#you want to fix it by pulling out the colorful tape and then putting it back?

[lorrainestea]

You think I am stubborn?

Wait until you meet my printer.

Because she is the real oversensitive drama queen.

[kremlin]

after many years my old company has finally allowed people back into the office, haha, not to go to work, no no, solely to collect their belongings from their desks. i picked up my stuff and remembered what a psycho i was about my office back then, let me show you..

i set up an old VT-420 on a side of my desk to read my email on (to flex my computer dick) which is unfortunately a bit too yellowed now for me to post exposed but hilariously enough i did take the chance to fix the faulty RS-232 chip in it and i no longer get a bunch of keystrokes interpreted as ŸŸŸŸs randomly. the fix was great too, instead of having to throw the whole thing out like you'd need to today, i literally just had to pull the PTH chip out of its socket, didn't even need to desolder. nor throw the old one out. i blasted it with a blowtorch for about half a second and it's fine now.

(it is amber by the way, which is the best color)

the keyboard is another story, i think a lot of like, entry-level vintage computing people get this concept that every old keyboard is some treasure, and boy let me tell you, some of them make you want throw up, like the vt420's:

you'll have to take my word that the typing experience is pure ass, but if you look at this fucker for more than two seconds your blood pressure will start to raise. and i'm not just talking about the euro return key. where is the super key? and what is going on left of 'a'? did they decide to solve the age-old "caps lock vs ctrl" debate by putting both of them there (??) what the fuck is going on north of the arrow keys?!?! and even further north, 'help' is funny enough on its own, the fact its next to DO, a truly existentially puzzling key, makes it that much better. why is DO so wide?? why are there so many F keys? and apparantly 20 F keys wasn't enough, they had to go on and invent "PF" keys above the numpad. and it doesn't stop there..

the pre-USB world was pretty nuts, but most keyboards still had sane connectors like DE-9's, PS/2, DINs, etc, but not this one

it uses, a, uh, looks like an ethernet cable. weird. but look closer. six pins. AND, big honking square to key it specifically and make it incompatible with the very-similar already-existing 6P6C specification (why?) anyways, that's enough of this crap, moving on

this is the keyboard for my lisp machine, the famous "space cadet keyboard", i get so many fucking emails about this keyboard, christ almighty. people trying to buy it from me, it's a shame, the machines don't boot without them so seperating them to satisfy reddit guy wish fulfillment breaks my heart. it's a lot better. it's from an era where a good computer would set you back half a million and the hardware reflects it. honeywell made it, it's "solid state" insofar as that makes sense for a keyboard, uses the hall effect. there weren't any rats at my office but just in case i seem to have taped something to the underside:

lol. now for accouterments to cover those hideous eggshell white walls:

in order, openbsd, you know it baby, middle is a weird polish promo for the holy mountain, the last thing was a joke whose meaning has been lost to time. chicken and turkey!

i seemed to have been working on some very bizarre electronics projects, personal, during my workday:

god, what the fuck was this?

oh, duh, it's bort's hat. (??)

some reading materials. K&R C is a first edition, somewhat rare. the 9front manuals:

classic, natch. and a huge gear that's clapped

that's it. that's my office apparently.

[ronearoundblindly]

Hideout (3.1)

touch-starved!Nomad Steve Rogers x motel employee!Reader

Sensitive Boy, part I (see previous or series)

Summary: Steve surprises you with help at the perfect time.

Warnings for light smut (I have to split this chapter or it's just suddenly twice as long as the last, but really there's just massage and an implied orgasm in this half. You know me: too many feels and too much development...) MINORS DNI. This series is 18+ only. If you are underage or simply enjoy lighter content, there is plenty for you to read on my Light Masterlist, but this post is not for you! WC 3.2k

With so much on your mind, scaring the crap out of you is not difficult, so his strong hands hold you upright.

“Don’t do that,” you shriek, barely glancing at Steve’s face. You startled so suddenly your housekeeping cart is left rolling away at a snail’s pace.

“Sorry, I—“ long arms abandon you and reach to stop the bin “—it said on your website you were closed for renovations, and…”

You look him up and down. You were sure after he left two months ago that you’d never see him again. You’d gone too far. You’d pushed him too hard. He wasn’t ready.

Steve adjusts the strap over his shoulder. “I thought maybe I could help out…if you want?”

The last guests checked out a half-hour ago, and you readied to spend the whole week meticulously refreshing each room with your parents. The list of what needs done, however, doesn’t only include the motel. There’s a bunch you all had let slide up at the house. Help would…be extremely helpful actually.

Steve pulls a paper bag out of his knapsack. “Or I brought you some lunch if you just want a break or something.”

“It’s okay,” you rush out. “More than okay. Thank you, yes. We’d love—I’d love that.”

No one else can know it’s him-him there though. You’ll have to think of a way to keep your parents and St-‘Grant’ as far apart as possible, and how long you can manage that is…questionable.

If Steve’s not worried though, you’re okay.

Turns out, keeping your family up at the house is easy. Your mom shouts down the phone with relief that she can tackle the fridge, and you hear your dad mumble something about ‘the garage in daylight.’ You can enjoy a sandwich in the office with Steve in peace, explaining what all needs done before the electricians show up Friday afternoon.

The closure hasn’t been planned for a long time—not even before Steve and ‘Tom’s’ last visit—hence why you just painted Room 8, 5, 2, and 1 since March, but doing all those is how you and your parents really noticed that the light fixtures from the ‘90s were not only dated but very worn and that the same color layered over and over again for twenty years was, well, getting old.

Warmer months are better for the work. Pipes won’t freeze while you air out paint fumes, etc. The week after the gigantic, city festivities of Independence Day is notoriously dead. Since there were no reservations this stretch as of April, the family jumped at the chance to fix it all in one big, daunting go.

Saying you’d looked forward to this is a wild overstatement. You’ll be glad when it’s finished, and that’s the bulk of your excitement.

With his assistance though? Hope soars.

Steve will help you take down the sconces, the hanging lamps, and the panels above the vanities, then you both can—

“Where’s the paint?”

He’s very intense with the gameplan. Three guesses why.

“Dad’s gonna pick it up today. Probably. I’ll text him.” You whip out your cell again. “We didn’t think we’d get that far by evening.”

Steve nods.

“We also need to move all the furniture away from the walls and drape plastic to protect the carpet. Oh, and put tape along the trim and doorframes, ya know.”

Steve nods again. He wads up the wrapping from his sandwich and casually asks, “are all the doors open?”

You only just get your finger in the air to point at the desk.

“Master key is—“

But Steve is observant and has clocked everything about his surroundings each time he’s stayed, apparently. He stretches over to the wall beyond the counter, snatches the (correct) unmarked key, and heads out the door.

The service bell rings gently to emphasize the conversation is over.

All furniture in every room is pulled away by the time you finish sanitizing the one guest room he interrupted.

He asks where you keep the ladder, not that he’ll need it, but you will for reaching some of the lights.

You don’t know whether to be in awe of or exhausted by his efficiency.

He’s rigid and militant—go figure—until these few moments he suddenly can’t be.

As you toss plastic over the last bed to move, Steve yanks that sucker across the floor so fast, you roll off. His eyes are saucers as he apologizes, but you get the giggles and pick yourself up.

His fingers can’t separate thin layers of the plastic at one point, and he throws a minor fit until three rip apart together. Steve frowns at you and grumbles that he’s only ever used cloth for this before. It seems to take everything in his power not to say “back in my day,” but you can read between the lines.

Years of crusted paint makes the removal of some fixtures tricky.

Steve rips out one stripped screw with needle nose pliers, squeaks in alarm at the hole left behind, and then quietly asks if you have patch paste.

You call your dad before he’s left to buy paint. He adds spackling to the list.

The closest Steve comes to telling you anything specifically about himself is when you struggle with a stuck bolt.

“Just a little trick I learned when I was—“ Steve wraps his big hand around yours to pull the wrench instead of push from the other direction “—smaller.” He huffs out a laugh, adding, “when I couldn’t, ya know, ‘put my weight into it’ because a feather could’a knocked me over.”

As you relish the simple contact of his fingers, you smile, too.

“Hmm. I heard you got into back alley scrapes.”

“If you heard that I won any of those, you were lied to.” He patiently waits for you to finish removing the bolt before he pries the aged metal and glass away from the old paint it’s stuck in. Steve sighs dramatically.

“Shoddy education these days…”

“I…” You tap his bicep with the claws of the wrench. “I can’t argue with that. We hear only what they tell us about…heroes.”

You should have known he’d shut down at that word, but it’s the truth. Even with him right in front of you, the only things you know about Steve Rogers are from books, newspapers, and the internet. At face value—looking directly into the face of this man—all of what you’ve been told is hogwash. It’s insufficient. It barely covers 1% of who this man is.

He teaches you tricks of the weak man’s trade because it helped him once, too. Today, he’s friendly. Not that he was unfriendly before, but Steve is so reserved he never reference the past, in general, i.e. that there was a past existence of like the planet much less him.

It’s the number one rule of Fight Club: you don’t talk about Fight Club.

If there was ever a real fight club, it’s the Avengers.

You have no official rules for what this is between you. You don’t have to to know that is the most important one. You do not talk about Fight Club. Steve isn’t afraid of silence, that much is clear, but he isn’t a fan. He tries—he is trying—to connect and relate. He can’t be a man of the people, however, if he can’t talk to the people. 

It’s important: connection. You know with every fiber of your being that Steve deserves it, but even with unlimited, super-human strength, he cannot get himself out from between this rock and that hard place.

You do not talk about Fight Club, especially when you’ve been kicked out of Fight Club.

Today, though, he’s a little different, a little softer. Perhaps it’s knowing there are no other people in the building, perhaps he is truly more comfortable with you, but either way, Steve is not flat or off-putting.

His organized persona, his focus on the work, his indirect interactions and practical touch; they all fit here while he has a project. It’s the closest he can be to his old self, maybe even his real self, without mentioning the past—the fighting past—at all.

“You’re really good company,” you tell Steve, “even when you make holes in the walls.”

He tilts his head down and blushes. He shrugs as he takes the sconce out to the dumpster. Although he didn’t say it, you hope this is okay.

Either way, you relish it. The help. The touch. The silence. All of it.

You relish Steve.

Your dad brings by the paint, spackling, and a surprise of pizza for dinner while Steve is taping the baseboards in a corner. You introduce ‘Grant’ from afar and haul the cans and boxes from the car to the room, cataloguing all you two have finished to this point and what you’ll do before stopping for the night.

Dad is impressed. He’d suspected the three of you—you, he, and Mom, that is—might settle for slapping some paint up around where the electrician would install the new lights. No one planned on getting this far in one evening.

He won’t stand in the way of progress, so your dad simply calls out, “bit of an artist, are ya?”

Steve looks up, confident with only the side table lamps plugged in, he can barely be seen. “Just want to be useful,” he mutters.

You wink at your dad as he heads back to the still-running car. “Grant is a jack of all trades.”

You’re sure to thank him for the food and let him know all the motel stuff is completely covered for tomorrow, too. You’ll work as late as you can and start as early as possible.

Dad says your friend has gone ‘above and beyond.’ You agree wholeheartedly.

‘Grant’ would more aptly be described as a machine.

All the furniture moved, all the lights taken down, all bordering taped, and now all blemishes in the walls smoothed, your impromptu contractor finally calls it quits when he’s forced to watch stuff dry.

You’ve kept the air conditioning going in one room.

Steve tentatively asks if he should walk you up to the house, but you counter with “it’s not any less dangerous for an average guy alone to return” and a cheeky smirk. Besides, it is very late. You let Captain OCD keep going; you tapped out a while ago.

He puts his hands on his hips, arms akimbo, thinking of a comeback that never manifests. After giving up, Steve takes his tiny bag into the bathroom and brushes his teeth.

You can faintly hear it over the murmur of the TV.

You aren’t really watching. It’s background noise to your general exhaustion.

With only a side lamp and the screen as light, Steve’s bare feet crumple over the discarded plastic sheet on the floor. He falls into one side of the bed, fully-clothed and (finally) tired.

Though productive, the day has been a distant one, working in different rooms for most of it and tiptoeing around real conversation. You want him to feel appreciated, not pressured, so you ask if he’d like the TV on for a while or would rather quiet.

Steve just grunts with his eyes closed.

Gently, you place a hand on his chest to steady you, leaning to kiss his bearded cheek.

“Thank you, Steve,” you say softly. “Good night.”

He hums when you say his name, and before you can lift your hand away, he captures it under his, holding you in place.

His eyes aren’t open. He can’t see you smile wider.

“Okay.” You tuck yourself into his chest as he raises his other arm out of the way. “Okay.”

Your ear sits in the dip beneath his collarbone, listening to his steady heart, his thumb sweeping back and forth over you knuckles.

He smushes you closer to his side. You toss your leg over his.

You forget to turn off the TV.

He’s sanding the spackled spots by the time you wake, so you rub across his back and dismiss yourself to get breakfast up at the house.

Steve makes no effort to go with, which is fine. You assumed as much.

Your dad calls Grant a ‘magician’ over the pop of oil in the skillet and insists you give your friend whatever he needs to keep working so fast. You are only half-joking when you admit the key is staying out of his way.

Bonus: the exchange reinforces your parents simply leaving the two of you alone down the hill, and you proudly tell Steve that when delivering him an enormous plate of scrambled eggs.

He jumps right back into planning-mode and orders you to roll the first coat of paint onto large areas. He’ll follow, completing the edges and corners.

It’s such a domestic thing to do. There is no one in danger, there are no bodies piling up if he makes a wrong move, and he can go faster or take his sweet time. Steve breaks when he wants or needs to. He sits outside and listens to the birds in the sunshine. No one is around to question him, not even you. You are only there to encourage.

You realize he was looking for a project. He’s used to—and likes—being busy, getting his hands dirty, producing results.

It’s a long, messy day where he becomes more serene in spirit the more intensely he works. You reward him with gentle sweeps of your hand down his arms, pats on his shoulders, and brushes at the small of his back.

Despite the almost constant movement, the day is over before you know it, earlier than yesterday, but it’s too hot to go on.

All the windows stay open to air out the fumes.

Though it won’t stop you from sweating, you both shower off as many splatters and flecks of paint as you can. You insist he goes first so there’s plenty of hot water.

He’s sitting on the bed, shirtless, checking his phone when you come out of the bathroom, but he immediately squirrel the device away in his small bag. Not much to carry around. Not much to leave behind. Steve can’t leave a trace of himself anywhere.

Hunched over and fatigued, he flashes a polite smile your way and blinks heavily.

He deserves the world.

You grab the small bottle of lotion from the countertop and playfully jump onto the bed behind him.

“How about a massage, yeah? You much be aching.”

Honestly, you don’t mean for it to sound sexual, but the phrase comes out downright dirty, making Steve awkwardly chuckle.

“You don’t have to,” he placates.

“Nonsense, I want to. It’ll make the air feel cooler.” That’s as good of an excuse as any. Who cares when the rippled expanse of his back flexes wildly in your touch?

His breathes are audible from the beginning.

You dig at his traps, his leg bouncing as he tries to relax. You use your thumbs, the flats of your hands, and your knuckles.

He shoves his fist in his mouth when he starts to moan, covering the move with a cough, but muffling the noise is abandoned in favor of clasping over his lap. He’s intent on hiding his hardness this time. There’s nothing you can say to truly lessen the sting of needing more. You can’t simply tell him he’s allowed to desire this; you have to ignore his misplaced shame.

But you can take pity on him.

“If you lie flat—“ you step off the bed to give him privacy “—I’ll have more leverage.”

You hear him crawl and adjust on the sheets. “Unlike the torque on a wrench,” you add, just to show you’ve been listening to him.

More lotion is needed for the surface area.

You turn up the TV, feining interest in the late night show so any noise he makes is not as obvious. What the speakers can’t cover, however, is Steve’s involuntary thrusts when you rub the heels of you palms up and down the sides of his spine. If you prop up on your knees, he has more range of motion and doesn’t obviously rock you while mindlessly humping the bed.

His sweats are slung low on his hips, two darts of muscle prominent above his ass.

They are irresistible, the perfect grooves to target and roll into, and he immediately mewls long and deep into the mattress, fingers curling and relaxing while his body seizes.

He hasn’t even finished coming, you think, before he taps at your leg and races to the bathroom.

You hope you didn’t push too far. You hope he’d tell you to stop if he needs more space, more time. Mostly, you hope he knows you’d give him every conceivable pleasure, just because he is him.

The water runs a long time, continuous splashing in the sink, and then nothing.

He didn’t bring much because he doesn’t have much. Your heart sinks, realizing you’ve made him soil one of only two pairs of pants he has here.

He cracks open the door, muttering, but you can’t make out the words.

You turn the volume back down. “What?”

“It pretty hot.” He clears his throat. “Would you mind if I sleep…without…?”

“Naked?” you squeak before composing yourself. “That’s fine. Whatever’s comfortable.”

You shuffle up the bed to click off the lamps. This man isn’t the type to strut around in the nude—yet, anyway—so in the faint and ever-shifting glow of the screen across the room very little can be seen.

‘Little,’ however, can’t describe anything that is visible about the man emerging from the bathroom.

You have to make a point not to stare, but no skit or commercial on the channel promises the same level of entertainment.

Steve slides himself beneath the sheet, sitting near the headboard.

You hold up the remote. “On or off?”

“Off,” he says, “please.”

You’ve certainly done enough for one day. You won’t push your luck, so you hit the power button, toss it on table, and snuggle into your half of the bed, facing away.

“If it’s too hot for any covers, that’s okay, too.”

A rustling interrupts the rhythmic whir of crickets in the night until you feel a warm hand lightly mold to your waist.

This should be encouraged. This should be rewarded.

“Hey, Stevie,” you whisper, waiting for his hum, “happy belated birthday.”

At most you expect a grip of notice, but instead, the big hand snakes across you and hauls you into his chest, his long legs bending to match the crook of yours, his nose and forehead tucked against your occipital.

“We did okay today,” Steve mumbles into your shirt.

You walk your hand over your stomach to find his, lacing the fingers together. “Yes. Yes, we did.”

Steve got to be useful today. He had a partner today. He will tomorrow and the day after, for as long as he stays, for as long as you’re alive. Nothing can change that.

Maybe he can’t talk about Fight Club, but he connects with you anyway.

A/N: Whoopsy. Didn't want to make y'all wait for a 6k+ chapter, so here's the first half! I am DEEP in the feels of this one. So, so many notes have been taken. The brainrot is real, and I fucking love it!!!!

[Next: Sensitive Boy, part II]

[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

@supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @brandycranby @buckysprettybaby @ellethespaceunicorn @rogersbarber @spectre-posts @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes @deandreamernp @im-a-slut-for-fluff @fangirl-swagg @georgeweaslysgirl @austynparksandpizza  @claireelizabeth85 @jamneuromain @rach2602 @royalwritersoftheuniverses @shelbygeek @rogersideup @eyebagsanonymous @trudy-shams @saranghaey @awkwardgiraffe726 @marvelmenwhore @happinessinthebeing @before-we-get-started @sjsmith56 @esposadomd @cjand10 @yearningforsappho @mrsevans90

[deceptive-daydreams]

The Under-Ground (18+ ONLY)

Chapter Seven - Bake Sale

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 |

Modern!Barista!Eddie AU - The calm after the storm.

Enemies to Lovers, Modern!Barista!Eddie AU, Eddie x Fem Reader

8.7K Words

Warnings - Eddie is an asshole, eventual smut, mentions of drugs and drinking, drug dealing, allusions to mental illness, I don't think there's anything else but please let me know if I missed anything

Author's Note: i think im super proud of this one omg guys also...I put a little note at the end cause i didn't wanna spoil anything by saying what i was gonna say. also i fixated so much on each section of this as i wrote it so its like half proof read and then i was like ok the rest is up to god

Masterlist

Prev |

The storm subsided at around 2:00 AM and it would go down as the biggest storm in Hawkins’ history to date.  The flooding was unlike anything anyone had seen in years and the poor unequipped town was drenched to its roots.  Minor water damage affected homes and businesses, nothing too devastating but an inconvenience nonetheless.  A few trees had been struck down, if not by lightning then by the high winds that coursed through the night like they owned it.  Streets were blocked off with caution tape and traffic cones as the damages were assessed and Hawkins Square was littered in deep puddles that would soak you up to the knee if you happened to misstep.

It was fitting.  The world seemed to look just as you felt.  Mutilated.  Tarnished.  The calm after the storm, indeed.  Although things that night looked up between you and Eddie, an invisible peace treaty signed by the ink bleeding on the coffee cup, the scars didn’t just vanish.  This wasn’t a movie, this was real life and things didn’t just become beautiful again over night.  Pain didn’t just cease because you wanted it to or because someone said the right thing.  Someone could say a million of the right things but it doesn’t excuse their wrongdoings and the harm they’re capable of.  And it doesn’t erase them as someone who would pull the trigger on you if given the chance.

The sun flowed into the room at just the right angle, the kitchen countertop illuminated with the faintest rainbow in the morning light.  Beauty after tragedy.  It was cold, god was it cold.  The apartment might as well have been a walk-in freezer at this point, a place where you could store cold cuts and popsicles without hesitation.  But it was hard to complain about your living conditions when there was a warmth blossoming deep within your very being.  Whiskey colored eyes had the same effect as the real thing.  Warming you up from the inside out, relaxing every tensed muscle, melting away every stupid problem.  It pooled deep within you, a buried desire that was clawing its way out of your chest.  You’d been without a glance of those rich and honeyed irises for at least six hours, well into the beginning of the hour of 8:00 AM and yet it felt like you’d drank them in seconds ago with the way your veins heated.  The way your blood pumped and your nerves mellowed out.  If he was like a smooth shot of whiskey, you were at risk of becoming an alcoholic if you weren’t careful.

Snap out of it.

This was not a fairytale, things could not be fixed overnight.  He was still a stranger to you, a shell, you could not settle into comfort so easily, no matter how good it felt.  It didn’t matter that the buzz lingering beneath your surface was far more powerful than the first time at sixteen.

It didn’t matter.

All you knew was hurt by the hands of those closest and you weren’t going to let it happen again.  Never again.  Not even for boyish dimples.  Not even for the stupid cup of hot chocolate.  And certainly not for the way it felt to be pressed against his back when you begrudgingly accepted a ride home on his death machine of a motorcycle the night of the storm.  But that didn’t mean he didn’t have prime real estate in the back of your mind.

–

His hair.  Several curls falling from the confines of the low messy bun that should warrant a lecture from you on the food safety guidelines but you can’t bring yourself to do it.  Soft brown tendrils framed a concentrated face, tongue poked out in deep thought at the simple task of blending ice and coffee.  The grinding of the blades against the ice for longer than necessary should have you in shambles, causing an uproar, at the very least scolding him under your breath.  You don’t.  Instead it’s as if you’re under some kind of spell, a spell that continuously draws you to the insufferable but absolute Disney prince of a man before you.  It had been years since you’d seen him in such a light and it made everything all the more conflicting.

I hate him.

Several curses escaped his delicately pink lips as the blender came to a halt, the consistency of the liquid was long overblended and almost became a thicker milk but all you could focus on as his back came to face you was his broad shoulders, far more adult than you’d ever realized.  He was no longer a lanky high schooler, his frame had filled out and it filled out in his favor.  Had his arms only recently become a touch manlier or did your subconscious automatically blur it out all those times you encountered him only to end up with even more distaste after each interaction?  A distaste which would only blind you to the man he grew into.

No, I hate him.

But the moment you would tear your gaze away it would only gravitate right back to his hands which you guessed were noticeably larger than your own but you were in no position to find out.  With his rings more than likely temporarily abandoned atop the table in the back, his fingers seemed bare.  It only further made you appreciate them, a flash of a daydream posed in your mind where large hands decorated with chipped black polish rested at your waist.  

No, no, no.

He was not yours to daydream about nor would you want him to be.

Although…it was okay to think of him as physically attractive all while still keeping him at a distance wasn’t it?  After all, he was still awful.  You force yourself to recall the horrible things he’s said to you but you can only counter it with the appalling remarks you’d made in return.  Though he committed a horrendous act years ago that would make you bleed for years to come, you knew it didn’t warrant some of the comments you’d snapped at him in passing.  Especially those about his social status.  It was becoming apparent after the previous night’s conversation that you both struggled verbally and that his crude comments were always met with your degrading criticism.  You were both instigators.

But it was proving difficult to keep him in such a villainous light when he was so radiant.  So effortlessly alluring even as he tossed his liquified concoction into the sink with his brows knit tightly together and profanities falling from his tongue, thankfully quiet enough as to not alert any customers.  In all honesty, all he’s proved was that he was an awful barista.  Even then, it didn’t bother you as much as it should, your desire to scream at him would’ve been off the charts 24 hours ago.  That desire hadn’t even been simmering beneath your surface, the only desire burning within your depths was something unspoken and something you could never let bubble over ever again.  You wouldn’t.

Reality began settling back in, an enraged customer snapping his fingers at you, demanding your attention as your eyes widened at the realization that he’d been waiting on a simple black cup of coffee for the past few minutes.  Had the shop been busier you would’ve found a polite way to shut him up but in all fairness there were only three other customers at the moment, two of which were already enjoying their drinks.  Regardless, it didn’t seem to warrant the entitled behavior of the frowning middle aged man, a simple where is my order? would have sufficed.

“I’m so sorry, let me check on that for you.”

Customer service served with a smile.  And a side of sarcasm.

“Oh, you’ll check on that?  It’s a cup of coffee.  How hard is it to make—“

“There was a mix up with the orders, here’s your coffee.  My fault.”  Eddie slid the cup across the to go counter to its awaiting consumer, eyes slightly narrowed.

There was no mix up.  You really did forget all about the bland coffee up until you were rudely reminded.  And it definitely wasn’t Eddie’s fault.

—

1 Week Later

There was no escaping how absolutely enchanting a mundane task such as scrubbing the sink was.  It didn’t make sense and yet you lingered, pretending to rinse out the blender one time too many with the hope of catching Eddie’s forearms flex in his movements as he maneuvered the sponge around the sink.

Pathetic.

Which is why you tried so hard to snap yourself out of it.  Though you told yourself a week ago that you could admire from afar, even that was starting to not feel like enough which is why it needed to stop.  Eddie Munson had finally apologized to you but that didn’t mean throw caution to the wind.  You don’t just suddenly trust someone that for years only gave you reasons to steer far from them.  The key phrase was that he finally apologized.  Meaning he took far too long.  Fucked up too long ago and prolonged inexcusable behavior so far into the future that it was beyond repairing.  He didn’t deserve your sympathy or your persisting gaze.  Sorry meant nothing in the face of years of destruction.

Keep telling yourself that.

Because all you did was remain fixated on those stupid bats decorating his forearm for as long as rinsing out the blender would allow.  You had no idea how big of a breath you were holding in as you stood there next to him until you pulled away, snagging a rag from beneath the coffee bar to dry the container.  Lungs suddenly exhausted, you attempted to regain a semblance of your composure.

Every conversation since that one night had gone the same.  A few words exchanged pertaining to work only, some on his behalf coming off as silly banter only for you to keep your focus on any task you could grasp nearby, acting as if he bored you.  It killed him but he respected it.  That didn’t mean he’d stop trying to make nice.  If the only positive response he received from you all week was an accidental crack in your smile he would take it.  It’d be gone quicker than it came but he cherished it all the same.  In the last few weeks he came to terms with the fact that he could be on his best behavior but that didn’t mean you had to accept it which in turn meant that he would have to accept that.

So your muffled answers of ‘mhm’ and ‘yeah’ to everything he said felt like the end of the world to him but if it meant peace for you then he’d endure it.  The way you’d avoid his eyes made him miss you.  You were an arms length away but he missed you.  And no, it didn’t mean he necessarily missed prodding at you because you both had this sick game of who could throw the worst insult for years, it meant that he missed your attention, whether it be in spiteful phrases or aggressive stares.  He’d take what he could get and now, he was getting nothing.  He was starved, absolutely deficient of your gaze even if it did hold such a hateful fire for him.  Eddie supposes avoidance feels even worse than face to face conflict that was never even meant to be.  And it’s only because the way you shut down made him feel non-existent in your world.  At least before he had a place.

—

1 Week Later

Before every night shift at The Under-Ground was a grueling eight hours at the auto shop.  Hours that Eddie would spend mentally ripping himself to shreds even more so than before your more recent communication with him.  Although he hated himself for even thinking about it, he’d sometimes wager the idea of picking a small fight with you just to earn a fraction of your recognition, even if in a negative light.  Then he’d quickly acknowledge that doing so would only provide further evidence that he was never worthy of a moment of your time in the first place.  And he still fully believed that.  But he was eager to someday become the guy that was.

So when Steve Harrington strolled into the shop, twirling his keys around his finger, Eddie’s grip on his wrench tightened as he pushed himself further under the Chevy he’d been working on.  He’d never forgive Steve for all that happened, he’d take responsibility for his side of things but Steve inflicted a kind of pain on you that he could read in your eyes every time he saw you.  Though you hadn’t said much about Steve to him directly, the way you fixated on him and Eddie being ‘together’ dulled a certain light within you.  How could Steve let it happen if he knew the outcome?  The same could be asked of himself but he was concentrating on Steve right now.  The best friend.  The last person in the world you’d think to hurt you.

“Hey, Munson.”

At his feet stood the man in question.  The one that he’d swear to never associate with again.  Ignoring him wasn’t going to accomplish anything however he tried regardless.

“Munson.”

Figures.

“Get outta here, Harrington.”  Eddie remained monotone, uninterested in any persistence Steve was forcing upon him.

“Please, I need-“

“Need what?  Need me to get you off again?�� Get out.”  It was said between clenched teeth, patience no longer a virtue.  There was rage bubbling under the surface and if he wasn’t careful, it would boil over and create an even bigger mess.  His conscience silenced his true inner monologue though that didn’t completely shut down his capabilities of biting back.  It was just much more stifled.

“No—what?  No, of course not.”  Steve’s nerves were fried and Eddie could tell just by the shake in his voice.  Fluorescent lights did him no favors, his usually radiant glow now dull in the stuffy garage.

“Then what, what are you doing in my bay?”  A seething Eddie slides out from underneath the sedan, sitting up to glare at the king himself.  “‘Cause I don’t have time for—whatever this is.”  He gestures between himself and Steve, fingers covered in grease.

“Just—I—have you, have you talked to her?”  Distraught.  Steve has the audacity to come off as distraught.  Eddie’s deep breath only furrows Steve’s brows, the vein in his neck straining as he focuses on the nearly irate mechanic before him.  

“Listen.”  Eddie’s coveralls are further tarnished with the oily substance from his hands as he wipes them on the rough navy material, frustration evident in the way his eyes squeeze shut for a mere second.  “You two seem to think communicating through me is going to fix this whole thing but it’s not.”  If he could run a hand down his face out of habit he would.  Instead he offers another sigh, a disappointed one.  “You need to talk to each other.  You keep using the enemy as a pawn and it's just gonna blow up in your face.”

“Munson, you’re not the enemy–”

Steve attempts to make nice, tries to let Eddie know that he’s not what he claimed him to be all those times.  Truth be told, Steve was always jealous.  

“Don’t try pitying me, dude.”  

It’s silent aside from the clanging of some tools a few bays down, the two staring at each other, one displaying an expression of warning while the other creases his forehead in some form of a plea.  An unsaid call for help.

“I’m not, I’m not!  I think we’ve both fucked up.  Bad.”  Way to go, Steve.  That’ll really help your case.  “Only difference is you fucked up in high school, we were all still kids.”  His words are lost on Eddie, he can tell by the way he reaches back to release his unruly curls from the confines of a bun, his head shaking around like a shaggy dog.  “I fucked up now so there’s no–no excuse of ‘we were so young!  I was dumb!’”

His excuse was that he’s selfish.  That was really all there was to it, no bigger picture, no hidden meaning that might bring justice to his name.  Steve was a horny guy and he in all honesty hadn’t considered the consequences of his actions.  Not even after Robin just about tore him a new one after she found out about the first time.  It’s like he’d forgotten all about the absolute heartbreak you went through, the fact that Eddie harbored a sore spot in your barely beating heart was miles away from his thought process.  King Steve must not have been buried that deep beneath his surface after all, not long forgotten back in junior year like he’d thought.  He was right here all along with the knife in his hand, unintentionally but still brutally stabbing you in the back.  And in the aftermath he was forced to bathe in the product of his egocentric ways.  No amount of self help books could remedy what seemed to be another broken heart, but even worse, platonically.  

This wasn’t like when he and Nancy called it quits back in senior year.  This was in a way, more gut wrenching and possibly pulled more tears from him than Nancy’s cutting but truthful words ever could.  And that’s saying something.  He shed a lot of tears that dreadful night but he’d go as far to say that he shed more the night you caught him hopping out of Eddie’s van.  Repercussions slammed his very existence and all he could do was blame himself because you had done nothing wrong and yet he went and severed the very friendship of someone who stuck by him through every questionable thing he had done.

And it was all over someone he never had any feelings for in the first place.  And over someone you did.  At least at some point.  

“Steve, I don’t have an excuse and you know it.”  Eddie was aware that he sounded borderline pathetic but what else did he have to hide?  His gaze lowered to his filthy boot, eyes as tired as his brain was before exhaling in defeat.  “I still keep fucking up whether I mean it or not.”  His pupils seemed to dilate in mourning, of what exactly, Steve couldn’t pinpoint.  Then Eddie shook his head, resentment etched into his features as he ran his tongue behind his teeth before clicking it in displeasure.  “Why are you even searching for an excuse?  What we both did was shitty.  But for you it might be even worse because while I was the ‘bad guy’ the whole time, you were still her best friend.”

Steve was well aware.  He craved the bliss that came with being ignorant but that was no longer something he could allow himself to do.

“Yeah.”  He breathes out, earnest eyes dropping to the scuffed floor below him.

“Yeah?  That’s it?  You need to like, go beg for mercy or some shit.”  

Receiving advice from Eddie Munson was the last thing Steve ever thought he’d be doing and yet here he was.  Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson was schooling him and suddenly everything felt so backwards.  But maybe that’s how it needed to be in order for things to go back to how they were.  For you to at least talk to him, if not to beg for your mercy then to apologize profusely before leaving his fate in your hands.

“I know, man.”  A pitiful sigh escaped his lungs, too pitiful for Eddie’s liking.

The smell of fumes throughout the shop lingered in Steve’s nostrils which left him with a tinge of discomfort but nothing could prepare him for the way Eddie almost instantly stood to tower over him despite being around the same height.  It was his demeanor that made him feel inferior.  Dark eyes, deepening even more so from aggravation, lips contorted into a condemning scowl, fists clenched at his side, knuckles white.

“I don’t think you do, ‘cause why are you coming to me?”  Flared nostrils declared a new vendetta against Steve.  

“I-I…”

“Man up, Steve.  Say whatever you’re trying to say to me, to her.  I’m not the one who needs an apology.”  It was fair enough.  Steve wasn’t sure why he walked into that garage just minutes ago.  Maybe it was because despite what everyone says, Eddie was fairly level headed.  Maybe it’s because Steve needed someone stubborn to mentally beat some sense into him and Eddie was the only one he could think of to do it with no remorse.

With a noticeable gulp, Steve felt his eyes sting but didn’t dare let any tears surface.  He was not throwing a pity party.  “I don’t know how.  She won’t even talk to me–I–every time I try–”  

“That’s not my problem is it?  ‘M just your boy toy, remember?”  

Ouch.  

Among the turmoil Steve had created, he failed to understand that Eddie could be just as affected.  And what Eddie wouldn’t willingly reveal was that he was genuinely hurt.  Because you were hurt.  And because Steve seemed like the most oblivious idiot on the planet.  Sure he had his words with you and he wasn’t proud of most of them but that was another beast.  He had always been the opposing force, Steve was your right hand man the entire time.  In all honesty, Eddie couldn’t care less about Steve using him for pleasure, he cared that he did it at your expense whether he bothered to know that or not the few times they met up.  He knew he was just some guy so what was there to lose but Steve?  Steve had a lot to lose.

“Eddie, you wanted it too.”  Steve’s head shook in contemplation, longing for the right words but always finding the wrong ones.

“Yeah, well not anymore.”

Eddie’s harsh front faltered, exhausted as his shoulders slumped.  Steve ran a nervous hand through his stupid big hair and for some reason it put Eddie on edge.

“Obviously.”  Steve exhales, nodding before his eyes give away that he was lost in thought.  

“So why are you here?”

A valid question.  A question that Steve was finding he didn’t want to answer.  But he had to.

“Because–because I feel like I, I owe you an apology.”  He babbled at first, humiliating himself further before finding his footing and grasping the words that he knew would ground him.  Even if he didn’t like it, he knew this was the start of putting the pieces back together.

“Again, you’re talking to the wrong person–”  Eddie appeared worn out, head tilted back and gaze fixed to the ceiling as he let out a self soothing breath before being interrupted.

“I’m sorry for trash talking you for as long as we’ve known each other and then using you.”  He never thought he’d hear such words from Steve Harrington.  Which made it all that much more awkward to respond to.

“Thanks?”

Eddie expects that to be the end of it, waits for Steve to press his lips into a straight line in the silence and then stride out the large bay door without another word but he doesn’t.  And he kind of wants to kick his ass as more words begin to pour from his mouth. 

“I know…I know she should be the first person I apologize to, and, and I’ve tried to but she’s not my biggest fan right now.”  Boo hoo.  That’s the only response Eddie can conjure up so he keeps his mouth shut.  “And I guess, I feel like I can’t until I fix this first because Eddie…”  Steve sucks in such a large breath that Eddie feels like he may have been on the verge of passing out.  But he also senses it’s because all of this is very difficult for Steve to say aloud.  Within the same breath, Steve releases the rest of the words he was clutching so tightly to in his chest.  “She was so head over heels for you back then and I fucking spit on your name no matter how much she talked you up.  And I know you ruined things on your own but I went and fucked things up on my own and I don’t know how I could’ve done it so easily knowing, knowing how much she liked you and then how much she was hurt by you.  And then I went and did what I did, it just–it doesn’t make sense, I know.”

It’s quiet again.  Neither man speaking, only looking at each other in anticipation.  And after several moments of distant metal clanging against metal a few bays over, Eddie finally clears his throat.

“Harrington,”  He starts, eyes flashing with the most intimidating fire you’d ever see.   “You’re throwing the biggest pity party I’ve ever seen and if this is how you plan to apologize to her you should just give up now.”

The sentiment was cruel but beneath it was a plea of ‘get your shit together, please’.  And god, he hopes Steve picks up on it.  

“Yeah…yeah.”  Steve’s eyes were glazed over, the thinnest sheen of tears coating them before he blinked them back, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

Eddie guesses Wayne is rubbing off on him because his next words come off more wise than cruel.  An unexpected empathy resonated within him though he doesn’t fully believe it’s well deserved.

“What you need to do is just admit you messed up.  No excuses.  If she really matters to you, you don’t need to sit here and apologize to me and get all up in your feelings.  You need to talk to her and if she doesn’t wanna listen…”  He sighs, a sort of calm overtaking him.  “Well, respect it.”

Steve seemed to ponder, the advice overwhelming him but still penetrating through his thick skull.

–

Steve👸: Hey

Steve👸: Can we talk?

Sox🧦 : No

Steve👸 : Five minutes.  And then you’ll never have to hear from me again.  Promise.

“Who are you texting?”  Will leaned over to view your phone screen, ever the nosy boy.  Quickly clicking the off button, you refrain from sharing any messy details of what happened between you and Steve.  Sure he’d seen the initial smack down in the parking lot which you regret but he didn’t need to know anything more.  Hell, he didn’t even know that Robin was out of your circle.

“No one, I was just checking something for one of my assignments.”

“Liar.”  What you always forgot was how much of a bloodhound he was.  Could sniff out anything that smells slightly off.  It always caught you off guard although it only made you look like a fool since he did it time and time again.  Throwing a surprise party for his sixteenth birthday was impossible with the way he was such a detective.

“Nuh uh!”  You defended, placing your phone face down on the flour coated counter of the Byers kitchen, an egg taking its place in your hand as you cracked it against the off-white ceramic bowl.  

“Yuh huh!  Give me that–”

“Knock it off!”  Waving Will off, you threaten in a simple gesture to let the slimy egg white and yolk ruin his newest Hellfire shirt, a special edition design created just by him.  It was quite impressive actually, dragons symmetric on the front, breathing fire onto the logo overlaid with a skull and crossbones.

With a scoff, Will surrenders with his hands thrown up and eyes wide, amusement prominent across his face.  “It’s Steve, I already saw it.  So what are you trying to hide from me this time?”

“What–I’m not trying to hide anything.”  You were just further certifying yourself as a liar, but you felt this one time it was for good reason.

“Then why can’t I see it?”

An intense stare burned into the side of your face as you attempted to resume your unfinished baking, barely even started but the kitchen showcased several dirty bowls, some housed in the sink piled high in soapy water while others were scattered across the laminate.  Brownie batter, cookie dough, cake mix, the works.  It would appear as if you were preparing for a bake sale if anyone were to walk in.  But was just a Friday night turned into a full fledged baking frenzy on a whim.  Which was much needed after a particularly stressful shift at The Under-Ground, it had been busier than most days, mostly because fall activities began to ensue.  Hawkins’ famous hayride had started up for the season and dropped off several families in the square who only trickled into the shop for hot drinks and buttery yet sweet pastries.  Screaming children were not something you were anticipating hearing all night but it made you appreciate the calm of closing up after, only the sounds of you dropping change into the register mixed with Eddie humming under his breath as he swept up graced your tired ears.

“Just leave it alone.  Please?”  An eggshell is tossed into the makeshift scraps bowl you’d set aside nearby, a bit too aggressively for comfort.  A telltale sign that Will should not leave it alone.

“I’m not a baby.  You don’t need to protect me from all the ugly shit that happens.”  He was seventeen, still a baby to you.  But the irritation was apparent in the way that he grabbed the bowl of brownie batter from the counter, glaring at it like it owed him money, however you knew the glare was meant for you.  “I wanna be there for you like you’re there for me.”

Fuck.  That just about ripped your heart in two.  He was such a sweet kid, always wanting to do right by those he cared about.  You bounced the idea back and forth, should you enlighten him or continue shielding him?  Your decision was made for you when the words tumbled from your lips, your subconscious declaring that Will could forever be the baby of the group but he was growing up regardless and you couldn’t hold him to that standard for eternity.  He would eventually have to face uncomfortable situations and hiding them from him completely might do more harm than good, he deserved to be in the know and to feel like an equal rather than some naive child.

“Okay.  Um–yeah, it’s uh, it’s Steve…”

“And…?”

“He just wants to talk.”

Your wooden spoon scraped against the bowl, combining the dry and wet ingredients together, your concentration never leaving the forming batter.  Red velvet.  Will set down the brownie batter he had been inspecting, reaching for a glass dish and proceeding to butter it up generously, the oven already preheated behind him. 

“You haven’t talked to him since…”  He cocks a curious brow at you, momentarily looking up at you from his current task.

“No.  No, I don’t even wanna see him.”  Your admission is quiet, almost ashamed.  “But, um, let’s just, let’s just finish this up.”  The attempt to change the subject fails, the boy dropping his head down to catch your averted eyes.

“Do you want to talk to him?”

“No.”  You tread carefully, ever so cautious of the fact that Will had the ability to catch the slightest hesitation in your tone.

“Really?  Cause I smell bullshit.”  Such a damn bloodhound.

“Why would I want to talk to him?  Didn’t you see what happened?”  Though it was a fair point, you knew you were being avoidant and that it wouldn’t necessarily help anything, only prolong the pain and the awkwardness that would come with finally speaking to him.  It had been weeks which would already create a nasty film between the two of you, something grimy and difficult to just scrub away.

Will offers a sympathetic sigh, and unspoken ‘I know you’re hurting but isolating yourself is only going to hurt more’ and you’re fully aware that he knows that feeling all too well.  “I did see and it was really bad.  But you’re not even gonna hear what he has to say about it?”  His gentle approach was appreciated though it was just the way you talked to each other about these things.  No judgment, only the right questions.

“Will, you have no idea of some of the other things that happened years ago that make this so much worse than it already is.”  You’d regret how whiny you sounded except he’d seen you at your most vulnerable before so it was nothing he hadn’t experienced before.

“Okay, then what do I not know?”  The gooey chocolate batter is poured into the glass dish he had prepared, resembling how your feelings were about to ooze right out of your very being.

“I’m not getting into all that now.”

“No, you don’t get to do that!”  He doesn’t sound unkind but not the friendliest either, slamming the now empty bowl on the counter.  You had it coming, you suppose.  “You’re visibly stressed out, even worse lately, I’m one of the only ones that notices and I’m not even allowed to know the full story?”

“Will.”

There’s no saying no to his expression, blue eyes blinking at you and brows raised in anticipation.  There’s no trace of judgment, just curiosity and worry.  And just as you’re about to dive in head first and reveal all that you tried to withhold, the ring of the doorbell shuts you up just as fast.

The digital numbers on the stove read 10:46 PM, an ungodly hour for anyone to be ringing someone’s doorbell which is why you and Will share the same puzzled look, eyes shifting from each other toward the front door just off the kitchen.  Will doesn’t necessarily live in the most populated area so there’s reason to be concerned over a visitor at such late hours.

“You get it.”  Will rushes out.  “Nose goes!”  A speedy finger touches the tip of his nose, your cheeks flushing in irritation as the doorbell chimes once more.  “Go!”  He whisper yells, gently pushing you toward the door.  A scowl remains on your face as you take your time.  Will would do anything for you.  Except sacrifice himself to the serial killer knocking at his own front door apparently.  You’d never cursed a door so harshly for not having a peephole.

Deep down, you knew it’d more than likely be someone like Jonathan.  It was the logical explanation, he’d lost his key and since he didn’t live here anymore, now residing in an apartment closer to downtown with Nancy, he didn’t have the urgency to replace it.  But Jonathan would usually be pounding on the door, announcing that it was him.  Could it be Joyce?  Doubtful.  She always knew where everything was and keys were the most important out of everything you’d come to learn after she scolded Jonathan for not replacing his old key to the house just in case of an emergency.  Maybe it was Lucas?  He never screamed or announced his presence when showing up.  Couldn’t be Dustin or Mike, they were too rowdy and would never wait this long before jiggling the handle and yelling that they knew Will was home and to ‘answer the damn door’.  It could be El?  But never Max.  Max had a distinct knock, firm and heavy, no bullshit, never rang the doorbell.  The build up was only making you more anxious by the second as you’d reached for the doorknob.  You’d probably be the first one dead in a horror movie, you had no idea why you let Will force you to answer his door.  Regardless, you ever so slightly twisted the knob and the door creaked open, only a sliver of the outside visible as you tried your best to peek around the crack.  And before you could even begin to make out any figure awaiting entry on the porch, a large hand splayed across the wood and pushed it effortlessly, sending you stumbling back as the wind knocked out of you.

“Okay, Byers.  Where’s my dice?  And my game controller?”  

Eddie.

He’d side stepped through the door, forcing his way in obviously only expecting Will but still not realizing you stood before him as he glanced around the house.  

“C’mon you knew I’d be stopping by after work, little Byers.  I’ve been looking for that controller for fucking weeks–”

You could pinpoint the moment realization hit him that he was mouthing off to you and not Will.  His eyes seemed to almost soften.  Pupils dilating so suddenly.  And then he was speechless, mouth opening and closing but words never spilling out.  Then it hit you that you probably looked ridiculous in the Mickey Mouse apron you had been strutting around in, various types of batter smeared on your cheeks and chin, maybe some on your nose too but you couldn’t remember.  And god, you were wearing your fuzzy pajama pants littered with pumpkins and bats finished off with some fuzzy socks that were striped like candy corn.

Eddie had never wanted to fall to his knees for someone so badly in his life.

He’d never seen you like this before.

Tacky.

In the most adorable way.

“I–um, I was looking for–”

“Will?”  You finish for him, desperately trying to pull our eyes away from him but finding it impossible.  And then you realized what he was wearing which only spurred on your need to drink him in.  A black Metallica shirt cropped just above his happy trail, sleeves cut off to display his tattooed arms and black sweats that hung just right on his hips complete with a pair of black converse on his feet.  For a second you wondered how he wasn’t shivering.  You could only hope that he wouldn’t notice your drooling,  praying that the dim lighting would cast enough shadows over your face that any fondness you were displaying would be hidden.

“Y-yeah.”  He swallows, fingers tangling in a few of his curls before resting back at his side, keys dangling in his other hand.

“Kitchen.”  You mumble, pointing.

He nods, the silence taunting you both as you trail behind him into the kitchen.  Will is already staring wide eyed as you enter, looking between you with something amusing behind his expression.  And in that moment the awkwardness melts off of Eddie, his usual cocky self returning.

“Dice?  Controller?  Man, I told you I was gonna come by–”

“I forgot but I have both–”

“Oh, you forgot?”  A mischievous grin overtakes Eddie’s face, Will playing along with it as they both brace their palms flat against the kitchen island, staring at each other instantly but with playful intention.

“Ed, don’t do this.”  Will warns, unable to maintain a serious face, corners of his lips pulling despite his best efforts.

“Oh, I have to.”

Eddie fakes him out, body about to move to the right but instead quickly changing to the left to which Will screeches in mock fear, rushing to the other end of the kitchen.  Any time Will goes to make a move, Eddie is seconds quicker than him.  When Will tries to make his big escape he’s instantly caught in a chokehold, the metalhead’s arm secured around him as he ruffles his hair with a fist, the classic noogie.  Will’s laughter is contagious, a few ‘stops’ littered throughout and you can’t help but join and giggle as you watch the scene play out before you.

“Dice?”  Eddie halts his movements to ask, side eyeing the boy.

“On the desk–in–in my room.”  He answers out of breath, clutching onto Eddie’s forearm.

Eddie continues his torture on Will, rough housing a little more before stopping once again.

“Controller?”

“Coffee table!  Are we done?!”

“Nope.”  A full on wrestling match takes place in the small confines of the kitchen, both boys stumbling around and bumping into cabinets.

It was weird.  You knew Eddie and Will were pretty close but you’d never seen them like this and maybe it's because you refused to linger in a room long enough if Eddie was there.  Now you didn’t really have the urge to leave.  All you could do was watch.  Eddie’s dramatics flared as he cackled in Will’s face, Will telling him to ‘shut the fuck up’ between gasps for air.

“Tap out.”  Eddie demands.

“No!”

“Tap.  Out.”

At some point you hadn’t even paid attention to the way Will hesitated in surrendering, you were too caught up in the way Eddie’s already cropped shirt rode up in the position he was in, his waist looking all too enticing, lower back on full display however you refrained from trailing your eyes up his spine.

Stop it.

“Okay, I tap out!”  Will smacks his hand against Eddie’s forearm that was secured around him, instantly granted relief after saying the magic words.

“Eddie The Banished reigns supreme.”  He pumps his fist in the air in triumph, face scrunched in victory.

You roll your eyes but in all honesty, it’s not out of pure annoyance just this once.  It feels more like when a friend does something stupid and all you can feel is warmth flush through your body and your initial reaction comes naturally.  Effortlessly.

“Okay, now get your precious things and go.”  Will points at the door, sass overtaking every movement, the playful energy still buzzing between them.

A pang in your heart says don’t go.  But you remain quiet as a mouse in the corner between the sink and the microwave.  You don’t mean that.  You try to bargain with yourself.  Seeing him in this light does not excuse his past no matter how much of an ache you feel in your chest.  The good kind.  

“Okay, okay.”  Eddie sighs, catching his breath, a grin still stretched across his face.  “Hey, what the fuck happened here?”  He stops in his tracks, gesturing to the atrocity that has become every surface of the kitchen.  Batter and dough of all kinds smeared along the countertops, eggshells discarded along with balled up foil on Will’s side of the mess, and of course the towering bowls just about ready to tumble out of the sink, filled with suds, wooden spoons and whisks.  And of course the bag of chocolate chips that had spilled, sprinkled across the surface, some even dismissed on the floor, there was even some kind of dough caked onto the handle of the fridge.

“We’re having a bake sale.”  You break your prolonged silence from the corner, mouth upturned in almost a smirk but not quite, it’s more like you’re holding in a laugh.  At the sound of your voice, Eddie’s head snaps in your direction, molten chocolate eyes landing on you in such a way that has your breath hitching.

“A bake sale?”  He questions, doubt written across his handsome features, his tone hinting at the fact that he knows you’re bullshitting him.

“Mhm.”

“Aren’t you like–aren’t you bad at baking?”  

How does he know that?  

Will’s eyes widen and he sucks in the most subtle breath.  That’s how.

“Can’t I be bad at something but also still try?”  You argue.

“I dunno, can you?”  It’s almost mean, almost.  But it doesn’t feel the same as when he’s usually ridiculing you.  The dimple peeking out at you provides evidence of an opposite intention.  He’s teasing but not to be a dick, unless you were reading him wrong.  And there was very little chance that you were since the past few weeks at work, he had almost left you alone all together save for a few questions here and there and maybe a few bad jokes.  But other than that he was solely a coworker who you held no personal ties to.

“Well that’s how you learn.  You keep trying until you get it.  So far nothing has burned and the batter tastes good–try it.”  You don’t know what you’re trying to prove but your body had already been on autopilot, it’s sole mission to keep him from leaving.  A wooden spoon coated in red velvet cake batter is offered to him, you twirling it to keep it from dripping everywhere.  Eddie glances from you to the spoon a few times rather quickly, almost as if he’s waiting for you to psych him out and tell him to go to hell.  In a way he wishes you would just so he knows he isn’t dreaming.  He makes his way around the island, standing next to you, not too close but just close enough that he can steal the spoon from you, his tongue licking up the back of it.  The sight is strangely erotic.

“Not bad.”  He hums, continuing until the spoon is halfway clean.  You want to mention that he’ll risk getting sick from eating too much, raw eggs aren’t exactly ideal to eat even if disguised as a delicious batter, but that would show that you care.  Which you don’t.

“What am I missing?”  Will addresses the elephant in the room, containing a smile that might be too big for his face if he were to let it take over.

“What?”  You ask, head tilted in a way that has Eddie’s eyes lingering for a moment before turning his head and copying your actions, tongue still committed to the spoon, licking up every ounce of sweetness.

“Are we–did we–end up in a parallel universe?  Why aren’t you threatening to kick his ass?”  He points an accusatory finger at you.  “And why aren’t you making snarky comments?”  He points to Eddie who is still too busy licking any remnants of the mixture.

All you can offer is a casual shrug before snatching the utensil right from Eddie’s hand, tossing it into the overflowing sink.  “I’ll kick your ass if you were even going to think about double dipping that spoon in my bowl.”  You warn, a touch mean.  “There, are you happy?”  You look to Will for approval, skepticism still painted all over his face, his arms crossed in uncertainty.

“I wasn’t done.”  Eddie frowns, ignoring your threat to instead dip a daring finger into the bowl of artificial red.

“Hey!”  Both you and Will begin to reprimand him.

“Just one more–”  He doesn’t finish his thought as you grab the bowl, holding it behind your back.

“Say I’m good at baking.  Both of you.”

Eddie and Will look to each other in perplexity.  Will can’t comprehend the sudden playfulness you have for both him and Eddie.  Usually this would end up in an argument, one saying something a bit too offensive for the other’s taste and from there it would spiral.  Instead neither party is engaged in conflict but rather play and it’s not unwelcome, just…weird.

“Excuse you?”  Eddie takes the bait.

“The two of you seem to talk trash about my baking skills behind my back but I didn’t see you complaining two seconds ago while you salivated all over the spoon.”

You only receive a scoff in response, Eddie crossing his arms as if to appear more intimidating.  He only looks more like a misunderstood teddy bear.

“Say it.”

“Anyone can make cake out of a box.”  He retaliates, Will releasing a small gasp as he hides his smile under his hand.

“Oh, okay.  I’d love to see you out of all people bake a cake.”  You challenge him.

“This is more like it.”  Will mumbles, though he knows this is not at all the usual bickering that happens between you.

“Oh, you want me to out-Betty Crocker you?”  Eddie threatens.

“You can try.”  You shrug, setting your bowl back onto the counter.

“No, no.  I will.”

“Guys it’s literally cake from a box.”  Will intervenes.

And so started the greatest bake off the Byers’ kitchen has ever seen.  

–

“Okay, wait.  I have a grievance with this competition.”  Eddie speaks up, abandoning an uncracked egg on the countertop only for it to roll off and crack at his feet.  “Damn.”

“What’s the matter now?”  Will asks in mock annoyance.  Every other minute Eddie had a near microscopic complaint but it only entertained you.  Curses at wrong measurements, that his bowl wasn’t as pretty as the others, or that he wanted the whisk Will was using.

“Why don’t I get matching pants?”

You glance down at your Halloween themed pajama pants and then to Will’s.  They were a steal at Target and you couldn’t resist, knowing Will would love them as much as you did.  That, and every year you bought a matching pair for both fall and christmas.  You can’t help but feel a huge smile pull at your lips, the sight of Eddie pouting with his hands on his hips is all too endearing.

“For one, you weren’t even invited to this sleepover.”  You sass, pouring your newly mixed chocolate cake batter into its pan.  “And two, this is our thing.”  You gesture between you and Will standing a few feet next to you, Eddie directly across the island sporting an even bigger frown.

“Yeah, you kinda crashed our party.”  Will adds, snickering with you.

“Wow.  I’m gonna pretend you didn’t say that and instead you pledged your undying loyalty to me.”  Always a drama queen.  “Whoa–wait, wait!  How are you already done I haven’t even–”  He quickly realizes you’re already setting your masterpiece in the oven while his bowl still contains both dry and wet ingredients, unmixed.

“Guess we can already tell who’s gonna ‘out-Betty Crocker’ who.”  You smirk.

“Oh, hell no.”  He mutters under his breath, suddenly focused on mixing.

While Eddie just about buries his head in the bowl, Will graces you with a look.  A knowing look.  You claim innocence with a lift of your brow but you both know.  You’re just too ignorant right now to acknowledge it.

–

Seeing Eddie Munson dancing and screaming to Cruel Summer by Taylor Swift was something you could never even fathom and yet here he was.  Unapologetically singing every word and putting on one giant show with Will, singing into random kitchen utensils while the speaker blared the song.  He knew every word.  You didn’t dare interrupt the choreography they had come up with on the spot, watching from your comfortable perch on the stool at the counter.  

Will sounded like a dying animal and it occasionally had you reaching up to cover your ears but your smile never faltered.  And Eddie was unstoppable.  He didn’t sound that bad though he was shouting along with Will at the top of his lungs so you figure if he actually tried he would sound angelic.  Once the song reaches the bridge you can’t help but drown in your own laughter, both of them strutting in between where the living room meets the kitchen as if it were their own personal runway.

Your eyes open, nearly crying only to find Eddie just feet away extending his ‘microphone’ to you with a raised brow and a cocky grin.  Your immediate reaction is to shake your head, your nerves instantly on edge at the mere idea of holding any kind of attention.

“C’mon, you’re gonna miss the bridge again!”  Eddie waves you over in a rush.  You don’t budge, a flash of worry washing over you and it seems that it was written all over your face.  “C’mon Roadkill, don’t make us finish off without ya.”  He half jokes, Will still screeching like a banshee behind him.  “Do it for little Byers.”  He cocks his head toward the boy, pleading eyes begging you to change your mind.

Slowly, you emerge from your comfy perch, snatching up your own ‘microphone’ with a bashful gleam in your eyes.  Just in time for the bridge again, you strut toward Will who excitedly starts jumping and nodding at your participation. 

“I don't wanna keep secrets just to keep you!”  You yell in each other’s faces, wheezing as you continue dancing–if you could even call it dancing.  Your confidence skyrocketed.  Turning toward Eddie, you sing to each other the last line of the bridge.

“And I screamed for whatever it’s worth, I love you ain’t that the worst thing you ever heard!”

Chests heaving and mouths hung open, his eyes swallow you whole, dark honey slowly pulling you under.  Your first instinct is that you should run but he feels too much like home to ever willingly leave.  If it’s so wrong, why does it feel so right to stare into pools of deep amber?

~end~

Author's Note: okay if you're reading this TY SO MUCH. The scene where reader is kinda admiring eddie at work, i had 1 step forward 3 steps back by olivia rodrigo playing along with it for me and rather than something super sad, it's kind of the opposite in this case as theyre coming out of their angsty era so if you just listen to that and imagine her admiring him with a little content smile on his face as he works it makes me want to SCREAM lmk if it does the same for you ok BYE <3

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tags - @mmunson86 @haylaansmi @batkin028 @obscureenigmatic @micheledawn1975 @dreamerjj @hideoutside @hellfirefiend @emilyslutface @rustboxstarr @3rd-conchord @eddiessteady @lightcommastix @kittydeadbones @shadows-echoes @str4ngerthingsslut @winchester-angel @elegantkoalapaper

[windandwater]

so recently I've been wanting to paint the moulding in my bathroom navy blue, because 1) I thought it would look cool, and 2) I want to paint other rooms too but wanted to start small and my bathroom is extremely small so it would be a quick job. and I've kind of been planning on this for a couple months now but not getting around to buying the paint, until recently when my super came by to fix the giant hole over my bathtub (don't worry about it) and he painted the whole bathroom while he was at it.

which was really nice of him but he didn't do like. the best job. paint everywhere. and it's popcorn walls so it's not easy but he also used zero blue tape and got it on all kinds of stuff it wasn't supposed to be on and like. my guy.

so anyway a few days after this I woke up on a Saturday with a burning need to do something with my life, which is unusual because I've been in a depression hole (let's all speculate here about what could possibly be the reasons, plural). but the more I thought about going out the more I was like, augh, the ankle pain is just not worth doing any of these things. cost-benefit. sometimes it is. sometimes it's not.

so I bought paint instead

and

y'all

this is the most fun I've had in months

maybe over a year

I have been ripping apart my bathroom walls I have been peeling up paint I have been restoring the doorknob plates that were covered in paint but are actually kind of a pretty color once you get all the dark brown rust off of them. I have been repairing and covering up the sins of landlords past. I have been fighting with popcorn walls and winning.

I pulled the resin craft kit I bought months and months ago but never used off my shelf and did it last night around 10 pm because I realized it would look nice in there once I'm done. I'm going to put art in there, a risky business with all the leaking that happens in there (upstairs neighbors be like), but I'm going to find a way to waterproof everything or risk it.

the entire bathroom is in chaos and it's too small to be upended like that for so long, my apartment floors & rugs are covered in paint that flaked off and dried spackle pieces, I keep refusing to change into painting clothes so all my clothes have paint on them, and I'm having the best fucking time of my life. I want to paint my kitchen. I want to paint my whole house. I want to attack everyone I see with a paintbrush. this is great. I'm awake and alive and it's not even that bad.

[fyodorsfavoriteanimewifu]

Your Secrets Are Deafening

(Kunikida x Dazai angst)

MAJOR TRIGGER WARNINGS: suicide, descriptions of violence.

🩹 Dazai POV 🩹

Death. 

The marching of time that lead us towards an inevitable death. It was speeding up for me, going faster than ever before. I had the date circled on the calendar in my kitchen, in crimson red marker. I stared at it, with a glass of amber whiskey in my glass. “Dazai! Are you even listening?!”, a voice boomed. 

I whipped my head around. Kunikida. It wouldn’t hurt to have one last drink with him before I finally committed what I sought most, right? “Ah, my apologies Kunikida”, I responded as Kunikida scowled at me. 

“Yeah, yeah, but can you at least try and be at least a bit interested in the conversation at hand?”, Kunikida scoffed. He was currently leaning against the kitchen countertop, slowly sipping his own glass of whiskey. Kunikida was always exceptionally precise with how much liquor he consumed. 

“I suppose I can”, I chuckled, before I strode over next to Kunikida, leaning against the countertop with him. “I’ll never understand how alcoholics drink stuff like this everyday”, Kunikida spoke to me, lifting up his glass of whiskey and gesturing to it, the oddly refined ice cube clinking against the glass of the drink. 

“It burns”, Kunikida added. My tongue darted out of my mouth, to wet my lips, an awfully bad habit I had, before I took another swig of the whiskey in my glass. “Eh, it’s extremely refined, that’s why”, I corrected Kunikida. Kunikida hummed in response, as he stared down at his drink. 

I knew that he scarcely drank, which made him a light-weight. “What’s that circled spot on your calendar, Dazai?”, Kunikida queried, gesturing to the big circle that I’d traced onto todays date in permanent red marker. I’d also ripped off the remaining months from my calendar, not like I’d need them anymore. 

“Ah, something important is happening tonight”, I said to Kunikida. I saw his expression contort into one of dubiety. “You’re being quite vague”, Kunikida commented, seeming worried. The ribbon around his neck that he wore like a tie was missing, it made him feel uncanny of sorts. 

“Is… everything okay, Dazai?”, Kunikida’s eyes were filled with crestfallen confusion, making my heart ache. I wished I didn’t have to hurt him like this, but I’m feeling selfish tonight, so why bother? 

“Yeah, I’m just kind of tired tonight”, I made up a cheap excuse, one that I knew wouldn’t hold. It was like putting a piece of scotch tape on a crack in a dam to fix it. “Bullshit…”, Kunikida whispered, before I felt his hand wrap around the rather sinuous curve of my waist. 

“Are you sure? You’ve been acting more weird lately”, Kunikida’s voice was strangely equanimous and calm, making me feel guilty. “Kunikida! I’m fine, gosh, you worry too much”, I let out a dry chuckle. To think, after tonight, I’d never see Kunikida again, it hurt much more than I expected. 

Kunikida let out a chasmic sigh. “I know…”, he deadpanned. “But you’re acting-“ “I said I’m fine…”, I interrupted Kunikida’s line of speech. He looked surprised. His green eyes were wide, full of a mixing pool of emotions. 

“Okay, I’ll knock it off”, Kunikida scoffed, before he raised his glass to his lips, taking a sharp sip. “Perhaps I should leave”, Kunikida suggested. I wanted to cry. I despised the fact that my own selfishness was hurting Kunikida. 

Kunikida set his glass of booze down on the counter, and was about to turn away, before my lithe and slender hand found perch on his broad shoulder. “Hang on a moment”, I gripped his shoulder, before I pulled him against me, so my chest was pushed up against his. 

“You forgot to kiss me goodbye”, I reminded Kunikida. Kunikida’s cheeks bloomed with color, a saccharine, rosy pink. “Fine…”, Kunikida huffed, before he slightly leaned down, as my lips met his. I tasted whiskey, the bitter taste made me lean into the kiss more. 

Just one more kiss…

Kunikida left that night, knowing that he’d probably have to come back in the morning, and awake Dazai from a drunken sleep. And he did just that. And what he found in Dazai’s home broke him. The 3rd blade of Dazai’s ceiling fan was bending, probably because it was trying to support the weight of a corpse. Drool dribbled down Dazai’s chin. And those eyes, once so full of life, harbored emptiness. Kunikida didn’t know what to think. Dazai’s face held apathy, and his corpse was swaying. A stool was on the ground next to his body, what he must’ve used to hang himself. Kunikida felt tears brim in his eyes, as he suppressed the urge to vomit. Kunikida felt an ache in his throat, a swelling pain. He heard someone screaming in the distance. It took him coughing up blood that the screaming voice he heard, was his own. 

A/N: this is another ao3 crosspost, because Im lazy. I don't really like this, but still. thanks for reading <3

[chocotonez]

skz + accidentally breaking s/o’s important item

a/n this is for @kimnari23 !! thanks so much for requesting, feel free to ask me to rewrite it if you don’t like it :) (reposted due to some formatting errors)

warnings/genre: more fluff than angst tbh, crying, somewhat of a crack fic but it’s just my humor sorry, swearing, small arguments/banter, g/n reader but mentions of reader owning makeup and jewelry, tell me if anything else should be tagged!

chan

-kinda sees his life flash before his eyes as soon as your favorite mug hit the tiled floor

-he doesn’t want to buy a replacement because that ruins the whole sentimental value and the reason you loved that mug so much, but he doesn’t want you to be upset, and-

-the door swung open and you found chan just blankly staring at the shattered mug, before looking up at you and quickly hugging you

-“I’m so so so sorry”

-profusely apologizing and asks what he can do to make it better, is super patient and lets you sulk as much as you want

-buys you a bunch of gifts to apologize but he always reminds you that he knows how much that mug meant to you

-he doesn’t want to see you upset especially towards him, so he does a ton to try and make up for it

lee know

-he ruined your favorite dress shirt by washing it with a bunch of other clothes

-your dress shirt was now tinted a weird brownish purple from another one of your clothing articles, and the second it came out of the wash he didn’t even realize it was that shirt you loved and folded it as usual, placing it in your dresser

-“minho!!” “what?” “my shirt!”

-immediately feels extremely bad, doesn’t know if he should lie and be like “omg how did that happen” or if he should fess up right now as you sigh and huff over your shirt being ruined

-he’ll tell you at some point but he’s very scared you’ll just never forgive him so he buys like 20 of the same shirt to make sure if he makes a mistake you’ll have a back up!!

-tries to lighten your sour mood as much as possible, not so you’ll stop being upset but just so you’ll stop being upset at him

-“I mean the color isn’t even that ugly, you always pull off anything anyways-“ “don’t even rn”

changbin

-he was just walking when he stepped on something and immediately let out a string of swearing before he saw that he stepped on one of your favorite bracelets, and it was now broken

-probably goes full mechanical engineer and tries to figure out how to fix it but it doesn’t work and he’s crying and you come home to him covered in glue and tape with a broken bracelet in his hands

-apologizing a ton and trying to explain that it wasn’t at all intentional, yada yada

-it’s almost comical how he was just as upset as you were over the broken bracelet, but once you get over the initial disappointment he gives you any space or support you need

-makes you a new bracelet using youtube and patience he didn’t know he had

-as long as you’re happy <333 he’s happy <333

-puts the broken bracelet up somewhere as a decoration, so you don’t have to throw it away and you can still technically use it-just as decoration

-“I mean it looks good with that vase, don’t you think? Kidding, you know I’m sorry!”

hyunjin

-probably makes this 😐 face when he sees that he knocked over his drink onto your favorite book

-the book was special because of how much love and annotating you poured into it, the lovingly marked pages and the amount of notes combated the text of the book itself, pressed flowers in the cover and little notes from friends, the book wasn’t even about the content, just the memories

-and now it was stained with coffee and melted ice

-yknow that one scene from the incredibles?? where the dad dries a book w a hair blower?? he tries that but starts a small fire and immediately goes to air drying

-“I’m so sorry, is there anything I can do to fix this?”, does his best to communicate a solution with you because he feels so guilty lmao

-really appreciates if you’re patient/understanding, but he also gets it if you get upset or have a bit of an outburst

-would probably transcribe all of your favorite notes, pages, save the pressed flowers and your favorite bookmark, he would do his best to preserve what was left of the soggy pages

-tbh this one isn’t too bad, so maybe u two reach a point where you fixed the book back to a satisfactory point! :)

han

-“shitshitshitshitshit” -his mind, realizing he’s practically chewed off a whole part of your lucky pen

-he asked to borrow one, and since you love ur boyfie sm you gave him your lucky pen so he could annotate lyrics or notes for a song he was producing, and then he got too lost in thought and then he started chewing on your pen as a habit and-

-very forward about it but also very scared you’ll hate him forever tbh, but he still jokes about it?? he’s strange like that tbh

-“uhm. well I personalized it for you??” “huh-yOU ATE MY PEN?”

-comforts you a ton and gives you lots of hugs and kisses to make up for it, even holds a little pseudo funeral for the pen so you can mourn

-honestly makes the whole ordeal a lot of fun, even though you were obviously upset

-took you stationary shopping as an apology gift and let you pick out any pretty pen you wanted, and promised he would just use those cheap ballpoint ones from now on

felix

-shocked pikachu face when he accidentally broke the charm off one of your earrings

-it wasn’t even fixable as the piece on the earring that held the charm broke off too, so even if he did piece it back together it would be uneven and clunky compared to the other one

-facetimes you immediately to explain what happened or tells you immediately so you don’t have to find out yourself, he feels it’s better for you to know straight up

-probably sulks away for a hot minute cuz he’s teary eyed but he doesn’t want you to comfort him, you need to cry too

-once you calm yourself down and reassure the both of you that it’s okay and that it’s just an earring, it’s not shattered or rusted, and it’s okay!

-lots of hugs, maybe he even helps you repurpose the earring into something else, putting the charm on the bracelet or smth like that

-probably ends up surprising you w another pair of earrings you’ve been eyeing

seungmin

-brb googling breakable items that hold sentimental value I’m running out of ideas

-anyways he accidentally dropped an eyeshadow palette you adored, a gift from a loved one and he watched all the pigment spill out

-you know those tik toks of ladies who fix makeup really well with all those fancy tools?? tries to do that but ends up messing it up further and is just like “well fuck”

-buys you another one in advance, he knows it’s not the same as the eyeshadow palette was important cuz of the sentimental value, but at least you’ll still have the colors

-“I’m really sorry about this, it wasn’t intentional, promise.”, probably the most nonchalant about this?? not that he doesn’t care, but I gave him a bit of a superficial item and he also just finds it as a problem with an easy solution

-but don’t get me wrong he definitely listens and hears you out if you’re seriously upset, gives you a lot of support even if he doesn’t really understand why you’re that upset

-but he’ll never ever make you feel bad for feeling <3

jeongin

-I’m totally running out of ideas for breakable things that would hold sentimental value so I’m just gonna say he accidentally threw away a photo you really loved

-it was you and your loved ones, taken at a restaurant on a polaroid camera celebrating your birthday, it was your fave pic ever and you carried it ever

-but you got a new wallet and left a lot of crumpled receipts and miscellaneous stuff out and he just wanted to help you clean :((

-and by unlucky coincidence you only discovered it was missing after trash day, and you were turning the apartment upside down to try and find your favorite Polaroid, only for jeongin to remember a polaroid in the pile of trash

-immediately panicking and questioning his entire life decisions

-“uhm…I think I threw it away I’m gonna be so fr w you babe”, and there’s literally nothing he can do about it so he’s honestly so devastated because he just hates seeing you upset

-I think he’s a bit pushy about it and wants to fix the problem as soon as possible, he obvs understands the emotional value but seeing ou sad breaks his heart

-for ur next birthday he makes sure to replicate the photo on a Polaroid camera for new memories tho :,)

-lots of cuddling and apologies, he’s probably just as upset as you in this situation and is hard on himself for missing something so important

-you both r comforted in knowing you can just make new memoriesmemories :)

-for your next birthday he replicates the photo for your new wallet tho :)

[reader6898]

Self care

Pairing: Tup x female reader

Summary: you and Tup have a self care day when he comes back from a mission

Warning: just cute fluff. Can be seen either as platonic or romantic

A/n: having a self care day with any of the clones would be amazing

You were puttering around in your room trying to clean up when your door slides open and Tup walks in. He lies down face first on your bed and you smiled as you folded up some clothes. "How was the mission? Successful I hope?" Tup mumbled something about the general and the mission going wrong as usual and you laughed a little. You walk over to Tup once your clothes are put away and lie down next to him in your small bed. Tup pulls you close and buries his face on your hair. How he's missed the scent of your fruity shampoo.

"Hey, I have an idea." You stand up and walk into your fresher to grab what you need. Once you find all the supplies you walk out and sit back down next to Tup. He looks over at what you have and looks at all of it with a curious look. "What is all of that stuff, mesh'la?" You throw your hair up in a ponytail and give him a smile. "You and I are going to have a self care day." Tup raises his eyebrows as he sits up. "What's a self care day?" You giggled as you moved behind the clone and fixed his bun. "You pretty much dedicate the day to yourself and can do anything you want. Go shopping, seeing a holo movie, eat at a restaurant, anything you want. In our case it's face masks, painting our nails, and if you're up to it braiding our hair. We can even put cucumbers on our eyes and relax with one of my soothing meditation tapes. It'll be like a little spa day."

Tup listened to you explain everything and by the time you had finished he liked the idea. "I like it. It sounds really fun, mesh'la." You clapped your hands and grabbed your supplies with everything needed for a manicure. You rummaged through your basket and found your nail file. You took one of Tup's hands and started on his nails. While you gave him a manicure Tup looked at all your nail polish and decided on a color. "Can you do that color. I want it to match my armor." You looked at the color he was holding up and smiled. "Of course. It's the perfect color." Tup puts the blue colored nail polish on top so that you could access it and let's you get back to work.

A few hours later the rest of torrent company were on the hunt for Tup to see if he wanted to join them at 79s and they had a hunch that he was with you so they made their way to your room. You two were inseperable and even though they made of fun of their brother for it they found it cute that Tup was spending time with someone that wasn't one of them.

"We should invite her too. Maybe she could get us drinks that aren't the free stuff." "Shut it Fives. last time she bought us drinks you ran her dry and she ended up having to work twice as hard to earn back all those credits." Fives rolled his eyes at Kix. "That was one time." "Just keep walking you di'kut." The group of men made it to your room and knocked. They heard a sigh and once you told them to come in your door slid open and they stepped inside.

"Tup, we wanted to.." "What the.." "Tup'ika?", Fives asked. "What are you doing?" Jesse, Hardcase, Dogma, Fives, Kix, and Echo stood there as all of them looked at the two of you. You and Tup were sitting on your bed with face masks, cucumber slices on your eyes, your hair braided, and your nails freshly painted in 501st blue with your calming music going, and you had somehow managed to sneak a difuser on board which sat on your nightstand and had that on as well with your room being filled by the smell of jasmine.

"What does it look like? We're relaxing." All of them look at the two of you with weird looks and you move one of the cucumber slices to look at them. "Did you need something boys?" Echo cleared his throat before speaking. "We just wanted to invite the two of you to 79s but I can see that you are currently occupied." You smiled at Echo. "Thank you but maybe later. Oh, and close your mouths. all of you look stupid. Have you never seen someone relax before?" The men close their mouths as they had nothing to say and they quickly make their way out of your room as they mutter goodbye to the two of you.

As soon as the door slides shut you lie back against the wall and put the cucumber slice back on your eye. "Dik'uts." "I'll say." Tup turns up the music and the two of you get back to your self care day.

Tagging: @anxiouspineapple99 @techs-stitches @moonlightwarriorqueen @trixie2023 @523rdrebel @cw80831 @multi-fan-dom-madness @rexxdjarin @the-rain-on-kamino @the-bad-batch-baroness @deejadabbles @sunshinesdaydream @wings-and-beskar @wizardofrozz @sev-on-kamino @cloneloverrrrr @starrylothcat @dystopicjumpsuit @eternal-transcience

[maviscampbell]

BLINDSIDED

send BLINDSIDED for a scene from my muse's past in which they were betrayed or shocked by what someone did

"Alex, listen to me. I'm pulling in right now, and if you don't shut the fuck up and let me concentrate I might crash this car and be even later than I already am. Stall for three more minutes. I'm literally going as fast as I can."

Mavis jabbed at the button on her steering wheel to hang up and swore under her breath as she turned into her usual parking spot. She shut the car off and paused, taking a deep breath and dropping her head onto the steering wheel for a moment. She wasn't in fact, going as fast as she could, and she had no intention to. The Coca Cola fuckers upstairs could wait.

She pulled down her visor to give herself a once-over in the little mirror and, unsatisfied with the quick swipe of lipstick she'd put on that morning, leaned into the back seat for her bag.

A flash of blue out the window caught her eye as she went, and she stopped, dangling halfway over the center console.

A baby blue cargo van was sitting in the parking spot next to her.

She abandoned the bag and straightened up in the driver's seat, eyes still fixed to the van.

It wasn't Betty. No, this was newer — one of those Ford utility vans that looked like a U-Haul — but it was that same exact blue.

Something compelled her then, and she started moving almost against her own will. Bag abandoned, Coca Cola fuckers forgotten, she got out and walked around to the back of the van, where the double doors were sitting wide open. She could hear music coming from inside.

Mavis stopped at the lip of the van, looking in to find exactly the person she'd just known, in her gut, from the second she saw that color, would be there.

"Mom."

Libby Campbell's head turned, and the first cogent thought that crossed Mavis's mind was just an observation: Her laugh lines are deeper now.

The inside of the van looked almost exactly like Betty did when she'd left it. There was that same Persian rug covering the floor, battery operated fairy lights lining the ceiling, pictures taped to the walls. A tiny twin mattress, so thin it basically a yoga mat, sat at the center.

"—Mavis?"

The urge to run seized in Mavis's chest, but at the same time she couldn't move anything. Her jaw had locked, her balled fists started to shake with how tightly they were clenched.

She hated how much they looked alike. How, as she looked at her mother for the first time in sixteen years, she felt like she was getting a glimpse of her future.

"What are you doing here?"

Libby didn't answer. "So you found your dad, huh?"

"Yeah," she said simply. Words were catching in her throat. Jimmy Buffett was singing about cheeseburgers in paradise over the bluetooth speaker next to Libby, and Mavis felt like she was going to throw up.

"Did you get everything you wanted?" Libby asked, something familiar and mean creeping in. She stayed criss-crossed on top of that mattress, but her shoulders were still relaxed, and she tilted her head lazily to the side. Mavis didn't answer, and a little, indecipherable smile crept onto her mother's lips. "Good for you."

She was being made fun of. Innocuous a statement as it was, Mavis could feel the derision and condescension it was soaked in. That little twinkle in her eye, the one that once upon a time Mavis would've done anything to see — god, it was ugly.

"Where's Cricket?" The question left her lips before she could even process that she wanted to ask it. There was only one mattress, only one suitcase in the corner.

Once again, Libby didn't answer. "You got the boring dad and the boring life in the 'burbs you always dreamed about, huh? Look at you — you look fancy."

Mavis looked down at her pantsuit and was met with the sudden urge to burn it.

"You left your baby sister and your whore mom and you never thought about either of them again."

"Where is Cricket, mom." It wasn't a question this time.

Something slipped in Libby's facade, just for a second. It'd been a long time since Mavis had laid eyes on her mother, but there were some things that she'd never be able to un-know about her. It only lasted a split second, but was that...guilt?

"You don't get to ask me about her," Libby said, scoffing, and Mavis could see the wall going back up again. "You left. You were just too good for us, weren't you?"

The accusation flipped a switch inside of her, the coil in the middle of her chest got so tight it burst. "Fuck you. You know why I left. I was tired of having a fuck up for a mom. Don't pretend like me leaving did anything but an inconvenience to you because you actually had to take care of your daughter by yourself for a change and you didn't have a free live-in nanny to do it for you. You know what? I was too good for you."

Mavis hated that the next emotion that crashed into her then was fear. It always had, any time they'd fought, because she always knew no matter what vitriol she could unleash, Libby could reach down further into herself and do her one better. As soon as she'd gotten old enough to realize that, Mavis would pull back at the last second, unwilling or unable to hear something that would level her for weeks after.

She wanted this time to be different. It'd been so long and the long-dormant anger buried in the depths of her had burst from the surface the second she'd stepped into her mother's view. She had so many things she wanted to say, and this time, she didn't want to cower away.

But although the anger hadn't changed, everything else had. Why should she stand here and willingly wage the same war when she'd left the last one half dead?

Without another word, she spared a last glance at Libby and walked away, straight back to her car, and got in. Her phone was buzzing in the cupholder, but there was too much blood rushing in her ears to tell.

She pulled out of the spot and, on autopilot, made the turn to go back home. She was going to find her sister.

[bratshaws]

through the hourglass 20. brb x oc

its the hand on hips for me

a/n: HAPPIER WITH THIS CHAPTER NGL. also,SMUT COMING AND HOPEFULLY IT WONT BE SO LONG ( im lying it'll probably be kinda long )

pairing: plus size!oc x rooster

warnings: fluff,their friends are just as bad as mav

goodness gracious (pls read this one to know more what this fic is about!!)

chapter

1/2/3/4/5/6/7/8/9/10/11/12/13/14/15/16/17/18/19

(pls let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!! )

taglist: @mirandastuckinthe80s @roosterschanelslut @wiipes @lcahwriter @shrimping-for-all @gretagerwigsmuse @frenchtoastix

@lizzie-rdj @fanboyluvr @atarmychick007 @comebacktoearthpls

@peachiicherries @mak-32 @lizziespidiepridie @roosterswifey @ollyoxenfrees @piceous21 @sqrlgrl22 @hofficoffi @lexhalstead3 @lorilane33 @legendarydreamersharkparty @luckyladycreator2

@emilybradshaw @j-6o @louisahale @leobabbyyy @kulicny @winter-run @ktjmac @graciereads @bigpoppajes @taytaylala12

@caitsymichelle13 @becks-things

-

“God,” she groans, trying to tug the low collar of her Morticia dress closed so it’d hide some of her cleavage, she was starting to get a bit self conscious about it right now, wondering if it was even wise to show up with something like that to Ev’s party. She knew her friend would go all out with her costume, she always did and wouldn’t think Bea’s costume was that crazy…and yet, she was overthinking already, “Maybe I could put something here,” she pressed a hand right between her breasts as she looked at her reflection.

She looks amazing, she does look really good but she felt if she moved too much something would pop out, “Do I still have those tapes? Maybe I can glue them on to hold the fabric.” she wanders to her old armoire, pulling drawers and rummaging through each one in hopes to find that beige colored package anywhere. She was too busy looking for it to notice the presence by the door.

Rooster managed to find a suit that somewhat resembles Gomez’s, with the exception that the purple lines were much thinner and almost invisible unless you got close enough, so it just looked like a dark suit, a very dark suit. He didn’t change his hair that much, it was the same wavy sandy brown as before but he did apply some of Beatrice’s eyeshadows under his eyes to make the bags a little bit more prominent, “Ohhh…” he says appreciatively when he sees her bent over trying to find the tape, “Is this how you are going to greet me, gorgeous?”

Beatrice laughs softly, still rummaging through the drawers, “I could, but I’m just looking for some sticky tape,” and she finally found it, nestled in the cranny of her armoire, pulling it out with some difficulty - the movement smashed a bit of the box but didn’t rip it - “Finally, I’m just going to put these on.”

“On? On where?”

Beatrice finally turns, taking a long appreciative look at his outfit before replying “Here,” and she gestures to the low collar, “I feel if I don’t I might show stuff I’m not really comfortable showing.” and of course he could understand it, but he was too busy paying attention to how good her chest looked, his eyes dropping to follow the movements as she breathed in and out, “Rooster!”

“Hm?” he snaps his eyes up to meet her gaze, immediately smiling innocently, “Sorry I got distracted.” she huffs out a laugh, disappearing into their bathroom to fix everything and he follows her like a puppy, “You look stunning.”

Beatrice gives him a sweet look over her shoulder, ripping a piece of the said tape, wetting it so it’d get sticky and lifting the fabric of her dress high enough to set it down. “Thank you Roos, you look very handsome as well.” she smiles back at him through the mirror, ‘You are the best Gomez I’ve ever seen.” 

He smirks back, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe as he waits for her to get ready, “I’m not going to lie,I’m excited to have this party with you.” he says, “And before I leave too, that’s exciting.”

“I’m excited too.” she says, fixing the dress on her body after gluing the pieces of tape down, running her hands on the curve of her waist, giving him a look, “How’s this?”

“Your tits are still knocking,” he smirks, and she laughs tossing her head back, “And you really look great in any shade of red, especially dark ones like you are wearing right now.”

The dark wine red lipstick made her lips appear so much fuller than they already were so there was no doubt he’s admiring her mouth so much, even more than her whole body. She gives him a little curtsy by lifting the ends of her dress and giggling “Why thank you. Now, I think we are both done here so…do you want to go?”

“Yeah, I think we better, everyone if not mostly everyone is probably there already. But there’s nothing wrong with being fashionably late.” He pushes himself off the doorframe to give her enough space to walk out, his eyes following her as she walked ahead of him.

“Stop staring at my ass.”

“I’m not.” She stops walking which in turn makes him stop as well, giving him a look over her shoulder with a tiny grin “I’m admiring it, babe.”

“And I appreciate it a lot, but one of these days you’ll trip over yourself if you don’t look away.” She jokes, turning around to fix the dark tie, tightening just enough before running her hands from his shoulders to his chest. “You do look really handsome.”

Rooster smirks, the two of them share a kiss, one that if it was up to him he’d deepen it just a bit more but the time was running and Evelyn would give them a call if they took too long. So, after checking on Jolene and making sure she was comfortable, which she was with her new dog bed, they left. Beatrice held onto his hand as he led them to the Bronco, with the brunette giving one look back at their house as he opened the door for her. 

“I might need to buy more decorations this year.” She comments once she’s inside, following the line of the roof with her eyes and finger “Maybe get those glowing ghosts, I think the neighborhood has more kids now too.” 

His grin never falters as she speaks, a pang of regret in his heart because he wouldn’t be there when Halloween arrives, but he knew she’d be fine, she’d be okay. “Send me the pictures, babe. I’ll love to see them.” He also wouldn’t be able to celebrate Christmas with her either, a complete opposite from last year. He wondered if last year it was because whoever put them together decided they had to have this time to get used to one another because of what the next year would bring.

 And he was very thankful for that. He had someone to come home to, someone wonderful whose family took him in as one of their own, hell, even her friends took him in. He didn’t want to keep thinking about it because it’d only make the sadness of leaving grow stronger, deciding go focus on driving all the way to Evelyn’s building. 

As soon as they neared it they both could see the orange lamps hanging by Evelyn’s balcony and the light on the penthouse turned on, the cars from the dagger squad and the girls’ were parked in front of the building signaling they were already there indeed. 

“Woah, I think those are pumpkins,”she squints her gaze upwards once she’s out of the car, Bradley stepping closer to her to place his hand on the curve of her waist “It looks like it at least.”

“I think it’s too far for us to see it, baby.” He leads her up the steps to the front desk, where the concierge immediately lets them know that Evelyn is already waiting for them and they could just walk up to the elevator. As they enter, pressing the button to Evelyn’s floor, Beatrice lets out a sigh “Everything good?”

She nods, rubbing her hands together with a small grin “Everything great, Roos. Just thinking about stuff, today was…full of emotion wasn’t it?”

“It was.” He replies with his eyes locked on the numbers going up and up “The bar was packed and filled with tourists, really weird for this time of the year.” 

“Well it’s off season that’s probably why they showed up.” She explains, looking at the same direction he was, the repetitive dinging of the floors going up adding to the loud whirring of the elevator “It’s been good though, it’s not that bad.”

“Do you think it’ll be like this the entire month?”

“Hmmm maybe, why?”

He just shrugs, “I just want you to be alright, baby. New people can bring some creeps and I worry about you when I’m not there.”

Beatrice’s smile softened and she grabbed his hand, tugging his arm just enough to make him lean down to her level, kissing his cheek and then immediately wiping away the dark red lipstick, “Thank you Roos. But I’ll be fine, you forget that Penny is probably the scariest person in that bar.” she says, “Remind me to tell you about the time she physically picked a six foot four guy by the collar and tossed him out.”

The fact he didn’t seem surprised was enough to make her giggle quietly, “I’ll do that.” the elevator stops and they could hear music playing, voices mixing together and the obvious smell of something, “Can Evelyn cook?”

“Well,” she begins as the doors part, “She cooked some stuff before, but if I know Ev she probably ordered stuff ready to eat. She knows a lot of cool places I’ve never heard of bef-” the door to Evelyn’s apartment opened and the two of them jumped back in surprise at her friend’s…costume…

Evelyn was completely covered in fake blood, absolutely soaked, her hair, her face, her baby pink strappy gown. She offered them a smile, one that given the situation was such a weird contrast they had to remember this was just a costume. “Hello, glad you two came up.” she steps back to give them space, “Come on in.” they do after the shock passes, the song reverberating over the speakers all over Evelyn’s apartment. As she walked into the apartment, which Evelyn decorated just as much as Beatrice did during Halloween, she could hear everyone’s voices coming from the outside, right by the pool. “You two look really good, I knew this costume idea would work for you.”

Beatrice turned to her friend, still a bit shocked by the sheer amount of blood on her body, “Thank you Ev, are you…dressed as Carrie?”

“I sure am.” she grins, “The good one. From 76. Get yourselves a drink, there’s a blood fountain over there,” in reality it was just non-alcoholic sangria, “And beer in the cooler.” and she made her way outside, letting everyone know the two finally arrived. Beatrice gave Rooster a small smile, one he reciprocated and so she led him outside to where the others were.

After a few greetings and clinking of bottles, they finally settled down on one of the couches Evelyn set outside by the pool. Beatrice took the time as she sipped the ‘blood’ to look at everyone’s costumes, they went all out for this little celebration, especially because they wouldn’t be here for the actual Halloween. She was surprised that Jake and Evelyn were actually dressed as Carrie and Tommy, she didn’t think Jake would be into stuff like that but considering how much he liked her friend she shouldn’t be surprised.

Bob and Shells were dressed as the Tin Man and Dorothy, which was surprising yet absolutely adorable, and honestly it fit Shells more than the angel costume she wanted to wear. She sipped her wine quietly, crossing one leg over the other as she heard everyone talking, smiling against her glass when she felt Rooster’s hand land on top of her bare knee, rubbing the side of it with his thumb.

“So,anyway, what are the plans tonight, Ev? Besides getting drunk?” Shells asked, sitting on Bob’s lap after placing the fake Toto to the side. Their friend took a while to reply, then smirked, leaning back against the seat.

“Well, I was thinking watching a few movies, but that’s no fun in that, so…we are playing a murder mystery later on.” she says, “Everyone will be either too drunk or too sober for it, which will be great.”

“Ohhh, that seems fun!” Carmen says, pulling her fake Merlin beard down so she could sip her own drink, “I’ve never played that, and I know you probably created a whole storyline for it too. You are our DM after all.” Evelyn just smiles more, proudly then nods in response. 

Beatrice however was just glad to have everyone in one place that wasn’t the bar. It was nice to have them at her place of work but having them all here, having fun and enjoying drinks and snacks was even better. It saddened her a bit that they wouldn’t be here, no one would, during Christmas or New Years. She didn’t want to have that feeling for too long, it almost gave her a bit of pain in her stomach the more she thought about it.

Not only she cared about Rooster, which she did, obviously, but she really cared about everyone else.

When she called them her non-blood family, she was being sincere. They were all part of her life somehow. 

While sipping the non-alcoholic drink, she blinked in surprise, normally she would drink either beer or some of the spiced wine she knew Evelyn had but yet, here she is, drinking non-alcoholic sangria - is that cranberry juice? Oh it’s good. - and enjoying it! Part of her wondered if she should take a sip but the other was just okay with this.

Plus it tasted really nice, there was no need for alcohol just yet. And she preferred to be just a bit sober that night, just to hear what everyone was talking about, watching everyone with a little smile. And she could be wrong but the Dagger Squad seemed a bit tense, maybe this mission - that Rooster couldn’t share anything about - was a lot harder than she thought it’d be.

She trusted them all, she knew how good they were and she didn’t want her anxiety to take over right now, she didn’t want to overthink about what would happen, she wanted- no she knew they’d come back safely. Whatever this mission was they could do it and they’d do it without any hiccups.

Beatrice felt his hand squeeze her knee just a bit more, she didn’t know if he knew she was thinking about it or it was just a casual reflex, but she appreciated it nonetheless, easing out a sigh of relief and getting comfortable on the couch. That is until Wiley showed up, wearing an adorable pirate outfit with the skull and bones hat and the flowy white shirt, “Oh my God, look at you!” she squeals, setting the glass aside when the orange tabby mewled, leaping to land on her lap and be immediately greeted with petting and caressing, “Oh, you look so handsome! You are a little pirate!”

“You know, with how much you love my cat you guys should get a cat too.”Evelyn comments, one of her hands on top of Jake’s thigh “I think Jolene would love the company.”

“Oh, I don’t think we can do that now.” Bradley says, wiggling his fingers above the cat and chuckling when Wiley bapped them with his paw, “Jojo is going to have a lot of company soon enough.”

And everyone went completely silent. Their eyes were all on the two, and the weight of the sudden realization hit Rooster and Beatrice. After everyone got quiet for too long, the two of them looked up and Beatrice gasped, “I-I’m not pregnant!” yet “Jojo is! She’s going to have puppies.”

Payback placed a hand on his chest, Phoenix had to support herself so she wouldn’t fall and Shells let out ‘ Jesus fucking Christ” under her breath. The married couple offered them an an apologetic look, one that only added to the situation, “When is the baby going to pop out?” Shells asked, “I mean, chop chop kiddos, where is it?”

“Shells.” Evelyn forcefully jabs her friend on the ribs, earning a cursed hiss from the blonde, then giving Bradley and Bea a look, “Ignore her, you know she can’t keep her mouth shut sometimes.”

“I’m just saying- Ow!” another jab, this one on her shoulder followed by a warning glare from Evelyn, “Okay, jeez.”

Beatrice laughs quietly, holding Wiley like a baby and gently scratching his tummy, “Well, we are working on it.” she says, giving Rooster a look. A look that said ‘we’ve been trying a lot but we better not share how many times we do it in front of our friends.’ “And, you know, we aren’t in a hurry.”

‘Well,I am- OW!”

“Shut up Shells!” Evelyn’s last glare was enough to shut the blonde up, then her gaze softened when she looked back at them, “It’s about your time, not ours.” another glare directed towards Shells. “When it happens it happens, don’t feel pressured.”

Evelyn, because she probably had more maturity and common sense than anyone else in that place, did just that, she calmed them down. There is one thing having both of their families asking about it - especially because Mav isn’t subtle when it comes to it and she knew her parents would ask them about it when they got to their place tomorrow - and another having the one lone voice who breaks the pattern and assures them everything is fine.

Beatrice mouthed a ‘thank you’ to Ev, who just smiled brightly, “Anyway, who wants to play pumpkin pong?” 

-

“Not only he is the murderer but I also think he cheated on his wife.”

How did it happen? How did all of them, after several other activities in Evelyn’s house - murder mystery, pumpkin bong and horror trivia - managed to sit down and watch random horror movies? Movies that Evelyn, because it is Evelyn, manages to find so easily. No one heard of any of the movies, most of them were slasher but the suspense ones were the favored for the rest of the night.

No one was tired, it was like a sleepover where no one falls asleep and stay up the whole night watching horror flicks with your best friends, eating pumpkin shaped cookies and heating up pizzas from earlier that night. “I think it’s the sister,” Carmen says, following Coyote’s explanation, “Because she wanted to protect the other woman from the man in the attic.”

“Well, yeah but how,” Fanboy gestures to the screen, sitting close to Eliza and Halo, “Does she know he’s in there?”

“She heard his footsteps before,” Phoenix explains as if it was obvious, “Those thunking sounds were his steps.”

“Oooohh.”

Bradley leans back on the couch where Beatrice is nestled to his side, Wiley still on her lap but this time he’s asleep, purring quietly as she keeps her fingers on his orange fur. His eyes dropped to the top of her head, her temple pressed to his shirt’s breast pocket - he removed the jacket to put on her shoulders when she said she was cold earlier that night - with her gaze on the tv, “Hey.” she turns her head to him with her eyes blinking slowly, “Everything okay?”

She blinks again, then nods with a grin, “Yeah,” she says, looking down at the sleeping cat, “Just enjoying everyone else’s enjoyment.” and he just grins at her when she says it, her head falling back to his chest, inhaling his cologne and seeping his warmth. He kisses the top of her head then, burying his nose on her hair for a brief second before he turns his eyes to the tv.

That is until Beatrice tells him she has to go to the bathroom, asking Evelyn quietly where it was because her place was too big for her to remember where it was. Evelyn smiles - it was still odd with the fake blood all over her face - but she stands up, leading Beatrice to her private bathroom “Oh you didn’t have to–”

“It’s okay Bea,” Evelyn says as they enter, “You are my friend, you don’t need to use the guest bathroom.”

Beatrice thanks Evelyn, gently puts Wiley down and disappears inside the huge ensuite bathroom. It was…probably twice the size of her own ensuite bathroom at their house now and she thought that was big. 

She didn’t expect Evelyn to still be there when she comes out, rubbing her hands together to get rid of the extra moisture that wasn’t soaked by the towels inside, blinking at her friend when she sees she’s leaning against the wall, “Oh, I thought you went back.”

“I will in a bit, I just wanted to talk to you.”

“Oh…okay?”

Evelyn inhales, pushing herself off the wall to approach Beatrice, “Bea, listen,I know everyone is probably on your ass right now about a baby, especially your parents, but don’t - don’t force yourself to get something done. A baby doesn’t happen suddenly and you guys still have time to think about it.” she says, placing her hands on Beatrice’s shoulders, “Remember, you are the one controlling this whole thing, you and Rooster. If this happens now, it’s great if it doesn’t, it’s great too.”

Beatrice watched Evelyn speak and her smile widened. Of course her friend would go full protector mode because of what happened, because she knew how her family was and how her friends - Shells - was too. She was just making sure her mental health would be okay during this time, “I know.”

“Okay. And listen, do not hesitate to call me or Shells if you feel alone while Rooster is gone. We can make something up with the girls and spend time together.”

“I know.” Bea says, “...you can do that too, you know? I know you’ll miss Jake.”

Evelyn’s usually neutral façade softened and finally it was obvious that yes, she did like him and she shouldn’t hide it. Jake was the one person who could crack Evelyn’s neutral mask and it made Beatrice more than happy, “I know.” she whispers, “And I will miss him…but he doesn’t have to know that. Not more than he already does.”

The two share a laugh, Wiley meows begging to be picked up again and Beatrice complies, “Shall we go?” Evelyn suggests and Bea nods in response, the two finally leaving the room “You know, it’s almost four in the morning right now, you guys can spend the rest of the night if you want.”

Four in the morning. Holy shit they had to go to her parents for lunch tomorrow…oh well, they can spend a few more minutes there, it wasn’t like they’d wake up that late,right?

[axxelaxxelaxxel]

If you're starting out in gouache and don't know what you're doing, here's my process, hopefully it helps!!!

I've been gouache painting for a year or two now, and it's my favorite medium. Here's a piece I did last night, and below the cut is a more detailed guide to my process for anyone hoping to improve their skills. In any other case you can also just enjoy the art lol

Step One, Thumbnails!

The first thing I try to nail out is a thumbnail. The first thumbnail I came up with for this was really nice and I liked it a lot, so I kept it, but i encourage messing around with different compositions and configurations! Once you find something you like, the next step is optional since you need acril-gouache to pull it off.

(Optional) Step Two, Underpainting!

This is moreso just a personal choice honestly, but I think doing an underpainting really helps with color coordination. Unfortunately, you need acrylics or acril-gouache to do underpainting, because regular gouache will pull back up once it's dry, where acril-gouache will not. I personally have a nice little 12 color set that I got from Michaels for like, 60-ish bucks. Definitely a bit expensive.

I usually try out a few different ideas and then use a sponge to lay them on the canvas.

Step Three, Outlining!

Now, I use a very washed out and watered down version of my main colors (red and snail, in this case) to sort of mark out where I wasn't my subjects to be. You'll notice I did deviate from the thumbnail a little bit, which is absolutely fine. As long as it carries the same vibe, it generally isn't an issue.

Step Four, the rest?? Idk what to call this part.

Using less and less water in my paint to make it thicker and thicker, I work forward until it looks how I want it to. If you look closely you can still see some spots where the underpainting comes through the paint. I usually work dark to light. Since I use paper for these, this step usually also involves making some sort of makeshift press to flatten the paper back out, since it warps and bends a lot during painting. I also like putting a border around the subjects and some paint colors the same color as the underpainting/background.

Last step, let's goo!!!

Now that the tape is off, I tend to sharpie in a neat little border with a work title at the top and my name at the bottom. I also go into a digital software to do some slight touchups, usually just color rebalancing to fix my terrible lighting in my room and making the borders a little neater.

[tigersharktheautisticseawing]

Wierd helluva boss AU I just thoguth of (it's consuming me)

Basically, everything is the same, very canon compliant, but during the fire Blitzø lost an eye, specifically the one on the scarred side of his face

Now, he would be less effective with guns, since from what I heard once you lose an eye your depth perception goes to fuck itself and I'm pretty sure it's important for shooting and aiming guns, but if I'm wrong correct me

Now, he could go either of 3 directions:

(my favorite) He wears a sick-ass eyepatch 24/7, only ever taking it off to wash his face. Even Loona doesn't know he's disabled in the eye department. Everyone just assumed he was doing it for the vibes. Now, the outing of his disability could go two routes in this scenario • The Stolitz route Basically goes kinda like Crooked, they argue a bit, Blitzø has low self worth, Stolas says something, and Blitzø goes "because this is who I am!" or some bullshit and pulls of his eyepatch, to reveal that there's nothing behind it • The IMP route Moxxie: Umm, Sir, why are you wearing that eyepatch all the time? wouldn't it be better for fighting if you took it off? Blitzø: Oh I WISH! *pulls of eyepatch to reveal empty eye socket* Moxxie: *shooketh*

2. Protethic eye

Basically, just an eye, to put in his eyesocket to make him seem normal.

In this case, it goes like this

Blitzø: *misses target* Goddamn it, this would be easier without my eye issues!

Moxxie: Sir, may I suggest some glasses?

Blitzø: Aprecciate the thought Moxxie, but this shit won't be fixed by glasses! *pulls out prostethic eye mid-battle*

Moxxie: What the fuck-

3. Just plain ol' empty eye socket

No covering it up. Nothing. Just empty eye.

That woud make for a fun scene i ep. 7 tho, so even though it's my least fav it's still a fun idea to consider

Also, consider:

If Stolas found out about his disability, he would definetely ask for a fully functional prostethic eye along with a crystal. Like, Oz already makes limb protethics, and really advanced ones at that, so he probably has some kind of working robo-eyes for astronomical prices on the factory tape.

And, smol bonus, if Ozzie gave Stolas that eye for Blitz, he would totally have the eye do cool-ass tricks, like change colors or see super good or like be contected to a database like in Iron Man.

That would definetely make Full Moon much more interesting, and maybe help Blitz understand what's going on, since Stolas just giving him the crystal could be understood as trying to get rid of him, but ordering him a custom fucking actually working prostethic eye?*Not so much

So yeah, do whatever you want with this AU, just wanted to get this man outta my system, may edit screenshots/draw him without that eye

Anyway bye bye!

[mortemoppetere]

TIMING: shortly after nora's decrystalization LOCATION: axis investigations PARTIES: @honeysmokedham & @mortemoppetere CONTENT: infidelity (mentioned very briefly in reference to PI work) SUMMARY: a look into the average american workforce.

The desk Nora used was an old broken thing they’d pulled out of a dumpster and “fixed up”. Fixed up is a loose term here, the uneven leg was made even with the use of a stolen library book, specially selected from their cultivated shelves not for its contents, but for having the perfect amount of pages to keep the desk flat. The desk’s overall structure was patched together with an extreme amount of duct tape, super glue, and force of will. If Nora did anything too fast on her desk, its legs would shift as if the thing would collapse at any moment. A large chunk of wood protruded from the side, to the point a comment had been made they could shove a vampire into it if ever needed. In short, the desk was an OSHA violation waiting to happen. 

Nora loved her desk. She’d made a hobby out of covering its scraped wood surface with monsters of her own creation. Today, she sat at her desk, rickety chair squeaking every now and then with her movement. The laptop she had stolen - she decided using Emilio’s old windows 90 or whatever would not do for research - sat open next to her, displaying an unread article. Adds flashed on the side, changing the lighting across her from one bright color to the next. Instead of focusing on her work, researching the identity of Dawn Burnbook, Nora was busy staring at her arms. They were smooth and flesh. It distracted her. 

Generally, when Nora was in the office she came to work by herself. But since her stint in the mines, her roommates had taken to following her everywhere. As if she would touch another crystal and rejoin the mine cult. As if the temptation to get her body of crystals would overwhelm her. They were right. Babadook was laid out on the floor, tentacles moving toys around Perro in an attempt at normal dog play, while Munch, the sad clown doll haunted by a ghost, stood on Emilio’s desk, seemingly judging everything the man was doing. Nora didn’t think Emilio could hear the string of commentary coming out of the ghost's mouth, but it included multiple suggestions that would make his case file organization more efficient, a suggestion to not drink alcohol while working to maintain professionalism, and a few pointed jabs at Emilio’s outfit. 

—

The office was a lot more crowded than it usually was. Normally, Emilio might complain about that. He’d gripe about how he’d hired Nora, not her platoon of extra ‘helpers,’ would bitch about Babadook being too big to properly sit in his living room floor or the haunted goddamn doll interrupting his work. But now? After so long of having the office empty of anyone but himself and Perro, after spending such a long time alone in these four walls while she’d been off in the mines with Teddy and the world had been falling to pieces? Having a crowded office felt just fine.

He flipped the page in the case file he’d been working on, glancing up at the doll standing on his desk. “You keep looking at me like that,” he said quietly, “and I’ll put you in the floor for the dog to chase. I mean that.” He didn’t. Nora would be upset if Perro ripped a hole in her friend, and Emilio would feel bad even if he’d never admit to it. But he was good at threats, anyway, and he did kind of want the doll to stop looking at him. It was a little unnerving. 

Nora’s desk creaked, and he looked over to where she sat with a quiet hum. “You don’t have to stick around today if you’re bored. Been slow since people started coming back from the mines.” A lot of ‘missing persons’ cases had been solved by clients’ loved ones sheepishly reentering their homes, newly crystal-free. Most of them were happy about it. Nora didn’t seem to be. Emilio tried not to think about it too much. He was glad to have her back, whether she was glad to be back or not.

—

Munch was immune to threats. The ghost was already dead, and perhaps he thought finding a new doll to haunt would be easy. Or perhaps the idea of being a tattered sad clown doll was appealing to the ghost who had found refuge in a family of monsters who took pleasure in scaring people. What was scarier than a sad clown doll? Who looked like it had marched through the depths of hell, clawed its way out of Satan’s grasp and now went around the living trying to send them to death. Or not. It was all speculation. 

“He thinks you’re bad at organizing.” Nora informed Emilio. Munch was tugging at some of the paperwork, trying to get it to budge so he could show Emilio exactly how he should organize his desk. “He also thinks your office is a mess, and you shouldn’t drink at work. I didn’t realize Munch was a bootlicker, or I wouldn’t have freed him from the ghost trafficker.” Nora ducked as an angry clown doll flew at her head. Her microsmile, the normal one that her friends and loved ones had taught her, flitted across her expression as she dodged the little doll with practice ease. Munch had anger management problems. He was in good company.

“No air conditioning in the crypt.” The crypt didn’t need air conditioning. It was cool all year around, basically a freezer in the winter. She made a mental note to obtain a space heater before winter rolled around. More more blankets. “Don’t want to melt.” More like she didn’t want to be alone with the thoughts of how perfect she had been, how she’d fallen into mind control so easily. How she still considered touching a crystal just to go back. “Even if yours barely works.” Because Axis was not allowed to be better than the crypt. “Hace calor.” Nora added in Spanish. At least she hoped it was Spanish, and not an abomination of an attempt. 

—

“I’m not taking advice from someone who haunts a doll,” Emilio replied, rolling his eyes. “I know where everything is. This means it is organized how it needs to be organized.” No one else would be able to make any sense of the mess on his desk, he knew, but wasn’t that just an added layer of security? Didn’t it just mean that anyone who broke in would have to search all the longer to find anything of real value? If he let some doll organize his shit in a way that made sense to the masses, he was just inviting trouble. He tried not to do that.

Glancing back to the doll, he made a show of lifting his bottle of whiskey to his lips and took a long swig, just to spite the damn thing. Nora was on his side here, at least; the doll flew at her at the insult, and Emilio let out a quiet huff of a laugh. “Maybe you should send him back,” he offered. She wouldn’t, and he didn’t expect her to, but he liked the idea of successfully pissing the doll off.

The window unit blowing cool air through Axis was on its very last leg, made a god-awful noise every time it kicked on, but it did work. Emilio raised a brow when Nora mentioned it. “Ah, so you’re saying Axis is better than your crypt? This is what you mean?” He looked as smug as he sounded, which was to say… very. “Barely works is better than not existing, isn’t it?” His smile softened briefly as she added in some Spanish, the expression flickering across his face so quickly that some might have missed it. “Sí. Es verano.” It’s summer. Dry humor, in every language.

—

“Yeah. Send him back to the ghost trafficker. You can get locked in that trunk for a few more years. When you come out you might get an attitude change.” Yelling, cursing, punching. Punches didn’t matter when the ghost was a doll the size of her hand. “You should have been an angry clown, instead of a sad clown.” Nora dodged another blow. Shutting her laptop, she made the executive decision that she was going to get no more work done today. But it was nice to be there. In the crowded apartment. It held the same comfort as being in the fort with Cass and Teddy. Same comfort, different font. Being normal wasn’t so bad if this was normal. 

Emilio was being smug. Nora hated when he was smug. She bore him down with a deadpan stare. Face blank from emotion. She let the space between his statement and her eventual answer swell. Allowing him to come to the conclusion that she thought he was stupid for even saying that. “No.” She answered finally. “The crypt doesn’t have loud neighbors who tear down my signs constantly. Or Jeff.” To be fair, with the way Jeff terrorized the building it was only a matter of time before he ended up in a graveyard. God forbid it was hers. “Verano.” Nora repeated the word, just to keep the feel of it in her mouth, and not to comment on it. “

“No more work.” Nora announced. Her mind wasn’t going to let her focus on the case anyway. “Do something interesting. Do a flip.” Nora placed her chin on her hand, eyes staring expectantly at Emilio for entertainment. As if the dogs had been tuned in the conversation, their play stopped as well, their eyes seeking Emilio’s in the ways dogs always look at humans. Patient and kind. 

—

“Angry clowns are stupid,” Emilio replied, shrugging a shoulder. “So are sad clowns. And happy clowns. All clowns are stupid. Maybe you should have been something less stupid.” How had this become the norm for him? Bullying a doll that had a ghost inside of it while a yeth hound chased a three-legged dog around the living room. Three years ago, if you’d suggested to him that he’d end up here, he would have called you a liar. (He might have also punched you. He’d always been good at that.)

He snorted as Nora glared at him, looking unbothered by her stare. He’d grown pretty accustomed to all of Nora’s blank stares, well enough to know the difference between them all. This one meant she thought he was being stupid. He got this one a lot. “Ah, you like Jeff.” It wasn’t true, because no one liked Jeff. Jeff was a goddamn scourge on this building, and it was only a matter of time before that knife he liked to play with wound up in someone’s gut. Considering Emilio’s luck, he was pretty sure it’d be his gut, which was fine. His gut could probably take it. “If you put a sign outside your crypt, someone would definitely tear it down.” Probably Emilio, just to prove a point. He nodded in approval as she repeated the word, pronunciation shaky but not wrong. She was a quick learner; a lot faster than he’d ever been. It wouldn’t be long before her Spanish was better than his English.

“I didn’t know you were doing work to begin with,” he replied dryly. “Seems to me you only came here to enjoy my air.” He crossed his arms over his chest, raising a brow as he looked down at her. “Sure. Just did one. You catch it? It was quick.” They both knew he couldn’t do a damn flip. He could barely walk. There’d be no flipping.

—

Munch had told Nora the story of how he ended up in the clown doll before. Nora forgot most of the details, but it boiled down to a freshly dead ghost was scared of going to the light so he hid in the nearest object. A clown doll. There were a lot of questions Nora had about what he was doing around clown dolls at the time, but Munch had steadfastly refused to answer all of them, saying that it was privileged information. Nora figured that to mean weird sex things and was happy to leave that line of questioning. Munch, however, was sensitive about his blown body being called stupid and made a ruckus about it. The world ignored him, as the world ignored ghosts. The dead were meant to be forgotten. 

“I don’t like Jeff.” Nobody liked Jeff. There was a running conversation between the two of them that went along the lines of Nora telling Emilio they should stab Jeff first, and Emilio telling Nora that would be too much work to clean up. “The crypt will always be better than Axis for as long as Jeff is here. He’s negative a billion points.” Nora stood up from her desk, stretching. Most of her movements were still exaggerated, a habit from making room for crystals. The crystals were gone now and the movements were clunky and awkward. She ignored her body. “I don’t want a sign at the crypt. The crypt doesn’t have visitors. I like that.” That wasn’t necessarily true anymore. Nora had friends now, people who cared about her and stopped by to see her. Weird where life took people, wasn’t it? 

“You caught me. You really are the best detective in all the land.” Nora pulled the words out in a dry monotone. “My plan for free air, foiled. Whatever will I do? Real work?” Despite her lack of face or tonal expression, Nora threw herself on the couch in a fit of drama for the joke. “Woe is me.” Her eyes flicked to Emilio, claiming to do a flip. “That was the worst flip I’ve ever seen.” 

—

The clown doll was making a ruckus in the only way a clown doll could make a ruckus, which was a very easy thing to ignore. And Emilio knew that that would only piss the thing off more, because if he were destined to spend eternity haunting a tiny clown, he’d be pissed to hell if everyone ignored him. But he couldn’t quite bring himself to care, either. It was what it was. He’d rather focus on the living in the room than the dead; the latter never gave him much of anything to do worth doing.

“Sure you do. You’re always asking me about Jeff.” Has Jeff stabbed you yet, mostly, or when do you think Jeff is going to stab you. Sometimes it was did Jeff break in and steal the TV remote again, too. “I think if Jeff is negative a billion points, all the shit in the graveyard should also be negative a billion points. You got undead shit in your back yard, kid. That’s worse than anything Jeff can do.” But maybe she had a point about the sign. If Emilio didn’t need to make money, he wouldn’t bother with a sign on Axis’s door, either. It was more trouble than it was worth, sometimes. People found him when he didn’t want to be found, people spoke to him when he didn’t want to be spoken to. At least Nora didn’t have to deal with all that in her crypt… not that Emilio would ever admit to thinking so.

Huffing a laugh, he rolled his eyes. “That’s why they pay me the big bucks,” he replied dryly. He rolled his eyes again as she continued, dry as ever. “You and me both know you’re not going to do real work. I’m not sure you know how.” As if Emilio did. Most of what he did wasn’t exactly within the range of what any other PI would call ‘reasonable methods.’ It got the job done, sure… but not usually in the best way. “Okay. You do one, then. Go on, show me a trick.”

—

“You have a weird obsession with Jeff and we both know it. Stop trying to project it on me.” One time Nora had joked that they needed to make a Jeff’s Stab Meter, because some days Jeff was more likely to take a swing than others, resulting in the two sharing warnings with each other. Jeff probably had no clue that he was as common a topic as the crypt vs Axis. An easy point of banter between two people bad at words. “Maybe you should invite Jeff over. He’d like your knife collection. You two could stab people together. Wouldn’t that be romantic?” The idea that Jeff was capable of anything other than murderous intent was funny. Actually, maybe he should be their friend. The more she thought about it, the more Nora thought he’d fit in. 

“The graveyard is positive three million points.” Nora corrected Emilio. “The undead give it character.” Emilio constantly reminded her that there were things going to kill her in graveyards. Nora logically knew he was probably right. Emilio was always right. Boo. But nothing had attacked her yet. In fact, she had a bunch of ghostly friends. It was like having nice neighbors who had adopted her without Jeff. “The crypt is in the lead. Sucks to suck.” 

“Big enough bucks to buy a better air conditioner?” Nora retorted. “If this one breaks I need to find a new job, nobody wants that.” By nobody she meant herself. Other jobs probably expected her to work. Van, Thea, and Wynne were all very expressive about their jobs, and Nora thought it sounded tedious. She was much better suited for detective work. It gave a whole new reason to break and enter. “I do the work my boss taught me to do.” Nora added with a shrug of a shoulder. “If he’s doing bad work, I’m doing bad work.” Do a trick. A challenge. Nora loved challenges, but it was a lazy afternoon and the effort was low. Emilio’s flip had been fake. Her trick would be just as fake. “For my next trick I will become taller than you.” Nora stood on the couch, and took a bow. “Tada.” 

—

“That’s you, actually.” In all honesty, Emilio felt a little bad for his neighbor. It was clear that Jeff wasn’t entirely there some days, that something was missing. In a town like this one, the list of things that could have made him that way was long and winding, and it was hard not to feel at least a little sympathetic. That would probably change, of course, when Jeff finally did manage to stab him one of these days, but for now? Emilio would humor the guy. “I don’t have to invite Jeff over. Jeff comes over all on his own.” Usually because he mistook Emilio’s apartment for his own and wandered in yelling about someone moving all his furniture. The idea of anything romantic with the guy, in spite of the detective’s almost-fondness for him, brought a disgusted look to Emilio’s face, and he wrinkled his nose. There were a lot of people he’d rather sleep with than Jeff. 

“Ha,” Emilio replied dryly. “Undead are not for character.” In spite of the undead friends he’d made here, there was still an instinctive level of disgust that came with the sensation in his gut that told him something undead was nearby. He knew it was a shameful thing, but it wasn’t something he could shake, either. When you’d been raised all your life to believe that the undead were bad and wrong, it took more than a few friendly vampires to erase that instinct. He was trying. It was slow going. But he didn’t stab on site anymore, and he thought that must count for something. “The crypt smells weird, you know.” As if this building smelled any better.

Glancing over at the rickety window unit, Emilio shrugged. “It gets the job done. Why would I waste my money on a new one?” That was his philosophy with a lot of things in this apartment, from the sofa he’d found in a dumpster to the bare mattress in the bedroom. As long as something was functional, even if the definition only applied at the bare minimum, Emilio saw no reason to replace it. “Then I guess we’re both doing bad work. Who would have guessed.” He snorted as she climbed up onto the couch. Standing, he approached her and climbed up to stand beside her, a little wobbly and not without a flare of protest from his bad knee, but at a height that once again put him above her. “Not anymore. Bad trick.”

—

Nora rolled her eyes, letting the exaggerated movement once again tell Emilio how dumb he was. He might as well have said 'I know you are, what am I?' "Sure he comes over. But it's always Jeff get out and never Jeff hang out for a bit. Maybe if he got to chill he'd leave the remote."  The romance joke hit and Nora was rewarded with a look of disgust and nose wrinkling. That was how Nora knew her blow hit. Good. Nora would count that as a win. An illusion of Jeff's face appeared next to Emilio. It was making kissing faces. "I think he really likes you," Nora added, a fake heavy sigh as she said it. The kind of sigh that was supposed to say, isn't that dreamy? Practiced from a childhood of watching movies where girls in Disney movies signed over princes like that. "Your own prince charming." 

"Undead are for character. Spooky scary skeletons are in. You're just old." Nora pointed an accusatory finger at him. As if being old was a crime that made a person automatically out of touch with the rest of the world. Home Depot or whatever was now selling giant skeletons to stand in people's yards. Those were made out of plastic and the dream to be the spookiest house on the block. Imagine how jealous they would be to find out that Nora had hundreds of skeletons in her yard. They were all free. And sometimes a few of them would come back to life in different stages of decomposition. They would literally be so jealous. Nora hadn't seen any of them come back yet, but with the amount of emphasis Emilio put on it, she was sure it would be any day now. "Better than here." Nora retorted without a second thought. "Someone who uses 5-in1 can't comment about smell. It's on the fine print of the bottle." Nora would add that to his 5-in-1 Irish Spring soap bottle eventually because she always upheld the bit. 

"Because it's going to break, and Perro is going to be hot. Do you want Perro to be hot?" Getting to know someone, Nora had learned recently, included learning about what motivated them. Nora could Emilio refuse to lift a finger to help himself, then turn around and jump through hoops to do anything for Perro. Nora often wondered if Perro was his first dog. Sometimes Perro would do something all dogs have done before, and Emilio would be staring at the little guy in rapt attention. Was it exploitative to use Perro against him? Probably. Nora still wasn't sure how interactions were supposed to go. But if it helped him, it was okay, right? Because Nora wanted to help Emilio. 

"No work, just arson!" The couch squeaked under Nora as she bounded on the worn-down cushion. To her surprise, Emilio was being fun today. Fun in the most annoying way possible. Bad trick? He had the nerve to put zero effort into his trick, but hers was bad? Nora threw off her jacket, making one of those spur of the moments decisions. "Fine," Nora answered. Snap. Crackle. Pop. Her body was a burst of pain and then she was a bear. White fur cascaded down her body where flesh had been. Nora yodeled into the air above Emilio's face. Because as a polar bear on her hind legs? She was much taller. A shower of illusionary sparks twinkled around her as if to say, "Tada! How's that for a magic trick?"

—

The illusion wasn’t entirely unexpected, because it was a very Nora thing to do. Emilio swatted it absently, breaking it up and forcing it to dissipate. “Ay, cut it out. I think you’re, uh…” He searched for the word, shrugging when he couldn’t put his finger on it. “Saying I think what you think. Maybe it’s you who has a crush on Jeff. Kids your age always have bad taste in men, you know. When my…” He trailed off, sucking his teeth and offering a shrug. When my sister was your age, he’d almost said. Almost told a story about Rosa and her terrible boyfriend, the one his mother had hated. Looking back, he wasn’t sure how bad the guy had really been. In all likelihood, his mother had hated him because he wasn’t a hunter, and because any of her children dating someone who wasn’t like them ran the risk of grandchildren who weren’t hunters, and that was not something she would risk. She’d been angry enough that Emilio married a ranger instead of a slayer; he could only imagine how pissed she’d have been if Rosa had stayed with the human boy she’d claimed to love at twenty, if she hadn’t ‘come to her senses’ after the punishment Elena doled out.

Still. That guy would’ve been better than fucking Jeff. Even joking about it was a little gross.

“Maybe I am. There are worse things to be than old.” Most wouldn’t consider thirty-four to be old at all, but to Emilio, it felt ancient. In hunter circles, it kind of was. Most people born into the life he’d been born into were dead before they hit thirty. People like Rhett, who was nearly fifty now, were unheard of. Emilio was under no illusion that he’d live as long as Rhett, not when he felt half-dead already, but maybe there was still something of an accomplishment to the years he had under his belt. Enough of one that he didn’t care about being called old. He did dislike being called smelly, though. “It is soap. Soap smells fine. I’m not going to spend twenty dollars more than I need to just to buy soap that people approve of and keep a dozen bottles in my shower.” His soap did five things, with one soap. How was he the only one who realized what a deal that was? Everyone else acted as though he were committing some heinous crime just by using it, like they weren’t the ones who’d been fooled. 

Emilio glanced to Perro, hesitating. Was the dog hot? He didn’t seem to be bothered, chasing Babadook around in circles with a joyful wagging of his tail, but Emilio didn’t know much about dogs. “I’ll buy him a fan,” he decided, crossing his arms over his chest stubbornly. Get the dog a fan, let the rest of the apartment suffer. It seemed a fair enough trade… and it let him refuse to bend to Nora, which felt important here. Hey, kids needed boundaries, right? He’d been a shitty father, but even he knew that much.

He raised a smug brow as she hopped off the couch, waiting to see what ‘trick’ she’d come up with next. When she began to shift, he blinked. “Nora, wait —” But there was no stopping her. There was a goddamn polar bear in his living room, and he glanced briefly to the floor as if to determine whether or not he could trust it to hold her. It creaked a little, but didn’t collapse. Pleasant surprise. “Very funny. Come on, kid. Back to a person, before you scare the dog.” Perro, for his part, wagged his tail excitedly, yipping as he ran happy circles around the bear’s massive feet. Emilio, even from his spot on the couch, had to crane his neck to look up at her.

He decided he hated it.

—

The bear was tall. It was a towering expanse of snow white mass. A snowy mountain in the middle of Axis. She didn’t know how tall her bear was, it was hard to walk up to a measuring stick in bear form. Humans were normally around and they never reacted pleasantly to a surprise bear appearance in the wild. But, if Nora had to guess, and today she was guessing, she would say she was ten feet tall standing on her bear tippy-beans. Which was much taller than Emili’s tiny five foot something stature. Her head brushed against Axis’s ceiling. Emilio couldn’t even reach the ceiling without standing on something. Ha. She was going to get him a mug that said Short King after this. He’d hate that. Bear’s couldn’t smirk. Nora wasn’t sure if it was the elongated snout, or her own inability to master facial expressions, but she did her damndest to try and put a smirk on the bear’s face.

Emilio was complaining. Perro was a good sport. Nora was very cognizant about being careful not to move. The bear was big, and could crush a little fellow like Perro, which was exactly what she didn’t want. Babadook and Munch on the other hand? Unimpressed. The traitors that lived in her crypt, rent free, had no interest in the shenanigans. As if turning into a bear lost its novelty the more you saw someone do it. Whatever. At least she had Emilio’s annoyance to make it up for. Nora raised her bear arms up, accompanying the movement with a shower of illusionary sparks. TADA! 

Nora let herself drop back into the human. Her body once again breaking and repairing until she was the human, standing there. Nora bent down to give the best audience member some well earned pets. “You’re just jealous that my trick was good. And because I’m taller than you.” Nora retorted to her worst audience member. 

—

Somehow, the bear looked smug. Maybe it was just because Emilio knew that the bear was Nora, and knew Nora well enough to know that she’d be immeasurably smug about having ‘won’ this particular argument, but he could have sworn he saw a damn smirk on the bear’s face. He crossed his arms over his chest, looking decidedly unamused as the bear towered over him. Her ears brushed the ceiling, and Axis didn’t have particularly tall ceilings — it was a cheap apartment in a building full of cheap apartments, meaning there was very little space to speak of at all so that more units could be squished in for ultimate profitability — but it wasn’t something Emilio could reach. 

He glared at the bear, and Perro sniffed at her foot with his tail swinging wildly back and forth in spite of his owner’s insistence that he’d be terrified of her. Emilio wondered, absently, if Bear Nora and Nora Nora smelled the same to the little dog, if he could tell, somehow, that the massive form in front of him was the same small girl who often fed him carrots and scratched him fondly behind the ears. Emilio could only roll his eyes as the bear’s arms raised, the motion very human in spite of the giant paws. Mocosa.

As she began to revert to human, he averted his eyes and grabbed the blanket someone had left on his couch. (Javi, maybe? Arden or Wynne?) Without looking, he tossed it in Nora’s direction. “I think it’s cheating if you have to turn into a bear to be taller than me,” he insisted stubbornly. “I think it doesn’t count.”

—

Nora grabbed the blanket being tossed at her, wrapping it around herself. Belatedly she looked down at the pile of shredded clothes at the feet. She owed Van a new shirt. And pants. Those had been Van’s clothes she was wearing today. At least Van would find this situation funny when she explained it to her friend later. Luckily her jacket was safely stowed on the back of her chair. Her piercings had also fled during the transformation. Nora really had to be more careful about taking things off before transforming, but that really would have ruined the hilarity of the moment. 

“But I am the bear. The bear is just the body I don’t use often.” Nora countered. “I am the human and the bear at both times. All times, right? Which is why I’m never a human. Which means I am always taller than you no matter which body I’m currently in.” Part of coming to terms with being a bugbear had been coming to terms that she wasn’t human, which was weird considering she had a human form she could and mostly resided in. But she was the human and the bear. It was all very confusing. “I am taller than you.” Nora reasserted. “It’s okay. People love short kings, Mimi. It’s okay that you are the tiniest human known to all of humanity.” 

—

There was a t-shirt laying on the floor. One of Emilio’s, discarded God only knew when, God only knew where, but Perro must have brought it into the living room at some point. He did that, sometimes; collected Emilio’s things and dragged them under the couch, build a little nest for himself with them. Emilio had often found socks, shirts, boxers, even a pair of jeans in the dog’s little lair from time to time. It came in handy now. He tossed the shirt at Nora, figuring that in her ‘human’ form, it’d probably go down past her knees. 

“That’s not how it works,” Emilio insisted, even though Nora wasn’t wrong. She was always the bear, even when she didn’t look like a bear. A bugbear was a bugbear the same way a hunter was a hunter, but shifters made Emilio’s head ache in a way other supernatural creatures didn’t. He didn’t think he’d ever understand them entirely. But he didn’t really need to, either, did he? It was all right, he was learning, to just let things be. “I’m not — I am not short. Or tiny. I am taller than most people.” It wasn’t his fault that Wicked’s Rest evidently attracted giants alongside supernatural creatures. Anywhere else in the world, 5’11” was fairly tall. He’d been taller than both Edgar and Rosa — the only real edge he’d had over his siblings. And he was taller than Nora, no matter what she said. “I am going to make you do extra work. For being terrible.”

—

Nora caught the shirt, it was nice that she wouldn’t need to walk back home naked except for the jacket. That was thoughtful. But what wasn’t thoughtful was that Emilio was telling her she was wrong. “That is how it works.” Nora insisted. “I’m always the bear, and the bear is tall, so I am always tall.” It was logical, probably. Presumably. “You’re just jealous that you are shorter than me. And everyone else.” Nora said, knowing full well that the gang of friends she hung out with were all the same size as her human and her human was not very tall. Nora rolled her eyes as he began threatening her with extra work. “You’re being unbearable.” 

Snap. Crackle. Pop. Nora was a bear again. The blanket fell to the ground intact and she clutched the shirt he had given her in her paw. If he was going to be unbearable, she was going to be a bear and taller than him. Nora let out a bellowing bear roar as if to say “Try and give me work now, Mimi.” and “I’m taller than you!” All at once. 

—

“I am not shorter than everyone,” Emilio insisted. He was beginning to wonder if he should buy some kind of a chart marking average height just to prove Nora wrong. But, knowing Nora, she’d claim the chart was all fabricated information, anyway. She had a habit of that, he thought fondly. But he was careful not to let this fondness show on his face. Instead, he only rolled his eyes at her pun, waving a hand in her direction. “Terrible,” he said again. “I’m going to give you the worst case files. The ones with guys in tracksuits.” He wasn’t even sure what case files they had on their agenda at the moment, but there was always at least one mind numbing enough to serve as punishment.

And punishment would certainly be just. He could see that glint in her eye, offering the briefest of warnings and eliciting a groan before she grew again, stretching up, up, up as she morphed from girl to bear. The bear roared in a way that shook the walls, though that was hardly a difficult task. “You are going to get me kicked out,” he said pointedly. “Jeff is going to call the landlord and complain. And then what? I live in your crypt? No.”

—

Nora would take the men in tracksuit cases. She would take the ones that involved her sitting in place for a few hours for a chance to snap the photo they needed. She’d take the ones that involved getting in a dumpster and digging through heaps of discarded junk. Because this was funny. The ever growing frustration as Emilio realized he was fighting a losing battle. A new dynamic to the banter that was theirs. There was a second, a brief moment, where she wondered if this was what growing up bugbear would have been like. A place where the bear was an accepted part of her and not something she had to hide away from everyone. If her own dads would have groaned and scolded her for being a bear when she should have been human. But those thoughts were not something to hold onto, not when there was mischief to be made. 

Emilio was complaining again. Jeff would call the landlord and he would have to live in her crypt. He would be so lucky to live in her crypt. It was the best place to live in Wicked’s Rest, and she knew she didn’t even have to say it. Nora let out a bear grumbling noise to convey the thought. But she relented, if only to make sure he didn’t live in her crypt. She’d never hear the end of how unsafe it was. “Nora there’s a zombie outside. Nora there are ghouls here.” Or some shit and they would only show up because he was there. The graveyard had been perfectly safe so far. A girl again, she threw on the shirt. “The weather is great up there, in case you were wondering. Not that you’d know. Only having short people air.” 

—

Emilio had never been particularly good with people. He was gruff, he was short-tempered, he was bad at understanding things that everyone else seemed to pick up on with ease. It was why Axis’s reviews were so shitty in spite of his decent skills as a detective — he was good at the investigation, but he sucked at dealing with the people who asked for it. Delivering someone news that their spouse was, in fact, sleeping with someone else wasn’t something he knew how to do gently. If it were him, after all, he’d want the facts without any sugarcoating. Most people, unfortunately, wanted that sugar. Interpersonal relationships were another thing he struggled with. He could do casual acquaintanceships, but anything deeper than that? Anything that required him to show more of himself than he wanted to show? He was bad at that. Most people didn’t like that much, but not Nora. Nora was fine with Emilio the way he was.

Even if she was a little annoying about it sometimes.

Luckily, he knew that she didn’t want him living in her crypt any more than he wanted to live in a graveyard. They’d both be utterly miserable with the arrangement, which Emilio would insist upon despite having at least one or two other people who’d probably allow him to crash with them if he got evicted. He’d make himself miserable and live in a crypt if it meant Nora would suffer, too, just to be petty, and she knew that, so she shifted back into human form and threw on the shirt he’d tossed her. When she was dressed, he turned her way again, arms crossed over his chest. “You are the worst,” he told her seriously. “I’m going to fire you.” An empty threat. They both knew that, too.

—

“You can fire me if you want.” Nora replied easily, aware of the empty threat. What would be the point? Nora had grown into Axis like a mold, creeping into a space they hadn’t known existed and finding she belonged there. Even if Emilio didn’t want a mold growing there or not. “It’ll just mean I can do less when I come to enjoy your free air conditioning. Say goodbye to my computer, help goodbye, I’m a fired freeloader.” Nora paused for a second, “With all my new spare time, I can invite Jeff over. We’ll become best friends. I saw friendship bracelets in a show once. Maybe we can make matching ones. With knives at the end. For stabbing neighbors.” 

Truth was, and Emilio probably knew it, even if he fired, he she would still show up and do what had become her job. She enjoyed the work. She loved the investigation. She hoped to be as good as him one day. The job, the thrill of chasing answers, was almost enough to get someone to forget the crystals that had coated her body. The perfect example of who she’d always wanted to be. Almost. But nothing would truly get the taste of perfection out of her mouth. “Jeff is taller than you.” Nora wasn’t sure if that was true or not. Both of them were taller than her human, hard to compare when she hadn’t seen them next to each other. “He’ll understand how nice the weather is up there.”

—

Even if the threat did carry weight, she was right that firing her wouldn’t really change much. Nora would still come over and Emilio would still let her. She’d do just as much ‘work’ as she did now, which was to say very little. But he liked calling her his assistant, and he was pretty sure she liked telling people she was a detective. “Do not invite Jeff into my house,” he warned. “He comes here enough with no inviting, anyway.” Even if he weren’t gifted with a built-in undead detector, he would have known Jeff wasn’t a vampire. The guy barged into his apartment without invitation every other morning. “And don’t get him a bracelet. I think he would eat it or something.” There was really no telling with Jeff.

He shot her a glare as she spoke again, and anyone who didn’t know him well would think it a heated look. For Nora, though, and other people who’d spent enough time with Emilio to grow used to his various expressions, it would be fairly obvious that there was no real anger behind the expression. If anything, the look carried a certain softness to it, a fond exasperation. “Jeff is not taller than me.” He actually wasn’t sure. He didn’t think he’d ever seen Jeff standing up straight. “Are you finished being annoying today? There are things we need to be doing.”

—

The look of exasperation coupled with the subject change, Nora took that as her victory. Both had thrown around empty threats. Both had bantered as if life was normal again. As if Nora had never been a crystal obsessed with the mines and trying to get everyone she knew to move in there. Because the world did go on, no matter what devastating events happened. She wondered if anything new was happening with Emilio. Wynne had hinted at a few things, but the conversation between the two of them had been so normal. So regular. It was nice, for this moment, to exist and be happy. “Finished being annoying? No can do boss. That’s what I get paid the big bucks for.” Nora made her way back to her desk, folding herself back onto the chair, careful to retain balance so it didn’t fall to the ground. “Imagine if I stopped annoying you and you felt comfortable in your own home.” Nora shook her head, as if that would be the worst possible outcome. “Don’t worry, I can be annoying and get to the things that need doing.” Nora opened her laptop, flipping past the tab with all her research on it and opening up youtube. There were a few videos she just knew Emilio would hate seeing. She started sending them to him. 

(bonus banner bc me and fish accidentally made two)

[notwhelmedyet]

an approximately chronological list of things i've fucked up in my current bookbinding project

When merging the individual chapter files into a single pdf I messed up the page numbers and had to go back and redo it

I did that again

I fixed the page numbers but forgot chapter 7 entirely and only caught it halfway through printing. Thankfully fixed it

Realized I fixed all of that without catching an image cutting off part of the text in the colophon. fixed it in the UK edition

Didn't test my inkjet ink for bleed before designing and drawing the entire Eriador map, only to realize that the magenta ink bled horribly. Fixed it by image editing all the red elements to brown.

(there were lots of other map mistakes but we're going to keep Fred Mithrin between us)

Marbling fuckups, which deserves a whole separate category:

Tried marbling outside. As it turns out, wind moves paint when it's floating on top of a pan of water. This makes it difficult to put the paint where you want it.

Alumed the paper, then pressed it in a stack under weights and left it overnight. Turns out the alum deactivates (chemistry something something) if left in an anaerobic environment for a long time and the sheets were ghostly pale

Made the size too thin (there was a wake like I was jet skiing with those combs and the patterns were illegible)

Made the size too thick (so many. fucking bubbles. everywhere)

Air bubbles in all the wrong places RIP

Made my stencil BACKWARDS because I didn't check which arm was injured before marbling

Alumned before applying the stencils (the paper warped everywhere except where the stencil was and then it wasn't flat)

Alumned after applying the stencils (now the paint could bleed under the stencil and it didn't have clean edges)

Used freezer paper for the stencils (this was my ultimate mistake it just doesn't stick enough to prevent bleed. i think. i never fixed this so who knows)

Black paint was haunted. (That's not so much a mistake as an unavoidable reality I didn't realize when planning my marbling)

Back to regular fuckups:

Tested a new endpaper style (hidden linen-joined endpapers) on one of my good marbled sheets rather than on a blank sheet of paper, only to realize the sulphite paper was too weak and would tear. Impossible to remove the linen from the sheet and had to abandon it for one of my sub-par marbled sheets

Glued the cloth hinges for the UK editions on BACKWARDS with PVA. compounded this mistake by trying to carefully remove them with a microspatula rather than living with it. Tore the paper. Attempted to mend it with kozo and warped the paper. Attempted to color it with paste paint to cover it up and tested my color match on plain rather than mended paper, leading it to be obviously the wrong color.

When sewing the US copy of ATWW I pulled the wrong thread while doing a weaver's knot and ripped the first signature out of the book (mended it with kozo tissue)

Trimmed the head of US DR with the pages askew because I forgot to square the book in the press in all 3 dimensions. Trimmed it again to try and correct that, but didn't take enough off so it wasn't flat. Tried to sand it flat and still didn't succeed. Gave up.

Glued and rounded the spine of UK ATWW before trimming the fore edge. Had a panic. Got the trimming setup and done in under half an hour, a new record.

Rounded the spines unevenly (always)

Didn't press UK DR tightly enough while sanding the inside fore edge and some of the pages got hooked in on themselves, necessitating going through with a microspatula and unhooking each page individually, then sanding again.

Over to edge marbling fuckups:

Used too strong of masking tape to tape off the head and tail when dipping the fore edges, which ripped the back side of the endpapers while removing.

Didn't dip US edition fore edges deep enough, leaving blank spaces

Panicked and dipped them a second time, making the pattern muddled

Managed to get bubbles on both the head and tail of the UK editions, because god hates me in particular

Attempted to fix one of the bubbles with paint and accidentally washed off a patch of marbling in the process.

Didn't press the books tight enough (quick release clamps were a mistake

Should have dried off the edges gently with a paper towel before air drying - the water on the edges seeped into the pages, causing both paint bleed and the books to warp out of square

Forgot the paste paper endpages and literally GLUED THE BOOKS SHUT. Had to very carefully pry them open again. 🤦

Aaaand that's as far as I've gotten so far but never fear more mistakes are on the way

[andys-muses]

Thinking about if my Alice Parker were to meet Miles Morales and I'm having feelings

They would immediately meet and Miles would be a proud baby deer and show off his electricity and invisibility and Alice is all "Omg you are a freak of nature and I love you" and girlie spends a solid ten minutes trying to analyze what the hell he is scientifically

Next interaction is Miles wanting to get better at Spanish but not wanting to have anything to do with Miguel so he goes to who he thinks is his next best thing, Alice, and is all "Hey ma'am could you help me with my spanish?" and Alice goes "I'm honored that you think I'd be a good tutor but I am Portuguese"

He ends up drawing her a few times and one time Alice comes up behind him without him noticing and sees the drawing and goes "omg I look amazing" and he ends up jumping and sticking to the ceiling

Alice asks if she can see more and he tells her he'll allow her to when he feels more confident with his art (Cuz she asked so nicely)

Alice's suit gets roughed up and after she fixes it some of the color is gone so she goes to him and asks him to put back the gold accents and Miles' lil heart bursts with joy as he pulls out painters tape and spray cans

He puts in a gold color like she wanted but adds a bit of orange in areas to give it that nice shading and Alice nearly passes out at how pretty it is

Alice teaches him chess, Miles is more than happy to learn but notices the vaguely sad look in her eyes

She beats his ass at chess

One time Alice is explaining some tech stuff and goes "I'm telling you man, it's science!" and Miles ends up crying later cuz she reminds him of Uncle Aaron

One time Miles goes on about nerd and art shit and Alice ends up crying later cuz he reminds her of her dead little brother

Both of them finally admit this later and have a good cry together before getting ice cream

If Jefferson and Rio end up learning about Miles' identity, he brings Alice to his universe and introduces her to them. They love her cuz she does all the proper first introduction stuff and has a pretty decent understanding of their culture

If May and Ben end up learning about Alice's identity, she brings Miles to her universe and May and Ben pull out the adoption papers on sight (Metaphorically, of course)

One time Miles ends up needing to crash at their place, and Alice opens the door to a room next to her own and tells him he can stay there for the night. Miles doesn't need to be told that it's her brother's, he makes sure to respect the place, the stuff in it, and the amount of respect and trust shown in the display of not only letting him see it, but letting him sleep in it.

"At least I'm not a knock off Spider-Man" "At least I can hug my parents" "At least I got an uncle" "At least I got a--"

When Miles graduates, he invites his Spider-friends to sneak themselves in to attend the party. Alice is included in the invitation and happily accepts the offer. She spends a little more time trolling Spider-Ham and Spider-Noir than she should.

Now I need this duo god fucking dammit

[glamfairyhair1]

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