry is entirely about your hair, because it had brushed his arm. Only a few sentences made up that page, below the cursive a choppy sketch of your horse.

Certainly, Arthur stays busy in his head. You've always known as much, but never figured any of it was about you. Not like this, anyways, though the dates spread from the week before Blackwater and you can only wonder what laid in that journal he lost before.

"Oh, Arthur," you start, looking up from a third-way through, feeling giddy but not wanting him to watch you so intently while you finish them. No wonder he was shy. It's his heart. "You're so sweet."

"Finish readin' 'em," Arthur says, doesn't meet your eyes at first. When he does, they're gentle. "They get sweeter, y'know, better finish 'em. 'Cause of that."

He is nervous. Hardly moving, besides the tongue running over his teeth beneath his lips, and the rambling every time he opens his mouth. You don't mind, never have. He's endearing like this.

Outings you'd went on infrequently, the dates of his favorites underlined, you're noticing, based on the tone of his words in them; his worries and fears about courting you, and some of what you mean to him though, with its succinctness, you have a feeling he wouldn't dare put all of his genuine love to findable paper; things he likes about you, and one page where he admits that he cannot keep himself from documenting you in every other entry, which tells you this small collection is hardly everything. The previous entries turn over in your mind again, and you are struck on a random page for a moment as their meanings take hold, realizing they were especially sliced from his journal to show you.

The entries leading to the last are what set your mind and pulse ablaze. From the first appearance of the word marriage, you swallowed your idea of what may be coming — Arthur's breathing changing beside you doesn't help any, and it certainly does not help that he leans down once you've reached the last page, plucking it from your hands. Before he does, you notice quite a few crossed out lines, scribbles as if he were frustrated with not being able to find the right words.

"Think I've got the balls on me to read this one aloud, at the very least," he says, voice laced with a chuckle. Breath comes uneasy, but you collect yourself enough to gather the pages back into a neat, ordered stack in your lap. "Unless you'd rather spare me," he adds, nudges your knee with the toe of his shoe.

"No." Your voice sounds strange, even to you. "Do me the honors."

Arthur bites his cheek, nods and lets it fall as he smiles. Still, his hand finds the back of his neck, the page held between two fingers that remain surprisingly steady. The knife lingers in his hand beneath it, and isn't it just like him to propose holding a weapon.

Propose. It takes its first toll on you, rolls over your back in shards of tingling.

"December twenty-fifth, eighteen ninety-nine," he starts, eyes flicking to your face every other word until the intensity of your gaze must make him too anxious. "It's a nice little life, livin' with the one I love," — rubbing his mouth, sighing some — "Jesus, I always gotta be sappy." You laugh, though it comes out more forceful than you intended, and relax some until he continues. "The thought of another day where anythin' could happen 'n' we ain't bound is somethin' I hate."

Arthur pauses, stands up and places the journal entry on his chair. You take his hands when he holds them out to where you sit, grunting when he hauls you off the ground with more force than you expected, feet shuffling into place to stick all-too-close to his. His hands are burning, skin feverish when you grab his wrists, as if you'd ever want to stop him as he eases onto a knee before you.

And his eyes throw you off balance, too, catching the light just enough that you can tell they are stinging. So are your own, now that you think about it, but intelligent thoughts go out the window once you sense him about to speak.

"I wanna be 'til death do us part," Arthur confesses, fumbles to catch both of your hands in his in an awkward, squeezing hug of a hold.

The way your bones catch on one another, well— it's not a sensation you'll forget, like the first time he kissed you and you felt it still a week later, warm pressure on your mouth if you got too lost in the memory. He looks as good, looks so nice, and you know your fingers would be shaking if he weren't crowding them together, steady.

When he says your name, the blood is rushing through your ears too loud to hear it clearly; you almost want to ask him to do it again. "Will you marry me?"

Nodding, face slack before it spreads in a grin. "Yes," you say. "Of course I will."

His is hidden by how he lets go of your hands, catching them before they fall in stupid, limp joy back to your sides. He lays kisses along the knuckles, all three rows of them. It's so awfully saccharine and yet you could never tell him to quit being sweet— not now, not as he stumbles to his feet after you pull him up and shake off his hold to grab his face, tugging him into a kiss.

Arms come around your waist, squeeze tight enough to hurt, or to hold in place. Arthur runs a hand over your back, breaks the kiss to slide a hand into your hair and press your face to his chest, caging you in his arms. He smells warm, like good cologne, and you know he's been planning this.

#red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan x reader #gender neutral reader #neutralreader #arthur morgan #ask #oneshot #fluff #sfw #rdr2 #reader insert #proposal fic

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laswells-ashtray · 2 months ago

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Your writings are so good that I’m entrusting you with this simple prompt: Dragon Hybrid Price and (Any Hybrid) Nikolai.

Do what you will dear wizard writer.

For the sheer sake of you never implied how silly I could get with this, I'm sillying it up:

Bear hybrid Nikolai [because it's too fucking good] and dragon hybrid Price standing about one day, the two sergeants and the lieutenant are training together while the older two men watch. They're on someone else's base, a hybrid-less base but they're making do with what the have.

John's leaning back against the wall, wings pressed up against the brick in a way that has to be uncomfortable or at least that's what everyone assumes. He's rubbing at the base of one of his horns as if trying to soothe a headache and he looks quite frankly exhausted when another Captain appraoches.

John decides that in comparison to this man, he looks like Marilyn fucking Monroe.

"Captain Givens, you look about as good as I feel." John is at least trying to keep a good relationship with the other team even if they have a habit of pissing off each of them.

"Too fuckin' right. Just got off the phone with the Missus and had to help her convince my little boy not to shove his Batman figure up his nose. It's exhausting." The man complains, running a hand over his face tiredly.

John makes a sympathetic noise but doesn't hide his amused look. "Oh, I'm all too familiar with that feeling." The other day he'd had to convince a group of rookies that Soap is indeed a liar and that oil paint is in fact not edible just because it has oil in the name.

"You have kids?"

"Yes." John should've been smarter than to think that Nikolai's silence was a good thing, he doesn't get a chance to correct the bear hybrid before the other Captain asks:

"How many?"

"Three." Nikolai tells him while watching the boys train in the distance.

For a brief moment, John wants to tug on one of his fluffy ears and tell him to quit it. On the other hand, fuck it, why not?

"Yeah, three over there are mine. Different mums but I was a bit of a tart back in the day." He's reliant on the fact the human knows nothing about hybrids, specifically dragon hybrids for it to work. It's no secret that dragon hybrids can live a lot longer than the average human if they're careful about it but to those types of hybrids, John is still a toddler, horns still in one piece with wings that are still vibrant and healthy.

He can see the amusement in Nik's big brown eyes, he likes it when John sinks down to his level of teasing humans. The only one exempt was Kate, they respected her too much and she wasn't an idiot, she'd never believe half of the stupid shit they've all told people throughout the years. Besides, Kate is family. She has five hybrids protecting her back and the average CIA agent is still more scared of her.

"Riley, MacTavish and Garrick? They're yours?" The human asks in disbelief. Simon was going to kill him for this later, Kyle and Johnny would inevitably laugh themselves hoarse.

"Aye. Didn't find out about Riley until he was a teenager and his Mum got in contact. Looks fuck all like me but he's certainly mine. Lad certainly wasn't a chipper wee thing but I managed to win him over, SAS was his choice, I just put him on the task force because I owed it to his Mum to keep an eye out." He's talking out of his arse now and he knows it but the captain seems to be hanging on his every word. Nikolai is making the conscious decision to look away from him but he can see the faint shaking of the bastard's shoulders, he's laughing.

"MacTavish was from an eventful night up in Glasgow one evening, we didn't know if he was mine or Nik's until we saw the little blighter's eyes."

Good on Nik for how quickly he sorts himself, turning around and nodding approvingly. "Ah, but young MacTavish has always favoured me. Would've been a good bear cub, very grizzly."

The captain looks over to the three men training with wide eyes, tilting his head as he stares at them all, surveying them before he looks back to John.

"And Garrick is yours too?"

Kyle had been ripping on him for being old earlier so maybe he plays it up just that little bit more.

He nods, looking over at Gaz with the most proud look he can muster, it's real but he can pretend it isn't just for the bit. "He was an angel when he was a tot, good sleeper and learned to talk quick. Was always a little grumpy that he didn't have horns too but he got over it eventually. Got him a blanket with a dragon on it when he was two and he didn't get rid of the thing until he was fifteen. Big Mumma's boy though, spitting image of his mother and more than proud of it."

It almost saddens him that the interaction ends when a sergeant whose name he can't remember calls over the captain about something but the sound of Nik's deep, gruff laughter is anything to soothe his short-lived annoyance.

Truthfully, he forgets about the entire interaction within a few hours until Soap barges into his temporary room on the base with a positively gleeful look.

"Price, I don't know what the fuck you did but Gaz is due to kick yer heed in."

"Excuse me?"

"Givens won't stop asking him about his dragon blankie."

Shit.

"And what's this about you and Nik playing who's the daddy when I was born?"

Shit.

#captain john price #cod nikolai #nikprice #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #kate laswell #this was less about nikprice and more about me having fun but in my defence im not apologising

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kaitropoli · 5 months ago

Text

"The Silent Voice"

By Gerald Edward Moira

Oil Painting, c. 1892-93

Private Collection.

Just found this painting, and I had to post it because it's so gorgeous. Look at that BLUE!!!!!! UGHAAHHHHH.

There's a lot going on in this painting, but I'm somewhat busy atm, so I will be reblogging sometime tonight or tomorrow further information on this painting.

Other than that, it's popularly believed Moira was inspired by the poem "The Two Voices" by Alfred Tennyson. Tennyson says that he wrote the piece while dealing with depression after a friend passed, which is then brought into the poem, noting thoughts of suicide.

Moira's title echoes,

"Thereto the silent voice replied; / ‘Self-blinded are you by your pride: / Look up thro’ night: the world is wide."

(Tennyson, lines 22-24).

The poem was definitely controversial, and responses to it varied. How are you going to respond to a Victorian suicide poem? I'm not a poem freak--I know nothing about them, despite making my own (especially in my emo days)--but from what I read, I thought it was good. But I also live in an era of TikTok poems, so what would I know💀 N E Wayz, it did seem to spark inspiration, as we can see a young woman out in what appears to be a night-ridden forest, her dress matching the sky, as an apparition (the silent voice) whispers into her ear, holding her wrist.

I don't believe the apparition to be a demon because if we're following the lines of the poem, it wouldn't make much sense. If the voice were saying the quotes, they'd be talking her off the ledge. Her eyes are speaking realization--recognizing her pride (suicide is sometimes seen as a selfish act... been down this road before, so don't misinterpret what I'm saying: you're taking your own life because you're sad, but you don't realize that sadness will be inflicted on those around you. It's about being the stronger person and helping to take care of yourself and your loved ones after losing someone, which is more so the context present in the poem itself... or the afterthought of it because we're given a repeated line saying that there's one way out (suicide)). They say pride is rooted in selfishness, and basing that reasoning, which a lot of religious folks have, the lady is being told there's more to life, more to come. The night sky, though dark, still has light that shines (okay, I made up this part, but who says I can't make it sentimental? This is my damn interpretation on it👹👅).

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safereturn · 4 months ago

Text

we keep our spirits high (but they fall like flies)

Content warnings: major character death, falling from great heights, there is no comfort here Read on ao3 AI-Less Whumptober2024; Day 2 - Unfortunate fall, "Don't move. You'll be okay." Words: 914

There were many things Sam had gotten used to when it came to ghost fighting.

She was used to the weight of a Fenton Thermos tucked in her school bag, tucked next to her history essay and an ecto-gun.

She was used to late nights and early mornings, ditching class, dodging parents (literally and figuratively). She was used to the weird looks she’d receive as she’d return to class disheveled and dirty, smelling of copper and ozone.

She was used to the sting of ectoplasm on her skin. The sticky feel of aloe slathered on red and festering wounds; sometimes covered with leggings, sometimes sleeves, sometimes with hair pulled in front of her face.

She was used to Danny catching her when she fell.

She was so used to that.

Time did not slow.

There were no profound thoughts about death and dying. No sudden clarity.

There was only the flip of her stomach as her gravity shifted and the scream that tore itself from her throat, born from deep in her stomach. There were only the splotches of light flashing behind her eyelids, squeezed shut because she would not stare death in the eyes.

The air wrenched itself from her lungs, the deep crack of an explosion rang in her ears.

There might have been a small part of her that recognized she was prone on the asphalt, the taste of copper and tar in her mouth. A warm hand cupped her cheek, then trembling fingers trailed down to press against her neck.

“Don’t move. You’ll be okay. ” It was like there was water in her ears; he— Tucker? —sounded so far away. She wanted to wave him away, tell him she just needed a minute, but her tongue was heavy in her mouth.

When she was little, back before her relationship with her parents soured, but just after she had joined Amity County Public Elementary School in lieu of fancy private schooling, Sam took a trip to the Detroit Institute of Arts with her mother.

“Culture is how we connect with others, Sammie,” Pamela lectured as they strolled through the galleries, passing statues carved from marble, fragments of ancient mosaic glass, luxurious canvases brought to life with oil.

“I don’t think Danny and Tucker are really into this kind of thing,” Sam had replied. “I want cool things to talk to them about but…” she wrinkled her nose at a still life; a vase of flowers in the background next to a cluster of garlic cloves. A dead hare splayed across the foreground. “I don’t think this is it.”

“Fix your face, darling,” Pamela chastised, with a pinch of her cheek. “I meant business connections. Used correctly, knowledge of different cultures can be used as a weapon to influence relationships…”

Pamela was still droning on, but Sam’s attention had been stolen. In front of her, painted in rich oil, a woman lay sprawled across a bed, draped in a satiny white dressing gown. The woman’s arm lolled off the side of the bed, her long fingers brushing against the floor. Her back arched, almost as if she were stretching. Or maybe broken.

A demon sat on her chest.

Grotesque and heavy, the demon sat his weight on the woman’s ribs and held Sam’s gaze. His bulbous cheek rested against too long fingers, as if he were contemplating her. Will you be next?

As a child, Sam had been exasperated that the woman didn’t move, didn’t wake up.

Now, Sam understood that she couldn’t.

As shallow breath swirled through her lungs but did not linger, she thought that perhaps she had been the explosion. There was a disconnect from her body as if she had detonated. And that demon was deep in her chest, mocking her as she fought for control of her body.

A twitch of her fingertips, a flutter of her eyelids.

Nothing.

Somewhere in the distance there was the sound of metal scraping against metal followed by a feral howl. Beside her, Tucker cursed and then there was a pressure covering her ears. His hands?

And then it was loud.

The feral howl grew into a prolonged wail that rattled the teeth in her skull. It was the sound of desperation, of desolation; the sound of an animal caught in a trap with no other option but to chew through its own leg.

Tucker's lips were moving against the shell of her ear, but there weren’t any words she could hear… Perhaps he was telling her help was on the way, or maybe that she would be okay. His cheek pressed into her temple and she breathed in the scent of him; salt (from his sweat? His tears? ), laundry detergent, and smoke.

Sam wondered if she would be his woman in the painting, if Tucker would forever wonder what would have happened if she had just moved.

There were many things Sam had gotten used to in life.

She was used to greasy tofu patty melts from the Nasty Burger, movie nights in her basement theater, all-nighters crushing levels in Doom.

She was used to shy glances, meeting soft blue eyes, flushing cheeks, and embarrassed denials.

She was used to high-fives, and relieved sighs, rushing back to a basement lab to flush another ghost back into the portal.

She was used to closing her eyes at night, knowing that no matter what had happened that day, she’d get another shot when the sun came up.

She was so used to that.

#ailesswhumptober2024 #ailesswhumptober #danny phantom #danny phantom fanfiction #major character death #falling from heights #sam manson #tucker foley #pamela manson #danny fenton #ailesswhumptober2024 day 2 #hurt no comfort #mention of injuries #in which i kill the characters i love #safereturn writes fanfic

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atsadi-shenanigans · 10 months ago

Text

Feeding Alligators 42 - Slaughterhouse Four

Rated M for language and violence.

Y'all meet the paladins again. It goes…about as well as expected.

On AO3.

Another small room with another door. This one already open. Astarion crouches down next to the frame, clinging to the shadows, face intent as he peers out. Then he glances to you, motions you over and places a finger over his still bloodied lips.

You ease over, walking toes-first, shifting your weight along the sides of your feet as smooth as you can. An inner balcony rings the second floor. Nobody is up here right now, but two voices talk in low tones below. It’s Fuck Off and Short Shit. Another guy leans against the wall by the front doors, cleaning his fingernails with a big fucking knife.

There were four of them. Astarion just killed the shit out of Kitchen Lurker, which should leave just these three.

You touch his shoulder. Motion, “Three?”

But he shakes his head. Shows four fingers. At your stares, taps his ear (looking way too amused) and points right below y’all’s feet.

Either they got reinforcements, or one of the fuckers was out when y’all first came by.

You don’t like this. If one more can pop out of the woodwork, who knows how many might be luring in the woods or a fucking basement.

They’re currently clustered in this main room. Karlach had hinted that they’d be tough, and you’d agree that anybody who can swing around that stupid fucking horse-killer sword probably ain’t somebody you want to tangle with.

A big fire pit hangs up like a chandelier. There’s bunks on the main floor, a screen, a desk, and a barrel near the door. It’s got the same fire symbol painted on that as the barrels you’d spotted outside yesterday.

“What is that?” you breathe.

Astarion leans in close enough his iron-drenched breath ruffles your ear (you absolutely do not shiver). “Lantern oil.”

They’re all so very close together down there…

The shining line hits so hard your eyes water and goosebumps ripple up your arms and across your chest.

You signal for you both to retreat.

This is gonna have to be fast and highly coordinated. Lurker had taken a long time between the first two patrols, but way, way shorter on this last one. Y’all will need to move.

The both of you scuttle back down the ladder and skedaddle to the roadblock. You pause a moment to glance back and yep, them barrels are still there.

The others spot you coming. Karlach looks alarmed.

“What the fuck,” she hisses as the two of you duck down to join them.

Oh, right. Astarion is a messy eater. In the daylight, his whole front is drenched from the nose down.

“He’s a vampire,” you say. “We ran into one of them, but she’s dead. Didn’t get to warn the others. There’s four in there. Karlach, you look real strong. Would you be able to chuck a whole barrel of oil lantern say, ten feet into the air?”

Everyone stares at you a hot second.

Karlach blinks through a handful of reactions, settles on a grin and a, “Fucking ‘course I can.”

she’s best girl

Shadowheart gives Astarion a very complicated look involving the most judgmental eyebrows you ever seen.

“This is gonna be the tricky part,” you say. Look to everybody. Fix on Astarion. “How good are you with that bow?”

“That depends on the target,” he says, you know, helpfully.

“Could an arrow open that barrel?”

“Perhaps if it was enchanted to thunder—oh. Oh, you delightful creature.” His fucking eyes almost glow above the red-lined grin that splits his face. He lets out the most murder-goblin giggle anybody ever produced.

“Am I missing something?” Karlach says.

Gale nods slowly. “A single, ordinary arrow wouldn’t produce the effect I believe you’re aiming for. You don’t actually have a thunderwave arrow, do you?”

“No,” Astarion says, still grinning. The man practically dances where he crouches. “Oh darling, this is going to be so fun.”

“I believe a thunderwave spell ought to cover it, then,” Gale says. “How do you intend to set it off? I’ll have to follow close behind Karlach, and I won’t have the time to conjure a fire bolt in addition to it.”

To which you look to Astarion. “The hanging firepit.”

He gives a bow. “I can absolutely provide, my dear.”

“Efficient,” Shadowheart says. Gives you a once over.

“Speak plain,” Lae’zel says.

So you do.

***

It’s the fastest and the slowest five minutes of your life. Karlach is practically hopping to go, with Lae’zel sneering on the outskirts of the group again. Y’all have moved up to the corner of the building, just out of sight should that bottom story side door open again.

Astarion strings his bow, draws and eases it, and checks his arrows. He can make the shot. You believe him; he’s shot well enough in the fights y’all’ve been in so far and he’s damn near frothing at the mouth in anticipation.

Karlach swings her arms a couple of times. Says to Gale, “I run real hot, yeah? I’ll have to grab it, sprint for the door, and throw it before I set it off.”

“I understand,” he says. “I’ll be right behind you.”

“Wyll and I will open those doors, and I’ll be standing by should it light off anyways,” Shadowheart says. She’s got her mace in one hand, but holds it as casually as anybody ever holds a mace. She seems more amused than nervous about this.

Astarion sets one foot on the stairs, ready tom sprint up and get to that inner balcony. But your gut gives a funny twist.

“Lae’zel,” you say. When she gives you a mean glare, “Are you quiet enough to go with Astarion?”

Astarion himself frowns. It’s a particularly bitchy frown, and when his mouth opens, you know it’s gonna be to gripe.

“I am well-trained in all forms of combat. Including stealth,” Lae’zel says, mouth curling around that last word like she bit into a rancid lemon.

“I hardly need a nanny,” Astarion says.

“They coulda moved around in the last few minutes,” you say. “I don’t want you getting cornered by yourself. Please.”

He shuts up so completely you wonder if you just offended the man. Then he looks away, clears his throat, and slaps on his more malicious grin. To Lae’zel,” Do see that you don’t give us away with all that rattling, dear.”

She glowers after him.

“You should probably stand back,” Wyll says. Poor man looks so resigned. Somebody with better people skills or social training’d probably know what to say; touch his arm, maybe, do something to reassure him and lift his spirits.

But they’re all stuck with your ass, and you can only nod and say, “Good luck.”

You stand out in the road, with the rotting carrion, as they form up. Wyll and Shadowheart by the door, stepping carefully over the severed limbs.

You catch Gale’s eye. Deadpan, “Why is the leg still in front of their door, Gale. Why. Why is that leg still there.”

He gives a kind of “yes, you were correct” shoulder roll and takes up position right behind Karlach next to the barrels.

You saw that movie Gladiator when you were in your twenties. You’d been on an Ancient Rome kick at the time. As you stood up on that balcony with Astarion, the image popped into your head.

A clay jar, filled with oil, topped with a burning rag. Catapulted into the air, tumbling end over end to smash into a tree and rain down fire on Gaul’s trying to protect their homes and people from a sadistic, all-consuming empire.

(What does that make you?)

The barrel ain’t a jar and will need something to smash it apart. Thus Gale and his spell.

He’s got this. Karlach seems confident, and Astarion will not miss.

Six people, all putting themselves in harm’s way on your word. It’d probably throw the whole thing off if you threw up over here in the road.

Time slows. You count to one hundred, the agreed-on mark. Astarion said he’d be in place (unless somebody went looking for Kitchen Lurker and found her slaughtered corpse). Karlach runs through a short regimen of stretches.

Wyll lifts a hand.

This is all your doing.

Drops it.

Everything speeds up so fast you almost can’t follow.

Karlach wrenches up the barrel. Turns to the door as smoke curls off her hands. Shadowheart and Wyll throw open both sides of the door and somebody inside yelps. Gale’s voice goes echo-y, talking fast, the air pressure drops so fast your ears pop.

One of the fake paladins (probably Short Shit) is fast on the draw; an arrow catches Shadowheart in the hand as she withdraws.

But Karlach charges up the stairs, eyes huge, grin bearing her fangs. Hits the landing and twirls herself and the barrel. Fucking launches the thing and shouts, “What’s up, motherfuckers?!”

Gale moves. Purple light flares. Less than a second later and a bone-shuddering blast kicks through your ribcage.

The barrel blasts apart. Gallons of lantern oil aerosolize as something drops from the ceiling. The bowl of fire plummets into the flammable mist.

The room combusts. A ball of fire so bright and so hot it prickles your face roars through the tollhouse. Your crew ducks back, except for Karlach who takes it head on, cackling the whole time.

You drop and cover your head. Blink when the heat recedes into cold.

The tollhouse is on fire. Black smoke billows into the sky. Through the door is solid, roiling flame. Nothing moves. Nothing makes a sound.

If they were lucky, Gale’s spell knocked them out and the blast caught them on an inhale and scorched their windpipes shut. If they were lucky, they never knew what hit them. It they weren’t…

“Should we put that out?” Shadowheart says.

You don’t want to start a forest fire. You start to nod.

And then there’s a shout inside. The tone grabs you buy the spinal cord, sends an electric jolt through your chest. You know that voice.

Astarion.

Then a reptilian roar. Metal crashing and shrieking.

Oh god, oh fuck.

Shadowheart raises her hands—snapped the arrow off but part still sticks through her palm and she grits her teeth and keeps going. She’s chanting, but you’re already off and around the side, bolting for the stairs. Footsteps pound after you and it’s Wyll. You hit the stairs, start up, and a flash of white hair above.

Astarion practically slides down the ladder. His face is covered in soot, he’s hacking, and an alarming amount of blood slicks down from a gash above his eye.

None of y’all get a chance to do nothing but spot each other. Because somebody else staggers out onto that patio. Hair gone, charred to hell, his armor smoking. Fuck Off has gone whole-body Harvey Dent. He stands up there, looks down at y’all, and then fucking launches himself into the air.

You got no time to do more than register how bad that’s gonna fuck his knees. Then the fucker lands—the impact should break his legs and shoved his femurs up into his pelvis to shish kabob his intestines. But he hauls himself up and that fuck off sword flashes in the light and oh.

He’s aiming at you.

A tug on your collar. You fall back. Movement above and around you as Wyll barely deflects the blow that woulda chopped you clean in half. But Harvey Dent is some sorta terminator on his last death match, and he don’t even slow. Just takes the parry, uses the momentum to spin that fucking blade around to come back down on Wyll. And there ain’t no way Wyll’s rapier is going to block that kinda momentum.

You think you scream. Your throat hurts. Wyll starts to dodge but everything is so fast—

A green and silver blur tackles Harvey Dent clean off the stairs. Lae’zel plows him face first into the hard-packed dirt before she has to tuck and roll and come up on her feet.

Harvey Dent still don’t slow. He’s up and swinging. Lae’zel’s fuck off sword has an easier time swatting his first strike off to the side before she sorta rides it up and damn near spears him through the eye.

Wyll shouts. A red flash and energy boils over Harvey Dent’s barbequed face. He staggers. Nearly drops his sword. Lae’zel comes in for a neck shot and he leans back. She misses. He brings a forearm up to pin her fucking blade. She’s got less than a second to figure out how to—

She drops the sword. Kicks out at his knee. He staggers, does not go down, and she ain’t got no sword. Wyll staggers next to you, clutching his side where that fucking sword caught him and opened his skin down to the ribs. Astarion is hunched over, clutching both his knives.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fu—

“Eat shit fucker!”

Red. A scream that lifts every hair on your body. Heat washes over you as a flaming fucking meteor plows into Harvey Dent. Karlach don’t even have her ax. She just grabs his wrist. Head butts him in the face. Takes his own sword and clubs the side of his head with it before she flings it to the side.

Her arm wraps around his neck. He still ain’t making any noises, though his feet kick as she hefts him up. Grabs the side of his face and—

She rips his head off. Clean off, like pulling off a drumstick from a Thanksgiving turkey. Except with a lot more blood.

“Bye bye, asshole!” she hollers, and lets the body fall.

You’re on your ass on the porch, popped up on your elbows. Wyll carefully slides down the wall of the tollhouse. Astarion grimaces and spits ash out of his mouth while Lae’zel reclaims her sword and she’s limping on her left knee.

Which is when Karlach, still grinning, lifts the head and screams in the slackened face. “I’m never going back, you sack of shit!”

The air from her lungs is hot enough to curl the bits of flesh still on Harvey Dent.

“I am never! Going the fuck back!”

And she cackles. Drops the head and crunches his face beneath her boot. And then stomps over to where she apparently dropped her ax.

“Never! Never! That bitch is never, ever taking me!”

And she sort of bursts into flame and storms into the still-burning tollhouse to go on some kinda blood lust rampage.

Previous - Index - Next Chapter

#feeding alligators fic #these two shitheads #astarion fic #bg3 fic #modern girl in faerun #tavstarion #astarion x tav #plus size tav #demisexual tav #slow burn

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poppysmc · 3 months ago

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Deconstructed: Chapter 7

The painting has driven Morgan crazy these past few days. She can't quite get it. The watercolour is challenging to work with… yet something about the colours, the transparency, the layers, the softness and the brush strokes attracted her. Morgan sighed. It was morning once again, and I barely got a wink of sleep.

This woman has taken over her thoughts. May it be her dreams and waking moments. Morgan busies herself with tidying up her things. Nothing is worse than a stiff brush; what a waste of money.

Morgan was exhausted. These past few days have been hectic. She had just finished her plates and had been running on 5 mugs of coffee that night. She may or may not have drunk the watercolour water once or twice…again. Tastes strangely of something savoury. It made her stomach churn unpleasantly.

Morgan takes the quickest shower of her life. It's too early to let Steve lecture her on punctuality. She can only take so much before she explodes. Morgan quickly looks around, smiling softly at her half-finished painting. Oil would be nice, too. Maybe next paycheck.

It was past morning rush in the cafe, and Morgan sulked. Her gaze fixed steadily on the door, hoping the woman would come in again. This time, she would really ask for her name. But she did not come.

Sam patted her on the back. "I am beginning to think this woman is a figment of your imagination." Sam teased. Morgan's eyes have been fixed on the door for the past few hours. Willing someone to come in.

Morgan lets out a deep sigh, forcing herself to turn away from the door. "It's not that- I… I'm just checking if the lunch hour is over."

Sam smiled at her knowingly. "I know you. You've been talking my ear off about this woman."

Morgan sighed. "I can't believe I didn't get her name."

Sam chuckled.

As soon as her shift ended, Morgan quickly changed out of her uniform and waved to Sam as she exited the coffee shop. She must arrive on time, not when it's free seating. She should get her spot in her Anthro class.

Morgan frowned at the contents of the letter. Poppy seemed so sad, and Morgan wished she could reach out and comfort her, but the best she could do was write a flimsy letter.

To the mysterious Poppy, keeper of my sketchbook.

Lately, you've been down. I want to know how to cheer you up. How can I help? Sometimes, we cannot help but put ourselves on a pedestal. I cannot pretend to know what you're facing, Poppy. I can only offer my support. I want you to know that someone out here is rooting for you.

I have barely gotten enough sleep these days. Between school and work, I barely have enough time to complete what has consumed my thoughts for the past few days. That is to say, you also consume my thoughts. Your letters are something I look forward to.

So… What's your favourite colour? I realize… You've told me a lot, but I do not know the simplest things about you. I hope you don't mind.

PS I attached a drawing of my cat to cheer you up. I do miss him despite him being a spawn of hell.

- Morgan

Morgan attached a quick drawing of her cat, the orange devil, back on the farm. She folds the letter over and slips it inside the desk compartment. It's such a pity that the weekend has ended, and now she has to focus in class. No time at all this week to focus on the drawing she's making.

Morgan stood up after class and approached her professor. "Hey, Ms Kingsley. Do you know who sits on my desk in your other classes? Poppy?"

Kingsley looked at her. "I don't have a Poppy in my class. Not that I remember." Kingsley smiled apologetically.

Morgan chuckled at Poppy's audacity, using a fake name. But she'd let her. After all, this is an innocent letter exchange. It was fun having someone to talk to. Someone who cannot judge her at first sight.

She found herself looking forward to Anthro class. Early as can be sitting in her seat, just to swipe her hand under the desk and light up at Poppy's letter. Morgan hoped no one noticed how she smiled when she read the letter.

Morgan shakes her head. Shaking off the thoughts of the woman on the other side of the letters. What was she like?

Dearest Artist, Morgan,

There is a hole in my heart that could never be filled. I'm sorry to burden you with my personal feelings. But as such… are the burdens of an only child. Just your letters are enough to brighten up my day… So thank you for not being tired of me yet.

Colour… What an interesting question. You could have asked about anything, but you chose this super hard one, heh.

I couldn't live without pink. I can imagine you rolling your eyes at the girliness of the colour, but it calms me. It reminds me of sunsets when the sky is coloured pink and blue. Always reminds me of good times when I was free to play under the sun.

Your cat is adorable. I cannot accept that this angelic-looking creature would be equated to a devil you so warmly call it. Thank you, though; it made me smile. I love animals as well… I used to dream of owning my own shelter one day. This is what I hope won't be an unrealized passion of mine. I am determined to make it come true.

It's only fair to ask you a question as well. What's your favourite song?

Poppy

Morgan smiled when she got the letter. Morgan smoothed over the paper and put it in her bag. Morgan couldn't help but conjure an image of who this Poppy is. Morgan is sure she isn't like the spoiled and arrogant kids in Belvoire well as much as she's seen.

Ms Kingsley's research was fascinating. A hierarchy in school is a recipe for disaster, but. She digress. She hoped Poppy was unlike the entitled kids in Belvoir. She seemed kind.

Dearest Poppy,

I am sorry to hear that… I wish in whatever capacity I can bridge the gap in your heart. I, too, have grown fond of our exchanges. I hope you don't get tired of me. Your letters have become an integral part of my day. Dare I say the most exciting part of it. You can always tell me anything that burdens you. People say I'm a good listener. Well… reader in your case.

I won't judge your favourite colour! You got me wrong on that one. It's nice that you love the sunset. I myself am a lover of the sunrise. I love the blues in the sky as it grows brighter. I am ashamed to say that I stare at it for too long as the blues become lighter, and I also become late for class on maybe one or two or… a lot of occasions. I can imagine you as an animal lover… well, you're kind enough to write back to a complete stranger. I wouldn't assume otherwise.

Favourite song, huh? So you want to get to know me really deeply, haha. Right now, it's "You make loving fun." Something about it is that I can feel the magic. I've never been in love, but I can imagine…. I've seen the movies and heard the songs… By far, it's my favourite way to describe what love is supposed to feel like.

For my next question, what is your favourite drink? I bet I can make it. I am awesome that way.

With endless fascination,

Morgan

Poppy smiled at the neat way Morgan wrote her letters. It starts off stiff, then becomes loopy as Morgan is excited to write something. She must admit, there is a growing pile of letters and sketches in one of her drawers. Poppy's eyes softened at the song. She'll for sure find the song and listen to it later. Poppy quickly pockets the letter as her friends approached, not wanting to be in the middle of another teasing session.

Veronica raised her eyebrows at the way Poppy pocketed something so fast. She did not comment and just handed her her drink from one of the coffee shops near campus, "Pour Decisions." Their signature drink that Poppy loved. They said some alumni made it when they were working there, and that's become the signature drink since then.

It's a witty name and nice coffee. Poppy only came in once or twice since she came to Belvoire. She couldn't find herself coming in when the barista she wished to see wasn't there. The barista never seems to be there. Poppy couldn't believe she didn't get her name.

#poppy min sinclair #poppy x mc #decon

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snowlupinwoodstories · 5 months ago

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Time To Get Your Nails Did!

Say hi to Jeremey, the red eared slider who has a date with a caimen girl. He needs his claws done because he's been neglecting them!

Jeremey tapped his claws against his shirt covered shell out of nervousness. He couldn’t believe he’d planned a first date without being sure he’d found a proper turtle claw salon! His nails were dull and he was worried he might be close to having them crack or break off since he hadn’t spent time making sure to keep up on natural filing. Sure they were long and attractive, but it wouldn’t be good if they snapped off in the middle of the date.

He did however find a salon that accepted walk-ins. He decided it was better to take the chance and get someone to touch up his nails the right way, rather than try and undo all the neglect at home.

It was a small place, nestled between a Starbugs and a Chinese take-out. It had faux plants in the window, and advertised itself as a premier nail spa. Jeremey entered, the door causing an electronic ‘ding’ to ring out in the small space. It was filled to the brim with chatter, several of the nail techs talking amongst themselves, or to their clients, seeming to run at least two conversations at once. He tapped his nails against his shell again. All the techs were women, and all those getting their nails attended to were also women.

At a turtle claw salon, or a claw salon in general would at least have one or two more masculine people at any time. He felt out of place, the bright lights showing off the soft pinks and yellows, the chatter, all of it reminded him this was not a place where he belonged.

“How can I help you?” A voice called from the back of the store as an alligator snapping turtle moved down the center of the store to the front.

Relief settled into Jeremey’s mind. Another turtle would at least understand what he was needing. Maybe this wasn’t a lost cause. “I’ve been kinda neglectful of my claw maintenance,” he told her. “I need some help,” he splayed his claws out, careful not to wiggle them so she didn’t think he was flirting with her. That would be awkward. “I have a date tonight.”

“Ouff, honey these need work,” she grabbed his wrist and pulled him over to an open station, pressing a button to fill the bowl with warm water. “Now why don’t you tell me about this date of yours.”

“Is she a nice girl with a large shell?” she chuckled as she began to scrub Jeremy’s claws, removing the dead worn bits, buffing them to the darkier more healthy color hiding underneath.

“Well, she doesn’t really have a shell,” Jeremey told the older turtle. “She’s a caiman. We met while at a Warhammerhead 40k tournament at the local game store. She whooped my ass, but really liked the paint job on my hound shark faction. She wanted to have dinner somewhere and get some painting pointers.”

“Oh, someone likes his girls big and scaly do they,” she guaffed, wiping down each claw with a soft towel, letting her get a better look at the poor cracked and worn talons. “Hmm, I’ve got my work cut out for me,” she muttered as she grabbed a bottle of oil and began rubbing it into the claws, helping to moisturize and bring shine back to the claws.

“W-well maybe. I mean she’s really attractive,” He choked back, watching as her claws rubbed the oil into his claws in small deliberate circles. “And she’s really smart. I didn’t expect her acrobatic katshark specialist army to route me as well as it did.”

“Is this some type of video game?” the matronly alligator snapper asked slowly working her way over the claws. Her own claws never stopped moving, rubbing in the healing oil and helping to fill in the cracks and snags.

“Not a video game. A tabletop war game. You buy the miniatures, the game pieces and paint them. Then you play the game with them,” he explained. “Each piece has its own rules and what they do. I just didn’t expect her army, which is made out of light weight models with gimmicks, would work so synergistically well against mine!”

“But she liked how you painted your pieces?” She put the oiled towel away, pulling out a very fine file and going carefully over areas that were damaged to further smooth the area. She’d re-apply the oil as she went making sure to lock in the moisture from the water in front of them.

“Oh yeah, she was really stoked that I’d done some really cool non-metallic metal, basically making the piece look like it was made of metal without using metallic paint. And the shading. Her army was cool too-she made her army bluegrey-orange-white calico! The amount of control you need on the brush to get those spots to not look like splotches is really difficult!”

“I see,” she stared off into the distance before asking, “Would you mind if I went a bit wild with the lacquer on your nails? I think I have a fun idea for your date!”

“Uhh, really just the clear lacquer is fine. It’s not like she knows turtle culture and I don’t want her to think I’m gay or something,” Jeremey pressed.

“Listen here!” She barked roughly grabbing his foot and pulling it towards her, “If she can’t handle a turtle with painted claws then turtles are too good for her. It's important to show them off, and may encourage you to spend extra time caring for them. “

She grabbed a white bottle of lacquer, and began brushing it on, the gray polish coating and sinking into the cracks and the rest of the claw, helping to protect and draw more attention. “You will feel better for it too, don’t let other ideas make you feel less of a person for honoring your heritage.”

Jeremey went silent, knowing better than to argue with an older matron about claw lacquer. He remembered his mother painting his claws red when he was a young hatchling, saying it brought out the red around his ears. Or when his mom and dad went on date nights, they’d both spend time lacquering each other’s claws in complementary colors.

He watched silently as she applied the gray lacquer to every other claw, making it obvious that she was planning to build some type of two tone effect. “How did you paint your pieces?” she asked as she picked over her colors.

“Oh, my army is painted in a dark blue gray with white accents. Really hard to get right, he let slip out.

“I see, then we’ll start with a dark blue lacquer,” she grabbed the bottle and began to tint the other claws. Once they were coated she switched back to the grey ones, coating them with a thin coat of bright white, thoroughly changing the color of the claws. She coated the blue ones with a thin coat of grey before switching to a much thinner brush, and that was where the artistry began.

Orange and blue-gray spots nestled together on the white claws, and white tips and edges further tied the look together on the blue-gray claws. A clear coat was applied at the end before she turned on a blue light and held it over his claws. “Just sit there a few minutes while I get your bill tallied,” she left him to grab an ancient calculator with paper printing out of it, typing each number with one claw at a time.

Ten minutes went by and Jeremey couldn’t help but admire his claws. They were shiny, bright, the cracks were well hidden and they gave a lovely clack-clack sound whenever he tapped them. He was surprised that the snapper only charged him for a fill and buff, but when he tried to ask she simply said, “Go land that gator-girl!” she all but shoved him out the door, with an excited cackle.

@bloobluebloo @standingpillar @doveghost @asordidbarwere @stoneshrike @saphoblin

#writing #furry #writeblr #creative writing #furry anthro #writerscommunity #turtle #turtles #turtle anthro #no ai used #no ai writing #alligator snapping turtle

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procyo9 · 2 years ago

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✨️TELL ME ABOUT YOUR OCS✨️ by @vincentmatthews

♡Name Elegy Yukimura

♡Nicknames E, Trace, The Plague, The Omen, Christian Girl (jokingly by Crystal), r4cc00n (her old netrunner cryptonym)

♡Age 27 (birthday: 30/09/2050)

♡Pronouns She/her

♡Sexuality Bisexual

♡Hair Color and style Messy, short, electric blue hair with dark roots (her natural hair color) and a shaved side

♡Eye Color Dark gray, almost black - she likes to keep her natural color when installing new Kiroshis but she did experiment with weird cyber-eyes back in the day.

♡Height 5'4" / ~162cm

♡Body Type Fragile but athletic enough to outrun the cops.

♡Personality Elegy is a very straightforward person and can come off as mean sometimes because of this, but she doesn't mean that in a malicious way (most of the time). She really doesn't like to beat around the bush when something is bothering her and that's why she doesn't get along with most of the mercs. Loyalty is everything to her - she thinks that a loyal choom is rarer than a chance of meeting a healthy animal on the street. She would do anything for those she loves and trusts.

♡Tattoos Upper torso floral circuits tattoo, although I wish there were more cool choices (I love tattoos <3)

♡Piercings She changes them quite often, but her favorites are a bridge and a labret, accompanied by a nose ring and, of course, ear piercings (she'd totally have an industrial if there were more piercing options in character creator lol)

♡Any definable features such as: Birthmarks, Scars, Freckles, Beauty Marks, Accent when they talk, Lisp, Natural slurring of words, Walk with a subtle limp, ect. She's got a lot of small moles all across her body; also you can sometimes hear she was raised in Heywood - a little bit of an accent creeps in.

♡Hobbies Since always she loved to work on her netrunning abilities, including her own daemons and quick hacks; she also likes to tinker around with tech, like upgrading her optical camo. She also has a secret hobby of painting that only a chosen few know about.

♡Gang/Occupation {Mox, Max Tac, etc} She's not affiliated with any gang, but she grew up around Valentinos and made many friends among Moxes (both of these gangs treat her like their own).

♡Do they smoke? Yeah, although she's not addicted. She just likes to look cool with a smoke.

♡Do they drink? Is so, what's their poison of choice? She's not a big fan of alcohol but her favorite drink while taking a break at Afterlife is David's drink (vodka on the rocks with NiCola).

♡What do they usually wear on a normal day? Her style was mostly influenced by the 'tinos, but as of now she experiments a lot with her wardrobe - mostly, but not limited to, alternative clothes.

♡What do they wear when they "Get dressed up"? And what would be considered a "special occasion" to them {such as an "Oh they're gonna be there so I have to look my best." Or an "It's our anniversary".} She doesn't really see the need to dress up nicely for special occasions; she thinks all her clothes are her best clothes (although she keeps a few dresses, if she ever changes her mind).

♡What do they smell like? {For example: they smell like cinnamon flavored liquor, cigarettes, leather, and motor oil.} Citruses and jasmine.

♡How do they walk? Do they sway their hips? Do they walk with a sense of determination? Do they bounce as they walk? Etc. Her walk isn't feminine at all, and her step is kind of "energetic" in a way. ("Elegy has gta online default female walking animation" -Heather)

♡Are they more of an early bird or a night owl? Night owl. If she's up early in the morning, it means she didn't sleep at all.

♡If you had to use one word to define them, what word would you use? silly :)

♡What words or catchphrases do they say that's unique to that character? N/A

♡Favorite Season Summer (mostly because she never experienced other seasons; I think she'd love to play in the snow)

♡Favorite type of weather {Thunderstorms, sunny, etc} Sandstorm is her favorite weather because she can stay at home and chill with the quiet sound of wind and pieces of sand hitting her window. Also sunny weather for when she goes for a long motorcycle ride.

♡Do they have someone they're with relationship-wise? If so, who? Nope! At least not yet 😈

♡Main Ship/Pairings I think it's obvious already but Elegy x Crystal is my current OTP uwu Elegy has a massive crush on C ever since she saw her first at Afterlife

♡Side Pairings N/A

♡Favorite/Self-indulgent Pairings N/A

♡How do they show affection to their loved one? Warm smiles, soft kisses, face cupping, getting them something to eat, taking care of them if needed, listening to everything they have to say and a lot of small thingies like that! Elegy's an affectionate girl :3

♡How do they sit in a chair? She has a very butch manner of sitting (kinda similar to Judy's)

♡How do they sit in a chair {uncomfortable version} Backwards, so she can rest her arms and chin on the backrest.

♡What do they wear to bed? Old t-shirt + comfy shorts or panties.

♡How do they usually sleep? {Side sleeper, back, fetal position, backwards, nest sleeper, blanket mountain, etc} Tummy sleeper!!

♡How do they sleep in a place they don't know? {Can't due to anxiety, in small bursts of sleep that are short lived, holding themselves, etc} Huge chance she won't sleep at all, or will be waking up every twenty minutes without any apparent reason.

♡Do they have to have a form of "white noise" in order to sleep? {The sound of a fan, the sound of rain, the sound of a city, etc} She sometimes puts on a vinyl from her mom's collection before going to bed. Especially the jazz ones make her sleep better.

♡What's a place they go to feel comfortable, that's their "spot" they always go when they're upset? El Coyote Cojo! She spent most of her childhood and teenage years there. And most likely this will never change. Also her room, for the days when she needs to be alone.

♡What do they do when they're nervous? {Fidget with jewelry, pick at nails, bite nails/lips, play with knife/zippo lighter, etc} She tends to bit her lip and cross her arms, her palms gripped unnaturally on her upper arm.

♡What is their "tell" for lying? Elegy was never a fighter type, so she learned how to lie and deceive at a really young age to avoid trouble. If there could be any "tell", it might be that she tries to put a lot of emotion in her "performance" when under a lot of pressure - idk if that makes any sense lol

♡What is their favorite color? Blue! She also loves black.

♡Favorite flower/plant Her favs are leaf plants! Monstera deliciosa for example.

♡Favorite sweet of choice Are powder candy bracelets still a thing in 2077?

♡Do they have any pets? If so, tell me about them She'd love to, but pet taxes are way too high. She loves to play with strays and buy them food if she ever sees one.

♡What are their triggers {If they have any}? If so, what calms them down? She sometimes has flashbacks of what happened to her parents (even though she was very young, she can faintly remember everything) - at times like these she activates her optical camo and just... ceases to exist for a while. Watching people go by, living their lives. The camo was something that saved her life back then and she cannot imagine not having it on her at all times.

♡If they could visit anywhere in the world, where would they go and why? She always wanted to see Fukuoka - where she was meant to live before her parents moved to NC.

♡What is their favorite comfort meal? This will sound cliche as hell but - it's pizza. Although she also loves to devour a whole extra large burrito to make her tummy happy (or upset, if you know what i mean)

♡Do they have a food they hate? Anything that's slimy. She hates that texture.

♡What is their favorite {non-alcoholic} drink? Anything sweet or sour! She likes carbonated stuff and oolong tea.

♡What are their plans for the future {if they have any}? She wants to stay alive for those that care about her. She'd also love to get out of NC, be it just for a while - try out a different city, and a different life.

♡What's a song that "fits" them? This one when it comes to lyrics ... also, "delamain play track 44"

♡Give me 5 facts/random bits of information about them - she's a parkour amateur and often uses it to her advantage when cops or enemy gangs are chasing her - she owns a Yaiba Kusanagi CT-3X that's very dear to her; she feels very comfortable riding it, like it's just another part of her body - her favorite lipstick color is purple - she got her favorite pistol from Tiny Mike as a thank you gift - before Crystal, Rebecca was Elegy's closest friend

♡Give me their backstory {can be long, or brief.} Actually - I have a full-blown backstory in the works in a separate big post! So stay tuned <3

♡Free Space! Give me any sort of extra information about them you'd like to share I just wanted to say that Elegy means so much to me. Like it's unreal how much she helped me with lately!! I wrote a lot about her and Crystal since I began posting her pics online and like. I haven't written anything for years and then I made this dork and suddenly I write? And try to draw again?? I think about her when I feel bad and I'm kinda better, haven't felt like this for a long ass time... Thank you Elegy <3

PS If you liked antidepressant 044 you should also check out this remix it's badass!!!!

Whew... That's a lot of info lol. Spent a few days working on this!! So! Thanks for reading if you made it this far! <3

(rawr)

#cyberpunk 2077 #cyberpunk game #fem v #female v #cyberpunk oc #im so happy im finally done lol #and like seriously thank you if you actually took the time out of your day to read this #it means a lot #and elegy sends u a kiss #<3 #elegy #.txt #.jpg #i wanted to paste the pokemon body type thingy under body type but it looked wrong so no pokemon references today #vpm #otp: nothing's gonna hurt you baby #oc: elegy yukimura

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rosethreeart · 2 years ago

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Okay. Another prompt then maybe >:3

1.Ned got injured doing something dumb but Abigail thinks it is really serious. (Broke a few fingers or whatsnot oopsies) during work or what and comes home with a cast on the place he hurt himself.

2. Ned forgets to do his hair up all day (for whatever reason) and it is a world meeting day and Abigail doesn’t point it out to see people’s reactions to Ned w his hair down.

I went with 1 :D!

It's here on Ao3 too!

Summery: Ned takes a fall, and Abby is there to kiss it better.

Word Count: 726

Title: A Broken Hand is a Good Way to Get a Kiss

Concern was the first thing he was greeted with the minute he had walked into the door. Rapid questions were fired from all directions as Abigail flit about him, assessing any and all damage; the smallest of cuts or bruises would not go unnoticed as long as she's there.

“Abigail—”

“Are you okay? What happened? How bad is it? How—”

He grabbed her shoulders.

“Abigail.”

She slowly looked up as her breathing evened, hands still fidgeting, desperate to coddle. Even though he was the injured one, she was the one who looked like she wanted to cry.

That was one thing he loved about her. She was always so kind and caring towards others, always willing to put even complete strangers before herself. That type of kindness was rare amongst their kind. He was glad he gets to see it regularly now because of her. It’s even begun to rub off on him. Which was how he was even in this situation to begin with.

He took a deep sigh, eyes crinkling due to his soft expression as topaz met what was currently a royal blue. “I’m fine. I promise.”

Her shoulders seemed to sag slightly as she reached for his left arm, which was currently wrapped in a cast, “Can I ask what happened?”

He takes a few seconds to answer, too entranced by the way her small hands barely fit into his. How gentle and soft they were. How warm they felt….

She squeezes his hand slightly, worry now drawing back on her face as if relief was merely an eclipse.

“I’m alright I just…” He hesitates a moment, blushing slightly. He was never very good at expressing himself verbally.

He stammers a bit, “I..uhh..mm..”

Her head tilts slightly to the left.

He looks at the floor.

He needs to clean the carpet. The dishes need to get done too. Oh and of course the laundry—

“Lars?”

“Sorry, it's a little embarrassing.”

“That’s alright sweet pea, you don’t have to talk about it?”

He fails to force down a slight grin when that affectionate little pet name of hers rang in his ear.

“Truthfully I broke it falling off a ladder in the studio,” he finally admits.

He never really was one to brag about things he actually enjoyed, Abigail being one of the few exceptions to the rule, but he was quite fond (and very good) at oil painting. He had a small little studio nearby which he would occasionally rent out for cheap for local artists.

“Why were you on a ladder? What could an almost 7 foot-tall man need with any more height?” Abigail's eyes glistened as she teased, her lips pressed into a thin line trying to hold back a grin and laughter.

“I was trying to fix the curtains to let in some more natural light but…it seems I might have to go buy a new one…and a new curtain rod…and maybe a few buckets of paint...and a shelf…”

He was just happy the paint didn’t land on him, he would have looked like a Jackson Pollock painting. How embarrassing that would have been!

Oh how pitiful he felt, especially with that expression she gave him, as if he was a lost little puppy on the street who just walked into a wall.

“Aww I’m sorry babe, anything else hurt or just your hand?” She dusted and smoothed out his shirt, which had wrinkled from its usually pristine condition due to the…incident.

“Besides a bruised ego and some sore muscles?” I don’t think so.”

He leaned down as she stepped on her tipsy-toes to place a gentle kiss on his lips. Somehow he started feeling better already. Maybe he should get some more of those. Who knew? Maybe kisses could be a cure after all.

“Alright-y lets get you something for the pain and some warm food in your belly before you start feeling any worse,” She says, not waiting for an answer as she gently guides him into the dinning room.

Some food and something for the pain would be a good cure too though…

That beautiful portrait of her surrounded by a field of forget-me-nots and tulips could wait a while, he supposed. Besides, he’s got the real deal in front of him right now. The real Abigail was much better than a painting.

#my writing #hetalia #aph nyo america #aph netherlands #nedame

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officialao3fandomlastforever · 2 years ago

Text

Been thinking about books and the joy of reading a bit lately, and I just wanna share something with y’all about my current standard about some books. By talking about how my dad destroys some books.

I know it sounds bad, but please, let me tell you about it.

My dad loves mysteries. Thrillers. The occasional horror. He really likes crime procedurals. He also loves some good superhero stories and spy movies. He’s down for fantasy and sci-fi too. One of his favorite shows for a while was The Wire, then NCIS, then Law and Order. He enjoys movies like R.E.D. and Deadpool. He grew up with things like Star Wars, Star Trek, Doctor Who, and for a while watched Game of Thrones week by week when it was originally airing. He’s seen IT, and isn’t overly queasy with some more graphic material.

Knowing these, I’ll sometimes lend him a book. But usually, if there’s a book I think he’ll enjoy, I’ll try to buy him a copy for himself. Sometimes he’ll not enjoy it and set it down, never to pick it up again. But most of the time, he’ll read it to completion with a smile.

My dad has been gifted many books over the years. My brother has bought him Halo and Warhammer novelizations. He’s read many different crime and thriller book. He’s read some classic detective stories. He enjoy Star Wars and Star Trek novels. He’s enjoyed all kinds of novels and enjoyed them all to different levels.

But the thing that tells me he really, truly, is enjoying a book, is when he takes it to work.

My dad works driving trains. He wears heavy steel toe boots and often comes home covered in muck and oil that paints his blue jeans black. He works late at night, driving out to where he needs to go before moving trains back and forth. He usually packs a book in his bag if he’s in the middle of reading it, and wants to keep reading it on his breaks.

These books come home in okay condition. Pristine, clean, newly brought home books soon become dirty with the same muck and grime on my dad’s hands and clothes. Hardcovers editions lose their paper sleeves. They come home with dog ears and the occasional lunch or coffee stain. Sometimes there’s a tear. But they’re still readable. They’re still able to be kept and read again and again. They just aren’t in the same condition they were in before.

The most recent book I’ve seen that’s received this treatment was a copy of “Killers of a Certain Age” by Deanna Raybourn, which I had gifted my dad from my Book of the Month club box in September in hopes he would enjoy it. Brand new hardcover. Crisp and clean. Still in okay condition, but is now covered in dirt and smells of oil and coffee, and the sleeve bent to hell and has a noticeable shoe print on it from where it probably accidentally slid off the book and onto the floor. Last I saw it, it was still in his car with a paper napkin sticking out of it that had a clumsily written “2nd read” on it.

But that, in my personal, heartfelt opinion, is more than okay.

My dad was enjoying the book so much that he brought it to work with him, wanting to keep reading. He couldn’t just wait until he got back. And he kept it in his car to read again.

When dad doesn’t like a book, he puts it down and forgets about it.

When my dad likes a book, he smiles as he reads.

When my dad loves a book, he takes it to work on the trains with him.

Its important to take care of your books so that they last and you can read them again and again.

But I think sometimes, somedays, it’s okay if the book gets damaged and dirty.

I hope any aspiring writer out there someday writes a book that is so enjoyed that dads take them to work clean and they come back looking just like dad. A story so enjoyed that it can’t be put down, even at risk of dirt and muck, wear and tear. A story so enjoyed that knowing it made their dad happy brings a smile to the kid that gifted it to him.

A book so enjoyed, it stays in the car with a napkin book mark that says how many rereads we’re on now.

#fandom rambles #fandom writes #books #writing #okay to reblog #been thinking about that a lot lately

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kittycattoys · 2 years ago

Text

Ink - Eddie Munson S1 E1

Masterlist | Epilogue | Characters

Welcome to Season 1 I will no longer put warnings or summaries just straight into story. If you don't like smut and angst this fic isn't for you 👍

This starts the Friday before the Sunday Will disappears and Ava's tattoo has healed.

And remember that Ava has dark skin so prepare for raciest names not including the n word. It might not be the most accurate because I am paler then a saltine cracker and I wish I made that up. Also I'm not fetashiesing the black body I just thought I'd spice up my character roster.

Eddie is a Senior Ava is a Junior

____________________________________

Ava was feeling like she shouldn't have to hide her relationship anymore. She didn't care if Steve had a fit what's the worst that could happen, she loses her popularity. Woop dee do. So that's why she sat down next to Eddie instead of at her normal table.

Eddie looked at her with confusion and adoration, meanwhile the rest of the table full of weirdos looked at her as if she was the weirdest one there.

"H-hey" Eddie breathed out with a smile from ear to ear. A bright red covered his face.

"Hey" she let out a small laugh at seeing how red he got.

"why are you sitting here"

"Well can't I sit with my boyfriend" his heart melted a little hearing her say it in public.

"Ok Eddie how much weed did you give her for doing this" one of his friends on the other side of him said earning a slap on the back of the head from Eddie.

"I don't understand what you mean by that" she gave a death glare to the friend

"he has had a crush on you since middle- ow" Eddie gave him an even harder slap to make him finally shut up

"So the boy you were seeing really was Eddie" an aggravated voice came from behind her. She stood up and turned around to find Steve glaring at her.

"I don't see why you care so much about it Steve"

"He is a bad influence on you-"

"Says the person who got me to drink my first beer, first joint, first alot worse then Eddie could do" Steve knew exactly what she meant by the last comment which only made him more mad

"you better stop seeing him or else"

"or else what you'll beat me can't do that with out getting your money cut off, or will you bully me into becoming a reject guess what I don't care"

"or else I'll tell your parents what you have been up to I'm willing to bet they wouldn't like their little girl dating a drug dealer" she froze knowing he really would do that. She gave an apologetic look to Eddie before grabbing her tray and moving back to the popular table "that's what I thought"

She spent the rest of lunch hatching out a plan because no way in hell was she going to stop dating Eddie just because Steve didn't like him.

********

School ended and Eddie was nearly to his van when he felt two arms wrap around his waist from behind

"Shit Avs you can't do that you're going to give me a heart attack"

"Sorry"

"why are you here I thought you weren't going to date me anymore"

"You didn't think that I would really stop seeing you because of a stupid threat"

"you sure made it seem like that at lunch"

"well because it wasn't an empty threat so that's why I'm going to arrange for you to meet my parents"

"WHAT!? WHEN!?"

"don't worry I'll give you time to prepare but you just need to be yourself an then Steve can't do shit about us dating I'll call you later with the time" she gave him a kiss and then left for her car leaving Eddie with a panic attack

********

She took a deep breath before opening the door to her house

"Hi Sweetheart how was school" her mother asked from the nearby kitchen

"Uh it was fine... Where is dad?"

"I think he is up in his studio. Why do you ask?"

"I have something I need to talk to you guys about" Ava walked up the stairs.

She entered the bedroom they had turned into an art studio for her father's work. He stood in front of his easel painting a landscape on a large canvas. The air in the room recked of oil paints. His arms and black tank top were splattered with colorful paint.

He noticed his daughter standing in the doorway and set down his palate turning twords her. "What do you need Ava"

"I want to talk to you and Mom about something"

"Ok I'll be down in a minute" he said grabbing a towel off the counter.

**********

They all sat in the living room waiting for Ava to speak

"Um I've been lying to you about where I've been recently... I've been seeing a boy and I really like him and I think it's time you meet him"

"Oh we already knew you were with a boy" her mother stated calmly

"What?!"

"he was very loud sneaking in" her father added in

"And your not mad?"

"No your a teenager, we thought that eventually you would intaduce us but not this soon"

"So can we have him over tomorrow night"

"Yeah sure"

"By the way Steve really doesn't like him like make up stuff about him doesn't like him"

"So that's why you're introducing him now"

**********

Eddie stood outside the door afraid to knock. He wore the only nice outfit he had a blue button up tucked into a pair of cackies. His hair was tied into a low ponytail hoping to try and hide how long it was. He practically doused himself in cologne to hide the smell of weed and cigarettes that always followed him.

He wiped his hands on his pants before ringing the doorbell. It wasn't long before the door was opened by Ava who quickly embraced him.

"Eddie I thought I told you to be yourself" she said seeing his outfit.

"I know it's just I want to impress them... I don't think your family would like you dating a metal head drug dealer."

"I mean I get the cologne but you do realize my father dresses like a metal head"

"He does?"

"Yes now let's get inside" she grabbed his hand pulling him in. "He's here" she called to her family. She dragged him into the dining room. She Plopped down on one of the chairs at the table. He sat down lightly next to her still holding her hand.

"So your the boy she has been hanging around with" Her mother said poking her head out of the kitchen. "Would you go up and fetch your father I doubt he heard you in his studio"

She quickly complyed with her mother heading up the stairs leaving Eddie at the table.

"Would you help me set the table?" She asked turning twords Eddie who stood up right away. He walked into the kitchen. "So Eddie where do you live?"

"Up at Forest Hills"

"The... Trailer park" she looked at him confused.

"Yeah" He grew scared they wouldn't like him just for being poor.

"Huh. I used to live there" she saw the very surprised look he gave her "It's crazy how much can change in a lifetime."

********

The dinner went off well. There were the standard are you good enough for my daughter question's. As soon as she was excused Ava practically ran up the stairs with Eddie following close behind.

Ep. 2

#smut #stranger things #stranger things smut #eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x oc #eddie stranger things

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botanikos · 6 months ago

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( relax ) - your muse gives my muse a massage - Horus

Smutty Starter Prompts || ✩

❝ I am delighted you decided to come over.~ ❞

Stella was gone for the weekend and Octavia was otherwise preoccupied in her room, no doubt listening to her music. Stolas had tried desperately to get into it once, had even taken her to a concert for one of her favorite bands, 'Occult Mother'. But it wasn't quite his taste, and it was so very loud.

With neither of them in immediate range, they were unlikely to be disturbed. They had started off in the study, talking about their favorite titles, astronomers, constellations, and the decline in well crafted spell-work among mortals. Though they agreed a sort of renaissance was emerging. From there, they wandered to the kitchen where Stolas poured them each a light glass of Chardonnay and stroll the garden. They made light chatter and Stolas pointed out his favorite flowers. He, of course, carefully leaves out the part where he speaks or sings to them when tending to their needs.

Now, after applying a light tincture of natural oils, setting out a few fresh lavender stems, and lighting some of his best candles, he pressed his nimble fingers and knuckles into Horus' back as he rest upon a long massage table. Kneading and pressing in the places that gathered the most tension before slowly gliding gentle pressure with his palms up his back. While Stolas may appear wiry and frail in stature, he does have strength and a thorough knowledge of the body.

❝ You are awfully tense, my dear falcon. Trust that I know just how to handle you and ease some of that pressure." The words were a breath against Horus' ear as Stolas leaned over him. He focuses his handiwork at the base of his neck. ❝ I know just how much we tense up when pouring over texts or studying old alchemy. ❞ He spoke from experience, of course. Though typically he was the one receiving a massage. Stolas however, was partial to a long hot soak in his bath after particularly long or stressful days. They never failed to take the edge off. And speaking of edges....

He felt a shiver up his spine, feathers ruffling with the rapid growing heat burning through him. The more time he spent with Horus, the harder it was to ignore his exquisite features, the intellectual stimulation, his charming elegance, his sharp wit - oh and not to mention the absolute dreaminess of his voice. Lost in these thoughts, sticky and sweet as honey, the Goetia Prince finds himself sinking against Horus' languid form. His hands no longer sought solely to relax, but to feel muscle and seek a similar thrill, hoping to elicit a mutual reaction. It was only with their continued meetings and exchanges that Stolas felt even remotely confident to touch him in such scandalous ways. Hardly able to contain himself, he nuzzles his face against the back of Horus's neck and gives a quick nip. Not hard enough to pull feathers, by any means, but enough to feel the quick tug of his beak.

Stolas startles with the soft moan that tumbles from his beak, blinking rapidly as he removes nearly all contact. A heavy flush paints the white of his face. ❝ Oh - I - my goodness. I am so deeply sorry. W-would you like me to stop? I really should have asked first. ❞

#✧･ﾟ･ﾟ✧ | ☾ | : stolas chirps.#sxlinvictus #✧･ﾟ･ﾟ✧ | ☾ | : my dearest falcon.#✧･ﾟ･ﾟ✧ | ☾ | : v : before the stars align.#readmore coz of length and also sliiiightly suggestive

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ravenveenova97 · 10 months ago

Text

Paldea Forbidden Fruit

Sunset mistakes

I was happily walking around the scorched trail with sky in toe looking around to every pokemon I saw "the vast amount of pokemon out right now is unreal, I don't know we're to start hehehhehe" I had my art pad in hand with a bag sling over my shoulder holding in my art supplies, I was looking around and found a nice spot by a pond with an amazing View looking out into the Paldea sea and from there I could see multiple pokemon around "well sky this looks like the spot wouldn't you agree" she smiles happily at me and nods.

I settle myself down by laying out a blanket and took off my art bag then opened it to get stuff out, I was looking amongst the things I brought and I couldn't think what I should use "hmmm i have water paints and pencils......but I also have oils too......maby I could use my coals......or my pencils" I was looking amongst them and Sky points to the water colours "hehehhehe you think I should do a water painting" she nods at me and I giggle "ok, water colours it is now.........what pokemon do chose to paint" i look around and i can see tons of Mabostives, maschefs roaming around but one pokemon walks up to me and i look into its eyes and address it "would you mind if i paint you.....Zoroark" the pokemon eyes widen as i saw through its ilution it was a Mabostive "hehehhe its ok you dont need to be scared" i pulled out some chocolate and snapped it in half and leaned fowerd handing it out to him "its chocolate, you might like it" he cut off hes ilution and reached out for it and brought it up to hes nose sniffing it, i giggled "its nice trust me just eat it like this" i broke a bit off for me and sky and we ate it to show him its ok.

Zoroark opens he's mouth and ate some and after he swallowed he's face grew bright, I took in every detail how he's eyes squinted and how he's smile carved, even he's ears perked up and did a little wiggle "heheheh see tould you it was nice, so can I paint you Zoroark" he finishes the chocolate and was licking off the remains of it off hes claws then looked at me wile giving a sweet but happy cry saying yes, I smile at him and nod and open my pad designed for water colours and started to paint him "I cant believe im actually painting a Zoroark hehehhehe" i was so happy with myself as they dont show there true form around humans due to not trusting them, but me hading out that chocolate gave him the courage to trust me "you know Zoroark, i find your species fascinating" he looked up at me as i looked down at him from the small hill i was sat on, he gave me a little head tilt like he was confused.

I softly smiled at him "I think all Zoroarks are stunning and beautiful pokemon......your eyes stand out the most..... beautiful and pure and as clear as the sea......how they shine in this light and how warm they look shows your not a bad pokemon as people make you out to be" i was painting hes fur wile i continue to talk to him "i meen look at you....your the definition of beautie and mystery.....your by far the most breathe taking pokemon iv ever seen" i was happily smiling and when i looked up i saw a glint of happiness in hes eyes.....like someone finaly saw him for the amazing pokemon he truly is.

I soften my facial expression and look at him "I mean it Zoroark.....I see beauty in this world and I see more than most don't.....I'm able to look past stereo types and see the soul for what it truly is" he eyes teard up and was smiling happily at me, i smiled at him and he walked up the hill and sat down next to me and looked at my pad and pointed at it "yep thats you" he seamed happy and i raised my hand up to hes cheek and gave it a little scratch, hes face turned into pure delight and i giggled "hehehhehe like that do we, well what about under here" i moved my hand away and strated to scratch under hes chin, this made Zoroarks leg start to go and i laughed "hahahahah dose that feel good zoroark" he was loving the attention i was giving him, after i stoped he had the biggest smile stretching from ear to ear.

I feel a tap on my shoulder and Sky handed me some water "ow thanks Sky" I turned to Zoroark and handed it to him "would you like a drink" he took the Cup out of my hand and happily started to drink it, never in a million years I thought I be sat like this with a wild Zoroark.......but it's nice.....I wish more people saw it as a stunning pokemon.....but like I said stereo types run thick with Dark types.....but I'm so happy i can be that one human that looks past that and see them for what they truly are.

I continued to paint Zoroark and I even let him do some painting of he's own hehehe, I love spending time with pokemon....it's why I chose to be a pokemon researcher....I love to make meany pokemon friends and bring there story's to light.....just like Zoroark here, time was moving on and I just finished the painting "and it's done, so Zoroark what do you think" I tilted my work to him and he looked at it and smiled nodding "hehehhehe I'm happy you like it" I had a big smile on my face and that's when he showed me he's painting, I looked at it and my eyes soften "is that me and Sky" he nods and me and hands it over for me to keep "realy....but you painted this.....dont you want to keep it" he shook hes head and waved it gently up and down for me to take, i slowly reached my hand out and took it off him looking at it with the most gentle smile iv done in years "thank you Zoroark i love it, you did sutch amazing job" he was happily crying out and i ruffled hes fur and scratched behind hes ears "and you keep Amazing me Honan" I turn my head up and I see Jacq lent over and I'm looking into he's breath taking eyes.

I end up blushing and my body shivers in nerves "Jacq what you doing here" he chuckles and stops leaning over me "I was just doing a bit of research over here, but bumping into you was a surprise" he looks at Zoroark that had its ears back sceard and Jacq kneeled down so he was Zoroarks hight "its ok im Honans friend" Zoroark looks at me and i nod, hes ears returned to natural as he's fear left hes body, Jacq saw the painting i had in my hands and he warmly smiled "did you do that for Honan"

Zoroark nodded at him still a little uneasy "I see it's painted beautifully good job" Zoroark worried face turned into a cute smile and he sat down and relaxed, Jacq moved he's hand out to scratch him under the chin and Zoroark melted "hahahah so you do like this" as soon as he said that I relised he was around even then "Jacq how long have you been watching me and Zoroark" Jacq looks at me and scratches the back of he's head "i guess from the very start" Zoroark scooched up so Jacq could sit next to me "start of what" he warmly chuckled and looked at me in the eyes "I saw you giving him Chocolate to make him trust you" I blinked a few times and all the blood rushed to my face "you have amazing skills with Wild pokemon Honan hahahhaha what other surprises are you hiding"

I look away quickly and scream internally "nothing there nothing" Sky giggled at my reaction and I felt Jacq place he's hand on my shoulder, I look round to were he put it and back up at him "you ok" I gulp a little and nod "hahahah that's good, but there no need to be embarrassed, just be yourself around me, ok" I nod and fidget a little wile playing with my hands "so did you come out here to do more of your art" I nod wile looking at my hands, but Jacq tilts he's head at me "are your sure everything ok Honan"

I was feeling my heart race a mile a minute in my chest and my body started to grow hot again, I was looking down still and Jacq moved infrount of me and placed hes hand on my thought head, I snap out of it and look up and when I do hes got a worried look on hes face "your quite warm, are you not feeling well" I'm looking into hes gentle eyes and i end up getting lost in them, it was like staring into fields of lavender...... beautiful and breathtaking.....I cant seem to look away.......there hypnotizing, i end up softly smiling as i could stair into hes eye every day and never get bored on how memorizing they are they truly are stunning, it was then the softest smile Iv ever seen on Jacq spreads across he's face, as he's eyes grow even more gentle "Honan you keep looking at me like that I'm going to start blushing" he averts he's eyes to he's side as he removes he's hand and sheepishly smiles "I'm sorry i didnt mean to" i blushed super hard and looked away, Jacq ended up lathing at me reaction and sighed "it's ok Honan don't worry about it"

I end up feeling my hands start to get clammy again and I'm starting to lose myself a little "I am sorry Jacq but...." I turn to him and raise my hands out and gently take off he's glasses "Honan?" I stear deeply into them and I smile softly "has anyone tould you that your eyes are breathtaking" Jacq cheeks started to turn a pretty pink hue and he averted he's eyes from me "no.....not really" I smile at him and hand back he's glasses "sorry I just wanted to see them better, I know there was a reason why I draw you a lot........I'm just mesmerized by how they look and how you smile....I love how the ends curl and how soft your face is when you do" my cheeks were red but I felt at peace being like this with him........even now with him not looking at me I can tell he's a softie with a pure heart.

Jacq ends up putting he's glasses back on and turns to me about to say something but he withdraws it "Jacq everything ok" he looks at me and he smiles but Its different like there pain behind it "yer I'm good....just surprised is all" I can tell he wants to say something but he's stopping himself, I end up changing the subject and stretch "well at least I won't be alone to watch the sun go down" I giggle and Jacq smiles at me again "I take you like watching the sun go down" I nod at him wile putting away my paint and pad back into the bag "yer when ever I get a chance i will go out and find some were to watch it, but so far iv not found that one place were it looks beautiful"

I zip up the bag and stand up moving off the mat then rolled it up "i see......well i can show you my favorite spot" i stand up and look up at him "really....you show me where you like to watch the sun set" he nods at me and holds out hes hand to me but he relised and laughed sheepishly "ops sorry.......I keep forgetting that I'm your teacher" I blush but walk next to him and take he's hand in mine "it's ok but I would have taken it eather way" Jacq sigs and tightens hes grip on my hand "your going to get me in trouble one of these days Honan" he laughed warmly joking about and i giggled "well nothing wrong with friend holding hands......right"

My eyes looked at him as I longed for he's touch........I can't seem to see him as a teacher to me anymore.....I guess what the girls said could be true......I do think I have a crush on him.....how could I not, not with gentle fetchers like that "I guess your right and it's not like the director be this far out given he's age hahahhaha" I let out a laugh and Jacq chuckled "well follow me I hope your ready" i nod and i say good Bye to Zoroark and we make our way to Jacq special location close to Casseroya lake, when we reached the area jacq sat down after letting go of my hand we peard out to the lake, i was stunned this view was stunning "Jacq how did you find this spot" he takes a deep breath and leaned back on hes hands "it was by accident, i was doing my research around this area a wile back, back before i became a teacher for Uva academy.......I was just checking on the pokemon in the area and I started to get a little sleepy, hahhahaha i may have fallen asleep with my research notes........but when i woke up i realised the sun started to set then........well i saw this" he looked out on the lake and closed hes eyes, he looked at peace and relaxed "this is my special little spot i come to every now and then......but there two other things that makes this location one of my treasures" i smile at him and look back out to the view "what two things are those" he looks at me and smiles warmly "the starts here at night are enchanting you can see them clear as day.....but the other thing you have to be lucky in seeing it"

He turns round and sees the sun hit the waters surface "if your lucky you might be able to see it tonight" I turn my head round and look as the remaining glow of the sun sunk into the water "but I wanted to show you the one miracle that happens here" just then as I looked into the sea I saw a hue of green and then as the sun set there was a flash, I looked at it on awe, taken in by this phenomenon "seams were in luck, we were able to see the green flash" my eyes started to well up a little and Jacq looked into my eyes and hes soft smile came back "what that the first time you saw the green flash" I wipe my eyes and look at him "yes it was.....I never thought I would see something as amazing as that......thank you Jacq"

He smiles brightly at me and pats my head "hahahha your welcome, IV never brought anyone here before.....so that makes you the first person" he looks at me and then away, my heart starts to beat faster and faster in my chest and I start to get butterflies.......I'm the only person he's shown this too........could the time be right, I move myself a little closer to him and im super red in the face "I don't mean on the lips, I ment on the cheek" I recall what penny said to me and I swallow my shyness and go and make my move, even tho im sceard right now, well I'm petrafide but......I need to know if he feels the same way.

I mean in and close my eyes and I'm inches from hes cheek, but Jacq turns round at the worst time and I end up kissing him on the lips, time stood still for us both for that moment and I felt sparks flying, I got lost in it so when I pulled way I was mesmerized for a moment but I snapped out of it and realized I kissed him on the lips, my face turned bright red and I pulled away so qwick "IM SORRY" I was freaking out and Jacq was dum founded for a moment "Honan did you just....kiss me"

I couldn't even look at him but instead I took off running "HONAN WAIT" I didn't stop running till I was out of sight and ear shot from Jacq "why did I do that" i was panting out of breath and tears started to drop from my eyes "why did i think kissing him prove any thing im so stupid.......iv messed up" i was feeling deep regret for what happened to the point I felt sick "what have I done"

That was one of the most emotional days iv experience in a while I kissed my teacher and I messed everything up.......its going to be hard being around him now.......I'm such a fool.

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