#plastic plants garden bed
Text
Fotos y fotos aquí encontrarás
9 años de #ves lo que ví en #tumblr
#canon#canonphotography#canonphotos#naturelover#urbannature#naturephotography#naturephotos#plants#plastic plants garden bed#trees#arbol#photography#fotografía#photography tumblr#bluesky#cielo azul#flower#plastic flowers
9 notes
·
View notes
Text
Tesvor T8
Robot Vacuum Cleaner and Mop 2000Pa Strong Suction Visual navigation
Competitive shipping is offered across Australia
1 year warranty
Visual Navigation
Gyrosensor with optical lens
Breakpoint cleaning
Intelligent cleaning
Directional cleaning
App Control / Alexa & Google Home Voice Control
Online firmware upgrade
High effect cleaning, super neat
Large watertank ,mapping the whole house
Perceive environment, sensitive response
Fall Prevention
2cm Climbing, Crossing obstacles
8.1cm thin body, go anywhere freely
With Tesvor you don’t need to change your cleaning habits, our smart robot vacuum cleaner adapts your everyday routine.
Tesvor T8 equipped with Directional cleaning system. Go any position you want to clean,App control with the living map can help you plan all cleaning path,clear and distinct.
Tesvor T8 robot vacuum cleaner with mop has Smart Mapping System, Alexa Connectivity, App Controls, and self-charging system. This robotic vacuum cleaner is perfect for pet hair, hard floors, and thin carpets. The smart system allows you to customize, schedule, monitor cleaning sessions, select cleaning modes, and know the malfunction cause on your phone.
0 notes
Text
Herschel Has Discovered Tool Use.
Again.
In january of 2021, deep in the throes of pandemic psychosis, we acquired a Corgi Puppy.
I would like to go on the record that we did not get a Corgi because they're cute. We got a Corgi because they're criminally brilliant and enthusiastic working dogs that were bred to bully cattle, which is the exact temperment a dog living in a house with three ADHD adults should have. Herschel does commit a lot of crime, but he also does his appinted service-dog job of "make everyone wake up, eat meals and go to bed at a reasonable and consistent time" extremely well, as well as his bonus jobs of "Keep the squirrels the hell out of the garden" and "Yell every time the cat does something". I didn't actually ask him to do that last job but it has helped in the "teach the cat to stay the hell off the stove" area.
But even with having a whole pack of humans another dog, and a cat to manage, this pales in comparison to his genetic capacity to manage several hundred sheep or cattle across the fields of Wales, and thus, Herschel has decided on further intellectual pursuits to occupy himself, namely, speedrunning the early phases of human tool use and terraforming.
I realized he has the brains of an entire hunter-gatherer tribe shortly after he got fixed, and within 24 hours and still dpey from anesthesia, he'd figured out that his plastic cone could be used to monopolize the water bowl and his favorite chew toys, and within a week, had learned how to carry three toys at once while leaving his mouth open by tucking the toys behind his enormous ears and under his chin. He also figured out that he could wiggle the cone to rest against his shoulders, and started using it as a shovel by literally running the bottom edge into the ground. But that wasn't making holes effeicently enough, apparently, and I ended up watching him figure out how to rotate the cone around so the two pieces of overlapping plastic were under his chin, then use his chin and the stairs to the deck to pinch both ends into a much more efficient V-Shape that let him gouge huge strips of dirt up in seconds. The anthropologists and animal behaviorists in the audience may recognize this as Tool Creation, a behavior normally only seen in higher primates, crows, and some parrots.
Once a hole of suitable length, depth and temperature had been achieved, he very carefully rolled the cone around so the digging side was over his head and the smooth side under his chin, and splooted into his hole to cool his little tummy and stitches off. It was at that point that I realized that I was going to have to teach him how to garden, or he was going to teach himself.
He no longer has the cone (He was beginning to experiment with it as a battering ram), but his morning ritual is now "Wake everyone up at 8AM by screaming, locate everyone in house and jam my nose up theirs to make sure they're alive, go outside and scream at the squirrels. Now that Yard is Secure, go get Fun Parent who has hopefully taken their meds by now, and supervise them while they rifle through the plants (this is apparently KEY to their mental health), eating any pest animals Fun Parent points out, chase squirrel AGAIN, go inside and get Breakfast cookie." and BY GOD if we deviate from it there will be much screaming and destruction. If I am not home, it has been reported that he walks round the garden beds and sniffs the plants in the order I usually check them in before he will agree to come in. He doesn't quite know what the deal with the melons is, just that they need to be checked.
But we're out of the labor-intensive parts of gardening and now into Harvesting Season, and this is a bit boring except when I give him snap peas right off the vine, and he has decided to work on the complex physics problem that is Doorknobs.
And last week, he had a breakthrough.
Sometime in 2020, my mom sort-of taught her horrible crime herding dog Arwen how to open the back door so she could let herself out as she pleased during the day and stop interrupting Mom's Zoom calls. Arwen is a Kelpie, which means she's about 60lbs with full-length legs and horrible monkey paws that are one joint away from being hands, so when Arwen wants to open the back door, she sits up, leans on the door for purchase/to push it, and uses her terrible crime hands to *push* on the knob until it turns. She can pull the knob open by pawing and catching it on her toes, but she's 11-13 years old now and has mild arthritis, so she prefers to catch it on her central pad instead. She taught Charlie, the other equally brilliant but less criminally inclined dog, to do this but he doesn't like to go outside alone, so he rarely does this.
Herschel, ever the observant student, immediately tried copying them, but even though he is actually tall enough to reach the knob, his toes are just too stubby to get a decent grip on the knob, pushing or pulling, and the first few times, gave up and sat down to scream until one of the fullsize dogs or humans came to open the door for him.
Last week, we were up at my parent's again, and I watched him hunt around the living room until he found his slightly-sticky orange rubber ball (It's clean, it's just a kind of rubber that's always a bit tacky), carry it across the house, stand up on his hind legs at the back door, put the rubber ball on top of the gap between the knob and the wall, and then push down on the ball, which caught the doorknob and turned it for him, thus opening the door. He let himself out, had a merry time yelling at the squirrels, came back in, stopped a few feet inside the door, went back out, grabbed his ball, and brought it back into his kennel, a place he can leave toys if he doesn't want the other dogs playing with them.
This means he somehow worked out how doorknobs work, how fucking levers work, and that his orange rubber ball specifically was the one that would work (none of his other toys are the correct size/texture), that he'd need that ball specifically to open the door again, and yesterday he did the same trick with the bedroom door, so he knows that the rubber ball/skeleton key can be used on all doorknobs, not just that one.
I wonder if I can teach him to sweep.
___
If you want to fund Herschel's research into Tool Use and/or get me therapy for the ensuing chaos, please feel free to donate to my Ko-Fi, or get further Dog Content by subscribing to my Patreon.
24K notes
·
View notes
Text
The Need For Weeds (Bob Floyd x Reader)
Summary: Bob learns a very valuable lesson from Meemaw about some things that are necessary for a garden
Warnings: Parenthood, mentions of pregnancy and breastfeeding etc.
Tagging: @floydsmuse @sebsxphia @bradshawsbaby @rhettabbotts @callmemana @attapullman
"Alright sweetheart," Meemaw told bob as they kept digging in the boxes. "Now remember, the flowers are all well and right, but there are some things that ya'll are gonna want in here."
"Oh?' Bob asked her.
"Yep," Meemaw answered brushing the dirt off her hands. "For one thing we're gonna need some lamb's ear, dandelion, clover. Definitely gonna want goldenrod, goosegrass and nettle."
"Aren't those all weeds though, Meemaw?" he asked her.
"Oh yes, but they'll keep out all the shit you don't want in here," she explained. "They're also good for spicin up stews, soups and other stuff in the kitchen. I've gotta lend ya'll Pawpaw's book of edible plants that he made when he was in Korea, you'll get a real kick outta that."
Bob laughed a little as he continued helping his grandmother in the garden while Auggie continuously ran back and forth with his little shovel, asking if he could dig yet. When Meemaw had told him no, he ran off to the sandbox to dig a hole of his own.
"Ya'll by any chance get some fish from the farmer's market yesterday?" she asked him.
"Yeah but it was for dinner for when you and Papa came over," Bob explained.
"Damn," Meemaw hissed under her breath. "That would've made the garden go nuts."
"Wait," Bob said. "We do have something in the greenhouse though."
He ran off to go and grab the watering can and the plastic container of liquid fertilizer, dumping just a little bit of the foul, fishy smelling substance in the bottom of the watering can.
"Oh good God this shit is FOUL," he chuckled, feigning a gagging noise.
"But it'll work," Meemaw told him.
All over the freshly planted flowers and vegetables it went, including the beds where Bob and his grandmother had planted the lamb's ear, dandelion, chicory and other weeds she had rattled off to him.
As he planted, he could hear you softly singing to Patrick, his soft little coos intertwined with your voice, coming from the open living room window. The birds that had nested in the crape myrtles had begun to sing, their tiny little chicks chirping as though they were singing with you. Bob swore he was looking and listening to heaven itself, surprising you as he poked his head in through the window to kiss you.
137 notes
·
View notes
Text
Weather Woman (Short Story)
Forty-seven dead. Bodies near unrecognizable. An eyewitness, Ms. Self, said the weather was to blame but Susan knew it was anything but that. This was homicide. Divine intervention.
“My poor poor little pansies,” she said, peering over their wilted corpses. It had officially been a whole year since Susan’s county had any rainfall. Several months ago, the town began issuing fines to anyone who dared to water their lawn. Susan did not find this to be much of an issue—she continued to keep her garden green as suburbia withered and died around her, until she ran into a small problem.
Susan ran out of money.
From all the fines she was paying.
She reentered her home, morning paper in one hand, and her weekly subscription to “Martha Stewart Living” in the other. Her house was a wondrous temple of correct furniture and appropriate color palettes, bowls of plastic fruit at the center of each faux-mahogany table. Photographs of a happy family arranged in a symmetrical pattern (Not her own, though; they were stock images.) She would have absolute perfection, were it not for that scorched eyesore that marked her entryway garden.
Susan poured her morning coffee, popped a bagel in the toaster, and turned on the weather channel for her district. That was the only thing she watched now: The weather. Mr. John Sunday in front of his green screen, with his little yellow bowtie, and his eyes the color of the unchanging sky. He looked quite unremarkable for a man that disseminated such important information to the public, but looks can be deceiving. One does not look at a perfect egg and see themselves contracting salmonella.
“Please, John, some rain for my pansies,” Susan whispered into her morning coffee. She turned up the volume and his pleasant voice filled the living room.
“Good morning, Marin County! It’s gonna be nothing but blue skies this week. Perfect weather for going on a nice long walk. And enjoying all that mother nature has to offer—“
Susan threw her bagel at the television in a fit of anger. Then promptly cleaned it off the floor and swept it into the wastebin.
What did she do to deserve these never-ending blue skies? I’m a nice woman, aren’t I? she lamented. Don’t I deserve purple pansies? Don’t I deserve a little rain?
There was something malicious and secret behind John’s blue eyes. Something he knew that she did not. She could not bear to look at them!
She shut off the TV.
Her heart beat madly in her chest. What ever would Susan do? Refill her bed of flowers with desert cacti and succulents? No, wrong color palette. Take out a loan to continue watering her plants? Now that would be ridiculous…
The weather was to blame—but Susan had a poor understanding of it. What went on up there in the sky? Who, exactly, could she send a strongly worded email to?
That same morning, Susan Kelvin decided she would take out a loan after all, but not to water her plants. Instead, she would go back to her local community college to study meteorology. She was quite sure that most of her coursework was merely propaganda from Big Weather, but she needed that associate's degree so she could learn that secret that lurked behind the eyes of Mr. John Sunday. So she could join his ranks. So she could become a Weather Woman.
Susan applied to the local television network with high hopes. The fate of her future rested on their acceptance. She snuggled into bed that same night of her application and dreamed of fresh purple pansies dotting the corners of her deep green lawn. But...something was terribly wrong!
Susan gasped for breath and opened her eyes. Strong hands grasped her arms, the fabric of a bag over her face—she was being kidnapped! Oh this is going to work horribly with my schedule! thought Susan. She began to protest but a harsh voice shushed her to silence. She was shoved into a car.
After an hour or so of stumbling around, the bag was lifted, and Susan blinked rapidly. She was in a musty room lit by candles. Deactivated cameras hung on racks against the wall, and a circle of sharply dressed bodies surrounded her, their shadows bending and stretching in the flickering light.
“Welcome,” someone said. “You have been called before our chapter because of your personal obsession with the weather. And from our understanding, your qualifications may permit that obsession to become...something more.”
Susan struggled to get her bearings. In front of her was, if she was not mistaken, sliced tofu arranged into an occult symbol.
“Your name is Susan Kelvin and you have a degree in meteorology from Marin County Community College, is this correct?”
“Yes,” Susan confirmed.
“You live alone, your parents are deceased, and you have no friends or loved ones. Is this also correct?”
“Who are you people?”
Susan then noticed that she recognized the woman sitting on her left—it was Ms. Rivers from channel eight. A proper weatherwoman, straightened and carefully sculpted black hair, with a stormy gray pantsuit that tastefully contrasted against her dark complexion. And to her right was that weatherman from channel seven what’s-his-face (his appearance was not noteworthy). And at the very front, at the head of the body of bodies, the man who had been speaking to her was none other than Mr. John Sunday in his yellow bow tie.
“What interest do you have in becoming a Weather Woman, Ms. Susan Kelvin?”
“I…um…”
They waited patiently for her answer. It suddenly occurred to Susan that this was probably a job interview. She straightened her back and folded her hands in front of her.
“I believe I could bring a lot of value and a unique perspective to the weather conversation,” Susan said. “It has affected me personally…My district hasn’t had any rain in over a month.”
“I’m sorry,” John said. “That must be terrible for you.”
“What are you apologizing for? You can’t control the weather.”
John Sunday leaned forward, and his blue eyes flashed a deep dark red. “Oh but we can.”
“Can what?”
“We control the weather, Susan.”
Susan narrowed her eyes. “That is completely absurd. You’re all a bunch of wierdo people who kidnapped me and I’m...I’m going to tell the authorities!”
“No one will believe you,” whispered Rivers.
Susan glared at everyone, but the weather people held still, not a trace of doubt of their ability. But surely the truth about the weather would not be so…uncomplicated. Surely the unseen forces that murdered her flowers would not have human faces.
“I don’t believe you,” Susan said plainly. “But I do need this job so that I can pay off my student loans–”
“The forecasters bear a burden.” John ignored her question. The speech was likely rehearsed. “To be a forecaster is self-sacrifice! To be a forecaster is to be a champion of the greater good! Does that describe you, Susan Kelvin?”
She hesitated.
Champion is rather vague. It can have multiple meanings.
She thought of her beautifully decorated house.
Oh, but I am certainly good.
She thought of her neighbors and their inferior sense of style.
And I am certainly greater!
Slowly, Susan nodded her head.
The weather people muttered amongst themselves enthusiastically, like children, until silenced by John.
“Excellent,” he said. “Very good. Then, on behalf of the California chapter of forecasters, the masters of the weather, we welcome you. Thank you, Great Mother.”
“Thank you, Great Mother.” the weatherpeople said in tandem.
Someone clapped twice, and the overhead lamps blasted light everywhere.
“You’ll be shadowing Rivers tomorrow at eight. Look sharp,” John said dramatically, but without the candlelight defining his cheekbones, it was quite hard to take him seriously.
The next day, Susan arrived at exactly eight o’ clock, wearing her best suit, and hair pulled back in a tight bun. She found Rivers, on set, eating conservatively from a bag of soynuts.
“Oh hey! It’s you,” the weatherwoman said. “Sorry about all that cult stuff. John can be so dramatic.”
Susan smiled in relief, but quickly hid it away. “That is an understatement,” she muttered. “Will there be any more kidnappings?”
“Only for your monthly status report,” she said, “But give me your number and I can text you before it happens.”
Susan did so hesitantly, and kept staring at her phone after the fact. She had one whole contact now. How quaint.
That day, Susan was supposed to examine the cue cards, inspect the camera crews, and stare intently at the weatherwoman, noting every minute thing she did. Rivers delivered her forecast with a smile. Blue skies again.
“That’s disappointing,” Susan said to her over lunch. “I was hoping for some rain in my district.”
“John already has the weather planned out for the next few weeks,” Rivers said stiffly. “So sorry.”
Susan did not laugh. “This again? Tell me you do not believe this “controlling the weather” nonsense! You are not wizards!”
“Did you not see our occult symbols?”
Susan swatted at the air. “Meaningless shapes.”
“And what about John’s flashing red eyes?”
Susan’s voice lowered to a whisper, “Now, I don’t know about that…But he should see a medical professional.”
Rivers rolled her eyes and left to prepare for her evening forecast. When it was done and there were no more cue cards to read from, she very quickly told the audience, in a joking manner, that there would be isolated showers over their recording studio from exactly five fifty PM to five fifty one PM. She then strut off the stage with a smirk.
“Well, that’s an oddly specific forecast—“
The weather woman grabbed her by the wrist and led her all the way to the back-door exit with the recycling and the parking lot.
“Check your phone,” Rivers said.
Susan did not see why she should, there would be no messages. This was because she only had one contact, you see. But as she held her phone in her hand, a large raindrop splattered on the screen. Then another. And now rain was pouring from the sky, dripping down her hair and suit. Susan’s jaw dropped. She had not felt rain in so long. It was five-fifty. And by five fifty-one, the clouds departed as if swept away by a large broom. The sunlight stung her face.
Rivers smiled at her.
So they really did control the weather.
This revelation posed a great many questions. Like, why did the public not know about this? And why did the weathercasters have these powers? And why had Susan studied for two years to become a meteorologist when she could just pulled forecasts out of her asshole? Susan frowned. Now that she thought about it, it was rather odd that her meterology courses mostly consisted of specifications for ritual sacrifice and obedience lessons. Susan had simply thought it was “one of those things” about academia.
“Well, Rivers…”
“Yes, Susan?”
“I suppose this whole “forecasting” thing is...it’s fun, isn’t it?”
“Fun doesn’t do it justice!” Rivers said, through a handful of soynuts. “Just knowing how much power there is behind your every word. So long the camera is rolling, there is nothing stopping you from doing anything you damn well please!” Rivers laughed heartily, but kept her eyes trained on Susan. “Except your conscience, of course!”
“Oh, yes,” Susan said. “Ha ha!”
Fun doesn’t do it justice…It had been a while since Susan Kelvin had fun. She tried to remember when that was.
Oh, yes, of course!
It had been two weeks ago. Susan had just gotten home from work after a rough day, shoulders drooping, hair ruffled, when she looked down on her front porch and saw a beetle. The bug was turned on its back, legs flailing weakly in the air. There was nothing nearby for grasping, nothing but hot sunburned concrete. This bug had no way of righting itself yet it struggled still. Susan sat down and watched this bug. She watched it until it stopped moving. Until it returned to its natural state. Nonexistence. That had been fun, Susan remembered fondly. I am eager to have fun again.
After two days of shadowing Rivers, Susan was given her own partition of airtime over her district and a weekly forecast by her fellow weatherpeople. She delivered the forecast exactly as instructed. Blue skies.
“Pretty good for a first-time,” Rivers said. “Although, you were a bit stiff. Trying showing more emotion, more body language, you know?” She placed her fingers on her own cheekbones, pressing them upward. “Remember to smile.”
Susan didn’t know why she hadn’t. Perhaps she wasn’t having fun yet. She spent the rest of that evening practicing smiling in the mirror. She read Martha Stewart, baked a five-cheese lasagna exactly per the instructions, and smiled upon removing it from the oven like Martha Stewart did in the picture. She smiled until she did it without thinking, baring her teeth even in bed, as she dreamed of purple pansies.
The next day, she delivered her forecast so well that even John himself gave her a flamboyant “Well done!” And Susan smiled at them as they congratulated her—but still she was not having fun.
All this power and I never get to do anything worthwhile. Susan sighed. I could fix my front lawn if only John would let me.
Later at the meeting, Susan tried to articulate her feelings.
“We could be doing so much more, John. We could be helping the needy, like those poor people of Marin County who’s front lawns have been destroyed by the California heat!”
The weather people muttered undecidedly. Susan recognized her experiences were not universal, and acted accordingly, “Or what about people affected by hurricanes! Or wildfires, droughts, what about them, John! All those poor people we could help with our power—“
“Our power is a gift, you fool!” John snapped.
Susan raised an eyebrow. “A gift?”
“From Zietzebala,” said Rivers. “Our Great Mother Earth. She has gifted us with this forecasting power in exchange for our obedience as well as a few…sacrifices.”
“Ah.” Susan looked down. “And I suppose they have to be virgins too, don’t they. I’m still friends on facebook with a lot of men I went to highschool with who are probably–”
“No! Dammit, no! I meant, like, recycle. Plant a tree!” John looked exasperated. “Sometimes we sacrifice a tofurky, but we’ve never really gone farther than that.”
“Maybe we should,” muttered Rivers.
John turned sharply to look at her. “Don’t think I don’t know about that little stunt you pulled yesterday,” he said with a voice like acid. “Isolated showers? Over our studio? You know how important the schedule is–”
“I’m sorry.” Rivers said. She did not appear sorry. “It will not happen again.”
“It had better not.”
John left the room in a huff.
Once he was safely out of earshot, Susan asked “What did you mean by that?”
Rivers sighed. “I know what you mean about wanting to help. About all the good we could do. Climate change has already killed millions…and the death toll will continue to rise.”
Susan thought of her dead flowers and trembled.
“Don’t feel bad, Rivers,” she said. “It’s not your fault.”
“No but it is literally our fault we control the weather Susan.“
“Oh right.”
Susan had forgotten.
Rivers began crushing the snacks in her hand. “The horrible thing is–I could fix it all. I have an incredibly detailed plan to fix the environment that, when I placed it on the alter to Zietzebala, turned into a swarm of doves! So I know she approves!”
Rivers glared. “But her pact is with John. And John has a bad heart.”
Susan nodded. “Truly a wicked man.”
“No, he literally has a bad heart. Arrhythmia.” Rivers hit twice against her chest. “I’m next in line for leadership if ever something terrible happens to him, just so you know.” She looked askance, placing her hand on Susan’s. “Do with that information what you will, Susan.”
Several things flashed through her mind at once. She saw Rivers dressed in the fanciful robes of climate cult leader. Rivers telling her how beautiful her lawn was. River’s soft, well-manicured hands holding hers, not just now, but over and over again in the future. Rivers could be more than her singular phone contact. Susan’s cheeks grew hot and she withdrew.
“Susan?”
She collected herself, pouring another class of ceremonial non-alcoholic wine. She raised it in a toast. “Here’s to hoping John drops dead!”
Rivers laughed, “Oh Susan, you’re so funny.”
Ms. Susan Kelvin squeezed her incredibly soft hand. “And when you’re head forecaster, you’ll give my district some water, won’t you? Because we are…coworkers?”
Ms. Rivers seemed confused for a half-second, then replied. “Of course! We will help everyone, which includes you!”
“But not me specifically?”
“Not you specifically, no.”
“Oh.”
Susan looked away.
Rivers offered her a soynut, but Susan refused it.
***
Next morning, Susan awoke with a start. She had a good feeling about today, that good feeling had apparently kicked her out of bed at an hour earlier than usual. What to do with the spare time?
She clapped her hands together. I know! I will go out for breakfast!
So Susan drove her little car down to her neighborhood Denny’s, avoiding all the dead beetles in the parking lot with her new high heels. She squeezed herself into a cozy booth. A nice table all to herself.
A waitress approached.
“Brown toast, and two eggs please.”
“Will that be sunny-side up, ma’am?”
“No no,” Susan turned from the window. Blue skies. With a twinge of bitterness she clarified, “I like my eggs over easy.”
“Sure thing!” The waitress jotted it down. “Sorry for assuming, most people like ‘em sunny—.”
“Well I like them over easy,” Susan said with a smile.
Susan tapped her heel as she waited, sipping some lemon water. A tingling feeling ran up her leg, like a bug was crawling. She quickly ran her hand up and down her smooth leg, but it was nothing. Nothing.
Moments later a steaming hot plate arrived. The toast was cut into triangles (the only adequate shape), but the eggs. Oh, the eggs. They were sunny. Side. UP.
Susan stormed out of the establishment without paying, and sped to her job, positively seething.
She did her broadcast as normal, except for one teensy addition as follows:
“Lastly, you’ll be seeing a horrific category five hurricane over in Marin county with wind speeds of about one hundred twenty miles an hour. It will be localized entirely within this area.” Susan pointed with her pointing stick to the map, on which she’d drawn a red circle around that one particular Denny’s.” Susan smiled. “That will be all!”
They cut to commercial break.
No one approached Susan for a full five minutes. Then John appeared, apparently having powerwalked from the adjoining broadcast room.
“Susan, what the hell–”
“It was a joke!”
John looked flabbergasted.
Susan made a silly face.
“A…joke?”
“Yes.”
He shook his head. “Susan…you need to be really fucking careful with “jokes” when you’re on camera…You’re not in training anymore. Everything you say will happen no matter how ridiculous.”
Susan smiled slightly. That was exactly what she hoped.
John put a firm hand on her shoulder. “Look here, when the commercial ends, you are going to tell everyone that was a “joke”. You are going to tell everyone that there will be no category five hurricane at that particular Denny’s. Okay?”
“Okay, John.”
He backed away as the camera man counted down. Susan straightened her collar.
“Good evening, Citizens of Marin county. I have something to tell you all about that Category Five hurricane I mentioned earlier.”
Susan thought about reversing her decision. But why should she? That Denny’s had tried to poison her. She was doing God’s work.
She cleared her throat. “That hurricane is going to have hail. So so much hail.” John was pulling at his hair.
“And that’s not all. Susan looked directly at the camera, “Mr. John Sunday is going to die at exactly six forty-seven PM, and nothing that anyone does, not any doctor, not any ambulance, not any priest will be able to stop it.”
John Sunday ran onto the set, jumping over the rolling chairs and camera crew, reaching for her microphone.
“And the power to this station will go off NOW.”
Darkness fell. Susan tried to run, but John tackled her to the ground. He pulled the microphone from her face and shouted into it, “No! No that will not happen, actually, that will not happen. Susan is wrong!”
But the cameras were not running.
“You’re too late, John.”
John clutched his face.
“What time is it?”
It was six forty-six.
There was terror in his eyes, “That wasn’t even weather related!” he stammered. “You will be fired for this!”
“Who is going to fire me, John?”
John took out his cellphone with a shaking hand and dialed 911. Susan heard it ringing, a steady pulse in his hand. But what John really needed was a steady pulse in his heart. He fell over in agony, and Susan bent over his writhing body. She watched until it stopped. Until it returned to it’s natural state. Nonexistence. Now she was having fun. Susan took his yellow bow tie (it was a clip-on.)
She ran through the crowd of concerned onlookers, off to her car to beat the rush-hour traffic. She heard sirens in the distance, a wailing chorus. Approaching. She clutched the wheel until her knuckles turned white.
Susan saw the siren was that of an ambulance and sighed. Pity that it wouldn’t help anything. What was done was done.
That night, Susan made tea before sleeping, listening to the soft rain against her window as it cooled, with one of Martha Stewart's Living magazines resting on her lap. It was all very calming. She tucked herself into bed at exactly nine-thirty, as she did every night, and slept as she had always slept.
But in her dreams, something was wrong.
Something was terribly wrong.
Susan always dreamed about being in her house, but now she was on a pedestal. On all sides of her, a dark abyss stretched down into infinity.
Instead of her carpet, the ground was teeming with worms.
Instead of the whistling of her teakettle, she heard an ominous wind, delivering muffled shrieks and cries.
Susan tapped her foot on the wormy ground. Well, this is boring! she thought.
But no sooner did her mind form that thought than the wind began to pick up.
Howling now.
And from the sky of inclement weather came a flash of blinding lightning. Susan opened her eyes and who should stand before her but...
“Martha Stewart!” Susan struggled to speak. “I am your biggest fan, I’ve—I’ve read every issue of your magazine, I read your blog—I try so hard to be just like you!”
The woman answered in a booming voice that was far too deep, “But you are not like me, Susan. You are a hollow vessel. You are a parody of human being.”
“You’re not...really Martha Stewart, are you?”
The woman bared her teeth. “I’m afraid not. I am merely taking a form that you can understand.”
Susan had a feeling she knew who it was. “Are you... Great Mother?”
“The one and only!” Zietzebala winked.
Susan looked her up and down. That dress was actually quite unfashionable now that she really looked at it. In hindsight it was obvious this was not Martha Stewart. Susan sighed soberly. Yes, not even a literal goddess can replicate such perfection.
Susan spoke to her in her usual condescending manner. “Why have you come to me like this...in a dream?”
“Isn’t it obvious why I’m here?” Not-Martha-Stewart said softly. “John Sunday is dead.”
Susan began to sweat. She adjusted her bow tie—no that was John’s bow tie, now she had drawn attention to it!
With the intention of discreteness, and complete failure of that which was intended, Susan removed the article and hurled it into the abyss. Not even a full second later, the bow tie had reappeared.
Again, Susan tossed it.
Again, it reappeared.
Again, she tossed it.
Bow tie back again!
Again, she tossed it—
“This is who you are now, Susan!” shouted Zietzebala. Crackling thunder leapt from her perfect face-framing bob-cut of yellow hair. “This is your burden.”
But the yellow of the bow tie didn’t even go with the current color palette of her outfit! Susan stood helplessly, in her persistently unfashionable clothing, staring into the eyes of this unearthly creature. And for the first time in her perfect life, Susan feared for her immortal soul.
“Great Mother, I am so sorry,” she said tearfully, “But you must let me explain myself! He was preventing me from doing my job as a forecaster, so I had to kill him. I had to!”
Not-Martha-Stewart's eyes flashed red. “Don’t take all the credit, my child. I killed him. You merely allowed me to.”
Susan stopped pretending to look upset. “Oh. So we are on the same page?”
“Not exactly.”
The Great Mother began to circle her, her high heels striking the writhing ground. “John is dead because he thought he could worship two gods at once.”
“He cheated on you?”
“With money.” Zietzebala shook her head. “John was too soft, much like the tofu he insists on sending me…He was unwilling to make the sacrifices I demand. But are you?”
The goddess was getting too close for comfort.
“That…depends…what they are?”
“I want blood, Susan.”
She had figured.
“Rivers has a two hundred page plan on how to save the environment. You are instrumental to that plan, Susan Kelvin. Because you are unlike any human I have ever known.” Her eyes glimmered like starlight. “You are…completely empty.”
Susan frowned. She felt strange. She felt used.
“I must go now–”
“Wait,” Susan stopped her. “While you’re here, can I ask you some questions about the nature of the universe? I’ve had a sudden stroke of curiosity.”
Zietzebala sighed. “Ok. I’ll give you three.”
“Objectively speaking, is the “Farmhouse style” or “Riverside cottage” style superior for a home kitchen?”
“That depends on the context, Susan.”
“Why are all the flowers in the magazines prettier than mine?”
“Because of the drought, Susan.”
She paused. Her last question…What shall it be?
After putting some thought into it, Susan decided to ask, “Is there life after death?”
Zietzebala smirked playfully. “Oh, I think you already know the answer.”
“Do I?”
“Haven't you ever thought there was a bug on your leg, and upon looking, found there was no bug?”
Susan squinted. “What of it?”
The Goddess leaned in closely. “Ghost bugs.”
Susan shuddered, the hairs on the back of her neck prickling. Susan grabbed onto the front of the goddess’s coat.
“Wait, I have one more question.”
“I said I’d give you three.”
“Please, just one more!” Susan demanded. “Are there other gods?”
“You already know the answer.”
Susan scoffed. “I’m…not sure that I do!”
Zietzebala turned from her, staring into the abyss. “It is time for you to wake up, Susan. Remember all that I have told you. Collaborate with Rivers. Eliminate everyone she tells you to.”
“What?”
“Be the good that Martha Stewart wants you to be–or there will be consequences!”
With that, she clapped twice and disappeared in a puff of smoke that smelled like cedar and pumpkin-scented candles.
Susan sat up from her bed abruptly and jerked her head to the side. Six o’ clock. I must get ready for work!
Susan hurriedly bread her hands, popped her soap in the toaster, ironed the carpet, and tore down Main Street. In her urgency, she went two miles above the speed limit.
Seeds of doubts sprouted worries in her mind. Do I really have what it takes to be an eco-terrorist? Susan fancied herself the very image of perfection. Was she not? She who kept her lawn so neatly trimmed? Who’s china was so neatly kept? Susan breathed rapidly. She who ravaged a Denny’s…
Destruction.
Peace.
Order.
Susan whirled into the parking lot of the recording studio, blew past everyone without a word, avoiding inquisitive eyes, avoiding accusatory fingers, planting her ass firmly in her little red rolling chair. She took a deep breath. Be the good…that Martha Stewart wants you to be.
Rivers ran up on stage, grabbed Susan’s face and kissed her passionately. Susan stumbled backwards, bracing herself against the desk. This was NOT an appropriate workplace activity. But Susan could not help herself. She returned the expression, kissing Rivers hungrily, barely noticing the notecards that had been pressed into her hand.
“We’re on in five!”
Rivers pulled away and Susan gasped for breath. “Read these exactly as they are written Susan,” Rivers said.
Susan dared not look down at the paper in her hand. What horrible dreadful things would be written on them?
Television static buzzed in her head. Someone was counting down.
The cameras trained on her.
“Now we will go live to Susan Kelvin with the weather!” The news reporter eyed Susan from her screen. “And I see you are wearing John Sunday’s signature yellow bow tie.”
Susan leaned forward slowly.
“That I am, Fiona. I have worn it to pay my respects—God rest his soul.”
“It’s kind of weird that you were able to forecast his death in such perfect detail.”
Susan paused.
“Yes well…he had a heart condition. So it was only a matter of time really.
“Of course.”
Susan exhaled deeply, and looked down.
Written on the notecards were not the names of oil barons to kill. Not golf courses to destroy. Not death, not destruction. Written on the card was simply the words “rain for everyone”
The television static grew purple.
Rain for everyone.
It was insulting.
“...Susan?”
Her eyes met Rivers. She was grinning ear to ear.
Rain for everyone.
Susan’s whole body shook as she began to deliver her forecast, “A cloud… will appear.”
The room melted away, only Rivers remained.
“Right over my house. A cloud will appear and it will rain. And it will never stop raining.”
Rivers smile twisted into a look of abject horror.
“And my pansies will respond to the rain. They will be the brightest purple. They will be the envy of all you disgusting animals.” Susan hadn’t noticed but she was screaming every word.
The ground beneath the recording studio quaked from thunder. The contract had been broken, wrath was eminent.
“I AM NOT EMPTY! I AM FULL OF PANSIES! I AM FULL OF RAIN.”
Flowers began sprouting from Susan’s ears, nose and eyes. Water poured from her mouth onto the floor. Choking on rain, Susan finished her forecast.
“And that…just about…wraps it up. Ba–ck…to you!”
A bolt of lightning shot down from the heavens, miraculously cutting through the walls of the recording studio, striking Susan. She fell from the stage. Shortly after, more bolts came and the recording studio violently burst into flames.
Forty-seven dead. Bodies near unrecognizable. Eyewitnesses said that the weather was to blame but Ms. Rivers knew that it was anything but that. Homicide. Divine intervention.
Rivers stood alone in the parking lot, charred bow tie in one hand, and in the other, a flash drive full of files full of lies for the goddess of earth. The only god. “Damn you.” Her fingers closed around the yellow cloth.
Rain fell in sheets from the sky above Susan Kelvin's house, with no sign of stopping. Her pansy grew taller than cornstalks, stretching upwards, garishly purple. But Susan would never see them. Susan Kelvin was gone.
Though, some say that on hot summer days when the sky is endless blue, at the back of your neighborhood Denny’s, you can feel her.
Crawling on your leg.
#This is my first short story I've posted to Tumblr!#It's like that one episode of the Fairly Oddparents but if it was more gay and political#It has lesbians and Denny's in it but I swear that was an accident I am not pandering#hope you like it#short story#short fiction#writers on tumblr#writeblr#writing#weather woman
79 notes
·
View notes
Text
SLEEPY TIME SNUGGLES!
paring:wally x puppet!gn!reader (romantic)
warning:nothing! just mostly fluff ^^
note:the following contains mentions of past personalities, I suggest you look at the following link to understand my puppet y/n au and have a nice read ^^
link: puppet y/n
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
it`s the start of a new day!
the sun shines and the birds sing, the air carries the smell of freshly bloomed flowers as spring begins. As the neighborhood becomes awake and busy, wally opens homes door to greet the outside, a smile on his face with a canvus and several bottles of paint in his arms. it was the perfect day to paint he believed "ill be back later home, see you soon!" he speaks to the house as he makes his way out the open door, with a creak and a squeak in response home shuts its door for wally as he had his hands full. what a nice home.
several minutes goes by as wally walks down the yellow pavement, passing by houses and work places of his fellow neighbors. until he spots it, a home that is decorated in a new design compared to yesterday. it`s still wet from fresh paint and the plants in the property was replaced with different plants, a garden gnome that was once there yesterday was replaced with a plastic flamingo and different colored stepping stones. it is the house of his beloved, a wonderful person...or people they are. he wonders who they are today, maybe a florist? or even a baker? whatever they may be today he will love them all the same.
while drawing closer to the house he noticed a person laying in the grass, face planted in the ground with their hair a mess and still wearing pajamas like it is not day just yet. wally drops his painting supplies in shock and runs over to his beloved, his felt heart racing at the thought that they have hurt themselves and he wasn`t here to help "my dear?” wally says as he slightly shakes them, fear gripping his heart....only for him to let out a sigh of relief when the puppet made a sound that resembles a groan and the muffled words "five more minutes".
wally chuckles a bit at his beloveds antic and shakes them again "sweetheart you should be sleeping in your bed, not the grass" wally says in a sweet voice, causing the puppet to turn their head to the side so wally can hear them "i wanted to sleep on my roof but i couldnt find my ladder" they said in a joking tone, it makes wally smile that they are ok. "let me help you up" wally suggested as he helps them off the ground, his beloved lets out a big yawn and rubs their eye, wally now noticed dark circles around their eyes, like they have not slept in days "oh dear, lets get you inside and into bed. itll be much better then the grass" wally stated as he leads them to their own front door "what about your paint stuff?" they asked as they saw the pile of paint supplies wally dropped moments ago, followed by another yawn "it`s not going anywhere" wally says "besides, you are more important" he added to his statement before he leads them inside.
it didn`t take long for wally to take them to their room so they can sleep in their bed, the layout of the home was the only thing that always remained the same each day. he watches as they crawl into their own bed only for them to look in wallys direction and beckons him to come closer, wally does walk over only to expect a goodbye kiss on the cheek. when instead they grabbed his hand to pull him in the bed with them "whoa!" he says in surprise as he now rests on the soft mattress full of many pillows and blankets…with his beloved wrapping their arms around him "stay with me? please? just until i fall asleep" they mumbled, already half way asleep.
wally can feel his heart speed up and his cheeks grow warm, he wouldn`t mind this but it was still a big surprise. he wraps his arms around his beloved "ill stay" he says in a whisper, not wanting to wake them up further by talking in a normal tone. it takes only five minutes for them to finally fall sleep, lightly snoring and their limbs go limp as they relax into their deep slumber. wally wouldn’t dare to move, he would give anything for this moment to last forever, but he knows that soon you both will have to get up and continue the day.
he stares at the nightstand, seeing a alarm clock reading 10:37 and still ticking... maybe a nap couldn't hurt, just 30 minutes longer...and he will then get up and do his daily painting… that sounds nice...
he slowly closes his eyes, being careful not to accidentally 'eat' one of the many trinkets in the room...and eventually...falls into a long blissful sleep.
#wally darling x reader#wally darling x y/n#welcome home#puppet y/n#puppet reader au#welcome home puppet show#welcome home arg#wally darling#so sorry if it’s ooc for Wally#I haven’t written in a while so I hope this is good enough#wally x reader
428 notes
·
View notes
Text
Hey, I'm kinda back! First of all I want to apologize for the pending requests :( I had writer's block and recently I started another semester at Uni so I'm barely writing anything 🥹 But I hope this little something about Pup! Dani can make up for it </3
Puppy! Danielle x Fem! Owner! Reader, Hybrid AU, Fluff.
Although you've bought Danielle all kinds of toys —plastic bones, balls, strings, even a squeaky toy in the shape of a steak— as soon as you get out of bed, ready for breakfast, you discover two things: Dani is not here. Your left slipper is gone, too.
Oh, my.
Still groggy from drowsiness, and more asleep than awake, you make your way across the room only to discover the entirety of the picture. Four more shoes are missing, both left and right, and the toys —the ones Dani was so amused playing with last night— are scattered all over the floor.
This is Dani's idea, you think as you bend down and pick up the squeaky steak-shaped toy, the aussie puppy's favorite. Maybe you can distract her with that (when you find her) and thus retrieve your footwear, if they're not already buried in the yard. Hopefully not.
"Dani! Where did you go, sweet girl?"
No answer.
"Dani? Dani! Where are you?
The hybrid doesn't answer your call either, so you end up leaving your room, toy in hand. You walk slowly, so you can look around carefully, in case you find any sign of Danielle's presence.
You live in a pretty little house, in a nice, familiar neighborhood, with access to a large backyard, and it suddenly occurs to you that this very spot might be the one where the puppy could be, playing around. It occurs to you that because, first of all, Dani has rambled on about 100 times about how much she loves the backyard, and because second, but not least, there are freaking footprints all over the floor.
They're mud stains, with Danielle's footprints in them. And boy, must she have been going around, because the footprints follow different patterns; zig-zag, in circles, in a straight line. You lean a little, examining the tracks that are fresher, because the mud spread on the ground is still wet, and you follow that trail of footsteps to the sliding door that leads to the garden.
The door is slightly open and when you open it all the way to get out, the morning breeze blows against your face. Brr, it's cold, and you feel a shiver down your back as you walk down the two small steps leading to the courtyard. The light morning dew keeps the grass pleasantly damp (not wet), but it looks so untouched that it doesn't look like Dani has been around.
If anything, everything is the same: the perfectly mowed lawn, the plantings of gypsophila and chrysanthemums, the little wooden bench where you sit to watch the sunset. Nothing is different...until, as you walk along, you notice small mounds of dirt and uprooted grass in one corner. Ding ding, there she is.
You follow that trail and, as you get closer, the pile of dirt and grass gets bigger, uncovering a shoe half-buried in a hole, and beyond that, the person responsible for said occurrence. Because of course, Dani not only leaves a trail of mayhem wherever she goes, but she's innocent (and dumb, in Haerin's words) enough to stay at the scene of the crime.
"Dani!" you call to her, approaching quickly. She's squatting, digging with both hands another hole to bury the lost slipper. She doesn't perk her ears up, doesn't seem to hear you, and keeps digging. "Danielle, for the love of all that is good what are you doing?"
The Australian shepherd puppy twitch and perks up her ears, recognizing your voice. She turns and her tail starts wagging, unbothered by being full of dirt from head to toe, she lunges to hug you so tightly that the two of you fall.
"OWNER, OWNER, OWNER! I MISSED YOU SO, SO, SO, SO MUCH!" Danielle squeals and spins in circles, tail wagging. She's super excited to see you at last. From the hybrid shelter days that Dani has a habit of waking up early, so when she comes to your home she does the exact same thing, so during the hours when you were sleeping, she has really missed you.
That's a lot of alone time for the innocent, restless puppy.
"I missed you too, puppy" you respond with a gasp, because Danielle's weight (who isn't exactly feather-light) is half cutting off your air supply by repeatedly jumping on you.
"VERY MUCH, VERY MUCH?" yep, Danielle doesn't know how to speak softly. She has to scream. Or bark, for all intents and purposes.
"Uh-huh, very much."
"Owner sleeps a lot," Danielle whines, frowning and pouting. "I got bored. But because I missed you so much, I stole your shoes. It's just that I wanted to play, y'know? and now I want to play too! Will you play with me?"
So many "play" in one sentence, you sigh, closing your eyes for a moment. You're going to do what the puppy wants...but in a moment. You need to catch your breath and be able to stand up.
"I'll play with you, but let me get up..."
But Dani, excited to know that you will play with her, doesn't listen to you. She jumps, spins, runs, and countless times manages to knock you down again and again. You are already tied as to who is dirtier for the dirt.
"PLAY, PLAY, PLAY, PLAY!"
"DANIELLE, I CAN'T GET UP!" you say, before another shove sends you flying. It's surprisingly strong. "Okay, that's it. I'm dead. Not moving from here."
If you'd said that to Hanni (which is like the most well-behaved), she'd probably drop her antics aside. But it's Danielle, aka 'I take things literally'.
"DON'T DIE, OWNER, YOU GOTTA PLAY WITH ME!" Danielle and her dirt-filled hands clamp down on your shoulders, whipping you around like a rag doll.
"Y'know, I thought you were going to say 'don't die, but because you love me."
"That too, BUT YOU HAVE TO PLAY WITH ME! I WILL DIE OF BOREDOM IF YOU DON'T PLAY WITH ME! so you play with me, or I'll bury all your shoes."
"Are you threatening me?"
"Um, no?"
"Uh-huh, I'll pretend to believe you." you shake your head, with some exasperation. Danielle relents and pulls away a little, just enough so she can do her little puppy eyes in an 'I didn't do it' kind of way.
God, this bratty puppy.
"So, yeah? we play?" insists the puppy, crawling towards you. She has dirt on her knees, dirt on her hands, and even leaves in her hair (and probably smells pretty nasty), but somehow inexplicably you strike her as the most precious living thing.
"Hey, sweet girl, let's make a deal. Yeah?" you get down on your knees, facing Dani, looking at her very lovingly. Even when Danielle does that kind of shenanigans on a constant, almost daily basis, it's like physically impossible to get mad at her.
If it's possible, you even love her even more. Her innocence, her energy, the transparency with which she expresses her feelings, are too much for your heart to handle. "first you're going to bathe, i'll put you in clean clothes, and then we can play. sometimes the dirt has bugs that can bite you or hurt you, and i don't want that for you. i promised you i'd take care of you, remember? that's why it's important to be clean, without dirt."
Dani nods, looking at you with those big eyes she gets whenever you talk to her. Her puppy dog look is a true reflection of the purity she possesses, and in turn, the undisguised affection in her eyes. She admires and loves you, and you reciprocate such feelings.
"You see? you're a good girl, Dani. Very good girl, and I love you so much" not caring that you are both full of dirt, completely obviating the fact of getting dirty, you clasp the puppy in a warm embrace.
"I love you too, owner."
"Now...who wants a bath then play?" you ask with a playful little smile, kissing Dani's head, her plush little ears, then down her forehead, nose and cheeks. Dani stifles a bark of happiness, as she wiggles in your arms, before letting go and darting off into the house, screaming in a baton, "BATH-BATH-BATH!"
God, you adore her so much.
After Danielle enters the house like a bullet, you stare at her for a moment, smiling without realizing it, your heart overflowing with joy and love. That puppy, who in a daily dose fills your yard with holes and buries your shoes, has brought into your life the most wonderful, unfading happiness.
Life with Dani feels like a vast ocean of possibilities that opens in front your eyes; new adventures, the almost certainty that nothing is impossible, and in general everything that you could live together with Danielle, because next to her, you can be sure that everything will be fine.
That everything is limitless, just like the sky, as long as you have each other.
#hybrid!au#kpop hybrid au#new jeans x reader#new jeans imagines#hybrid!newjeans#puppy!danielle#new jeans danielle#danielle x reader
64 notes
·
View notes
Text
Next lifetime (request)
Franklin Saint x BLACK!FEM!reader
WARNINGS: no protection(wrap before you tap!), virginity mentions(it’s virgin sex guys lol), cheating(technically),smut smut smuttt
SUMMARY:reader has a shitty boyfriend she’s being forced to be with because her parents don’t like Franklin, Frank is a simp so he’s determined to have her either way! He sneaks in her bedroom and they have a lil breakdown before they virgin asses almost break the bed <3
Ps. This took so long to write cause I kept changing my mind about shit so I apologize to the person who requested it 😭 so if y’all see the pov randomly change pls ignore.
✮✮✮✮
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
Her head picks up from out of the book she was reading, her attention moving towards her window.
Tap.
She heard again, but this time she saw something actually make contact with the glass. Something small, like a pebble or a piece of plastic.
‘Da hell?’ She thought, reaching over and turning her music down lower than it already was, ‘the girl is mine’ by Michael Jackson no longer being heard through the speakers.
Tap.
That time around the sound was a little more aggressive and impatient, slightly ticking the girl off. She sat her novel down on her nightstand and got down from her bed, slowly striding her way to the window to see who or what was so desperately trying to grasp her attention. Peeking out of the curtains, she squints, searching for the culprit.
“Open the damn window, girl!” She heard a muffled voice from down below. She looks down, spotting her bestfriend, Franklin. The girl couldn’t help but face palm. not cause he wasn’t supposed to be there, not because he was extremely loud and risking getting her in trouble, but because he was also ruining her flower garden that decorated the side of the house, his feet being planted into the wide flower pot so he could reach the window
He waves as she looks at him, almost falling, but the grip he had on the side of the house must’ve been enough to hold him up.
Opening up her window, she crosses her arms. “Nigga, I know you not down there ruining my bushes and tulips” she complains in a hushed tone, and he looks up at her with a ‘sorry’ smile, shrugging.
“And you just don’t care, do you?”
“Of course I care about your lil garden, it’s beautiful…like you”
she rolls her eyes, fighting a small smirk that was tugging at her plump lips.
“Corny” she mumbles. “Yeah, whatever. Whatchu doing here?” She asks, leaning on the windowsill with her arms, now kneeling. He shrugs again.
“I can’t visit my best friend?”
She shakes her head, knowing he was up to no good. There was no other reason for him to be there so late in the night other than hearing gossip. Gossip about her, which she couldn’t seem to hide from these days. There had been rumors about her relationship with her ex ‘Caine’ for about a week now, but the newest one was that they got back together. Not that it was her choice. He most likely knew that though.
“I didn’t say you couldn’t see me, it’s just…You know you’re not supposed to be here” she spoke lowly and he nods, sighing. “I wanted to see you”
She chuckles. “you always wanna see me”
“that’s a crime?” He asks, starting to jump for the windowsill to pull himself up. On one lucky jump, he was able to get a good grip on the window, attempting to pull himself inside. She watches him, sighing to herself.
“In this house? apparently”
he laughs and she crawls backwards so he could climb in fully. He did just that, readjusting his hand placement to the sides of the windowsill and pushing himself through, rolling onto the floor once he was in. She covers her mouth to keep from laughing, trying to keep her seriousness so she could scold him for all the noise.
Standing to her feet, she steps over him, softly kicking him in the side. “Shhhh” she shushed, looking out the window to make sure nobody saw before closing it.
“Damn, my bad” he straightens himself up, standing to his feet. A part of her wanted to push his ass right back out of that window, but the other part of her knew she’d just miss him again, and when she got in that mood, it was hard to get her out of it. You’d think because they’ve been best friends for so long that people around would understand, but it seemed like no one did.
Her parents hated him with every fiber in their bodies combined, his mother thought she was ‘too damn uppity’, and their friend groups couldn’t stand each other. Not to mention they were polar opposites. Y/N was on her way to college for a degree she was set on, and Franklin, on the other hand was being Franklin. Doing whatever the hell he wanted.
“You look pretty” he suddenly says, the girl looking down at her gown and squinting at him. “Oh shut up, no I don’t“ she argues, going back to sit on her bed. He follows, kicking his shoes off and sitting next to her. “You do though. I’m sure Caine will love that”
She glares at him. “Cut it out” she says, not wanting to talk about it. He doesn’t say anything, he just looks, playing with the bottom of her dress. He knew she would talk one way or another, and the silence was just enough space for her to spill.
“…it wasn’t my choice, Franklin…”
“I get it, Y/N. It’s whatever”
She frowns. it wasn’t whatever to her. It was actually everything, and she hated that. It was her life, her reality. It’s all she ever talked about these days, and she was tired. Tired of talking about it, tired of her parents, tired of everyone else making choices for her, not with her. She was indecisive, yes, but she always knew what she wanted in the end, and what she wanted wasn’t anything like how things were going in many of her relationships.
Fiddling with the necklace she wore, she tried to think of a way to explain to him how she felt without potentially upsetting both of them. The subject was sensitive, and so was she at the moment. “I don’t want it to seem like you’re a second thought for me…”
“I know I’m not” he says simply, his tone dry.
“No, you really don’t and I can feel it”
He lets go of her dress, smoothing his hands over his face. The topic stressed him out just as much as it did her, but he wasn’t so good with not letting it get the best of him. “I don’t know what you want me to do when you got security surrounding you every where you go…I mean, I just snuck in through your damn window, Y/N”
Her eyes dart over to him, her lids forming a squint at his tone. “So, you think it’s my fault?”
“I didn’t say that”
“Okay then, what are you saying?”
“I’m saying you a grown ass woman. Making a few people upset ain’t gonna end the world” he replies, his attitude getting more noticeable as they conversed. She allowed herself to calm before speaking, not wanting to raise her voice. “You don’t even know how hard it is, I have a standard to uphold!” She says a little above a whisper.
“And I’m not apart of that? I’m starting to think the shit your parents say about me is getting to you, cause the nigga they picked FOR YOU over me apparently treats you like shit, and that wasn’t enough to make you put your foot down? Hell of a woman you are”
Her jaw almost dropped for a split second, and she found herself about to stoop down extremely low because of the hurtful things he said, but it was true, and she couldn’t deny that. It may have stung a bit, but it was something she needed to hear.
What he said had concluded the argument, and he could almost feel the tension that built up between them for the past few weeks disappearing into thin air.
Feeling bad now, he huffs before speaking.“…I’m sorry. That was fucked up to throw it in your face like that, but-“
“Nah, you right” she interrupts, nodding. “You got it. definitely got it, Saint”
He sighs. He knew he could be a little too blunt at times, but how could you blame him? The topic was something he was passionate about. He was passionate about her and her well-being.
Grabbing her hand from her lap, he holds it. “You know I love you. I’d do anything for you, but it’s hard to come to terms with the love of your life being with someone else, in a situation they don’t even wanna be in. I feel like my fuckin’ heart is gonna burst when I think about it” Even in this moment his chest hurt a little, becoming tighter as he fought back the urge to keep going, just in case she rejected him.
She didn’t speak. he felt like the world stopped for a moment as she held his hand, her grip becoming a little tighter. Meanwhile in her head, she was jumping for joy, the man she actually loved confessing that he wanted to be with her.
She wanted to dance, but she was stuck in her feels, admiring how he became softer just in that small moment. If it was Caine, he’d just refuse to talk to her and leave.
They stayed in thick silence for a while, just staring at each other, waiting for one of them to make the next move to determine wether they’d have a real future together or not. She pondered for a moment on if she was doing the right thing, if she was being selfish and putting herself first. Then she realized that’s exactly what she should do.
suddenly, she kissed him. Hard. The bed had made squeaky noises as she made her way onto his lap, pushing him backwards. He gladly accepted the kiss with his hands almost immediately moving to her ass like he’d been waiting for the moment to touch, boldly gripping as his tongue explored her mouth. That alone had her nerves going crazy, her core thumping with a second heartbeat. She started to get wet at the feeling of her heat grinding against his lap, and he could feel it.
He pulls away, looking up at her. “Wait…” he stops, the girl giving him a puzzled look, wondering what she had done wrong in just that small window of time. He looks at her with a questioning look, her already knowing what he was asking.
She genuinely thought for a minute. She had talked to Caine about giving him her virginity before. In all honestly, it was almost all he talked about when they were alone now that she thought about it, but every time she thought she was ready to give it to him, her body always felt too uncomfortable to go on with anything other than head.
So she told him no. Every single time. But now? It felt right to her. She couldn’t explain what was different, but she felt it in her heart. It was a complete different vibe for her.
She nods to him and he smiles, pulling her back down. He eagerly pulls at her night gown, almost ripping the laced parts of it as he pushes the front of it below her breasts, letting them free. His lips disconnect from her and attach to her nipples instead, his tongue circling around her areola before he began to suck, his other hand making sure her right didn’t feel left out. She let out a soft moan, throwing her head back as her hand held the back of his.
She attempted to squeeze her thighs shut around him to subside the throbbing of her clit and give it the right amount of attention and pressure she craved, but his hips stopped her every single time. Catching onto her gestures, he swiftly flips her over to her back, beginning to kiss down her soft, brown body, then back up to her lips.
“So” kiss. “fuckin’” kiss. “beautiful” he mumbles, laying a peck on her lips for every word while his hand made it’s way down to her panties. his thumb made delicious circles on her clit, and he could feel it jumping just from contact. She couldn’t help but to let out another moan, her hand moving to close her mouth so no one down the hall would hear.
Almost immediately, his hand moves her’s from her mouth, the girl looking at him as if he was crazy. “Nah, I wanna hear you” she sighs. “I can’t be too loud”
“Don’t care”
He says simply and pushes her legs up, closing her thighs together. She braces herself for what was about to happen, attempting to prepare mentally for whatever she was about to let him do to her body. Has she given head before? Yes. Absolutely. It was almost a regular thing that she’d do to Caine to make him happy for suddenly saying she didn’t wanna have sex with him, but she never had him return the favor before. She didn’t even know it wasn’t a normal thing until she told her friends and they all stared at her like she was stupid.
It wasn’t like she wanted him down there anyway. she would have rather died. While staring up at the ceiling, lost in thought, she hadn’t even realized Franklin had already pulled her underwear off and spread her thighs back apart, the man gawking at how wet she had gotten that fast. He on the other hand, had never seen anything like it unless it was in a magazine or on a tv, and no one he was with before this had ever gotten this far. Long story short, he hadn’t been in pussy since the day he came out one.
His dick got straight as a board in his pants just thinking about how she’d feel wrapped around him, gripping tightly.
He wrapped his arms around her thighs and pulled her to the edge of the bed so he could have more access before he dove in, feasting on her like his last meal. Her head lifts up to watch him, her eyes being welcomed by his staring up at her as he licked and slurped her up, laying small kisses on her clit every now and then that had her stomach twisting in knots.
“Oh fuck- right there..“ a breath escapes her lips in substitute of the moan she refused to let out. He hummed in satisfaction, his tongue slipping in and out of her, going up and down from her clit to her entrance. He repeated those strokes and built up the speed, her legs beginning to shake already from the new feeling between her legs.
She didn’t know what was happening, but she was warm. She couldn’t explain the feeling if you asked, but she knew it felt good. Her hips automatically raised into his face in reaction to the sensitivity of her body, and he only took that as a sign to go harder, his lips closing around her clit before he began sucking.
A whole new wave of sensations took on her body, making her thrash in an attempt to get him off of her, but it was unsuccessful with his arms wrapped around her thighs in a death grip to hold her still.
“stop—stoppp-” she spoke, her hands moving to his head to once again attempt to push him and get him off, but he didn’t budge. She felt like she wanted to pee, and that made her adrenaline rush a bit. Anyone outside of the door would have thought she was having a panic attack with how hard she was breathing.
“Hmmm-mmmm” he hummed against her as he looked almost through her and into her soul, her brown irises looking back at him in awe. Suddenly she felt a gush of water, the tingly sensation she had just before being abandoned by her body as soon as she felt wetness under her. She gasped harshly, her lungs quickly filling with air, so much that her chest hurt.
She didn’t know what had even happened, but she thought apparently it was something normal since he was still going, ignoring the shaking of her poor legs. Either that or he had a weird kink she was just finding out about.
He had only pulled off of her to catch air, clear liquid dripping from his chip. The top of his shirt was soaked. “I- I’m sorry- I told you to stop!” She stammered, quickly gathering herself and sitting up on her knees, one of her hands going between her thighs to stop the pulsing of her clit. embarrassment washed over her as she gained back her full senses.
He smiles and stands to his feet, peeling his shirt off. Tilting her head up with his finger, he pecks her on her lips softly. She taste herself on his tongue. “If it wasn’t okay, I would have stopped, Y/N”
She paused for a moment before nodding with a smile, pulling him down by his throat for another kiss. She took that as an opportunity to pay him back, pulling him even closer by his pants and removing his belt, throwing it somewhere to the side. She began pushing his pants down slowly, his underwear easily coming along with them.
disconnecting the kiss while grabbing a hold of him in her hand, her eyes widen. it took everything in her not to gasp at the feeling or the sight. He was heavy, bigger than Caine in all categories. She could only wonder how all of that was gonna fit inside of her and leave with her still in tact at that.
Beginning to stroke him, he shudders and steps out of his clothes, praying that it felt as good as they made it seem in the pornos. Taking the practice she had from Caine, she prayed that it would suffice for him and still be pleasurable, considering he was so different.
She licks the tip of his dick, then kisses it, her hands starting to move up and down as she prepared myself. Collecting saliva in her mouth, she spits down onto him before slurping it back up and licking along the sides of his shaft, a vibrational moan accompanying her motions. She felt him twitch in her hand, his breathing speeding up the nastier she got. Moving her hand down to the base of him, she attempted to deepthroat, only being able to go half way before she gagged again, but that wasn’t gonna stop her.
She began bobbing her head, using her hands to stroke the rest of him as her mouth did the rest of the work. Her spit trailed down his shaft, and she used it to lube up the rest of him, making the stroke of her hand go smoother than before. She had only been five minutes in before he took a good grip on her hair, starting to thrust in her mouth without regards for her throat. moving her hand from the base of his dick, she tried taking every inch he gave her as he fucked her throat while also trying to fight off gags that had her shedding tears.
He hit the back of her throat with force, wet, squishy sounds filling the room as more spit gathered on his dick, dripping down his balls. Trying his best not to make any alarming noises, he was only a few thrusts away from saying fuck it and busting deep down her throat. But as ready as he was, he refused, pulling out of her mouth with a sigh.
“Fuck” he throws his head back, trying to think of something else other than her as his dick bobs in her face. She swallows the spit in her mouth and slurps up the rest that was dripping from his dick, going down to his balls and licking those up too. His stomach flexes and he pulls away again, his hands pushing at her shoulders to keep her at bay.
“What? Did I do something wrong?” She asks and he shakes his head, gripping the base of his dick. “Nah…I just don’t wanna cum yet” he explains, the girl tilting her head. She didn’t really understand as to why he didn’t, but she didn’t bother to pry any further. In his head, he was waiting for what his homies described as ‘one of the best feelings ever next to winning the lottery’. He wanted to believe that.
“I wanna ride. Can I?” She asks abruptly. She could see in his face that he was slightly shocked by her request. wondering if she could even do it correctly, he still wanted to say yes. Why not test it out on him even if she can’t? Is what he thought. Though she never did it before, she had confidence that she could, thinking she would be able to control her own pace.
✮✮✮✮
Kneeling felt too uncomfortable, straining her muscles a bit too much. She made a mental note to stretch a bit more, then switched to her tippy toes, taking a deep breath. He grabs his dick by the base, helping her position it in the right place before she began slowly lowering herself. Only the tip had made it in, and she had already winced. Not out of pain, but it was just a lot of pressure to say only an inch or two was in.
“Relax, baby” he spoke into the air, the sound of his voice making her walls clench. She moans.
“I’m trying. I don’t think it’ll fit”
“It’ll fit” he reassures, his arms going under her to support her bouncing. Her arms went to his shoulders and she lowered herself a bit more onto him. The entrance into her was slick, the wetness surrounding her tight pussy helping him slip inside much easier, making her feel every single vein and inch faster than she wanted to. Once she was fully sat, she took a deep breath to continue raising back up, but he had already started the task by lifting her up himself, his hands gripping her ass.
He helped her bounce, then let go once he felt her adjust to his size, her grip loosening up, but she was still tight enough to enjoy. He fought the urge to fuck back, but it was only a matter of time before he disregarded how she felt.
“Just like that, baby” he praises, one of his hands now on her neck, gripping slightly. She felt an unreal amount of pressure, her legs almost giving out when she felt his tip hit the ‘end’ of her pussy, giving her a stomach turning feeling that had her ready to do what she just had done when he was eating her out.
Her ass popped right back up and her legs wobbled as she tried her best not to tap out, a thin layer of sweat now covering her forehead . “Right there” her plump lips pouted, him leaning up a bit and kissing them.
They both were trying their best to keep it down, but the bed was starting to make squeaking noises the faster her bouncing got, but she knew he couldn’t have cared about any of that. He only confirmed her assumption by how he began raising his hips to meet her bouncing, his hips now suddenly snapping into hers as she tried to lift herself to prevent the sound of their thighs meeting each other.
“Oh shit!” She huffed, her voice breaking. He shushed her with an expression before it disappeared as pleasure took over, his eyes rolling back momentarily as his head met the headboard. She struggled to stay on her toes as one more orgasms rushed over her, her legs finally giving out and going back into a kneeling position.
He held the position and locked his arms around her waist, his hips still drilling into her without a care. She heard nothing but wet smacking noises, her walls being the culprit of the noise as the boy attempted to make his tip meet her cervix, or that’s what it felt like to her . Her jaw went slack and her legs lost its feeling. She was walking the line of passing out, but every stroke kept her eyes shot open and tearing up.
If this is what sex felt like the whole time then she was thinking she should have always been a bit promiscuous around Franklin.
Before she knew it, he flipped both of them over, her back now on the wet sheets and blankets. She shivered at the cold spots that hit her ass before her body tensed up, feeling the thick pole she had just been rammed with slide right back into her with no warning, starting out with a slow, controlled pace. She grips his shoulders so tight that her nails dug into his skin, making him wince with his bottom lip tucked into his mouth.
He was so pretty from this angle. She could watch him all day.
She was so wet by now that the only thing she could feel was when his tip made contact with her gspot, her back arching up so high that she could have sworn she heard it crack a little. “I can’t,” she shook her head, her toes curling as he hit that sweet spot once again, now speeding up his thrusts. Her walls only gripped and took him in further, and that was when all feeling came back.
She clenched her eyes closed so tight that she started seeing black spots when she opened them back up. “Fuck!” She moaned out accidentally.
“Fu—“ he slapped her mouth shut quickly as he fucked her like he hated her, finally taking a bit of account of how loud and reckless they were getting. She whined at the stinging on her cheeks and he gave her an apologetic look, but his speed didn’t cease to make it easier for her to be quiet. It actually got more vigorous, and him rubbing her sensitive clit at the same time didn’t help either.
“You so fuckin’ gorgeous” he says, his voice and breathing jagged, the compliment making her fluster more than she already was by this situation alone. He moved his hand from her mouth and held her head, leaning down. They were so close that she could hear his breathing even clearer, the sound alone with his low moans being music to her ears. It only made her wetter knowing he enjoyed this as much as she did.
The feeling she had earlier rushed back so easily, her stomach tying itself in knots again. “I gotta— I’m cumming” she says breathlessly, her voice a little above a whisper. She expected him to stop, but that was a negative. Her toes curled and her arms pushed at him, but she was too far gone and tired to get him off of her, so she tried to scoot up instead.
She never thought ‘running from dick’ was a real thing. She only heard about it in stories her homegirls told her about, but now she completely understood. She understood that feeling you get when it’s just too good that you can barely control your movements anymore, to the point where you wanna smack the shit out of his face just to slow him down a bit.
Every time she moved an inch, he followed and fucked harder, her moans now getting caught in her throat. He was determined to make us both pass out, he waited for this moment for a long time. Too long if you asked him.
Her head and shoulders hung off the bed with her body going limp. She couldn’t move up anymore or she’d risk falling off her bed and hitting her head, waking up anybody who could freely open the door any time they wanted. This was already a risky situation considering she had no lock on my door.
She couldn’t tell if it was her blood rushing to her head or if it was another orgasm that was hitting stronger than the other one, but she was losing her mind, her legs closing around his fast moving hips as she squirted once more, soaking the sheets. Her head popped forward towards him and she mustered up the strength to push him off of her finally, more of her juices squirting out as he pulled out of her with a grunt.
Pulling her back onto the bed fully by her thighs, he wraps his hand around his shaft, jerking himself off to finish. his stomach muscles tensed up and his breathing came to a stop as he gripping himself tightly. She stared in anticipation, her hands moving downwards to stroke the tip of his dick with her thumb, that small touch alone being enough to make him cum all over her stomach and chest with a loud groan.
“Shhh” She jump up to cover his mouth, lowkey getting her payback for that mouth cover he did to her earlier.
“Fuck” he says, his words muffled because of her hand. He grabs her wrist and pulls her hand away from him, collapsing back onto the bed while letting out a breath.
They sat there for a few seconds, trying to regulate their breathing.
“…Franklin?” She calls, looking at him and pulling her knees to her chest to cover herself up like he wasn’t just inside of her.
“Yeah?”
“Were you a virgin before this?”
“…yeah” they stare, Franklin scratching the back of his neck and looking away
“Then…”
“Porn” he answered simply, her ears immediately getting hot.
“Oh..”
✮✮✮✮
@mikazaki890763
#Franklin saint smut#franklin saint#snowfall#black fanfic writer#black fanfiction#black!reader#masterlist#black actors#black reader#black!fem!reader#black!oc#smut masterlist#henneseyhoe#damson idris#damson idris smut#Spotify
319 notes
·
View notes
Text
Siouxsie and the Soulmates
Eddie Munson x Witch!Reader
More Eddie fics here
12,968 words
Warnings: Drug use; reference to canon-typical violence; canon-typical trauma; extensive discussion and depiction of scars; no beta
Synopsis: When you roll into Forest Hills Trailer Park, a white cat and daisy lines following you, Eddie Munson is just a little bit obsessed. A soulmate story featuring Eddie back from the Upside Down, a lot of witchy magic, and even more soft love.
Includes the ‘soulmate find what the other has lost’ trope. Post S4, but canon-divergent: Eddie survived, the gang stopped Vecna and saved the day; everything is ‘normal’ in Hawkins.
Author's Note: If you read the sneak peek, some of that section has changed so don’t skip it. Includes Eddie has all the gnarly scars, including facial scarring, for reference click here and here. We love a girl who tries to be mysterious but falls head over heels for Eddie Spaghetti.
There was something really… freaky… about the newest resident of Forest Hills Trailer Park. Eddie Munson was absolutely convinced she was a wizard, witch, whatever. He had no tangible proof. But the circumstantial evidence, your honour, was overwhelming.
Firstly, your small, black VW Bug appeared silently overnight, pulling a small trailer home in what seemed like an impossible feat of automobile engineering. You set up next to the Mayfield’s home, cordoning off your rectangular plot with a black plastic picket fence hammered into the ground. It was short, reaching only your knees, but it laid claim to the land in a way that kept unwanted guests away from the garden.
Secondly, that garden. The trailer sat at the back of the plot, with green grass surrounding it that hadn’t existed before you arrived. Pots of plants framed the land, their flowers and fruit spilling out as if they had been growing in their positions for months. Bees and butterflies had come to Forest Hills, making home in your established greenery.
Thirdly, nobody had seen you. Sometimes the black Bug was there. Sometimes it wasn’t. A few long-term residents of the park had taken it upon themselves to step over the pickets and knock on the trailer door. They received no answer, although the lights inside were on.
Eddie would watch your place as soon as he rolled in, driving his van slowly. He’d sneak looks through the blinds of his trailer and take too long to hang the laundry around the back, close to where he could eavesdrop on the locals gossiping about the mystery of it all.
…
It was near the witching hour, 3:00 am, when Eddie shot up in bed one night, drenched in sweat. The scratching in his nightmare transitioned into real life and he looked around for the source of the sound. Small, frantic scratching. Unfamiliar, persistent scratching.
He followed the noise outside his bedroom and to the door that led to a makeshift deck. He’d only begun to crack it open when a snow white cat darted through, her scratching replaced with happy meows.
“Hi there,” Eddie said to the cat, squatting down and holding a hand out for the creature to smell. The cat rubbed her face on his hand, welcoming any and all pats. “Where’d you come from, huh?”
The cat wore a red glittery collar holding a small tag printed with her name. Siouxsie seemed to be a big Eddie fan; the feeling was mutual. The pair was so engaged in their purring and patting that Eddie didn’t notice you arrive.
“Jesus!” he screamed when he clocked you out the corner of his eyes. He fell backward, spilling through the open bathroom door behind him.
Startled, Siouxsie went running outside. You watched her leap from the deck and cross the gravel road, disappearing under your trailer. Turning back to Eddie, you waited for him to get to his feet. He wore blue and white checked cotton boxer shorts and nothing else.
“What were you doing with my cat?” you asked him, only briefly making eye contact before letting your gaze travel to his sketchy tattoos and D.I.Y. pick necklace. The scars… You couldn’t begin to guess what had caused them, but that was the thing: you usually wouldn’t have to guess at all.
“Uh… She woke me up. Tried to break in,” he answered, his voice cracking with sleep and nerves. And, oh fuck, was he nervous. “Guess she’s a… cat burglar?”
Eddie looked at you, the way that lights from the park backlit you like an angel. You were in a black dress that fell around your feet. The hem was ratty from where it dragged behind you wherever you went. Bracelets and rings and necklaces adorned your body, and your nails were painted Barbie pink.
“She woke you?”
“Yeah… The scratching…” Eddie went to explain, but couldn’t describe how the sound was in his head, then was real. Your expression filled him with dismay; had he said something wrong? It was the joke. He shouldn’t have made the joke. The joke was bad.
He stood still and silent, watching you look him up and down. Suddenly aware of his near nakedness, he blushed hard and felt weird. Nobody had seen his scars like that.
“You just moved here,” he said, needing the quiet to be filled. You cocked your head to the side, taking his sentence as a statement and not a question. He knew the answer. “I’m Eddie,” he introduced, holding a hand out. He looked down at his arm, confused as to why he was being so formal, operating on autopilot.
Eddie watched your hand take his, gently shake and not let go. You said your name, followed by, “Siouxsie likes you. Put a bowl of salt next to your bed to stop the nightmares.”
You were gone then. In the morning, he couldn’t remember watching you walk back to your trailer.
Jesus fucking Christ. You were definitely a witch. And he was obsessed.
…
“What d’ya mean she’s a witch?” Wayne Munson replied, sighing at his nephew’s manic bouncing-off-the-walls energy. He’d just woken up and was getting ready for his night shift at the plant, but Eddie had been waiting all day to talk to him.
“Like, she knows shit she shouldn’t. She can probably see through Siouxsie or something-”
“Who’s Siouxsie?”
“Her cat. She woke me up trying to break in,” Eddie said. “And you should see what she looks like. She’s way too fucking pretty to be here. Like, Arwen pretty,”
“Let me get this straight. A pretty girl has a cat, so she’s a witch?” Wayne asked, picking up his keys. “Thought you didn’t judge a book by its cover?”
“You’re not even listening,” Eddie grumbled. “How’d she get all those plants to grow that fast? Seriously! Look.”
Eddie took his uncle by the shoulders and led him to the door, opening it. Wayne looked across the park’s road at your trailer.
“Ed, buddy, they’re in planters. Planters can be moved. Think maybe you need to cut back on the dope? Less time with your head in the clouds?” Wayne was poking fun, knowing exactly how to annoy Eddie.
Consider Eddie annoyed.
“She’s a witch,”
“Guess you better go ask her to marry you then, huh? Make an honest man out of you. Don’t forget to take the trash out. It’s Thursday. See ya later, bud,” Wayne called, leaving the trailer and making his way to his truck.
Eddie winced at how loud their conversation was. He was sure you could hear everything. As he watched Wayne drive away, he took the chance to steal a look at your trailer.
Siouxsie was sitting in one of the garden beds, looking back at him. Instinctively, Eddie began to wave, before he caught himself. Slapping his hand to his face, he quickly retreated back into his trailer before anyone saw him waving to a goddamn cat and added that to the qualities that made him a certified freak.
…
On Sunday, Eddie found a necklace that didn’t belong to him sitting on his bedside table. He woke up, squinting in the too-early morning light, and reached for his watch. He felt the cool metal before he saw it. As if it had given him an electric shock, his hand jerked back from it and he sat up.
Bedside lamp on, he looked at it. The silver chain, the crescent moon. There was no doubt that it belonged to you. He’d seen it hanging from your neck Thursday morning.
Were you in his room? While he slept? He would have heard you, surely. There would be some other trace of you. The clothes and books scattered around hadn’t been displaced. It was like the necklace had just appeared.
However the fuck it got there, Eddie Munson wasn’t about to waste the opportunity. He pulled on the cleanest clothes he could find and headed out the door.
As soon as he stepped over the black plastic pickets, he felt it. A sudden drop in temperature. A quietness. The air smelt honeysuckle sweet and it felt just a touch harder to breathe, like how it does when the humidity rises.
The grass was cool under Eddie’s bare feet; as he knocked on your door, he wriggled his toes and smiled to himself. You might not answer, he thought. You hadn’t to anyone else. It would be okay if you didn’t. The feeling of the grass was a good enough experience to justify the trip.
Eddie was a split second away from turning around and leaving when you opened the door.
“Did you find my necklace?” you asked, expression open and inquisitive.
Was that what you slept in? Silk and lace, all light and flowy but tight around your curvy belly and thighs. Your hair was messy, bed hair, and when you punctuated your sentence with a yawn, Eddie’s entire body began to shake. It took all his willpower to keep fucking still.
“What?”
“My necklace. I’ve lost it. Did you find it?”
The necklace was burning a hole through his pocket, not immediately observable.
“How did you know?”
You smiled kindly, still overtly amused at his confusion though. When you held your hand out, Eddie had no choice but to give it up.
“Where was it?”
How was he meant to tell you that without sounding insane? While he hesitated, tried to come up with a lie, he felt Siouxsie curl around his legs. He looked down and beamed at her.
“Hi,” Eddie greeted the cat, crouching and holding his hand out to her like he had before. She bypassed the outreached hand to come closer, rub herself against his legs.
“Was it in your bedroom?” you asked.
How did you know that? Eddie wanted to ask if you’d been in his room. Somehow, he knew you hadn’t been. At least, not in the physical form human being sense. Could you astral project? Instead of asking anything, Eddie continued to pat the cat.
“Did the salt work?”
Eddie felt relief. That was an easier question and answer. “Could be a coincidence,” he replied, standing up and looking at you.
“Do you think it is?”
He was shaking his head because focusing on you again meant words were… hard… to… make.
You looked him up and down. “Mmm,” you agreed. “You could test it. Go without it. If you’re a sceptic.”
He wasn’t. Eddie really wasn’t. He didn’t know why he said what he said. He was freaking out.
“Thanks for bringing this back,” you said, and like Siouxsie knew it was a farewell, she jumped up and disappeared inside your trailer.
Eddie stood for a second at your closed door, confused and even more obsessed.
…
Eddie hadn’t seen you all week. He had, however, begun a page in his D&D journal dedicated to documenting occurrences he felt were out of the ordinary and therefore, had something to do with you.
He liked to imagine himself confidently knocking on your door, where you would invite him in. He’d present his evidence and draw his conclusion. You would smile, confess, kiss him and-
Stop, he thought.
But how could he go about his days as if nothing was different? A line of daisies had appeared, mapping a route from his door to your black picket fence. The moon was brighter, shining into his bedroom even when he covered the windows in heavy canvas Corroded Coffin banners. And every single cup of instant coffee or cheap tea tasted sweet before any sugar could be swirled through.
When Eddie woke again at 3:00 am Thursday morning, he thought maybe you’d cast a spell on him. The bowl of salt had rid his sleep of nightmares, but the dreams he was having were just as vivid and just as likely to make him sticky with sweat.
Eddie rolled out of bed and made his way to the kitchen. Two glasses of tap water later, he was standing still, listening.
Scratching. Scratching. A soft meow.
Siouxsie was back at the deck door. Eddie checked for you as he let the cat in. The park was quiet, the night warm, and an uneasy feeling settled in Eddie’s stomach.
“What brings you here?” he asked the cat, watching as she walked circles around the trailer, returning to him and meowing. She went into his room, jumped on the bed, and sniffed the sheets.
Before Siouxsie could settle into a little loaf of white bread, Eddie scooped her up. “Nah, man. You can’t stay here. Let’s get you home.”
When Eddie arrived at your door, his heart was racing. There were no lights on inside and the thought of waking you made him want to die just a little bit. He looked at his armful of cat and started to chew his lip.
“Fuuuuuck,” he said under his breath.
Eddie curled an arm around Siouxsie securely, then knocked on your door. No response. A second knock, louder. He waited, listened to the silence of the park. The abject silence.
Eddie couldn’t hear anything. No buzzing of generators. No trees in the breeze. No mosquitos or birds or people or anything at all. It was as if all the noise in the world had been sucked into a vacuum.
He was going to panic. Red lightening and It doesn’t hurt me, Do you wanna feel how it feels? Razor sharp teeth and empty lungs. Had Eddie been dumb? Had he tumbled into your garden, not seeing a monster in disguise? Maybe you were like Eleven though. You could be good, right? So good.
Jesus fucking Christ, he thought. At least he could hear his thoughts. His internal monologue. And the sound of… bells?
Eddie moved, his body naturally turning to face the noise.
It wasn’t bells. It was the bracelets on your wrist gently clinking against each other as you stepped over the pickets.
“Hi,” you greeted, your voice restoring the rest of the trailer park soundscape. The feeling in Eddie’s stomach was gone and everything seemed normal again. He could almost cry with relief.
“Hi,” he breathed out.
“She woke you again?”
“No… I was awake already,” he assured you, not wanting you to feel guilty.
You approached Eddie, stood in front of him and held your hands out for your cat. When you took Siouxsie, you hugged her close then looked back at Eddie.
In your short life, you had seen a lot. There had been beautiful people before, but none that made you feel the way Eddie did. You knew nothing about him, only spoken a handful of words, and yet, he made you want to scratch at his door like Siouxsie. Of course, you’d never. And judging by the Bambi-eyed expression on his face, you really wouldn’t have to.
“You have beautiful eyes,” you complimented Eddie.
He was taken aback, his mind cycling through the million and one things he thought were beautiful about you.
“And I’m sorry,” you continued. “I’ll talk to her. She’s just worried about you,”
“The cat? Is worried about me?”
“Yeah. She probably has the wrong Thursday though. She’s never been good at keeping track of the days.”
Eddie stared at you in absolute awe. Either you were a witch or you were a couple Crayola’s short of the rainbow. Both versions of you excited him.
“Does that mean there’s gonna be a Thursday where something bad happens?” he asked.
“Maybe. Maybe it’s already happened,” you answered with a shrug.
Eddie was processing, trying to work out if you were just taking the piss. He watched you step around him and open the trailer door. Siouxsie jumped from your arms and padded off to bed. You turned around and looked at Eddie again, smiled softly at him.
“Have you lost anything?”
“What?”
“Have you lost anything?” you repeated.
Eddie shook his head, his eyebrows pulled together in confusion. “Like you lost your necklace?” he asked, to which you nodded. “No. But… There’s these flowers growing…” His sentence trailed off when he realised he was now the one sounding unhinged.
You made a humming sound of approval. “I saw. Almost like a little fairy highway from your door to mine.”
God, there had to be something more than just obsessed because Eddie was dying.
“That’s… weird,” he told you, smiling wide.
“Anything else… weird?” you asked him.
He was sure you knew. Maybe it was a test. Maybe you wanted to know what he noticed. “Coffee tastes sweet. Moon’s brighter. I found a dime bag I didn’t know I had… but I don’t think that one was you,”
“It wasn’t,” you confirmed.
Did that mean the other things were you?
Eddie’s smile was full of wonder and warmth.
“If she comes to you again, she can stay the night, if you want her to,” you said then, turning to step up into your trailer. Before he could stop himself, Eddie was stepping after you. “Goodnight, Eddie.” Hanging from the doorframe, you leaned down to press a light kiss to his forehead.
Eddie’s mouth was too dry to make words come from it and too soon you had closed the door, leaving him alone in the wake of your leave.
…
Saturday morning was cold, frost threatening to burn the tips of leaves and fingers alike. When you woke alone, you realised Siouxsie had spent her second night with Eddie, leaving you no company but your thoughts.
You were young, still learning to master your thoughts. It was why you were in Hawkins, a town built on a pattern of fault lines and far enough away from everything you knew. Somewhere to learn independence, and maybe figure out exactly who you wanted to be. It had history, which meant the promise of earth magic and plenty of energy to work with.
All of that was made easy with Siouxsie at your side, and you already missed her comforting purr and shiny eyes. Maybe you shouldn’t have offered up your only friend to Eddie so easily. For a moment, you thought she had heard your lament, the unmistakable sound of her crying at the trailer door becoming louder.
Putting down your marmalade toast and tea brewed from hand rolled balls of fresh leaves, you opened the door. The cat rubbed her face against your bare legs, then moved across the green grass as if she was going to leave again.
“That all I get?” you asked her, looking up to see where she was trotting off to, lament unheeded.
Eddie was under the hood of his van, switching between kicking at it and mumbling to himself. You watched Siouxsie make a great leap from ground to van rooftop, where she sat staring at you.
Help him, she was saying. He lets me have all the blanket.
Eddie didn’t hear you approach; it was only when he took an exasperated step backwards, growling in frustration, that he saw you standing next to the van. You’d thrown a huge, forest green knitted jumper on. The sleeves were too long and the hem came to your knees. It warmed all of you, even with the cold and wet stones beneath your feet.
Eddie’s expression softened when he saw you. “Hi,” he said, his voice in stark contrast to how it was moments ago.
“Are you okay?” you asked, forgoing a greeting.
“Ah… Yeah. No. Yeah, I am, I mean. My van though… When it’s this cold it has trouble starting. Starter motor, I guess?” He looked back into the engine with no idea what he was doing. Wayne wasn’t home from his night shift, so Eddie had to fix it or else call in sick to work.
After last year, Eddie wasn’t sure what he was going to do. At some point he’d need to study and test for his HSC. Not, yet though. He wasn’t ready.
He didn’t have Hellfire to occupy his time and the other members of Corroded Coffin were still haunting the halls of Hawkins High. He knew he wasn’t really the mindless manual labour type, even Wayne calling him too pretty for it, so he went for what he knew – music.
Eddie was persistent in his approach to getting a job at the only decent record store in the town. He wrote a letter to the owner, demonstrating his musical knowledge and appreciation. He showed up day after day, talking to customers like he already worked there. He promised he’d never arrive at work high and he’d always be on time.
The cold snap causing the oil in his van’s engine to become thicker, therefore, was a fucking disaster. Increased friction. Starter motor working harder, or not working at all, Eddie was running out of options and looking distressed.
“You don’t got a spell that can just like, fix this, do you?” Eddie asked you, half joking and half hoping you really would.
“A spell?” you replied, raising an eyebrow and smirking at his audacity.
“Yeah, fuck, never mind.” Eddie felt dumb. Embarrassed, even.
“I have a car though. If you need a ride,” you offered, glancing up at Siouxsie. She climbed down the front windscreen, jumping from the van and heading back across the road to home, satisfied with your intervention.
“Yes! Holy shit, yes. Thank you!” Eddie exclaimed, jumping on the spot then hugging you. “Fuck. Sorry,” he quickly said, pulling away from you like you burned. He must have seen the confusion on your face. “I, uh, normally ask. Girls. Before I, you know… Touch… them…” Embarrassed, definitely.
“I guess that’s a good policy,” you said to him, shrugging. “I’ll get my keys.”
He had followed you across the road and stood patiently at the passenger door of your black Bug while you retrieved the keys. Eddie noted that you elected to not put on shoes or pants. You noted that he was slightly too tall to look comfortable in your car.
“Where to?” you asked him as you reversed out of your spot and headed for the park’s exit.
“Hawkins Records. It’s Downtown, I can give you directions,” Eddie replied. “You’re saving my ass here. I owe you big time.”
The ride was short, Eddie knew, but an opportunity nonetheless. Since his stunning revelation that after last year, he probably shouldn’t purposefully get involved in more supernatural shit (even if the supernatural shit was a super pretty probably-witch), he had decided to gather more intel. Make an informed decision about if you were dangerous or connected to the Upside Down.
“So, ah, why Hawkins? Surely plenty of other cooler places you could’ve moved to?” he asked, trying his best at sounding casual.
“Have you heard of scrying?” you replied, glancing over at him. Eddie shook his head. “Hold a crystal over a map, let it swing, and it will land of a place of significance.”
Eddie thought for a second. “I really can’t tell if you’re fucking with me,”
“I know you can’t. Next question,” you said, smirking. As if you wouldn’t be able to sense the interrogation begin.
“Do you know anyone here?”
“I know you,”
“Do you know about… all the shit that’s happened here?” Eddie asked.
“I know what the papers say. I know there are still people that think you’re… bad. And, I know, this town is steeped in trauma. I can feel it. It radiates off everything and everyone.”
Eddie was plunged into his memories; it felt like an ice bath.
“Do you want to ask me anything else?” you asked, turning the heat up in the car.
Eddie’s eyes were glassy as he watched you turn the dial. “How did your necklace get in my room?”
“I truly don’t know how that works,” you answered honestly.
“But you didn’t seem… surprised,” Eddie said.
“No. I mean… I can feel it. Can you?”
Could Eddie feel what? Was there some cosmic energy he couldn’t sense? A shift in fate’s plan? Or, was he just meant to be feeling the swelling obsession he was nurturing for you? Could you feel that? Did you know what was in his mind and heart?
“Did you make the flowers grow?”
“No.”
Eddie was dismayed by that. “But… they’re… because of you, or something?” He was getting desperate for any proof. He needed you to admit to something.
“Maybe, Eddie, what you see in me, you’re seeing all around you now too,” you said, although you could see he wasn’t placated by your words. A small sigh, and you offered, “If it makes you feel… comforted… Then, yes. It’s me.”
It didn’t comfort him. But your car smelt like pine needles and there was a peacock feather hanging from your rear view mirror. Your cat slept soundly at his feet during the night. You were in his dreams.
“You don’t have more questions,” you stated. “My turn then?”
Eddie’s face lit up with curiosity.
“How personal can I get?” you asked.
“I’m an open book, baby,” Eddie replied, his charm defence back on.
“You weren’t… here… when you got those scars, were you?”
The question threw him entirely. It wasn’t that it was about the scars; he had predicted that it would be one of the first things you wanted to know about him. It was the implication of your question.
You clocked his breathing hitch and a heaviness settle in his shoulders.
“You almost died,” you, again, stated rather than asked.
Eddie nodded. “Yeah. Last year.” He laughed then, not joyful but somewhat entertained by what he was about to say. “On a Thursday,”
“Hmm. She’s a very perceptive cat,” you told him. Eddie would have to come back to that one later. “Where were you?”
“How do you know I wasn’t here,”
“I would say something like ‘oh, you won’t believe me,’ but I think you would,” you started. “I can… read you. Anyone. Anybody. Literally, bodies. Your freckles and scars. Anything with a history on this mortal plane. But I can’t read your scars. Not those ones.”
He didn’t know what you meant, not with any certainty. His mind was ticking over at a million miles an hour while he tried to fill in the blanks, come up with explanations he could make himself understand. Maybe you really were like the superhero girl Eleven. Or maybe like the smallest Byers, touched by something and unable to ever shake clean of it. Or maybe he didn’t know anything about witches.
“They called it the Upside Down,” Eddie said, his voice shaky but measured. “It was like the normal world but… bad. It was… decomposing while alive. Had monsters. It was evil,”
“I have a lot of questions, Eddie,” you told him softly. “But not today.”
He looked over at you and almost imploded at your softness. Your knitted jumper and bare legs, unshaved and dotted with strawberry spots. Your specific brand of weirdness, and how it felt like kindness to be around.
“Can I ask you one more?” he ventured. “Are you jealous that Siouxsie loves me so much?”
You laughed, explained that she was prone to short bursts of heavy affection and that she would return to where she truly found safe haven. Eddie looked through your car mixed tapes, then you bid him a farewell as you approached Hawkins Records.
“Do you need me to pick you up after school?” you teased through your open window.
He flipped you the bird and you pretended to catch it like it was a kiss. He grinned.
…
It wasn’t until the sound of plastic to metal startled you, that you realised something was different. You were a few grams heavier than you were the night before. Bold of you, you thought to fate, taking Eddie’s pick from around your neck and holding the chain in your hand.
You weren’t so dumb as to call Eddie to you, but to that necklace… that could be done with minimal magical risk. Sitting at your alter, you centred yourself before creating a circle.
In front of you, true north, you placed a white candle as the gatekeeper. Clockwise, a bowl of salt to keep the nasties at bay, then a rhodozite to cleanse and magnify energy. To your left, a bunch of daisies freshly picked and a small jar of dirt in which one earthworm lived as it always had and always would, never growing, never aging, simply being.
Saying your prayers, you put Eddie’s necklace in the small silver bowl on your alter, followed by a bay leaf on which you wrote his name. Calling him to his lost thing, you lit a small red spell candle, letting it burn quickly. After lighting the bay leaf and watching it go up in flames and turn to ash, you breathed out and closed the circle.
Across town, as he put a display for the new INXS album up, Eddie suddenly brought his hand to his chest, feeling for the necklace he never took off. It was gone. Inside him though, was a strong sensation that he was being pulled. Back home to the trailer park. No. Not home. To you.
All day, Eddie was distracted. He barely bothered to even try and talk customers out of buying George Michael and into buying, “Fuck, man, even The Smiths are better than this.” As soon as his van had been put into park, he was crossing the road and banging on your door.
Inside, you had just begun cooking cranberry and dark chocolate muffins in anticipation of his arrival. When you opened the door, Eddie looked feral, breathless.
“Do you have it?” he asked, pupils dilated.
Leaning down, you put his necklace over his head and watched him hold the pick between his fingers. The mania subsided and he felt normal again.
“Would you like to come in?”
He nodded and followed you into the trailer you called home.
“Holy shit, this is like… What the fuck? This is some sort of… magic, right?” Eddie said, almost spinning on the spot as he tried to calculate how much square footage the trailer should have.
“What do you mean?” you asked playing dumb.
“It shouldn’t be this big in here.” He was looking around… it felt like the inside of your small trailer, the very one that your Bug pulled along, was as big as his own free standing one.
It opened into a small kitchen that was comparable to his, and a living space. Maybe it was the fact that instead of a couch and coffee table, you had a beanbag, a large cushion collection, and a table that looked like its legs got cut off about a foot from the top. Or maybe it was witchcraft.
Eddie invited himself to go through a door that led to your bedroom, again, comparable to his own in size. Through another door was a small bathroom. When he wandered back out, the confusion set deep on his face, you laughed.
“Surely, you’ve seen stranger things, Eddie Munson of Hawkins, Indiana?”
“I mean… Yeah, but… Fuck, I don’t know.” He sat himself down on the beanbag, his long legs folded in front of him. “You’re really a witch, huh?”
“You floated that idea by anyone?” you asked him, leaning with your back to the kitchen bench.
“I live with my uncle,” Eddie said, pointing outside and across the road to his home. “Said I was judging a book by its cover,”
“Are you?”
“No. I’m judging you by all the weird shit that’s happening. This,” and he pointed to the trailer below him. “This is a big one. Fuckin’ Mary Poppins trailer.”
You laughed at the analogy; it was good. Accurate.
“How does it make you feel?” you asked then, watching him carefully.
Eddie felt like he was on fire whenever you looked at him like that. He was scared you could see into his soul. Of course, you couldn’t, but there wasn’t a single thing about watching Eddie that wasn’t fun.
“Honestly?” he said, paused mostly to begin to stitch together a sentence rather than to hear your reply. “Like I could be doing something dumb,”
“Because I could be… from the Upside Down?” you asked.
He nodded slowly. “Yeah, but you’re not. That’s gone. Or, at least, the door got closed. Nailed shut. I hope. Doesn’t matter. You’re not from there,”
“I’m not, no. I have never heard of something like it before either,” you told him. He believed you, implicitly. “I don’t want anything from you, Eddie.”
Someone always did. His teachers wanted him to be more productive. His friends wanted him to be their larger-than-life Dungeon Master. His uncle wanted him to be the best he could be, which wasn’t a bad thing but came with its own set of expectations and let downs. Fuck, even his enemies still wanted him to show up outside their parties so they could buy from him.
“Except, maybe, your company,” you added, smiling at him and turning back to the batter you were stirring.
Eddie was blushing and therefore grateful you had turned away. He ran his hand through his hair, then looked around. Sitting under a window that framed his own trailer perfectly, was a record player and your beloved collection.
Eddie crawled over to them and sat cross legged, flicking through the stack, making little snorting and huffing sounds.
“You got something to say to me?” you asked, not turning around.
“Nope. No comments from me.”
Whitney Houston. The Cure. Fleetwood Mac. Depeche Mode. Prince. David Bowie. The Clash. Joan Jett & The Blackhearts. Alice Cooper. The Damned. Patti Smith. Bauhaus. Tom Waits. The Birthday Party. Brian Eno. And of course, Siouxsie and the Banshees.
“You gonna call me cliché, because people in glass houses, Eddie,” you told him, pointing the wooden spoon in your hand at him.
“No… A few surprises. But there is… a lot of black eyeliner in this collection. That’s all I’m saying. A lot of cats in the dark and then she is the darkness kind of thing,” he joked.
“You getting enough oxygen, all the way up there on your high horse?”
Eddie laughed, settling on Joan Jett. He’d always loved the cover of Crimson and Clover. He stood and came to see what you were doing. He ran his finger along the top of the mixing bowl, scooping up some of the batter and tasting it.
“Spicy,” he reviewed.
“Good spicy?”
“Yep. Like… Christmas spices. What’s it for?”
“Muffins,” you answered, handing him the wooden spoon to lick as you used a smaller one to divide the batter evenly into the muffin tray. “For you and your uncle.”
Eddie was quiet as he sucked on the spoon. Then, “Are we meant to bring you somethin’, like a housewarming gift?”
“I don’t know. Are you?” you asked, looking up at him.
He grinned then quickly leaned in and kissed your cheek. “Welcome to the neighbourhood.”
…
Stronger together, you knew how it went. Find a coven. Sisterhood (not cisterhood). Community. All that empowering jazz. At least without one, you had nobody to torment and tease you about how utterly infatuated with Eddie you were.
You could hear the ghosts of covens past. A boy? A mortal metalhead boy had you that ruffled. But, yeah. Yes, he fucking did. Maybe it was that he followed you like a lost puppy while you went hunting for special leaves and sticks. Maybe it was that he now brought over any vaguely interesting rock to ask if it was a crystal. Maybe it was that he was so easy to be around.
Eddie let you put thin braids in his hair and read his palm. He’d gotten all serious about it until you told him it wasn’t actually a specialty of yours. However, you could tell him the basics. The waves in his head line meant he was a progressive thinker. A life line with a clear arc told a story of a vibrant and energetic personality. His heart line was deep and curved.
“It means you invest in relationships. All or nothing. And that you express emotions willingly,” you’d told him, tracing the valleys of his palm. “See how your sun line is close to your fate line? That’s a strange one. It means that your public image is controlled by external forces. Things out of your control,”
“You mean like how the entire town seriously thought I was a cult leader that murdered teenagers in the name of Satan?”
“Yep. That’s it,”
“And it says that? On my hand?”
“I mean, if you believe it, yes,” you answered, never pushing him to feel or think anything other than what was coming naturally to him.
He studied his palm, looked at the lines you’d read. “But this isn’t your thing?”
“No. Not my area of expertise,”
“What is?” he asked.
“I gotta keep you coming over. Don’t want to ruin the mystique by telling you everything,” you said with a casual shrug and a smirk Eddie loved.
He held his hands out to you, you took them and let him thread your fingers through his.
“I’m not here for the mystique,”
“Anymore,” you clarified.
“Right. Anymore,” he agreed.
“Then, why are you here?”
It was an obvious question. Self-serving. You just wanted him to say it. However, as smitten as Eddie was with you, he was still a troublemaker. Someone who would not go quietly into the night, so to speak.
“The baked goods and Siouxsie,” Eddie said.
You pouted and pulled the saddest ever face. Eddie laughed, then yanked you by your hands towards him. He tipped backward, pulling you on top of him. Between the cushions and blankets, it was a soft landing. You let it happen, curling up to him and laying your head on his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat.
“I’m here for you,” Eddie whispered, resting one hand on your back and the other running soft lines through your hair.
You moved, putting your chin on his chest so you could look up at his face. “I’m here for you too.”
…
If you had been asked to place a bet on how long it would take Eddie Munson to kiss you, you would have gone home in debt. It had been a month since you had moved to Hawkins. A month of lost things and mushroom picking and late night reading. Still, Eddie hadn’t braved more than a kiss on the cheek.
There had been afternoons where you fell asleep spooned together on his bed and mornings where he’d woken too early, made his way over to your place to brew tea and cook pancakes. Still, no kiss.
Eddie was sometimes like a caged animal, sometimes like a lost pet. His moods and outlook on the world shifted often and wildly. It was hard to know exactly what was going on in his head, but you were sure he wanted you. Through all his trauma, he was a lover at heart.
The universe spoke to you as well. She said the same thing. One afternoon you took a cat nap on your bed, woke up feeling spaced out, dreamy, to Eddie staring at you.
“What? What’s wrong?” you mumbled, rubbing your eyes.
“How… How did you…” but he couldn’t form words. You looked around. You were in Eddie’s room, on his bed. “There’s no way… You didn’t have time…”
He’d walked into his room to collect the dirty dishes, got to the door to leave, stopped as he remembered the stash of water glasses on the other side of the bed, turned back around and you were there. Asleep on his bed. Appeared out of thin air.
For a moment, you just stared at each other.
“Is this real?” Eddie asked, putting his collection of dishes down and kneeling on the bed. You sat up and met his hug. “You feel real,”
“I’m real,” you reassured him.
“You don’t know what’s happened,” he stated, sensing that this wasn’t one of your secret little witchy things you did.
You shook your head and racked your brain for an explanation.
From the kitchen, Wayne yelled, “You forgot what you’re doing in there or what?”
“I’ll be right back,” Eddie said, picking up the dishes and taking them to where Wayne was waiting by the kitchen sink.
As soon as Eddie took his eyes off you, you blinked back to your own bed. It was instant. Painless. So fast that you took a second to realise you’d moved again.
Eddie ran back to his room to find it empty. He left through the door near his bedroom, Siouxsie’s entrance of choice, and walked to yours. You were already opening the door as he approached.
“Did you-” you went to ask.
“Yeah. You were just in my room. What the hell was that?”
No book nor muse could give you answers. There was only one place to turn. You dropped Eddie at work, then found a pay phone on a quiet street. Although you didn’t know if it was entirely possible, you didn’t want them to be able to use the line to find you.
“The universe is restoring things once broken,” the oldest witch you knew said.
“That doesn’t make sense. How does putting me in some boy’s bed restore something broken?”
“Edward. And he’s not some boy to you,”
“Jesus. How do you- Whatever. Am I meant to do anything? Is it going to happen again? Can I stop it?” you asked, not getting stuck on how she knew Eddie.
“Stop it?” she laughed. “Of course it could only be you that asks to stop the universe.”
You said nothing, slightly ashamed that you, even for a moment, thought you knew better than the universe.
“Listen to her. Use your gift. You know what it means.”
She hung up.
You banged your head on the glass door and groaned. Goddamn witches, you thought, everything’s gotta be so goddamn mysterious.
…
It didn’t happen again. Both you and Eddie waited for it, but nothing. When a week went by, you decided it was a one-off kind of thing.
“Maybe it means you should spend more time with me,” Eddie said from the beanbag in your trailer.
Looking up from where you were journaling, spread out on the cushions of your living room, you gave Eddie a look that so clearly said ‘we are together all the time.’ He chuckled and rolled onto the floor to be next to you.
“Your grimoire,” he said, poking the journal.
“Not everything I do is all magic and moonlight, Eddie. Just a normal journal.”
He made a small ‘hmm’ sound and picked up one of the black pens you were using. He positioned himself next to your free arm and began to draw bats to match his. You were going out of your mind; you had never been the type of girl to let anyone mark you in any way, shape, or form. But it was Eddie.
When you closed your journal with a definite snap, Eddie jumped a little. He dropped the pen.
“No. Keep going. I like it,” you told him, handing him a thicker sharpie to work with.
You laid on your back and let Eddie draw all up your arm. Eyes closed, it felt good. Soft. Intimate. When you could tell he was going back over the same lines, you opened your eyes for explanation.
“It will look dumb if you’re entirely covered,” he offered in a hushed tone.
There was a solution to every problem; you took a pen and marked the line on your thigh where your skirt’s hem sat. Then, you bunched the skirt up around your waist, revealing a lot of skin for Eddie to work with.
There was a simple pleasure in watching Eddie try not to look at your underwear but fail miserably. He could contain the grin on his face and you laughed at him.
“Draw me something,” you asked.
He blinked at you a few times, then did the only thing he could think of. In clear letters, at the top of your thigh, he wrote his name and circled it in a heart. He beamed up at you and you reached out to pat his hair.
“Good boy,” you praised, then wriggled down into the cushions and blankets. “More.”
Eddie wasn’t what the world would consider a sublime artist, but he knew his way around a dragon. His sketches were fantasy in nature, and they translated onto your skin remarkably well. As he covered you, he hummed happily, and you continued to play with his hair.
When Eddie ran out of space, he sat up and watched you wake from the totally blissed out altered state you were in.
“Hi,” Eddie whispered, waiting for you to inspect his work.
“I like them,” you told him. “Shame they’ll wash off,”
“I will do this anytime you want. Just say the word, I am here.”
You smiled, felt your skin flush red and your body react to being so close to him. You were all tingles and hot spots. And Eddie, well he was doing his best to angle himself in a way that would hide his own body’s reaction to your bare thighs and underwear. Keep your shit together, Munson, he yelled at himself from inside his skull. Now or never.
“Can I kiss you?”
“Yes. Please,” you replied, the whininess in your voice obvious to both of you.
Eddie grinned ear to ear, then leaned in and kissed you like it was something he did all day every day. His arm wrapped around you, pulling you into his lap. His hands began to roam, touching his drawings on your legs and the softness of your waist.
You wanted to touch him, hold him like he was holding you, but his scars were deep and he was covered in them. The singular time you’d spoken to him about them was when you’d given him a ride to work, all those mornings ago.
“Eddie,” you said his name into his mouth. He nodded but didn’t break the kiss. “Can I…” You gently placed your hand on his face, over where the scars began. It was those ones – on both cheeks and his left jawline– that made him most self-conscious.
Eddie’s grip on you stayed tight, but his gaze lowered and he licked his lips nervously. You waited for him to speak, not settling for anything less than explicit and voluntary consent.
“I want to tell you about it,” he said. He looked at you with an open expression. You kissed him again, deep and heavy.
“Tell me about it.”
…
Sleep between warm flannel sheets and velvet blankets. Holding cups of hot cocoa. Being kissed, gently, softly, all over. These were the things you wanted for Eddie.
He was a wonder before you knew about 1986. Knowing that he survived quite literal horrors, bitten and bleeding. On the cusp of death then expected to live knowing how it felt to be eaten alive. You wanted to worship at his feet for the rest of your life.
You were a firm believer that all trauma and pain were relative. What could seem like just a bad day to some, could send others to therapy. Yet, you were in awe of how kind and happy Eddie was. Even before the creatures in the Upside Down, the ostracising and villainising, the abandonment and the loneliness… Eddie could be half the person he was and you’d still think he was a miracle.
“You have magic in you,” you told Eddie.
Wrapped up in the softness of your bed, he was happy; it was his happy place. The light filtered in and broke against crystals, prisms of rainbow beams shooting across the space. It always smelled of muffins or incense or sage. Siouxsie was always thrilled to see him and you’d let him add a few vinyls to the stack.
“Magic, huh?”
“Yep,”
“Nah… That’s just like, your love, but in me,” he replied.
“Nope. You have a special brand of magic. It’s earth magic. I can feel it,”
“Can I do anything with this special earth magic?”
You thought on it, watched Eddie stretch and stopped yourself from cooing ‘oh big stretch’ at him like you did with Siouxsie.
“Well, I hear that boys with long hair and earth magic can ask people like me for almost anything, and they just say yes,”
“Oh really?” Eddie laughed. “What if I ask for… a kiss?”
“Your wish is my command,” you replied, wriggling closer to him and kissing him lazily.
“And here,” he said, pointing to the tip of his nose. You giggled and did what he said. “And here.” The top point of his right cheekbone.
It was the hesitation then that made you aware of what he wanted to ask for. The words got caught on their way out, stuck on a branch of self-consciousness.
“Maybe, here?” you asked, then planting a feather-light kiss on his right cheek, over the scar. Eddie nodded before your lips left his skin. “And here?” A kiss to his left cheek, where the scars ran deeper. His breathing hitched, but you could tell by the way he was pulling you closer that he was fine. More than fine.
“I’m gonna say it just one more time. And here?” you said, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses down his neck, over the bites.
Eddie’s final wall came down and you traced every line of his body. When the weight of letting you in, letting love touch the part of himself he hated, he cried. He tried his best to wipe the tears away quickly, but nothing got by you unnoticed.
A joke for him, to lighten the mood. You gasped, covered your mouth in faux shock. “Not the nipple!” you said in whispered outrage.
Eddie laughed and the joyful sound broke the tension. It all evaporated into the air, along with any hang-ups he was harbouring about his body, and about if making it out of the Upside Down was worth it at all.
When he had told you about what it was like there and how the scars were formed, he also told you about the pain. Not the pain in the moment, but in the healing.
Some doctors said it was like his skin had been poisoned; it rejected grafts and began to heal twisted, regardless of how perfectly the stitches were placed. Other doctors were more superstitious. They’d seen some fucked up things come through the emergency room doors. They said Eddie had been cursed. There was no medical explanation for why the scarring seemed to get worse the more they tried to heal them. There was no scientific reason for Eddie’s body to refuse medicine and food.
“They still hurt you,” you stated, focussed on his arms, kissing the insides of his elbows.
Eddie nodded after a split second of confusion. “You never told me what you meant,” he said. “About how you can… read? Is that what you said? You can read scars?”
Since you met Eddie, your conversations had been peppered with information about each other. Things that warranted immediate interrogation. Things that probably did, but you each let slide. Then things of major interest you made notes to return to. You had wondered how long it would take Eddie to ask you about it.
“It’s my specialty. Some of us palm read. Some can conjure elements. Talk to the other side. See the future. Endless possibility,” you started. Eddie was listening intently. “Me. I got a bit of a weird one. Only useful in very specific contexts, but you know how it is,”
“No. I really don’t,” Eddie replied with a small laugh. He waited for you to continue.
“So, this freckle here,” you said pointing to the spot on his wrist that was darker than the others. “I can see you. You’re… four, maybe five? It’s summer. You’re walking home eating a popsicle. This freckle got darker that summer.”
Eddie brought his wrist closer, studied it.
“And that teeny tiny scar under your eye. As white and thin as one of Siouxsie’s whiskers. Guitar string snapped when you were seventeen. Sliced right across your face.”
Eddie’s mouth curved into a smile. “You can do that with anything?”
“Anything that…” It was hard to explain. “Changes your body in an unnatural way. Tattoos included,”
“Don’t judge me,” he quickly said.
“Sketchy home jobs. At least you made sure the needle was sanitised,”
“Mmmm. High pain tolerance and I’m smart. Total catch,” Eddie joked.
“You are, actually,” you told him, not letting him linger in self-deprecation. “And if I am being totally honest with you, Eddie Munson, I would like to formally catch you, if I may,”
“Formally?” he repeated, smiling widely and opening his arms in an invitation.
You climbed on top of him, straddling his lap. “Eddie. I love you. I like who I am around you… I tried to be all ‘mysterious witch rolls into town,’ ‘ohhhh leave her alone,’ but, I don’t know. I didn’t see you coming. But now you’re here. Under me. Around me all the time. And I don’t want you to go. I love you. I’m in love with you.”
Eddie was breathless, submerged in a sea of your devotion. But he couldn’t fucking help himself. “So, you admit you’re a witch?”
You huffed dramatically and rolled off him, pushing him away playfully.
“I’m sorry!” he yelled. “Come back! I love you too!”
Too late. You were up, off the bed. Eddie ran after you, chasing you until he had you pinned down on top of the piles of pillows in the living space. He tickled until you were begging him to stop, then he kissed you like it was the single reason he refused to die. Maybe it was.
…
“So, you’re saying if I smoked that, it would kill me?”
“Eddie…” you warned.
“I’m serious. Look at all this. We could make a lot of cash if we’re smart about this.”
You pushed him away from your kitchen bench. “Go back over to your fucking rollies and let me work,”
“So serious!” he teased, walking to the cushion thrown he’d built and plonking down.
You were dividing herbs, crystals, and other conduits into small hessian fabric bags. Some were for you, some were gifts, and some were for sale. Eddie, also involved in the distribution of earth magic, was rolling joints ready to sell to first timers. It was second nature to him, something he could do blindfolded, so while he worked, he watched you.
“Can you tell me everything is for?” he asked, making eye contact while his tongue ran along the edge of a paper.
“Well… this is one is for Lucy,” you said, holding up one of your small parcels. “There is angelica herb for the baby’s colic, and valerian to help Lucy sleep. But everything has a twofold purpose. The medicinal and the magical. Angelica helps to protect the home, and valerian is good for romantic energy,”
“Lucy as in, my boss’ wife?”
“Yep. I have a long list of Hawkins clients. Not all of them would own up to it… Like… Mrs Miles has requested fire agate.”
You took the crystal over for Eddie to inspect. “What’s it for? Help her be less of a bitch?”
“It would take a whole lot more than agate for that. This is a positive stone. It helps manifest safety and security and that kind of thing. Depending on how you use it, it can help you be a little braver, and help reflect harm. But that isn’t what she’s using it for,”
“Oh?” Eddie quipped with a grin. “Do tell,”
“She didn’t tell me everything, but she did say it was for her husband. And this is a crystal that we use to fight cravings. Addictions. Less than healthy desires,”
“Oh shit. What do you reckon he’s into?”
“Probably something boring, like the bottle. I don’t know. I do hope it helps though,” you reply.
“Do they deserve your help?” Eddie asked sincerely.
“She’s not the nicest person I’ve met, but who I am to gatekeep magic? It’s bigger than me, you know? I… serve… it? In a way? I don’t know how to explain it.”
You went on to tell Eddie about moonstone and black obsidian, mistletoe and borage leaf.
“And I can’t smoke any of it,”
“Not any of this, no. I mean, you could try, but I think most would either do nothing or do harm. However…” You stood on tippy toes and pulled a jar off the top shelf.
Eddie was at your side quickly, taking the jar and shaking it. “This kind of looks like dope. What is it?”
“Mugwort,”
“That sounds super fucking witchy,” he said with a laugh.
“It’s smokable, but is pretty bitter. Some people say it tastes kind of floral but I don’t get that. It doesn’t give you a high while you’re awake, but it makes your dream suuuuper trippy,”
“People buy it?”
“Yeah,” you confirmed. “To help lucid dream, mostly.”
Sometimes, you worried that Eddie would get bored if you rambled on about the history of herbs and magic. You didn’t know, but sometimes he worried you would get bored if he rambled on about D&D and Metallica. The truth was not somewhere in the middle, but at the absolute extreme end of it being impossible to bore each other at all.
Eddie was listening, watching, waiting for you to continue.
“The Aztecs made it into incense, because they believed it to be sacred. Native Americans use it for purification. Ancient cultures from everywhere used it to ward off evil spirits. People like me believe it’s connected to lunar energy, which is very strong,”
“The moon?” Eddie asked with genuine curiosity.
“Yeah. Lunar energy is about cycles, things that repeat. We can’t be static; we need to move through life’s cycles, you know?”
He nodded despite not entirely understanding. “Soooooo, can I-”
“No. Maybe if your nightmares stop you can try some,”
“I don’t have the nightmares when I sleep with you,” Eddie argued.
“I know. But I won’t be able to live with the guilt if it fucks you up. So, it’s a hard no.”
Eddie accepted your ruling, shook the jar again and handed it back.
“Tell me more,” he said, once again becoming side tracked from his task by you and your magic.
…
It happened again. While you watched Eddie, who had not gone to sleep in your bed but was beside you when you woke, you thought about it.
The universe is restoring things once broken. Use your gift.
The universe had taken great effort in moving you to Eddie, all those weeks ago. Whatever you’d done between then and now, she wasn’t satisfied. She had moved Eddie to you. A clear message that there was something to be done for him.
He’s not broken, you said to yourself. But he was in pain. Maybe if your medium was scars and bodies, you could do more than just read them.
Eddie’s eyes began to flutter open, focus on you.
Maybe there was something you could do for him. It would take planning. Planning that he could not be privy to; you wouldn’t give him hope where there may be none.
“The fuck?” he mumbled, sleepiness slurring his words.
“Feels weird, doesn’t it?”
Eddie sat up and realised what had happened. He looked to you for an answer, but you had none, so all you could offer was a shrug.
“Alright… Well. Hi,” he grinned, moving over to kiss you.
“Hi,” you said into his mouth. “I think, if I take my eyes off you, you’ll go back,” you told him. “That’s what happened with me, right?”
Eddie nodded. “Guess we just have to stay in bed, staring at each other forever,”
“You’ve got to open the store. That’s why you slept at yours last night. Didn’t want to wake me early.”
The smile faded from his face and was replaced with a silly pout. “Fuck. Yeah. First time opening. Huge promotion, you know? Lots of responsibility,” he joked.
All you had to do was raise an eyebrow and Eddie knew what you were thinking. No more self-deprecation. It was good that he liked working at Hawkins Records. It was good the boss was teaching him how to open and close, how to balance the books and bank the cash. It wasn’t to be laughed at or be considered small.
“I love you,” he said then.
“I love you too. I’m gonna let you go now,”
“Fuck, does this hurt?”
“No, baby. If it did, I wouldn’t let it happen to you.”
Before he could reply, you leaned in and kissed him, then rolled over in bed, feeling the weight of his body disappear in an instant, leaving you alone in your trailer once again.
…
The trust in Eddie’s eyes was deep, unwavering. He was laid out in front of you, flat on the floor of your trailer. You’d made him as comfortable as possible. A faux fur blanket was beneath him and Siouxsie was cuddled into his side. Still, being stark naked in the middle of a pentagram of candles was a scary thing.
“Would you be more or less anxious if I, like, talk through this? You could just close your eyes and let your mind wander, or-”
“No. Talk me through it,” Eddie replied.
“Okay. Well, first we need to create our circle.”
Like you had countless times before, a gatekeeper white candle at true north, salt bowl, rhodozite, fresh flowers, and an immortal earthworm. Eddie found a spot on the ceiling to focus on and tried to slow his heart rate.
“You ready? I’m going to cover your scars with this,” you explained, holding up a jar of the homemade concoction. “It has a careful balance of four pain relievers – wormwood, yarrow, St Johns’ Wort, and willow bark. The plants all came from specific places and were grown at specific times. Then, we have chickweed, comfrey, and meadowsweet for healing,”
“It will make the scars go?” Eddie asked. You hadn’t told him what exactly you were doing, just that you wanted to try something.
“No. That would take a different kind of magic, one I don’t have. Besides, there’s nothing wrong with how you look, Eddie. I don’t want to change you. I just want to take your pain away. And I can.”
He nodded, went back to staring at the ceiling and patting Siouxsie.
“The plants were dried, then ground up. They’ve been steeping in chamomile oil for exactly thirty-three days,”
“You’ve been planning this for a while, huh?”
“Yep. This is… kind of the culmination of all my talents. An extension of them, maybe… Anyway. The oil is stabilised with some beeswax,”
“Then you put it all over me,”
“Yep. How’s it feel?” you asked.
“Uh, weird. Cold and warm? And… surprised I don’t have a raging hard on.”
You laughed. “It’s the circle. There’s intention here, and it’s not a sexual one,”
“Huh… I just don’t want you to get offended. Any other situation in which you were putting this gooey shit all over me with this much… attention, I would be creaming my jeans.”
Again, you laughed, shaking your hair and trying to pull yourself back into the right mindset. “Eddie, shut up. I need to focus,”
“Sorry, sorry. Go ahead.”
Eddie remained quiet while you wrapped his arms and legs in red twine. You had him sit up so you could wrap his torso and neck. When panic briefly flashed across his face, you kissed him.
“I’ve got you,” you whispered, continuing the twine up around his head so his cheeks, mouth and nose were covered. You checked he could breathe then laid him back down. “You need to stay still, as much as you can, for thirty-three minutes. I know it’s uncomfortable, but I promise this is gonna work.”
You placed a small black onyx over Eddie’s heart, for protection. Jade in his left hand and smoky quartz in his right. Lastly, gently sitting on his forehead, the master healer – brandberg amethyst.
It was the most still for the longest time Eddie could remember being. He thought it was going to take all his willpower, but it didn’t. Something was happening that he couldn’t describe. He felt awake and alert but far away and light. So light. Like he was floating. It felt as though his body was deep into a dish of edibles, but his mind was calm and on mum-friend duty. It was good.
When he felt the weight of the crystals lift, he opened his eyes. He watched you carefully put them into a bowl of salt water. Next to it was another bowl, one that held the smallest, cutest bonfire.
You began to pull the twine from his legs, feeding it into the fire slowly. When Eddie’s body was free, you extinguished the flames and poured the still-hot ashes into a small glass vial.
Lastly, you used a muslin cloth to wipe the potion from his skin, then closed the circle.
“Alright. You can shower now, and I’ll go bury this,” you told him, picking up the vial.
Eddie remained placid as he nodded and disappeared into your bathroom. Siouxsie took it upon herself to follow him and keep watch until both she and you knew the spell had worked and Eddie was safe.
When you came back in from the cold night, Eddie was sitting on the edge of your bed in pyjama pants. His scars had remained, but were perhaps a lighter shade of pink. They didn’t scream in angry red.
“How do you feel?” you asked him, coming to stand between his legs.
Eddie took hold of your hips and looked up at you. A tear slipped down his face, followed quickly by more. It was only once it was gone that Eddie realised how much pain there had been.
“I… I can’t… feel them. It doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t hurt anymore,” he cried, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling himself into your belly, hiding his face against your warm body.
…
In numerology, four is a figure of stability, security, and dependability. So, when Eddie finally asked to have his tarot read, you calculated the days since you first met him. It had been four-hundred and forty-four days, a bit over a year, since you had found Siouxsie in the company of Eddie.
Of course, you thought.
Eddie had jumped at the chance to have you read his palm. Nearly weekly, he’d bring his empty mug to you so you could decipher the tea leaves. But his cards? It had been a hard no.
“Can I ask why?” you had said softly.
Eddie shrugged. “Feels like… everything is good right now. I don’t want anything to fuck it up. If I know too much about what’s coming, might do something stupid.”
It was simple logic and you respected his boundary. Sometimes, if the tea leaves said too much, you’d not speak of it all to Eddie.
Months later, when he asked for you to shuffle your deck, you asked him what had changed. Once again, he shrugged.
“Woke up feeling good?” he offered. You were sure it was the number four and the placement of the moon, but just nodded and retrieved the cards from the special place you kept them.
While you were in your bedroom, Eddie lit a joint and gave Siouxsie a little treat. He put Van Morrison’s Moondance record on; it was not his usual thing but it always made you happy, and Crazy Love fed the butterflies in his stomach.
You and Eddie sat opposite each other on the cushions in your living space. Over the sawed-off coffee table, you laid a deep purple silk cloth. When you asked if he wanted a simple three-card spread, or something more complex, he said he was all in.
Swapping the cards for the joint, you let Eddie shuffle while you inhaled deeply.
“We can stop at any time,” you reminded him as he put the deck on the table.
Eddie nodded and waited for further instruction.
“Okay, you’re going to shuffle them again, but this time I want you to think about something. It might be a general question you have or something you wanna know more about. It doesn’t have to be super specific, but try to focus in on a theme.”
He picked up the cards and did what you said. There was something about the image of Eddie sitting cross-legged surrounded by cushions, joint hanging from between his lips, shuffling tarot cards that made you feel a little bit feral with love. You needed to focus though; if he was ever going to let you do this again you needed to channel your energy into reading his.
Once Eddie placed the deck on the table, you pushed it along, spreading them in a line.
“You’re going to pick your cards now. Hold your hand out flat, like this, and see if you can feel anything. The right card might feel warm or like static. It’s okay if they don’t though. The first one is going to represent your preconceived ideas about the theme.”
Eddie held back a smirk as he moved his hand along the line of cards like you’d shown him. He felt a little bit silly, but he was a believer regardless. He knew your magic was real.
“This one,” he said, pushing a card out of the line. You moved it away from the rest.
“Again. This card will represent the present.”
He repeated the process for the unexpected, the near future, and the distant future. Once the five cards were drawn, you put the remaining deck aside. Eddie’s chosen cards were neatly arranged side by side on the table.
“You can turn your first card over.”
The Chariot.
“He looks cool,” Eddie commented.
“He is. This card is about having direction, control, and willpower. It would suggest, whatever it is your thinking about, that you have a sense of real, practical determination about it,” you said, watching Eddie for that flicker of recognition people got when the cards resonated with them.
“Can I tell you the thing?” he asked, to which you nodded. “Been thinking a bit about work. I think they’re gonna open up that second store I told you about. Their kid is nearly one. I don’t what they’re thinking about managers and who’s gonna run the record store, but…”
“But it could be you?” you finished for Eddie, because he felt like saying it out loud might jinx it.
“Yeah,”
“I think it could be too. And, this card is saying that you’ve been working hard and, you know, moving forward. The moons on his armour represent what is coming to be. It has a connection to the Divine will. So, it’s a good headspace to be in,”
“Okay. Yeah, cool. Next one?” Eddie asked. He was getting into it.
As soon as he saw the card, Eddie groaned.
“No! It’s not bad! The Death card is good. Metamorphosis. If we apply it to your theme, then you’re right. There is change happening at work, and it will bring new beginnings,” you told him. He raised his eyebrows. “Come on, Eddie. You know better than anyone that there’s more to dark imagery than like, actual death and doom,”
“Alright. I’ll trust you on that one,”
“Good; trust me. Next one is the unexpected… The Tower,” you read, then began to hum.
“What? Is this one bad? It’s upside down,”
“It is. That changes the meaning. See, the upright Tower means disaster. The lightning and fire, the people jumping or falling. It’s not normally a good omen, but yours is reversed. That symbolises disaster avoided, or just delayed.”
You were speaking slower and more considered, and Eddie clocked it immediately. “Just tell me,”
“Well, no, it’s just… if this is your unexpected thing, it means there probably will be something you have to overcome. The Tower is falling, and you can’t stop it, but seeing it reversed means that you’ll cope and survive and probably be better for it,”
“Right,” Eddie replied, thinking.
You weren’t entirely sure what it meant for Eddie’s future, but that’s the nature of the cards. It was certainly the nature of the unexpected position in the five-card spread.
“So next is the future?” Eddie said, then flipped the card.
“Yep,” you said, then laughed as The Fool was revealed.
“Great. So, I get a burning tower and now I’m a fucking clown?”
“This is a good card, Eddie! I promise. The Fool has a free spirit. He is taking his first steps out into the world. He’s happy and excited,”
“He sounds dumb,” Eddie said deadpan.
“A little. Innocent, definitely. See the cliff? He needs to be maybe just a little bit more aware of his surroundings, but he’ll have help. The dog is his warning sign,”
“We have a cat,”
“Firstly, we? Do we? Secondly, it could be a metaphor. It just means, take to the road light-hearted but heed the warning signs,”
“Alright. I can do that. Last one,”
“That was your near future. This is more long term.”
You held your breath as Eddie turned the card over. If it were up to you, Eddie’s future would be filled with comfort and ease, triumph and beauty. Alas, it wasn’t up to you, it was up to the universe. While you trusted her, she had dealt Eddie a pretty shit hand.
When The World sat face up on the table, you breathed out happily and wiped your eyes, unaware they had started to well with tears.
Eddie looked up at you. “Baby?” he asked concerned.
You sniffed back the tears and smiled at him. “It’s good. Really good. And it makes sense for today, too.”
Eddie grinned, picked up the card and studied it. “There’s a lot going on,”
“Yeah, um,” you started, composing yourself. “The World. Okay. At the heart of her is balance, in all things. But, not at the expense of progress. The World is eternal evolution in movement. And, uh,” you paused, giving Eddie a chance to reign you in if he wanted.
Eddie saw the sparkle in your eyes, the excitement and the innate need to just talk.
“Tell me everything,” he reassured you.
“Well, like, today, you know what today is? We’ve known each other for four-hundred and forty-four days, right, and see here, in the corners. These four guys, they represent Scorpio, Leo, Aquarius and Taurus, from the zodiac, and they in turn can represent so much, like the four corners of the universe, the four elements and seasons, and the four suits of Tarot, four compass points…”
“Everything is coming up fours, huh?”
You were beaming. “Yeah, and if you wanna get all hippie about it, if you pull The World it means there is wholeness in your future, Eddie. Like, alignment of you and everything around you. A sense that you’re connected to something bigger.”
Eddie laughed. “These are some big feelings to have about a job,”
“Maybe. But maybe that stability brings, you know, something more? Fulfillment and achievement. And, maybe the cards have branched away from just your main theme. They have waited a long time to tell you their story, so maybe they’re just peppering in other things too?”
“Ah, I see. So your cards are as tricky as you? Love a bit of mystery?”
“They do. I do,” you replied, looking back down at the table. “This is a really good reading, Eddie. How do you feel, ‘cause I feel… I’m so happy for you,”
“I feel like this is promising me a lot but if I have learnt anything in the past four million four thousand four hundred forty-four point four four days is that I can trust you, my little witch,” Eddie replied, smiling fondly and reaching across the table to boop you on the nose.
“I love you,”
“I love you too. You make me… so fucking happy,” Eddie said, his voice equal parts soft with love and rough with lust.
For a moment, a timeless moment, you and Eddie watched each other. The air was hazy with incense and smelt like choc chip cookies. Siouxsie had departed, off to chase leaves and make friends with mice, leaving the two of you alone.
You crawled around the table and sat in Eddie’s lap. Quickly, immediately, his hands were holding you, travelling under your shirt and up around your back. You buried your head in his neck, kissing over what used to be pain but now was perfect neutrality. His hair curled around your fingers and as you pulled, Eddie felt his scalp tingle and his entire body scream that it needed to be closer to you, closer than it was, closer than humanly possible.
The kissing was desperate, messy, unprecise. As you pulled away, Eddie brought a hand to your mouth to wipe away spit before it escaped. You sucked in his finger, holding it between your front teeth and not letting go. He grinned, all manic and beautiful.
“I need you… in like, so many ways,” he whispered.
“You’ve got me. In every single way, Eddie. Always.”
Lavender and lemon balm. Fairy circles and magic mushrooms. Serpentine and Australian opal. The Sun and the Moon and the stars and everything under and beyond them. Infinitely, Eddie and his sketchy tattoos and pick necklace and his scars. You were obsessed.
End Notes: I poured my soul into this one and it means a lot. I’m usually chill about reblogs but I would really appreciate your support and feedback for this one.
Find me on AO3 here. My Eddie Munson zine is now on sale here.
If you want more witchy fics, here's a rec list.
Taglist of cool people that wanted to read this even before it was finished: @apolixyan @rgbsona @pink-hufflepuff @hocuspocuscrocus @nightless @httpsunflowers @draguta @moon1ightdreams @dreamlandcreations @veiellis @blackwood-asylum @lunarielevesque @pistachoz @munsonsmel0dy @fic-for-readers @wtvbabes
#Mine#Eddie Munson#Eddie Munson x Reader#Eddie Munson/Reader#Eddie Munson Fanfic#Eddie Munson Fanfiction#Stranger Things#Stranger Things Fanfiction
940 notes
·
View notes
Text
Deep In Those Woods: Chapter 5
Keegan P. Russ x Fem!Reader
Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4
AO3
You find a strange man in the woods, no doubt running from the federation. He seems, well, in simple terms beat to shit. May your act of kindness not go unpunished.
A/N:
I'm BACCCCCKCKKKKKKK BABY. More Keegan content and I'm so sorry it's taken so long but it was a FUCKING STRUGGLE to pivot from the Keegan is a glorified injured vegetable so time skip to him being a bruised fruit! Thank you all for reading!
Tags:
@dindjarinsmeshla @tessxq @ladyvlolypop @tiny-kasper @konigsleftkidney @mykneeshurt @katsufairies
Days pass, and his condition improves. The bruises on his body begin to fade into dark purples and sickly yellows as the flesh tries to cope with the trauma and heal.
Pulling the clothes off the line and finally dressing the near-naked man who'd been camping out on your couch and floor for nearly two weeks.
When he'd needed to finally wash the one set of clothes he'd shown up in, you'd given him a few sets of your brother's clothing.
What were you doing?
Taking care of some stranger when your brother was out there- God knows where, maybe in danger.
Maybe he was dead-
You didn't want to think that.
He'd- much to your dismay- had begun wandering around the house. Almost like a misbehaving puppy, any time you would let the man out of your sight he would be somewhere he wasn't supposed to. Wandering around outside of the house, milling around as if he didn't truly believe he was alive.
Much of your time was dedicated to catching up on chores, tending to the garden, and making sure that your animals were alright. The never-ending list of maintenance to make sure that you would be alright- ensuring that you'd be able to survive.
It was getting hotter, even now, earlier in the day- before the sun rose high enough to signal it being noon, sweat beaded on your forehead. Humidity be damned, the bright blue sky with little puffy white clouds dotting the sky and the bright, burning sun warmed the surrounding land.
"Where is my radio?"
Keegan's voice startles you, nearly jumping out of your skin ten feet into the air. You'd never heard his footsteps approaching, you didn't know that even if you were listening for them you'd be able to. You were wrist deep in a garden bed pulling out weeds from between your plants, the little green shoots sprouting up and around into dainty little green ladders reaching for sunlight.
"Fuck!" Little bits of the soil fly up into the air as your hands reach up on instinct from the scare. "What? What do you want?" The anxiety shines clear through your voice, desperately looking at the quiet man for an explanation.
He'd been doing this shit to you for days.
Hiding behind in the shadows, popping out and asking you for something small, minuscule, irrelevant.
And scare the shit out of you in the process.
You didn't have his fucking radio.
Did you?
You'd have to look.
You sigh in defeat, brushing off any remnants of dirt from your hands and washing them off in a bucket next to you.
"If I help you look, will you stop asking about it?" You ask.
He nods in response.
With a grumble, you get up off of your knees and leave your task in the garden forgotten. Trailing back into the house with the man in tow- hitting the door and making a break to grab the items you'd pulled off of him in his gear.
He still hovered behind you, watching intently as you dragged the bag out and started searching through it. Pulling out his vest, then various knives, empty magazines...
Then your hands wrapped around the dinged and damaged black plastic.
"Here?" You pulled it out, the antenna snapped off, hesitantly handing the broken radio to him and leaning back onto your hands and sitting flat on your bottom. "It's broken."
Keegan grasps the radio, looking at you and without even speaking, saying 'I can tell'. He smacks the radio a few times against his hand, letting out of huff of disapproval before turning and walking into the kitchen.
"Where are you going?" You stand, following him into the kitchen as he opens a drawer and pulls out a fork, turning it onto the radio and starting to pop off little plastic pieces until the guts of the little machine were exposed to his eyes. "You know, I could grab you a screwdriver- you don't need to use my forks."
"It worked, didn't it?" He asks, taking a step over and wincing as he bends to the side.
He'd never admit it, but he was still hurt.
He'd bare through it, if it was up to him.
"You need to sit." You gasped out, reaching for his arm. Your hand wrapped around his bicep in an attempt to get his attention back on you while you tried to lead him to a chair. His body stiffened underneath your touch as your fingers grasped onto the muscle of his arm.
"I'm fine." He replied bluntly, turning back to the radio. Widening his stance but making no move to remove your hand.
You faltered for a moment, hesitantly releasing your hand- the feeling of warmth from both of your skin touching dissipating into the air around you. Moving back and sitting down in the chair you'd originally tried to get Keegan to sit down in, you watched.
Watched as he messed with the radio, inspecting the electronics for things you couldn't see- things you didn't understand.
"Do you think you can fix it?" You ask, curling up into the chair, pulling your legs up to you, and crossing them. Resting your arm on the counter and intently watching as he once again took your fork to poke and prod at the internals.
"More than likely." He replied, a calm, quiet tone as he leaned more of his body weight into the counter.
You were sure it was because his ribs were bothering him.
He'd never admit it.
But, they were.
Any time you had tried to question the man in the last few days- once he'd become considerably more lucid- on why he had been out in your neck of the woods. Where he would've been injured- you hadn't come into contact with any Federation, well, ever.
You didn't tell him that part.
For all he knew, you had them fertilizing the orchard.
But any attempt you had made had quickly been spun around and shot down. Pivoting into new conversation or him picking apart your questions until you no longer wanted to be around him.
"Why were you out here?" You questioned him, hand gripped onto the counter as you held a knife in your other hand. Half an onion behind you- staring up at the ceiling furiously blinking to get the tears out of your eyes.
"That's classified, princess." The slight drawl of his voice, the southern twang in his words as he threw in the princess just to get on your nerves.
He'd gone through a few other nicknames-
Sweetheart, Angel.
But he knew that Princess struck a nerve in you. The sassy bastard tactically threw it into a sentence whenever he wanted you to lose your footing.
"Classified?" You'd asked, groaning. "Give me a break, I drag you out of a creek, nurse you back to health the least you could do is tell me why you were out here."
"If I told you I'd have to kill you." He replied, a smug grin curling up on the edges of his lips.
"And all I'd have to do is hit you in the ribs." You bit back.
"Oh, come on. That's fighting a little dirty don't you think?" He tilted his head in question. His large hands opened and pressed against his chest before hissing and wincing.
Your head snaps over at the sound of his pain. "Are you alright?" You ask, concern laced into not only your words but your features.
"Don't worry about me Princess, I'm just a little tender."
You hadn't really thought about what would happen if the radio started working again- he wasn't exactly in the best shape to be heading back off the mountain to presumably around the same place he'd been injured in the first place.
"Are you trying to talk to your team?" You asked, breaking the silence between the two of you.
Keegan looks at you for a moment, as if debating on releasing the smallest bit of information.
And he nods, once.
Yes.
"Are they here too?" You question, picking at a stray thread at the end of your t-shirt. Anxiously trying to navigate the conversation- keeping him responding while feeding you little crumbs of information.
"No. I came here alone."
You hum in acknowledgment. Resting your elbow against the counter, your chin into your hand, watching him glare at the broken electronic.
"Dosen't seem very smart to come out here by yourself." You reply, finally standing and grabbing your bottle of water and taking a sip. Pointing out what you felt to be a major flaw in his logic.
He was just one man.
"Could say the same about you." He replied, setting the radio down on the table and turning to look at you.
Your posture stiffened, grip tightening on the bottle.
"I wasn't always alone."
Keegan's face was stoic- but for a moment, for a fraction of a second, she could see something flicker in his eyes. As if he were asking for more- to know.
To care.
"My-" You falter for a moment. "My brother, he left... Four months? Maybe Five- I don't even know how long he has been gone- before I found you. He went to go investigate something weird a few miles away from here"
You take in a shaky breath.
"He never came back..." You look out the window, watching a chicken scratch at the earth and peck. "I know he can handle himself- but he's never been gone this long. And he told me to not come looking if he didn't come back- we all know what would happen if I was found."
Keegan listened, intently. And he understood, even with the disgust rising in the back of his throat at the thought.
"What was he investigating?" He asked.
"There are these... erm." You pause. "Fires- on the four mountains. They are other settlements, other farmers, and even maybe a town now on one of them. The smoke from the fires means either something is really, really wrong, or they had made contact with the government- that people were here to protect and save some of us." Your grasp your arm anxiously, rubbing at the skin. "So he went to investigate- but didn't come back."
He nodded, steel blue eyes fixed to your own.
"I just..." You trailed off.
"Want to make sure he's ok?" Keegan finished.
"Yea." You nodded. "Or at least have some closure. Sometimes just knowing- as much as it'd hurt. To know he is dead, would be better than to wait- to expect."
"I'll help you." His voice was soft- quiet. As if his words came out just above a whisper.
"Why?" You questioned.
“Keegan, you’re safe alright?”
He was silent, glancing around the cabin as if he hadn’t really looked at it before. “You took me in?”
“Y… Yea?” You questioned, wondering if it was the wrong thing to say. “You were hurt…”
“Why are you helping me?” The question left, the exhale of his words and the dissipation of them into the silent room-filling little cracks in the walls with a deep voice you’d only heard of in the books you kept by your bedside.
“You were hurt, and you needed help.” You explained carefully, eyes focused on his hand still locked onto your arm.
Keegan stared, mouth opening and trying to speak but nothing coming out- his mind rushing a million miles a minute.
"Because you owe me?" You teased.
He releases a breath. "Yea, Princess. Because I owe you."
164 notes
·
View notes
Text
it's still nov 5 where I am so enjoy this long ramble fix it <3
It started with finding a flower growing by Baby’s tire. He plucked it and placed it on the dashboard as he drove away. Later the flower found itself sitting on Dean’s desk. Seeing the small yellow daisy grow in the cracks of old concrete reminded him of a certain someone. It made him smile.
So when he saw someone selling flowers on the side of the road he bought a bouquet of them. He then started to keep a 20$ bill on him at all times just in case he saw the opportunity to buy one or two.
The grocery store owner was throwing away some chipped planters and Dean offered to take them, giving the man the 20$ bill he was saving and buying some random flower seeds. That night he stayed up late looking up how to grow a flower.
Sam bought him a cactus—it had a little flower growing on top—and Dean added it to his growing collection on his desk. He now had some on his nightstand and over his bed too. Eileen mentioned how bright the place looked. She didn’t mention that Dean was starting to look better too.
Some plants didn’t make it, a lot of them needed sun and not just those bright lights Dean had to buy. He didn’t find it fair that he trapped all these beautiful things underground. Suffocating them. Ruining them. Killing them. He got a shovel and bought some fresh dirt. A rooftop garden shouldn’t be that hard.
Dean added umbrellas, beach chairs, and a cooler to his oasis. He had a small speaker playing an audiobook while his fingers were covered in dirt. Pulling weeds and encouraging his sunflowers to grow. He was alone and yet he felt surrounded by their presence. In everything beautiful, there was a little sign of his best friend.
Dean always imagined Cas like a natural disaster wanting to be a simple breeze. He didn’t want to break anything. He only wanted to exist in a world where he could watch everything grow. Wanting to help wherever he could. He wanted to be good. He desperately wanted to be good. Dean planted irises.
Onions, potatoes, and carrots are the next to grow. Jack enjoyed digging them out. He couldn’t wait to see how big his pumpkins would grow. Dean missed the beautiful colors of the flowers but his room still looked bright.
The sun was high up in the sky but Dean didn’t mind. He was singing his favorite song, had a cooling rag around his neck, and a big sun hat on his head. His rooftop garden has grown. There now was a tent shading the flowers that needed it and a little plastic kiddie pool for his feet to rest when he needed it. Right now he was content, seeing his garden so beautiful and full. In that moment he felt whole.
Sam and Dean lay on the beach chairs staring up at the stars. It reminded them of a time when it was just them. They had no home just a job to do. Just chess pieces in a game they had no choice but to play along with. Now they had a choice. Dean decided he wouldn’t soak his hands in blood anymore. Sam supported him. They’ll look for a place in the morning. Right now they’ll enjoy the sky.
Starting over alone didn’t feel right. The new house was a big fixer-upper but it felt like a place he could grow old in. Dean bought a bouquet of flowers to place in the middle of the kitchen table. Someday it will feel like home and he’ll be happy here.
He set a small table outside. He didn’t know how much he missed constantly being able to see the sky. His routine always involved being able to watch it turn color over the lake. He sat drinking his coffee and eating his omelet. He didn’t listen to the news but instead, he filled the air with his favorite cartoons. He was starting to feel like himself.
Starting a garden was easier when he didn’t have to climb so far up. He tried growing everything he could. Filling his land with edible plants and beautiful flowers. He made a path with some old bricks. He built a garden door. He added a wooden bench. There’s a bird feeder that Eileen gifted him hanging on the tree branch and underneath was a bird bath. Jack gifted him a little garden gnome and Sam brought a rainbow doormat. Dean rolled his eyes but he placed it at his front door.
It was snowing but it wasn’t sticking to the ground. Dean was in the kitchen cutting tomatoes for soup. He had plans to make the best-grilled cheese and watch Christmas movies. Next weekend everyone will show up to celebrate some sort of Christmas. Dean even had a tree in the corner, decorated with lights only cause his new cat knocked everything off. He didn’t mind.
Three years passed in a blink of an eye and Dean could still feel the hot grip on his shoulder. It woke him up time and time again, and just like every other time, he got dressed to take a walk. He hated to bother his little munchkin but she was asleep on her side of the bed. Small and curled up on her little blanket. He zipped up his jacket and gave her a little kiss. A promise to come back. He walked down the side of the lake, hands deep in his pockets, the snow was gone but some patches remained here and there. He hasn’t felt so alone in a while. Maybe it was all his guests leaving that brought this on but he couldn’t help but feel someone was missing the whole time. He’s always missing.
Another new year and Dean was in his garden preparing the dirt for the new harvest. His flower garden usually took priority but there’s not much he could do about that during this cold weather. His plants inside were thriving though. He was so into the audiobook that Dean didn’t hear the footsteps. He was on his knees pulling weeds and listening to the main character decide if love was worth the career she worked so hard for. She just shouted his name when he heard his own name being called. Dean jumped, ready to throw the small weeding hoe in his hand but instead, he froze.
“Hello, Dean.” He smiled. He had longer hair and a full beard coming in but it was him. “Um, Sam told me this is where you live now.”
Dean stood up. He felt cold, his legs shaking but he kept his stare on his visitor.
“It’s beautiful. Your home.”
Dean swallowed the lump as he whispered, “Thanks.” He started at him for a bit longer before taking a step forward. “Cas?”
Cas nodded, and his eyes started to water. “I’m back. I’m back, Dean.”
Dean didn’t hear anymore. He ran to him. Wrapping the angel in his arms and savoring every second of it. He felt the long brown hair between his fingers and the smell of rain still lingered on Cas’s skin.
It was him. Dean took a deep breath. It hurt his chest and he wondered how many years was he holding that in.
Dean took Cas’s face between his hands and felt himself fall in love all over again. How did he ever think he could live without him? Cas was everywhere in his house but it was never going to be enough.
“Welcome home, Cas.” He breathed out in relief and Cas chuckled, his hands on Dean’s waist.
“I’ve been waiting so long to hear that.”
Dean smiled, his eyes remembering every second of this moment. “Fuck, I missed you so much.” He leaned in and the next thing he knew they were kissing.
Finally kissing. Finally together.
Dean could taste both their tears as they kissed but they were unwilling to let go of each other. From this moment on they will never be apart.
“I love you.” Dean breathes into Cas’s lips. Kissing slowly and lazily. “I loved you for so long.”
“Me too.” Cas kisses Dean’s nose. Kisses Dean’s cheeks. Kisses Dean’s eyelids and then his lips. “My heart has always been yours.”
Dean knew that from now on, together they would grow and it would be beautiful.
Time has passed and the sun was high in the sky. They both worked outside, listening to a book about dragons and magic because it was Cas's turn to pick, and they created shade for their flowers. A little green house was next on their list but building the second floor was taking a lot of their time. Still they both enjoyed the outdoors. Dean made lunch for them and they sat outside on Dean's little table for two. They talked about the future with no fear, only excitement. And they held hands across the table, laughing about something stupid and creating memories they never thought were possible. Munchkin sat at their feet enjoying the sun just as much as them. The family will come over for dinner soon so they know they'll have to head inside but right now they're in their own bubble. Content and happy. Surrounded by growing love.
68 notes
·
View notes
Text
Tesvor Robot Vacuum Cleaner
The CBF store offers the best Tesvor Robot Vacuum Cleaner at very discounted prices to customers. We have various models in tesvor just choose your model and get it instantly.
#Cheap Appliances Online Australia#Australian Compressed Hardwood#Plastic Plants Garden Bed#Best Cheap Dishwasher Australia
0 notes
Text
Plant pot ashtrays - Billy Hargrove x plus size reader
Summary: You work part-time as a gardener, often weeding and watering the many plants around Hawkins. However, you have a problem with people, people like Billy Hargrove, using your plants as an ashtray.
Comments and reblogs are much appreciated and help more people read my works.
A/N: This was a request but I went a bit overboard... There will not be a part two to this, sorry. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
“Hey!” you shout as you look up from watering some plants.
The ‘hey!’ isn’t a hello kind of ‘hey!’, it isn’t the type of welcome that you do when you see a friend across the road and shout to get their attention, neither is it a small but happy ‘hey!’ that is a bit too loud because the person you’re greeting is right next you – no, you’re shouting it with annoyance in your voice, your normally calm voice bellowing down the street for all to hear.
“HEY!-“ you shout again as you hastily place your big green plastic watering can down, making sure to place it in between the standing flower boxes along the pavement that line the street so any passers-bys don’t trip over it, “- HARGROVE!”
Your sandals, not the fashionable or feminine type of sandals with golden ankle straps or little heels like the women’s magazines show but a dad kind of sandals that are khaki in colour with Velcro and grippy soles clip clap on the scorching hot pavement as you hurry up to the one and only Billy Hargrove.
Thankfully no one is walking on the pavement as you hurry up to him for you must look like a raging bull ready and angry at the curly haired man.
You wear baggy overalls are green like you thumb, covered in mud and water stains from pulling weeds and watering plants all morning. The thin fabric billows from how fast you speed walk over to the trouble maker (and fellow class mate) Billy Hargrove.
Billy, like he is most of the time, is leaning on his car no thoughts in his head as he pauses and looks over at you.
His tanned face looks slightly red in the shining sun though you’re not sure whether it’s a flush of anger appearing because he’s being shouted at by a lowly part time gardener or if he just forgot to put on the factor fifty this morning.
Billy leans there staring just about to stub out his second cigarette on your yet to be watered pot of Gerbera daisies but his fingers pause as he sees the pissed off look on your face.
He smirks with such mirth as you skid to a halt in front of him.
“Hey-“ he begins with a suave tone that makes the hairs on your arms stand on end from anger and something else you can’t quite pin point.
You cut him off immediately.
“Hey!” you say in a deep mocking voice much like a child would do in a petty playground fight, “Why don’t you and your fucking friends stop using my flowers as ashtrays and-and!”
You want to say ‘do something with your life’ because the popular kids like Billy are always just hanging around littering, shouting at you and generally being a nuisance.
You’ve already had to scoop out multiple handfuls of cigarette ash and candy wrappers from your plants this morning alone that and some random kid shouted at you some unsavoury words which hasn’t improved you mood.
Whilst not all of the trash and trash talk is from Billy and his little group of bullies, they are always the ones who burry their litter in your plant beds right in front of your eyes.
Sometimes you wonder if they know it’s you who spends their free time tending the town’s plants or if they just see a fat girl who they can tease and bother just for the fun of it.
Either way, they really don’t give two flying fucks.
Just last week a pretty blonde cheerleader who had allegedly fucked Hargrove behind the bleachers, the same bottled blonde who told to whole school about it despite Hargrove avoiding her like the plague, looked you right in the eyes and shoved a half-eaten hotdog into your bed of lavender.
There was a bin right next to her!
At least the middle schoolers try to be sneaky about burring their rubbish unlike Hargrove and co. who don’t give a fuck abut you or your plants.
Even so you know it would be too harsh even for you to say something like ‘get a life’ to Billy knowing who he lives with so instead you just grab Billy’s hand by the wrist so he can’t lower it further down towards your daises.
Taking the cigarette with your other hand you drop the burnt out but down a storm drain near rear tire of Billy’s car.
“It’s that simple Billy.” You say as you point to the drain, your other hand still holding onto his wrist without realising it, “Not in my daises please!”
You take a deep breath, your eyes closing and reopening as you squint up to him.
You really need to calm down.
“This is cute.” Billy smugly says as his hand trapped by your clutched hand fiddles with a small chain bracelet dangling around your wrist.
His long fingers toy with a little green cactus charm that has an overly cartoon spikes and an angry face embossed onto it.
His face smug and you feel like punching it.
“Nope, nope, nope.” You mutter as you rip your hand away from his, your dad sandals stopping you from tripping over as you rush back to your plants.
You feel a rage built up as you pick up your watering can, Billy shouting something back at you, something you block out with the sound of water trickling out the watering can.
Family life isn’t the best for you, there isn’t really a prospect of going to university not even a community one, even if there was a chance you could you can’t afford it so gardening is the next best thing for you.
Funny enough, you moved to Hawkins around the same time Billy and his family did so the odd thing you’ve got going on with Billy has been happening ever since you’ve met him.
Whilst he’s stuck with an abusive dad, passive step mum and cool little sister, you’re left in the hands of some distant cousin who isn’t a creep but can’t really afford to keep himself afloat let alone you as well.
With no parents around and the looming threat of paying rent to stay in the only town you feel somewhat safe in (despite the rumours of monsters lurking around) you cousin had begun carting you off after school with him to his work.
Somehow that led to him getting you a job as a gardener, the same job his dad got him when he was just a teen, and despite disliking having to work whilst still being at school you’ve grown to love pulling weeds and planting pretty flowers in your spare time.
Most weekends you’re working; whether it be mowing a rich person’s lawn or like you’re doing now, tending to the town’s plants.
You’ve come to realise you love the job. It’s not much in the grand scheme of things but you’ve found your calling. However, there’s always people like Hargrove and his friends who try to fuck up a good thing by hassling and disrupting your work.
It’s been half an hour since the cigarette incident and you’re still red hot with anger.
Ever since then Billy has been following you around like a bee attracted to a fake flower on a Hawaiian shirt or to a brightly coloured sun hat.
One moment you’re watering the flowers and he’s moved to the bench in between the Tulips, the next moment you’re pulling up rubbish from the hedge rows and then he’s just there near you leaning on the wall with another cigarette in his mouth.
Each and every step he’s been following you.
To think you bunked off helping your cousin tend to the garden of the Harrington’s because of a stupid crush only to have Billy follow you around instead.
“You want anything Billy?” you demand as you quickly turn around to the man trying to act natural as he watches you from under the shade of a shop front.
Your voice is filled with bother, the frustration dripping from you lips like the beads of sweat on your brow.
It’s really too hot today.
“Nothing.” He raises his hands in a mock surrender as ash falls from his cigarette to the pavement.
“Well!” you feel like you’re going to explode as you look on at Billy.
You many have a tiny thing for Steve Harington or that kid from the DnD club or Nancy from your maths class or- ok you find a lot of people to be hot and you’d happily date anyone of them but Billy Hargrove is something else.
He makes you mad but not in bad ‘I want to punch you in the face’ kind of way.
He maybe a bully, the leader of the bullies that roam the high school but he’s always tolerant of you, he’s never actually said a bad thing about you.
That combined with the smooth tanned skin and the tufts of curly beach blonde hair you just feel like an overheating car engine around him.
“All you and you friends do is stand around loitering and shouting, just go do something instead of bothering me!”
Your little rambling outburst whilst you kneel down and dig into a potted plant weeding out the weeds and picking off any unwanted slugs sounds harsh but your words are actually just tired and fed up sounding.
The heat is getting to you, the amount of work you have to do in the blazing hot sun is getting you worked up but most of all the tall tanned and handsome Billy is making you feel some kind of way.
Billy puffs a bloom of grey smoke out of his lips. He raises the but of the cigarette up showing it to you, and for a moment you think he’s going to stub it out into your plants but then he drops it to the ground and stomps it out with his foot.
You let out a breath of relief.
“If you’re going to hang around-” you begin as you begin to calm just a bit you voice quieter and more controlled, “- got water those Daises next to your car.”
You half expect Billy to laugh at you, maybe call out a sharp remark about how it’s ‘your job not mine’ but all he does is walk over to you and pick up the green watering can next to your le.
“Yes ma’am.” He says low and slow as he hovers near you.
He’s half bent down, the heavy watering can no hassle for him, his eyes looking straight into yours.
“Any time now.” You throw back, not wanting to deal with the fact that the hot angry feeling you have for Billy Hargrove might actually be a new crush forming.
#not proof read#billy hargrove x plus size reader#billy hargrove x reader#billy hargrove#stranger things x reader#stranger things x plus size reader#stranger things#plus size reader#x plus size reader
438 notes
·
View notes
Text
o 625 words to know in your target language o
There is a really interesting blog called "Fluent Forever" that aids foreign language learners in tricks, tips and techniques to guide them to achieving fluency "quickly" and efficiently. One of the tricks is to learn these 625 vocab words in your target language, that way you have a basis to start delving into grammar with ease as you can understand a lot of vocab right off the bat. Plus this list of words are common across the world and will aid you in whatever language you are learning. Here is the list in thematic order
• Animal: dog, cat, fish, bird, cow, pig, mouse, horse, wing, animal
• Transportation: train, plane, car, truck, bicycle, bus, boat, ship, tire, gasoline, engine, (train) ticket, transportation
• Location: city, house, apartment, street/road, airport, train station, bridge hotel, restaurant, farm, court, school, office, room, town, university, club, bar, park, camp, store/shop, theater, library, hospital, church, market, country (USA,
France, etc.), building, ground, space (outer space), bank, location
• Clothing: hat, dress, suit, skirt, shirt, T-shirt, pants, shoes, pocket, coat, stain, clothing
• Color: red, green, blue (light/dark), yellow, brown, pink, orange, black, white, gray, color
• People: son, daughter, mother, father, parent (= mother/father), baby, man, woman, brother, sister, family, grandfather, grandmother, husband, wife, king, queen, president, neighbor, boy, girl, child (= boy/girl), adult (= man/woman), human (# animal), friend (Add a friend's name), victim, player, fan, crowd, person
• Job: Teacher, student, lawyer, doctor, patient, waiter, secretary, priest, police, army, soldier, artist, author, manager, reporter, actor, job
• Society: religion, heaven, hell, death, medicine, money, dollar, bill, marriage, wedding, team, race (ethnicity), sex (the act), sex (gender), murder, prison, technology, energy, war, peace, attack, election, magazine, newspaper, poison, gun, sport, race (sport), exercise, ball, game, price, contract, drug, sign, science, God
• Art. band, song, instrument (musical), music, movie, art
• Beverages: coffee, tea, wine, beer, juice, water, milk, beverage
• Food: egg, cheese, bread, soup, cake, chicken, pork, beef, apple, banana orange, lemon, corn, rice, oil, seed, knife, spoon, fork, plate, cup, breakfast, lunch, dinner, sugar, salt, bottle, food
• Home: table, chair, bed, dream, window, door, bedroom, kitchen, bathroom, pencil, pen, photograph, soap, book, page, key, paint, letter, note, wall, paper, floor, ceiling, roof, pool, lock, telephone, garden, yard, needle, bag, box, gift, card, ring, tool
• Electronics: clock, lamp, fan, cell phone, network, computer, program (computer), laptop, screen, camera, television, radio
• Body: head, neck, face, beard, hair, eye, mouth, lip, nose, tooth, ear, tear (drop), tongue, back, toe, finger, foot, hand, leg, arm, shoulder, heart, blood, brain, knee, sweat, disease, bone, voice, skin, body
• Nature: sea, ocean, river, mountain, rain, snow, tree, sun, moon, world, Earth, forest, sky, plant, wind, soil/earth, flower, valley, root, lake, star, grass, leaf, air, sand, beach, wave, fire, ice, island, hill, heat, nature
• Materials: glass, metal, plastic, wood, stone, diamond, clay, dust, gold, copper, silver, material
• Math/Measurements: meter, centimeter, kilogram, inch, foot, pound, half, circle, square, temperature, date, weight, edge, corner
• Misc Nouns: map, dot, consonant, vowel, light, sound, yes, no, piece, pain, injury, hole, image, pattern, noun, verb, adjective
• Directions: top, bottom, side, front, back, outside, inside, up, down, left, right, straight, north, south, east, west, direction
• Seasons: Summer, Spring, Winter, Fall, season
• Numbers: 0, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20 21, 22, 30, 31, 32, 40, 41, 42, 50, 51, 52, 60, 61, 62, 70, 71, 72, 80, 81, 82, 90, 91, 92, 100, 101, 102, 110, 111, 1000, 1001, 10000, 100000, million, billion, 1st, 2nd, 3rd, 4th, 5th, number
• Months: January, February, March, April, May, June, July, August, September, October, November, December
• Days of the week: Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday
• Time: year, month, week, day, hour, minute, second, morning, afternoon, evening, night, time
• Verbs: work, play, walk, run, drive, fly, swim, go, stop, follow, think, speak/say, eat, drink, kill, die, smile, laugh, cry, buy, pay, sell, shoot(a gun), learn, jump, smell, hear (a sound), listen (music), taste, touch, see (a bird), watch (TV), kiss, burn, melt, dig, explode, sit, stand, love, pass by, cut, fight, lie down, dance, sleep, wake up, sing, count, marry, pray, win, lose, mix/stir, bend, wash, cook, open, close, write, call, turn, build, teach, grow, draw, feed, catch, throw, clean, find, fall, push, pull, carry, break, wear, hang, shake, sign, beat, lift
• Adjectives: long, short (long), tall, short (vs tall), wide, narrow, big/large, small/little, slow, fast, hot, cold, warm, cool, new, old (new), young, old (young), weak, dead, alive, heavy, light (heavy), dark, light (dark), nuclear, famous
29 notes
·
View notes
Text
My DIY WellieWishers Playhouse
A few weeks ago, I found this Our Generation brand beach house at a secondhand shop. A little doll playhouse has been on my wish list for a long time, specifically because I wanted to renovate it into a customized dream home for my five dear sweet Wellies!
I love these little kiddos. They’re so cute and charming. I had originally only planned to get Emerson, but then I found Willa at a thrift store and couldn’t resist adding the rest after that. And I love making clothes for them, including these particular outfits.
Ultimately I would have been thrilled to find the actual WellieWishers playhouse secondhand.
But I’ve never seen it in any thrift store. And this is retired so it’s as expensive on the secondhand market as it was when it was available new from American Girl.
I also noticed, when looking at other people’s photos of their dolls using this house, that it’s actually very small. It’s not meant to accomodate all the Wellies.
So I started looking for an Our Generation brand house, since they make tons of larger-scale doll house playsets. They’re actually made for 18 inch dolls, but they fit 14 inch Wellies a bit better. The Seaside Beach House playset seemed like a good choice. Here’s how it originally looked:
When bought new, it comes with lots of small accessories, mostly food and dishes. The one I found and bought didn’t come with any of the accessories, which was fine. If there were any that I absolutely needed, I could make them.
Once I acquired it, I got to work with the renovations.
Kendall helped me out, since she’s crafty and likes to make things.
First I took out the plastic bench. It folds out into a bed that can fit one 18 inch doll or two 14 inch dolls. Then I moved the kitchen around so that the shelves fit under the window and open up the floor, making it all one room instead of two rooms.
This did unfortunately disconnect the power source for the overhead light and all the little kitchen and beach sound buttons. But I plan on replacing them with maybe something better.
Once everything was rearranged, I painted and wallpapered the walls. Then I added all the little accessories.
With the kitchen moved, the little porthole window is above the sink, which looks nice. I added a roll of paper towels and some hand soap by the sink.
The Wellies are only six years old and not allowed to have very hot things that can bun, so their stove and oven are for pretend play.
The fridge is “real” and holds their snacks. To the left of that you can see the oven and underneath that, a second oven that I told the Wellies is actually a dishwasher. I took the handle off until I decide how to make it look like a dishwasher.
With the countertop underneath the row of windows, the plants can get some nice direct sun. To the left of the plants is the girls’ microscope. On the upper shelves are gardening supplies.
Emerson’s job is to water the potted herbs.
The top shelf is for toys. I had a great time compiling all these mini toys for the girls: two little rabbits, a troll, real metal toy trains, a koosh ball, a slinky, and dinosaurs. The second shelf holds dishes. The bottom shelf has mini American Girl books and magazines, plus some microscope slides, a deck of cards, and a flower press.
This little bench, and the stuffed lamb, were also recent thrift store finds. My aunt made the two stuffed chickens. I made the felt cactus.
It’s kind of small and will only sit one Wellie or two smaller dolls, but it’s too cute to not use.
I made the pom pom rug also. The carpet is a rectangle of soft velour fabric. I’m still undecided whether to use carpet or to make a faux wooden floor.
The door has a screen in the window, and the window moves up and down to let in a breeze. Attached to the outside screen is a little plastic bug.
On the right of the door are two seahorse-shaped hooks to hold jackets and hats.
The door locks, too!
There’s still room outside to put up the table and chairs I made for the Wellies last summer.
And there’s room for younger siblings to come by and play.
Behind the house is the wooden tree swing, a perfect place to enjoy the evening breeze.
75 notes
·
View notes
Text
Growing Marshmallows!
The secret ingredient to many people’s favorite sweet treats used to grow in the ground! The roots of the Marshmallow herb contain mucilage (a polysaccharide substance) that was originally used to thicken marshmallows. Although it’s known for its uses in sugary goodness, this herb is also potent herbal medicine for treating all manner of respiratory issues. If a spoon full of sugar helps the medicine go down~, a few herbal marshmallows are even better! Here’s a quick post about how you can grow this herb yourself.
How To Start Growing:
So whenever people think about growing their own herbs, of course the first assumption is to start with seeds. Here’s a nice place to buy Marshmallow seeds from: Earthbeat Seeds.
The only thing that is absolutely required to grow Marshmallow is cold stratification. Marshmallow seeds need cold stratification for good germination. This means they need cool, moist temperatures to mimic winter conditions. This process prevents the seeds from germinating in the fall, which would lead them to be killed as tiny seedlings over the winter season. A bit of cold storage tells the seeds that winter has passed, and it’s time to get growing!
Putting the packet of seeds into the refrigerator a few weeks before planting accomplishes that. Once they’re up, the plants themselves are pretty hard to kill.
Outdoor Conditions:
If you live in an area with a mild winter season, I recommend planting your seeds in the late fall and they’ll germinate the following spring. On the other hand, if you live in areas with a long and cold winter, you can plant the seeds very early in the spring (right when the soil can be worked). Make sure to place your plants about 1 foot apart in a well-prepared perennial bed. Mulch heavily in the first year to discourage weeds and retain moisture in the soil while the plants are getting established.
Indoor Conditions:
The proper moist conditions are needed to be achieved either by storing marshmallow seeds on a moist paper towel and inside a plastic bag in the refrigerator for 3 - 4 weeks before planting. Make sure to keep your seeds just barely moist, and leave the bag cracked open a bit for ventilation during this process.
Plant Care:
Marshmallow loves consistently moist soil! Remember that moist doesn’t mean drenched; this herb doesn’t want to grow underwater. Make sure that wherever you plant your little guys, there is good drainage and the area will be able to avoid standing water.
Harvesting:
You’re able to start harvesting in the 2nd or 3rd fall after planting your herbs.
Use a sharp spade to harvest the roots in the late fall, after the plant has died back but before the ground freezes. It’s possible to harvest without killing the plant, so make sure to replant the crown after removing a portion of the root during this process. Clean the roots thoroughly, and then chop into pieces and dry them immediately. The dried roots are the most common medicinal preparation, and can readily be purchased online if you’re not wanting to wait 2-3 years for your home-harvested root in order to use Marshmallow in your witchy and/or herbalism practice.
And there you go! I hope this post helps you get started growing this wonderful herb in your indoor or outside garden :)
#witch#witchy#witchcraft#wicca#gardening#herbalism#herbs#green witch#green witchcraft#green witch recipe#garden#gardener#herb garden
95 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
sineklikbeyoglu
BEYOĞLU SİNEKLİK, 0542 220 40 32, 0532 245 00 78
whothef0ckisalice
Alice Pattillo
darkvalwolf
Dark wolf
important-animal-images
Important Animals
onetokyo-blog
One Tokyo Japan(clothing Shop)