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elizais · 4 months

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hii!! how about something like dazai's first meeting is with reader at oda's grave. it is ada dazai and reader knows oda since childhood. reader has an ability of being able to transport themselves + whoever in a 2m range to a moment in time for an hour as long as she is holding a photo of said moment. her ability is of a one time use.

you can choose however reader knows oda and i don't mind how angsty it is as long as reader and dazai are happy in the end!

thank you so much and don't feel a need to write this!!

"don't feel a need to write this"?? GIRL I LOVE THIS. i switched stuff around like lupin's locations and that but don't think too hard.

@cafekitsune for the divider!!

"photographic memories"

dazai x reader, angst/fluff, read anon's req 4 a summary!! mentions of alcohol, obvs spoilers. references to the day i picked up dazai but they aren't spoilers.

it was the day that marked another year since that day. usually, he would spend a few hours at odasaku's grave before heading to bar lupin. walking up to the old friend's grave, a woman around dazai's age was there too.

a bouquet of flowers was in her hands as she knelt before the headstone, carefully setting them down below the "S . ODA". dazai didn't say a word as he knelt next to her, she didn't say a word either. maybe not even noticing his arrival.

he placed a few flowers before the headstone too, earning a glance from the woman next to him. she doesn't seem to be too affected by him.

however, she mutters something so quietly only osamu could make out her words. "such a cheater.." she says with a tint of amusement in her voice. he knows exactly what she is referring to.

"i know, right." he responds, thinking of every time he lost to odasaku in a card game due to oda's ability.

they are in a comfortable silence, two strangers connected by one person. dazai speaks up again, "what's your name?" he asked.

"[name]." she whispered. she looked up at him, he sees her eyes meet his bandages.

"are you osamu dazai?" she asks. "the bandages are my trademark, huh?" he chuckled softly before nodding. "oh, no. don't take offense, please!" she says genuinely before carrying on. "funnily enough, i heard about your bandages from soda." she reminisced, and called oda by a nickname of 'soda'.

he has a lot of questions regarding what she just said but he voices none of them aside from one. "how do you know him?" he looks at her, she is looking at oda's name.

"my father owns bar lupin, and i have known oda since he began coming to the bar. he bought me sodas when dad refused to give me them for free and he earned his nickname of soda." she explained gently.

"what did he say about me?" he asked, curious on how the stranger knew his name. "when oda joined the port mafia, he told me about you and ango. nothing specific but i just remembered ango has glasses with a mole and you have bandages." she shrugged.

"spot on description of ango." he said sarcastically.

he sighed before whispering to himself, "i would do anything to even be in the safe room as him again. he is an excellent man."

the lady is very friendly yet still reserved. she thinks for a moment before pulling out her phone.

within the clear phone case, a photo of a younger version of the girl holding a can of lemonade and a young oda are together.

"i can take you to that moment for a little bit, if you like?" she offers unsurely. his eyes widen and nods slowly. "[name]? how will you do that?" he asks. the stranger's kindness shocking him.

"my special ability allows me to transport myself and anyone close to me, physically, to a moment in time for an hour. we won't be able to talk to oda but you will be in the same room as him as you wish." she explains.

"are you sure? we just met?" he asks, also unsure of if her ability would even work on him. "you must have been important to oda. so you must be a good man, too." she smiles softly.

her words echo in his head, 'a good man, too'.

"my ability nullifies any others. do you have to touch me to use your ability?" he asks, she only responds with a shake of her head. she takes the photo out of her phone case and stands up. osamu follows her lead and stands up too. "ready?" she asks and receives a nod.

the girl has transported them to the bar lupin. they are in a booth at the back. oda and a younger version of the girl are talking on the barstools. dazai seems to be very confused.

"why am i here? my ability should have nullified yours?" he asks. "you weren't touching me when i activated it. if you touch me now, our time here will pause so we can be here for longer than an hour." he nods his head in reply.

it was rare an ability gets past his, of course no ability could totally surpass his. but the complexity of hers was gorgeous.

"thank you, [name]." he says softly. she smiles, "of course. we both lost him, why wouldn't i take you?"

"do you want a drink, dazai?" she asks him, snapping him out of his trance of watching the past oda. "yes, please. but i thought you couldn't interact with anyone in this time period?" he speaks.

"we can't but that doesn't mean i don't know my way around this bar. come here." she takes him behind the bar and shows him the drink selection. they are stood in front of 15 year old [name] and a 20 year old oda.

dazai and [name] help themselves to drinks as they watch oda. dazai can't shake the feeling [name]'s ability gives him. so beautiful yet powerful. not one for combat but more for remembering. how it is so intricate yet can easily be explained in a few sentences.

dazai then hears his own name in oda's voice.

"oda-soda? what does the boy look like?" past [name] asks. current [name] gives dazai a nudge, referring to how she recognised dazai earlier.

"he must be around your age, dark brown hair and is wrapped up in bandages. awfully clever too! he figured out soon how i cheat in so many games." oda spoke cheerfully to the girl. current [name] found herself smiling at them.

"your ability is beautiful." dazai spoke. "thank you." she hummed. starting to walk back to their booth, she stayed silent. "i'm sorry about what happened." she says ever so quietly, almost as if it was the wind's whistles outside. dazai doesn't respond.

"we have around 5 minutes left. when we go back to current time, it will be the middle of the night. time is messed up when i do this, so don't be alarmed." she explains, interrupting the comfortable silence they sat in.

"i cannot thank you enough, [name]." he says in a normal tone of voice, but so loud compared to the quiet bar. "it is nothing, i don't use my ability much anyways."

both of your eyes were watering yet not a single tear fell. you may have just officially met, but you both had a newly formed bond that will be with you both forever.

now back at the cemetery, it was pitch black.

"kind of eerie, isn't it?" he spoke. not clarifying whether he meant the setting or her ability. she assumed both.

"yeah." she chuckled softly. "is each photo a one time use?" osamu asked as he looked into her eyes.

she nodded. "it's a shame, but if i could use every photo a million times i wouldn't spend any time in this world, would i?" she elaborated.

they both began to walk back, osamu beginning to tell a story of how one time bar lupin was closed one night but the lupin trio wanted to go out drinking.

they went to every bar in the city but there was something wrong with each one. one bar not being dim enough, another too dim, one having a weird looking cat, one having an ugly wallpaper..

she began to lose herself laughing at the story as he said how one of the reasons being their bartender was funky looking.

subconsciously, they both began to walk to bar lupin. when they arrived at the door, osamu asks her "isn't it almost closing time? will they let us in?" yet he gets a witty response.

"if they don't let us in, my dad would have their heads. i may be an adult now but in here i'm still that little girl with a lot of attitude."

only a few people are in there, each one in their own conversation. a familiar old gentleman is behind the bar. "[name], i didn't know you knew dazai?" he asks.

"i didn't know either. weird, isn't it?" she responds, the bartender knowing her and dazai enough to know what they will order. "on the house for you two. my condolences." the bartender passes them their drinks, knowing all too well why they met.

hours go by, so many that the bartender says that she can stay for as long as she likes but she will need to lock up if she does. they spend the whole night chatting away.

countless photos are taken, this night will be one the two of them will want to revisit in the future.

heyy!!! sorry 4 not posting recently! and if u got to this bit,, thank u sm xx, if you want something in particular, drop a req!!

#bungou stray dogs #bsd #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #dazai osamu #osamu dazai #dazai x reader #dazai osamu x reader #osamu dazai x reader #they make me so ill #i love him

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silent-stories · 1 year

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𝐌𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐎𝐌 - 𝟐

Pairing: Eddie x F!Reader

Summary: Eddie graduated and you can't not go tell his mom.

Warnings: a bit of angst, fluff

Part 1

Eddie's gaze fell on the flowers on the desk in your room as soon as he entered, and he immediately froze a few feet away from the door.

They were potted with water and tied by a thin blue rope.

They were pretty.

This meant that someone other than him had bought you flowers and the thought immediately caused him a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Was it someone from school?

Was he the blond guy who always smiled at you when you entered class? Was he the blue-eyed guy who always waved at you in the hallway? Or maybe it was the jock who was always staring at you in the cafeteria?

Did you accept flowers from them? From someone other than him?

"Who got you flowers?" He asked much more shyly than he would have liked, almost as if he expected that one day you'd find someone better than him.

"Oh, no. That's not what it seems." You started explaining, getting up from your bed and walking towards him.

Eddie looked at you suspiciously. "Who?"

"Me. I bought those flowers."

"For who?" He asked again, even more confused.

You rolled your eyes. "Since when you don't trust me?"

"Sweetheart I trust you, the thing is-"

"For your mom."

Eddie suddenly stopped talking, staring at you with those big chocolate brown eyes that you started loving the moment you first saw them.

Did you really buy flowers for her?

"I wanted to talk to you about this...I wanted to ask you if you wanted to visit her again, it's been a long time since we've been there together and I thought we could go and tell her that you graduated. Because I know she would be so fucking proud of you. But only if you want too, of course."

Eddie stood silent and you immediately feared you might have said the wrong thing. "We don't have to, really. I thought maybe you'd like it but we can do another day or if you want to go alone it's more than okay and-"

Eddie suddenly took two big steps towards you and wrapped his arms around you, almost lifting you off the ground in the process, and pulled you close to him.

A smile appeared on your lips as he buried his face in the crook of your neck and in your hair and inspired your smell, closing his eyes. "I love you fucking so much."

You giggled at the way he was basically collapsing onto you and caressed his back with your hand, tracing imaginary patterns and running it up and down his spine.

"Does this mean you want to go? With me?" You asked after a few moments.

"Of course I want to go with you." He whispered without letting you go.

Eddie was holding your hand when you arrived at his mom's grave.

You looked down at the bunch of flowers you were holding, watching a bee fly over them and land on a petal.

You passed them to Eddie as the bee flew away.

He looked at them for a moment, without taking them, then he nodded towards the grave as if giving you permission to leave them in front of it.

You took a step forward, without releasing Eddie's hand and placed the flowers in front of the headstone, murmuring a "Good morning Mrs. Munson" before you both sat down in front of it, like last time.

"Elizabeth." Eddie said.

"What?" It was his mom's name, you knew that. It was engraved in the stone, you only found out about it the first time Eddie brought you there because he didn't talk much about her.

"You can call her Elizabeth." He added holding your hand a little tighter.

You ran your thumb over the back of it, tracing a few circles. "Okay."

"Well, mom...not much has happened since we last been here. My band isn't famous yet. I haven't found a job yet. I haven't-"

"Eddie."

He rolled his eyes.

"Focus on good things."

"I graduated. It was about damn time. They made us wear those awful green tunics and we had those stupid hats on. But I went over it, because I finally graduated. Now I really need to get a job though. My band don't make enough money when we play to five drunks and-"

"Eddie, good things." You scolded him in a playful tone.

The atmosphere was less sad than last time. It almost sounded like a normal conversation you could hear every day.

"Good things..." Eddie repeated, thinking about it.

"Y/N is still with me." He finally said.

"I'm sure you can find better things."

"But you are my best thing."

You smiled. He had said it in a joking tone but he really believed it, you knew it.

"And it's really weird that she's still with me. I mean, she must be really crazy. With all the people out there she's still with me. Taking care of me. And Wayne. And now she's buying flowers for you. Really crazy. And I love her for that."

You brought his hand that still had his fingers intertwined with yours, to your lips and left a kiss on his back. "I love you too."

Eddie smiled. "What did I tell you? Out of her mind!"

You chuckled shaking your head. "It takes one to know one."

A gust of wind blew some dry leaves in front of the tombstone, near the flowers so you reached out to gently sweep them away.

"Thanks for coming." He said after a moment of silence, his brown eyes were soft when he looked at you.

"It's a pleasure. We can come back here anytime you want." You said before your eyes landed on the photo of the woman on the tombstone.

"She looked so much like you, you know?"

You saw Eddie's body tense slightly and you immediately feared you might have said the wrong thing.

"When I was little everyone said I looked like my father." He started. "They said I had his smile, even though he wasn't a big smiler." He added the last part with a bitter laugh. "They said I had his nose. And that I was as rowdy as he was. Growing up I always wished that wasn't true. I always wished I got something from my mom too."

"People must not have given you a good look. I mean, you don't have her hair, she was almost blonde. And you don't have her smile, that's true. But her eyes? You definitely have her eyes. I'd recognize anywhere your beautiful, kind, brown eyes and you got them from her, trust me.”

"You" He said pointing his index finger at you "I know what you're doing, you're trying to make me cry again. And it's not going to happen, okay?"

You laughed at his words as he pulled you towards him to kiss your forehead before whispering a soft "I love you so much".

Then he slowly got up and held out his hand, helping you up to leave the graveyard.

He wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pulled you closer to him.

"I love you too." You said raising your head slightly towards him just to catch a glimpse of the smile on his lips.

He turned towards the grave before starting to walk away. "Bye mom." He said in a sweet tone.

You turned around one last time too. "Bye Elizabeth."

Tags: @jacklesdeanvessel @morning-sky7 @pipsqueakkitten

#eddie munson x reader #eddie x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie x y/n #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fluff

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going-to-ikea-for-the-fries · 16 days

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Regret & Rememberance || Grieving!Ghost

Rating: M + DDNE Words: 2.9K~ Pairing: Gravekeeper!Reader x Grieving!Ghost CW: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT., death, child death, mourning/grief, canon 09 ghost backstory, dissociation, cemetery/graveyard, graves/headstones. Tags: you/your pronouns, gn!reader, angst, flower language/symbolism, hurt/comfort, platonic relationship. Summary: A hobby of yours causes you to cross paths with an undead man. a/n: for those who care about flower meanings, like me... ;)

You started volunteering at one of the local cemeteries after putting in a request with the town hall.

It was a simple thing, really. You were just providing extra help to the ground's keepers who did little else but mow the grass, trim the trees and bushes, and blast away leaves and dirt from the headstones and pathways with a hose.

You bought your own supplies with the help of a small voucher the town hall provided you, and then you went and cleaned the headstones at the cemetery.

You quite liked doing it. You always liked cleaning and polishing things until they were squeaky clean. And so, you'd carefully remove moss and overgrowth, and wash the engraved lettering in the old graves, and, sometimes, out of your own dime, you'd use a small paint brush and a little jar of enamel paint to fill in the lettering and make it readable again.

It was a passion project for you; you enjoyed seeing the graves come back to their original (or as close as you could get it) state, and even read up on funeral/cemetery/work/life records at the town hall to find out who was who.

It was peaceful, almost therapeutic. You tended to pick the times when you knew the cemetery would be mostly empty and you'd go row-by-row, eyeing the older graves and seeking out the ones that need caring.

It was during one of those times that you saw him for the first time.

As you meandered about, carrying a small caddie of cleaning supplies in one hand, and pulling the hood of your waterproof parka over your head with the other, you notice him.

It was a very lazy Saturday afternoon. Wintertime, Christmas had been just three days before. The sun was hidden behind dark clouds, giving the cemetery and even darker and gloomier atmosphere, the rain showering down over the entire city of Manchester.

He was tall, so, so tall, and with shoulders so wide and arms so thick, even below the hoodie he's wearing... And yet he looked so small, as he looked on at the graves at his feet...

You knew those graves, you'd memorized the majority. It was the Riley family. A really big tragedy, a recent one, just the year before, on Christmas Eve. The news had said the house burned down because of a faulty heater, and killed everyone, including a little boy.

You settled at a grave not far from him and regarded the man with knitted brows, trying to sneak a glance under his hoodie, maybe catch his eye, and offer him a smile and some courage... But underneath, he might was well have been a void.

The dark clouds and atmosphere only made it that his face was nearly completely shrouded in darkness, and the dark scarf wrapped around his neck and hiked up to cover his nose and mouth certainly didn't help.

You knelt by the grave you were going to clean and began removing the cleaning supplies from your caddie, grabbing a small bench scraper so you could remove the moss growing on the front face of the grave.

But before you began, you couldn't help but sneak a glance at the man again. He must have felt watched, however, because he turned his head toward you and from underneath his hood, all you saw were a few short blonde hairs peeking out.

You tried to do exactly what you intended, offering him a small smile and a nod... And then turned away to properly working, trying to give him space, or respect... You tried. Really. But... something about him... In less than a minute, you looked over again.

And he was gone without a trace. Looking around, you saw no tall, dark figures speed-walking away.

For some reason, a chill went down your spine when you noticed you were alone again... Almost like he had been a ghost, a figure of your imagination...

You saw him a lot more times after that. Or, at least, you were pretty sure it was a Him. Or, at least, you were pretty sure it was a Him.

You'd arrive and he'd already be there, almost like he timed it perfectly every time.

Never a word exchanged, though you looked at him from a distance and, sometimes, he looked at you too.

He'd always leave a small flower arrangement between the center two graves. Purple hyacinths, white chrysanthemums, and black dahlias.

And then he'd leave not long after you arrived.

Sometimes you wondered if you being there made him leave... If he wanted to avoid being there when you were, to avoid being stared at. But you couldn't help yourself from staring.

Truth be told, you'd go long weeks without seeing him, but he'd always come back...

And when he did come back, he'd come pay the graves a visit multiple times a week for a few weeks...

Whenever he wasn't there, you dared to venture toward the grave and gaze upon, especially right after he had left... And you'd pay you respects to the family buried there...

Sitting in the public library attached to the town hall, you carefully combed through the cemetery records of the last year, with a hot tea beside you.

Riley. There it is.

Obituary notices for five members of the same family, on the same date.

Joanna Riley, née Pearson, aged 57. Thomas Riley, aged 33. Beth Riley, aged 32. Joseph Riley, aged 4. and Simon Riley, aged 37.

Two mothers, and their three sons. An innocent child in the middle of it all. All killed by an accidental fire, with a starting point on a faulty heater, right before an important holiday.

Their obituaries said that Joanna had worked in a textile factory for most of her life, Thomas was a cook at a restaurant, Beth was an esthetician and Simon was a... soldier.

You looked at the pictures attached to the obituary, of each of them... So alive, so... free. Pictures taken from Facebook profiles or school records, in Joseph's case... All of them with big happy smiles...

Joanna had big eye bags, but she had wrinkles in the corners of her blue eyes, and deep smile lines, like she'd spent a lifetime laughing... Her hair was dark and matched her sons'.

Thomas was thin, and prominent cheekbones and a dip in the cheeks themselves, as well as deep eyebags with bulging eyes, but a surprisingly pleasant smile on his face.

Beth's picture showed that her nose tended to scrunch whenever she smiled, her blonde hair tied back into a bun and a fringe falling over her blue eyes.

Little Joseph had a toothy grin and was wearing a school uniform, his brown hair swept to the side by a comb and his blue eyes sparkling... You found your lip trembling at the thought that, perhaps, that was his first day of kindergarten picture...

And, lord, Simon Riley... He was halfway through winking when the picture was taken. He had the warmest brown eyes and the smuggest little smirk on his lips as he held Joseph in his arms, whose face had been partially cropped out of the frame, but clearly was mirroring his uncle, while holding a little teddy bear with a blue bow around its neck.

It made you sad, to see those pictures. Sadder than when you researched all the other graves' you've cleaned. Many of them included children too... But something... something about those kind faces...

You couldn't help but wonder who he was.

Maybe a family friend?

A distant cousin?

Maybe someone from Beth's side of the family, since she's a blonde and the stranger is too?

You hadn't dared approach him, striking a conversation but you were so full of questions.

Was it wrong to be so curious about a stranger who's only at the funeral to mourn and pay respects? (Definitely.)

You wanted to ask him everything.

Who is he?

Why does he come visit at the worst times and days, when it's rainy and dark, and empty?

Why does he disappear so often for weeks at a time?

Why does he keep coming back?

Someone had to pay for the funeral arrangements, after all... Maybe it was him. Maybe he's family.

Why else would he casually drop £200 worth of arrangements on the graves every time he comes?

...

Truth be told, you hadn't seen him in nearly two months. It was the longest it'd gone since coming to visit.

Around Christmas of the following year, and he hadn't come to see the graves... and you knew that for certain. Not only did you not cross paths with him, but there were no flowers at the graves.

Could it perhaps be that he's trying to move on?

Or maybe something happened to him?

You hated to think of the possibility that the stranger could've given up, moved away, or died himself.

Worse, it made your heart ache...

So you made a choice. One of those times before you went in to clean another grave, you stopped by the florist around the corner.

Dropping nearly as much money as he usually did in a gigantic arrangement, a couple of candles, you wobbled into the cemetery again.

Simon Ghost sat on his bed in the shitty flat he was renting from a nice old lady who didn't ask too many questions.

It was barely a flat, more so a cramped tin of sardines that the council allowed to be called a 'studio' because it had enough space to fit a bed, a counter, fridge and stove, and had an attached bathroom.

He had just gotten clearance from the military hospital to be able to walk around without his crutches and just his cast boot, and good thing too.

Christmas had been days ago and he hadn't gone to visit the graves just yet... he could feel the need to see them scratching in the back of his head, trying to get out, digging into his bowns..

After succeeding in tying the laces on his regular boot, he pushed himself up to his feet, a bit shaky and unsure as he attempted to shift his weight around.

But, after succeeding, he wobbled over to his small wardrobe, grabbing his usual hoodie and scarf combo, pulling them on.

He pondered about opening a window to air out the flat, the scent of hair bleach and chemicals still lingering in the air... But he decided against it.

He left the flat and locked the door, then carefully limped his way to the bus stop beside his block of flats.

...

It was already getting dark when he made it to the cemetery and past the gate, carefully limping his way to the graves.

He looked around the graveyard with narrowed eyes, seeking you out. He wondered if you were around, if you were also looking for him, or if you didn't even notice he had been gone.

Had he still been Simon, he would've already gone up to you, struck up a conversation... and he would now too, joke about how he'd been 'slacking off', mutter some nonsense of 'working hard/hardly working'...

And yet he wasn't Simon.

'Simon' was buried in the grave he was going to now visit and, unlike the rest of the Riley family, he was getting no pity.

Not like mum, Beth, Tommy and Joseph... And yet no one but Ghost was ever there to pity them, to mourn them. And once he was gone, no one would even remember them.

They deserved better than what they got. They didn't what happened to them. They didn't deserve a death that gruesome...

And t was thanks to Simon that they were dead in the first place. He didn't deserve any pity.

Ghost would not mourn Simon. Ever.

...

And yet, as he approached the graves, the large arrangement he always brought with him, tucked under his arm, Ghost stopped in his tracks.

A beautiful light arrangement sat in the same exact spot he usually placed his own... right between Tommy's and mum's headstones. It was light and feminine and... cute. A stark difference to his own, dark and moody.

He crouched in front of the graves, setting aside his own arrangement and, very carefully so, running a trembling hand over the petals of the flowers. Fresh, not just from the recent rain, but from being a recent addition. Maybe only a day or two old.

A mix of pink and white carnations, an overwhelming amount of baby's breath, and some kind of herb stems wrapped around them.

Carefully, Ghost plucked one of the stems of the herb and brought it up to his nose to smell it. The scent of chemicals from his hair bleach didn't make identifying the scent any easier, but, after a moment, he realized it was rosemary.

Rising to his feet and looking around once more, Ghost sought you out again, trying to find the sight of you hunched over, scrubbing away at one headstone or another. No sign of you.

Looking down at the graves again, his eyes got drawn to something out of the corner of his eye. A small statue that had not been bought by him, leaning against Beth and Joseph's shared grave.

A brown ceramic teddy bear... with a baby blue ribbon around his neck.

Just like the one he'd bought in a Poundland when coming back from deployment, in a hurry, after Tommy had called him to let him know Beth had gone into labour... not wanting to show up empty-handed at the hospital.

It had become Joseph's favourite toy, he'd sleep holding it, would drag it along behind him as he learned to walk, and would take it to kindergarten every day.

"Fuck..." Ghost hissed as he fell to his knees in front of the graves, his fingers digging into the wet grass and his eyes closing as his whole form was racked by sobs.

You didn't know how long he'd been there. But he was soaking wet, dripping all over, on his hands and knees, hiccuping and crying at the foot of the graves.

You noted the way his leg was in a cast inside a black boot, which helped ease your worries that he hadn't given up on coming, he'd just been unable to for a while.

Swallowing your fear, you bounded up to him, holding your umbrella protectively over the two of you as you stopped by his side.

He looked the smallest you'd ever seen him...

Taking a deep breath, you slowly crouched beside him and placed a hand on his broad shoulder, feeling him shudder, his breath hitching, audible even through the wind and the aggressive pitter-patter of the rain on your umbrella.

"Breathe... It's okay..." You murmured as you looked at him. "Breathe."

The man took a deep, ragged breath, shuddering with each one, his arms, impossibly strong, trembling and struggling to hold him above the grass which was now essentially more mud than grass.

"I'm sorry if I overstepped." You murmured and tilted your head so you could peek below his hoodie, to check on him.

Bad choice on your part, because only then did you notice that his scarf had been loosened by him, to allow him to breathe, revealing his face.

He was deformed, badly so. His cheeks were hollow and cut through by a jagged Glasgow smile, and his skin so red and blemished, you'd think he had been burned alive at one point in his life.

Those were no ordinary scars... from a small injury, or an accident... They were too precise, not random... Those were... inflicted on him.

He didn't reply, nor did he try to cover his face or turn away, he just shuddered more, hiccuping and sniffling amidst his tears.

"I hadn't seen you in a while..." You told him gently. "I was... worried that you'd never come back." You admitted. "So... I figured I should look after them for you."

He gulped, audibly so, deep in his throat. For a while he didn't speak though his lips pushed and pulled like he was chewing on his cheek, looking for how to answer.

"Thank you." He murmured, his voice gruff and raspy, the words sounding like they had been eating away at him, gnawing at his bones.

"Do you... want me to toss it all out?" You asked slowly, watching as he thrashed his head side to side and sniffled again, hissing through clenched teeth.

"N-No..." He replied and took a hulking breath, like it was the most difficult thing he'd ever done.

"Okay..." You added and nodded solemnly. "Want me to help you up... because of your foot?" You offered.

"No... I've got it." He added with a nod and swallowed the lump in his throat as he closed his hands into fists to keep himself from lying on the dirt.

You paused and looked between him and the graves. "I'll leave you be, then..." You replied and turned to collect your cleaning supply caddie from the path beside you...

Only for one of his hands to suddenly catch your bicep and stop you, which caused you to freeze. "Stay..." He pleaded as you slowly turned to face him again.

His face was turned toward you as well. His eyes were red and swollen from crying, his nose had a deviated septum, and his whole face was riddled with scars and blemishes...

And yet those brown eyebrows of his... and those brown eyes... the way they stared at you... Sorrowful, afraid, hurt but... warm... You remembered seeing them, in that fucking obituary notice months ago...

You were looking a dead man right in the eyes.

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xxgoblin-dumplingxx · 2 months

Note

Hello! I hope you're doing well ari, and I wish for your pillow to always be cool and your tea to always be your preferred temperature. Do you have anything for weird kid!Bruce, secret!reader, or sweetie!reader?

You took a pull from the bottle of wine and wiped your mouth on the sleeve of your jacket as you swallowed. The day was quiet. And cold. But- where else would you be if not here?

This is where everyone else was. And from your seat on the ground the tombstones looming over your head looked almost like buildings.

"I'm still fucking mad at you for not being there," you tell the empty air. You're not sure if you're talking to Jackie or to Bruce- maybe both of them. Wherever they are. As if they could hear you. "I did everything they wanted me to do."

And now you didn't really know what to do. Not that you had to worry about it right now. Right now, if you wanted to get drunk in a cemetery, leaning on your brother's headstone- telling him how you won a gold medal- well. That cop would have to be a pretty cold-hearted fucking asshole to cuff you and stuff you for that.

Besides. You took a taxi here. And you'd probably walk out. Then take a taxi... somewhere else. Where you didn't know.

But it didn't matter. You took another pull from the bottle of wine and exhaled slowly. The wine warmed your stomach and the warmth spread through your body. The swimming feeling in your head numbed the ache.

"Remember when you asked me what it felt like? And I told you it felt like magic? Remember when you wanted to test it?" You snort. "I don't think you can test it. It felt like everyone was holding their breath. Afraid that the littlest breeze would knock me off course- at the same time it was like no one was there at all. I couldn't hear anything but the blood in my ears."

You tilt your head back and rest it against the freezing marble. Looking at the sky. Watching thin whisps of clouds slither through the sky. "I wish you could have seen it."

Alfred paused a bit away from where you were. Assessing the situation with a pang. Bless your heart. Your brother is gone. Your best friend has evaporated into thin air to learn martial arts god knows where- and you're all alone. The best figure skater in the world, day drinking in a cemetery.

He coughed quietly to announce his presence and smiled wryly when you pulled your head upright and offered him the bottle, "Sorry, I didn't bring glasses," you tell him.

"I'm sorry I broke my leg," he said gesturing to his walking cast. "But- you did look stunning." He made his way closer to you and took the proffered bottle and took a sip with a wince, "Good god, All that money and THIS is what you bought?"

"Alfie-"

"Absolutely not. If you want to day drink and sulk by all means," he snorted, "But At the very least do it with champagne and strawberries. You WON, remember?"

"Jamie didn't like Champagne," you tell him.

"Well," Alfred said, "It's not his bloody party, is it?"

#bruce wayne #minors dni #ask answered #reader insert #clark kent x reader #weird kid!bruce

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lovelovelovelovelove987654321 · 5 days

Text

One Year

A/N: Hey guys!!! Sorry its been ages and ages and ages since my last fic. Genuinely so sorry. Idk how I feel about this one and the next one I'm posting, so let me know what you think. I live off of comments, reblogs and likes btw!!! Also this is NOT BETAD. SORRY!!

Simon stands next to you, hands shoved deep in his pockets. For a long while, neither of you says anything. After a few minutes, days, months, years, he breaks the silence with a mumbled "Remember when we got our first house?"

When you dont respond, he continues.

"You were so happy. I was so happy. We were young and in love and everything was good." He says 'we were in love' as if he ever fell out of love with you.

A deeply sad and bitter chuckle sounds from him.

"It was just a shitty flat. Not even safe to live in, probably. But it was ours." It was really yours, if he was being honest. Everything in his life was yours. But once he'd puttered about the place, tightening screws and greasing hinges, it felt like it could be a little bit his. Just a little.

He pauses, swallows, squeezes his eyes shut.

"I fucked you in every room of that house." His voice is hoarse, pained.

"We called it fucking because we wanted to be, I dunno, mature. Cool. But it was making love. Everything we did together was making love." His voice gets quieter and quieter before finally cracking.

"You got pregnant. It was the singular best moment of my life when you told me." He makes a choked sound, "A kid would have been lucky to have you as a mom. We would have been lucky to have a id. But luck was never on our side for long, was it?"

He shakes his head sharply, moves on.

"Remember when we bought our house? When we got married? When we went to the ocean for our honeymoon? I do. I remember every blissfully happy moment." He chuckles again, but this time its actually a slightly happy sound.

"Every time I looked at you I was struck dumb by how beautiful you were. How lucky I was to have you."

He snorts. "I say 'was' as if you ever got less beautiful."

"You always used to asked me if I was okay, if I was having flashbacks. But most of the time I was just stunned by how perfect you were."

He takes a deep breath, opens his eyes.

"Remember all our anniversaries? The flowers and the smiles and the photo albums and the extra kisses?"

He waits for a second, as if he expects you to say something. When you dont, he continues.

"I loved our anniversaries, but really they were just like any other day. We always loved each other. We would always go do things together."

His voice drops again like he's admitting something shameful.

"I dont know what to do with my days anymore."

He confesses. "I'm re-enlisting, I think. If they'll take me. Maybe as a training officer. Although I always did hate the rookies..."

He pauses, almost smiles.

"I remember whenever I came home complaining about them, you'd just give me a kiss on the forehead and say they 'just wanted to be me'." "I always told you that that was stupid, because why would anyone want to be me? I'm nothing."

"And you would always say 'you're mine' and then I had to agree: all the rookies probably did want t be me. Anyone would." The silence creeps back in, thick and suffocating. "I have too many things at home now."

He whispers. "Too many florals. I dont know what to do with 'em."

His voice is barely audible. "I miss you. I love you." He gently caresses your headstone and lets a few tears fall. Its been a year since you died, but he still visits you daily. After all, the both of you had promised to talk every day, even if you were mad at each other. Who was he to break that?

#simon ghost riley x reader #cod x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #ghost x you #ghost x y/n #simon ghost riley x you #call of duty x you #call of duty #call of duty x y/n #simon riley x y/n #simon ghost riley x female reader #ghost x female reader #call of duty x female reader #cod x female reader

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lost-girl-2021 · 1 year

Note

Maybe Spider will go with his father and the squad to Paz's grave? There they could reminisce about old times and tell Spider about his mother as their friend, maybe the stories of meeting her and Miles Sr.

Here's a lil one-shot :)

Spider had never been to a cemetery before. His mom was buried on the other side of the city, an hour's drive from the McGregor's house, more with traffic. Mrs. McGregor had made promises of taking him more than once, but there was never any time.

He wasn't sure if there was a dress code, but his new uncle, Lyle, had shown up to the apartment wearing another Hawaiin shirt (this one was black and gold) and grass-stained jeans. Spider slept most of the car ride, nearly forty-five minutes with his face pressed against the leather seats. His father and uncle talked quietly in the front seat, the music thumping low in the background.

Spider was tired enough when they arrived that he hadn't even realized the car had stopped until his father opened his door. He wordlessly helped the teenager out of the car, a hesitant hand pushing some of his curls from his face. The boy yawned, following the men through the winding paths of the graveyard.

It was a big place and most of the tombstones looked identical, but his father and uncle seemed to have no trouble navigating through the maze. Maybe they'd been arranged alphabetically? Spider didn't really want to ask, it was probably a stupid question. He wondered if tree roots ever made the headstones fall over? How slowly would that even happen? And what if—

"We're here."

Oh. Spider stopped two steps away from where his father was, staring at the stone. P. Socorro, loving mother, lovely person.

Spider wondered how heavy the stone was. What if someone just broke in and started rearranging them? How would they know?

"You can come closer, son." Quaritch spoke softly, brushing leaves from the— what was that, cement? Some type of boulder?

"I don't want to step on her." He muttered, frowning down at the grass. "Kiri says it's rude to wake 'em up."

Kiri also said he should hold his breath so he didn't accidentally inhale a spirit, but he'd only lasted a few steps before inhaling.

Lyle snorted. "I think she'll understand."

Spider didn't want to risk it. He crouched down, pulling up a few tiny weeds that were starting to sprout. He mouth felt dry, like all the moisture had gown straight to his sweaty palms.

He wasn't really sure what to say. He thought about the picture he'd seen of his mom— smiling, happy. He couldn't really imagine her rotting six feet below.

"You know . . . " His father cleared his throat. "You know, when I met your mama, I kind of hated her. We were at each other's throats for the first . . . at least the first three months."

Spider raised an eyebrow, as if to ask how he'd ended up happening if such a thing was true.

"One night, we all ended up getting drunk off some shit we'd bought off the natives. Moonshine, we'd thought, but it ended up being a lot stronger." He laughed, sending Spider's uncle a look. "Your uncle Lyle ended up passed out in a bush and I think Paz was the only other one sober enough to help me carry him inside."

"Thank God for my low alcohol tolerance, really." Lyle said with a laugh.

Spider rolled his eyes. "What happened after that?"

"Well, we ended up babysitting drunken soldiers most of the night and by the end of it . . . well, I stopped hating her by the second round of cards."

"Did you two actually . . . did you actually love her?" Spider asked quietly, looking down at the grave.

"Yes." He answered without hesitation. "And I only loved her more after we had you."

Spider nodded, throat tight. He took a small step closer, almost leaning against his father. His ribs felt too tightly pressed against his organs, but he took in a deep breath anyways.

Paz Socorro. Loving mother, lovely person.

#avatar #atwow #spider #spider socorro #atwow angst #avatar twow #days into decades

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mixsethaddams · 11 months

Text

Steddie, tw MCD but still a happy ending I guess

Eddie Munson is twenty years old when he dies in the dark.

It hurts and he’s scared, but he knows he did the right thing. He bought the others the time they needed to escape. It was harsh, the way he went.

No one forgets Eddie. The people of Hawkins have their own opinions of who he was or how he met his end, but his friends knew him the truth. They knew that he touched the very soul of everyone he met, however briefly.

Eddie’s funeral was quiet. Secret. Kept away from prying eyes to protect his uncle. He doesn’t have a headstone. But when people want to visit him, they know where to go. They know the tree he liked to climb in the forest. The patch of grass he liked to laze around on during summer. The dirt road he liked to ride his bike up and down.

The Party visited Eddie in these places every year on his anniversary. They thanked him, and told stories about him. Some had more to say than others. Some had more time with him than others. But they all wished for more still.

Years go by and people grow older. Lives get bigger and towns get smaller. Memories don’t always fade but they do get harder to hold onto. Anniversaries come up faster and suddenly there’s no time to drive all the way back home anymore. It’s not the same when it’s over the phone. Eventually, that stops ringing too.

It’s funny, in a way. How a person can settle so deeply in your heart without every truly knowing them. Funny how you might imagine what they might say at a specific moment. Funny how you wonder if they would have decorated the kitchen the same way. Funnier still, to think about the What Ifs when the night is dark enough to let yourself open that door.

Eddie was never alone on his anniversary. Not in any of the places he loved. Someone always went to the tree, the grass, the dirt road. Someone looked at the sky and whispered words of maybes and perhaps. Even after his uncle joined him wherever he was, Eddie still had that someone who never let him go.

It was always funny. It shouldn’t have been, but it was. How many dates were turned down. How many drinks, offers, numbers… Why be alone when all you have is the fantasy? It doesn’t matter how it ended when it never even began. What good is a promise if made to a dead man? Good enough, when whispered to the sky.

Steve Harrington is fifty four years old when he dies in the dark.

It’s quick, and he feels nothing.

In his bed, in his home. Those two precious things that he never shared with anyone. There was no need, no desire. Steve knew who should have been there. He could feel it as deeply as he ever thought possible. No one knew. How to explain a commitment that was never made?

Steve’s breath leaves his body as he dreams of the same man he always did. He dreams of what they might have talked about, how they might have lived. He never thought much of life, if he could not be here to share it.

Steve goes, easily. When he is found, he is comfortable, with a smile on his face. Because he knew, somewhere, deep down, that he wouldn’t have to make his whispers in secret to the sky anymore. The one he wanted to listen, was there waiting for him. And Steve knows Eddie heard everything.

Softly, they went. Together at last.

#steddie #sad steddie #seth writes #tw mcd #tw death #twice #steve x eddie #eddie x steve #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #eddie stranger things #steve stranger things #steve and eddie

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mooodyblue · 10 months

Note

Omg!!! I'm at a store and they have Halloween stuff out!

My favorite is Halloween!

Can you write something where elvis or bde has a little who loves Halloween and scary movies and fall?

not particularly huge on halloween but i love fall 🥹 seeing the fall scents starting to come out has been making me v happy. ty for the request!

wc: 609

elvis really didn't like halloween. he thought it was a silly, pointless holiday and honestly if he heard monster mash one more time he was going to find his way to destroy every single record with it on there so he’d never hear it again.

but then came along you. you loved halloween. you loved forcing him to decorate graceland, making him put up silly prosthetic spiders and ghosts outside in the lawn. not to mention the candy, you gotta have candy! but when you're little, you tend to go a bit overboard with candy and he has to hide it away from you…..he can't handle the sugar rushes little you gets after having one too many mini hershey kisses.

there was something endearing about watching you squeal in excitement when he’d drive past a house that was a bit too decorated for his taste. styrofoam headstones in the front yard was a bit too tacky for him, but at least you liked it.

halloween was quickly approaching though. and although he couldn't just…take you trick or treating, he still wanted you to have a good halloween whether he hated the holiday or not. he couldn't handle the tiny pout on your face as you walked into the living, a snug halloween sweater on you as you grumpily sat on the sofa.

elvis let out a small chuckle, throwing an arm around your shoulder. “what's got the baby so upset today?”

“‘s halloween ‘n you won’t take me trick or treatin’” she grumbled, crossing her arms.

“aw, don't be mad at daddy. it ain't his fault.” he frowned, pressing his lips against your temple. “but you look real cute in the lil’ halloween sweater i bought ya. ain't it cute?”

“i guess so….” you grumbled again.

“how ‘bout this then.” he sat up a bit. “i know you don't have a costume or nothin' but we can at least sit here and watch some of the halloween stuff they got showin’ right now? hm?”

you didn't respond, only looking as grumpy as ever.

he chuckled a bit. “not even charlie brown? they're showin’ that in a bit. c'mon, you know you wanna watch the great pumpkin……” he said teasingly, trying to get you to crack.

but it wasn't working. he knew you wouldn't budge. he hummed for a minute, looking over at you as he thought for a minute. maybe it wasn't about going house to house for you….maybe it was the candy.

“alright, fine. i’ll let you have a few pieces of candy. is that what ya want?”

your head turned quickly to him, your eyes lighting up. elvis rolled his eyes at your reaction, knowing exactly how to get you to crack. “handful!” you said proudly.

his eyes widened, “now, honey….”

your face turned into a frown, causing him to let out a groan. “alright! fine! a handful and that’s it!” he said sternly, wiggling his finger at you.

when the sun began to set, you snuggled up to him, bowl of candy in between the two of you as you watched it’s the great pumpkin, charlie brown—giggling along happily as you unwrapped what was probably your 5th piece of chocolate in the past 10 minutes.

he smiled at you, arm around your shoulders. he definitely paid more attention to you than the movie. “you wait here, i’ll get you your sippy cup.” he kissed your cheek, standing up and making his way to the kitchen.

completely forgetting you put decorations up, he jumped slightly at the sight of a skeleton sitting at the dining table.

god, he couldn't wait for this holiday to end.

#elvis x reader

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dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night · 6 months

Text

You can't Follow Your Heart if there's a Stake Through It part eight

TW: murder, mild gore, blood, minor character death, vampire hunting, corpse exhumation, referenced kidnapping, mild sexual harassment, referenced pet whump, creepy whumper, stoic whumper, human whumpers, vampire whumpee, whumper x whumper

Jacob loved hunting. Of course, he was going to miss Rurik the entire time they were apart. But graveyards were beautiful this time of day.

The vampire activity reported to Karina's office was only an excuse for him to enjoy the beauty of sunlight lighting up the snow capped headstones.

He idly wondered whether it would be worth it to kill his hunting partner. This dry spell was driving him nuts. But Huckleberry was a nice enough guy, and hadn't really done anything to turn Jacob against him.

Huck would make a cute corpse though, and there was nothing to stop Jacob from fantasizing about that. His skin color was what Jacob's oil paint pallet called "Appalachian brown", and might fade to more of a "deep taupe" in the hours after his death. And his black eyes would look so nice with their cheerful lights gone out

But Angelique had made it clear that if one more of Jacob's hunting partners went missing, she would launch a full investigation. It wasn't worth the risk.

"So…" Huck said, his voice the same shade of green as the pine trees growing in the graveyard. "I heard you kidnapped someone."

"Did Clara tell everyone?" Jacob whined. "She's such a bitch."

Huck plunged his shovel into the frozen earth. Determined to make short time of this task, Jacob helped him dig. This was the worst time of year for corpse exhumation, but the weather was lovely. A cold breeze swept through the cemetery and nipped at Jacob's ears, stirring up snowflakes on its way.

"I heard it from Mel, who heard it from Keith, who heard it from Wendy, who heard it from Drake, who heard it from Clara," Huck said without stopping to take a single breath. "The gossip's that you kidnapped some feral Russian vampire who you're in love with."

"Rurik isn't feral!" Jacob snapped, before realizing he was telling a bald-faced lie. "Okay, maybe he is. But you don't get to insult the love of my life. I'm trying to civilize him, anyway."

"Okay okay, sheesh. I was just getting my facts straight. Anyway, what are you doing with a feral vampire?"

"Romancing him, obviously." Jacob took off his jacket, overheating from the physical labor even in subzero temperatures. "I bought him a kitten and everything."

"That's weirdly sweet. I didn't know vampires liked animals."

"Rurik likes animals more than he likes people. I found him living in the woods like Tarzan's Alaskan cousin. I was doing him a favor by bringing him back to civilization, but he's still upset. It's ridiculous. I'm trying to make things easier on him, even if he's terrified out of his wits at all times."

"Sounds like you have your work cut out for you. I've never tried to domesticate a vampire myself, but I know some people who keep 'em as pets. Maybe you should look at their blogs or the books they've published. Might have some tricks and tips for you."

"That's a damn good idea," Jacob said. "Hey, do you think it happens the other way too? Vampires keeping humans as pets, I mean. I know familiars are a thing. But that's a bit different, yeah?"

"There was a documentary about that a few years ago. I forget the name. All about escaped bloodbag slaves and even pets. The production seemed a bit exploitative. But I'm sure they got paid handsomely for their testimonies."

"I'll have to look it up."

Huck's shovel hit the wood of a coffin. It was buried far too shallow in earth's embrace, highly suspicious under these circumstances. He and Jacob made short time of exhuming it and left it lying on the snowy ground.

"Let's stick to stakes, not other kinds of wood, huh?" Huck said. "I don't want to get in trouble for you."

"Sure sure." Jacob chose not to take offense. "Open the lid."

Huck took a deep breath, steadying the stake in his hand, and pulled the lif off. The body inside was surely a vampire, without a drop of doubt in a sea of evidence.

Her beauty was enchanting, in a way even the most skilled of morticians could not create with chemical elixirs. The sunlight played on her pure white skin like false daylight at midnight reflected off snowbanks.

Based on his knowledge of how vampire subspecies had evolved over time, Jacob assumed her to have been turned sometime in the Victorian Era. Recently enough to have the trait of eternal youthfulness, but before the notion of vampires burning in the sun was created in the 1920s.

Jacob unbuttoned her blouse, to make the staking process easier. It seemed almost a shame to kill someone so beautiful. But he didn't dare voice that thought in front of his hunting partner.

Huck braced the point of his stake over her heart, and carefully lined up his hammer over it. Jacob watched with marked fascination- or perhaps more than that- ready to aid Huck with the silver blade in his hand if the need arose.

Blood and falling snow mixed together in the coffin, staining the vampire's unnaturally pale skin. Huck's muscular arm rose and fell, bringing the hammer down to drive the stake deeper into the vampire's heart.

In spite of the gory display, Jacob could think of nothing but how his partner looked like some demigod of old, slaying a monster on behalf of its innocent human victims. Crimson blood stained his large hands, and clung to the brown flesh of his arms. His face was stalwart and grim, betraying no disgust at this gruesome murder.

On autopilot, Jacob dumped a bottle of holy water on the now dead vampire. Her flesh sizzled and melted at the contact. Huck pulled out her fangs with a pair of pliers, for proof of the kill, and slipped them into his breast pocket.

They worked together to push the coffin back into the grave. Covering it back up with dirt was the most tedious part of their task, but didn't take as long as the initial exhumation.

Their conversation resumed as normal as they walked towards the gate of the cemetery, as though nothing the least bit disturbing had occurred during their stroll.

"So-" Huck rubbed his blood stained hands together, trying to warm them back up. "-You still gonna be baking your bread in cold ovens now that you've got a boyfriend?"

"...Why did you just use an ancient Egyptian euphemism for necrophilia?"

"Why not? It sounds funnier than 'Are you still into corpses or did you just fuck them because you were too socially awkward to ask anyone out?' Besides, I like history."

"I don't know," Jacob said slowly. "But I've thought about those kinds of questions a lot lately. I've always kept company with dead people. Killing vampires. Screwing corpses. I've got quite the reputation now. I'd like to be normal. With a boyfriend and all that. But I don't know how things will go."

"Good luck, man." Huck clapped Jacob on the back. "You might be weird as hell, but you're a sweet guy. I hope everything turns out alright."

Jacob flinched at the first physical affection he had received in… months. Maybe even years. It felt nice, but terribly wrong at the same time.

If he didn't know better, he would murder Huckleberry right then and there. Just so he wouldn't end up disappointing him eventually.

"Wanna keep being partners?" Jacob asked nervously. "Today wasn't that difficult. But I get the feeling we'll work well together on more difficult hunts."

"Sounds good to me. Hey dude, you look tired as hell. Let me drive you back to the base."

Jacob handed Huck the keys to his pickup truck, trying not to freak out like an idiot when their hands brushed together. Huck had such nice hands too, from an artistic angle, with large square fingers and pale palms that complemented his dark skin.

The drive back was quiet, as Jacob always felt too embarrassed by his taste in music to play it in front of other people. It was mostly gothy death metal, and Huck seemed like the kind of guy who went for bluegrass or something.

Huck parked much closer to the base than Jacob usually did, and handed him back his keys when they were both standing in the parking lot.

"I'll write up the report and give the fangs to Karina," Huck said. "I know you get stressed out with that stuff."

"Thanks." Jacob awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck as he told his worst pickup line. "Next time we're hunting you should nearly get killed so I'll have an excuse to hug you. That'd be nice."

After getting used to being called a creep or told to fuck off, he hadn't expected Huck to actually hug him. It had been years since anyone had been this affectionate towards Jacob. Touch starved didn't even begin to explain his feelings.

Jacob melted into Huck's strong arms and tried valiantly not to cry. This man was now his only friend, and he had no desire to embarrass himself in front of him. But, somehow, he thought that Huck wouldn't mind a bit of sensitivity.

Neither of them spoke until Jacob grew overwhelmed and pulled away.

"You look like you needed that," Huck said, without a hint of judgment in his deep green voice.

"Yeah, I really did." Jacob smiled softly at him. "Thank you."

They walked back inside together, with Huck's arm resting on Jacob's shoulder in a friendly sort of way. Jacob's heart was full to bursting, and he was quickly growing to consider this week the best of his life.

Taglist: @hugh-lauries-bald-spot @heavenlyeden @whumpsday @whumpshaped @kira-the-whump-enthusiast @whumpytine

#Abraham original: Hot off the press #Whump #Whump writing #Vampire whump #Human whumpers #Murder whump #Mild gore #Blood #Minor character death #vampire hunting #creepy whumper #stoic whumper #human whumpers #vampire whumpee #whumper x whumper

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daigina-3 · 2 years

Text

Max and Eddie are just across the way from each other, just like Before.

Max waves at Eddie in the misty mornings, getting a lazy finger waggle in return and rolls her eyes, just like Before.

Eddie intrudes into her space, saddling up under the pretense of wanting something when really all he wants is someone to fill the silence. Just like Before.

Except now, in the After, nothing else is like Before.

Max sits on her perch, cold and solid- she assumes. She can’t really tell, its more like a phantom sensation than anything. Etched into the rock, the still shiny granite inscription reads:

MAXINE TAYLOR MAYFIELD

ALWAYS WITH US

1972-1986

Eddie’s stone matches her own in style, the light grey speckled granite simple but tasteful- both commissioned and paid for by Hopper or Joyce or maybe all the parents, she doesn’t know.

EDWARD JACOB MUNSON

LOVING SON, NEPHEW, FRIEND

1965-1986

“Why’s mine lamer than yours,” Eddie asks early on, after the fog clears and they settle into the After. He cocks his head, pursing his lips at Max’s stone.

“Are you blind,” Max mirrors his tilted head, trying to see what he sees. “‘Always with us’? It’s a little too ironic from where I’m standing. At least yours talks about your family and friends. Mine just screams ‘STUCK HERE FOREVER’ as if we don’t already know.”

“Its better than having to remember what a shitty nephew and friend I was the whole time. And now they want to put that carved in stone where its permanently shoved in my face? Nah, Red.”

They agree to disagree.

Time passes weirdly and sometimes not at all.

Sometimes they’re together, passing the time by playing eye-spy or talking through what-ifs. What if a zombie apocalypse happened, what if you were stranded in an island. What ifs are funny to think about, now that they’re kinda past all the “if”s they can be past.

Sometimes they’re together, but sometimes they’re not. Its easy to slip away, usually without realizing. Sometimes by choice. Neither of them can really put a finger on where they go- after the first three or four times they put their heads together and figure its like blacking out or sleeping, the kind where you don’t remember falling asleep and wake up forgetting where you are.

The idea of nowhere, black out, disappearing is scary. Every once in a while Eddie will look up and realize Max is gone, whipping his head around and searching for her carrot top weaving between graves in the distance. But of course, she’s not there. She’s slipped away. He waits for her to return, the tension in his bones afraid this will be the time she doesn’t.

Max doesn’t admit to doing the same when Eddie slips away; feeling the silence close in around her when he’s not there for who knows how long- minutes or days, not even knowing when day becomes night or night becomes day and so painfully aware of the not knowing when she’s on her own.

They look for others. Max finds Billy’s headstone- terrified at the idea of seeing him looming over her from behind the carved rock. But if he was ever there at all, he never shows his face.

Eddie looks for Chrissy’s grave. Its a rosy kind of stone and Eddie thinks of her pink backpack when she bought weed off of him. The script on the headstone is in cursive- he imagines thats what her handwriting would have looked like.

Eddie spends a long time there, he thinks. Sitting and reading the curved letters over and over, feeling sorry for himself and sorry for Chrissy and sorry sorry sorry- until Max finds him, worried he’d slipped away.

Eddie takes the hand she offers to help him stand, their touch the strongest among all the phantom sensations, and slings an arm over her shoulder as they walk back to their little homes across from each other.

They get visitors, of course. Those are some of the clearest moments- when Max finds Lucas curled up on top of where she is- where she is six feet under- flowers clenched so tight in his hands and tears slipping down his cheeks falling on that grass that separates the two of them and Max just stands there. She stands there and thinks, stupidly, that maybe she could feel the tears hitting the grass if she tried hard enough. Or feel Lucas’s hands, his shuddering breath as he cries and sobs and shakes because he thinks no one’s there to see.

But Max is there to see. She just can’t feel it and it makes her so, so mad that before she even knows what she’s doing, she’s pulling back her arm and swinging. She bends down and punches Lucas right in the middle of his back, where he’s sprawled out. Her fist goes right through him. She doesn’t stop, feels the anger rushing up into her face, feels for the first time in forever her face grow hot and she punches and punches until Lucas stops crying and just lays there. Silent.

She punches her fist through him again. “Idiot,” she collapses next to him, so close but never further. “You probably would have stolen all the popcorn anyway.”

She grabs onto Eddie later and lets him rub her back, just a little. “Stupid,” she says, her voice thick with tears that can’t fall. “He’s so stupid.”

Eddie’s usually- conveniently- gone when Dustin visits. Alone, most times, although once with his uncle. Eddie hadn’t been slipped away for that, but he hid behind a tree for most of it. When Max pointed out that they couldn’t see whether or not Eddie was there watching them, he’d snapped at her to mind her own business.

As in life, so in death; once a coward always a coward.

Eddie doesn’t hide all the time. NancyandRobin visit (always with their arms locked, fingers intertwined, together). Sometimes they visit Max first, then turn to Eddie. Sometimes the other way around. Steve stands by the car, if he drove them their. But he always visits himself when he’s alone.

And when Max is off somewhere and Steve visits, Eddie sits cross legged on his tombstone and listens to him. He listens to Steve mumble to himself- or maybe to Max and Eddie- seeing a Steve that maybe no ones ever seen. A Steve who thinks that no one is watching.

To Max he Kees it simple. He talks about memories and Eddie hears all about how Max sped a busted Steve in a stolen car across town, about how Max and Lucas would gang up on unsuspecting members of the group and laugh at them, about her and El stealing ice cream from the little ice cream place at Starcourt.

To Eddie, Steve talks like an old friend. The tone in his voice keeps Eddie on the edge of- what, he doesn’t know. Some emotion he cant quite place but it feels like a little twist in his gut. Steve talks about his day, about his parents that Eddie never met and good thing too cause he would hate them.

“You know,” Steve says one day as Eddie is swinging his feet from where he’s perched on his grave. “This fucking sucks. We didn’t even know each other- and maybe that’s a little on me. I didn’t spare Robin a second thought in school and look how dumb that was of me. And maybe.. i think we could have been friends. We could- we could have-“

They could have, Eddie thinks, his sneakers not really thudding against the cold rock he’s sitting on. Could have. Coulda, woulda, shoulda.

He hates thinking about could have.

“You were. So loud. And obnoxious. And.. incredible,” Steve says and Eddie goes still.

Steve bows his head, the two of then silent for a long time. “Bye, Eddie,” he says to the dead air and heads off to his car.

But even when Steve leaves Eddie remains. Max comes back, appearing somewhere and slowly pulling herself from the fog of having slipped.

And they’re together. Across from one another.

“Hey, Freak,” Max calls with no malice in her tone. Eddie hops off the headstone, stretches his muscles that aren’t sore at all.

“Heya, Red. If you had to pick a team of 5 celebrities to fight with you in a zombie apocalypse, who would you pick?”

And they spend a long time like that. Eternity, maybe, but probably more like a few hours, talking what-ifs and making up silly stories for the names from the stones around them.

Eddie laughs loud, Max smirks and rolls her eyes. It’s not perfect, but its where they are now. Across from each other.

#i might do more w this but I didn’t wanna sleep so here’s this #stranger things fic #st fic #stranger things #eddie munson fic #max mayfield fic #Eddie munson #max mayfield #just a little bit of #steddie fic #that I want to maybe expand on later #mine #fic

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slickshoesareyoucrazy · 2 months

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Back

Today is unusually warm for early spring, so even though it's still Still Dirt (really wish they'd lay some grass seed already), I'm back at the cemetery today. It's windy AF. But that's actually kind of nice. All the wind chimes people hung in the trees are sounding. The Boy hates wind chimes but I've always liked them and I like that there are so many so close to you and that today's windy. It's like all the bells are ringing for you. The bells I left are still here. So is the stone I placed on your headstone last time, which is nice. I brought another stone this time. It's from when my family took the RV to the Painted Desert 2 summers ago. I'll bring a stone every time I come. A cool looking one. Maybe one from the places I go. Or just from the driveway at home. Something that isn't going to get thrown out or blown away. Something that won't die. I'm not gonna bring flowers anymore. Because the friendship won't ever die even though you did. It's a rock. ❤️💔😢

Anyway, I kinda hate that you're here right next to your mom. I mean I get it. But also...like I think your dad has been by here since the last time I was here, and there's nothing on your grave but the stuff I left. And the petal-less flower stems that are propped up in the hole in the top of your mom's headstone (can't believe there's no memorial vase on either of yours, but there's a HOLE where there's meant to be one) really seem to me like the ones I left here for you last time. Since the petals are gone, I'll never know. And maybe it wasn't your dad. Maybe it was some cemetery worker that assumed the flowers were supposed to be on a woman's grave. And that's the closest one to you. But there aren't any new barren stems on your grave, man. And there should be, goddammit. It pisses me off that it seems like I'm the only one coming here for you. I'll always come back. I promise.

Kentucky lost and all the villains are winning in tournament ball this year so we quit watching last weekend and we turned on a documentary on Dick Vitale instead. Damn thing made me cry. The end is how he swore to honor Jim Valvano every day since he died, because that was his best friend, and he's done that for 30 years. I will too. I'll do better than Dickie V even. But I'm not ever gonna scream, "You need a T.O. baby!!!"

At least the Reds looked good on Opening Day.

A motorcycle just rode by. Makes me want to get on the bike with J but we don't have time today and the weather is taking a turn tomorrow. But it does remind me that I'm going to buy you a guardian bell. I bought J one for his bikes. That's what they're really for, but it's a nice all weather bell. Once I can find one that doesn't have religious or weird redneck shit on it, I'll bring it with a new stone to leave for you.

Alright well I gotta go now. We have to pick the Boy up from a friend's so he can go practice driving more tonight before dinner. And the gates close here stupid early. But I'll be back again. And yeah I'm still crying but at least there wasn't any snot this time. I miss you. Love you, dude. I'll come back after spring break. ❤️

#grief #visiting my best friend #should be at his house not a cemetery but here we are

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wikiangela · 1 year

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For a holiday (and forevermore) - chapter 25

Chapter 25: Christopher's birthday (excerpt):

“Dad and Buck are the best. But I wish you were here, too.”

“Your mom is always with us.” Eddie says, wrapping his free arm around him and kissing his forehead.

“I know, but I wish she was here like you’re here.” Christopher sighs, leaning his head against Eddie’s shoulder.

“Well, if she was, I bet she’d love your party. And she’d get you the greatest gift. You remember how she always bought the best gifts?” he asks, and his son nods his head, maybe not so much remembering, as knowing which things he owns are from her. “And I bet she’d love our Buck, too.” Eddie adds, looking at Buck, who looks slightly uncomfortable. When he hears his name, his eyes snap to Eddie’s face.

“She would.” Chris agrees.

“You think so?” Buck whispers so that only Eddie can hear, while Chris goes back to telling his mom about his awesome birthday. “I mean, I’m dating her ex and parenting her child. I’m not sure she’d love me. I don’t know if she’d be happy I’m even here right now.” he murmurs, looking at the headstone cautiously, as if it was about to come to life and scream at him to go away.