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laundrybiscuits · 1 year

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The officer leans close, jabbing a finger into Steve’s chest. “You’re damn lucky it ain’t ten years ago or one state over,” he growls. “You could be looking at a felony charge, serving 15 to life. We didn’t stand for this kind of thing in Hawkins when I joined the force.”

Steve just folds his arms and gives the officer a bored look. “Okay,” he says. “Good talk. Can I see my boyfriend now?”

The officer sneers, but he steps aside to let Steve through. They’ve got Eddie cuffed to the hospital bed with another gun-toting guard in the corner.

“Jesus christ,” snaps Steve. “He’s not gonna escape, he can’t even walk right now. Why don’t you clear out and give us a little privacy, huh?”

“Sorry,” says the guard, not sounding all that sorry. “It’s for his own protection.”

Fuck. He’s gonna have to hope Eddie can follow his lead. All that practice pretending to be a wizard or whatever has to be good for something, right?

He perches on the side of Eddie’s bed and takes his hand. He can do this. “Hey, gorgeous. How’re you feeling?”

“Uh,” says Eddie, eyebrows doing something hilarious. “Steve?”

“It’s okay,” says Steve. He rubs his thumb over Eddie’s knuckles. This is the most they’ve ever touched, he thinks—the most that was just skin, no layers of denim or leather in between. Not even a layer of blood and dirt.

He swallows and keeps going, willing Eddie to develop freaky mind-reading powers all of a sudden. “I know you didn’t want to tell anyone about us, but I had to, baby. I’m sorry. I had to tell them you were, y’know, with me when…when Jason killed Chrissy.”

“You didn’t have to tell them about us,” says Eddie slowly. He’s giving Steve kind of an intense look. “Honey-pie. I’m sure there’s gotta be another way. One without as many consequences for you that you might not have thought all the way through.”

“There really isn’t,” Steve says. Thank god Eddie’s so quick on the uptake. Sure, he’s being a stubborn dick about it, but at least it doesn’t seem like he’s going to let anything slip.

“Fucking hell,” sighs Eddie. “Don’t suppose we can put that pesky little cat back in the bag. Okay. Darling angel, light of my life, corndog of my soul, who else knows?”

Corndog of my soul, Steve mouths to himself. “Just the cops. And Robin and Nancy, obviously. And—oh, remember Hopper?”

“Do I remember Hopper, he asks. Oh, pudding-pop. The late Chief Hopper and I spent so, so much quality time together over the years; he was practically a father figure to me. And just as with my actual dear old dad, his departure was cause for great rejoicing in Casa Munson.”

“Sorry to break the bad news, then. Hop’s alive, and he—uh, he knows everything.” Steve tries to communicate the scope of everything by kind of tilting his head back and forth. “He’s been…helping.”

“Huh. No shit,” says Eddie. Steve can’t tell whether or not he’s getting it. To be fair, there’s a lot to get. “Okay, gallant knight errant of mine, any news on whether or not I’m getting sprung from this charmingly appointed dungeon?”

“We’re…Hopper’s working on it. That’s why I’m. Y’know. Here. To tell you that they know about us.”

“Cool, right, understood.” Eddie closes his eyes, leaning back on his pillow. It’s so strange to see him in nothing but a hospital gown against white sheets. He looks like a wrung-out dishtowel.

There’s a commotion from outside, raised voices saying something like you let him what and haven’t even interrogated the Munson kid yet and not a legal status you fuckin—

“Time’s up, sweetheart,” says Eddie, mouth quirking up into the ghost of a smile. “Anything else you wanna say before they decide to upgrade my security?”

“Uh,” says Steve. He’d mostly been focusing on getting the basics of Eddie’s alibi across in a convincing way, and he can’t remember if there were any other details Eddie should know.

He hears the door slam open behind him, and panics. “Love you, bye,” he says, and ducks in to brush a quick kiss across Eddie’s chapped lips. The last thing he sees as he’s hauled bodily out of the room by a pissed-off detective is Eddie with his eyes gone enormous and shocked, lifting his uncuffed hand to his mouth, looking and looking at Steve like something is always going to be different from now on, forever.

(ETA: small continuation here!)

#dashed off 90% of this a little while ago based on a post that I now cannot find; I’ve been traveling and finished it up on a train this AM #but yes this is literally the same general premise as bonitabreezy's I Like to See You in the Morning Light #pls go read that instead #I know I’ve lied about this before but I’m really not planning to continue this at all! it is just a silly little thing!#also IANAL but afaik IN decrim’d sodomy in ‘76; 15 to life was the max sentence in MI for first-time & repeat offenders respectively iirc #steddie

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squidwardtentacool · 1 year

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Has this been done yet?

#pokemon spoilers #spoilers #memes #pokemon meme #spongebob meme #I know the quality isn’t great but it was one of those waking up at 3am with a headache and crafting this thought together naked on the #toilet kind of days

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theculturedmarxist · 1 year

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In photos of 2023’s World Economic Forum- or Davos as it is commonly called, after the Swiss resort town where it annually occurs- you might not notice the HEPA filters. They’re in the background, unobtrusive and unremarked upon, quietly cleansing the air of viruses and bacteria. You wouldn’t know- not unless you asked- that every attendee was PCR tested before entering the forum, or that in the case of a positive test, access was automatically, electronically, revoked. And if you happened to get a glimpse of the strange blue lights overhead, you could reasonably assume that their glow was simply a modern aesthetic choice, not the calming buzz of cutting edge Far UVC technology- demonstrated to kill microbes in the air.

It’s hard to square this information with the public narrative about COVID, isn’t it? President Biden has called the pandemic “over”. The New York Times recently claimed that “the risk of Covid is similar to that of the flu” in an article about “hold outs” that are annoyingly refusing to accept continual reinfection as their “new normal”. Yet, this week the richest people in the world are taking common sense, easy- but strict- precautions to ensure they don’t catch Covid-19 at Davos.

These common sense, easy precautions include high-quality ventiliation, use of Far UVC-lighting technology, and PCR testing. You’ll also see some masks at Davos, but generally, the testing + air filtration protocol seems to be effective at preventing the kind of super-spreader events most of us are now accustomed to attending.

It seems unlikely to me that a New York Times reporter will follow the super-rich around like David Attenborough on safari, the way one of their employees did when they profiled middle-class maskers last month. I doubt they will write “family members and friends can get a little exasperated by the hyper-concern” about the assembled Prime Ministers, Presidents and CEOs in Switzerland. After all, these are important people. The kind of people who merit high-quality ventilation. The kind of people who deserve accurate tests.

Why is the media so hellbent on portraying simple, scientifically proven measures like high-quality ventilation as ridiculous and unnecessary as hundreds of people continue to die daily here in the US?

Why is the public accepting a “new normal” where we are expected to get infected over and over and over again, at work events with zero precautions, on airplanes with no masks, and at social dinners trying to approximate our 2019 normal?

We deserve better. We deserve to be #DavosSafe as the hashtag going around on twitter puts it. Your children deserve to be treated with the care that world leaders are treating each other. Your family deserves to be protected from the disease which is still- unlike the flu- the third leading cause of death in the US. We don’t deserve to be shoved back into poorly ventilated workplaces while our politicians and press assure us that only crazy people would demand to breathe clean air.

Clean water and clean food are rights we fought for; we have regulatory bodies that ensure we aren’t exposed to pathogens via our water supply nor our food. In 1854, John Snow famously conducted his Broad Street Pump study in London and demonstrated that cholera was water-bourne; however, it took decades for our public policy to catch up with our scientific knowledge.

A public health case study published by the NBCI describes the years that followed:

The first use of chlorine as a disinfectant for water facilities was in 1897 in England. The first use of this method for municipal water facilities in the United States was in Jersey City, New Jersey, and Chicago, Illinois, in 1915. Other cities followed and the use of chlorination as standard treatment for water disinfection rapidly grew. During the 20th century, death rates from waterborne diseases decreased significantly, and although other additional factors contributed to the general improvements in health (such as sanitation, improved quality of life, and nutrition), the improvement of water quality was, without doubt, a major reason.

Forty-three years passed from the initial demonstration that pathogens were being spread via water, and public action and regulation to halt disease.

Can you imagine, in the 1890s, being somebody who argued against cleaning the water?

Can you imagine, in those years of plentiful cholera, calling the people who demanded shit-free water “hold outs”?

One thing COVID realists are accused of is being “doomsayers” and “fearmongers,” so let me share a dose of optimism about the future with you. When we choose- whenever we choose- to get COVID under control, there’s an exciting new world awaiting us. One, not only without constant COVID reinfection, but where our kids can grow up free of colds, flus, RSV, and many other common bugs. And no, contrary to what you may have heard, staying healthy (shockingly enough) is not bad for children!

Once we choose to institute ventilation standards and introduce new technologies like Far UVC lighting- and embrace masking as an easy, kind, and useful tool to control outbreaks- we can bring every nasty airborne pathogen under control the way we did cholera. We didn’t have the science before; now we do. (I mean that quite literally; I can’t recommend enough the linked Wired article cataloguing the long journey to establishing that Covid is, indeed, airborne).

We face a stark choice; down one road, the one with zero infrastructure upgrades, no air quality regulations, and Covid safety only for those who can afford it, you and your family will get Covid this year. You will get Covid next year. You will continue to get Covid over and over and over again, as the health problems - like cardiac damage, viral persistance, and immune system dysfunction- continue to build up. (The billionaires, of course, will not).

Down the other road, we quite simply treat ourselves the way Davos would. We engage with what the science is telling us and we build a safer, better world for our kids. We embrace the lessons this pandemic is teaching us, and let go of things we now know are harming people. We stop clinging desperately to the idea that 2019 will come back if we just get the virus one more time, and we come together to achieve what we’ve been told is impossible: elimination.

The economic elite thrive on our divisiveness and blame casting. They don’t mind that we’re calling each other names, engaging in racial stereotyping, or leaving disabled people to die, so long as we keep their machine running. But we can choose to stop throwing blame at each other, and direct it where it belongs: at the powerful people who’ve left us to suffer, at the politicians who are whipping people into a frenzy over masks instead of over our millions of dead, at the talking heads on TV that work so hard to convince us: you want to get sick. It’s better than being a *weirdo* or a *hold out*.

We needn’t wait 43 years to redirect our energies. France and Belgium have already introduced new air quality standards, and DIY projects to build Corsi-Rosenthal boxes for schools and healthcare settings have popped up around the country. We have the science, we have the technology. All we need now is the political will and the solidarity to truly end the pandemic- the kind of solidarity the super rich always show with one another.

The billionaires at Davos don’t accept continual Covid reinfection. They demand better. It’s time we demand better too.

#covid #covid 19 #covid prevention #davos world economic forum #world economic forum #forever covid

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luveline · 2 months

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Can I request Eddie and R tending to each other’s wounds (given they both survive the demobats in the UD)?

ty <3 fem!reader, 1.4k

cw canon typical violence

“You’re sweating like crazy.”

“Eddie, that’s the sort of thing you don’t say to a girl,” you say, hands shaking hard as you ruffle through the duffle bag at your side. Your knees burn like they’re on fire, your arms raked with claw marks, but Eddie’s been minced. If you hadn’t climbed your way back to him with the makeshift flamethrower at his feet, Eddie would probably be dead. Scorched demobat is a gross smell.

“What are you so scared of? It’s like, running down your cheek,” he says.

“Shut up,” you say, glancing back, hoping Dustin will be right behind you. You hadn’t stopped to make sure he was alright. What if he’s hurt too? “Seriously, just don’t talk. You’re gonna bleed to death and die and your last words are gonna be about how sweaty I am.”

You peel back a soaked square of gauze from his waist and smash a clean one overtop to soak up the pooling blood. Eddie gasps in agony, writhing away from your touch, but to his credit, his voice is strong as he says, “Shit, true. I can make them better. How about, um… oh. You’re smoking. Like, seriously gorgeous. That better?”

Your eyes sting as you turn your face to your shoulder, cupping his cheek, his blood wet on your fingers and staining his skin red. “How would you know? It’s dark out.”

“I’ve seen your face in the light hundreds of times. I know what I’m talking about.”

He would’ve been turned to mulch without your rescuing. There are split cuts all over him, it’s awful, and you won’t be able to fix him yourself here, but you don’t have to. You just need to stop his bleeding and help him deal with the pain until Dustin makes it through. The two of you can drag him to safety.

Maybe the best way to do that is to let him tease you. “You really think I’m pretty?” you ask, pressing another piece of gauze over this second one, wincing when he lets out a pained gasp.

“Are you kidding?”

“I thought you liked, you know, the really pretty girls, like–”

“You are a really pretty girl, are you kidding? Don’t fish for compliments.”

You shake your head, laughing, half-terrified. The blood isn’t slowing. “Eddie, I have to press down harder, okay? I’m sorry.”

“Just do it,” he says. You dig the heel of your palm into his side. “Fuck!”

“You’re really not gonna like this next part,” you warn, pushing his legs flat to the floor.

You climb over his thighs and sit on his lap, hand twisted to cover his wound and the other peeling the paper covering off of another sterile square of gauze. Eddie swears like a sailor as you squeeze down, the majority of your upper weight being pressed to his open wounds. It would be an uncomfortable sensation without the cuts. You know it’s torture.

“Oh, god,” he says, “I think I’m gonna be sick.”

“That’s a great reaction,” you say, lifting the edge of the leftmost gauze. The blood pools but doesn’t gush down his side. You sigh in relief. “Oh, thank god.”

“Maybe don’t say stuff like that sitting on my crotch.”

“Are you for real?” You meet his eyes, tears streaming down his cheeks. “You’re really thinking about your dick right now?”

“Of course not, I’m a gentleman, but you’re kind of on top of me and it’s been a really hard week.”

You burst out laughing. He gags in pain and turns away.

The cavalry arrives not long after that, though it feels like hours. Together, somehow, you drag Eddie back to the gate, and things get a little blurry after that.

—

You’ve never been so tired in your life as you are right now, but you’re so relieved that the world has taken on a golden quality, and Eddie looks golden too.

His hair is wet. You think Wayne might’ve washed it for him over the bath; it’s been greasy for a week while his stitches started to heal up, and he spent it in Steve’s bed. The only good thing about having absent parents apparently is being able to harbour a fugitive without being noticed, and anybody else who couldn’t go home without explaining their injuries.

“You okay?” Eddie asks.

“Mm.” You scrunch up into yourself on the couch, cradling your arm where it aches to your chest.

“You’ve been sleeping all day. Figured I’d make sure you weren’t in a coma.” You think about poor Max. He must see your wavering expression, sitting on the couch by your legs with an apologetic smile. “She’s doing even better today. Sinclair thinks she was squeezing his finger, so that’s something.”

“Can’t believe all that stuff really happened,” you mumble, the blanket pulled over your chin muffling your voice. It’s a wonder he can hear you.

“Feels fake, right? I keep forgetting about it when I wake up, and then I have to stand and feel my stomach try to split open and remember I was bat chow.” He nods to your arm. “Still hurting?”

It’s nothing compared to his. Your cuts didn’t need stitching, but the were deep still. You’ve only had the butterfly bandages taken off yesterday. The skin aches where the scar tissue is forming. “Sort of itchy,” you say.

“Yeah?” He pulls a little white tube from his pyjama pants hesitantly. “Maybe I can help?”

“What’s that?”

“Non disclosed ointment. Pretty sure it’s the good stuff from Mike’s girl’s government friends.”

They’re gonna clear Eddie’s name, apparently. So far they’ve done a whole lot of nothing while Hawkins falls apart around you. Well, besides the drugs. They’ve given out plenty of painkillers.

Eddie shuffles closer to you and takes your arm into his hand. “Her name is Eleven,” you say.

“I know.” He pushes your sleeve up over the bump of your elbow to expose the worst of your scarring.

You think he’s aware of what you did that day to save him. He’s been achingly nice to you since he woke up. Even when he couldn’t walk, he’d been shouting down the stairs from Steve’s room to check if you were alright on the couch. Usually met with a chorus of Shut the fuck ups, it had been sweet, if a little embarrassing to have to call back. I’m okay. Thanks!

“I’ve been meaning to tell you something,” he says.

You watch him uncap the ointment and squeeze a ball of it onto his finger. It’s semi-translucent, smelling of arnica with a bit of kick to it. He turns your wrist gently in one hand and begins to trace the lines of your scars one by one, as gentle as anyone’s ever touched you, his pinky finger suspended and shaky as he draws toward the crook of your elbow.

“Well, don’t leave me waiting,” you say eventually.

“Right, just. I’m trying to be braver. It’s not working in my favour yet.”

You laugh. “No, really?”

“But you saved my life. Everybody knows it. You and Henderson saved me, and I can’t make it up to you. This,” —he smooths ointment over the ridge of your cruellest scar— “is permanent. And scaring you like that, I mean. I shouldn’t have gone back in, and I should have kept running, it was selfish, trying to do a good thing and…” He holds your arm in his hands and meets your eyes. You don’t see a trace of the shrill, loud boy you’d spent the last two weeks with. “Getting you hurt.”

“I got hurt trying to save the world,” you say. “‘Cos, you know, not everything’s about you…”

His smile is slow as molasses and doubly sweet as he wraps his arm behind your shoulders. He’s careful, you’re both fragile right now, but he squeezes you and laughs warmly against your ear and he’s back to the Eddie you remember. “Everything is about me. It’s totally about me, babe, and you’re just jealous.”

He rubs your back.

“You know,” he adds, hand trialling lazily to the small of your back, where it stays, “I wouldn’t be here without you. So if you need anything, just let me know.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Yeah?” he asks, pulling back. He kisses your cheek as he does, his hands falling on top of yours. “Alright. You’re still smoking hot, you know that? The scars are sick. You’re cool now.”

Your fingers twitch against his palm. “Thanks, Eddie.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson scenario #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader

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moonstruckme · 2 months

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i recently started following you and i absolutely love your writing! you have such great talent!

no pressure at all and feel free to scream at me if this is out of your boundaries (i read ur guidelines so it shouldn’t be but you never know). I’m curious if you could write reader with literally anyone, just in denial that they like them. like she used to go out with really shifty guys and is just appalled that this person actually likes them

(this definitely isn’t self-indulgent at all….)

Thanks for requesting baby! (I would never scream at you lmao) I did this with dealer Eddie, hope that's alright :)

cw: weed, mention of transactional sex

dealer!Eddie Munson x fem!reader ♡ 1.5k words

Eddie’s grinning big when he opens the door to his trailer. He takes off his headphones, hanging them around his neck. You can hear Black Sabbath still playing from the speakers.

“Hey.” His voice has a slightly raspy quality to it, and you wonder if he’s been singing or smoking. “You lookin’ for a fix, pretty?”

You grasp the strap of your bag self-consciously, forcing a bouncy “yep” past your lips. Eddie’s got a way of saying things that makes you feel awkward and flighty, like your heart might lurch right out of your ribcage at any moment. It should be routine by now, but you’ll probably never get over it.

Eddie only nods and opens the door further, inviting you in. He sets a hand on your back as you go by, and you try not to look as shy as the touch makes you feel.

“Same as usual?”

“Yeah, thanks.” You lean against the counter while he crosses the room to the drawer where he keeps his stash.

You’ve been coming to Eddie for years now. You weren’t exactly friends in high school but you were always friendly, and every time you leave his place you’re freshly shocked by the realization that you actually really like him. You appreciate that he keeps it business. Well, as business as anything can be with Eddie. Flirting is just part of the package, but he doesn’t try to smoke your stuff after he sells it to you and doesn’t seem to expect anything other than money in return. Shitty as it sounds, a dealer like that can be hard to come by in your experience.

“I’ve been missing you, sweet thing,” he says, taking out a big zip lock bag of bud and a smaller one to portion yours into. “Thought you might’ve found someone else to keep you happy.”

You don’t respond for a second, and Eddie’s head tilts up from where he’s picking through the bag, eyebrows going up in intrigue.

“I was seeing this guy for awhile,” you say, looking sideways out the window. “He got pre-rolls from someone else, and he’d let me have them sometimes.”

“Well shit, I can roll for you if it’ll keep you coming over.”

You look at Eddie in surprise. He grins at you, jutting his chin towards the couch.

“Sit down, I’ll get you set up.”

“You don’t have to do that,” you say.

“Gotta keep my favorite customer happy, don’t I?” You don’t move, and his smile softens into something more genuine. “It’s no problem, just sit down. Tell me about this guy. Does he treat you right?”

You follow directions, going to sit on the less saggy and dingy-looking of the couch cushions while Eddie bends over the counter across from you. “Not really,” you say indifferently. As if thinking about it doesn’t send a dull ache blooming through your middle. “We aren’t together anymore.”

Eddie glances up at you, something odd flitting across his expression. “That sucks,” he says bluntly. “I’m sorry. I mean, it sounds like he sucked, so I guess I’m not sorry that it’s over even if I’m sorry that you’re sad. Are you sad?”

A little laugh startles out of you. “Not really,” you say, and it’s halfway to honest. You’d been sad to break up with him, but Eddie is right; he sucked. You’re not really sad it’s over either.

“Good.” He nods, appeased. “Thought I’d have to go beat someone up or something.”

You snort, and Eddie’s mouth drops open in offense. He looks back down at the roll, sticking his tongue in his cheek as he shakes his head.

“Feels like you’re not taking my threat of vengeance super seriously.”

“No, I am,” you laugh. “I am, it’s just—you don’t seem like someone who wins a ton of fights.”

“Ah!” He clutches a fist over his heart, looking at you in absolute betrayal. “So little faith! I’ve fought worse monsters than your jilted beaux, okay?”

You roll your eyes. “I’m guessing it’s a little different in real life than in your game.”

Eddie pauses for a half a second, and you wonder if you’ve gone too far in your teasing, but then he bends back over the table, bringing the paper to his mouth. “Right.” He runs his tongue quickly across the roll. “Well, anyway, I have a spear in my garage if you want me to give it a try.”

You smile at the thought of Eddie jabbing his (in your imagination, plastic and nerdy) spear at your most recent ex.

“Thanks, but I think I’m good,” you say.

He shrugs. “Your loss. I’d have taken off my shirt for the battle, but I guess you’ll have to get that show another time.”

You laugh, crossing your legs as he starts on another roll. “Hey, you don’t actually have to roll all this,” you say. “I won’t stop coming to you.”

“I don’t mind it,” he replies, packing the next with easy, practiced movements. “Unless you’re in a rush or something. Do you have to go?”

“No, I’m…I’m good.” You’ve never spent this long at Eddie’s place before. It’s usually that you show up, he gives you a bag, you pay, and you leave. You’ve never taken much time to survey the trailer, the way Eddie moves around the cramped furniture with such ease or the way the windows let in just enough light to make his skin look softer and his eyes browner. “You can leave half of it, though, if that’s okay. I’ve still got a bowl at home.”

“Whatever you want.” He keeps his focus downward, ringed fingers moving carefully. “You know, I’ve actually kind of missed having you come around.”

“You said that already.” You tuck a piece of hair behind your ear, smiling even though he’s not looking. “I told you I’ll keep coming back, Eddie, you don’t have to butter me up.”

His gaze flicks to you, eyebrows rising on his forehead. “I’m not,” he says.

Something about his tone has the hairs raising on the back of your neck. You keep intentionally still as a slight chill goes through you.

“I like hanging out with you.” He shrugs, looking back at his roll. “Would you want to hang out again soon?”

You hesitate. “I…don’t think I’ll be needing any more for a bit.”

“Well, ideally you wouldn’t be here to buy.”

For a second, you’re confused, and then realization and dread collide in your gut with enough force to make you nauseous. The disappointment is more potent than either of them.

“Oh.” Maybe Eddie isn’t so different from the other dealers you’ve had after all. “Um, I just feel like I’ve always paid in cash…”

Eddie’s eyebrows furrow, and then his entire face contorts. “Christ—no.” He drops the finished roll, holding up his palms as if to ward you off. “Not that! Ew—I mean—” His hands go to his head. “—not ew, like you’re not ew, I just—gah.” He drops his head back, and his fingers disappear into his hair, making fists. He looks almost pained. “I like you. Like, I’m not trying to have sex with you right now. Not that sex wouldn’t be cool—we could if you wanted to—but that’s not what I’m getting at.”

He blows out a big breath, hands dropping to his knees, and looks you in the eye.

“Can we just forget about the weed for a second?” he asks, sounding nearly desperate. “I’m trying to ask you on a date. Not to get you to fuck me for drugs.” Your mouth drops open, but Eddie keeps going. “And if you don’t want to go out, that’s totally cool. Very respectable, honestly. It doesn’t have to affect anything.” He presses his lips together. “I didn’t mean to say you were ew. I’m sorry.”

You’re too shell-shocked to even laugh. You have whiplash. But now he’s looking at you with his big eyes all expectant, and you feel like you have to say something.

“A date?” you ask.

“Uh, yeah.” He leans against the counter, looking a bit awkward but somehow all the more endearing for it. “Like, to the arcade or maybe dairy queen or something—I don’t know, you can pick.”

“And you…don’t want to have sex.”

“I don’t not want to have sex,” he clarifies. “But, uh, we don’t have to at all. Like, only if you want to, and definitely not if you think it’s some sort of…” Eddie winces “...transaction.”

You nod slowly, and now there’s a smile tugging persistently at your lips. “That sounds good,” you say. “The date part.”

“Yeah?” His head picks up. “Really?”

You smile. “Yeah. Are you sure?”

“Am I sure?” Eddie guffaws. “Yeah, I’m pretty fucking sure. I’m getting a much better deal here. But no take-backs,” he says quickly, and his grin widens when you laugh. “Are you free tomorrow?”

“Um, yeah.” You think for a second, nodding. “Yeah, I’ve got nothing tomorrow.”

“Great.” Eddie presses his lips together like he’s trying to contain the full scope of his smile. He pushes his fingers into the countertop. “Okay, forget everything from today. I’m gonna be such a fucking gentleman when I pick you up tomorrow, you probably won’t even recognize me.”

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twogyuu · 9 months

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reverse uno

Pairing: Jeonghan x fem!reader

Genre: Fluff, dad!jeonghan, mom!reader, uncle!wonwoo

Warnings: profanity, some jealousy (but it's just out of funniness), jeonghan long hair slander, unedited

WC: ~1.5k

A/N: For shits and giggles. I also miss Jeonghan.

Spin-off from Wonwoo's Tasty Cereal (and Milk). Would reccomend reading this one first to have context for this one 😅

. . . .

Jeonghan was seething.

Never in a hundred years did he think he’d be jealous of Jeon Wonwoo.

Jeonghan has known the young man for the better half of his twenties from university. They were different as night and day, but Jeonghan never saw anything wrong with that. The two men had their unique qualities. Also, he adored Wonwoo – truly. A quiet fella with well-founded values and a kind heart, it was for those very reasons he could never really, what youth called, “rizz up” a girl despite all the heart eyes sent his way. The man had game; he just didn’t know how to use it.

Heck, with Wonwoo’s current girlfriend, it took the effort of two armies and Lee Jihoon to get the frustrating oblivious pair together.

It truly had to be a sick joke for Jeonghan to be standing in the middle of a kid’s backyard birthday party and bear witness to his four-year-old daughter falling head over heels for the four-eyed man.

Atop a blue-and-white checkered blanket, Nina was seated on Wonwoo’s lap, his hand wrapped protectively over her waist to keep her from falling off, a picture book opened in front of them as he pointed at the illustrations of a Siamese cat dressed in a cape, leaping off a boat.

She was whipped.

His little girl, adorned with his big brown eyes – it was blasphemous.

Nina laughed girlishly and clapped her hand out of joy as Wonwoo read one of the character’s lines in a low voice, mimicking that of a monster.

Jeonghan has definitely reenacted scenes from some of her favorite storybooks way better than that. His impression of Amelia Bedelia could earn him an Oscar!

“Why are you clenching your fists so tight?”

Jeonghan turned in the direction of the familiar sound of your voice. Your presence brought him some sense of comfort. At least he’d never lose you to Wonwoo.

Jeonghan let out a defeated sigh, walking over to your side and snaking his arm around your waist and pulled you into his side. His eyes were still trained on his little girl, though he could feel your fingers grazing across the side of his face as you tucked a strand of hair behind his ear.

Your eyes flickered from his hardened expression to Wonwoo and Nina, and then back.

“What’s so great about him anyways?” Jeonghan asked.

“Wonwoo?” you double-checked.

“I mean, he’s not that great, you know?” Jeonghan pressed on, “I’m a cool dad! I let her eat ice cream for breakfast yesterday morning!”

“You what?”

Oops.

Jeonghan shook his head, pretending he didn’t spill his daughter’s biggest secret. He scoffed dramatically, “This is ridiculous – she shouldn’t be acting so lovesick! She’s only four!”

You made a mental note to circle back to the ice cream for breakfast, but decided to address the matters of your husband’s current distress.

“Maybe Wonwoo’s just good with kids,” you suggested, “He’s a teacher after all.”

“A math teacher,” Jeonghan scorned, “For eighth graders.”

“Honey, I think you’re overthinking this,” you tried to soothe him, doing your damn best to suppress your giggles. You hadn’t seen him this worked up in a while. He was always protective of Nina, but this was . . . something else.

“He babysat her once and now she goes around eating cereal and milk separately, begs to watch Sailor Moon on Saturday mornings, and asks about ‘Uncle Woo’ more than she asks about you – like, this isn’t normal!”

A light bulb goes off in your mind.

“Maybe,” you turned towards him to face him full front. Naturally, his hands settle on your waist. You reach over and smooth a strand of hair on the other side of his face, your fingers playing with the ends of the overgrown, long strands brushing across his jawline. “She likes his haircut.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Jeonghan rolled his eyes.

You shrug playfully. “Hey – Wonwoo is a handsome man and maybe, she’s like me: knows one when she sees one.”

“And what does that have to do with his hair?” Jeonghan asked.

“Haircuts make a huge difference in someone’s appearance,” you peer over Jeonghan’s shoulder, throwing Wonwoo and Nina a glance. They seemed to have caught your gaze, both waving happily in your direction. A smile spread across your face, turning back to Jeonghan. “His new haircut looks nice.”

Jeonghan cocked an eyebrow at you. “Are you suggesting something here?”

You pull away, his hands slipping off your hips. “Nothing I haven’t said to you before.”

Because that was the truth.

Despite his best friend’s insistence, you were not a fan of that mane that your husband has grown out and you had voiced your opinion more than once.

You extended a hand to Jeonghan and asked sweetly, “Cake?”

“But Nina–”

“Relax,” you reassured him, pulling him after you, “Wonwoo’s a good babysitter – it’s just a little crush. Let them be and let’s spend a little time to ourselves?”

. . . .

“Sweetheart,” Jeonghan called from afar.

Nina looked up from her drawing, the blue crayon in her chubby hands stopped moving at her dad’s voice. Her favorite cup, a white and green coffee mug with baby Yoda’s decorating the exterior, was clasped in one hand as he leaned against the entrance of the kitchen.

“Yes, daddy?” she replied.

“Can I ask you a question?” Jeonghan asked softly.

That was a strange phrase. Usually, she asked her dad questions – not the other way around. Unsure how to answer, she stayed quiet and stared at him wide-eyed.

“Do you . . . perhaps like Uncle Wonwoo’s haircut?” he asked slowly.

Nina only stared back blankly at Jeonghan. She blinked, processing her dad’s strange and cryptic words. She knew about Uncle Wonwoo and she knew what a haircut was – her mom took her for one last month. She had sat in a chair shaped like a blue race car.

“Do you think Uncle Wonwoo is handsome?” Jeonghan tried rephrasing his question. He shoved a hand, uncomfortably, into the pocket of his sweatpants.

“Handsome,” Nina said quietly, “Like . . . how Cinderella thinks Prince Charming is handsome?”

Jeonghan nodded in encouragement.

“I . . . think so?” Nina replied, confused.

“Oh,” Jeonghan said softly.

Nina frowned, her little heart feeling funny at her dad being disappointed at her answer. “Is something wrong, daddy?”

“No, no,” Jeonghan smiled weakly. “Maybe your mommy was just right.”

As he walked away, Nina noted the way her dad tugged at his little ponytail.

. . . .

“You cut your hair.”

Jeonghan sighed, annoyed as he roughly handed Nina’s night bag over to Wonwoo.

“I did,” Jeonghan replied curtly.

“Why?” Wonwoo asked cautiously, sensing malice in his older friend’s tone.

“Just because,” Jeonghan grumbled. He threw a look over his shoulder to make sure you and his daughter were coming along. You were shutting the door of the RAV4, Nina fast asleep in your arms with her head resting over your shoulder. “It was getting annoying anyways.”

“Interesting . . . I guess,” Wonwoo replied.

At this, Jeonghan narrowed his eyes. “How so?”

Wonwoo’s eyes widened at Jeonghan’s harsh tone. A hand flew to the back of his neck. Nervously, he replied, “I mean . . . you just seemed to be . . . really adamant about growing it out – you and Cheol.”

“Well, my daughter likes boys with short hair like yours,” Jeonghan replied curtly.

“Um,” Wonwoo’s eyes wandered around the living room. “I’m sorry if I’m missing something here, but what do I have to do with your hair?”

Jeonghan inhaled sharply, shaking off all the tension. “It’s nothing –”

“Nina has a crush on you and Jeonghan is bitter because she doesn’t think he’s the coolest anymore,” you announced as you entered behind Jeonghan.

“Y/N!?” Jeonghan exclaimed.

You winked in his direction before settling your daughter onto Wonwoo’s couch, adjusting her head in a comfortable position.

“But I thank you for your service,” you said to Wonwoo. Folding your arms across your chest, you smiled in satisfaction. “I got him to get a haircut.”

“You’re welcome . . .?” Wonwoo asked more than he stated. He was so confused.

“That’s manipulative!” Jeonghan shrieked.

You brought a finger to your lips and to shush him, eyes flickering to your daughter. Nina stirred momentarily in her sleep before settling into the cushion again.

Hooking your arms with his, you dragged your husband away. You remarked, “Manipulative like when you got me to go on that blind date with you?” You waved off Wonwoo. “We’ll be back around 11PM.”

Wonwoo nodded, letting out a sigh of relief.

“That’s different,” Jeonghan whined. He tried pulling his arm away to no avail – you had a strong grip.

“I’ve waited almost a decade for this moment: Consider it pay back.”

“Y/N.”

You pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek and patted his arm before rounding the front of the car to get to the passenger side.

“I married a menace,” Jeonghan groaned.

“So did I!”

“A match made in the heavens itself!” Wonwoo called from the door.

The air filled with your laughter.

A menace, but Jeonghan couldn’t deny, he really loved that sound more than anything.

#jeonghan x reader #jeonghan fluff #jeonghan scenarios #seventeen x reader #seventeen fluff #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines

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thatmooncake · 2 months

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DCA Fan Zine - Organisers needed

(Please help boost this even if you can’t personally sign up as we very much need a mod team in order to make a zine happen - especially a physical zine which I know a lot of people were interested in! <3 Thank you :>)

Sooo the results of the initial interest check are IN and it seems like people are incredibly interested in the making of a DCA fan zine for artists and writers (thanks for all the DMs so far too, I will get back to everyone)!

Now me and @flinxypie are looking for proactive mods who are happy to actively contribute to the zine’s organisation and production!

(Note: Please bear in mind a fan zine will take several months to organise and put together so these will be ongoing roles requiring active participation and joint decision making as a team throughout this time period. We are only accepting applicants for moderator positions who are 18+ due to the responsibilities involved.)

Mods will be required to help pitch in and check details, review and approve contributor applications, and offer insight and suggestions to help with the schedule and organisation of the zine where necessary.

We are specifically looking for:

- Graphic designers who can help with arranging the zine layout, editing, and providing advertising materials for the zine

- A Social media mod who can help run our social media accounts and assist with marketing

- A Finance mod who can help with bookkeeping and shop running (this will be absolutely mandatory if we will be making a physical zine)

- A Shipping/printing mod who will be responsible for the printing and shipping of the physical zine as well as any merchandise if this is produced, including sourcing a supplier we can trust to make high quality products (US-based preferred - this will also be absolutely mandatory for making a physical zine)

Previous zine experience would be great but isn’t vital for all roles. It is vital however that we have a strong active mod team pitching in in order for this zine to work!

Please apply using the linked form if you are interested: https://forms.gle/Pvj3n2DXB8dsvGg57

Applications will close on March 5th at 10pm GMT/4pm CST!

#DCA fandom #DCA fan zine #DCA fanzine #fnaf daycare attendant #zine #mod apps #sundrop #moondrop #fanzine #reblogs appreciated guys thank you

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