#filling him with trauma or making silly posts
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The promise you kept.
Extra panel: (liked this version too.)
moving on to sakumo.
Panel 1: Handprint (an older drawing to share)
Panel 2: Punishment.
what if they went for kakashi to hurt sakumo instead.
decided to dump the rest of the drawings together, but the tone shift whiplash is real (I shall do it again)
Comic 2: Bias? Not at all.
extra:
He’s just in a silly mood (he feels no remorse)
Comic 3: Did you say something?
fun idea, kakashi actually picked up his behavior from his father (sakumo version is staring people down, while kakashi is verbal)
#naruto#naruto fanart#kakashi hatake#rin nohara#sakumo hatake#fanart#art#my art#sketch#drawing#digital art#drawing expressions that are shock or haunted is fun#so making rin go through angst so she’s not left out:D#so the faulty seal going haywire once again#rin watches kakashi die from an enemy but her mind attempts to block it out#the isobu is not thrill#now moving on#SAKUMO#!!!! YEAHH#it’s all fun and games until I remember to give him the same treatment I give to his son#filling him with trauma or making silly posts#I think this is my most messy post which is fun#also darker backgrounds because I’ve been straining my eyes a tad too much (I say for the 3977554 times)#experimental posts yippeee (my eyes oh no) the white screen has finally taken its toll#maybe I’ll change it later but rn my eyes aren’t it#or rn as we speak
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loving reading Buggy's saga with his children, but I confess that I felt sorry for his balls being crushed in the last post😭
please help our dear Buggy recover from this illness 🥹
Of course sweety! 🍭 we shall cure the Muggy Buggy Balls!
Fever pt. 1
Buggy x FemReader + Buggy Twins
Old Men Series Masterlist
Wanna buy me some cup noodles? 🍜
After what was deemed the Nutcracker Arc, Buggy had been down a bit- He had wanted to have more children with you eventually but after the doctor saw the damage from the wooden sword and apparently damage from a previous incident that Buggy still refused to tell you about- The doctor essentially said his nuts were done for.
"I wanted daughters so bad..." He groaned into the pillows, still in his pouting faze as you sat next to him rubbing his back. It had been 2 weeks since Dee had taken the wooden sword to poor Buggys balls.
"I know honey.." You say softly, trying to comfort the man. Truthfully you had seen the damage and had a fairly confident feeling he was done with any baby making- Buggy was knife proof but not blunt force trauma.
"Hey it won't be that bad Buggy, You have two beautiful sons who will carry your legacy and besides we are heading to the island for the rest of our '60 day' vacation" You say softly, at this point the 60 days were no better then a joke- it had already been well over a month on the ship and with Buggy, you two just used the '60 days' as a way to tease one another over how silly it was. And an excuse for a vacation.
Buggy looked up st you, his makeup smeared on his face and he sighed in defeat. Nodding in agreement at this point.
"Yeah Yeah- Two destructive boys with devil fruit powers on an island unsupervised, What can do wrong" He said as he leaned his head against you his arm wrapping around your waist.
"Why would they be unsupervised?" You question with a raised brow, Buggy looking at you with a crooked grin.
"Well we will be busy of course" He says in a flirtatious manner- You playfully shoving his face away while blushing making both of you laugh.
"Land Ho!" A loud voice sounded through the ship, Snapping both of you from your thoughts as you your giggles.
Buggy getting up and offering a hand to you with a smile.
"Ready?" He asked, you could t help but feel your heart flutter at this. Grabbing his gloved hand and nodding, heading upstairs you saw the coming shores of land.
"Look!" Dee yelled from the crows nest, that being were he preferred to stay it seemed- Bee jumping around on deck like the hyperactive child he was.
There was a lush island that was filled with beautiful forest and a small village nestled there. It didn't take long for you all to dock at the island- Buggy happily escorting you and the boys through it.
The island he had picked was absolutely lovely, it was like a strip of paradise tucked nearly in the corner of the East Blue, a small village on the north side of the island and on the southern side was were Buggy had claimed for himself. It seemed Buggy was well Acquainted with the place as well since the locals were familiar with the crew and held no real fear of Buggy either.
"Wow! It's so big!-" Bee cheered loudly at seeing the Island, Dee nodding in agreement as they looked at the village.
"Hehe that's what your mo-" "Medium" You deadpanned, immediately taking the wind from Buggy's sails as he pouted at you taking his joke away.
"Here" Buggy said reaching in his pockets, handing the twins some change and telling them to explore the island and giving them the key to the Inn room they were in.
"This island is you're to explore, Just don't be stupid and go into the water" He said with a grin, the Twins smiling in delight at this before rushing off with their new found freedom.
"Buggy are you sure?-" You question as you watched them run away cackling like little demons.
"This place is totally safe- Besides I'm sure they are just gonna raid the candy shop anyway" You couldn't disagree with his decision and nodded.
Buggy excitedly lead you to the inn you all would be staying in while the details to the cabin was set in. It was a small tradional inn and had a hot spring attached, truthfully you thought it was quite adorable but beautiful non the less. Taking a seat on the massive futon bed you smiled at your Partner.
"I gotta admit, you did a really good job Buggy" You say earning a wide smile from the Clown Pirate.
Buggy was clearly proud of his choices, the praises from you and boys definitely fanning his ego. Especially since you didn't disagree with him that this was a terrific spot or that the inn was quite beautiful.
"I'm going to check how long till the cabin is complete-" He said with a grin kissing your lips before leaving.
The boys were out exploring the island, Buggy was checking on the cabin. You had the room to yourself? Oh how the stars aligned- jumping up you quickly grab a bottle of wine and open the back sliding door to see the amazing hot spring in the back. This was heaven-
Buggy returned after an hour, having picked up some dinner for the two of you to try and have a date night in- He knew he was still new to the whole romance thing but he was trying, aka using books to figure out.
"Hey (Y/N) yhe Cabin will be completed in a few days" Buggy said calmly, walking into the room expected you there- But was met with silence, raising a brow he walked in the room fully and opened the back sliding door that lead to the private hotspring.
That's when his world froze- There you were standing in the hotspring, it looks like you were grabbing a cool rag for yourself and just bend in the perfect angle to see everything.
You turned quickly hearing the noise of the door opening and saw Buggy there with his eyes as wide as saucers and clearly very pleased to see you. Not even having to say anything you turn and face him fully.
When the house was finished you and your small family all moved in. Buggy talking about this would be a safe house for you and kids anytime after the '60 days' or if you wished to just move here and he would return regularly.
Blushing as you stood in the hot water, Buggy catching the look in your eyes starting to strip and sliding into the water after you. His eyes never leaving yours as he closed the space between you two in moments- his hands wrapping around your waist quickly as you two smiled at each other.
It seemed Buggy was right, you and him would be busy.
Truthfully it was pure domestic bliss.
And it was this way- For a little over a month till one morning. You woke up and everything just seemed terrible, The bed made your back hurt, the lights were too bright, the twins already up and too loud.
You heard Buggy trying to talk to you excitedly but his voice was muffled and difficult to understand. Truthfully you didn't even remember making it to the kitchen and making yourself a cup of tea-
It was like you blinked and you were there, the boys chattering loudly as Buggy tried to get them to sit the fuck down as well as telling you something you didn't understand. You felt a hand finally touch your head, seeing Buggy in a different shirt and the twins gone... how long had you dozed off for?
"You look flushed-" Buggy muttered, his eyebrows crunching up as he got way too close to your face. You didn't know why but his face seemed to irritate you, or was it the smell of the apple shampoo? Or possibly-
"BLECH!" You vomited, right on the front of Buggys shirt.
Buggy's face turned red, like he was going to yell but held back and took a breath. See how you had been out of it most of the morning and fairly unresponsive despite him asking repeatedly if you were okay.
"Let's get you to the doctors.."
He said finally, Sighing as he peeled off the shirt and helping you up.
It was a short trip to the doctor in the village, Buggy being too loud in demanding you be seen right away- You wanted to choke him..
In a few minutes the doctor arrived and gave you a routine check-up, You sitting their while Buggy talked some more about random stuff as the Doctor stood back with a surprised smile on his face.
"I see what's going on-" The doctor said with a smile, both you and Buggy staring at the doctor as he set his tools to the side.
"Congratulations! You're pregnant" He said with a joyous voice- you and Buggy freezing at this.
"W-What but- I thought I was done for!?" Buggy said first as he pointed to his pants- The doctor shrugging at this.
"Well it sees you still gad a chance, but a chance non the less- If you keep trying eventually something can take root" The doctor admitted calmly. You sitting thinking back to different moments in your life... mainly your labor with the twins... 36 hours for both.. the diapers and all that 'fun'.
"How far?.." You manage out, still feeling shell shocked at this news.
"Hm I'd say 5 weeks along give or take?-" the doctor said calmly as he tapped his chin.
You both looked at each other, the thoughts swirling in your guys head as it clicked. 5 weeks is when you guys arrived at the island and..
"The Inn Hotspring-"
You guys said in unison. Buggy staring at you in total shock like the puzzle peices were still formulating in his brain- before he broke out in a wide smile, started loudly cheering and jumping.
"YOURE PREGNANT HAHAHA!"
You sitting there in shock as your partner jumped around the room... did 60 days just turn into 9 dog damn months?
#x reader#one peice x reader#one piece#one peice live action#buggy one piece#buggy the clown x reader#buggy x reader
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wish i never met you {a garnish one shot}
Pairing: Chef! Joel Miller x Professor! Reader (formally known as Bartender! Reader)
Summary: Fear of rejection and messing up so beyond comprehension makes you regret crossing the professional line and getting to know Joel as you do now.
Word Count: 1.6k
Warnings: canon typical language, joel thinks he's the one in charge but we all know it's really reader, religious contemplation, mentions of past trauma, mentions of bad family dynamics, smoking, consumption of alcohol, menstruation, talk of menstruation, blood, cramps, muscle soreness, unorthodox pregnancy announcement, reader is a hot mess, allusions to adult content, allusions to smut, mentions of past p in v, might need to add more if i missed anything!
A/N: wrote this as part of a fun, silly fic title prompt game submission from a sweet anon. it totally inspired an angsty din piece at first that i have in my drafts but then these two slammed into my brain and hijacked the idea. i just love them, your honor. i have so much love for them. NOW I KNOW THIS SUBJECT MATTER ISN'T FOR EVERYONE, I REALLY DEBATED POSTING THIS OVER THE LAST FEW DAYS BC I KNOW IT'S NOT EVERYONE'S CUP OF TEA but i feel like this is a good trajectory for these two, truly. i'm so sorry if anyone disagrees with the direction i took this in and i hopei t doesn't take away from the original series for y'all
ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist || ko-fi
“No, fuck off.” Was the quick response to a wide palm caressing over your back. You were hunched over your crossed legs on the couch, aware of how bad the position was for your posture. But it was the only way to find any relief on your aching back. You had thought it was cramps at first, really, but then you realized all the symptoms of your monthly cycle fell in line with something else when the bleeding never started.
“Excuse me, darlin’? You sure you wanna use that language with me?” Joel’s deep voice was tinged with an edge, giving you the chance to retract your expletives. You were never so outright with your denial, never wanting to deny the man a few feet away. But the way in which you had expressed it to an obviously exhausted Joel was maybe too bold for the late hour. But you didn’t take it, instead repeating yourself.
“Kindly, fuck off. Don’t touch me.” You pulled away from him, hunching lower under his hand to break the contact.
“That’s not much better, ya know.” Joel’s hands shifted to his waist, a thick brow raised as he took in the sight of you nearly balled up, the faint light of the screen lighting up your face as you ignored him.
A harsh contraction of your muscles had you groaning out, “I wish I never met you.”
“C’mon now, you don’t mean that.” Joel huffed, trying to keep his calm, but you knew it was hard for him even if you really didn’t feel all that good. You never took your pain or frustration out on him like this, it was always soft murmurs of ‘hold me’ or ‘can I borrow your warmth’. Never the way you were reacting now.
“I don’t know what’s gotten into y-“ His mouth snapped shut, eyes focusing on the screen. On the words you had typed into the search engine. Normally he would tease you over the typos, your fingers not working as quick as you mind for all the grace and focus you normally had to expertly wield a sharp knife.
Your heart thumped at the sudden silence. The fizzling tension that had filled the room.
“Don’t!” You gasped out, slamming the laptop closed and shielding the device with your body completely.
“Darlin’…” You swore you could hear the cogs turning in his head. Thinking back on the depraved as desperate way you had been seeking him out when he returned home from a late shift at the restaurant even despite the haze of sleep, in the mornings before you had to peel yourself away to go to campus, the photos you had brazenly sent him without warning that had him shielding or turning his phone over throughout the day. Thinking back on the way you had been inhaling food at any occasion, none of your normal contemplation or silence after what you considered a binge. Thinking back on the way you had begun to complain of your work clothing feeling wrong and too tight on your aching body as you dressed in the morning.
When he moved to sit on the other side of the couch, far too close for comfort, you shied away and pressed your back into the arm on your end.
“Not gonna touch ya, you have my word.” He raised his hands placatingly, his expression so soft that the tears burst from you without warning.
“You do-don’t wanna touch me. Not anymo-more.” Hiccups jolted your body, making the skin you were already uncomfortable in tingle. “I ruined ev-everything.”
He regarded you with a small frown, his plush lips pulled down as he clasped his hands together in his lap. Just as he opened his mouth to speak the words flew from you.
“I remember what you said, on the line.” You narrowed your eyes at him as they echoed in your head.
‘It had been a slow day, prep and cleaning taking over most of the evening shift. It had been back before you had taken on a role in the kitchen. Sneaking fries from the bowl of them on the expo line. They hadn’t been hot or even salted, but they were better than snacking on the fruity garnishes at the bar.
He had been passing the time with who you hadn’t known at the time was his brother, Tommy. Who had driven into the city to help take a look at the empty lot beside the restaurant, both of them contemplating the construction of a patio. But they had ended up in the kitchen, hunger too strong a call.
While Joel was on the line, Tommy was beside you, sneaking fries with a wink in your direction. But you ignored him, focused on looking through the catalogue of one of your vendors. Trying to make a seasonal menu. But your ears caught the harsh grunt of the man your eyes trailed over in the midst of busy nights.
“Wouldn’t do it, no.”
“C’mon, you seriously tellin’ me you wouldn’t baby sit for me if I were to gift you with a niece or nephew.”
“No, ‘m too old. Hire a babysitter.”
“You’re full of it ‘n you know it.”
“Brother, a baby is a lot of work. Now, your baby? Even more so.” Joel leveled his brother with a look that silenced any other argument on the matter.’
The moment he realized what you were talking about, his brows flew up into his hairline and he breathed out a hearty chuckle.
“Darlin’, I was just givin’ him a hard time. You gotta know that.”
“I didn’t know you.” You stood up from the couch, body protesting the movement. Cupping a hand over your mouth, you breathed harshly as you tried to tamp down a bout of nausea. “And now that I do, I’m gonna have to consider literally everything on my own and I’m gonna hate how much it hurts to not know you any longer. I wish I-“
“No,” He sighed, brow furrowing before he pinned you with a serious expression. “You do know me now and I wouldn’t turn my back on you, on this. I’m in it, pretty girl, no matter what you decide to do.”
When you whipped away from him, shuddering breaths wracking your sore body, the crack of your voice on a sob spurred him into motion. His arms came around you slowly, giving you the chance to retreat if it wasn’t something you wanted. But you let him, the feel of his chest warm and soothing on your aching back. The push of his soft stomach comforting. His chin hooked over a shoulder, and he spoke in such a somber tone.
“Darlin’, I always thought I was too old to do this again. But I haven’t crossed fifty quite yet and the thought of you carrying my child, of loving me and my child. God, I would give anything for it to be our future. To see you blossom into yourself more, to show our baby the same devotion you give to everything in your life, you deserve somewhere to put all your love.”
One of his hands moved over the one you had on your middle. Holding you so secure, holding you both so secure.
“Joel…it’s a lot. It’s….we’re not even-“ You turned in his arms, facing him. His beautiful, open expression so full of love and adoration, all of it for you. Your heart melted in your chest, dripping low to flutter in your stomach. You weren’t even overtly religious, left over from the trauma of your childhood. Of being forced to attend mass and important holidays alongside your grandparents. The denial of your father never urging you to seek out a higher power in replacement. But the thought of technically being single and going through something like this. It made you afraid.
“There’s a ring in my sock drawer. Got it the day of our first do over date. ‘s why I was so close to the campus. It’s yours. I’m yours. This could be yours. But only if you want it.” Joel’s forehead lightly thumped against yours as he pressed in close. His breath a warm wash over your face, smelling faintly of cigarette smoke.
Looking between each of his eyes, searching for any hint of hesitancy from him it was quiet. When you didn’t find any, you felt a smile pull at your lips as you nodded your head in affirmation. Wet laughter bubbling up as his lips pressed to yours, a smile of his own for you to feel on them.
“But I still expect you to propose, can’t skip any steps with me. I know you think you’re hot shit with being crowned the city’s most prolific chef of the year but I swear to-“
He cut you off with another kiss, his moustache ticking your upper lip as he nipped at your bottom one.
“I don’t wanna miss any steps with ya, darlin’. I’m here for ‘em all.”
It was hard to ignore the stirring of other feelings in your body, drowning out the aches and pains. But when realization hit you, you pulled back with wide eyes.
“We’re gonna have to stop drinking and smoking!”
“We?”
taglist: @tuquoquebrute @jessthebaker @littlemisspascal @76bookworm76 @hiddenbabynyc @clevergirl74 @anavatazes @samiamproductions @sarap-77 @honeyedmiller @undercoverpena
#dev writes#fic: garnish#tlou#tlou au#tlou fic#the last of us#the last of us au#the last of us fanfiction#restaurant au#chef! joel miller#chef joel miller#joel miller#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#joel miller fanfic#joel miller series#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller smut#fluff#hurt/comfort#slight angst#ao3#pedro pascal#pedro pascal fanfiction
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WHB Kings with audio accounts
Back on my audio account bullshit
Cw: NSFW, mentions of darker content but not specific, whb is its own trigger warning lol, but also some silly things (My bad a lot of silly things)
Satan
"boyfriend beats you over the head with a metal pipe till you fall asleep.♥️" "Killing you sexually then killing you again"
His account is not serious. And the funny thing is that some devils would actually listen to it while they fall asleep.
The only other thing he posts seriously is ramble faps. His mic is god-awful You don't even know how these people listen to this shit but he's actually proud of the work he does. His favorite thing to do is making his own sound effects All his sound effects are 100% made by him 'organically grown' as he calls it. And by listening some of these audios you are terrified and don't want to ask what he has done.
Surprisingly he is really good at acting... As soon as he gets a better Mic his stuff somehow gets infinitely better.
Mammon
He firmly believes that humans and devils have a fantasy of wanting to be owned and he is there to fulfill that fantasy because he does in fact own everyone. Majority of his contents is some kind of script where he owns you in some way. All pictures provided to his audios are real pictures taken by a professional photographer. Some even have motherfucking animation.
And just a low low price of $2,000 a month you can access this content (Bimet's fault) But don't worry he sells each individual audio for hundreds of dollars. He considers this cheap.
He's one of the biggest audio accounts on the platform. Having one of his audios is considered a luxury, You're getting your money's worth from the ambience to the voice acting to how often he posts Oh boy. Each audio is an hour of content all good story like a damn movie.
His audios are far more than just smut They are works of art in his eyes. And those "works of art"are probably sold in the Tartaros Black market.
Leviathan
The only normal one. Hard to believe, But if he wants to do something he wants to do it right. He wants to blow out the competition stealing other ideas and making them better in his eyes.
He only started doing this because he caught you listening to some devil you found making a boyfriend audio and he was jealous. The only voice you should be listening to is his! He starts actually liking it however because people praise him for his beautiful voice and moans.
His audios have a lot of degrading a lot of roleplay fantasy where he is of course everything he wants to be. However a lot of his content are heavily influenced by you.
You talk about a singer you liked? Is next audio is a role play where he is a singer and you are his groupie. An anime character from that specific game? He will research the game make his own character based on himself and put himself in it for an audio!
Beelzebub
He has two types of audio. Food mukbangs is one of them. However the other type is Pure sin. A Beel audio can pleasure you just as much as he can in person.
Filled with dark content because he's fulfilling his darker desires desires he can't really fulfill with you because you are a human. But in these little fantasies he can do whatever he wants and imagine anyone he wants.
He does not add sound effects but his voice alone is sinful enough to get you wanting more. He will become too powerful if he starts adding fuck noises.
His mukbangs are just him eating different here He eats food with another devil and they talk kind of like a podcast.
Lucifer
Lucifer's audios are almost entirely dominant. He has a growing user base that wants to see him whimper and he does not want to feed them.
A lot of Lucifer's content stems from religious trauma corruption kink kinda stuff. Corrupted priest, to him as an incubus corrupting you.
He does have softer content He tries to keep NSFW and sfw equal numbered, and that content rages from weddings to honeymoon to first dates anything sweet enough to melt your soul.
He prioritizes telling a story more than anything else
#whb#wihib#what in hell is bad#enjoy nonetheless it's not as good as my other ones#I wanted to do this but it didn't fit with this particular fandom but I did it anyway#whb headcanons
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Begin Again: Chapter Three
Summary: The year is 1988. After the loss of a beloved family member, you find yourself inheriting an old coffee shop. The quiet bartender at the Hideout across the street just so happens to catch your eye.
(23k+ words; eddie munson x afab!reader; sunshine!reader x grumpy!eddie vibes)
Note: Tumblr ate my formatting, so AO3 is probably best. 🙃
Warnings: Vignette style (sorta); Eddie’s post S4 trauma; panic attacks; nightmares; family member loss; grief; alcohol use; nightmares; suicidal ideation; mild smut in later chapters so 18+; additional warnings to be added.
AO3 | MASTER LIST | PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER
*
Fall, 1988
*
It’s funny, you think, as those first leaves fall outside your bedroom window with the changing weather.
This feeling of shedding the old and making room for the new. Going away for a season, with hopes of something special ahead.
It’s this expectancy, this wonder, in trusting in the unknown.
It’s the dizzying free fall, the twirling, fluttering comedown.
It’s the flicker of color, the splashes of light in a heart, the things that make it warm.
It’s like the stars that fell over Hawkins as summer slipped away slowly like a bottle of wine to be savored.
It’s the time shifting through an hourglass, always moving, always in motion, fingers coming up to catch before they’re gone too soon.
In six months you’ve created a strand of memories.
A reel of moments that have made your eyes crinkle and cheeks hurt, have made your stomach burn from laughter. You’ve cried and you’ve rejoiced and yearned.
They’re moments captured in the photos sitting on the bedside table you picked up with Eddie only a week ago, now littered with photos of the people that make you wonder if home isn’t really a place at all—but instead those you surround yourself with.
Your chosen family to stand beside you in the good, bad, and the ugly.
Your grandfather’s face smiles up at you from the frame it’s safely kept within. Your decision becomes easier every day.
*
Nothing really changed initially after that night at the movies.
When The Lost Boys credits rolled along the scene, and you lifted your head from where it was tucked against Eddie’s chest, neither of you acknowledged the closeness in proximity between the two of you.
Robin and Steve seemed none the wiser to what occurred either, both too wrapped up in talking about the movie as they closed the back doors behind them and Eddie opened the passenger side door for you to get in. If his hand lingered a little longer within your own, you say nothing of it, chalking it up to the hour or so you spent cuddling him. A touch of skin against skin seems a little silly when you have that reality to now consider. This…intrigue between the two of you that you supposed started at the fair. Maybe even sooner, when painting your bedroom.
You weren’t very certain, but all you knew in that moment, as his eyes clashed with yours in the night, was that something shifted.
Irrevocably so.
There was a line of where you two stood before, and there was a line for what would come after, and neither of you dared to venture there—at least until now.
The ride home was spent in that murky questioning. The will they, won’t they every couple must eventually face. Steve and Robin filled the open air with conversation, but it did little to quell the tension wrapped around the atmosphere. The way Eddie’s ringed fingers curled around the steering wheel, how his eyes shifted to yours every so often. As if he were expecting you to be gone—as if he wondered if you were even real at all.
Steve and Robin were eventually dropped off and Eddie drove you back to your apartment, keys jangling as he tugged them free from the ignition. You didn’t expect him to walk you to your door, and yet again he’d surprised you these weeks. You also didn’t expect him to tug off his leather jacket and drape it over your shoulders, making sure it was pulled around your body enough to block out the chill in the air.
From the man who used to speak single word sentences to you months ago, to the man who now held your hand at the fair, showed you the constellations in the sky, and curled you close to his body to keep you from the cold.
“This is my stop,” you whispered at the bottom of your stairs, tipping your head to the door. Your fingers toyed with the zipper on his jacket, eyes glancing down to your sandaled feet. “I had fun tonight.”
“Me too,” he said, brushing at your shoulder with the back of his hand. At your confusion, he held out his closed palm and lifted it in front of your face. He opened his palm and there sat a tiny lightning bug, tail end flashing like a strobe light in the night. “My mom used to say lightning bugs were these little lights shining bravely in the dark, there to remind us we all have a light within us. I think she really only told me that so I wouldn’t get scared.”
“And now?” you asked, watching those wings as they fluttered and it took to the skies, trailing high above Eddie’s wavy head of hair.
“I’m still scared,” he admitted softly, glancing up at the sky. You followed his gaze, watching as other lightning bugs flickered and pulsated in the air, a pattern only they understood, reaching out to one another in the night. Calling to one another, being light for one another. “But at least it’s not all dark now.”
Suddenly he was looking at you, and you felt that light reflected back at you within his eyes.
The wind tickled at your thighs, ruffled the ends of your dress, pushed you nearer to him. Your fingers trailed along the inside of his jacket once more, the scent of leather, cigarette smoke and his after shave just inches from your nose and comforting in the sense they all reminded you of him. So it pained you to pull it free from your shoulders, placing it into his awaiting palm, before crossing your hands behind your back, swaying awkwardly on the balls of your feet.
“I should, uh, probably head to bed,” you said, glancing up at his face. He was unreadable. All placid features, rested mouth, unfurrowed brows. Calm, undoubtedly so, and it warmed your heart to see his soul in such a state of rest. “Goodnight, Eddie.”
He nodded. A slow movement cut short when his arms opened and curled around you. Before that, hugs had been initiated by you only, and rarely to respect his carefully laid out boundaries. But now, like this, within the cradle of his arms with your face pressed into his chest, you let out the deepest sigh. Your fingers worked around his back and slid into the middle of his shirt, pressing into the fabric there, pushing him closer to you. He sighed, his breath fanning around your shoulder, face pressed right against your cheek.
It was one of your few hugs with Eddie, but you know they had already become your favorites. The way he cradled the back of your head and kept you close, pushed himself tight against you so you could feel his harder edges against your softer ones—the warmth of him seeping into your skin, blocking out the cold.
Safe.
He made you feel safe.
Untouched from the rest of the world, just like that very moment.
“Goodnight,” he whispered against the side of your head, pulling back enough that you could see the outside light from your front doorstep reflected within his gaze.
So you bid him goodbye with another hug, and the sound of your shoes as they walked up your steps. You glanced down at him, his form still there as you slipped your key into the lock and opened, fingers curled around the doorknob.
Then, and only then, as you flicked on your apartment lights and the room was basked in light, did he raise his hand and slip away with your heart thumping in your chest, and mind wondering what any of this meant.
*
“You need to tell her to stop,” El laughs, her smile beaming as Eddie slips in the front door and arches a brow at the sight of you standing behind the front counter, bent low over a mug. “She’s been going at it for over an hour now.”
“It’s looking more like a ghost the more times you try,” Will says sadly, glancing down at your sad attempt at latte art. “I also don’t think I can drink anymore coffee.”
“Me neither,” El gripes, patting her abdomen.
“What’s going on here?” Eddie muses, leaning over the counter to get a look at what exactly you’ve been up to.
“She’s trying to make a pumpkin since it’s October first,” El explains.
“Only, she’s really good at making leaves…and not so much the pumpkins,” Will says, and you huff out a whine. “Sorry, boss.”
You glance down at the mug and grimace at the swirling blob that’s smiling up at you. It’s…more like a ghost just as Will suggests, a circular foam blob with a trail at the end. You add two little eyes and an open mouth and slide it across the counter to show Eddie.
His eyes meet yours and then shift to your drink, a hum of approval spilling from his lips. “It looks…well, it’s not a pumpkin.” He’s humoring you, and it reminds you of those early days in your relationship when you would write jokes and facts on his cups.
You still do even now, just to make him smile.
At your frown, he continues, “It looks nice though. Really. I mean it.”
“Will you try it?” you ask. You know it’s not his normal choice for coffee preferences, but it makes your face hurt from grinning so hard when he nods his head once and lifts it to his lips. “There's vanilla powder in it. So…it’s got a little bit of the sweetness you like.”
He takes a cautious sip for dramatic effect, mouth hovering over the lip, inhaling the vanilla and espresso before he drags his tongue over the foam and makes your chest burst with a giggle. Your laugh makes him laugh and he’s suddenly got foam on his upper lip, the kids awkwardly looking on as you quickly pass him a napkin that he dabs against his face.
“It’s good,” he says brightly.
“You didn’t even try it.”
He takes a sip for real this time, waiting a moment with his eyes on a point far away at a distant wall. “So, not my usual, but you can definitely tell it’s made with love.”
And that’s enough for you, because you think about what you told him in your apartment, about wanting to uphold your grandfather’s legacy, and you feel your insides churn with the honey richness of the words he’s given you.
The purpose within them is not missed.
He catches your lips as you mouth ‘thank you,’ and shift about behind the counter to go make his actual coffee for the day. When you whirl back around, he’s there with a broad smile and his money at the ready. The kids choose that moment to make themselves scarce, your hands moving about as Eddie regards you carefully, dimples full on display today.
“You still want to go get that tattoo?” he asks you, and nervousness pools in your belly once more at the prospect.
You mentioned to him in passing after your movie night that you thought you might want to get some sort of piece to commemorate what you’ve done so far in coming to Hawkins and reopening the shop. Had even spent the time to ruminate about what exactly you wanted to do a bunch, when you glanced at Eddie’s tattoos and suddenly it became all that much more clear to you.
“I’m nervous,” you admit, handing him his change that he immediately tosses into the kids college fund jar (as he always does). “I want to…I just don’t know what to expect, or what it’ll feel like, or—”
“I’ll be there,” he reminds you. “I’ll talk to you the whole time to keep your mind off of it. You might even get sick of me, that’s how much I’ll be talking.”
“I could never get sick of you,” you tell him, wrinkling your nose up at him.
“I hope not, sweetheart,” he says, a little forlorn. You open your mouth to question the sudden change in demeanor when the door jingles and Max walks in, ready to start her shift. When her eyes lift and meet Eddie’s frame, she pauses, not moving any further into the room. “Hey Max—can I talk to you for a second?”
“Eddie, if it’s about school, Wayne already talked to me and I’m—”
“Privately,” he says, tipping his head over his shoulder to glance back your way. “I’ll see you later, right?”
The two of them step outside and you watch as you hand customers their drinks in piping hot cups. Max crosses her arms over her chest and tilts her head to the side, obstinate as Eddie talks to her. There’s a hardness to his posture, his head angled down toward her as he speaks, one hand waving in frustration beside him.
You’ve never seen them angry with one another—not in the months you’ve been friends with the group. They’ve always been that of close friends in your vicinity, or even comparable to that of siblings, though you know neither of them has any. But it’s clear now in the way her head jolts as she talks back to him, clearly upset by whatever he’s just said, and his hand comes up to cuff her around the back of her skull and pull her into a reluctant hug.
He’s pulling back a moment later, tapping his fist gently against her chin and wiggling her head slightly, making her laugh and smile through the clearly evident tears brewing in her eyes. And then she’s hugging him again, longer this time, her freckled face pushed tight against his chest.
He holds her tighter still.
“I’d like a medium coffee, milk two sugars, please,” your customer requests, and you’re back to reality, hand curling tight around their money they must have handed to you as you found yourself caught up in the happenings of the duo outside.
“S-sure,” you say.
When you glance up, Max is rushing inside tying her apron around her waist and Eddie’s gone.
Wonder what that’s all about?
*
It’s quiet that day in the cemetery.
Then again, it always is.
You brush your newly placed flowers in the vase at the base of your father’s gravestone, fingers trailing across the stone slab where his name is written in a blocky font. Your fingers drop to the date of his birth, across the epitaph, and the date of his death. The wind drifts along the hood of your jacket, rustles the fabric against your back, the leaves on the ground around you. You pick one up and twirl the stem around between your thumb and forefinger, eyes squinting as you open your mouth to speak.
“I’ve really been thinking about staying,” you say into the atmosphere, and the silence is broken. You tilt your head up to the sky momentarily, wondering if he hears you even now where he is. You believe he has to. “Had a conversation with a friend of mine recently. Wonder if you’ve ever met him…his name is Eddie Munson. He’s…well, he’s quiet, but he’s kind. He’s been opening up more, though. All his friends tell me so. But he asked me why I picked Hawkins, and if I was thinking about staying. And you know what—up until recently that idea scared me. Like really and truly terrified me. But I know how much you loved it here, how you stayed here even when it got hard, and I think about all the memories I had of you while growing up…and I start to think that maybe it’s worth it. Maybe it’ll be nice to slow down. I feel like I can picture you laughing at me, in that way you always did, where your head would shake and you’d say ‘oh, girlie.’”
You brush your sleeve against your eye, collecting the tear you refuse to let fall. “All this time, I’ve thought home was a place. I think that’s why I always move around; I never could figure that out. What makes home home, you know? But I’ve got these friends and they’re wonderful and warm and bright, and they’ve started to feel like that for me. I look forward to the end of my day when I can just see them, get to know them, and be an active participant in their lives. I haven’t had that before, but I think back to how everyone in town used to see you and wave when we’d go on our walks, and I’ve started to think that I want that. To plant myself and finally just …grow in one place. What do you think about that, gramps?”
You pause, dropping your gaze back down to his grave stone. You can still picture his face even now, the wrinkles around his eyes and mouth, the sound of his laughter, the tone of his voice. You can picture the sticky fondness of his kiss upon your forehead, as he croons how proud he is of you, tells you how much he loves you, that you’re his ‘girlie.’
The wind tickles your cheek. A gentle hum that trickles on by, ruffles the ends of your hair.
“I think so, too,” you tell him, standing to your feet. You adjust the flowers once more and make sure they’re in place, stepping back to make sure they’re just right and say, “I’ll see you soon, okay. Love you so much.”
You’re about to head back to your car when you see Max sitting in the distance, body between two gravestones. She’s mouthing to them— both of them, with her head low and a smile on her face. Her glasses she usually wears are sliding down the bridge of her nose, fingers coming up to press them back into place when she finally glances your way, raising her fingers in a silent greeting.
Sensing your hesitance, she calls your name into the open air and you walk the short distance between you, boots crunching loudly against the freshly fallen leaves. As you lower yourself down beside her, your eyes trail the names on the two headstones.
One Susan, the other Billy.
Loving mother on one.
Beloved son and brother on the other.
Your heart splinters in your chest, but you don’t let it show on your face, instead you train your eyes forward and wait until she says something.
Fortunately, it doesn’t take long before she’s asking, “You came to visit your grandpa?”
“Yeah,” you kick your feet out in front of you, tattered boots crushing leaves beneath them. “I try to come once a week if I can. Tell him about my week.”
Max nods, as if she understands, and it hurts you because she shouldn’t know this grief. Not now, not at her age, not ever really. And still, she stares at her mother’s name all the same, and the brother she had loved and lost, and anguish rushes over you in waves.
“My mom,” she says, pointing to the stone on her left. “And then my asshole step brother.” She says the second part with a chuckle, and your heart clenches at the affection that seeps into her tone when she does so.
Your eyes scan the dates. One is July fourth of 1985, and the other March twenty seventh, 1986.
It’s that same date you keep hearing about over and over again.
What happened that day to have hurt so many people?
Changed so many lives?
“I’m so sorry, Max,” you breathe out, scooting closer to her.
“Billy died in the mall fire back in July. He was an asshole, but he was my step-brother and I loved him,” she says firmly, like she wants you to believe her, but you don’t need any convincing. You can see it in her eyes, the love she bore that boy.
So young. He was so young.
“And then it happened in the earthquakes for my mom, but I hadn’t been awake for it,” she continues to say. “I was in the hospital. Eddie and I both, actually.”
“Max.” Your exhale is shaky. Broken. Watery.
“Both our hearts stopped that night,” she says, chuckling a little bit. “Mine right before all the earthquakes, and then his heart stopped in the hospital on the table when they were trying to save him.”
You don’t know what to say.
There aren’t even words that can express the feelings that swirl endlessly in your mind.
The reality that both Max and Eddie had died, however brief, but died nevertheless.
Two people that have changed your life in a short period of time for the better almost were snubbed out before you ever got the chance to know either of them.
“Figures that’s why we’re so close now,” Max says, fingers reaching down to pick at the grass there. It’s starting to die with the chillier weather.
“I didn’t know that you were so close,” you admit, the leaf in your hand twirling as your fingers shift it around and around and around again. “I saw you two talking at work.”
“He’s kind of like my brother now…in a weird, dysfunctional kind of way.” She shrugs, glancing up to the sky. “His Uncle Wayne met one of our other friends, Hopper, when I was in the hospital. He was visiting Eddie a bunch while he was recovering, so they saw each other often. And then I guess…I don’t know, because I was unconscious for most of it, Wayne offered to try and petition to be my guardian. He has…really good insurance because of where he works. My dad’s been shitty for as long as I can remember, so it apparently wasn’t that hard. I don’t really understand all the legal stuff. So I’ve been living with Wayne for…over a year now?”
You’re silent. Stunned silence.
“I got really lucky in a crap situation,” she says a little breathlessly, tucking her head against her knees, her freckled face shifting enough where you can see the blue of her eyes. “It’s why I really needed this job. I hate him having to pay for me, so I try to help where I can. Eddie’s an annoying little shit and also pays for my crap too, no matter how much I tell him I’ve got it. He already moved out so I could take his bedroom. So I just wanted to say thanks.”
You swallow thickly, trying to imagine what it must have been like to have been in Max’s situation. Unconscious in the hospital for ages, unknowing that her mother had died, and that she’s been taken in by someone she barely knew. And then there’s the fact of Eddie, trying to care for her, always putting others' needs before his own. Moving out of the room you know he’d spent the better portion of his life in from what he’s chosen to share with you.
“Of course, Max,” you whisper softly, offering her a smile. Catching the downturn of her lips, you smirk. “I’m guessing that’s why you’re always trying to force something between the two of us. You’ve got that little sister role down.”
“I’m sorry about that.” Her cheeks flush bright red, hand coming up to brush at a stray hair that blows in the wind. “He’s just—he’s been through so much shit and he didn’t deserve any of it, and people are so shitty to him, so when I saw you being nice to him and him opening up again I figured…maybe something could happen.”
“You really care about him,” you say. It’s not a question.
She dips her head. “Yeah. Don’t know when it happened, but yeah I do.”
And you suppose you understand.
In the time you’ve known Eddie, you only know his heart to be kind and open and generous.
He’s been there to lend a helping hand, to help you with your apartment, to reassure you when scared. He’s been steely and rough around the edges, but he’s opened up. Really and truly started to bare his soul to you in a way you know he doesn’t frequently do so with much of anyone at all these days.
But you don’t want to tell Max the depth of your feelings. The swirling and hum that settles within your gut as of late when you’re near him. The wonder of ‘what if’ lingering in the spaces between the two of you.
The line between friendship and the something more you felt the beginnings of at the end of summer.
So you offer her solace with, “I really care for him, Max. Don’t worry. And I’m here for you, no matter what you need. Always, okay?”
She whispers a quiet thank you, and you sit in silence, honoring her loved ones lost.
*
The Mad Tatter sits just outside of Hawkins, about twenty minutes from both the Hideout and Sunshine Coffee. Eddie sits in the van beside you, watching your foot as it taps along the floor, an endless tap tap tap of nervousness that bubbles and bursts along your skin.
“Are you ready to go in? Your appointment is soon.” His head shifts just enough to look at you, those dark eyes of his warm and welcoming before you. “It’s going to be okay. You’ll look at me the whole time and you’ll barely feel it. And the sketches look great. Plus, I know the artist; they helped with my tattoos after…my accident. I wouldn’t take you just anywhere. I actually care about you, in case you forgot.”
Your hands slide along your jeans, sweat pooling in the hollow of your throat at the nerves jumping to life in your belly. Eddie’s words are a comfort, but they do little to quell the impending worry of what to expect, whether or not it’s going to hurt, and if you’ll be able to sit for the whole tattoo process.
But it’s Eddie, and you do trust him, so you dip your head as you follow him into the building and begin the process of filling out what seems to be heaps of paperwork for the ink that’s about to be permanently etched into your skin.
Eddie stands near the counter, talking amongst the workers, showing off the pieces you assume they’ve done for hom along various places of his body. He’s boisterous, all raucous laughter and head tipping to the ceiling with them.
Livelier, now that he’s no longer in Hawkins.
You wonder what that’s about.
Once you’re done, however, you have little to focus on other than the various drawings of tattoos along the walls. Tiny sketches that mimic those in the endless books laid out for all the artists' works and their individual tattoo styles.
Eddie had referred you to his friend, Theo, who had apparently worked on some of his newer stuff. Especially the still in progress pieces meant to cover up some of the visible scars he has along his arms.
Your name is called and you’re introduced to a man with a trimmed beard and a pair of oversized glasses, hands already snapping a pair of gloves into place as he preps your skin to be ready for the piece he’s created for you.
It’s two daisies, like those that scrawl underneath the title of your coffee shop, set to be inked just above the crook of your elbow along the flesh of your bicep.
Dainty line work and delicate shading, from what you can see of the stencil he places against your skin.
“Before we start, how do you feel about it? Placement and everything,” Theo asks, but you’re turning to look at your reflection in the mirror, and then over to Eddie beside you. “I can give you a second?”
He steps away just over to the front counter, and you turn to look at Eddie once more, eyes wide as your gaze drops down to your bicep then back up at his eyes. “It’s good, right?”
“How do you feel about it?” Eddie asks you. “It’s going on your body.”
“The design is perfect. Exactly what I wanted,” you say, glancing down at the design once more. “He did a really great job with it. I’m just…scared, I guess.”
“What if I hold your hand?” he asks, his fingers already reaching for your own. You reach down and feel his fingers lace within yours, the weight of them heavy in your palm, and then settling against your thigh when you drag it down to rest there. “Are you ready? Just remember that I’ve got you, okay? No matter what.”
Your head dips once. “I guess as I’ll ever be,” you say, exhaling shakily as Eddie calls Theo’s name above the quiet of the room you’re sitting in.
The burly man shuffles back into the room with a stiff nod and settles back down on his stool, prepping all his machinery for the tattoo he’s about to work on. Your foot taps against the table you’re splaying out upon, Eddie’s fingers squeezing tight within your own to remind you he’s there and not going anywhere.
By the time he’s ready, your eyes linger on Eddie’s face as Theo walks you through the fact he’s set to start. You hear the whir of a buzz coming to life, the voice of Theo asking you if you’re ready, and you nod.
The first pass of the needle isn’t painful, no. That’s not the word that comes to mind when you feel the first prick against your skin. It’s more like that of something scratching into your skin, like an uncomfortable itch deep within you. Sharp in nature, just like the sounds coming from the machine, but not terrible.
“Are you okay?” Eddie asks, leaning down close to your ear. His shoulder brushes your free one, his hand still in yours against your thigh. “It’s not so bad, right? Just a little pinch.”
“A bunch of little pinches,” you correct, glancing down at the top of Theo’s head. From this angle, you can’t see the tattoo yet, but you’re sure it’s great because you’ve seen Theo’s work and liked all of it. You’re not really sure he’s really paying attention to you two, because he’s nodding his head along and mouthing the lyrics to the metal music blaring in the room, so you tilt your head back to look at Eddie and say, “I bumped into Max at the cemetery yesterday.”
His mouth drops into a line. “She’s been thrown a lot in the past few years.”
“She told me how kind you’ve been to her,” you tell him, feeling your chest swell with that sticky fondness that’s been growing in his presence as of late. “How you and Wayne took her in, and that you moved out to give her space. I thought that was really selfless.”
You leave out the parts about what you now know about the both of them. That for a moment they were gone, before they were brought back. The fact Eddie’s body had been so broken, he’d needed to stay in the hospital for so long. The fact Max had needed to do the same.
He gives your hand a squeeze, eyes softening. “Red’s just a kid. Figured I might as well move out, you know? I was twenty-two. Seemed about time to get out of Wayne’s hair. Plus I’ve grown to love the little monster.”
“She loves you too, you know?”
He dips his head. “I know. Closest thing I’ve had to a little sister. Even if she drives me crazy with her stubbornness. It’s why we were fighting outside your shop; sorry about that, actually. Wayne’s too soft on her, plays the good cop with her.”
“So you're the bad cop in this situation?” you muse lightly, wincing at a particularly harsh pass of needle against skin.
“Someone has to be,” Eddie says, brushing his thumb along the back of your hand. Awareness prickles there, tiny champagne bubbles dancing along skin. “Took me three years to finish senior year. I’m not about to watch her do the same.”
You glance up at Eddie’s face. The soft lines of his features, paleness of his skin except for the darker shade of the scars that crawl along his cheek and neck, stark against the shock of raven waves at the top of his head. His thick span of inky lashes, framing those chocolate brown eyes that look to you with such affection you feel like your chest could burst aflame.
Your tongue dips against your bottom lip, your lungs drawing in a deep inhale as you shift on the cot and say, “You’re a good man, Eddie Munson.”
“You’re a good man, Eddie Munson.” The words beat like a tattoo against your ribcage. His brows start to furrow together upon his forehead. A sort of melancholy settles against the lines of his face. Almost like he’s not heard those words before, almost like the mere idea of him being a good man is unfathomable. It burns in your chest to see him struggling with the compliment to his character, evident in the tremor that spills from deep within his chest, a hitch of his breath falling on your ears.
Your hand still presently holding his own against your thigh squeezes lightly. You stare deep into his eyes and reiterate, “You are, Eddie.”
In that moment, away from Hawkins, away from your friends and loved ones, away from Theo who’s occupied with tattooing your arm, Eddie’s ringed hand comes up to curl around the side of your face. It just lingers there, the pad of his thumb a gentle sweep low against your chin. He just stares at you, like he’s painting a picture of you in his mind, memorializing this moment for him to keep.
And you’re doing the same.
Relishing the feel of his skin against yours, of the light and teasing affection, of the calluses on his fingers from the endless hours of practicing his passions for music, the way he stares with his head tilted to the side, just full to the brim with kindness that spills into the spaces between you.
You’re upset when the moment shatters, Theo’s voice booming into the quiet to tell you he’s done. Your gaze drops to your bicep and Eddie’s hand drops from your face—though it never leaves your thigh—and the two of you take in the new piece before he has to cover it up from view.
It’s just as you wanted. Delicate line work, two twining stems of the daisies, their petals lightly shaded. Pretty and purposeful. A reminder of your grandfather and the shop, forever written into your skin.
“It’s perfect, Theo,” you say, staring down at your arm, feeling Eddie’s hand tighten around your own. “Thank you so much.”
“Looks great, sweetheart,” Eddie agrees, and Theo gets to work bandaging it up properly.
He walks you through all the steps for the upcoming days, steps you’re grateful you also have Eddie remind you of if need be, to ensure it heals properly as you head up front to pay your bill. You thank him again and tip him generously, waving to everyone inside as you go. The workers give Eddie a knowing look and you feel heat bloom in your face, before you’re both heading out into the crisp fall air and climbing into the van.
“Thank you for…in there,” you mutter softly, lowering the dial on the radio.
“That was all you,” he says, smirking lightly. “It just gave me a chance to hold your hand again.”
You shove at him lightly, feeling butterfly wings rustle to life deep in your belly. Rapid beats that swoop low against your skin. A peal of laughter spills from your lips as the two of you bask in the newness of flirtation.
Eddie raises the knob on the radio. His fingers reach out and buckle you into the seat beside him, curls dancing along your collar bones, and you can faintly smell his shampoo from this morning. Something citrus and sweet. A contrast to what his outward appearance portrays. All dark wash jeans and equally dark colored clothing.
“Ready to go?” he asks.
“I am now,” you reply, feeling his eyes linger on your face.
There’s a brief moment where you think he wants to say something.
Intends to say something.
But it never comes, and that’s okay because in a sea of uncertainty, you know with Eddie all you have is time.
*
The realization hits you harshly that morning: you want to tell Eddie how you feel about him, how you have been feeling about him, but it’s met with the trepidation of how one might do so.
“You just tell him, babe,” Robin says when you meet her for lunch that evening, mouth full of freshly baked macaroni.
“You make it sound like it’s so simple!” Your voice comes out in a whine, at which Robin simply rolls her eyes and stabs her fork into her bowl.
Her hands move upward to fold across the table in front of her. Eyes firmly set on your face as she says, “Then don’t overcomplicate it. You like him, I’m sure as hell he likes you, you tell him about this revelation and you ride off into the sunset.”
“You really think it’s that simple?” you ask, stirring your own food around in your bowl, prongs of your fork digging into the noodles as you do so.
“I’m telling you, it’s exactly what Steve would tell you to do,” she tells you. “And sure, he’s not quite found the right person yet, but he’s dated, like, a lot of girls. So he must know what he’s doing.”
“Okay, okay. So I just…come out and tell him.”
“Yeah, I mean you can get a little creative with it, maybe. Don’t you write little jokes and facts on his cups or something?” She glances up at you expectantly.
“Yeah, I do,” you say, mulling over her words. An idea blooms, then. A smile crosses your lips as it settles and stirs, hand tightening around your fork. “I—I think I have an idea.”
It’s how you find yourself the next day scribbling away on his coffee cup a few minutes before he comes in. You hide it from the kids, making sure none of them see, because if you’re about to embarrass yourself, you would rather do so in private. You can’t fathom to think of them witnessing your possible rejection first hand.
Couldn’t even think of it.
And suddenly, just as your hand stops shaking long enough for you to set his cup down on the counter and slide on a sleeve to keep his hand from being burnt, the door chimes and Eddie spills in as usual.
He catches your wobbly smile at the register, brow arching as you hand him his coffee and he says, “You’re being extra…bouncy today.”
“That’s not a bad thing, is it?”
He shakes his head. “No, never. Can I get one of those peanut butter cookies you made the other day? I…ate all the ones you gave me.”
You gasp mockingly. “I’ve turned you into a cookie fiend.”
He pats his abdomen, laughing. “Who knew the way to my heart was through my stomach? Although I am going to have to cut back eventually…maybe after the new year.”
You wrinkle your nose up at him, giggling brightly as you reach into the glass case and hand him what he’s asked for. Your fingers brush for just the slightest moment, your eyes lingering on your scrawl across his coffee cup.
He’s not seen it yet, and you’re grateful for it.
You almost hope he reads it in private, over when he’s at the Hideout, so you can’t see his reaction. Especially if it’s not the one you’re hoping for.
“I’ll see you later?” he asks, getting ready to head for the door.
“Yeah, I’ll be over after I close up shop,” you tell him with an eager smile.
As soon as he’s gone, you work on making yourself busy. Your nerves feel alight with anticipation. With this fear of the unknown dangling in front of you.
The wonder of if he’ll mention the confession at all.
The words you had written in curly font across the side of the cup, saying, ‘Fun fact of the day: I kind of sort of have feelings for Eddie Munson.’
You can’t take them back now. It’s the reality you come to accept as the sun starts to set over Hawkins and most of your customers have left for the afternoon.
Max and El have since clocked out for the day, leaving you to close up alone. You find you like it most nights this way. You turn on some music and sing along as you clean. And by the time you’ve finished sweeping and mopping the floors, the place is glowing and ready for a new day.
Your eyes catch the time on the wall and you flip the sign hanging on the door from ‘OPEN’ to ‘CLOSED,’ your heart already pounding faster in your chest as you slip your apron from around your waist and place it up on the coat hanger.
You feel like a teenager with a crush all over again as you rush up the stairs to your apartment and look at your appearance in the mirror that Eddie had found you at a store near his apartment and surprised you with. You quickly brush at the mascara that has melted beneath your eye throughout the day, fix your hair a bit, and apply just the smallest smudge of chapstick.
And then you’re fixing your sweater, adjusting how it’s tucked into your jeans, nervousness pooling in your belly.
It’s Eddie.
It’s a reminder you force into your mind.
Eddie, who has seen you in all states of dress. Who has never once said you look anything but nice. Who has only ever been kind.
So with that knowledge, you lock up and make your way over to the Hideout, jacket enveloping your form from the cool air, pocketbook bouncing against your side.
Eddie’s there with a wave as you enter, a glass of wine already on the counter as you approach, with a little napkin tucked underneath it. Stark white against the cherry wood.
Curious, you think, but you settle down all the same and pull out your current read.
The Mists of Avalon. A take on an Arthurian legend from the perspective of female characters.
Another slice of influence from Eddie being in your life, thoughtfully picked for you by him.
It’s only when you glance down at the napkin a few moments later once Eddie’s done with helping another customer that you see he’s written something there in his messy handwriting.
“I read your little fact of the day,” he says, his chuckle like music to your ears as he adds, “Probably my favorite one so far, if I’m being honest.”
He pushes it closer to you, the silver of his rings catching in the light.
And there, on that napkin, he’s written his own tidbit.
Fun fact of the day: Eddie Munson kind of sort of has feelings for you, too.
“So what do we do now?” It’s you who asks, holding the napkin in your palm against your chest. You want to wrap those words around yourself like a blanket, joy unmeasurable filling every atom of your body. Your fear of rejection quells and settles into nothingness, because the feelings are mutual.
A tentative start at friendship has blossomed into something more. This is your something more, you realize.
Eddie tucks a bit of hair against his mouth at your words, all frenetic energy as he bounces a bit on the balls of his feet nervously. “See, not going to lie to you, sweetheart. I’m not really a pro at this. Might need your guidance here.”
You know, from what he’s insinuated previously, that he’s never been one for relationships. A few interests here and there, always brief. It’s a fact that had been hard for you to grasp then, and even harder now, that people wouldn’t realize the absolute wonder and privilege of being a friend to Eddie Munson. It’s even more baffling that, knowing who he is at his fundamental core, would prove to be a hindrance in his romantic life.
“Generally, one starts with a date,” you tell him teasingly, feeling your lips quirk upward at the corners of your mouth.
“Okay, okay. That’s when two people sit around, typically over food, and talk about the weather, right?”
Your grin turns wry, complete and utter giddiness sloshing around low in your belly. “More or less.”
He smirks at you, elbows dropping down against the bar as he hovers closer. “Sweetheart, I know that part. And I’d love to take you on a date.”
“Is that so?” You hum thoughtfully, folding your arms across the bar in front of you. Your fingers trail the bat tattoo on his forearm, watching gooseflesh pimple against pale skin.
“How does this Saturday sound?” He glances down at where you’re touching him, his voice a soft husk as he speaks.
“You’ll pick me up?”
“Seven sounds good? I’ll switch around my shift with someone else,” he says, eyes flickering to your face. “And of course I’ll be picking you up, I am a gentleman.”
“Sounds like a date then,” you say.
“Yeah, definitely,” he agrees, and that nervousness wells.
Bubbles.
With your spoken agreement set into place for this upcoming Saturday, he resumes work as the bar grows busier, and you drift back into your storybook, letting the words flow behind your eyes to temper the rapid thump of your heart.
For the rest of the evening it’s all quiet glances from the boy. It’s Eddie stopping every so often to ask if you’re okay, make sure you have water, offer you some food when he hears your stomach grumble from even above the music. It’s all fleeting looks and the brush of his hair against your shoulder when he looks to see what page you're on and asks if you’re enjoying, it’s him simply wanting to make sure all your needs are met, when all you’ve only asked for is to simply spend time with him.
And at the end of the night, when he helps you into his van and does his normal loop around the parking lot, that an awareness of mutual affection stirs between the two of you. Neither of you speaks for some time, eyes trailing to the moon, the buttons of the radio, the cup holders with various used cups within, his box of cigarettes fallen to the floor of the vehicle, the dangling pine scented air freshener.
He exhales from beside you and mutters, “You should get some sleep. You’re up early in the morning,” he says, and he’s not wrong. Your start time is just a few hours out now.
You want to tell him to get some rest as well, but you remember he doesn’t like the dark, doesn’t enjoy rest until the sun starts to rise in the sky.
It’s one of the areas in his life you don’t pry into.
So instead, you settle on, “Goodnight, Eddie,” and loop your arms around his neck, feeling the weight of his palm against the center of your back as he comes to curl his own arms around you, hugging you close.
You wish each other goodnight with quiet words.
With the slow slide of your hands down his arms as you separate.
The bashful wave as you stand outside of his van, shifting to go walk toward the apartment.
The shared knowledge that you like him and he likes you.
And the promise of a date to explore it.
*
The day of your date, the worst thing imaginable happens: you find yourself coming down with something. A sort of head cold that starts the night before behind your eyes with a little pressure, a tickle in the back of your throat, and a sniffle here and there—and by morning, you’re feeling a lot like warmed up death, trying to calm the sandpaper currently tearing up your throat and wishing you had stocked up on more tissues at the supermarket.
The kids are more than kind, taking over opening up for you. Will and El bring freshly made soup from their mother, Joyce, to your apartment and you gratefully sip at the warm broth to ease some of the ache. But the ache in your bones is the worst part, chills making you seek out the comfort of your warm bed and a sea of blankets and pillows.
Your television plays in the distance, a VHS of The Lost Boys popped in as a little saving comfort, reminders of the back of Eddie’s van there to keep you content. It’s around then that you hear a soft rap at your door, your eyes drifting to the alarm clock on your side table reading five in the afternoon in glowing red neon lights. You’re not expecting anyone, and you tried to call Steve earlier to tell Eddie that you wouldn’t be able to see him today because you don’t want him getting sick, but he’d only dug into you asking what your plans were for the afternoon and why he hadn’t yet been informed of them. After much groveling, however, he did say he would relay the message.
So it comes as a shock to you, when you pull your knitted blanket over your shoulders and tug both ends tight to your chest, that when you open your bedroom door it’s to none other than Eddie Munson. Before you can protest that he shouldn’t actually be there, he’s pushing into your room with two giant brown paper bags in hand, and immediately laying them out on your kitchen counter. You catch a few bottles of gatorade, some water bottles, boxes of tissues, different cold medicines. He’s also brought along with him some snacks, throat lozenges, an oven bake pizza, a five hundred piece Star Wars puzzle, and a thermometer that he’s already running along under water before popping it into your mouth.
You raise a hand to protest, but he taps your chin and mutters, “Quiet. Stay still, sweetheart.”
You huff out a sigh as he comes to stand behind you, thumbs running along your trapezius muscles as you wait for the few minutes to be up on the cool metal currently perched between your lips. You can’t deny that the feeling of his fingers pressing into your skin does feel amazing; especially with the soreness throbbing and aching within every inch of your being, likely from fever. After a few moments, Eddie moves back around to pluck the thermometer from your mouth, tutting at the number he reads there.
“What’s it looking like, Dr. Munson?” you grumble, swiping a hand down the front of your face.
“One hundred and one,” he reads out loud, eyes squinting to see the temperature accurately. “Maybe one hundred and two, hard to tell on this thing. But either way, your diagnosis is that you're sick.”
“You shouldn’t be here…I’ll get you sick,” you say, but you’re grateful anyway when his arm loops around your shoulders and pulls you close to him, your body just melting into his own.
“If I remember correctly, we have a date planned for today,” he replies, his voice a warm puff of breath against the crown of your head. “And no one, in my professional opinion, should be all alone when they’re not feeling well.”
You sigh against him, pulling back just enough to take in what he’s decided to wear tonight. He’s in a simple black sweater, a thin red line across his upper chest. His typical jeans spread tight over his eyes are on full display, wallet chain dangling silver against his hip. He’s got his hair back, revealing the fullness of his striking jaw, the fullness of his lips, the angles of his cheekbones, the little crinkle around his eye when he smiles, the scars on his cheek and neck visible against the low collar of the shirt.
He’s handsome as ever, and you whine miserably at the fact your original date got ruined, though there’s some solace in the fact he’s willingly standing there now, keeping you company. “Go lay down, I’ll grab you some medicine and get started on dinner.”
You part from him fully, tugging your blanket closer as you clamber over to your bed, climbing on top until your back bumps against the headboard. Eddie’s diligent as ever, popping open the box of medicine and reading the instructions on the side before pouring some questionable colored liquid into one of the measuring cups given along with it. He then proceeds to grab one of your little breakfast trays you keep hidden in a cabinet and places some fruit onto a plate, along with the box of tissues and a water bottle. He moves toward the oven next, prepping a tray and reading how to make the pizza, his brows furrowing together as he does so. The oven is set to preheat and he’s walking back over to where you lay, the tray in hand.
He settles it down over your lap and says, “Medicine and water first. Snacks after.”
You sniffle involuntarily, lifting the cup of liquid to your lips and downing it in one swallow. Your face wrinkles at the taste, Eddie already holding out the water bottle, lid already tugged off. You swallow it greedily, wincing at the aftertaste of the syrupy goo that just slid down your pained throat. “How did you know that I was sick? I was going to call you…but I realized I don’t have your number.”
“You called Steve, and if there’s one thing you must know about Steve’s, it’s that he has a big mouth and he immediately called me and said I better get over here,” he says, capping your water bottle once you’ve drank a little more. “Our date wasn’t till seven, so I figured I could go to the store and grab you some things to surprise you with…but then I got a little excited, so here I am at five.”
“You’re going to get sick,” you reiterate.
“Don’t worry about it,” he says, and you shift just enough on the bed to make room for him. He settles down beside you, plucking a pineapple from your tray. “Eat up. I’m at your service for however long you need me.”
You sit like that on your bed watching Beetlejuice, your head lolling from sleepiness against Eddie’s shoulder. He’s never one to protest, pulling you closer into the fold of his body as the characters move about the screen and the smell of pizza fills your nostrils, even despite the fact your sinuses are practically screaming at you.
“Funny enough, Lydia looks so much like Joyce,” Eddie points out, and you can’t help but see the uncanny resemblance. His hand slides over to where it rests against his side and pulls it to his face within his own, kissing the back of it softly as he climbs up off your bed. “Let me go check on dinner.”
You lift your remote to pause the movie and grab some tissues as Eddie walks about your kitchen, compiling some things he knows you’ll need from your various cabinets. “Where do you keep your cups again?” he asks, his broad back covered in black filling your vision.
“Bottom shelf, left upper cabinet,” you tell him.
“Okay, close your eyes, sweetheart,” he says, peeking over his shoulder to look and make sure you’re doing as he’s asked of you. “No peeking.”
Your heart dances in your chest, hands coming up to cover your eyes as he moves about your kitchen. You can hear the clink of glasses here and there, the sounds of silverware as he digs them out from the drawer, the flicker of a cigarette lighter, the slide of plates across a rickety wooden table, the scrape of wooden chairs against tile as he pulls them out to make room for the two of you.
“Keep them closed,” he repeats, the sound of approaching footsteps greeting your ears as he brushes his fingers around your wrist, a solid circle of his thumb and pointer as he picks it up within his own, and slowly slides them lower so his fingers lace delicately between your own. “Eyes still closed, but slide your feet over the side of the bed.”
You do as told and he helps lead you into the kitchen, your slippered feet recognizing the soft tap tap tap of the plastic grippers on the bottom of them meeting the tile. Your eyes remain closed as he settles you down into a chair and slides you closer to it, and then listens as he does the same across from you and finally says you can open your eyes. When you do, your heart nearly bursts in your chest at the sight Eddie’s made in front of you.
It’s so silly, you think, because you’re eating an oven-baked pizza while fighting off the cold from literal hell, and Eddie’s gone on to make things as romantic as possible for you. He’s picked your nicer plates, glass cups full of ice water, silverware resting on folded napkins. And there in the center he’s lit little tea light candles, because they’re all you have, illuminating your swiftly darkening apartment in a yellow glow.
“I figured, yeah…it’s not what we had originally planned for today, but I still wanted to do something nice for you.”
“Say thank you to the chef for me,” you laugh, bringing up a slice of pizza to your lips and smiling around a mouthful of cheesy goodness. “It’s perfect. You even set up candles. This is the sweetest thing anyone has done for me.”
“Laying down the pressure already for our next date now that the bar is set,” he teases, sipping some of his water.
“Next date, hmm?”
“Oh absolutely, sweetheart,” he chuckles.
“I would say it is very likely,” you chuckle.
“So what does one talk about on a first date?”
“We talk about whatever we want to talk about,” you tell him, leaning forward in your chair. The blanket around your shoulders shifts a bit, one side falling over. Eddie’s quick to jump up and tug it tight around your shoulders, his palm curling about your shoulder and squeezing tight. You thank him quietly and continue, “There are no rules. A first date is whatever we want to make of it, though I really doubt this is your first date ever.”
He shakes his head, the loose curls on either side of his face bouncing about his shoulders. “Not my first date ever, no, but the first one in over two years. And I really want to impress this girl.”
“You already have,” you tell him sincerely, gesturing to the table. You sniffle noisily, earning a soft laugh from the dark eyed boy. “You’re here when I’m sick, made me dinner, brought me all kinds of things to make me feel better…I’d say this is a pretty great first date. Just maybe not ideal.”
Because you find you really want to kiss him at the end of the night, but you know better than to risk giving him your cold any further than he’s already done so by staying here with you. “So…since high school then. I am so curious to know what high school Eddie was like.”
“Oh, you know, Freak of Hawkins High, leader of the school’s DnD club, not really anyone's cup of tea.” He’s smiling at you as he says it, but there’s a little bitterness that seeps into his tone and catches you off guard.
You reach across the table to rub a thumb along his knuckles. “Pretty sure I’d have liked him. I like you now.”
So it carries on like that, simply sharing in the comfort of quiet conversation as you snack on pizza. He asks you the simple questions, those little tidbits neither of you is yet privy to with one another. What are your favorite colors? He’s red, a darker shade, and you wonder if it’s because his guitar is that color. Yours, you state, changes often (which he argues isn’t fair if he needs that information for later), but at present is blue; not just any blue, however, blue like the color of the Hawkins sky, that pale shade that signifies a new day dawning. You talk about your favorite seasons. You the warmer months, him those quieter, cooler ones where he can stay in and relax. He jokes about how you’re the sunshine to his dark storm cloud, and you argue that he’s not a dark storm cloud at all.
In the past months you’ve seen him open up, watched him flourish and share with you, learned his heart. He’s harder around the edges, maybe, but there’s a softness he shares with his loved ones—and it’s the same softness he shares with you now. That flash of gold in his interior, a special gift to those who have the privilege of knowing him. That warm, beautiful center of his heart, where you have learned he is kindness personified.
That is Eddie Munson.
Once you’re done eating, Eddie maneuvers around the kitchen table to drop a kiss to the crown of your head, suggesting, “I’ll go ahead and clean up. Why don’t you shower and get comfy, and we’ll watch that movie while we…start this puzzle?”
He holds up the box that’s on the kitchen counter and your grin widens, head dipping once.
“You continue to impress me,” you admit, laughing as he excitedly shakes the insides of the box. It looks to be five hundred pieces, a scene of C-3PO and R2-D2 from one of the movies. “Give me like…fifteen.”
“Take your time,” he calls over his shoulder as he gets to work, sweater rolled up to his elbows.
You’re grateful for it as you slip into the shower after rooting around for some sweats and a pull over, hot water rolling over your hair and skin. It helps to ease a little of the soreness in your muscles, assisting your medicine with the congestion in your nose and chest. You hum contentedly to yourself and shut the water off after a while, snatching a towel to dry yourself before patting your hair with another.
Once dressed and dry enough, you slip back out into your kitchen to find Eddie with a blanket folded on your chair and him sitting in the one beside yours, pieces of the puzzle already spread out over the table. He’s got the remote in his palm, ready to hit ‘play’ once you sit down.
You work in a comfortable silence. But it’s in that silence the evening shifts. Eddie’s more open with his touching, growing braver with every passing minute. Soft brushes of skin when you reach for the same puzzle piece, the heat of your thighs pressing together when he grows tired of the space between you two and slides your chair closer to his. Whenever your blanket starts to fall from your shoulders, he’s there to pull it back up, fingers lingering there longer and longer. And as the puzzle takes form and shape, you catch the way he looks at you out of the corner of his eye.
This curiosity behind his eyes, a want burgeoning between the two of you. You can feel it— have felt it since he made you dinner and set up a romantic table for you. You bite your lip after a while and say, “I’m not kissing you. You’ll really get sick then.”
He sputters a bit, laughing as you narrow your eyes his way, as if that isn’t what he's been thinking about when looking your way. Have you read the signs all wrong?
“On a first date?” He’s light and teasing, thumbing at your chin when you force a pout.
“Remember what I said?” You press a puzzle piece into place, glancing up at him through your lashes. “About there being no rules on a first date?”
“Except for right now…because you’re sick.”
“Yes, unfortunately.”
“But next date…”
You dip your head. “Next date.”
He’s all smiles and boyish charm, that dimple in his cheek popping as he glances down at the table to try and hide the grin that slides across his face. Sticky fondness bubbles in your chest, driving you to move closer, thighs draping over the top of his, your cheek pressing against his shoulder as the two of you resume your puzzle.
Soon enough the movie ends and your clock reads ten at night, and Eddie’s making sure you take another round of medicine against your many protests. He drops the cup in front of you on the table and hands you another water bottle, smiling fondly as you stick your tongue out in disgust.
The puzzle is still not finished, only about halfway done, and your eyes are practically closing where your head rests against his shoulder. It’s then and only then he starts to stir from beneath you, standing to his feet as he suggests you start to get ready for bed.
You’re sluggish in movement as you do what he says, body thumping against the mattress as you curl on your side. His head pops up beside you from where he kneels beside your mattress, head of curls beckoning your hand toward his face, tangling with the strands there.
“Thanks for a perfect first date,” you murmur sleepily.
“Thank you, sweetheart.”
“I’ll be better for the next one,” you say, glancing over to your television set up. A sad TV sat on a packing box. “I think I need something better for the TV to sit on…and maybe a couch. Come with me?”
“I’d love to,” he says, cupping the side of your head and gently brushing the backs of his knuckles against your hair. “You should get some rest. You’re a little warm again. I’ll come check on you tomorrow.”
You sigh, eyes closing. “Goodnight, Eddie.”
He leans over your bedside, lips featherlight against your cheek. A soft press of his skin against yours, and then he’s leaning back to whisper, “Goodnight.”
Your head burrows deeper into your pillow, arms coming up to tuck beneath your head, and Eddie’s jingling wallet grows more and more distant as he heads toward the door.
He whispers goodnight once more, and your eyes grow heavier.
The last thought before bed is that of all the first dates you’ve been on, this one’s the most special.
*
You waste no time in seeing one another again. Luckily, Eddie’s immune system is stronger than either of you predict, because he never gets sick and soon enough you’re climbing into his van and greeting him with a giant hug as you head to the thrift stores in search of some sort of entertainment system or couch.
You plan on splurging a bit on at least one of them today, and excitement seeps into your veins at the thought of spending more time with the man.
It feels like a whirlwind as you waltz into the first thrift store, not quite finding anything you’re looking for. Most of the furniture looks a little too aged for your liking, with holes that seem a little questionable.
But it doesn’t stop you from shoving Eddie into a dressing room with a bunch of ridiculous clothes. Bright patterns full of color, hats too big on his head, and the most ghastly sunglasses you can find. When he walks out you wish you had brought along your camera, his hands on his hips as he strolls out casually, asking what you think.
“It’s definitely a look,” you laugh, coming forward to toy with the button on the shirt you’ve picked for him. “I think the hat really sells me on the whole thing though.”
He grips the bottom of your chin and wiggles your face lightly, reaching forward for a moment, and you wonder if he’s about to kiss you, but he only bumps your nose against his and murmurs, “Your turn, sweetheart.”
His choice is worse, you think, as he disappears from you for a moment and rushes around the aisles. When he returns, he’s got this frilly pink dress full of tulle and a hat with plumes of feathers on top, and a clashing plum velvet exterior. Still, you disappear from view and head into the dressing room, slipping the hideous combination on and laughing at the reflection that stares back at you. Endless fabric spills around your frame, and the hat atop your head falls into your eyes unless you keep pushing it up, weighed down by the feathers.
You drag Eddie in with you, glancing at both your images in the long mirror, his features filling in the spaces beside you. You pull out your camera shoved into your bag and snap a few photos, wanting to save this moment to join the other photos you keep sitting on your night table and bookshelf.
He tugs you close there and kisses your temple, and your fingers curl in his shirt. You look like a kaleidoscope of garish color, but your joy burns bright, the newness of whatever this is scoring a memory across your heart.
The next thrift store ends up being a little more fruitful. You don’t tempt one another with hideous outfits; instead, you manage to score a beautiful, barely used looking entertainment system that looks close enough in color to your bookshelf that it should work with the apartment.
A worker helps Eddie carry it out to his van, sliding it into the back, and the two of you stare at one another over the center console when you’re all ready to go back inside. He reaches over first to grab your hand, slides his fingers through your own after he raises the volume on the radio a bit and announces your next location.
You end up at a furniture shop where a salesperson immediately asks you a thousand different questions. “What are you looking for?” “What kind of space?” “What color?” “What fabric?” And Eddie’s there to help you answer, his hand in your own as you try out various different couches.
“I feel like Goldilocks or something,” he laughs after a while, wincing as the two of you drop into the most uncomfortable of the bunch. “The one before this had me feeling like I was about to fall into a black hole. This one I think just broke my ass.”
“Mine, too.”
“Not the one?” the worker asks, interrupting your private moment. “I think the next option might be a good fit then.”
And it is.
If anything, it’s perfect. Not too hard, not too soft, just right.
Eddie curls you against his chest later that evening on said couch when you return to your apartment and set up your new things. You’ve worked on your puzzle a bit more and it starts to look a little bit more like the photo on the box, but decide to relax and put on a movie.
His legs kick out beneath him, back against one of the armrests, your side stretching across his chest as his arms rest low around your waist.
It’s then with the sun starting to set over Hawkins, sky growing a beautiful red and orange color like a burst of fall in a perfect painting, that you tilt your head up and look at Eddie’s face. His profile stares back at you, head turned just enough to watch the scenes playing out on your television.
Your fingers slide up the side of his face, body moving up and off of him just enough to do what you want to, and those chocolate eyes slowly shift until they meet yours. His head follows suit, tipping ever so slightly to let you know he wants this just as much as you do.
Your breath halts as he lifts a callused hand to your cheek and slides his fingers along the side of your face until they rest comfortably against the hinge of your jaw. His thumb brushes your bottom lip and you shudder a breath. It’s a gentle perusal as the pad of his thumb slides to the corner of your mouth and lingers there, eyes dropping down ever so slightly to where you equally want him just as much.
“Can I—”
He’s barely gotten the words out before you nod and he’s leaning down to press his lips against yours. You meet softly in the middle, the plushness of his lips sealing over your own, your own hand pushing further across his skin.
You feel the roughness of stubble forming along his jaw as his lips move over your own, all gentle presses of skin, heat sparking life in your belly, a quiet hum falling from your parted lips as he pulls just back enough to rest his forehead against yours. He’s all puffy lips and red cheeks, shaky breath panting against your mouth.
But it’s not enough.
You lean back forward, claiming his mouth with your own, easing him in slightly. He’s hesitant at first, hand still on your cheek, just gentle caress after gentle caress, until the uneasiness of kissing someone new dissipates into something deeper.
You can taste the sweetness of the fruit you shared earlier on his tongue as it slides across your bottom lip, seeking entrance, sliding against your own. Can feel the throb of his heart against your ribcage as he shifts the two of you with an arm around your lower back and rolls you over until your spine hits the plush cushions beneath.
Eddie groans as your fingers curl around the back of his neck, dragging him down closer to you, your body relishing and twisting beneath him at the solid press of his weight molding you into the couch.
He slows down after a while, soft sigh after soft sigh pouring from his lips into your own, making sure things don’t progress too far too fast. And when he parts, your breath shakes against his bottom lip, eyes clashing with his in the dark. It could have been minutes or hours you’ve spent languishing in his presence, you’re not even certain, all you know is you crave more of it.
You lift your head just a bit to close the space once more, the smack of a quick peck filling the quiet of your apartment.
“Hmm,” you hum, nuzzling his nose a bit when he curls a hand around your neck and leans down above you. He does the same, a slide of skin against yours, and drops a kiss to your forehead, smiling against your skin. “Well, I’d say our second date was a success.”
He rests his head down in the crook of your neck, his muffled laughter making your skin warm. You lift a hand to thread it through curls, feeling his arm loop around your waist.
“How are my odds at a third?”
“I’d say highly probable,” you tease, holding him tighter.
*
The next date finds you at a local harvest festival. It’s outside of Hawkins and all bright and welcoming. Everywhere you look are things to see. From the pumpkin patches, to the apple orchards. There are fresh pumpkin donuts wafting in the air, caramel apples on display, corn being sold by the ear.
Kids skirt and weave about you and Eddie as you walk through the crowds hand in hand, both of you wearing thick sweaters and flannels overtop. To your right stands a hulking corn maze, and to your left the worker currently smacking their gum between their teeth protects the farm stands and pumpkin patches at the entrance from behind their register for entry.
Your idea had been simple: grab a few pumpkins and carve them back at your apartment with Eddie and have a cozy night in. That’s quickly turned into a grand event, with your friends trailing on ahead, a prospective pumpkin carving competition on the horizon.
Steve and Robin lose it upon seeing the two of you holding hands openly, commenting that it’s ‘all thanks to them’ you’re together in the first place. You whisper to Eddie later that it’s not, and he brushes a kiss along your temple when no one is looking to reassure you you’re right.
So you and Eddie set off to look for the perfect pumpkins, perusing the patch with a wheelbarrow trailing behind you as your friends mill about in the distance trying to pick their own. It’s also then Eddie starts this game of making the absolute most ridiculous flirty pick up lines that make your sides hurt from how hard you end up laughing at them.
In the patch it’s, “If you were a pumpkin, I’d pick you.”
Later, when trailing through the check out lines and waiting with the other dozens of people who have the same plans in mind as you for the weekend activities, he holds up a gourd and bats his eyelashes, muttering, “You’re gordeous. I can’t be-leaf you’re mine.”
In the corn maze, when you and Eddie end up deciding to split up with Robin and Steve and see who gets out first, he’s tugging your hand to his lips and saying, “You’re a-maze-ing.” (You roll your eyes at that one, but reward him with a kiss when he ends up pouting).
And later, as you crowd around on a line to grab something warm to heat yourselves up, Eddie leans down to the hollow of your ear, chuckling out, “Want to go on a coffee date? Because I like you a latte.”
You shove at him lightly, waiting till Steve and Robin are too preoccupied in their own coffees to lean up on your toes and press your lips against Eddie’s. He’s warm, lips tasting of hot chocolate, and smelling like those sugary donuts, mixing in with his aftershave and the leather of his jacket, the cigarette he smoked as you stood in line to get into the festival.
Later, you all stand around Steve Harrington’s kitchen table covered with a giant plastic bag to keep the mess at minimum. You all sip on chilled beers as you crowd about, Dustin there to judge the pumpkin carving competition. You and Eddie choose to carve a Yoda into the front face of the pumpkin, which proves to be more ambitious than you initially plan for, but Eddie’s up for the challenge. His hair is tied back, sleeves rolled up high on his elbows, tongue pressing into his lips. You’re there to gut the pumpkin, arms deep into the cavity to pull the guts from it, the sticky sludge sliding between your fingers. He’s laughing to himself when you pretend to be a zombie, murmuring ‘braiiiiins’ and walking toward him slowly as you hold aloft the gooey mess in your palm, fingers deftly holding a knife to the front of your pumpkin as Steve and Robin look on happily.
Dustin only gags at your public display of affection, groaning out, “Get back to work, you two. This is a competition and you’re being timed.”
In the end, you and Eddie don’t end up winning. Which is understandable, because despite all Eddie’s best efforts, Yoda hardly looks like Yoda and at least Steve and Robin’s pumpkin looks like something. Theirs is merely a grinning mouth with endless rows of teeth, and yet it’s easy to crown them winners and you hand over their aforementioned bet money, knowing you’ve already won the best prize.
And it comes in the form of Eddie pulling you close by your belt loops later that night, him sighing into your mouth as your tongue drags against his and you tug him closer.
Always closer.
“Goodnight,” you whisper.
There’s a press of his lips against yours once more.
A seal for the end of the night.
“Sleep sweet,” he murmurs against your skin, and date number three ends better than you could ever imagine, with his arms curling tight around your frame, holding you close, simply basking in your newfound closeness.
*
You continue on like that for the next two weeks.
In the morning, you wake and open the coffee shop. Pass out endless coffees and tend to your workers, laugh with the kids, talk with your customers about their day to day. In the afternoon Eddie comes to visit for his coffee, lingers to talk with you and the kids. Reminds Max about her homework assignments.
Some nights you visit him at the Hideout, sitting near the bar as you read a good and pass him smiles from where you sit, counting down the minutes until you can see him again. Other nights you spend in the company of Steve and Robin, telling tales of your travels, listening to them rant and rave about their jobs at Family Video.
Some nights, Eddie comes barreling into your apartment seeking you, wanting to be near you. Clings to you with hands, lips and teeth. Presses you against the cushions on your couch, holds you tight as he nips and kisses along your skin, always tasting, never venturing further. But you don’t press him—you don’t wish to push him further than he’s ready to go. He confides in you one night that he’s never been with anyone—not fully, at least. He’s tried things before, sure. Has kissed his share of people. But when it comes to intimacy, he’s nervousness embodied. So you only reassure him you’re in no rush, you’re ready when he’s ready, you want him to be happy. That you want that moment to be perfect, and you’re more than happy to wait for him.
Some nights Max teases Eddie about where he’s been. Questions a fading mark on his neck nearer to the front of the store so you can’t hear (you always hear). Asks what his plans are for the weekend. Wonders whether or not he’ll be joining her and Wayne for dinner. It’s on those nights he questions her grades, asks if she’s done her homework, threatens to tell Wayne to take away her allowance or phone privileges. She’s always quick with a quip, and he’s all smiles and wit, hugging her despite her protests.
Soon enough it becomes a comforting pattern for you.
A daily constant.
Something to rely on every day, because it’s a certainty just like the sun rising every morning, and setting in the evening.
Work, friends, Eddie.
Work, friends, Eddie.
You don’t know when it happened, but you suppose it’s exactly how it was meant to be all along. Your soul sings and your elation hums in your veins.
Life is good, things are good.
The shop is growing, you’re thriving, and you’re falling for Eddie Munson in the midst of all of it just like the leaves that drift and tumble to the ground.
It’s hard to admit, even scarier to accept, and yet you’re falling all the same.
*
“It’s not even fair,” you grumble, watching as Eddie walks out of your bathroom wearing his leather jacket, a dark shirt underneath, hair down and earring on full display.
You’ve opted for a flowing skirt, and a white tank top you found that looks as close to Star’s from The Lost Boys that you could muster. All in all, you’re Michael and Star, minus the literal vampirism, and ready to head out to Steve’s party for Halloween.
“What’s not fair, sweetheart?” he asks you, moving about your kitchen to grab his keys. You lock up behind him as the two of you slip out of the apartment, curling your hand around his as he leads you down the steps.
“That you look like that right now.”
“Speak for yourself,” he says, helping you down the last step, grunting as your form bumps into his own. “Easy there. Look at you falling for me, sweetheart.”
You want to laugh, because you already are.
Instead, you follow him to the car and pop in one of his Metallica cassettes. The familiar opening notes of one of the songs greets your ears and you watch Eddie’s fingers strum along his steering wheel.
“What time is Charlotte getting there?” Eddie asks.
And that’s right, because you’ve invited one of your customers you caught Steve Harrington practically fawning over the last time he and Robin came by. She’s pretty, all long curly hair and striking blue eyes, a dance teacher. So when Steve mentioned you and Eddie could bring whoever you wanted, you had asked the girl and she hesitantly said yes, yet said yes all the same.
“Look at you matchmaking,” he teases.
“Yeah well, the kids all have someone. Robin has Vickie. I have you… it’s Steve’s turn.”
He reaches over and grips your hand in his gentle kisses brushing over to the back of your skin. “The fact you’re so thoughtful is one of the reasons I like you so much.”
“Not that I supply you with endless coffee and snacks?”
“Those are definitely brownie points. I cannot lie, sweetheart.”
When you arrive at the party, Robin’s dressed with Vickie in a style that looks like that of the seventies. All flowing bell bottoms, tassel tops, oversized circle sunglasses, dangly earrings. And then there’s Steve dressed up as Danny from Grease .
The rest of the kids stand about the Harrington home, their little core group dressed as characters from Star Wars, while Jonathan and Nancy are dressed as Johnny and Baby from Dirty Dancing. Her in a dainty pink dress and heels and Jonathan in his all black garb.
“You two look so good,” Robin coos, reaching up to toy with the curls around Eddie’s shoulders. “The fact you got him to wear a costume, babe, is a true miracle. Last year he dressed as himself.”
“I’d say I’m dressed as basically myself now,” Eddie points out, batting playfully at her hands.
“He does dress very similarly,” you say, leaning closer to his side, waving hello to Vickie.
“Still, it’s the thought that counts.” And Robin’s swooning around the kitchen as the older girls flit on inside, commenting on each other's costumes and making yourselves drinks.
Nancy talks about the journalism department at her college. Vickie mentions she’s happy to just be home for a little bit and kisses a blushing Robin on the cheek. You update them on the fact you’re finally feeling like the shop is making you the money you actually need. And then the door rings, just as soon as Robin’s handing you all red cups full of whatever concoction she whipped up today.
In walks Charlotte and you burst over to her side just as Steve intercepts her, giggling to yourself over the fact she’s dressed as Sandy, with her hair all curly, a black top, black pants and a little pop of red on her high heels.
You didn’t plan this part, and yet it’s somehow infinitely more perfect than you ever could have anticipated. You give her a hug and introduce her to everyone before telling her you’ll show her where the rest of the girls are, mouthing over your shoulder at a very smitten looking Steve (and a bemused looking Eddie), “Act natural.”
Steve only mouths back, “I love you!”
And then mutters to his best friend, “I think I love your girlfriend,” and is effectively elbowed in the ribcage by said friend.
Later, after Charlotte’s warmed up and the group of girls has had a drink or two in their systems to loosen up a bit for the night, you find yourself back at Eddie’s side while Steve and Charlotte talk together in the distance. He’s carding his fingers through his hair and laughing at something she’s said, her smile bright and wide across her pretty face.
It feels perfect.
Steve talking with the girl he’s been pining over with a new light in his eyes.
Said girl looking up at him like he’s as wonderful as you know him to be.
Robin and Vickie kissing in the kitchen.
Jonathan and Nancy sway as he holds her in his arms.
The kids outside play with their fake lightsabers, shouting loud above the music.
And then there’s you, standing with the boy in all dark clothing that makes your soul sing.
“I feel a little floaty,” you murmur sleepily, pressing your face into his leather-clad shoulder.
“It’s your good friend Robin’s love for tequila.”
“Mm,” you hum, nodding. “Probably.”
“I tell you how pretty you look tonight?”
You shift in his arms, glancing up at his kind face. “Don’t think so. But maybe you can tell me now?”
He chuckles and lowers his face to your ear. “You’re so pretty. And I’m so happy you’re here.”
“Here as in the party?” You ask, face warm still from his compliment and the way it tingles down to your toes.
“As in Hawkins. Here.” He curls his arm around your shoulders and presses you against his chest. “With me.”
*
The next weeks pass swiftly, and it’s only because with the cooler weather, you find yourself busier than usual. You end up hiring another two openers, this way you can stagger out the kid’s schedules and also to allow yourself the opportunity of some flexibility after Eddie catches you falling asleep at the bar one night and suggests you need to take care of your own self too.
Apparently working seven days a week isn’t sustainable.
So for the next couple weeks you work on training them up, helping them learn all the functions of the shop, as well as showing them how to manage the money for the earlier portion of the day, while the kids know how to handle the night shift.
Soon enough, you find yourself able to take a day off when you actually want to, visiting Robin and Steve at Family Video here and there, and Wayne on the days he’s off from the power plant.
That’s a newer development.
Since meeting him at Eddie’s birthday back in August, you’ve gotten closer with the man.
The two of you try to get together just to sit and talk even if it’s for thirty minutes every so often.
But you enjoy it. He’s an addition on the list of things that make Hawkins more like home.
Your photo collection grows in those weeks as well. Jonathan helps you develop your photos and soon you have the ones of you and Eddie from the thrift store, Halloween, a photo of Eddie kissing you that one of the kids must have taken when you weren’t looking during one of your ‘family game nights’ at Steve’s.
Steve and Charlotte have started to date as well.
You’re not shocked at all by that. It was easy to see at the party they were smitten with one another, and now he’s set to be spending Thanksgiving with her family in New York. He says it’s serious, and you’re more than overjoyed to hear it.
He deserves the world. Especially for the kind of friend he’s been to Eddie these years.
And then there’s Eddie.
Eddie with his glowing smile. Eddie with that sweet dimple. Eddie who comes over more and more to make you dinner, to hold you close, to kiss you until your head spins. Eddie who murmurs his affection low in your ear, words meant only for you to hear, who opens up and blossoms before your eyes, who whispers of a future he hopes you see in Hawkins, paints the picture with his dreams.
It becomes more and more clearer every day.
*
“Okay, so Max doesn’t like cranberry sauce,” you say, holding aloft the grocery list in your hand. “Should we just forget about it then?”
“Do you like it?” Eddie raises a brow, pushing along the shopping cart beside you.
“No.”
“I don’t like it,” he says.
“I don’t think anyone really likes it, babe,” you laugh out, gasping in shock when Eddie grips your hand and tugs you against his chest. “We’re in a store.”
He presses a kiss to your lips. “You didn’t say hello.”
“I did. Many times.” You lean up and kiss him once more, pulling back to whisper, “Hello.”
His fingers curl around the belt loops of your jeans, tugging you close in a hug, his hand sliding just slightly into your back pocket. The aisles are empty, and to anyone who might pass, you look like just another couple in the honeymoon phase. All bright colors behind your eyes, whimsy, kiss stained lips. Girlish giggles and boyish laughter between closely bent together faces, hands brushing, fingers trailing, that constant need-to-touch behavior.
“I just want to make a good impression,” you remind him once the two of you have separated. “It’s my first Thanksgiving with…well, with family in a long time. I don’t want to mess it up.”
“It’s Max and Wayne…who both already love you.”
“I know, but I just think it should be perfect. It means a lot to me, Eddie.”
“I know, sweetheart,” he says softly.
And he does.
You’d whispered to him the night he mentioned to you how Wayne wanted you to spend Thanksgiving with them that the invitation alone meant more than words could say. Your own family had never been one for the festivities. They’d often travel somewhere tropical and have whatever food was offered there to celebrate, and often left you behind because it was generally under the guise of a ‘business trip.’
But that traditional Thanksgiving. The Thanksgiving you’ve seen only in movies…that’s the kind you want that year. The kind full of family and friendship, of the people that make you happiest, the ones that make you feel warm.
“It’s going to be perfect,” he promises, lowering his hand to the small of your back, his lips a gentle brush against your temple.
You walk in and out of the aisles in search of everything you need, talking amongst yourselves, merely enjoying the day together. And you’re ready to check out when you see a woman with a shock of blonde curly hair standing behind you in line staring at Eddie like she knows him, like she loathes him.
He doesn’t see her at first, but you do, watching as the cashier works on ringing everything up and Eddie stands at the end of the belt to pay.
“You shouldn’t be with him,” she says out loud.
You’re not sure she’s talking to you.
And why would she?
She doesn’t know him.
You merely nod your head and glance away, uncomfortable.
“He’s not a good man.”
There’s that voice again.
That haunted sounding voice that makes your blood run cold, but not because the words hold any weight, but because of the hollow tone to them.
You move further away from her, glancing at Eddie who is still caught up with whatever the cashier is talking to him about. Apparently they share an interest for metal and were talking about the upcoming concert the younger boy was planning on going to.
“Miss, I really think you should kindly mind your business,” you say as nicely as possible, your voice high and tight at the end.
It’s then Eddie finally hears you, eyes darting to your face, and then further still over your shoulder. His mouth drops open as he meets the woman’s eyes, handing the cashier his money so the two of you can get the hell out of there.
“You shouldn’t be here, young man,” she says directly to him, and ice crawls down your spine. “I don’t care what they say, you shouldn’t have been allowed back.”
You shove your cart forward and Eddie moves to turn you away from the woman, rushing the two of you out the front doors to the supermarket as she shouts again he shouldn’t be there into the cold fall air.
Your heart is racing as you load up your car with the groceries, Eddie pushing the cart away into the corral once everything is stowed away. You drop down into your front seat and lock your buckle into place, hand against your chest to try and calm yourself down.
Eddie appears a moment later across from you, looking just as fearful, but though your fear is for him, his is solely for you. He reaches across the space between the two of you and cups your face in his hands, pressing his forehead against yours as your raspy breath fills the car.
“Are you okay?” He finally breathes into the open cabin of the car.
“Am I okay? Eddie, she was harassing you.”
“I’m okay.” The tremor in his voice tells you he’s anything but.
“Who was she? Why was she saying that?”
“Sweetheart, there’s…I…the things that happened two years ago. I—”
He’s struggling.
His breath comes quick and staccato in your ears, his eyes growing rounder and rounder in his growing panic.
Your hands come out to rest on either side of his shoulders, feeling them as they tremble, his mouth working over words that won’t come up.
They die on his throat, and all you’re left with are the sounds of his struggle.
“Eddie,” you whisper, sliding a hand up and down his arm. “Don’t. I…would never want you to talk about something if you’re not ready or comfortable. Please know that, okay? Whenever you’re ready, I’m here. But not a moment before that.”
He’s rasping out, “Okay” over and over again and your heart breaks for him. For the fear crawling up his throat and choking him.
Your anger builds for the woman who thought it okay to openly yell at him in a public setting and left him like this.
Your anger builds for the woman who left him broken like this.
“Let’s just go home, okay?” you whisper, sliding your hand down until you can feel his palm within your own.
You give him a gentle squeeze and he returns the pressure, training his gaze ahead.
Let’s just go home.
*
Thanksgiving dinner isn’t perfect, but you think it makes it infinitely better.
The turkey you tried to cook…doesn’t exactly work out as planned, and despite you nearly bursting into tears in front of Eddie over it, he’s there with his arms at the ready holding you close and reassuring you that you also brought chicken wings, and he and Wayne like those a thousand times more than ‘boring dry turkey.’
Dessert is easier.
You’re good with dessert and end up baking an apple pie and a batch of chocolate chip cookies (the ones you know Eddie and Max like).
When all is said and done and your apartment smells like a bakery, you get ready for the evening in a simple brown sweater and jeans. Something comfortable for all the food you’re about to consume.
And as you arrive at Wayne’s with Eddie in tow, all your worries about everything that might have gone wrong dissipate. Because Wayne’s there with a giant hug and a booming welcome, with Max lingering in the hallway a little further behind, practically screaming at Eddie when he rushes forward and picks her up in a bear hug.
Her head dangles over his shoulder and her fists rap against his back, but she’s laughing, red hair spilling around her like a fire, smiling when he places her back on the ground and pushes her glasses up on the bridge of her nose.
“Asshole,” she mutters, but it’s said through her grin, before she pushes past him and hugs you too. “Happy Thanksgiving.”
You unpack the things you bought and lay them about around kitchen counters and tables, Wayne admonishing that you’ve made too much, that it’s more than he could have expected.
But you wanted perfect for your first Thanksgiving in your new town, and can only grin to yourself as you swat both Eddie’s and Max’s hands away when you show Wayne the cookies you worked on.
Dinner is spent passing plates over the table to one another, with Max announcing she wants mashed potatoes, Eddie shoveling yams onto her plate, making sure she’s also got vegetables in there somewhere. It’s spent with Wayne telling you stories about Eddie’s childhood. Like the time he cut his own hair and tried to hide it from Wayne for a week with a knitted hat…in the middle of summer (he later took him to a barber shop, where they ended up chopping most of the length off). He tells you about the first tattoo Eddie got and also tried to hide from him. Eddie only balks that he was too young at the time, and wasn’t about to tell his uncle he’d gotten a stick and poke from a friend who was only learning then.
Max tells you about her schooling, her hobbies. Eddie laughs that she’s always covered scrapes and bruises because she still holds her title as ‘Mad Max,’ as given by her friends, but sobers up when he says he’s happy she can again, and he’ll always keep Wayne’s place stocked with band aids since he’s so happy she’s back to full health.
Apparently there were many months of physical therapy after her accident to regain full strength back in her body.
After a while she announces she’s going to the Sinclair’s for dessert, but steals one of your cookies on the way out, thanking everyone for a great dinner. You’re left in the kitchen washing dishes with Eddie as Wayne sits in front of the TV in the living room.
Eddie’s hand curls low around your waist as you clean up, your soak slick hands roving around one of the plates. “How’s the first Hawkins Thanksgiving?”
“Perfect, Eddie,” you whisper gratefully, “thank you.”
“I’m going to go ahead and get dessert set up,” he says, brushing a kiss against your temple.
You hum as he goes, singing along to a tune unknown as you work, glancing over your shoulder to where Eddie stands in the living area opening different dessert trays with his hair falling forward around him. And then further, you catch sight of the elder Munson, your heart swelling at how much they already have come to mean to you.
Both of them.
It’s a little overwhelming, and a lot scary, but you lean into that feeling.
You let it roll over you in waves, this feeling of family that grows with every passing day here.
Dessert feels like an orange glow. Like the heat of a fire warming your skin. Pillowy soft and honey sweet. It feels like candy, sugar coating your mouth. It’s the heat from Eddie’s body rolling into yours as Wayne pulls out Eddie’s old talent show tape from when he was younger. Shaved head, no tattoos, with a more youthful face. Eddie cringes as the three of you watch, his movements along the strings still just as impressive then as you know them to be now, and you lean into his arm to give him a kiss on the cheek through the awkward laughter he lets out. It’s the quiet call of your name as Eddie moves to go clean up dessert and slips into the kitchen.
Wayne leads you outside with a fresh mug of coffee in both your hands. The instant stuff, he laughs, not like the good stuff you have back at your shop. But you don’t mind it, not at all, as you settle down on a chair beside him, a blanket swallowing your form as you tuck your thighs beneath you.
“Thank you for inviting me tonight,” you say after a while, eyes lingering on the beautiful moon up above.
You hear the rustle of leaves pick up in the wind, the sound of wind chimes dancing in the air, the bark of a dog in the distance, a low hum of a car engine as people head back home for the night.
It’s nice.
“It’s my pleasure, little missy.” He looks over to you and smiles, the wrinkles around his mouth crinkling as he does so. “Been a long time since I’ve seen my boy smile like he does with you. Grateful for that tonight.”
“Thank you, Mr. Munson,” you reply, feeling your eyes burn. “It’s all I want for him, really. I…I really care about him. He’s such good person, and I know a lot of that is thanks to you.”
“He’s a good kid, despite everything he’s been through,” he agrees, tipping his head up to the sky. “You’ll look out for him, won’t you?”
“Always,” you promise.
*
After saying goodbye to Wayne for the night, you tell Eddie you want to go back to your apartment to hang out for a little bit.
You sit in the quiet of comfortable companionship. Talking about your favorite moments from the night, laughing over the videos from Eddie’s talent show.
“Looked like a whole different kid,” he chuckles out, recalling the shaved head and lack of ink you currently run your fingers over as he sits beside you. “How about you, what was your favorite part of the night?”
“Just getting to spend time with you all. It felt right.”
“I know what you mean,” he says, his head rolling a bit on the couch cushion to look you in the eyes. “Meant a lot to me you were there. You mean a lot to me.”
Your fingers brush his jaw, right along the ridges of his scar, ever so gently. “You mean a lot to me too, Eddie.”
“Seems so silly to ask you to be my girlfriend when I think about it. But then again, we’ve never really talked about what we are. I just know I’m serious about this, about us. And I know I’ve been a real idiot about certain things in the past, but this is one thing I want to get right.”
“I want this too, Eddie. More than anything.”
What happens next starts out hesitant.
Eddie presses his lips to yours and hums into your skin as you clamber up and onto his lap. In the distance, your TV plays, but right now all you can focus on is the rapid beat of your heart, the flush that warms your skin.
His hands are hesitant. Splaying on either side of your hips as your knees press into the couch cushions, your mouth sliding over the curve of his cheek, the gentle slope of his jaw. You grin at the sound of the moan that spills from him as your teeth lightly drag along an earlobe, scoring a path down his neck.
Those hands around your hips tighten reflexively as you mark your path back up his neck and claim his mouth once more with your own, exhaling shakily against skin at the first experimental roll of his hips up into yours, fueled only by natural instinct.
He’s already hard there, impossibly so, your hips rocking forward slightly against his zipper, hissing low in your throat as heat drags low along where you want him most.
He mutters your name to stop you as you reach behind you to grip the hem of your sweater in both arms, those callused fingers replacing your own a moment later as he helps you push it up and over your head. You’d foregone a bra as soon as you got home, and you’re happy for it now with the way he murmurs, “Babybabybaby,” against your collar bone, and then lower still at the first swirl of his tongue against hot flesh.
You yelp at the shift in weight as he flips you beneath him, thighs parting around his slender hips to make room. You feel so very exposed laying there half naked while he’s still fully dressed, but the way he looks at you quickly quiets that fear.
All dark eyes blown out only for you, gentle touches against skin, murmurs of how beautiful and perfect you are against the hollow of your throat as he punctuates each compliment with a kiss.
You rock your hips upward against his slowly, his answering groan against your lips before you swallow the sound making heat pool. At the first press of him at your core, just the slightest of rolls of his hips as he grows more comfortable in the moment, you let out a breathy sigh, body practically humming with delight from the nearness of him.
But it’s not enough.
And he agrees, because it’s suddenly a frantic clash of lips and teeth. His elbows lowering to either side of his head as his chest rests against yours, his heart thrashing against your sternum. His fingers work deftly at the button on your jeans, zipper slicing into the silence of your apartment as he slides it down.
Every inch of you burns bright.
Your lips are kiss swollen, breath heavy, chest tight. You can feel the slick of your center, the need spiking with every second that passes he’s not inside you. And you know he feels it too, can feel it in his kisses, the sounds rolling from deep within his chest, the press of him hot and hard and ready at your core.
But that’s where it all goes wrong.
He’s kissing your throat and sliding his hand down the front of your jeans, fingers just barely skimming the line of your underwear, when you decide you need more of him.
It’s your hand sliding beneath his shirt and running along the first ridge of a scar you hadn’t even known was there that does it.
It’s like tires on a tarmac.
The rust of brakes gone bad.
The scratch of a record as the moment screeches to a halt before things can go any further.
Because Eddie’s flinching and murmuring, “Waitwaitwait.”
And suddenly he’s rolling off of you and standing to his feet, breathing heavy and looking up at the ceiling.
You curse under your breath, snatching your sweater from the floor and sliding it back over your form, reaching for him because you don’t know what else to do.
“Did I hurt you? Eddie, please tell me I didn’t hurt you—”
“No, shit, sweetheart…no.” He curses again, fingers pressing into the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry. God, I’m so sorry. I just fucked it up, I’m sorry—”
You wrap your arms around his midsection slowly, feeling the tremors wracking his form, pressing your cheek over the frantic beat of his heart. “Eddie, you’re all I care about. If you’re not ready, you’re not ready. It doesn’t change how I feel about you. All I’ve ever wanted is what you want. You didn’t ruin anything.”
“I just…I don’t look like I used to. It’s—”
“Eddie, please don’t feel like you need to explain. It’s okay.”
“I’m just—I look like a monster under there,” he admits, dragging you back down over to the couch. You curl up on his lap, his hands twining with your own, your thumb rolling lazy circles into his skin. “It’s wrecked to shit and…”
He presses the heels of of his palms into his eyes and curses out with a low groan.
When he pulls them away, your eyes meet his. Your voice is soft as you whisper, “Eddie Munson, a few scars don’t make you a monster. A human heart does, and I know you have a damn good one, okay? One of the best. But I want this to be enjoyable for you too, and I only want it when you feel absolutely, one hundred percent comfortable. Not a moment before. So just hold me and watch this movie with me, because I really don’t want to say goodnight to you yet.”
His arms curl tighter around you as your head turns to take in the movie. “I’m sorry,” he whispers against your head.
“Don’t apologize,” you reply, giving his hand another squeeze. “I’m here, I’m with you, you’re safe and I’m safe and we’re happy. That’s all that matters.”
Your chest aches, because you love him.
You don’t know yet you’re in love with him, as you’ve got nothing to compare it to, but you know you love him.
Nine months of knowing someone will do that.
And it kills you to think he still sees himself as this ugly monster, when he’s only ever been beautiful to you. It kills you because you don’t even know what it is that’s made him that way. You wish you could take it all away.
So you settle for, “You’re beautiful, Eddie Munson, and I wish I could silence everyone who has ever told you otherwise. Even if it’s just the voices inside your head.”
He buries his head into your shoulder, his swath of dark curls falling around your face. And if he cries silently into your skin, a few droplets sliding down the collar of your sweater as proof, you say nothing of it, not wanting to upset him further.
You only hold him close, for as long as he needs— forever if he asked you.
*
The night at your apartment becomes a memory.
Not in the fact either of you have forgotten, but in that you’re currently preoccupied with making Eddie’s apartment look like a winter wonderland. Your space isn’t large enough for anything impressive. You bought a few decorations and lights here and there for the upcoming winter festivities, but after much groveling (much, much groveling) you find yourself trailing behind Eddie as you walk through the local tree farm in search of the perfect Christmas tree for his space.
“It just can’t be bigger than eight feet,” he tells you on the way in the car, his fingers curling within your own. “I’m serious, no bigger than eight feet.”
Your knee bounces erratically. And it’s not simply because you’re on your way to buy him a tree, but because it’s also the first time you’re going to his place, just outside of Hawkins. It’s a fifteen minute drive, in a complex full of nicely decorated spaces. Definitely more upscale than anything you might be able to afford. But you don’t question it, and instead focus on the task at hand.
All around you are towering branches, full trees, sparse trees, trees covered in the snow that recently dusted Hawkins. Earlier than usual, the news had said, shocked by the six inches of snowfall that hit the town within the past day or so. Still, it makes for the perfect atmosphere. Tickled pink cheeks on Eddie’s face, a scarf tucked around both your necks, fluffy jackets on and knitted hats with pompoms bouncing as you walk about the place looking for the perfect pine.
“What about this one?” You stop to ask, glancing up at the tree before you. It’s likely not as full as Eddie has grown to want, but the color is vibrant, and the height is within his specified wishes.
“It’s…I just don’t think it’s the one.”
“Well, how will you know?”
“I’ll know,” he says, leaning over to brush at some snow that’s fallen onto your shoulder.
“For someone adamant against buying a tree, you sure seem invested.”
“Because now that I have the idea in my head, I want it to be perfect.” He turns around and stops you in your tracks, looking down at you. “We never really did the whole…Christmas thing when I was growing up. Dad was…you know, in and out of jail. And mom was usually out of her mind on whatever she was doing at the time. Wasn’t till I was at Wayne’s that I really did much at all. But this year I want it to be special.”
It’s the unspoken words that spill between you that make your heart swell.
This year he has you.
The next tree you stop in front of is actually perfect. Full branches, no spaces, the perfect looking height. You’re about to tell Eddie as much when your foot slides out from beneath you and you go tumbling to the ground. Eddie’s hand, practically fastened to yours these days, ends up jolting upon your impact and sends him hurting after you. You’re a swarm of limbs and laughter, your head in plush snow as Eddie’s form trembles above you, his sides shaking from his own mirth.
An attendant rushes over, likely afraid he’s about to be sued, and asks if the two of you are okay.
And you’re fine. Truly.
You’re more than fine.
You’re all wide smiles and sticky sweet kisses as Eddie leans down and presses his mouth to yours.
You're wide eyed and joyful as the attendant helps wrap up your tree and fastens it to the top of Eddie’s van.
And you’re over the moon when the two of you make your way back over to his apartment.
It’s the first time you’ve been there and it’s not lost on you as you enter, taking in the sights all around you.
It screams Eddie.
His living and kitchen area are separate from his bedroom. Already much different than the open floor plan of your apartment. He doesn’t have much other than a cough and TV, a little kitchen set, some nicknacks here and there. Memorabilia from Dnd and Lord of the Rings rest against his entertainment system, and you run your fingers along his bookshelf, taking in the broken spines of the books he has there. They look well-loved and appreciated, worn from years of tender love and care. It’s a little messy, sure, but it’s quaint.
It’s his and he’s choosing to share it with you at the moment.
The two of you help carry inside the tree, fanning out the limbs in the holder Eddie’s purchased in preparation. It overwhelms the space, broad branches spanning into the room and making it feel full. But Eddie seems happy with it, moving about to the small closet he has to pull out various lights and ornament boxes.
“Didn’t know you had all of this,” you say, holding up a strand of colorful lights.
“I was waiting for the right moment,” he says, and the two of you begin working on setting up the tree.
Eddie puts the radio on, where holiday tunes are already playing, and it fills his apartment with sound. You move around one another, handing each other lights and stringing them up on the tree until it glows in a colorful rainbow of light. And once you’re done with that, it’s the two of you bobbing and weaving as you put ornaments on the tree. Various bulbs of silver, gold and red, spread out messily, and yet still somehow coming together to form something special—something uniquely yours.
And neither of you would change it for the world. Not as you stand back and admire the tree, holding one another close. Not when you begin to get ready for bed in his bathroom, the two of you brushing your teeth in tandem, excited to spend your first night together. There’s no expectations, nothing further than a kiss here or there, and yet your heart thrums speedily in your chest.
It always does when it comes to him.
Later, as you walk into his bedroom and take in the sights, you feel that love for him growing all the more. His acoustic guitar in one corner, electric guitar in the other. The various metal music posters for the bands he likes strewn about the walls. His dresser isn’t fully closed, some of his shirts and jeans poking out here and there. And his closet looks to be full to the brim with laundry. But he turns to you in the dark and whispers that he’s happy you’re here.
Presses his lips to yours and walks you backward to his bed. Your back hits the comforter as your kneecaps hit the mattress, fingers curling in his hair as you hum a sigh when his lips connect to your collarbone.
And later, as you melt into one another beneath his blankets, your body curled against his, his arm wrapped low around your waist, you feel like this is how it has been meant to be all along.
All your wandering, all your searching has led you to this moment in time.
You and Eddie, folded into one another, seeking warmth, seeking love.
Rest comes easy that night.
*
Red sky.
Inky darkness.
Flashes of light, slicing the dark.
Whip of a tail around his throat, circling, tightening, choking.
A crude noose.
Smack of his back against concrete.
Stars in his vision as he’s momentarily jolted.
He can’t think, can’t hear over the sound of flapping wings, over the screeching in his ears.
The whip of tails around his appendages, a painful spread of his limbs.
Stretching taut, tight like a medieval torture rack.
Teeth biting into flesh.
His flesh.
Over and over and over again.
They rip into him, take pieces of him, consume him.
He’s screaming, screaming, screaming.
It never stops.
The pain never. Stops.
It is waking death.
Living torture.
He cries, and no one listens.
No one…hears him.
Pure agony.
Blood.
So. Much. Blood.
Praying for death.
Wishing for it all to just end.
The pain of it not.
Gasping, writhing, pleading.
No one hears him.
No one ever hears him.
It’s lonely in the Upside Down.
And then there’s Dustin.
He’s crying and asking him to stay.
Pleading with him.
Telling him he loves him.
Dustin loves him.
He wants to stay, wants to graduate, wants to live.
Fuck, he wants to live.
But there’s too much blood. There’s always so much blood.
It oozes from him, bubbles up on his lips, chokes him.
He can’t breathe.
His lungs constrict, he gasps, he begs for mercy.
It never comes.
Why would it ever come?
He doesn’t deserve it. Chrissy is dead, Fred is dead, Patrick is dead.
It’s only right he dies too.
Isn’t it?
This is his punishment.
This slow, painful death. This slow ooze of life into the dirt, this slow plea for the end, this cry for help that never comes.
It never comes.
His eyes flutter closed.
He wakes up.
*
“I need to tell her,” Eddie says, discarding his cigarette into the ashtray between the two lounge chairs Steve and Eddie rest upon.
Steve takes a sip of his beer and dips his head. “You mean about the Upside Down? What happened to us in March?”
“Yeah,” he says cooly, his voice carrying in the fall breeze. “She, uh, stayed the night—don’t make that face, Harrington, it wasn’t like that. But I had a nightmare. Woke her up in the middle of the night and I think I scared the shit out of her. Was the first in a while, of course it has to be when I have company and I’m trying to not make her think I’m some fucking Freak.”
He lets out a bitter laugh that has Steve’s head whirling his way.
“You’re not a Freak, you idiot. You almost died two years ago.” Eddie winces at the harshness of Steve’s words, but he knows his anger is not directed at him. “We tried to take down some sadistic torture wizard and lost that first time. You had a whole damn town chasing you down like they were on some sort of witch hunt. You were pinned for the murders of three people. You were acquitted, sure, but there are people in Hawkins who are conspiracy theorists who will do anything to paint you as that murderer. You could have ran away, but you stayed because of Wayne and Max…and all of us, too. It’s expected that you’d still struggle with it, man.
Steve’s right.
He knows it in his heart of hearts.
But it’s hard to separate that from the fact it happened—that it’s still happening.
That you had to witness Mrs. Cunningham run him out of a store.
That you saw him have a panic attack in your kitchen over the bat that flew into your window.
That he flinched when you tried to touch him the other night.
That he woke drenched in sweat from a dream of swirling red clouds and endless teeth ripping into flesh.
“Will you help me tell her?” Eddie asks sullenly, meeting Steve’s gaze. “I don’t know if I can. Not fully. Not all of it, man.”
Steve nods his head. “Of course. Whatever you need, just tell me when.”
If there’s anything Eddie Munson knows for certain, it’s that Steve Harrington is a good man.
It’s that he’s lucky he has friends who stayed by him after everything that happened and worked to see his name released from the accusations set against him, that he had his Uncle to care for him when he was healing.
It’s that he needs to tell you about what happened, because you deserve to know, because he wants to be fully open with you.
Because Eddie Munson’s never been in love, but he thinks that’s what he’s starting to feel for you.
*
Chance Muller comes in like he does any other day, except this time it’s the afternoon; that’s not typical for him.
Though your relationship had been fleeting, just the slightest of interests fizzling into a dull spark, he’s not held it against you. Instead, he still visits multiple times a week before his shifts, resuming your normal day to day as though nothing has changed.
That evening, however, he’s like the cat who swallowed the canary. All overly eager smiles, elbows leaning expectantly on the countertops, looking like he’s having way too much fun for a man who likely only just finished up a long shift.
You almost don’t want to ask him what’s got him smiling like that.
Alarm bells sound in your ears.
Scream at you that something is wrong, though you cannot know what until you ask.
The shop is dead for this time of day. Eddie’s set to come in soon before his shift, the cookies you made him already put to the side for snack should he crave one, and other than the two patrons sitting outside over a cup of coffee with their dog, you’re all alone with him.
“I didn’t know you and Munson were dating,” he says all of a sudden, picking at the straw sticking out from his cup. At your confusion, he continues, “I didn’t mean to pry, believe me. I just saw you wishing him farewell early this morning when I was getting in my car. You two seem very cozy.”
You bite at your lip, not quite understanding why he even cares in the first place. It’s not like you two were ever anything serious, and it’s not like Hawkins isn’t a small town anyway. It’s likely people would find out by way of gossip eventually. Still, you make a mental note to be a little more careful when wishing him goodbye. Not even just around your customers but also the kids. As much as you are close with the kids who run your shop with you, you don’t want your relationship to veer too far into that of friendship; there still needs to be that balance.
That and Hawkins doesn’t really need to see you kissing Eddie goodbye after he’s spent the night. Those moments, so special in their meaning, are not meant to be spread to the world. They’re for your safekeeping within your own heart, and meant to be shared with him and him alone.
Your fingers brush along your lips at the memory of his lips ghosting yours that morning. The feel of his fingers curling around the side of your neck, thumb tipping your jaw up up up so he could kiss you sweetly.
Soundly.
“We’re seeing each other,” you state plainly, moving to rearrange the treats within your glass case into a prettier assortment.
Your fingers curl around a croissant when he says, “Did he tell you about what happened two years ago?”
You pause on the spot.
The croissant drops to the bottom of the case, forgotten.
“I know there was an accident, or something,” you say, humming brightly.
Or at least it’s what you think happened. You know from Maxine that two years ago some stuff happened that Eddie found himself in the middle of. You know he has scars that cover a large portion of his body, have felt them now beneath your fingertips, know which ones still cause him discomfort sometimes. But you’ve always thought them to be akin to those of a fire or some sort of car accident.
Because it’s not your story to tell, you’ve respected his wishes and kept the conversation out of your mouth. You have waited for him to be the one to share that with you—to tell you about that March two years ago that changed his life.
An image, a memory, flashes across your eyes of just days ago. Of running your hands beneath his shirt and feeling him tense underneath your fingertips at those first subtle brushes of your skin against his scars. The way he jolted away like he’d been struck by lightning, by fear.
“Pretty girl, you’re telling me you haven’t looked into it at all?” Chance asks, shifting his body weight so his elbows rest on the counter and his head tips to the ceiling.
“Didn’t think it was my place to meddle,” you tell him, closing the glass case shut and spraying some glass cleaner over the surface.
It sparkles under your attention and Chance only chuckles. “So when you moved here, you didn’t research the place at all? Anything about what happened?”
You didn’t have to.
People were more than ready to talk about the curses laid over the town.
Over the satanic worship and the cults that walked the earth.
Of how the gates of hell opened up beneath the place.
The deaths that happened in the span of days.
The ‘Freaks’ that live in the town.
The girl in the trailer park, with her eyes ripped out of her body.
You heard about it all and still chose to move here—still chose to take a leap, despite all that stood against you.
“People talk,” you admit, tossing your rag into a bin to be cleaned later. “Back where I lived before here. Told me I was crazy for moving to this ‘cursed town.’”
“That’s all true,” he tells you, voice dropping an octave lower. “The rumors about hell being here, about all the devil worship and the sacrifices. It’s all true.”
“Chance, stop.”
“I’m not lying to you,” he promises, whirling back around to face you. “Do you know where Eddie Munson lived? Not where he lives now, where he lived.”
You do.
The trailer park.
The same trailer park that’s being rebuilt to this day.
You shake your head. “I’m not talking about him with you.”
“He’s not safe,” he shouts when you try to maneuver around him to wipe at one of the many tables littered with coffee stains.
Eddie..not safe?
You nearly laugh in Chance’s face.
Eddie, the same man who helped you paint your apartment. Eddie who used his bare hands to put together a bookshelf for you. Eddie who held your hand at the fair when you were scared, and then later when you got your first tattoo. Eddie who held you when you were bedridden with the flu. Eddie who sat behind you and showed you how to really carve into a pumpkin. Eddie who caressed your face in bed the night before as if he were holding the most precious thing in the world. Eddie who kisses you like a butterfly's wings kisses the skin, soft brushes, gentle flutters.
He’s not talking about your Eddie. There has to be another, it’s your only explanation.
And yet, your mind hitches on the ‘trailer park,’ and the rumors you heard.
The girl in the trailer park with her eyes ripped from her head.
Not Eddie; not your Eddie.
Maybe someone else’s Eddie, and you’re sorry for them, but it’s not Eddie Munson.
“Four people died,” he starts, walking closer to you. You feel like you’re caught in a trap, his dark eyes chilling you right to the bone. “Four people. They’ll tell you Jason Carver was fueled by jealousy. They’ll tell you that he was so angry that the Freak of Hawkins High had lured his sweet little Chrissy to his trailer that he went on this wild man hunt. They’ll tell you that Patrick McKinney drowned in Lover’s Lake. They’ll tell you Fred Benson, so overcome with grief , claimed his own life. They’ll tell you that Jason killed Chrissy out of anger for being cuckolded. Not his Chrissy; never her. They’ll tell you that Jason tried to kill another girl and her friends, and ended up with that girl being bedridden for months while he died shortly after in the earthquakes that destroyed the town.”
“I don’t…I’m not..” Your words are a babble.
Your mind spins.
It reels, because you don’t know what any of it means.
Why is he telling you this?
Why does it matter and what does it even have to do with Eddie?
Eddie, you remind yourself, who woke up that morning and hugged you from behind. Kissed your shoulder and told you he’s never felt this way about anyone before.
Eddie, who you were sure you were falling in love with—a feeling you’ve never truly felt before.
“I don’t know how he managed it. I don’t know what kind of lawyers he had, but people will say Eddie was innocent in all of it. That he hadn’t been around when Chrissy died, and wasn’t around when Patrick or the others died either. The evidence is ‘too loose and flimsy,’ they said. And the news just fed it to us,” Chance goes on to say, spitting venomously. “You know he got out with no jail time? All those murders, he just got away with them all.”
“You said Jason Carver was responsible—”
“That’s what they told us to believe,” Chance barks out, hand fisting at his side. “But I know Jason, and I know he would have never hurt Chrissy. He’d never have hurt that other girl, either. It wasn’t him.”
“But you said he went after Eddie—”
“Because Eddie killed Chrissy!”
“I think you should go,” you say through a clenched jaw.
You want to hear nothing more of his delirium. This warped idea he has of Eddie in his mind.
Not your Eddie, not your Eddie.
Never him.
It can’t be.
“You don’t really know who you’re dating,” Chance warns, cornering you against the countertop. “Three of my friends died that week. Three.”
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, but it wasn’t Eddie. They ruled him out. They wouldn’t have let him go free if they didn’t think he was innocent.”
“What do you know about it? You didn’t know him in high school like we did. Didn’t know about his satanic club he had. They called themselves Hellfire. How more obvious could it be that it was him? It was right there all along—!”
“Chance,” you shove at his chest, sensing the sorrow and grief radiating off of him as his eyes water and his breath heaves on a sob. “Again, I’m very sorry, but you need to go—”
“What’s going on here?” Eddie calls from the doorway. He’s in a red and black flannel. A sight that would normally make heat pool low in your belly, but now only makes your heart ache because of the way he looks at you.
Pain, he’s in physical pain.
Your eyes glance up to the clock, and you breathe a grateful sigh of relief in knowing it’s time for him to head off to work. Another chill slides down your spine at the way they look at one another.
Recognition flares in Eddie’s gaze.
Eddie repeats, “What’s going on here?”
Chance steps away from you, your breath coming in shaky exhales.
Chance lifts his coffee cup from off the table he sat it upon, tipping it toward Eddie. “Just filling her in on Chrissy…Fred…Patrick…oh and Jason, too. Seems you forgot to. Don’t worry, I took care of it for you, buddy.” Chance glances Eddie’s way, smiling. It’s not a sincere smile, no; it’s the kind of smile that makes your heart stutter, your breath halt in your lungs, because of how empty it is. “Take care.”
He leaves with the jingle of your door bells, leaving you and Eddie in stark silence. You want to scream in your frustration, but instead rush over to him, hands coming up to rest on his forearms.
He’s unblinking, unfeeling, unseeing as his eyes dart to yours.
You lean up on your toes and kiss the side of his jaw, dropping back down when he winces.
Actually winces.
Your heart shatters at the rejection that bleeds.
Seeps from the wound.
“Eddie?” Your voice cracks on the whisper, his form stiffening further as your hand slides up along his chest, over the rapid beat of his heart beneath.
He’s shaking.
Full body shakes that make you reach forward to hold him, but he steps backward, head shaking as he chokes on his words. There are tears swimming in his eyes and you feel another crack wedge its way into your heart.
You whisper his name once more.
Your hand reaches out to grab his hand but it meets empty air, because he’s slipping from you, out the door and muttering, “I-I have to go.”
And you’re left standing there, with your hand over your chest, heaving out a sob for the man with pain in his face and disaster behind his gaze.
*
Tag List: @clinicallyonline17, @sidthedollface2, @lazywillow6748, @idkidknemore, @blue-eyed-lion, @emma77645, @bambipowerblueaddition, @aysheashea, @lezzy-bennet,
#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson agst#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x afab!reader#eddie munson fluff#Eddie munson imagine#Eddie munson post s4
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Macaque x Reader - Silly Vallentine
Promotional Disclaimer: This chapter is being posted here to promote the whole work on AO3! To read more chapters, go to the AO3 link, in fact, the new chapters will be posted there first!
✐ 1 Chapter summary: Overcome by boredom, Macaque goes for a walk on Valentine's Day and finds you.
An event that turns out to be more amusing than expected.
✐ Category: Fluff; Hurt/Comfort; Cute; Slow Burn; Slow Romance; Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence; Reader-Insert; Touch-Starved; Cuddling & Snuggling; Foreign Reader; Gender-Neutral Pronouns; Humor; Mythology References; Not Beta Read.
Trigger Warning (for the whole work, not this chapter in particular): Angst; Blood and Violence; Trust Issues; Self-Esteem Issues; Self-Worth Issues; lots of issues; Xenophobia; Trauma; Swearing; Emotional Baggage; Emotional Hurt.
-✐-☾-✐-☾-✐-☾-✐-☾-✐-☾-✐-☾-✐-☾-
Chapter 1 - Valentine
This kind of celebration usually doesn't matter much to warriors dedicated only to fighting and revenge, there's no time to meet new people and to love if you're busy going after a hated acquaintance.
But that doesn't mean boredom can't knock on these people's doors.
A powerful monkey demon walks through a large city disguised as an ordinary human. The monotony of his hiding place had ended up irritating him, resulting in a stroll during "lovers day".
The tedium was enormous to make someone so reclusive go out on a day like this. Streets are full of commemorative decorations, mainly pink heart-shaped ornaments, and serenades with sweet music can be heard everywhere, even the sky looked rosier than usual, however what occupies the surroundings more than the color pink are couples laughing.
Couples that make you want to throw up for being so clingy, many of them look like exaggerated caricatures of what a happy pair would look like. The demon even rolled his eyes when he heard some phrases from the loose lovebirds, sometimes having a good hearing is a nightmare.
"I'm scared, honey, what if I don't like the people at the party?" - A short girl passes by the monkey.
"Calm down, if you get nervous, we'll just get out of there. Trust me, we're in this together." - The other girl takes one of her partner's shoulders and speaks in a sweet, calm voice.
He stops in place, for a brief moment.
... Yeah, even though the concept of clingy couples was a little annoying, there was a part of him that held a certain... Interest.
The idea of having someone who cares about your emotional and physical state, the idea of being appreciated, someone to give you attention and affection, someone to trust, all of this was somehow pleasant to imagine. A part of him really craved someone he could actually count on, someone that would actually choose to stay with him.
The warrior shook his head to get that unimportant feeling out of there. Is the holiday making him emotional? This is so pathetic. Like, come on, he had more fun things to do than that!
The biggest fun of being on the streets today is watching couples break up. Or to see people rejecting each other. Dramatic love situations filled with people with broken hearts, looking like over-the-top soap operas in real life. That was pure entertainment.
A rattling bell and the sound of hard material hitting the wall shows that someone has opened a door not far away with incredible brute force, the door in question being the door of a luxuriant restaurant.
"Wait! Come back! What did I do wrong, my little pudding?!" - A man cried while trying to reach a woman in a fancy dress.
"I've already made it clear to you that I hate it when you call me that. What were you thinking, showing up dressed like that in front of my entire family?" - She pointed with her index finger at the clown nose the man had on his face.
"I-I wanted to make your family have fun."
"You made everyone laugh at me! Laugh at us. You made me look like an idiot!"
Ooh, this was a good drama, an argument for a ridiculous reason. This gives a bunch of inspiration to an artist, stupid story scenarios becomes the perfect reference to fun scenes. The beauty and the clown, yeah, this could be the theme of a shadow play, a funny one. A few laughs escaped the demon's lips, so much suffering for such a stupid reason was a special comedy to watch.
Unfortunately for him, the pairing didn't take long to reconcile, returning to the restaurant's interior happily and holding hands.
He rolled his eyes at the scene, boredom returned and, so did his quest for entertainment. Maybe looking for fun outside the hideout wasn't such a good idea at all.
He looked at the restaurant through the front window, taking off his hood of his head, so it wouldn't get in the way of the view, inside there were several couples eating fancy dishes that looked delicious...
Ah yes, the second reason to go out today, the food.
The dishes had too many heart decorations for the Six Eared Macaque's taste, however, that didn't change how tasty they looked. Main courses full of meats and spices, a big variety of drinks and sugary desserts filled the space in every busy table.
If he sneaks into the shadows the right way, it won't be hard to get some good meals.
His belly growled.
"AaaAh! That was loud!" - He looked to the side and saw... You. - "Gosh, you scared me!"
Macaque jumped startled, he hadn't seen that a human had approached to look in the window too. A loud noise came from your belly almost as if it was competing with his stomach.
"Oh... You must be hungry. You also don't have a partner to eat a Valentine's Day food?" - Your hunger had reminded you of that scary noise that came from his tummy.
Macaque was starting to consider fleeing away from there, all he needs less now is boring small talk in the midst of invasion plans.
"Today there are various places offering special dishes for couples, but only for couples." - You keep talking even without hearing an answer from him. - "I'm alone too, so I understand the feeling of walking around without a partner, it makes us think about all the good food we're missing. I only left my house today to see everything decorated and pink, you know. I wanted to see the city transformed."
/ Does this human get chatty when hungry, or are they just naturally annoying? /
After that thought, the belly of the two rumbled together, a synchronized noise, it sounded like a were a rehearsed trick.
"Argh! Those foods look so delicious! I would even pay someone to accompany me, pretending to be my partner."
/ Wait a minute, what did they just say? /
"Would you really pay someone to do something like that?" - An interest appeared behind the question.
"Of course, I really want the couples discounts and stuff." - You answered honestly without even thinking twice, it's a habit of yours that ends up putting you in complicated situations all the time.
A mischievous grin broke out on his face.
He turned around and put a hand on your shoulder to have your attention just for him, you look into the eyes of the man who was holding you. - "Well, today is your lucky day! I am completely willing to cooperate with you in exchange for a good payment."
Now the human eyes stared at the man, the owner of those eyes carrying a certain nervousness within them. We all know that you shouldn't make deals with strangers, you know that very well yourself, but this is an opportunity to eat the exclusive foods that will only be available for today...
You took a good look at his figure to study his details, checking out the sparkle in his eyes, the charming smile, the beard that added the final touch to his attractive face. He wears clothes in nice colors that match each other, specifically dark red and black, his dark hair wasn't super tidy but wasn't tossed around either. The strands look very soft too, a strange urge to stroke the locks of hair haunted your head, but you held back. A man full of charisma stood before you.
You had to admit, he is hot. He is really hot, and he probably knows that (right?), so how expensive would that service be?
"... And how much would be a good payment in your opinion?"
He moved closer to your ear (a thing that made your whole body heat up and shiver) and using a seductive, soft voice, he whispered the value. Your brain melted hearing the voice while collapsed, listening to the number being said. God. The company of pretty men really was expensive.
He seemed to be delighted to see you shudder, to see you making such a shocked expression at the answer, a smug and satisfied smile graced his face. And honestly, this attitude only made you feel more silly feelings in your chest.
"My lord! This much just because you're handsome?!"
"Nice try, but flattering me isn't going to make me change the price I set."
"W-Wait! Let's talk a few things before accepting any price! Like, what places do you allow us to go? What couple things I can do with you? What are your personal boundaries? It wouldn't be fair to charge a specific amount without considering certain things."
The man stares at you intently for a few seconds like someone trying to see through dark glass, arms crossed defensively as he "scans" you up and down. He seemed to be searching for lies through the aura of your soul, or something like this.
"... Like a spoken contract? A kind of sacred agreement between us?" - You nodded with your head.
After thinking some more, Macaque started to say his limitations: No kisses. No hugs. No pet names. You're only allowed to walk holding hands (so you don't end up getting lost).
On your turn to speak, you negotiate the places to visit: an elegant restaurant, a chocolate fondue stand and a cute cafe. These places had great deals for couples and unique Valentine's Day dishes.
/ Isn't that too much food for just one person? /
He had no idea how much food would fit in your stomach, but he could eat a lot himself, so he was getting a big prize. Caring for you was the least of his worries, so your final state at the end of the tour doesn't matter as long as he's well paid and well-fed.
Being so demanding and limiting turned out to affect the final price of the deal, you would have to pay less to the fake boyfriend, but it was still a hefty price.
With everything settled, it was time to pay.
You looked in your wallet with a sad expression. - "Goodbye sweet money, I will never forget you."
When you were about to hand over the payment, you remembered a basic socialization step.
"Wait a minute! I don't know your name." - You held your money close to your chest, hesitating.
The monkey blinked in disbelief, processing the moment, of all suspicious things was it the lack of name that made you hesitate?
A light chuckle escaped from him. - "You can call me Mac. What about you?"
After revealing your name, you glared at the man as you slowly handed over the money, taking your time to say goodbye to the lost fortune. When he took the money from your hands, you made a thin little noise of suffering. Honestly, you're so exaggerated.
We can say that you're dumb too! Knowing each other's names isn't going to stop one from running off with the payment. Lucky for you, Macaque was starting to be entertained by the human innocence. Or would it be better to say stupidity instead of innocence?
Well, it doesn't matter, a fake date has begun.
#lmk#lego monkie kid#monkie kid#lmk x reader#lego monkie kid x reader#lmk macaque x reader#macaque x reader#lmk fanfiction
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won't let you go (e.m.)
pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader
summary: spending time with Eddie: talking about your days, futures, and enjoying each others company <3
contains: fluff, comfort, brief and non-descriptive mention of childhood trauma, clingy!eddie if you squint lol, please let me know if i missed something!
word count: 942
a/n: im just trying to fill the Eddie-shaped hole in my chest, i miss him a lot. not edited sorryyyy. 3rd time trying to post this because its not showing in the tags and i hate this site.
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“hey sweetness.” Eddie’s familiar lips press against the top of your head, giving you a quick kiss.
you’re sitting in your room, on a bench that allows you to look outside. it’s a rainy day and you love watching the weather from your window, but you seem to have lost track of time when you get startled by your boyfriend’s presence.
“hi there, pretty boy.” you smile, scooting away from the wall so he can sit with your body between his legs and your head on his chest.
his arms wrap you into a hug and it makes you giggle, still after over a year of dating you haven’t gotten used to how much he loves to show you affection.
“how was your day?” you ask him with a yawn, settling into his hold.
“long, but better now that I’m with you.” his face presses into the back of your head and you know he's smiling. “what about you? what did you do today?”
“I finished my book this morning, but I couldn’t go get a new one because I didn't really want to drive in the storm.”
“you should've called me. I would've stopped and gotten it for you, silly.”
“but then I’d have to wait even longer to see you.” you tilt your head up to face him and pucker your lips, signifying you want a kiss and he naturally grants your wish.
“god you’re so cute.” he smiles against your lips, pecking them one more time before you lean forward slightly.
“where are you going?” he whines, gripping you a little tighter to keep you close to him.
“I just have to pee, I’ll be right back!” you laugh, squirming out of his arms.
“how long?”
“like 3 minutes! promise.” he releases you and you scurry off to the bathroom.
“see, told ya I’d be fast.” you tell him, walking back into your room.
“3 minutes and 36 seconds.” he teases, trying his best to hold his frown but it’s no use and a smile peaks through his lips.
you sit back with him, laying on his chest once again and looking out the window. it’s days like this when you really take the time to appreciate how much you care for him. how much you love him. something so simple like watching the rain together brings you so much joy your heart could burst.
“what do you want to do after graduation?”
“I think I want to travel, not go back to school right away.” you answer honestly, seeing as you’re young and there’s no reason to rush into settling down.
“oh there’s no way I’m going back to school.”
“of course not, you’re gonna go on tour and become famous. gonna leave me in the dust.”
“nah, you’ll be my little roadie.” it’s quiet for minute as you picture the two of you traveling the world together. “do you want kids?”
that’s unexpected.
“um… I don't know yet.”
“what do you mean?”
“I don’t want to screw them up.” you pause for a beat, “I don't want them to go through what I had to.”
“you’re nothing like your parents.” he reassures you, “you are so caring and considerate. so loving. and their trauma… baby, their trauma wasn’t an excuse to hurt you.”
you know he’s right. you didn’t deserve anything you went through. even though they’ve tried to make amends with you, it’s still deeply engraved in your memories. you fought your whole life to become the complete opposite of your family. you’re still fighting.
“do you want kids?” you ask him, still not sure on your own answer.
“I want whatever you want.”
“I meant like… like if we didn’t end up together.”
“oh, no! you’re not allowed to leave me.” he squeezes you tighter, rocking you back and forth gently.
“you can’t predict the future though.”
“didn’t I tell you? I’m actually a psychic and know that you’ll be stuck with me for the rest of your life.”
you giggle at his words. that’s the thing about Eddie. even when the conversation takes an emotional turn, he’s always there to ground you and let you know he’s there for you before cracking a joke to lighten the mood. it’s just one of the many reasons you love him.
you continue to lay into him, craving the closeness. you turn to look out the window again, the rain picking up which gives you an idea.
“can… can we do something crazy?”
“I love crazy.”
you grab his hand, dragging him out of your bedroom and through the house. you head right out the front door. you look back to see his face, hoping he wouldn’t look like it was a bad idea. the ear-to-ear cheesy grin he has is all it takes for you to let his hand go and start spinning in the rain.
you laugh as you jump in puddles, playing in the rain, and just feeling free. feeling young again. like this is what your childhood should’ve been filled with.
Eddie runs up behind you, capturing you into his arms as he picks you up and the two of you spin together in the rain. both of you completely soaked but neither of you caring that you could get sick from the wetness and cold wind.
a sudden crack of thunder startles the two of you, and you wrap your arms around him tightly so you don’t fall.
“not to worry, sweetheart. I gotcha. I won’t let you go.” he leans in to kiss you, a moment that made the world stop spinning. one that reminded you that he is your safe place.
he is your family.
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Some Thoughts (Mostly ZP, but still)…
—I’ve kinda hopped back onto the Zula Patrol train again since writing Turnabout, but I am planning on doing art and stories for other fandoms, too, of course ^^ I actually worked on chapter 4 of DCR and some more of Love Language for the first time in a month! Which is amazing progress since I had both writer’s block and worries that maybe a lot of folks aren’t interested in the story. But even if that were true, it’s not going to stop me from posting stories, especially about my favorite childhood show ^^
—I went a bit in depth about an OC who gets some focus in both DCR and a few other entries, Firestorm, who’s a military commander in one of the other Zulean branches (I’ll detail my own headcanons on the structure of the Zulean government in another headcanons post) and is one of the few people that Bula gets along with outside of his team because like him, she doesn’t tolerate the BS/corruption that goes on in the government. And somehow, I got the idea that in an alternate universe, they end up as a couple. It has me cracking up because now, I have three potential love interests for Bula: Zeeter (with whom I can see happening even in canon), Bonnie (my old OC whom I’ve revamped and even have a solo story for), and now Firestorm (who might get teased in the future). Bula’s literally building his own harem, LOL XD
—And then it got me thinking that if Bula’s a typical “clueless harem protagonist” (although unlike them, he makes himself useful and isn’t admired due to some random skill he has out of nowhere), Ricochet would be the “smug harem protagonist with a heart of gold” in that he dated Denise, Diane, Melissa, and many other women before he settled down. Also, in a few AUs, he does have a better relationship with Serena, Denise’s outlaw sister, and their relationship borders on UST. Silly thoughts are silly, LOL
—I’ve also had an idea regarding the Third Sight ability. Originally, this ability has no offensive capability in any field whatsoever. But then I had a thought: what if there was a way, theoretically, that a user could hurt/even kill someone with their mind? It came about from a thought that DS! Elfilis (with whom Multo interacts with in my latest crossover) could totally do this easily, since he’s basically seen as a god (although he’s mortal) and he’s a lot more powerful/experienced with his psychic powers. Not to mention that between him and Multo, his cruel streak is not only bigger, but also more terrifying. It got me thinking that the Zuleans who have the Third Sight can do this same thing, namely in a moment of pure distress/fury, stemming from the desire to make the perpetrator feel every ounce of pain they felt at watching their loved one get hurt/killed. The name for this attack is called “Flashpoint” (or at least, it’s a working idea for a name). I had the idea that Multo accidentally stumbles across this ability after someone got the great (read: stupid) idea to hurt Zeeter or any of the others in front of him, and unable to physically defend them (due to being trapped), he’s filled with both horror at his loved ones being hurt, and pure rage at the perp, wanting nothing but for him to feel that same pain and worse. Cue that happening to the perp, with the guy literally losing his mind. With Multo being the kind of person he is, he’s shocked/horrified that he can do such a thing. One of the villains in my current WIP, Nova, takes an interest in Multo after finding out about him using this.
—And now, a part of me wants to do an alternative version of Multo that’s evil. That would be pretty terrifying. O.O
—Oh, I’m also thinking of getting back to The Return of the Phantom Empire soon, thanks to working on Firestorm’s profile. Just trying to work on the general plot of the side story, which focuses on Quick Draw McGraw, and possibly Quack-Up, namely in regards to the trauma he suffered before he joined the Galactic Guardians. This chapter isn’t gonna be quite as long as the first three chapters, but that might change, lol XD
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well, since the Dream SMP has officially come to a close, I thought I’d share what I’ve been up to for the past 2 years - making character designs for every single one of the characters!
I really wanted every character to look distinct, with really distinct color pallets, unique weapons for each and every character - basically like each one of them could be the protagonist of a wildly different story from one another. Feel free to steal them (with credit) if you want!
I kinda dropped off working on it in late 2022, so I think I missed a few characters, as well as going back and re-doing some of the oldest ones (that’s why some of them are more detailed - those are the 2023 versions)
As strange as it is for me to say this, DSMP had such a big impact on me, especially over COVID. I haven’t had a piece of media fill me with such a passion to create art and improve probably since Undertale all the way back in 2015, if you can believe it. I owe a lot of my art improvement to this silly little Minecraft series, and though I may have lost touch with it near the end, it will always hold a special place in my heart.
o7 you crazy, wacky, depressing, stupid, unsatisfying, joyful, hilarious, and amazing series. I wish everyone involved in it the best!
(A few extra designs under the cut!)
This is a 2020 Pogtopia Wilbur I made, and if I were to draw it now, I probably wouldn’t change a thing. This design fucking slaps imo, I’m still super proud of it.
Exile Era Tommy. Wilbur’s old Pogtopia coat has been passed around so many times between so many different interpretations of characters, so I thought it made more sense for Tommy to take the L’Manberg era coat from Wilbur, since that was the version of him he idolized (This is an old version of Wilbur’s coat btw)
Post Dream-Getting-Sent-To-Prison Tommy! I wanted to emphasize how Tommy was trying to move past his trauma, so he shaved off the grey streak he got from the Withers in the L’Manberg explosions (I gave him the grey streaks before Revival canonized it - don’t ask me why)
Las Nevadas Quackity. It’s basically a 1 to 1 for his skin, save for the really ugly blue patches and hoodie I gave him. If I were to do it again, I would def change that.
Snowchester Tubbo. Also still holds up, though I’m not 100% on the pants. This was kinda before goat Tubbo got super canonized, so I just decided to have the eyes. The scars are from the execution.
Revivbur. He looks pretty good for a dead bitch - though I messed up the L’Manberg flag colors on the bandanna on his ankle. Guess he’s french now.
Team Rocket era Niki! She took custody of Wilbur’s Pogtopia coat, albiet cutting off the parts that were covered in blood and soot (which was most of it) I also made her a fire-born like Sapnap, though you can’t see from his design - her hair is on fire when she feels strong emotions, and she’s basically going through it 24/7 during this part.
Syndicate Niki! She’s calmed down and is no longer on fire, but her hair is still pink from all those weeks of constant rage and sadness. Also dressed more appropriately for the snow.
Dream Post Prison. Mask no longer has invisibility enchantments, so he doesn’t bother hiding his face. Gotta wonder how it’s staying on though. Get this man some moisturizer.
#dream smp#dsmp#dream#tommyinnit#tubbo#niki nihachu#quackity#technoblade#philza#jack manifold#ranboo#foolish gamers#eret#badboyhalo#skeppy#georgenotfound#sapnap#awesamdude#ponk#punz#purpled#captain puffy#slimecicle#fundy#jschlatt#karl jacobs#connoreatspants#wilbur soot#sophi screeches#dang tag limit
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The big Robert Baratheon thoughts
There are several characters within the ASOIAF universe who could comfortably be the protagonist of their own book/series, and GRRM has spoken about how, when writing a character, he tries to see all the major events through their eyes and how it would have affected their lives. Dany and Oberyn are good examples of this, and a shorter book/series could comfortably have either one of them as the main character. If a fic writer is looking for any inspiration, I think a lot could be drawn from Dany in Vaes Toloro.
Another of them is a character who almost seems like a false protagonist in GOT: King Robert Baratheon. The people who don't know him think he's amazing, the people who do know him despise him. He has a fleshed-out backstory, character and the power to influence the plot in many different ways. Yet he's killed off quickly, and I think the fan community often overlooks him as a simple drunken idiot. So I'd like to dig a little deeper.
Robert's life can easily be sectioned into three parts: pre-rebellion era, the rebellion era and the post-rebellion era. Most of what we see comes from Ned Stark, and later we have flashbacks from Cersei which show a much darker and thoroughly rotten man.
To start: Robert is the first born son of House Baratheon, a clan with significant power and influence. He's exactly the kind of young man the Westerosi patriarchal "might makes right" system rewards -- the sort of son Randyl Tarly would love to have. He's an excellent fighter, charming, good looking ("muscled like a maiden's fantasy", oh Ned). There's also a kindness there. When he's fostered at the Eeire he sends for a gift of oranges for Jon Arryn, and although the fruit goes bad, he's not upset and instead plays with the other teenagers. It's silly and funny and the most childish we ever see him.
He isn't always lovely, of course. In Stannis' memory, Robert is unpleasant. He mocks Stannis' falcon and, therefore, Stannis himself. However, Stannis is a miserable shit, and this comment comes after they've spent years disliking each other, so there's obvious bias. Robert seemed to be happy to be away from his family, and so some alienation from his brothers does make sense. Robert and Stannis go through the ordeal of watching their parents die, and it's understandable that this would cause issues in their relationship. Perhaps that's why they pushed each other away. Having a walking, whining reminder of that trauma can't have been pleasant, and the desire to pretend that everything is ok and ignore problems gets more persistent as the years go on.
The third thing we hear about from Robert's pre-rebellion era is his relationship with Mya Stone. I'm not totally clear on the timeline, so I don't know if it's 1. parents' death > 2. Mya's birth > 3. the rebellion or if 1 and 2 are the other way around. Either way, Robert seems to adore his daughter. Ned thinks about how frequently they visited her, and how much Robert enjoyed spending time with her. In a kinder story, Robert would have always been close to Mya. Then the rebellion starts.
There are, of course, lots of things which lead to the rebellion. I don't think Tywin was going to put up with the Mad King for much longer, and Rhaegar felt the same way. Then you have the coalition between the Starks, Baratheons, Tullys and Arryns, and at some point Varys and "Young Griff" would have popped up. For Robert, though, things were straightforward: he wanted Lyanna, and Rhaegar took her away. He remarks to Ned that "Seven Kingdoms couldn't fill the whole she left". It's clear that he didn't actually know Lyanna that well, and it could easily be argued that the reason he worshipped her memory was a mix of affection for Ned and a desire to return to a time where he wasn't traumatised.
Obviously, war is traumatic. That's kind of the point of the series. Everyone who fought in Robert's Rebellion is changed in some way and the scars, literal and metaphorical, run deep. Stannis broods over his "rewards". Ned misses his sister, brother and father. Catelyn is aware of the loss of her betrothed, and Lady Dustin crystalises her rage. Jamie is ostracised and bitter. Jon Connington promises more violence. The list goes on. The things Robert sees during the campaign clearly change him, and this brings us back to Mya.
One of the key themes of the series, most prominently in the first book, is the idea that the innocent should not be sacrificed. That's why Ned works so hard to protect Jon and why he resigns his handship when Robert wants to kill Dany. Something happened to Robert during the rebellion, where his hatred of the Targaryens solidifies so much that it becomes the only thing he really wants. Other things, like his love of his daughter or the belief that children should be protected, all go and he's left with Tywin Lannister and the corpses of Rhaenys and Aegon.
Robert doesn't have to make peace with the Lannisters. In fact, lots of people (the Starks, the Dornish and the people of King's Landing) would be much happier if he didn't. Tywin ordered a horrific thing, and Robert rewarded him. For me, this is where Robert becomes the man we meet in Game of Thrones. He's so broken inside that he does nothing, and tries to pretend that he's still the person he was as a teenager.
After the rebellion, Robert goes on to have plenty more children. If he loved Mya and wanted to see her all the time, after the rebellion he forgets her. And she's the lucky one! Robert must know that Cersei has his twins drowned, he ignores Barra and Gendry, and he only acknowledges Edric Storm because he has to. Then there are the kids who are legally "his", even if biologically they're not. I don't think we ever see him interact with Tommen or Myrecella, and his relationship with Joffrey isn't good. Sure, Joffrey is a little shit, but you could argue that it's partially because of Robert's treatment. Stannis thinks, at one point, that Robert might have killed Joffrey because he hit him so hard.
Why does Robert detach? Well, there's the trauma, the general depression, the loneliness, the disconnect between *conceiving* children and *the actual children*. I think, as well, there's the knowledge that, by allowing Tywin to get away with the murder of the Targaryen children, he's set a precedent whereby the same thing could easily happen to his own kids. If someone needed to get rid of Robert -- and there are people who would like him gone -- they would come after Joffrey, Tommen and Myrecella, and perhaps his bastards, too. He can't protect them, and it shames his chivalric ideals, so he disconnects, doesn't care, and drinks excessively. It might be a way of dealing with guilt, or a way he protects himself from losing anyone else. Ultimately, Joffrey, Tommen and Myrecella are doomed; Edric only escaped sacrifice because of Pylos and Davos, and might well get mixed up in a Varys/"Young Griff" scheme; all of the bastards in King's Landing are killed; and if Gendry survives, it's because of plot armour. Nobody cares about Mya, really.
There's plenty to say about the Robert/Cersei match. Firstly, I'd like to mention how much I enjoy the show-only scene where the two discuss their marriage. It's heartbreaking, well written and beautifully acted, and gives some depth which makes the experience richer.
None of the Lannisters like Robert, with the exception of Tyrion. Tyrion likes Robert because Cersei doesn't, but their creepy and destructive bond is a whole other issue. Ned thinks that Robert was a man with "big appetites", and a clear desire to be loved. It probably means he wasn't ever going to be a good husband, which Lyanna points out (in a line which I cannot imagine a 14-year old ever saying, but I digress). Robert loved the thrill of the chase and the first few weeks of a relationship, but wasn't willing to really emotionally attach to anyone. Perhaps it's because, like with his children, he had to keep people away in case he lost them, like Lyanna.
Cersei is her own woman and, to be honest, not a very good wife. Robert thinks he would have been happy with Lyanna, Cersei thinks she would have been happy with Rhaegar: both are wrong. She starts her wedding day by having sex with her brother; she regularly cuckolds her husband, and then she finishes off by murdering her husband. You could argue that her behaviour is driven by Robert's physical and sexual abuse, and his emotional distance and obvious disdain. I don't think that's incorrect, per se, I just think there's a nasty mix with the two of them. They're bad alone and worse together. They're a toxic, unhappy, traumatised mix, and a solid argument for Westerosi divorce.
Finally, there's Robert's alcoholism and his love of food. There are a number of reasons for this -- the genre's enthusiasm for descriptions of feasts; parallels with Henry VIII of England; possibly GRRM simply likes adding his favourite meals, similar to how he created House Estermont so there could be turtles, because he had pet turtles. Obesity is the sort of thing that's pretty common in middle age men who used to be very physically active, because they had to eat lots to make up their calorie deficit, and when the exercise stopped, the food continued. As for alcohol, it gives Robert an opportunity to forget his (admittedly plentiful) responsibilities and woes, makes him feel like a hero, and gives him an excuse for his abuse of Cersei. He rapes her, and when she brings it up, he says "it was not me, but the wine", then REACHES FOR A BEER. I'm certainly not qualified to talk about addiction and trauma, so if anyone has thoughts on this, please add a comment.
In Shakespeare's Macbeth, the eponymous character snatches the crown at his wife's goading, and then finds that things disintegrate around him. There's a scene in the play where two servants talk about what's going on in Scotland, and one says that two horses fought, and one ate the other. When a monarch is usurped, in literature, nature goes against itself. In real life, revolutions are messy and complicated and difficult. Robert Baratheon fought a rebellion to get his fiance back, whilst others used him and worked alongside him for their own reasons. He was left holding a rotten crown. Abused and abuser, surrounded by toxicity and exuding his own hatred, one could easily create a novel about his disillusionment.
#long post#robert baratheon#ned stark#cersei lannister#jon arryn#mya stone#gendry baratheon#jamie lannister#tyrion lannister#tywin lannister#joffrey baratheon#tommen baratheon#chivalry#asoif/got#a song of ice and fire#game of thrones#a storm of swords#a clash of kings#a feast for crows#a dance with dragons#grrm#george r r martin#king robert baratheon#roberts rebellion
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Okay, so you like Velvet and Veneer? Well, if you get the chance, I want you to speak! TELL ME EVERYTHING!! I want you to give me headcannons please, as many as you can think of :)
pls and thx!!
AHHH! OK so I've never done anything like this but I put as many as I could think of. If I come up with anything else, I'll edit this and add it (or just make a new post)
(lots of words ahead 💀)
General headcanons :
- They one hundred percent had the Barbie mugshot but with Velvet's deadly stare instead
- and Veneer made sure he looked good; they are taking a picture after all
- I think Velvet might be a little taller than Veneer but they're both taller than average
- never leaves the house without heels or platforms or both
- Veneer has must-be-wearing-a-crop-top syndrome. Can't be cured 😔
- I'm sorry but they totally sang Circus by Britney Spears. That song is so V&V coded and has female and male vocals too 😩
- The sass is too hard to contain for this duo. Once a sly thought appears in their mind, they have to voice it (but I'm not complaining. They're iconic)
- Veneer can be a little blunt or rude sometimes. I know ppl like to imagine him as just the caring and silly sibling but he did everything Velvet did. He just had morals that started to kick in once the threat of being a killer was thrown at him.
(I mean did you see him nearly just toss Floyd down the toilet 💀)
- of course, I still think he is silly and kind and chooses to do so for a fair portion of the time but he's no stranger to being ignorant to most of his wrongdoings as well
- and I think they both have some trauma from practically killing Floyd. GET THEM THERAPYYY
- I think Velvet would like decorating and making things ✨Aesthetic✨
- like a little journal that she'd write her feelings in and then fill with beautiful stickers and photos (totally not a burn book....)
- I think Poppy would love love looove to see Velvet's journal filled with beautiful stationary. She'd probably get her into scrapbooking and they'd make the cutest little displays or books just brimming with photos, cutouts, diagrams, and more.
-Poppy and Viva can be a little overwhelming for Velvet at first but they'd totally become great gal pals and just chat all day.
- and at first, Bergen features might be a little....alarming to Velvet but she'd learn to love Bridget just like Poppy does
-also both are invited to the broppy wedding... 👀
- she also of course become friends with the BroZone brothers but I get more into that below ⬇️
"Story" headcanons :
- So for Velvet, I think in the movie she was so blinded by her need for fame and luxury that she didn't notice how her family (Veneer) helped her and stuck around through all the things she said and did. This would separate her from being just a complete villain because I do believe that she can reform herself into something better
- In Jail, I think Velvet would really hate it and everyone around her. She probably wouldn't want to talk to Veneer at all at first but being alone might give her time to reflect on herself
- over a little time, I think she'd realize how Veneer was always there for her and understood her ways. She'd definitely come back around and they'd be back to being as close as they were before, maybe even more
-It would take some time for both Velvet and Veneer to adjust.
- Veneer would dislike jail very much. He's so used to his life of luxury that I'm sure he'd be surprised by how little you get behind bars
- and with Velvet wanting to be alone, he would probably feel more alone than ever
- but he knows he did the right thing and even though prison sucks, he'd get through it
- Veneer would probably try to make friends with some of the people there but it is prison soo.... I'm not sure how well that would go.
- if anyone came to visit him, he'd be so happy cuz jail is sooo boring and he'd finally get to yap away to somebody who knows him.
- you just know they'd be styling that prison jumpsuit the best the can
- can you sneak heels into jail??
- Velvet and Veneer are kinda "eye candy" for the criminals in jail and they might get targeted by those who are jealous or looking for a fight
-Velvet's not the only one with an attitude problem, Veneer can very well relay a comment or two that can easily get them into some trouble. He'll have to work on that along with his sister, learn how to correctly treat the people around them
- After they become besties again, they'd have each other's backs like never before. I think Velvet really really does care about Veneer and if anything ever happened to him, she'd be devastated. This time, she'd really like to treat him how he deserves and nurture that sibling bond.
- and you know once anyone throws hands with one sibling, the other comes swinging
- 💥KNOCKOUT💥
- not the best thing to do if you want to get out of jail fast but hey, nobody messes with twins and gets away with it
- Due to other more serious situations being forgiven in the past, I think Velvet & Veneer wouldn't be in prison for too long. I can easily see BroZone forgiving them and offering to help the twins with whatever they'd need
- Veneer would definitely become great friends with Floyd and even Bruce. After all, he knows what it's like to be sensitive and a heartthrob 😌
- and I can see Velvet relating to Branch and J. D. She's probably a control freak (or was) and always wants everything to be perfect, just like John Dory. That's something they'd both have to work on. And I think Velvet and Branch can relate to one another's sassy sarcastic comments and occasional snide remarks.
- I can also see them joining Clay's sad book club. I need to see a scene of Veneer just balling his eyes out after finishing a book while all the others just pat him on the back 😆
- @horrorartist23 did a couple of drawings of Velvet & Veneer(or maybe just Ven idk) working at Bruce's Beachside Bar and I LOVE THAT IDEA SO MUCH.
- ESPECIALLY since Bruce said his family was a total Veneer household. I think it would be so cute for not only his kids getting the chance to meet Vel&Ven but also for Vel&Ven to get a little bit of real work experience.
- it would be so good for them to work at a place like that to learn about themselves and a work environment.
- plus the whole island is gorgeous and pretty luxury, which would fit into they're ideal environment. AND everything is Rageon sized so they don't have to worry about being too big!!
- They'd literally be working hard and making it look easy 💀
- I think it's perfect and I love it
-after jail and therapy, I think Velvet would really love the life she has. She'd of course still make mistakes sometimes and her sass will never leave. That's just who she is and none of us would want to change that . But she'd have a way healthier mind and so would the people around her.
- I think both of them might want to actually learn how to sing and dance like real performers
- Velvet hates making mistakes or not being perfect at a skill immediately. I know how that is and it's really difficult to get past but with more encouragement from Veneer and even the Brozone brothers, she'd become the star she always knew she was.
- And Veneer would take initiative for himself and practice performing like a real idol. I feel Veneer would also struggle with wanting perfection immediately but I think he'd really fall in love with dancing and this would help him keep up the determination. And he'd be really good at it too after some practice
- Knowing how good they can be if they put in the work would be a huge motivator too. Cuz they only stole Floyd's talent, not his voice. And because of this Velvet knows that she sounds good when she's at her peak in skill. They know that they can be amazing, they just have to work for it this time
-Trying to become famous again for the right things would definitely be hard. They're reputation is awful
- BUT, I think Mount Rageous would give them a chance to prove themselves. Considering how all Rageons are obsessed with media, fame, and celebrities, I think they couldn't resist the bait of former popstars Velvet & Veneer coming back to the stage, this time with their own talent that they've truly worked hard to perfect.
- And they'd deserve it for how much work they put into reforming their lives.
- Plus, nobody can take away their love for the stage and performing. They're too iconic to forget 💅
- and you know I'd be keepin' my eye out for that V&V/BroZone collab 🌟
- First live performance with BroZone, Velvet and Veneer are getting their Perfect Family Harmony. And you can bet it will be the most amazing thing to ever grace the planet
- I'd die 💀
That's all that I can think of right now 🤔 I hope you enjoyed reading my thoughts on these two. I really really love them and getting to write this down was really fun. If you have any ideas you'd like to expand upon or thoughts you'd like to share, let me knooww! And of course, Thank you sweetgirl15161819 for sending this ask!! 💖 💖
#trolls velvet#velvet and veneer#trolls band together#trolls 3#trolls veneer#velvet#trolls#Velvet and Veneer headcanons#headcanons#Velvet headcanons#Veneer headcanons#brozone#trolls floyd#trolls branch#trolls brozone#trolls bruce#trolls clay#trolls viva#trolls poppy#trolls john dory#trolls jd
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Still | Tord x Reader
Had this one in my files for a bit, so I figured I'd post it for you guys!
Warning: Angst? Kind of? Tord has childhood trauma, he was a child soldier in my timeline, get this poor man some therapy
Words: 1k
---
It was too quiet.
Fuck, it was way too quiet.
There was no sound that could drown out the sound of your beating heart, pounding rapidly in your chest as your dreams slipped away from your memories.
Night terrors were the worst.
They always felt so real, so horrifying, so deadly.
You never remembered what they were about. When you inevitably woke up in the morning, the events that plagued your dreams always disappeared in a matter of seconds. Like mist escaping your hands no matter how tightly you grasped.
The only thing left in the end was the fear.
The paranoia.
It was worse when you woke up at night.
In the darkness, there was no banishing your fears. There was no sunlight to chase away the monsters. No sounds of the boys bustling about in the kitchen, starting their days. No sound of Edd cooking breakfast, Tom yelling at Matt to hurry up in the bathroom while Matt blared his upbeat morning music playlist to get him hyped for work, not a care in the world while he did his skincare. It was just… silence.
But you had one saving grace. One hope to calm your frayed nerves.
One person that you knew would be awake.
The hallway didn't ease your paranoia at all. The shadows crawled along the walls, reaching towards you like they were going to swallow you up. Shapes and figures loomed just beyond the light, waiting to lure you in. At least, that's what it felt like.
You shook your head to banish the thoughts of monsters and shadows. There was nothing there, you told yourself. Nothing there.
Your steps hesitated when you reached the door beside yours.
The lights were off.
The lights were never off.
Was he asleep this time? Did he change his mind about the offer he made you? Did he decide to abandon you, leave you to become a victim to the horrors waiting for her in her dreams?
Your breathing wavered as you brought your hand up to the door. Should you knock? Should you wake him up and risk making him grumpy? Or should you abort the mission, head back to your room with your tail between your legs and waste the midnight hours away by doom scrolling on your phone?
Anxiety eventually won out, and you knocked gently on the wood.
For a minute or two, there was nothing. Silence. You hated silence.
But then, there was shuffling. A groan and something hissed in a different language - you recognized it as a swear.
The door opened.
Tord looked like shit.
He was in a t-shirt and boxers despite the autumn chill. His hair was a mess, sticking up in various places. His skin was pale (paler than normal), with dark circles under his eyes. A thin sheen of sweat cloaked his skin. His sharp silver eyes were dulled, clouded over with sleep. A lazy storm churning in the sky in the hours before the rain fell.
This was such a bad idea.
An apology was on the tip of your tongue, starting to turn away from his door, but he stopped you. Put his hand around your wrist and gently tugged you towards him.
Don't be silly. Come inside.
Maybe this wasn't the worst idea.
--
It was one of those nights. The nights when midnight hits and the house is still but Tord remains unable to sleep. Unlike usual, he isn't alone. His too quiet room is filled with her presence. Her even breathing keeps the thoughts from his head. He could feel her arm pressed against the side of his leg. She was there. Somewhere. He was not alone.
Her whispers broke the silence. He'd never complain. She wanted to know if he was awake. He couldn't push the words out from his mouth. So instead, his hand found her calf next to his torso. His heart pumped faster when he felt the shiver through her body.
Silence. She wasn't sure. He moved his fingers, letting her know he heard her. He was awake. He was alive.
She spoke again. The softness in her voice made his chest ache. Since when could voices be so soft? She couldn't sleep either. Something about the stillness was unnerving. For her, it was anxiety. Paranoia, as she'd say- she always did have a knack for invalidating her own feelings. He wasn't so lucky. His hatred for still nights couldn't be medicated away. It was trained into him. Survival instincts that had been coded into him when he was young. Too young.
He closed his eyes tightly. Almost perfectly he could picture that forest. Frost on the trees, frozen ground underneath. A deadly chill in the air that slowly seeped into every fiber of his bones. The beautiful night sky a deception to the danger in each corner. If he focused, slowed his breathing, he could hear the footsteps of the lynx that had been hunting him for the past 5 hours. How many miles had it been following him for? Why was it toying with him instead of sinking its teeth into his flesh?
He went too far into his memories. Felt the claws tearing through his clothes, ripping into the skin of his back. Felt the pain course into his body, too hot and too cold all at the same time. Heard the gunshot echo through the clearing and felt the dead weight drop on top of him. He could hear his father's words as he was brought to the medics; You let your guard down, Sønn. Jeg er skuffet over deg.
A hand moved on top of his, squeezing his fingers gently. The pressure was enough to bring him back from the forest. Bring him in from the cold. To her. To the warmth of home.
His back throbbed, the claw shaped scars along his spine all too fresh in his mind.
She whispered his name. Small. Tired. Vulnerable. Searching for comfort. Searching for him.
He squeezed back. Letting her know that he was right there.
She was not facing the stillness alone.
And neither was he.
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The Maiden and the Drowning Boy | Aegon x OC | Chapter Seven
Rating: Explicit
Ships: Aegon II Targaryen x Abrogail Strong (Lyonel Strong's Daughter), Jacaerys Velaryon x Helaena Targaryen
Summary: As the kingdom teeters on the edge of chaos, Alicent Hightower swaps the pieces on the board: Aegon will marry Abrogail Strong, Larys’ younger sister and heir to Harrenhal. Caught in the web of intrigue and political machinations, the pair must figure out where their loyalties lie, and what they mean to one another.
Tropes: Childhood Sweethearts/Friends to Lovers, Generational Trauma and Cycles of Abuse, It's All About the Character Development, Unreliable Narrators, Multi-POV, Canon Divergent, Bisexual Aegon II Targaryen, Book/Show Mash Up, Fix-It Of Sorts, Stopping the Cycle of Abuse before it gets us all killed, Team Neutral, fairy tale vibes meets victorian medievalism meets grrm
no tag list. please follow @emkald-fic and turn on post notifications for updates or subscribe on AO3
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Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six
AO3 Link
CHAPTER SEVEN - THE LOOK YOU GIVE
Abby and Helaena find their voices in different ways, and we have new arrivals at the Red Keep.
Abby pressed her hands against her bared collarbones, feeling the prickle of heat that crept down her cheeks and flushed across every bit of skin that was revealed by the square cut neckline of the new gown. Wylla Karstark’s ruby red pout was pulled into an amused smile while she tugged at the laces of the other girl’s bodice. The pale blue taffeta had a satin shine and was, by far, the loveliest thing she’d ever owned. The neckline and cuffs of her fitted sleeves were edged with the finest ivory lace. Her golden red curls hung freely down her back, with delicate, mother of pearl combs keeping her hair from her face and the light, ivory veil that covered her hair in place. She watched Wylla move in the reflection of the mirror, wishing her own hair could look as thick and lovely as the elder girl’s raven curls.
“You look lovely, my lady.” Wylla’s northern accent was a song in itself, her amusement nothing but lighthearted. “You might make him swallow his tongue, since he already can’t keep his eyes off you.”
“Oh, don’t be silly, Aegon’s…” Abby bit her lip before Wylla tsked at her like a cat so she could dab some coral paint onto her mouth. Abby remained still and silent until she was done. “Aegon does, well, I mean I do catch him looking. But,” her brow furrowed and her hands fluttered and smoothed over the bodice of the dress. She missed her woven belt, and the feel of the tiny mends she’d made in the fabric.
“But what?” Wylla asked with a finely arched eyebrow and promptly reached up to pinch Abby’s cheeks until they went a deeper pink. She’d been here only a fortnight, having come south with her brother while he discussed some sort of trade agreements, and was promptly pulled into service by the queen. Better than a Hightower cousin, in Abby’s book. With Wylla, she didn’t feel spied on like Lady Penrose, nor belittled. In the short time they had known one another, Abby thought she might be making a friend.
‘Maybe', came the shy, giddy thought, 'she could be a sister.’ She loved Helaena, who had been her sister and companion, with all her heart, but Wylla had quickly filled the empty spot in Abby’s chest that she suspected her own sister, Corynna, should have filled.
It was a strange feeling to not have to take care of someone. While she was still struggling to get used to the idea of being waited on, she wouldn’t deny that there was something in her that ached to be cared for. Wylla’s no nonsense and relatively pleasant manner, and surprising sarcasm, was a delight and a surprise and she found herself hanging on her every word, looking to her for guidance in only these last few days.
“But what, my lady?” Came Wylla’s repeated question, and her cool fingers touched her chin, rubbing off a bit of stray lip paint with her thumb. Abby crinkled her nose and huffed.
“But I feel as though this is too much. That I shouldn’t be… that it’s unseemly to attract attention.”
“Och!” Her fingers flicked the tip of Abby’s nose. “What southern nonsense are you spouting now? You’re betrothed to a prince, are you not?” Abby nodded. “You want him to admire you, and no others, right?”
A heated sensation curled in her chest thinking about Aegon looking at other girls, and resolutely ignoring her. “Well, of course I want him to admire me. I want to please him.”
“And he should also please you, that’s what my mother always says. A woman takes her own pleasure in a marriage, just as much as the husband, and if you flush any redder, you’ll turn into one of those apples, I’m sure.”
Abby nodded again, pressing her hands once more to the expanse of collarbone on display. She felt so silly being self-conscious about her dress. It was nowhere near as revealing as some of the dresses the ladies of the court wore. Nowhere near as revealing as what some of the women she’d seen Aegon flirt with wearing. Collarbones and shoulders and the swells of their breasts teased in the candlelight; Aegon flush with wine and preening beneath the attention.
“Mayhaps I should tug the shoulders down some more?”
Wylla did little to disguise the indelicate snort she let out and Abby felt her hands tug along the tops of her sleeves. “Won’t work on this dress but maybe you should push your breasts up.”
“My what?” Abby squeaked, her hands now pressing against her perfectly concealed bust.
Wylla rolled her eyes, and shoved her hands down her own top to adjust her breasts. “Now you try.”
“I… Oh, just…” Muttering soft curses beneath her breath, she reached down into her tightly fitted bodice to push her breasts up so they swelled ever so softly, framed by the lace. “Do you think he’ll like this?”
“My dear girl, he won’t know what to do with himself. Lucky for me, I get to watch. Now come on.”
Abby’s fingers carefully clasped the thin, silver chain around her neck. The charm was the shield and rivers of her house, tiny against her decolletage. It was so delicate she was always afraid of snapping it, but it was the one bit of jewelry she had. So fretful over herself, Abby did not immediately notice Helaena falling in step beside her, dressed in pale pink and silvery blue, sleeves puffed at her shoulders and elbows. Abby noticed her breasts looked nice in the wide cut of the neckline, not as deep as her own.
“It’ll be better once you have the jewels on you,” Helaena said as if picking up Abby’s self-conscious thoughts, or maybe she simply understood the look. “I like it when Aemond looks at my breasts. Aegon likes breasts, he talks about them all the time. Aemond says Aegon talks about yours a lot.”
Wylla, half a step behind, positively cackled. “Oh, this is going to be glorious.”
Abby knew she was as red as her hair. “I-I can’t do this, I have to change.” Helaena grabbed her by the arm and jerked her back, her other hand coming up to straighten the necklace around Abby’s neck.
“No you don’t. You change nothing, do you understand? There is nothing lacking, and there is nothing wrong with you,” Helaena said softly, brushing a kiss at the corner of her mouth.
She opened her mouth and then shut it with a click of her teeth, nodding mutely and took a deep breath. “I’m not this nervous seeing him day to day,” she said softly.
“Nor when you pulled him behind the tapestry outside mother’s room to kiss him,” Helaena said knowingly, a smile playing across her face. “Or when Aemond found you pushing him up against the bookcase.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Abby could see Wylla’s face going red from how hard she was trying to keep her grin at bay. Failing, of course, but she appreciated the effort. She shifted on her feet and smoothed her fingers over the delicate satin bodice once more. “I don’t think that’s true. Tis I who…” She trailed off, gesturing vaguely into nothing. “It’s rather unbecoming. He never initiates anything. He’s exceedingly good about it.” Which continued to confuse her to no end because she’d seen the way he’d ogle serving maids and the other ladies, not to mention how he did, in fact, like kissing her. She’d seen him reach and pinch a lady’s hip while passing, that stupid and devastating smirk crossing his features. His hands would encompass her waist or cup her cheeks, but other than that, he surprisingly did not reach for her.
He also didn’t complain when she reached for him. Aegon didn’t resist when she was the one who dragged him into quiet spots, grinning at her giggles and returning her kisses.
“It’s Aegon. He’s a fool, and he drinks too much, and if you don’t think he’s as nervous about you as you are of him, then I don’t know what you’ve been paying attention to our whole lives.” Helaena’s tone was gentle, if firm, as if patiently explaining to a child that the sun rose at dawn and set at dusk. Her lavender eyes looked down the hall towards the grand staircase and then reached up to adjust one of the combs in Abby’s hair. Helaena’s own silver-gold hair was braided back from her face, a vine of pearls woven into it. Guilt stung her that she hadn’t been the one to do Helaena’s hair.
“So you’re saying he’s too nervous to, um…”
“Accost you?” Wylla supplied helpfully. “In a good way.”
Abby huffed. “Yes. Accost me the way I want to accost him. No, surely there’s a better word than that.”
A smirk crossed Helaena’s features, wicked and lovely across her pretty mouth. “You want him up your skirts the way you want to see beneath his breeches.”
“Helaena!” Abby gasped just as Wylla let out a bubbling screech of giggles, unable to contain them. Helaena joined in the mirth and Abby growled at them both. “I am not dignifying that with an answer.”
The Targaryen princess, a dragonrider in her own right, with a mount older than most, leaned in to brush her cheek against her own, mouth close to her ear. “I know you were thinking about Aegon when we practiced kisses,” Helaena murmured, mirth in her voice but even amidst all the teasing, Abby didn’t feel belittled. “And you’ve been putting it to good use.” She pulled back, and Abby breathed through the heated pool in her belly and all the squirming wriggling that came with it. “It’s Aegon,” Helaena repeated.
She nodded. “It’s Aegon.”
“He calls his horse Mighty Mighty, and if he could get away with it, he’d likely go sleep in the Dragonpit next to Sunfyre.”
Abby felt herself smiling at that, a soft hint of a giggle escaping her. “Mighty Kostōba, the mighty mighty horse.” None had the heart to correct him when he was young, but the eventual teasing still made him growl. Helaena pressed her hands to her shoulders, turning her back towards the stairs and pushing her forward, smacking her bottom for good measure and earning a yelp for the trouble. The princess grinned, tongue poking between her teeth and blushing, Abby returned it, heading through the growing throng of people moving through the corridor.
“You’re not used to this, are you, my lady?” Wylla murmured beside her.
“Abby, please,” she returned with the anxious thread still in her voice, picking up her skirt out of habit. Thankfully her skirts did not trail. She wouldn’t want to ruin the finery worrying about picking her way through the city.
“Mmm, we’re in public now,” Wylla said but bumped her shoulder against her and the warm fondness usually reserved for the clutch bloomed in her chest at the elder’s camaraderie. “How scandalous.”
“You’re ridiculous,” Abby giggled, inclining her head in greeting as they passed Lord Tyland on the stairs, who only spared a surprised look at her as he headed up. “You’re ridiculous and I love it, truly.” She felt the northerner keep close and Abby reached a hand behind her to take Wylla’s and give it a reassuring squeeze. The Keep was a lot, she knew, and she’d grown up there. She couldn’t imagine how much it was for a woman from the edge of the world and silently hoped that chaperoning them through the city would not be too much.
It was then her eyes fell upon Aegon, lounging at the foot of the stairs against the bannister, arm slung over the carving of the dragon that reclined along the the end, its forelegs and head resting at the pillar. His moonlit hair was a cloud of soft waves around his head, his pale skin pink and very scrubbed clean. The leather jerkin he wore was new: buttersoft black leather with shining, golden clasps in the shape of dragon heads, their gaping mouths swallowing the flame closures. The shirt beneath was red, of all things, instead of the green his mother forced him and Aemond into. As crimson as the Targaryen dragon embolized on the banners around them, the cuffs of the linen were tied with gold lacing that criss crossed their way up his sleeves, his arms crossed while he waited. The golden belt around his waist was carved to represent dragon scales, and a dagger in a matching scabbard hung from it, the pommel also a golden dragon. Even the leather trousers he wore, shoved into shining black boots, had the same gold lacing up the sides.
She bit her lip, admiring him while he hadn’t noticed her approach, until she saw that his gaze was towards a group of women laughing near the doors. The fluttering, heated squirming in her belly increased, and she made a sound in the back of her throat, aware of it only because of how it scratched.
“Did you just growl?” She barely heard Wylla mutter before she was making her way down the stairs.
“There you are!” Abby declared, a smile on her face, feeling the chain of her necklace slide against her collarbones, feeling the warm metal of her sigil charm fall into the slight space between her breasts. Her voice felt too loud, for she did her best to ignore the other gazes that turned in their direction, focused only on Aegon who craned his neck at the call before he jerked up from his languid position to turn fully towards her.
There was a deeply satisfied feeling that trickled down her spine at the way his head meant to turn before looking back again, his lilac eyes widening and turning fully toward her. She smiled far more genuinely this time, feeling the flutter start up again as she approached and took the hand he offered her. “You look very handsome,” she told him softly as he simply gaped at her, her own mouth dry. Her belly fluttered again, and she reached up with her free hand to hook her fingers in the gold necklace he wore, the sapphires winking in the light streaming through the windows. She used her hold on it to tug him down enough to brush a soft kiss against his cheek, leaving behind just a slight shine of the coral paint over the flush of pink that suffused his own cheeks.
She heard Aegon exhale a muttered curse that had her swallowing, his hand warm where it enveloped hers, and he turned his head as she pulled back so his nose could bump against hers. It surprised her, and she let out a soft chuckle that had a grin spreading slowly across his face. Sharp and playful, safe and edged in danger all the same.
His pupils had blown black, the lilac a vibrant ring.
Abby rocked back on her heels, smiling back at him and let go of his necklace.
“Good thing we’re taking the damned carriage,” he said, his thumb stroking against the palm of her hand while he guided her down the last few steps.
“Why is that?” she asked and Aegon tugged her closer so she could slip her hand into the crook of his arm. They were being watched - they were meant to be watched - and she wanted to hide her face against his arm, but instead she only tilted her head towards his as he inclined his own.
“Because I fear someone would try to pull you from the horse and spirit you away,” he said, a sidelong glance towards the guards. She squeezed his arm, her other hand coming up to press against his chest while they made their way out the main doors to the courtyard. The usual smell of the baking red stone had given way to something that was earthier and fresh - the storms the previous few days having washed away the dust and dirt that clung to the air.
The carriage was waiting, the pair of horses attached pawing at the ground, their bay coats freshly brushed and harnesses clinking with the shakes of their heads. The Cargylls were both mounted on their horses as their escorts for the outing, Ser Harrold beside them, his polished helm gleaming beneath his arm.
Kostōba, Aegon’s horse, nearly as precious to him as Sunfyre, stood patiently beside the carriage, reins held by one of the stablehands while the footman stood at the open carriage door. The stallion was a gift for Aegon’s eighth name day nearly a decade ago, and had grown larger than most of the other horses in the stable that didn’t belong to the Kingsguard. His coat was a creamy gold color, dappled in a way that made it seem like he had scales of his own. Kostōba’s eyes, bright and brilliantly blue, took in his surroundings, and he let out a soft sound when Aegon whistled to him.
Abby’s fingers tightened in Aegon’s arm when he started to pull away, confusion tripping at her words. “A-are you not, are we not riding together?” The previous warmth had given way to an icy discomfort, and she reached up to press a hand to her belly, her fingers scraping against the fabric with nervous tension.
“We’re going into the city, so I thought you’d feel more comfortable riding with Lady Karstark.” He avoided her gaze, looking at some other spot on her face. His eyes darted lower, along her low neckline. Heat prickled against her skin, but she was not as giddy for it now.
“You said we’d be riding in the carriage, Aegon.” She hated how unsure her voice sounded in her ears, and she dropped her hands from him and instead held her skirts. A deep breath, and a glance at Wylla to give her a slight, reassuring smile. “Is this because we’re not alone? Because of last time?”
Last time they’d come from the Dragonpit had resulted in them being caught upon arrival, Abby half dragged across his lap, her fingers in his hair and his hands bunched in her skirts. The Queen had subsequently forbidden them from riding Sunfyre together. Abby’s feet were to remain firmly on the ground until the wedding.
She’d been the one to initiate that as well.
Aegon shook his head, a sound escaping him, and he took her chin between his thumb and forefinger. Immediately, she felt her mouth water, wanting to bite on the tip of his finger, and she allowed him to tilt her head back. The jealousy that lingered hoped those ladies saw this; that he touched her so intimately and not them.
“I meant what I said about rather you being in the carriage than someone thinking that you’re ripe for the picking.” While it was endearing in its own protective way, it now rang hollow to Abby’s ears. They were burning beneath her curls and the soft, ivory veil that hung around her.
“We have the Kingsguard, Aegon, I don’t understand. For that reason, I shouldn’t leave the Keep at all.” Aegon pulled away, brushing a kiss against her forehead, and she longed for more. She longed for his lips in other places. “Aegon-” she made to follow him but Wylla caught her elbow and ushered her towards the footman.
“Get in, make yourself cozy, I’ll handle this.” She said it so matter of factly that Abby could only stare at her. Wylla merely smiled back, bobbing a curtsy, and gathered her dove gray skirts in hand, marching over to Aegon.
Abby climbed in, but lingered in the doorway to watch in fascination as Wylla Karstark hissed something to Aegon, unafraid of whatever royal protocol should be followed. There was some gesturing, and she watched her lady point toward the carriage, angling her way into Aegon’s space, not to flirt, but very clearly to intimidate. Aegon seemed to hesitate, and then shoved the reins back in the stable boy’s hands, tenderly petting the stallion’s neck and murmuring to him, before he marched towards the carriage. Abby hurriedly drew back and took her place against the far corner from the door, smoothing her skirt.
“Better this than me getting Ser Harrold,” she heard Wylla mutter, half in the carriage to glare at Aegon who was behind. “I’m not afraid of some pampered southern boy, dragonriding prince or no.”
Wylla gave her a smile as she climbed in and Abby stared at her in confusion while Aegon followed, throwing himself into the seat across from her as the door latched shut.
“Kostōba not so mighty today?” she asked, her hurt feelings demanding she needle him, even as her usual cheerful mask slid over her features. Aegon barely spared her a glance, pouting like a child instead of a man grown.
The carriage jerked as they headed through the gate and down the road. Wylla had turned her attention to unlatching the lattice covering on the window to peer out, the illusion of privacy appreciated. Aegon’s neck was as red as his shirt. He was clearly refusing to look at her and it wasn’t the first time he’d done this. In fact, Aegon had jumped from any casual touch she gave for the past few months. It was why they hadn’t ridden on Sunfyre together until they’d gone flying on the picnic and he’d apologized to her. Where she’d kissed him. In the subsequent weeks, between kisses she’d stolen because it was her stealing all the kisses, and dragging Aegon behind blind corners, although he never complained.
“I meant it, you know. That you look handsome today.” While she didn’t mind silence, she didn’t like this silence. The type where it felt like there were teeth along the edges, chewing into it if they weren’t careful. “I don’t know why that seems to have offended you so much.” The words came out a little harsher than she meant, her arms wrapped around herself and her gaze turned away.
“It didn’t offend me. I just thought that you’d like some privacy.” There was a crack at the edge of Aegon’s voice and it drew her gaze to the prince. Her betrothed. The one who tasted like whatever sweets he’d stolen from her, and whose hands felt like they’d swallow her whole, so hot that she could feel them through the layers of her gowns.
Abby turned from the window to look at him and met his gaze. Not as black as it had been in the hall. His eyes always went dark when she kissed him, so she knew that it was supposed to be a good thing, and she couldn’t understand why he was acting like this. She had been agonizing for days about this. She had just been lamenting to Wylla and Helaena about this and thought ‘This is just silly, Aegon cares for me, look at how he watched me come down the stairs’ but his mercurial behavior was nearly as bad as his mother’s.
The comparison was on the tip of her tongue. Instead, she met his lilac gaze with her own, blue eyes fixed upon his face, and said, “One moment, your hands are in my hair, and you look at me like I’m some sort of salvation or that you want to devour me. The next moment, like just now, you couldn’t get away from me fast enough. Lady Wylla had to threaten you to get in here-”
“She did no such-”
“I absolutely did,” Wylla interrupted. “Oh, wait, I’m not supposed to be listening.”
Aegon’s mouth snapped shut, and Abby didn’t glance over at the other side of the carriage. She kept her eyes on his. “If you don’t want me, then we’ll turn the carriage around and tell your mother.” She smoothed her hands over her skirt and took a deep breath. She was worried that tears would threaten, but her eyes remained mercifully clear and she raised her eyebrows at him. Aegon was staring at her, the pout faded from his sullen expression to look wide eyed in surprise. “We can. You can stop this. It’ll fade away, only just a rumor. A dalliance. There is no shame in being a prince’s momentary plaything, since we haven’t… I kissed you first, after all. I have only ever kissed you first and I will not let you keep doing this to me-”
One second, Aegon was frozen in his seat staring at her, the next, his hands grabbed hers and yanked her to him. Abby fell into him with the rocking of the carriage, and before she could straighten herself, Aegon kissed her.
Aegon kissed her first.
One large hand wound around her back while the other cradled the back of her head, his fingers tangled in the hair that escaped her veil. His mouth wasn't as soft as it had been before, this time moving as if he would claim her here in this carriage. She gasped when he tightened his hold against her, and he used the opportunity to slide his tongue between her parted lips, to curl it behind her teeth. She swallowed his sigh, her fingers bunching up the soft, red linen of his shirtsleeves.
Wylla’s presence was forgotten. All that existed was the way Aegon was kissing her like he was starving, as if someone had tried to take her from him - like in a song, like she was the source of every breath he needed. When they finally parted, Aegon tilted his head back against the side of the carriage, watching her with half lidded eyes and his mouth smeared with coral lip paint.
He hummed and she could feel it vibrate through her and she found herself humming in return, still holding herself with her grip on his arms. “I’ll fight anyone who suggests you’re a mere dalliance,” he said with his voice heavy. Abby reached up to cup his chin and stroke her thumb along where the color had smeared, wiping it away.
“So you’ll fight yourself, Your Grace?” She couldn’t help but point out that kissing her senseless was well and good, but her heart still felt sore and confused by his treatment.
Aegon scoffed and drew her closer with his fingers still cradling her head. She felt warm, and soft, and the sound that escaped her was equally so - a little mewl and a question she didn’t have the words to voice but that he seemed to understand because he licked along her cupid’s bow, teasing her and nipping at the swollen pout of her lower lip. “This is why I am the way I am, hunītsos.”
“I don’t understand,” she murmured with a shake of her head. Aegon’s fingers tightened briefly and drew a soft gasp from her when his grip tugged at her scalp. She shivered and his eyes glanced down to her low neckline, his teeth scraping over his own lower lip like he wanted to bury her face between her breasts. The understanding of why Wylla was in the carriage with them nudged at her, because had they been alone, Abby didn’t think she would even deny him. In fact, she thought she might even invite him to do so.
“What don’t you understand?” he asked and his fingers slowly loosened from her hair and pet her curls back into place before drawing his fingers slowly down her jaw and along her hammering pulse in her throat. “Do you not understand how badly I crave you? Because I thought that I made it abundantly clear.”
She blushed and shook her head. His thumb stroked along the front of her throat and she stilled, the weight and warmth of his hand making her tremble, the ache in her breasts taking her aback. “Sometimes, maybe. I’ve felt very…” She tried to find the words amidst her shyness. “I’ve felt like I’ve been chasing you, that I desire you more than you do for me.”
The wicked smirk she adored cut across his plump mouth and he squeezed her throat gently, pulling a gasp from her. “Abrogail Strong, I desire and crave you to madness and if I let myself go, I fear that I won’t keep myself from devouring you whole.”
Helaena pretended not to notice that there was a smudge of what looked like strawberry jam on the corner of little Floris’ mouth. Instead, her eyes took in the way one of the girl’s black braids was a little looser than the other. It lacked symmetry in a way that made her fingers itch to fix it. The girl’s dark eyes were wide with excitement and she could hardly keep still - a grasshopper bouncing on her feet and trying as hard as she could to contain herself in their presence. It did little to stop her from darting her gaze around, little mouth parted in wonder. She supposed the Red Keep was a magnificent sight to one who’d never seen it up close like this, let alone on dragonback.
Helaena’s lavender eyes slid to the elder girl.
Cassandra, the eldest of Lord Borros’ daughters, was more sedate in her observations. She did not share the same bubbling excitement as her little sister, and the black traveling gown she wore underscored the radical differences between her and the butter yellow clad Floris. Despite outer appearances, there was a blatant curiosity in her gaze as she took in the bustle of the courtyard; the Baratheon caravan had arrived ahead of the ladies, and the last of the trunks had just been carried inside to their new lodgings. Now it was courtiers and guardsmen, and servants all.
She felt Cassandra’s eyes fall on her critically, not unlike other ladies at court. Helaena had grown used to their gazes and the fact she did not fit the mold of a princess. She was not vibrant the way stories of her elder sister painted her - The Realm’s Delight, laughing and shining and riding and dancing. Helaena was quiet, far preferring the solitude of the garden to being in crowds, but she made every effort to be nice, to be friendly, and while she’d never heard a whisper about some perceived cruelty, Helaena felt as if she couldn’t quite get it.
She could not mirror the way Cassandra Baratheon looked to her, a golden necklace made up of antlers around her regal throat - a look that even a good week in a carriage could not take away how utterly put together she appeared..
How much of a princess she looked.
‘Sharp and soothing,’ Helaena thought. ‘The mint winds and chokes like ivy. The children can’t breathe, it’s bursting from their mouths.’
She blinked, shifting, and her shoulder brushed against Aemond’s where he was a warm presence beside her. His mouth was pressed in his usual stern expression, but at her movement, he lifted a hand to touch between her shoulder blades.
It was moments like these where Helaena felt most grateful for Aemond. Not when he was railing about their future together, the one that he’d decided and she didn’t deny, or about his place in life. It was the softer moments, when it felt like before: before the loss of his eye, before Vhagar, when it felt like her brother was there beside her once more. Quiet in his companionship, unwavering in his support, near supernatural in his understanding of her.
This was the Aemond she missed. The Aemond she cared for, the Aemond who was so absent.
Emboldened by the moment, Helaena straightened, a smile soft on her face. She did not need a crown or a herald to announce her place.
“It is our pleasure to welcome you both to King’s Landing. I hope that your journey wasn’t too difficult,” Helaena said, pushing past the urge to scream nonsense and make scary faces at them both to send them running all the way back to Storm’s End.
“We saw a bear!” Floris exclaimed with bright excitement. “Didn’t we, Cass? It was huge! I thought the guards were going to kill it, but they managed to chase it -”
“What my sister means to say is that the journey had its moments, but thankfully was uneventful, your Graces,” Cassandra cut in, a hand placed on the younger’s shoulder and a smooth curtsy performed. Her voice wasn’t unkind, but perhaps the long journey had made Lady Cassandra less tolerable to her younger sister’s excitement.
“Hmmm,” Aemond said, and Helaena smiled. Floris’ gaze was darting back from Aemond’s face to Helaena’s hands and she felt her brother shift beside her uncomfortably. “If you’ll follow us, we’ll take you to her grace, Queen Alicent, to be greeted.” Floris’ eyes went wide and Aemond was already turning on his polished boot to lead the way.
Cassandra’s own eyes widened some, her hands spasming against her skirts before reaching for Floris’ hand, jerking her behind. “Come along and don’t gawk,” she hissed softly, and Floris whined in response, a grumbling, “Not so tight, Cassa.” Helaena pursed her lips and followed Aemond, leading the pair.
It was, amusingly enough, Cassandra who let out the first quiet gasp entering the entry hall to Maegor’s Holdfast. The ceiling rose up so high that it was obscured with shadow. It was the early afternoon and the place was bustling with courtiers and administrators, all giving Aemond wide berth as he cut a path like a shark through the water.
“Your rooms will be within the ladies apartments,” Aemond explained when they reached the second landing. He paused, gesturing to the right. “It’s where the unmarried attendants of our mother’s stay.” His voice was even and steady, ever the proper one, ever the confident speaker. Ever everything, that was Aemond. Yet it rankled her that he would take charge of this when it should be her.
‘He’s only trying to protect you’, Helaena thought and while he was good at that, while she was grateful for it, Mother did the same. Everyone did the same.
“However, since you shall be serving me,” Helaena said, raising her voice and plastering a smile on her face, remembering that smiles could be heard in voices, “And Lady Abrogail, you shall come to us in the mornings for duties once things are settled. No need to worry about that now.”
Floris nodded excitedly, but her sister looked on more sedately, her expression polite. “Is it possible to have our own rooms until you… have everything sorted?” She asked. “I hope you can appreciate that given our station and our familial connection, such things would be appropriate.”
Familial connection? Helaena thought. She did not look at Aemond, not needing him to think he had to step in for her.
“I appreciate your concerns, Lady Cassandra. If you are concerned about your sleeping arrangements, you may bring it up with our mother, the Queen.” Helaena smoothed her hands over the soft pink of her skirt and gestured for them to follow. “This way!” Her voice rang through the hall and she fell in step beside Aemond, head held high.
Wylla stepped on her heels again with a half-distracted ‘sorry’ that Abby waved off, again. King’s Landing was bursting with activity that threatened to rival the crowds that were sure to arrive in the next moon for Aegon’s nameday tournament. The festival was to go on for a fortnight at least, as apprentices across the guilds presented their masterpieces to be judged and reviewed. It meant that the stalls were filled to bursting and more had sprung up in every nook and cranny and side street of the city. From finely woven fabrics and dyes, to ropes and carefully crafted saddles, the market was bright and loud with the calls of commerce.
Aegon’s right hand gripped her left, fingers entwined, and kept her between him and the stalls rather than risk losing one another in the stream of traffic down the center lane. They paused in front of a smith, the heat of the forge not as uncomfortable in the heat of the city for the breeze that kicked through.
“Oh, he’s a handsome one,” Wylla murmured, and Abby followed her gaze to the handsome smith covered in sweat and black soot, his linen shirt soaked, his arms bulging with the effort of hammering. Abby giggled softly, humming in agreement. She glanced at Aegon, who was perusing over the line of daggers on display, and noticed his own gaze flicking towards the blacksmith with clear appreciation.
Abby hummed and leaned over to brush her mouth against his ear. “Do you think he’s prettier than me?” she whispered.
Aegon didn’t glance at her, he didn’t even pause in his dual inspection of the merchandise nor the man before him. His tongue darted out, pink and wet, to slide along his lower lip in thought as he reached for another dagger. “I think he’s taller than you, which has its own advantages, especially with those shoulders,” he told her softly, tapping the hilt of the dagger. “Open, I want to see if it fits you.” She held out her free hand - she still hadn’t let go of his and he had not let go of hers - and he pressed the dagger into her palm, instructing her to wrap her fingers around it. “Sometimes one needs a good handling.”
Abby’s gaze flicked up at him, Aegon’s lilac eyes fixed on adjusting her grip. “I don’t usually hold a dagger like this. Aemond did teach me properly. Also, are you implying that I couldn’t give you a good handling?”
“I don’t think you are big enough to pick me up over your shoulder and slam me down on something.” Aegon’s lilac gaze met hers from beneath the soft bits of silver hair hanging in his eyes and he pulled the dagger from her grasp and set it back down. Even as she blushed, Abby didn’t look away. She smiled prettily at him instead and was pleased when he grinned back. She liked this side of him. No, she adored this side of him. The way he flirted, and held onto her, and the way it felt as easy as breathing between them like it always had. Only now, her gaze was more obviously drawn to that infernal tongue of his that kept swiping along his lower lip.
He was doing it on purpose. She was sure of it.
“I feel like you’re challenging me, Your Grace. Must I also now throw myself in the training yard and hope that I grow as big and strong as my brother? I think you’ll be sorely disappointed.” Aegon snorted and picked up another dagger. This one had an ebony handle carved with grooves for the fingers to fit and a thick silver inlay that encircled it and along the guard. “I don’t need a dagger,” she protested when he had her hold it and frowned at the fit.
“You see,” he murmured, releasing his hold on her hand and having her properly adjust her grip. “I already know you can handle me, my Lady. I think you’re a natural at it, even small as you are. But if you’d like to be handled, be exposed to new ways of doing things…new techniques…” He trailed off and made an approving sound at how she was holding the weapon. Somehow it made her flush all the more. “I’m at your service to give you whatever demonstration you desire.”
He met her eyes then, mouth twitched in a slight grin, but she saw the nervous look in his gaze.
Abby pushed up on her toes to press a kiss on his smirking mouth and drew away before either of them had a chance to deepen it. “I’ve been told I’m a very astute learner, and I always like to learn new things, especially with demonstrations.” Flushed, she reached for Wylla who was still admiring the blacksmith and took her hand. “We’re going to look at the fabrics over here.”
She’d much rather they do that than make a scene in front of the attractive blacksmith.
“If you two wanted privacy, then we’ll find it. I’ll stand guard outside the carriage door. Or, he’s the prince, I’m sure he can just get a room somewhere.” Wylla’s look was innocent and compassionate when Abby looked over her shoulder to glare at her, cheeks flushed red. “You know, people like us don’t marry for love often, but if you have that with one another, there’s no shame in being so affectionate before marriage.” Wylla nudged her shoulder against hers while they plucked at the delicate spools of ribbons and carefully embroidered lace.
“Being accosted in front of the blacksmith is something I’d hardly call simple affection,” Abby said.
“Weren’t you only just complaining that he didn’t accost you?”
“I need to find another word for that, and yes, I know I was! That’s not what I mean.” Abby ran a length of silky, vibrant green ribbon through her fingers, and tried to find shades of red and blue to match. “I just mean there’s a difference between doing it in public! And…”
“And?” Wylla prompted, plucking up a spool of black linen thread in hand.
“And I simply get very flustered. That’s all.” She reached into her the small purse hanging off her arm to retrieve the delicate fabric samples the seamstress had brought the previous week. “I need embellishments to go with this.”
“Oh,” Wylla breathed and ran her fingers gently over the ivory satin. “Abby, these are lovely.”
“Do you think so?” She held the pieces up to the spools of lace. “I’m half tempted to simply make my own lace but that feels so extravagant and excessive.”
Wylla clucked her tongue. “Must I remind you again, Lady Strong, that you are marrying Aegon Targaryen, Prince of the Realm? You will become a princess on your wedding day. You should have extravagance and excess because if you don’t have it for that occasion, what occasion will you allow it?” Her voice was not quiet and Abby noticed the pair of girls managing the stall perk up from where they were attending to another lady and her daughter at the mention of marrying Aegon Targaryen. The other customers looked at her as well, and Abby smiled politely back and resumed her perusal of the lace embellishments. She let her veil fall forward enough to hide some of her face, uncomfortable with the attention now that Aegon was not distracting her, moving easily through the crowds as if he were born for it.
That’s because he was born for it, she reminded herself.
“These look a bit like dragon scales, don’t they?” Abby ran her thumb gently over the uniquely shaped scallops of soft lace, mind thinking of decorations and embellishments and appliques for the gown that they were making. So many Myrish knots to embroider. She knew there was more fabric on its way, and that the delicate and sought after Myrish lace would be beyond comparison but presented with what was before her, Abby’s mind turned in contemplation. “Excuse me, my lady.”
The woman did not appear much older than Wylla, with a shock of golden curls peeking out of her little white cap. She was the younger of the pair who were manning the booth, and she bobbed awkwardly behind the counter.
“I am no lady, milady,” she said, her accent a proud, Westerlands clip. “Neva, if you please. Is there anything that you like before you? This isn’t everything we have but-”
Abby smiled, raising a hand to slow the girl down. “Neva, is this all your work? It’s absolutely beautiful.”
She glowed as bright as her hair, nodding exuberantly. “It is, milady! I’ve been an apprentice for nigh on ten years. I’ve submitted my masterpiece for guild acceptance.”
She couldn’t help but keep smiling back at the excitement Neva shared and gestured for the threads that Wylla was picking up. “Well, I’ll take these, if you’d be so kind, as well as… well I don’t want to take the whole spool of this.” Abby pursed her lips.
In the pause, Neva continued. “I can also make custom pieces, should you need something particular, milady.” The girl blushed but pushed on. “I did hear you mentioning a wedding, but I wasn’t dropping eaves! So if there is something in particular you’re looking for.”
Abby hummed softly, fingers still holding the delicate spool of scalloped lace edging. “I would like that very much. If you have more samples, I want you to bring them to the castle a sennight from today. The seamstress is coming back to do a fitting and I would like to look at what we can make. Is that too soon?”
The blushing cheeks of the Westerland girl went pale before flushing even deeper and she looked as if she was about to burst like a Dornish fire flare right there in the street. “Milady, I don’t know what to say! Yes, yes I will certainly be there. Thank you…” She trailed off suddenly, eyes widening before dropping into a curtsy, followed by the other women behind the booth. Abby felt Aegon brush against her back as he leaned over her shoulder to pluck at the lace.
“Pretty,” he said. “Do you like them?”
She nodded. “I thought the-they would look nice for my wedding dress. Do you like them? I want you to like them.” Abby tilted her head to look at him, teeth catching at her lip while Aegon’s cheeks flushed lightly pink.
“Aye, I like them.” His voice was soft and he gestured to the lot, almost negligently. “And the ribbons? We’ll take it.” Aegon spared a look at the gaping Neva, plucking the bag of gold from Wylla’s hands and tossing it to the girl.
Abby blushed, glancing between the gaping girls and Aegon, who was already looking around. “Thank you, Neva,” she said, which seemed to pull the other girl from her shock and start plucking items. “I do hope this isn’t all of your hard work.”
“Oh, no, not at all, milady.” She was positively glowing. “Good fortune to be sure."
[Chapter Eight]
#fic: the maiden and the drowning boy#aegon ii targaryen#aegon ii targaryen fic#aegon ii targaryen fanfic#aegon targaryen#aegon x oc#aegon ii targaryen x oc#hotd#hotd fic#hotd fanfic#house strong#aegon x abby
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Recent comments on your blog makes me want to request a scenario where Sephiroth learned that darling is an adoptee and also has parental problem, if that's okay with you?
The request is a bit too close to home since I'm also an adopted child, and I used to hate the world just as Sephiroth do (probably still do now, but I somehow slowly manage to outgrow that feeling the older I get). My biological mum didn't want me, I never knew my biological dad. My adoptive parents aren't the best at parenting as I grew up with many physical punishment, and gaslighted into thinking everything is my fault. My childhood were riddled with racism and sexism. SA'd when I was in elementary school. Fear and hatred were the only thing I knew. I have no one to talk to or lean to, and my only escapism was drawing and video games. I remember wishing I could turn into a werewolf and just ripped apart everyone. Silly young me under the influenced of games has too much imagination. But sadly (or luckily), I don't have that kind of power, nor Sephiroth's power, so the world is safe. LoL.
Sephiroth is so relatable for me in many ways, I guess that's part of why I got attached to him and able to see his side of perspective.
Thank you for the request, anon.
You are valid and so is your relatability to Sephy. I understand some people may find it ridiculous to relate to someone "perfect" like Sephiroth, but he is far more human than they realize. Pre AND Post-Nibelheim. But when you spend years being exposed to him as a stock character with only small glimpses of his inner self revealed, this is inevitable.
I appreciate how the EC writers are highlighting his humanity, both the positive and negative aspects, and I think this will help some folks see Sephy is just as complex and multi-dimensional as the other members of the FF7 main cast. He's the Crisis Cutie for a reason! If you are interested, I also written a prompt with Fluffy Sephiroth supporting a darling with anxiety here!
Onwards to the prompt! (Wrote it in bullet points)
Content Warning: Mentions of Abuse and Trauma.
After finishing the mission debrief with Sephiroth and Lazard, you opened up about your background to Sephiroth.
You had a sudden flashback about your upbringing during the debrief.
Sephiroth had noticed a change in your mood during the debrief and decided to stay back to talk to you.
You tried to mask your sadness, but Sephiroth is no fool. To him, you wear your heart on your sleeve.
Upon hearing about your upbringing, he was taken aback to discover that it was difficult, despite assuming the opposite initially.
He may not be the best at finding the right words to comfort you, but he's willing to be there for you when you need a shoulder to cry on or lend a listening ear.
He has always deeply resonated with you, but your story has subconsciously caused him to experience vicarious trauma.
Mainly because of the similarities he found with your story: he too, had faced a difficult childhood filled with lies and abuse.
However, it also infuriated him you, his precious darling, were subjected to such cruel treatment.
After being there for you, he needed some time alone to reflect on what he learned about you and his own emotions.
You almost regretted telling him your history when you noticed he became slightly distant a few days later.
Upon telling him, he swiftly apologizes and reassures you what you've told him doesn't change his view of you. In fact, it deepened his bond with you.
He was on the verge of sharing his own struggles, especially his longing to discover his true parents, in particular, his mother.
But the words were stuck in his throat. He wasn't ready to share them just yet. Part of him thought it might be meaningless, anyway.
He would be worried about what you thought of it, and he wouldn't want to trigger any unpleasant memories for you.
As you resonated with him as well, you sensed his inner turmoil. You reassured him he could take his time to express his feelings.
You've barely scratched the surface of telling him your difficult upbringing yourself. It's clear that it's hard for both of you to share more.
But you and Sephiroth are there for each other. Your strong bond gave you both the time and space needed to heal and open up to each other.
Hitting a major development checkpoint in your relationship doesn't mean that the journey is over; there is still much comfort and trust to be built between you and him.
But if you stay patient and supportive, then Sephiroth will return that tenfold. The unbreakable bond you share with him will give you two the strength to face the world together. 💜
Remember, the Crisis Cutie loves you~!
#Sephiroth#ff7 sephiroth#ff7 x reader#final fantasy vii#final fantasy 7#ff7#fluffy sephiroth#sephiroth ff7#final fantasy x reader#crisis cutie#Sephiroth x reader#ffvii#ffviir#gender neutral reader#gender neutral insert#x reader#x you#x gender neutral reader#gender neutral y/n#x y/n#tw: abuse#tw: trauma
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|: Call of Duty HC 🫶 :|
Note : This is my first post, other than the intro post, so Don’t get all mad if I misspell anything or I have a certain HC you don’t agree with. 💕
Characters mentioned : John price, Simon Riley, John Mactavish, Kyle Garrick, Kate Laswell, Nikolai, Alex Keller, and Farrah Karim ‼️💕 the sillies
John Price-
Greatest and most stressed father of the year award.
💥 silly Quokka smile💥
Y’know those iq ads that show the older you are, the less you know? He gets so offended by that so he tries playing it to show he isn’t dumb, but gets pissed when they just aren’t interactive and send him to the download page.
He’s an animal dude, he can rock with any animal you put him next to. But I am guessing, personally, that he was like obsessed with black bears specifically. Nobody knew why. He just found them cool and amazing as a kid, and still does.
He has that old dad cough that sounds like he’s dying of influenza. AND DONT GET ME STARTED ON HIS SNOR—
You know how some dads hug and sway you and themselves as you hug? He does that. He got that treatment when he was younger, it conditioned onto him. When he first did it to Simon, MF was confused as shit and gave the most horrendous and judgmental side eye after they finished the hug.
speaking of the others, They will get spooked like cats when Price suddenly sneezes like a bazooka or coughs like he just smoked 20 packs of cigarettes at once. Especially Kyle, he most definitely had a heart attack the first time he heard Price cough twice in a row thinking he was dying.
Supportive ahh bisexual dad.💕🥺
Gives off “Hey Gay, I’m Dad!” Jokes if you came out to him.
Simon “Ghost” Riley
I both Can and can’t see why people simp for this man.
sure, He makes booktok people horny af for his mask and deep British accent, his tattoos, the fact he could break their neck in one morsel of strength but would decide not to if he knew them, etc etc.
but that’s most likely from trauma, both unresolved and buried down or spoken about like jokes but gets angered when someone jokes about it. (Both is me. I’m those examples. Yippeee ‼️)
breakfast. He isn’t picky but he is. Beans? Fuck that shit, Burn. BURN. However, the most darkest and traumatic tasting coffee ever grounded from the pits of hell itself just made for the traumatized Masked man? Sure. Call it a cup of FUCKING JOE.
Though he doesn’t sneeze or cough like Price does, He sleeps dying influenza patient Victorian man style. First time he and Soap were forced to sleep together, Soap woke up miraculously early, thought he died and cried there for 20 minutes before Ghost woke up all tired like he was hibernating.
I think he loves Riley for not only is she just adorable and a great dog, She is the best thing to have when dealing with snakes.
He was fixated on one animal when he was younger. Motherfucking Raccoons. He found them so hilarious and goofy as a kid, he now fell in love with a man who is the human embodiment and reincarnation of the raccoon king.
One pet peeve Ghost has is when someone smacks their lips. No matter what, you smack your lips, he smacks you too. He’s that badass mum that goes “Keep smacking them lips, I’ll smack you.” While cracking his knuckles viscously.
Traumatized gay man. 😔💪
John “Soap” Mactavish :
Listen, He likes bubble baths. That’s a pretty well known fact. But.. Have you ever considered.. He may try doing Romantic dates in a bath tub? He’ll do those corny but sweet rose petal trails to a bathtub filled with bubbles and rubber ducks with a goddamn rose in his mouth seductively.
anyways, hope your happy with that visual. He most definitely does the continuous bumping his wrists together, not knowing he’s saying ‘hard sex’ in ASL. (I did this multiple times, both before and after. It’s unconsciously stuck to me. I fear myself only.)
If he ever visited England to see his boyfriend Lieutenant, Ghost, nobody could fucking understand him. But when Ghost visits Soap, Everybody sounds so fucking confusing to Ghost that he just walked out into a forest for a lap. Like when people read a cringy sentence and have to put their phones down, walk around their house two or three times, before going back.
He makes fun of Kyle whenever Helicopters are mentioned in a convo, just like making puns to piss him off.
“ Oi Gaz, do ye like the band ‘The fall out boys’? ” while giggling like a mean middle school girl. 😔✊
He likes frogs. Did as a kid, still does now. But the catch is, He cannot go towards one if his entire life was on the line. Like, He finds them cute but nearly pisses himself when They jump towards him.
silly little bisexual ‼️😊
Kyle “Gaz” Garrick:
So. You wanna hear my head canons of my Husband? /Jkjk—
I could imagine this dude was judgmental as a kid, full on mama’s Boy conversation with his mama like “ Let me guess, Aunt Stephanie said this! She is always talking crap about you, Mama, but I don’t see dad coming home with a new hickey every weekend. “
when someone goes low, he goes the lowEST.
I like to think he has a sister or two who influenced him on skincare, periods (for if he pulls anyone with period hauntings), and how to style various hairstyles just so his sisters didn’t have to pay a shit ton of money for the same hairstyle.
Do any of you guys just.. think this man bakes? Just baking when he’s bored or stressed. No thoughts. Just cookies.
He loved otters as a kid, but now finds Pallas cats better.
trust that he has heard tea from nearly every country that even agents don’t know about.
Bisexual. Leaning more towards mlm but nonetheless free-styling .
Kate Laswell :
the queen. The majesty. The LESBIAN MUM.
I like to imagine her wife is the ultimate mastermind, Like Kate is just the boss of tf141 but instantly does any bidding her wife asks her to do.
She’d be a great aunt, Mum would be even better.
I bet she met her wife in either a serene area like a flower shop or a bloodlust filled chaos like the battlefield. Two ways this could go. No in-between. Retired lesbian medic, Or Flowershop owner.
Kate seemed like the girl to like Penguins for not only their cuteness but their habitats , their diet, their life, and everything about them.
Would I be wrong to say that she most definitely got a piercing when she was a teen but took it out some time later?
She’d be a great friend to have, she’d be the one who’d order for you if you’re nervous.
You cannot FUCKING. DENY. That she has a border collie with a sweet name like Dolly
She has a wide range of music, but Music from Dolly Parton inspires her. Just imagine it.
a canonical lesbian with immense sarcasm.
Alex Keller :
Mmm the white man. /jk
He seems like he’d be the average uncle. I actually have an uncle that looks sorta like him, but balding brown hair and is named Corey.
He most definitely had a golden retriever or Siberian husky as a kid, some dog breed that’s hella energetic.
i can imagine how Any dog interaction he has now, they always try at least once to steal his leg like fetch.
He regretfully wore old spice when he was a teen but thankfully stopped after smelling himself.
He seemed to have played baseball as a kid. He just gives off that vibe.
He most definitely mispronounces easy af words on accident when distracted.
speaking of that, he seems to be a baking when stress kind of dude but also, if he did that, he’d pause halfway through cause he got distracted then forgets what he was doing. The only reminder being the burning kitchen after thirty minutes of distractions.
Silly little pansexual ‼️💕
Farah Karim
would i be wrong to headcannon that she would be the best muffin maker? Like even better than Gaz and Laswell.
She is so pretty ‼️
her favorite animal once was hedgehogs but now it’s lionesses. A massive change but both great animals.
I bet when she was a kid that she would threaten to bite people, and when in fights, actually did bite people. Worth it. (i have done this before as a kid. Proud af)
She would rock those black a leopard print sunglasses mums wear to beaches. Just think of it.
I wanna think that she had once owned those rabid chihuahuas and called the dog something sweet and unsuspecting like “Mr. sprinkles” for the fun and hell of it.
silly little demiromantic bisexual 🫶💕‼️
#call of duty#cod mw2#cod mwii#cod#simon ghost riley#john soap mactavish#john price#farah karim#alex keller#kyle gaz garrick#kate laswell#headcanon#headcannons#my headcanons#silly stuff#silly post
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Some silly little ideas for that one post I made about Leo being raised by the Shredder alongside Karai whoop:
Karai was the one who found Leo. She'd been in the village of her old childhood home when she'd found him washed up and unconscious. Karai had believed that she'd found a mystical Kappa and wanted to keep him. Her father was not very enthusiastic.
Karai was the one who gave Leo his name. She'd had a phase where she'd started looking at Renaissance artists and their paintings within her spare time and she'd decided to call him Leonardo Oroku. (She'd later stopped her interest in these things when the Shredder had found out about it).
Leo doesn't talk much. When Karai had first found him and when he'd finally woken up the turtle had been in a state of shock, due to the recent trauma he'd faced but couldn't remember. Because of this Karai had learned to communicate with Leo in other ways and she'd became his voice so to speak. It'd only be later that he'd start to talk and make conversation.
The Shredder was originally going to dispose of Leo but once he'd seen how the turtle followed his daughter like a silent shadow and how protective he was of her, he'd decided that Leo could be of use. He'd began to train him alongside Karai as her personal bodyguard.
Karai and Leo are fiercely protective of one another and have gotten into several fights for the other's sake and honor.
Leo is usually seen in black clothing that covers most of his features whenever he's outside in public. This was because due to an incident of a villager seeing him and attacking him in their fear (Shredder and Karai were quick to intervene, mainly Karai) and had ended up with a scar on his shoulder from the attack. After that Karai made sure that he'd be safe.
The Shredder sometimes gets whiplash whenever Leo does a certain thing such an act of kindness or his gentle yet fierce nature comes out. Whenever he sees Leo being kind or gentle he often times sees Tang Shen much like how he sees it in his own daughter Karai. But other times whenever he sees Leo fight or become fearless in the name of protecting others he sees someone that fills him with a bitter anger whenever he thinks about said person.
Leo and Karai are nearly inseparable.
#oli talks#ooc#muns ramblings#mindless ramblings of a madman#my writing#teenage mutant ninja turtles#rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles#rise of the tmnt#tmnt#rottmnt#tmnt 2012#tmnt 2k12#teenage mutant ninja turtles 2012#tmnt leo#tmnt karai#tmnt tang shen#tmnt shredder#Leonardo Hamato#Karai#The Shredder#Oroku Saki#been thinking about this a lot tbh sue me lol#I kinda have a head canon that Karai likes the Italian artists much like Splinter however she'd quit her interest for obvious reasons
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