#adri wings real

[spearxwind]

-🏮🏮🏮-

#actually yeah fuck it ill post it now bc i dont have any reason not to and i want to show it so bad. fuck it we ball babeY!!!! #windyart #adriel #adri wings real #the hollowridge disaster #drew this in like an hour at midnight yesterday so legally a rly quick doodle #its actually so much fun to draw him with wings im glad to be doing it again idc if it conflicts with the vibe #because the vibe is whatever i want it to be babey!!! reality can be whatever i want it to be!!

[pinkrelish]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 "𝐲𝐞𝐬" 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐲.

singledad!mechanic!eddie x fem!reader

✶When Eddie gets a call at work telling him Adrie is sick, he rushes to pick her up from school, accidentally leaving his black notebook behind. Being you, you find the means to return it to him. But while at his trailer, you ask him the question he's been avoiding for months.

"Let's get down to those rumors, hm?"✶

NSFW — strong tw for a dark conversation surrounding eddie's past (accusations of murder, rape), heavy angst, comfort, drug/alcohol mention/use, slow burn, fluff, flirting, 18+ overall for eventual smut

chapter: 8/20 [wc: 14.1k]

↳ part 01 / 02 / 03 / 04 / 05 / 06 / 07 / 08 / 09 / 10 / 11 / 12

AO3

Chapter 8: The Munson Name

Leave it to Eddie to make your day special not two minutes into work.

Upon entering the garage, the back door was ajar as usual, but instead of phantom wisps of smoke swimming in the sunshaft, a shadow moved, and Eddie’s arm curled around to knock on the aluminum siding for your attention. His chain bracelet clinked from the motion, and his rings caught the light as he gestured for you to come over.

You peeked through the opening and saw him standing against the wall, but his morning smile wasn’t aimed at you, it was elsewhere, off to the side. You wrapped your fingers around the doorknob, and followed where he was looking.

A bright red cardinal sat perched on the round side mirror of Eddie’s car, chirping and hopping while fluttering its wings, spinning around in search of something, and after several twittering singsongs, it flew away.

“That was precious,” you whispered, breath fogging in awe.

“I’m glad you got to see him before he took off.” Eddie grabbed the door from you and pushed you both inside, shaking his arms in an intense shiver, and shrugging his jacket up around his neck while he hugged his hands around himself in his pockets. “Uhm..”

The goofy smile he wore was mutual, as was the dear silence. The energy between you had changed; it was charged with a new development in your relationship. One that did not need to be articulated in words. It was there, in his well-rested eyes owning a playful gleam when you looked at him, and his need to rock from foot to foot in a measured sway, like a subconscious impulse to recreate that beautiful night.

Then, he cleared his throat. You averted your gaze to the floor.

“You, uh, you said it was one gift,” he recalled with an audible wince squeezing the oxygen from his sentence.

Unsure on how best to approach you buying his daughter a generous amount of presents, and hearing the impassive edge to his voice, you shut one eye and opted for a joke, “It was one gift.. bag.”

“It was too much.”

Your demeanor sagged. “Oh.”

“No, no! Not in the bad way–No.”

You perked up. “Oh?”

A soft laugh poured from the snuggly place he had his chin tucked behind the tan canvas. He dropped his shoulders, and drove his weight forward into jaunty little steps towards you, closing the gap between your bodies. There were affectionate nuances to his fond expression when he corrected himself, “Sorry, I didn’t mean for it to sound that way. The gifts were great. Like, real home runs. Uhm, she loved them, and they were really thoughtful. Just.. really sweet of you.” Immersing himself in the steady eye contact you were both proud to uphold, he licked his lips, and raised his eyebrows. “You’re so sweet, in fact, it’s piling onto that thank you I owe you at a ridiculous rate.”

“You don’t owe me anything. I just like doing things for you and Adrie. Besides, I live rent free in a tiny town with an abysmal lack of nighttime entertainment for me to waste my money on, so I figured why not spoil my favorite four-year-old.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know I don’t owe you, but” –he moved his hand around in his pocket– “I’m gonna figure out a way to repay you. Do something nice for you. Something big. Until then, your favorite almost-five-year-old made you this.”

He presented his palm to you. Cradled in it was a bracelet made of plastic beads in an assortment of colors, some shaped as stars, some with glitter, and at the middle was a name arranged in white blocks with black lettering. M-O-U-S-E.

“I had to help her spell it,” he said, tugging up his sleeve, “but it matches mine.” D-A-D-D-Y.

There was no masking the effect the bracelet had on you; breath hitched on a raw noise, chest falling on the exhale, muscles tensed on the cusp of a bigger reaction–but you tamped down the wealth of feeling wanted, and spoke beyond the heaviness in your heart, through the strain in your throat, and behind the blurriness of tears, “A true Adrie Original. I love it, tell her thank you for me.”

You slid the elastic band over your trembling left hand. He wore his on his right.

Eddie leaned in to get a better look at you, and the amusement in his face was replaced by genuine surprise. “Are you crying?”

You crossed your arms over your chest and gripped your shoulders, laughing, smiling through the embarrassment of being caught. “Maybe! It’s–It’s really sweet.”

“I’m gonna tell her you cried!”

“Don’t!” you yelped, running away from his evil fingers advancing towards your ribs.

“But it’s cute!”

“Stop chasing me!”

Luckily for you, refuge was on the other side of the glass door you managed to lock before he could grab the handle. You guarded your safe space with a glare. He pouted, and said something. You cupped your ear. He grew more passionate, flapping his lips at a rapid rate and putting his hands up in a prayer, but you couldn’t hear what he was saying. You shouted you’d only let him in if he apologized for making fun of you. “I’m sorry.” The sincerity was lost on his smirk, but you gave in so you could make coffee and get to work, and so he could get said coffee and take your pen cup and put it just out of reach on the ledge of your desk while on his way out to the garage.

And unluckily for you, the first thing on your to-do list after the break was checking the flashing buttons on the phone. You picked up the receiver, pressed the playback for messages, and listened with a pen hovered over your new set of index cards.

The first one began with a startled, “U-uhm, right.”

The second one began with a confused laugh.

The third was a long pause before telling someone else in the room they’d try again later.

Dread pooled in your stomach. The recording button. The fucking recording button for an outgoing message taunted you. Faded yellow, and ugly.

With a clenched jaw, you prepared your racing heart, and pressed it. And oh God. You covered your eyes, more and more mortified as it played.

“We’re currently closed for the Holidays, and will open at 8AM, Mon–” Raspberry. “You! Why! That one was perfect. God, you are so–freaking–annoying. I swear. Obnoxious little..”

————

Standing at a respectable distance from where Eddie sat at the breakroom table with his notebook, you held up three calendars for the new year. “I’m replacing the one in the garage. Which do you want? Mythical Creatures drawn by Eric Carle, Coca Cola, or hot chicks posing on sports cars?”

He dropped his head back, and tipped his chair to balance on its rear legs. His bangs fell, showing his wrinkled forehead as he looked at you upside down. “Interesting options,” he commented.

“The mall didn’t have much left.” A lie. The calendar kiosk at the mall was stocked to the brim, you just had a hunch Eddie would go for one in particular.

“Does the mythical creature one have a dragon for a month?”

“Yes,” you said without checking.

“I’ll take that one, then.”

Predictable.

“Cool, I’ll give Mr. Moore the hot chicks, and I’ll take the Coke for me.” Speaking of–the front desk phone was ringing, and it was in your job description to answer it, you supposed.

You left him to get back to his writing, and put the receiver to your ear. The voice on the other end was politely stressed in the customer-friendly way. You left it in the cradle on hold, and called down the hallway, “Hey, Eddie, it’s Adrie’s school calling for you. I’m sure–” Stumbling out of his way, his jacket softened the blow of his shoulder knocking into you. He reached his hand back in an apologetic gesture, but his focus manifested in the flash of panic crossing his pale face. “I’m sure she’s fine,” you finished sympathetically.

He answered the woman on the line, and you waited along the wall, eyeing the scuff marks around the floorboards you should probably buff off at some point, and after his short conversation, he hung up.

“Adrie’s sick,” he said quickly, patting down his jacket. “Wayne’s not answering the phone, so I gotta go pick her up, and uh, I–” He pivoted in a circle, glancing around, fumbling for his keys in his pocket. “I–I’m sorry. She needs me.”

You drew your eyebrows in, and waved him off. “Yeah, it’s okay. You can leave. I’ll clock you out and let Carl know when he’s back from lunch.”

“Thank you,” he said in breathless earnest, leaving so quickly his boots left black streaks on the tile.

~~~

Lunch came and went. Carl came and went. The end of the hour posted under the CLOSED sign came and went. Eddie had yet to call the shop to update you, which was fine and dandy (aside from your anxiety over whether or not Adrie was okay), but in his rush, he left behind something important..

His black notebook with the devil-horned skull laid in the middle of the table like an ominous item from a horror movie.

And much like the horror movies, you as the final girl should leave it alone, right? Just.. walk away, and forget about it, and leave it for him to pick it up tomorrow, or whenever he’s able to come back to work..

But.

You were worried about Adrie, and when you went to the garage to replace the trash can liners, you saw his rings still on the black tray near the tool cabinet. Now, it’s not like he needed those either, however, what if you just.. returned them for him? And the notebook fell open while you were at it?

It was wrong. Everything about what you were doing was all so very, very wrong. Going inside Mr. Moore’s office and flipping the lightswitch, making your way to his desk in an innocent saunter, and–oops!–kneeling down to pick up a stray pen, and if the bottom drawer happened to be opened, and the plastic folder with the employee’s details from when he hired them was inside, who could blame you for taking the quickest, tiniest glance before closing it?

Yours was in there, of course, along with–

“Edward Munson,” you snorted. “Dorky name.” Duh his full name was Edward, but it was still funny to see.

You read over the top of the file where his address and phone number were. Thankfully, from your various car rides with Robin, you recognized the street name, placing it in your memories as the rusted sign next to the Forest Hills Trailer Park entrance.

The phone number you imprinted into your brain as a recreational activity, and put the folder away.

Closing the door behind you with a hefty jingle of heavy rings in your pocket, you approached the notebook, and gave it a pitied sigh. Having committed many sins in the past minute alone, you figured why not. You didn’t even feel shame opening the stupid thing after months of being teased by it. Besides, what’s the worst he could be hiding in it? It couldn’t be that embarrassing, right?

..Right?

“Okay, can honestly say I was not expecting a big tittied bird lady.” The drawing wasn’t overly detailed, but the artistry was above average. Small details etched the feathers covering her avian legs, and a gleam shone on her talons coming to a sharp point, posed to attack with milky white irises. Above her was Eddie’s stylized font: HARPY, with abbreviations and numbers in a column. His rushed handwriting filled the rest of the page. Reading it over, it appeared you opened to the middle of a story.

Thumbing through, you encountered your first dog-eared page.

IF CHEST IS CHOSEN, GO B

IF DOOR - ROLL FROM INDEX CHART POISON

Absolutely lost, you did see a box labeled B further down with a short bullet point list of what would happen, and more options to choose from on the next dog-eared section.

Flipping deeper towards the back, it was pages and pages of his handwriting. Names of characters fighting dragons. Fantasy towns housing creatures you’d never heard of. Countries with too many syllables and apostrophes. Whatever it was, you were more than happy to hop on your bike and ride it over to the trailer park, only second guessing your sense of direction three times, and releasing a grateful, “Thank God,” when you spotted it up ahead.

The place had an eeriness to it despite the slanted beams of afternoon sun gracing it in gold. Homes were tarnished with dents and algae staining the outside. Trailers slumped on their cinderblocks, buckling under the weight. RVs had permanent brush growing under their parking spots. A child’s scream echoed around the tree-less lot, but you couldn’t see them through the orderless blockade of dilapidated residences and abandoned cars. People watched you: glancing out their windows, or gathered around a charcoal barbeque. Curious eyes followed your trail down the main road. Bumping your bike around potholes, avoiding tetanus ridden nails and petrified clothes molded to the ground as if they’d been there for years.

Dogs walked their fences as you passed.

You were beginning to have some regrets when a beacon welcomed you. After a curve, an old van parked out front of a blue and white trailer came into view, but more importantly, dwarfed next to the Chevy behemoth, was a black car you’d recognize the red interior of anywhere.

The heat of parent’s concerned stares burned into the back of your neck as you rode up to the concrete stairs, leaned your bike against the metal handrail, and approached your fate.

Even though you were absolutely sure this was the correct address, you knocked with as much confidence as a dormouse. Any harder and the sound of your knuckles striking the aluminum would’ve been too loud in the creepy-quiet trailer park.

No answer.

You knocked again. Harder. Louder.

There was movement inside. Footsteps. A muffled voice. Your heart leapt. In your throat. Closer. Closer. This was so stupid. This was a mistake. This was a bad idea. The excuse in your mouth was weak, and you were about to embarrass yourself in front of your coworker by surprising him at his house, which you only knew where to find because you were snooping, and there was no amount of explaining that would help you out of your spot in hell–

Eddie swung open the door, and his heavy-browed, distrustful, annoyed, apprehensive, suspicious glare jumped to wide-eyed shock.

Your cheeks went hot.

“Nope!”

You winced at the slam, but nothing–no God’s will, no Devil’s agreement–would convince you to blink at the shuttered window where he once stood. No. No, no, no. No, never. Never would you want the searing glimpse at Eddie’s naked chest out of your sight before it was engraved into every second of every day of every night of every dream for the rest of your years.

In some part of your mind, you knew your gazes connected long enough to see the blood drain from his face, but your attention was soon urged downward, to the overwhelming amount of skin.

His hair was tied back, exposing a poetry of shadows. Hollow of his throat, to his clavicle, to the swell of his shoulders. Biceps twitching under a prominent vein when he caught himself on the trailer’s frame, and gripped the door handle. Muscles straining with fear, then soft with relief, then strong with fear again when he realized it was you who caught him in this shirtless state, discovering the beautiful line between his pecs when he flexed. Witnessing the fine wisps of softly auburn hair on his chest, juxtaposed to the wiry dark curls creating a blessed trail to the top of his sweatpants. Drooling over the eclectic collection of tattoos sporadically placed over his body. Too many to decipher in the brief encounter, aside from the dragon crawling up a sword etched into the subtle planes of his abs and curving around his slight stomach, with the blade ending at his waistband–a full picture of the tattoo you spied at the grocery store when he stretched his arms above his head.

The door creaked open again, and you’d yet to recover. But thinly obscured in the darkness of his home, he was visibly flustered as well.

Eddie hunched over, struggling to get the zipper of his tan jacket up, tugging it harshly, grinding the metal teeth in his anxious fight to cover his chest; and when it was snug to the splotchy kiss of pink on his neck, he squinted at you. “What’re you doing here?” he asked, voice gone hoarse from his dry mouth.

Knees locked, and oh so staring him directly in the eyes, you took the black notebook from under your arm (not remembering when you tucked it there), and showed it to him. “You left this at work.”

He took it from you slowly without a thanks.

“And, uh,” you continued, gathering the clinking jewelry in your jacket. “These too.” You dropped them into his cupped palm, brushing your pinky over a scratchy callus, experiencing the zing of intimacy of skin on skin.

And he felt it too, with how he curled his fingers in to seal the fleeting sensation.

Pocketing his rings, he stood meek in his doorway. The pain of expecting someone different to be knocking at his trailer had dwindled, but the tension was there in between his eyebrows, weighing on the slope of his gentle frown, painting brilliant highlights on the long line of his nose in the blazing dayglow threatening to invade his home.

The dull brown of his eyes glinted aside the honey as his mouth hung slightly open, tip of his tongue curled against the pearly dam of his teeth. The lined pages of the well worn notebook fanned out, flopping in his grip. “Did you read what was in here?”

Shifting your gaze to the sharp edge of the tin roof decorated in elaborate dangly fish hooks, you clasped your hands behind your back in a cute way, and delivered the answer he awaited with an inflection like it was a question, “No..?”

“For an actress, you’re bad at lying.”

“Or I’m being obvious on purpose so you tell me what it is.”

Working his jaw back and forth, he bided his time, each grind a consideration at his options in regards to how vulnerable he should be, and if this would be the final nail in the corroded coffin where you’d realize what a giant loser he was. “It’s..” You leaned towards him in interest, and he looked away. “It’s notes and stuff for Dungeons and Dragons,” he admitted in a mumble.

“Nerd! Nerd!” You jumped up and down, pointing, shouting, “I knew it! You’re a nerd!”

Twisting his mouth in a sarcastic sneer at your childishness, he snatched the side of the door and began shutting you out. “Okay, okay. I get it. See why I didn’t want to tell you?”

“Eddie, Eddie, Eddie,” you exhaled, switching on a dime from your teasing to a serious tone. You caught the door, and pleaded for him to stop being an idiot, “I knew you were a dweeb when you held me hostage for an entire thirteen minute lecture about your song lyrics. The Dungeons and Dragons shit is the third least surprising thing you’ve ever told me.” You clasped your hand over your heart. “Truly.”

“What’s the second?”

“Your music tastes.”

“And the first?” he asked, despite his better judgment.

“That you’re single.”

He announced his displeasure in a deadpan expression. “And I’m beginning to see why you are, too–” All of him went rigid, withdrawing slightly into the trailer with his head lowered, ear angled towards the right of him, listening as his gaze went unfocused.

After a few seconds, his lungs reawakened with a relieved breath. “Just coughing,” he said to himself. Dragging his attention back to you, he gestured weakly at his jacket to indicate his lack of clothing, still embarrassed at the situation. “Adrie, uh.. She puked on me earlier. That’s why I wasn’t–uhm–dressed.”

Worry edged its way into your question, “Is she okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, she’s fine. Kids get sick from daycare all the time. Basically just sentient germs running around, licking their hands after touching everything.”

Your eyebrows ticked up at the memory of the awful Dayquil hangovers following the weekends you worked as a clown for children’s birthday parties.

You asked, “And what about Wayne?”

“Hm? Oh.” Recognition, and the ease of a casual conversation overtook the near-permanent anticipatory hardness to his features, softening his bristly nature around you; finding you comforting when he was in the place where he was supposed to feel safest, but didn’t.

Home wasn’t home for Eddie Munson, and you felt that icy statement behind your ribs as you watched him pat his pocket as a way to check his rings were there for reassurance, acutely aware there was an hostile world at your back, and you chose to only see each other.

There was a tender innocence to his lip crooking up in a lopsided grin as he remembered you asked him a question. “Typical old man. Wayne was outside and didn’t hear the phone ring, that’s why he didn’t answer. He’s at work now, though.”

“Mm,” you hummed. “Do you have soup?”

“Soup?”

“For Adrie,” you clarified.

He glanced over his shoulder, assumingly at the kitchen, and after some mental deduction, he shrugged in vague nonchalance. “Yeah, there’s probably soup for her.” As if you didn’t know him well enough at this point to read past the nervous habits weaving their way into his fidgety unsureness.

You backed down the stairs as you spoke, “Okay. Well then, guess I’ll get going since you have everything on lock down here. Got your sick kid, got your soup, got your notebook, and your uncle’s at work. Sounds like everything’s in order.” Hopping off the last step, you swung around the handrail and guided your bike to the road, beaming. “See ya!”

“Yeah, see ya,” he replied, settling into his usual side-ways glance around the trailer park, challenging the gawkers who watched a girl willingly walk up to his home and leave it smiling. They did not dare to say anything, of course; returning to their lives with sealed lips, pretending to pay him no mind. Just how it should be.

He held his chin high.

————

And when Eddie next answered the door, it was in the low blue hue of a setted sun, and he did so in his black jeans and a white tank top. His unzipped work jacket swayed prettily around his torso, low bun at his nape loosened to a mess, short curls in a frizz over his ears, and cheeks flushed. “I figured you’d be back,” he forced out evenly, doing his best to disguise his panting breaths.

You hugged the brown paper grocery bags to your chin, and grinned.

He stuck his foot behind him in an awkward curtsy, and swept his arm for you to enter.

Walking into his place for the first time there were many things to comprehend, absorb, fawn over, and ask about until he was tired of explaining their origins–and since you were already crossing an entire notebook’s worth of lines today, you inquired about the most obvious. “You, uh, like collecting hats and mugs?”

“They’re Wayne’s,” he grunted, unplugging the vacuum he left in the middle of the living room by yanking the cord out of the wall, and dragging it on his way to the hallway closet where he kicked and shoved things aside to make room, rattling the thin door that definitely had been punched through at one point, patched and painted over, and was now a canvas for crayon squiggles along the bottom. “Before he worked at the power plant, he was a trucker. Collected them at every rest stop in every state, that sorta thing.”

“Ah.”

In a quick spin, he surveyed the rest of the trailer, and made a similar “ah” sound when he saw the cleaning products and balled up paper towels on the tiny table squeezed against the wall. He lunged for them, stuffing the evidence and other garbage into the overflowing trash can. “I still keep up the tradition by getting him a mug for Christmas.” Jerking his chin at the shelf above him, he specified the one on the end. “This year was Looney Tunes.”

“How cute.” The bags crinkled in your arms as you stood in the entryway, nodding expectantly.

“Shit–Sorry.”

You smiled. He finished clearing a space on the wrap-around kitchen counter for you to set the groceries down, scooting a candle out of the way, flickering the flame he may have burnt himself on while lighting, if the red mark on his thumb was anything to go by. And he was back to pivoting, scanning the area, desperate to latch onto the object which would jog his memory on where he was in his cleaning: dishes dripped in the drying rack, Wayne’s grilled cheese endeavor was out of sight, the bathroom radiated the nose-burning scent of bleach.

He snapped his fingers at the overflowing trash can, and almost slipped in his frenzy to tie up the bag and rush for his boots, saying he’ll be right back on his way out, leaping down the stairs.

“Alrighty..”

The steady rumble of a washing machine rattled every loose bit of metal in the museum of belongings.

You waged war with your tennis shoes, wiggling out of them with the laces still tied, and stepped off the carpet dividing the trailer in half. The bubbling vinyl kitchen floor stuck to your socks, still damp from being mopped, and heaved the groceries onto the pale blue countertop, sliding them across decades worth of scratches scarring the material. Once you were sure you could let them go without a toppling situation, you took the goods out one at a time, but your attention was nosy and undivided.

Acting as foreground to the walls of hats and mugs was the rest of Eddie’s life. Laundry baskets occupied a couch with flattened cushions. A coffee table supported stacks of his daughter’s playthings after picking them out of the vacuum’s path. There was a fold out bed in the corner, and a modest TV situated on top of a VCR. To compensate for the lack of overhead light was an abundance of mismatched lamps on each surface.

It was a hodge podge, and it was cramped, and it was incomprehensible, and it was his house.

Turning, you began to guess at which cabinets he would store a bag of rice when you spotted the artwork hanging on the fridge.

Pinned under a teddy bear magnet was a decoupaged version of your Thanksgiving turkeys, cut out and glued to a single piece of construction paper, complete with the castle in the background. And secured safely under a smiley face magnet was a stick figure drawing of two people–one in a pink dress, one in all black scribble–and dated in neat ink by someone with less messy handwriting: 5/7/92.

Eddie came back to your wide grin, and two cans of baked beans held up in a question.

“They go over here,” he said, nodding at the skinny door next to where he stood at the small green table set for three chairs, organizing today’s mail in his hand.

You opened the pantry next to the recessed oven, and stacked the rest of the cans inside. Towards the back there were two white cereal boxes with plain blue text and nothing else, leaving you to deduce no one in his family stooped to eating unsweetened cornflakes even if that’s all they had. Meanwhile, he arranged overdue bills into a ladder style letter holder hung on the wall beside the phone, periodically taking one out and placing it down a rung, ordering them from most to least important.

“I was supposed to go grocery shopping yesterday, but I had to buy and install a new hot water heater,” he told you suddenly. Whether he was saying this because he was coasting on the fumes of his Christmas bonus until December’s child support arrived, or because he was simply too busy to go shopping, neither of you addressed it more than necessary. He accepted your help, and you didn’t pry.

“Unexpected shit sucks, huh?” you added for his benefit.

“Yeah,” he huffed in a short laugh, playing the same game.

And it was him who rested his forearms on the edge of the pale blue wrap-around counter, watching you commit good deed after good deed, guessing where groceries went in the cabinets, acclimating to his kitchen’s set up, and making room for a bag of grapes and three apples between his six pack of Pabst and block of Government cheese.

“Can I ask you kind of a weird question?”

You brightened at his voice, teetering on the edge of a smile just from that alone. “Always.”

He drew absent-minded circles with his finger as he tried to find the best way to word something he wondered about since the week you met. “When you saw Adrie for the first time, you had this really, uh, surprised look on your face.. Why was that?”

Your tone was dismissive in the wake of something that appeared to haunt him, “Oh, that?” You folded down the empty paper bags, and placed them on top of the fridge after he said Adrie would use them for arts and crafts. “Well, it’s like, Mr. Moore has dozens of pictures of his family on his desk, and Carl told me–approximately–ten different stories about his sons an hour after meeting him, and Kevin carries pictures of his dogs in his wallet. It just seemed like if you had a daughter, you would’ve shown me a picture too, like most dads.” You waved your hands around, and contorted your mouth in a silly manner. “I mean, it was just weird you never mentioned her.”

He took your assessment to heart, and opened the drawer closest to him. Amongst the clutter of junk was his black wallet resting on a coiled chain with clips on either end. Taking out the cheap leather, he cradled the width in his palm, and wiggled out a picture kept sealed behind a plastic window. He said, “Actually, I do carry a picture of her,” and handed it to you.

On instinct, you pored over the image of him first, prizing the crown of his head sporting the same wild haircut. He had his face tipped down to the newborn wrapped in a pink blanket in his arms, crooking her in their safety as he held a bottle to her lips. His knees were on display behind his ripped black jeans. His shirt was sleeveless. She was tiny and precious. He was decidedly emotionless from what you could see, sat on a couch that was not the same as the one across the room from you.

“That was taken at Harrington’s place,” he answered your unstated question, keen to the recognition washing over your face as you placed it as Nancy’s ugly pink floral loveseat.

You gave it back to him.

He looked over the captured moment in time, bleak gaze set on his little girl when she was so fragile, and small, and when he was so weak, and teetering on a long overdue breakdown.

“It took me a long time to carry this around,” he said, tone heavy with disappointment, regret, and shame. “Wayne and I were fighting constantly. And I mean, I don’t blame him. He gave up his life to take care of me when I was twelve, and I put so many gray hairs on his head that he went bald from my bullshit, and then there I was, bringing home a screaming infant I didn’t know the first thing about taking care of. Y’know, just proving I was a fuck-up right when he thought I was smart enough to get my act together.“ Tracing the sharp edge of the photo trimmed to fit his wallet, he placed it in its windowed slot and tossed it back in the drawer, closing the past from his sight. “I don’t have a lot of good memories from that time. Shit fucking sucked.”

“I can imagine,” was all you could say.

“I love her,” he said in the event you doubted him.

“I know you do,” you offered in return.

Steering the conversation in a different direction, you swung your index fingers at the extensive cabinetry, and asked, “Where’s a cutting board?” Right of the sink, he answered. “And a knife?” Top drawer next to your hip, he responded. But it took until you shook out the washed celery stalk, and snapped the ribs off, lining them up on the white plastic cutting board did he become suspicious.

He leaned more of his weight on his forearms, and kept his tone carefully neutral, “What’re you doing?”

Keeping your expression indifferent aside from your arched brows, you cut the celery into manageable sticks and began slicing them lengthways. “I believe I’m in Edward Munson’s trailer making him and his daughter soup.”

The crimson guitar pick at the end of his necklace swung forward, jostled from where it was stuck to the healthy sheen of sweat glistening along the top of his chest. “How do you know my full name?”

“A little birdie told me.”

He shifted his shoulders, head lowered, eyes narrowed, voice deep, “Better question. How do you know where I live?”

“A bigger birdie told me.”

“Someone told you about me?”

Rightfully confused, you pulled a face. “Huh? No. I was kidding. No one talks to me. Anyway, back to the soup.” You harnessed all your charm into impressing him by meeting his stare while you diced the celery, using your knuckles as guidance. “Are there any vegetables she won’t eat? Or stuff she’s allergic to?” Your flagrant insolence irked him: reading his notebook, inviting yourself to his residence, filling the voids in his kitchen with groceries, and now making him soup without ever asking if he wanted you to do those things.

Because of course he wanted you to do those things.

He surrendered to your kindness. “No allergies, and she’ll eat anything as long as it’s diced small–Yeah, like that–and cooked down to mush. It’s the one thing she’s always been good about.”

“And you?”

It took a few sad seconds for him to understand you were asking about his allergies and his preferences, not used to his needs being taken into consideration. “No, no, whatever you make is good. Uhm. Hey, you don’t have to do all of this. Don’t roll your eyes, I’m being serious. Adrie’s sick and I don’t want you to catch what she has.”

“Please,” you implored in thick sarcasm, “I’ve been coughed on by every disease known to man on the Q train. There’s not a cold or flu in existence I haven’t succumbed to. I’m immune at this point.”

You found a stock pot from the cabinet at the junction of the wrap-around counter and the sink, and set it on the cooktop to come to heat while you peeled and chopped an onion. Eddie dwelled in his observations; listening to you recount tales of working in kitchens because they were always hiring, collecting horror stories from being a dishwasher, a waitress, a morning food prepper; moving from title to title; birthday clown, bartender, craft store cashier. Flighty, flighty, flighty. He watched your hands move in quick chops and long sweeps down a carrot with skill he didn’t have the patience nor time to learn. He told you as much, how when he comes home he’s fucking tired, and doesn’t have the energy to make dinner.

“Now what’re you doing, sweetheart?” he asked in what he hoped was an exhausted tone, but he knew it was futile. The timidness was there, sneaking its way into his words when he made the leap to calling you an endearment in his own home. And how could he not when you pulled out a stack of tupperware, divided the piles of chopped vegetables between them, and wedged them into the freezer, still tending to the sweating mirepoix with a wooden spoon.

“It’s so next time you want soup they’re all ready to go. You don’t have to waste time cutting vegetables. Just dump a container in a pot and add broth and noodles, and call it a night.”

He made a fond noise in the back of his throat, looking at you through his lashes. “You’re really doing everything in your power to extort me for this ‘thank you’ I owe you, aren’t you?”

“You’re the one who promised me something good,” you reminded him.

Water splashed, sputtered in the pot, steaming into a cloud of savory humidity, filling the living space with earthy aromatics. You added bouillon cubes, and stirred the stock together while turning the dial on high to bring the soup to a boil.

“Yeah, guess I did,” he said, petering out into a mumble, straying further from the current topic. He wasn’t finished talking about the previous one yet, and he made it known.

Tracing his thumb along his plump bottom lip, he tested a boundary, tiptoeing into a realm he did his best to ignore. “So, uh, you employ the same strategy with jobs as you do dating, huh?”

“Oh, yeah,” you grinned. “Having an endless well of stories about shitty customers to pull from is perfect for stand up. Everyone loves the perpetually single girl who works in service or retail, and just can’t seem to find the love of her life, despite going on an insane amount of first dates with New York’s most average. It’s funny, and relatable.”

“And now you’re stuck as a boring receptionist in a nowhere town in a nowhere state.”

You released a sugary, syrupy, sweet giggle. “And now I’m stuck as a boring receptionist in a nowhere town in a nowhere state, and it’s the longest job I’ve ever held.”

His eyelashes fluttered from the nerves–the strong ache in his chest pressing down on him, stealing his breath. “And what about the dates? Gone on any with Hawkins’ finest?”

“Just one.” Though your back was to him while you washed and dried the cutting board, your smile was outlined in your banter. “But it was awful,” you emphasized in a dramatic sigh. “Worst date ever. He drank my Icee, wouldn’t stop talking during the movie, and, get this! He didn’t even tell me I was pretty. Not once.”

“What a jerk,” he agreed fullheartedly, scrunching his nose and twisting a curl of his hair over his stupidly smitten grin. “Sounds like a real asshole.”

“Actually, he was my favorite,” you corrected him, turning down the dial to where the coils lost their fluorescent glow. “Huge, huge nerd. Like, the biggest dork ever, but he was definitely my favorite out of any of my dates.” On your way to the green table, you bent close to his ear, and begged him in a whisper, “But don’t tell him I said that. He’ll get a real big ego about it.”

He made a zipping motion over his mouth.

“Soups gotta simmer until the potatoes are done. Might as well sit.”

He unzipped his mouth. “When did you cut up potatoes?”

“When you were staring at me all dreamy-like,” you supplied, words dipped in coy and flirt.

Undecided on which way to balk at your claim, he did them all: rolled his eyes, clicked his tongue, muttered a small “was not,” and slung himself into his usual chair at the table. He expected you to do the same, to match his silly theatrics with your own impassioned eye roll and smirk, but you didn’t. You sat across from him, poised, hands clasped together with the black notebook beside you.

The mood of the evening dipped visibly in your serious gaze set on him.

You tapped your knuckle on the metal spirals binding the worn pages of his latest campaign together. “No more secrets,” you punctuated. Three short words let go on an exhale. Three little words standing taller than the final barrier he built to keep others out. Not an ask, but a necessity if you were going to continue your relationship–platonic or not.

Your posture and expression were stern, but gentled by patience. “Let’s get to those rumors, hm.”

It was time.

No going back.

Whatever happens, happens.

Eddie took a shaky breath, and invited you over to the vulnerable truth. “Has anyone ever told you anything about me? Not like Harrington’s stories, but actual rumors?”

You shook your head. Between spending most of your time at work, or at Robin’s place, you didn’t have much opportunity to speak to random people, apart from small talk. And chit chatting about the weather was nowhere near as grave as what rooted itself in the solemn slow blink wherein he closed his eyes, and dipped his head.

“I’ll tell you everything, but can I ask you not to say anything while I explain?” he hesitated, knowing how it sounded. “I don’t know how else to word that to make it less rude, but this shit is difficult for me to talk about, and I’ll probably ramble, and go on tangents, and jump around the timeline, but, please, don’t interrupt me or say anything until I’m finished, okay? I don’t want to forget any of the details, and have to discuss this again. Can we do that?”

Digging your thumbnails harder into the flesh of your fingers, you agreed to the terms with a solid nod.

He swallowed. And when his tongue remained too thick in his dry mouth, he swallowed again, and sat up straight, pressing his back into the chair. “Okay.”

Two anxious stomachs twisted at once.

He cast his vacant stare around the room; never allowing it to land on you. This conversation was with himself and the green table and the shelf of mugs and the soup bubbling away on the stove and the washing machine entering its spinning cycle and the containers of Play-Doh on the coffee table; speaking to the non-judgemental objects instead of the person across from him.

“I’ll start with my reputation in school,” he said. “Probably doesn’t take much of an imagination to picture me as I am now with the same hobbies and opinions, just a lot louder about them. Heavy metal was the only music I listened to, and people called me weird for it. And I thought ‘weird?’ Was that supposed to bother me? I loved being weird! I wore the title ‘weird’ with pride. I didn’t want to be like everyone else. And when they saw I played Dungeons and Dragons, they called me a Satanist. Satanist? Like Ozzy, and all the bands I looked up to? Hell yeah! I thought being called a Satanist was so cool I sewed a Leviathan Cross on my jacket.” The corner of his lip jumped at a memory, smiling at something from long ago. Then, it faded. “Goes without saying I didn’t make many friends until I found other outcasts who shared those same views as me. We started a band together, and after some convincing, we made a DND club with me as the Dungeon Master. Of course people called me a cult leader for it, but being a cult leader sounded fucking awesome, so I encouraged it. Antagonized it. Weird, Devil-worshiper, cultist, freak. I wore them all like armor.”

He paused to crack his knuckles, expression falling blank as suppressed scenes unfolded in his head. “I got bullied a lot. Not that surprising. I was so aggressively opinionated about everything and never shut up. But the worst of it stopped when I got held back enough grades that I made “grown-up friends” and started dealing to help pay for my guitars and stuff.” He shrugged a single shoulder in apathy, and the tan jacket slipped down his arm, revealing a faded stick-and-poke viper above his armpit. “Unless it was Steve or someone in that friend circle, I was never invited to parties except to bring drugs. Weed, pills, whatever low scale stuff, nothing that serious, but I wasn’t very popular outside of that context.” The washing machine buzzed at the end of its cycle. “And as much as I told myself I didn’t care, I did. I did care when my friends were out on dates with their girlfriends, and I was alone, stuck in front of a record player learning a song just to give myself something to do, and something to say I did over the weekend when they all talked about the movie they saw together.. Made me feel like I was the outcast even amongst the outcasts.”

Listening, but not responding, you smoothed your thumbs over the divots in your skin your nails left behind.

Swallowing again, he faltered, “Girls didn’t like me. Even if I was the cooler, older guy who was so confident in everything he did, I was still off-putting. Or just weird in the bad way, because I didn’t know how to act, and came on too strong, or too–I don’t know–fucking dorky, doing shit like opening doors and bowing for them, laughing too loud at my own jokes when they didn’t find them funny.” It took everything you had to not to break your promise–to stay silent, and indifferent, and not gather him into a hug and assure him all those goofy mannerisms were exactly why you liked him. “I dated, y’know.. Had girlfriends here and there, but they never lasted more than a month.”

To close one chapter of his life and open another, he rubbed at his eyes, and ran a hand down his face, scrubbing over his chin as he spoke to the ceiling, “Now onto my old man.”

The hand he used to wipe the loneliness from his somber visage came to a rest on the edge of the table, and he ran the side of his palm along it as a way to fidget.

“He was in and out of jail for a number of things my whole life, but when I was twelve, he murdered someone. She was a nice lady. Well known in town, and well liked. Popular. Prom Queen, cheerleader type. Everyone loved her.. And he murdered her.”

Silence, silence, you remained in white-hot, visceral, sweat dripping, jaw-clenching silence.

“According to my criminal record, I was following in his footsteps. I had a penchant for stirring up trouble. It was fun. Stealing dumb shit, hotwiring an old car to drive us to the woods to get drunk when we were teenagers, dealing, begging Steve to throw ragers every weekend so I had an excuse to get shitfaced and run from the cops.. Yeah, it really looked like I was following in his footsteps. Following the Munson name.”

Eddie sat forward. Sleeved forearms sliding across aged coffee rings staining the green collapsible tabletop, and rubbing the backs of his fingers along the other. He was close enough for you to reach, to hold, to comfort when this was over, and the ghosts were put to rest from clouding his softhearted brown eyes.

“There was a New Year’s Eve party I was invited to” –he jumped his fingers in quotations– “on the rich side of town. It wasn’t one of Harrington’s, and I was out of my supply anyway, so I skipped out and spent the night here with my friends playing DND, and setting off fireworks in the trailer park, just having a good time.” The next inhale quivered his bottom lip, “I woke up in my bed to three cop cars blaring their sirens, and someone telling me I was being arrested for-for murder. Ah..”

You steeled yourself from blinking away.

“A girl died at that party. Prom Queen, head cheerleader. The type everyone knew, and everyone liked. And.. A-and, Jesus, I-I just need to get through this, I’m so sorry–but stuff was done to her body.”

The frankness hung in the room.

He screwed his eyes shut, and let the ugly reality spill from his mouth, “A guy from out of state went to that party with way harder shit than I sold, and she wanted to try some. They went to the bathroom together, he gave her too much, drugged her, she overdosed, and h-h-he..” His eyelids twitched with movement, and the tendons in his neck strained. You weren’t sure if he could hear the small, involuntary noise you made, but he chose the same words to avoid what you could infer. What all women could infer. “He did stuff to her body.”

His voice continued to crawl up an octave as his muscles braced in a reflexive cringe. “H-He left her there, and when her body was discovered, and the police were called, it didn’t take long before someone said they thought they saw me there, and once one person said they saw me there, suddenly everyone saw me there.” Hard swallow, palms wiped on jeans. “I was arrested the next morning, and even though I had three alibis, I didn’t have any hard receipts or any of that shit they wanted to establish where I was and at what time. And when my alibis were a bunch of Satanic cultist shithead troublemakers like me, they were brushed off. And why wouldn’t they be? It’s my friend’s word against thirty people who swore the long haired guy they saw at the party was me. Cops thought they caught their man, booked me, and had me in interrogation in under an hour from kicking down my door.”

He licked his lips.

“January of ‘88,” he said with an unsteady cadence, shooting out the sentences as they came to him, lurching faster and faster towards the horrid scars he’d never heal from. “I was so fucking lucky, so fucking lucky. DNA testing had only become a thing the year before. Mhm. That’s what saved my ass. But even then, it wasn’t like it is now. That shit took weeks to process.” He lifted his hands–fingers loosely curled, trembling. “For weeks they made me look at the pictures of her. H-Her body. The b-bruises around her neck.” He gestured at his own, and his voice swung higher pitched, “Interrogated me over and over again. For days, and weeks. Trying to get me to confess. It took weeks to prove I was innocent, and clear my name. Weeks, and weeks. A-A-And in those weeks–”

The trembling escalated to uncontrollable shaking.

“–Fuck–I don’t want to talk about this,” he said, volume fluctuating.

The air was too thick to breathe.

The wrinkles between his brows deepened, as did the lines bracketing his mouth. Red flush overtook his shuddering chest, his strained throat, his scrunched face with his eyes closed in refusal to acknowledge you sat opposite him, your expression slackened by dread.

“In the weeks between waiting f-for the DNA results,” each word wobbled worse than the last, “I found out Adrie’s mom was four months pregnant. And if I knew, then all of Hawkins knew. Everyone knew I knocked someone up, and.. and more rumors started..” He lifted his eyebrows, and his hands developed a violent shiver, hovering over the table, palms open, afraid and begging. “Because of.. what happened to the body.. People thought that she was.. That I..” each pause was a short wheeze.

Your blood ran cold with the slow realization of what word he was avoiding.

Desperation influenced his stammer, “I swear to you, w-what happened between us was consensual,” he stressed the last word in a whimper delivered straight to your dropped stomach. “She doesn’t answer my calls–but I could try, if you need to hear it from her–I promise, I promise, as soon as the rumors started, as soon as they started, she denied them. She tried to stop them from spreading. She tried. She told everyone it-it-it wasn't–that we both chose to–” he sniffed back the croaky sob, and without the grace of respite, he coughed the rasp from his throat, and ushered you into another apology you didn’t know you were owed, “I should’ve told you before we went to Adrie’s school. You had a right to know why people were staring. I’m so fucking sorry.”

In the room at the end of the dark hallway, his daughter who he sacrificed everything for rolled over in her bed, bringing the covers with her. In the belly of the trailer belonging to his uncle, you kept your feet tucked under your chair, letting the information wash over you in worse and worse crashes. In the lousy home he hated, Eddie held his breath until the aches reached their peak, and released them in a cough; and another, and another, until the pain subsided.

Deep breath, deep breath.

Your chair creaked from your uncomfortable shifting.

With time, the tension in his body waned to where his composed words could be heard in all the clarity they deserved, “I know this has been a lot to hear, and process, and I’m so sorry for unloading all of this on you at once, but I wanted you to know the whole story so you could make an informed decision.”

You weren’t sure if you were supposed to speak yet, but your whisper broke through, “Informed decision?”

Cheeks hot, but dry, and lower lashes clumped together from the rescinded tears, he answered you indirectly at first, “It took months to find and arrest the guy, and by then Hawkins didn’t care. Babe, you can be anonymous in the city, but this is how small town mentality works. All it took was one person to say I was at that party, and like that, my life was ruined. My name was stained. No one cared if I was innocent. The culprit was some other guy they’d never heard of from another state whose picture they flashed on the 6 o’clock news once. He might as well not even exist.” A pause. A change. A regret. “I want to protect you.”

There was pressure building behind your eyes, and you moved your gaze to the shelves above you in an effort to stifle the well of tears from falling–for him, for the dead girl, for what he was about to say next.

Eddie alternated between weakly slapping his hands flat on the table, then turning over to show his palms, then slapping them down again; guilt and shame and loneliness and fear working its way into every part of his gentle nature. “My name carries a stigma, and if you’re going to be coming around to my place, or be seen with me in public, you need to know there are consequences. Assumptions are going to be made about you. People are going to speculate, warn you, judge you. You don’t deserve that shit, so please, tell me, and I’ll accept just being friends at work, and leave it at that. I won’t ask questions. I won’t bother you. I won’t ask for more.”

“What?”

“I’ll understand,” he said, eyes tightening in a flinch.

“Eddie–” It came out broken. His encouragement for you to end the burden of this relationship at coworkers for the sake of your image stung like the tender throb of rejection–except, it was worse. It was him giving you permission to break things off because he didn’t see himself as worth the hassle.

Your poise collapsed. “You’re right, it is a lot to process, and it’s all I’m gonna be thinking about for the next week, a-and yeah, I wish you told me sooner, but Eddie–” His knuckles made a harsh sound when you grasped for his hand, knocking them on the table with the force of your messy coordination through the blur of true friendship disrupting your vision. “This changes nothing between us.”

Graceless under the circumstances, you took his right hand and wrapped your fingers around his thumb, fitting the meat of your palm into the curve of his. You delved your other fingers under his sleeve cuff, stroking them down, then up, slotting them beneath the stretchy bracelet. D-A-D-D-Y. He cupped his free hand over top of yours, enveloping them both, and waded through the entanglement to caress the prominent callus at the tip of his middle finger over the white blocks with black lettering. M-O-U-S-E.

“I’m with you,” you said. “I’m here. And whenever you want me here, whenever Adrie wants me here, ask and I’ll be on my bike pedaling as fast as I can.”

His face pinched in sentimental yearn. “Baby..”

Instead of suffocating the intensity of his emotions as he normally would, he slid his chair back and buried his head in the hollow of his outstretched arms; and in the pocket of space where he felt safest, he allowed himself the relief of two hot tears streaking through the fine sweat overtaking his puffy face. They clung to the tip of his nose, and dripped to his jeans in a loud splat.

He snorted, but it came out as a muted huff due to his stopped up sinuses. “Can’t believe I made it all the way through that sober and without crying, and then you just–went ahead and said something like that.”

You smiled. He probably did, too. Then as yours ebbed, his probably did, too.

The intertwined pocket where you clasped each other ran hot with body temperature, humidity, and the loaded implications of his confession and your subsequent acceptance. Heavy with the context for why people stared at him. Their significant glances at you, and the new depths and meaning beyond people thinking he was weird, and you were weird by association.

But at the same time, their stares didn’t last long. They were glances by every definition. A look over, a judgment, and then away, back to their own little world and their own little lives.

You asked, “Are the rumors still as bad as they were?”

The short curls at the crown of his head waved back and forth with his slow head shake. “I don’t think so. I think they’ve gotten better in a weird, fucked up way.” He sniffled, and wiped his nose on the inside of his sleeve before returning to the darkened confines of his arms, refusing excess stimulation until he could handle it. “Ever since Home Alone came out, my friends joke that I’m like that old man, y’know, the one all the neighborhood kids target, and turn one rumor about him into this entire narrative where he’s slayed over a dozen people, and keeps the bodies in his basement.” He laughed, truly. A warm, muffled thing. “That’s the sorta rumors going around now, I think; that I’m some Boogieman that gets blamed for every bump in the night. Adults probably know the accusations, but, like I said, Adrie’s mom did try to stop the other ones, but I guess I don’t know for sure if–when people look at you and me–that’s what they’re thinking. Uhm, I don’t know if I’m making sense anymore.”

“You’re good,” you consoled him. Your thumbs whispered sentiments on his skin, smoothing over the rough terrain from his labor, and catching on the excess sweat, wicking it away and creating more with each hindered brush across his inner wrist, trapped under the weight of his heavy hand copying you; running his fingers over wherever he could, needy, grounding himself to your presence, and seeking closure. “Thank you for finally telling me.”

“Thanks for listening,” he responded quietly.

Eddie shrugged his shoulders to his cheeks, and dried his face on his jacket to the best of his ability. Together, you sat in silence for a while longer, holding each other. Thinking. Decompressing. Plunging into the ice water of yet another development in your relationship, and emerging to the surface in unison, breaking the surface tension latched together by the same lifesaver.

You squeezed.

He squeezed back.

“I think I need a minute,” Eddie said, throwing his head towards the bathroom and letting go of you to inelegantly wipe at his runny nose. He drew further away from the table, standing up and walking in his odd, awkward way; playing with his bangs, and taking his hair out of the ponytail. “I’ll see if Adrie’s awake and wants soup, too.” The edge of the bathroom door flooded with yellowed light and a faucet was turned on high.

There was a nice moment where you nodded at the homely kitchen, lost in thought, absorbing the sounds and smells of the thick bubbling brew, and tomatoey pungence. Until it dawned on you.

“Shit, the soup–!”

Thankfully, as you stirred, the potatoes stuck to the bottom of the pot dislodged themselves, and nothing appeared burnt. Because, honestly, you couldn’t take the wound to your pride if the first time you ever cooked for Eddie Munson resulted in you burning soup.

After searching, you discovered the cabinet above the dish rack housed the dinnerware. You grabbed two mismatched bowls and hesitated on the shallow Little Mermaid one, until hearing the click of the bathroom door swinging open, and a squeak from the adjacent bedroom.

Soft footsteps announced his excitement before you could turn and see Eddie’s silly hand wave.

Come here, he mouthed, peeking from around the wall.

You dropped the serving spoon on the–had to be homemade–ceramic ashtray masquerading as spoon rest, and followed, hungry for new discoveries; the first being the (offensively ugly) pirate ship wheel chandelier hanging above the washing machine you had to have been an idiot to miss earlier. Deeper into the carpeted hallway was the coat closet with crayon squiggles, a shelf of kitschy knick knacks, and a thrifted painting of a lake scene with the curled-edge price sticker still on the corner of the glass. Passing the bathroom, you got a glimpse of a dark green shower curtain, a wet rag on a packed sink of various spilled products, and a bucket of rubber ducks next to the tub.

Eddie slowed, and you were confronted with his back. Slim shoulders on display from his oversized jacket falling further down his arms, thick canvas folding over itself around his tapered waist. The white tank top was stretched to fit him, hem of the armholes digging into his flexed lats as he eased the bedroom door open, back muscles contouring in the heavy shadows as he hunched and held his breath at the creaky hinges broadcasting his entrance. Edges of tattoos taunted you while he blinked into the darkness. And when the one who usurped his bed nearly five years ago didn’t wake, he straightened up and shook his hair out of his face.

He angled to the side, opening himself to you with his arm outstretched; an unspoken suggestion in his fingertips finding the edge of your cable knit sweater. You understood the glossy shine of unfiltered love in his gaze, and fit yourself between him and the doorway, stealing the soft filtered light brushing Adrienne’s sleeping form in tender illumination–made sweeter by the curls falling over her closed eyes, and the pale blue unicorn hugged in her arms.

‘Oh,’ you sighed in surprise, and clasped your hands on either side of your cheeks, craning to look up at him.

Just like the time he helped you hang decorations in the breakroom, your head made contact with the stick-and-poke viper, and his grin was instant.

His inhale cradled you. “She loves that thing,” he said, chest rumbling against your nape, stomach pressing to your side with an amused grunt, filling the gaps between you and him with warmth.

It was as if nothing changed. Not really.

Eddie canted his forehead to you with an expression of mild jealousy over your plush toy wrapped in his little girl’s arms when his cold plasticy ones sat at a miniature table in a pink playhouse pretending to have a tea party. His eyebrows were the same–raised, hidden beneath the wet stringy pieces of his bangs skimming his wrinkled forehead. His damp cheeks, jaw, and neck were the same after his cold water wake up call, splashing himself over the bathroom sink. His full lips were the same, pink and pulled back to show his teeth. His strong chin was the same, peppered with a recent shave. His handsome nose was the same, albeit red. The crinkles at the corner of his eyes were the same, if not slightly fuller from his recent cry.

But everything had changed.

Before, you lacked the understanding of the fear in his eyes when Mr. Moore had walked into the shop. How he had risked a painful bruise on his hip from the chair he knocked over in his scramble to get away from you. The tremble in his hands when he ran them through his hair in an urgent act to appear composed, and not like he was doing something worse with you. To you.

Everything was different, but it was felt, not seen.

The leftover adrenaline from the confrontation at his kitchen table faded, and in its place, rising from the truest, barest, rawest vulnerabilities of himself, was trust. A candid expression of respect in his palm at your back, fingers curled in to stroke his nails along the knitted design of your turtleneck. He confessed his secrets, you knew him to be an innocent man, and despite his worry for your reputation becoming infected by his, you promised him the same loyalty you always had, because there was not a lie in existence that would break the bond you facilitated months ago, born from your sheer desire to annoy the one mechanic who wouldn’t speak to you.

Felt, not seen.

A promise, and an urge.

The tingly pleasure of his nails scratching over your sweater advanced to a divine expression of affection.

He wrapped his arm around you, settling his hand in the curve above your hip. It lasted all of two seconds, long enough for him to bring you into the crook of his body for the purpose of whispering something in your ear, but it was a phenomenal improvement over the usual nervous flittering his fingers performed when in your company.

His voice was candy sweet after watching your face break into a smile for his daughter, “Maybe we should let her sleep, hmm?”

You leaned into him. “Yeah,” you sighed, rolling your head along his shoulder, guiding your silly grin from him to Adrie. “She looks so peaceful.”

“And quiet,” he observed in the wise tone of a single father after long hours of soothing his child’s headache when her cries created one of his own, and juggling the duty of cleaning up her puke from the floor, her clothes, his clothes, and bathing her while wallowing in the misery of doing it all by himself.

Eddie persuaded you into the hallway, and closed the door behind him, letting his arm fall to his side, ending the cocoon of warmth he provided with the harsh drag of the metal zipper scratching across the back of your jeans. He followed you to the kitchen and opened the fridge, muttering a string of words about deserving something as he snapped a silver and blue can from the plastic ring holding them together. “Want a beer? I don’t think you can get a DUI on a bike.”

“You actually can in some states.” You didn’t elaborate, and continued spooning soup into the bowls in questionable silence. “But no, thank you.”

Crack, tss. He held your stare over the rim as he tipped back a long gulp, pressed his lips together, and swallowed with a satisfied ‘ah,’ giving you ample time to ignore him. Finally, he moved his hand about, and asked, “Not gonna tell me why you know that?”

“Nope.”

“Okay.”

Moving on, you located two spoons from the absolute chaos of the cutlery drawer, and brought the bowls to the table while he reached into the pantry for an open sleeve of saltines, tossing them between the both of you and falling into his chair with a soft grunt.

“This looks great,” he complimented in earnest, voice and face alight with appreciation as he thrashed his arms to get out of his jacket, and took another sip of beer before crowding his side of the table with elbows, forearms, and hands; always holding the Pabst, or the soup, or reaching; always in motion, dominating the space you shared between your bowls, and beneath, where your legs were slotted in tight between his wide-spread knees.

His manners were about what you would assume after eating lunch with him many times, but that’s not what had you breathless.

He just.. took off his jacket like it was a completely normal thing he did dozens of times in front of you, sometimes accompanied by a hand rolled cigarette hanging from his lips, or joined by a sneer at some bad joke you told.

But it wasn’t normal. Not this time.

Hungry, hungry, hungry, you devoured the sight of his bare skin.

While he stirred the finely diced carrots and potatoes, you were afforded the time to admire the art no longer hidden by coveralls. Guessing at the older blotchy etches on his inner arm, theorizing about the origins of the souvenirs done in various stages between professional and very not professional, probably by himself or a friend. He didn’t have many, but it was easy to get caught up in the collection of motifs spanning from the top of his shoulders, and crawling in disorder downwards, to a tiny dagger at the apex of his bicep, two dice above his elbow, and a classic twist of barbed wire. Very cool and tough, but your roving stopped at one tattoo in particular.

Rather, one cluster of tattoos making up a whole.

“The bats..”

He perked up at your whisper–”Hm?”–and looked down at his arm. “Oh, yeah. These were my fourth, I think? Somethin’ like that. You like ‘em?” he asked, mouth cutting into the same delighted place a smirk originated from, but with more fascination as he too realized this was your first (technically second) time seeing his exposed arms.

Sucking in your cheeks to curb your habit of smiling at everything he said, you nodded in response, falling into a rhythmic head dip as you thought back to your first time meeting Adrie, and the picture she drew for you, and her Halloween costume, and how she chose not to dress as a princess like all her friends, but as a bat instead, because her daddy liked bats. “Yeah.. Yeah, I like them.”

He removed the twist tie from around the crackers and counted out three, stacking them neatly between his palms and, without warning, crushing them into his soup, sending a fine powder into the air.

It was obvious you were watching him on account of your untouched food, but it was beyond your control. Winter created a barrier between you and his skin. You needed to reap the beauty now while you could. Learn what you could, like the scorpion above his collar bone opposite the viper, and the eyeball monster with tentacles twisting over the bulk of muscles laying dormant in his solid forearms, and whatever the hell else was peeking out from under his tank top.

He scraped his spoon along the bottom of his bowl, and determined he needed one more cracker to make his soup as thick as he liked, and collected it from the crinkly pack. Yet another simple movement he had executed hundreds of times in front of you, and yet..

You stared. And stared. And stared. And made a sound of disgust. Rising from your chair, you loomed an impressive shadow over Eddie’s face as he gazed up at you with an expression of open confusion.

His eyes were trained solely on the pretty glint in yours. 

Shiver. Goosebumps.

He jumped at your bold finger slipping under the strap of his tank top to move it aside. You pinched your brows, narrowed your eyes, and pressed your palm to his skin, enthralled by the sensation of him existing under you, aware of the full breath he took to fill out his chest as you introduced the touch.

Humming, you studied your hand cupped over the black widow spider inked onto his naked pec, and concluded, “That one’s smaller than my palm.”

The pale saltine cracker shattered in his grip.

Acting oblivious, you scooted your chair under you, sat, smoothed your hands over your lap as if a napkin existed there, and slurped your spoonful of soup as if you had done something as natural as point out the weather.

He released his surprise in a huff, and brushed the crumbs from his palms. “You are the lamest person I have ever met.”

“Have you met yourself?” At his weak glare, you slurped more of your soup. An amicable silence followed–the sort of camaraderie communicated through full bellies–but there’d been something on your mind since he willingly opened himself up to you and shared his past, expecting his name to become a forgotten word in your mouth and nothing more. “Hey, since we’re like, baring our souls and shit tonight, do you want to know why I created my ‘yes’ policy?”

Instead of a comically over-quirked eyebrow, he showed genuine interest in listening to your story. He set down his spoon, and turned his full attention to you. “I’m intrigued.”

“I’m tellin’ ya now, it’s not as riveting as yours, but uh,” you faltered on a pause, and fostered the same sort of nervous shrug he did. “Growing up, my parents were really.. negative, I guess is the best way to put it. Like, they wouldn’t let me hang out with friends, told me I’d never amount to anything, said I was a disappointment. Y’know, normal stuff. Uhm, I wasn’t allowed to do much, only really leaving the house to go to school or go to my job when I was old enough to have one. They said I’d never live up to their expectations, I was a failure, I’d never get a boyfriend, I’d be a bad wife, I’m going nowhere in life, and I’m an annoyance and take up too much of their time, and I was never wanted.” You swiped your tongue along your top teeth, and popped your lips after perhaps sharing too much. “Anyway, I made good grades in high school, so I took a lot of electives, and one of those happened to be Drama class. This may come as a surprise, but I was really shy at first, but after a while I got used to playing different roles, and fell in love with the freedom of becoming whoever I wanted on stage. And one day my teacher taught us a lesson in improv, and yeah.. the moment she explained the concept of ‘Yes, and..’ I was hooked. Just the mindset of nothing being rejected, and no idea was made fun of, or shot down was brand new to me. And as you can infer by now, I adopted that ideology for my own life, and, uh, yeah, I’ve been saying ‘yes’ to everything since then and never looked back. Literally, I’ve talked to my parents like, once since moving out, and that was about my insurance.

“Uh, anyway,” you said, still talking a mile a minute, “it did kinda create a people-pleasing complex for a while. I wanted to say ‘yes’ to everyone because it made them happy, since, y’know, I was always told ‘no’ and it did the opposite. But it’s whatever. And, uh, while we’re doing this, I wanted to apologize for always pointing out that you’re single.” You avoided eye contact. “Kinda harsh in hindsight.”

He broke into a laugh–a loud clap like thunder, and curling in on himself–finding the humor in your flustered state.

“Well, I’m glad you find it so funny,” you deadpanned.

“No, no, sorry–” He concealed his giggles behind his knuckle crooked to his lips. “I, yeah, I’m sorry for pointing out that you’re single too.”

“Appreciated.”

The brief teasing commenced to a slight frown between his eyebrows. His gaze drifted to his soup, worry twisting at his lips as the bubbles of oil sloshed across the surface of the reddened broth, trembling in ripples from his bouncing leg.

Eddie was emotionally fatigued. Words weren’t coming to him–none that carried the weight they needed–so he offered an alternative to hollow apologies.

He brought a shaky spoonful of soup to his lips, and dribbled some off the side as he overcorrected the angle he needed to slide it into his mouth. The next dive for a potato proved just as awkward, trepidatious, but the struggle of eating with his non-dominant side was worth it.

Your fingertips brushed over saltine dust as you accepted the proposal of his hand resting at the center of the table, palm open, and fingers coaxing you to reunite skin on skin.

“I like your policy,” he said, voice gone gruff with the exhaustion of the day.

“Really? On more than one occasion you’ve called it stupid, irresponsible, absurd, the dumbest thing you’d ever heard of, naive–”

He shut you up by curling his fingers over yours, setting your cheeks ablaze with his unashamed thumb pressed to your bracelet. “You wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for your policy.”

A powerful move, and you matched the intimacy.

You hooked your thumb around to the scars lining the backs of his fingers, and lost yourself in the warmth of his embrace, giving yourself to him with each circle you massaged over his knuckles and between the joints. He did the same. Touching, touching, touching. Trusting. Melting into each other's palms. Holding hands with a man accused of so much, and forgiven so little. Holding hands with someone, just months ago, he brushed off as flippantly as her parents did.

He was sorry for the way he treated you.

You were sorry for the way the world treated him.

He squeezed.

You squeezed back.

~~~

“Are you sure you don’t want me to help?” you asked with a whine.

The pot of leftover soup still sat without a lid on the stovetop, and the serving spoon had a layer of scum dried to it. The dirty bowls and spoons were stacked in the sink, and Eddie hadn’t moved his wet laundry from the washing machine yet. Surely, you could help by wiping up the crumbs on the table, or cleaning up the spilled toothpaste on the bathroom sink, or–

He clapped his hands on your shoulders. “No,” he stressed slowly, “it’s late, and I’d prefer it if you got home before Buckley’s mom starts filing a missing persons report, and adding another rumor to my ass.” You cupped his elbows–barricaded from his body heat by his jacket–and opened your mouth, ready to argue. “And I swear if you don’t turn on your bike’s headlight, I’m gonna–”

You threw your head back, and groaned, “You’re so annoying.”

With the trailer’s door open, the quiet night penetrated the mix of air colliding from his warm kitchen and meeting the windless cold from the season, joining where your bodies connected on his cement steps. Your shoes dragged on the pebbly concrete in a woeful goodbye, making your effort to leave appear utmost arduous, tacking on a classic bottom lip pout when you both relinquished your holds on each other, and he shooed you off.

Not like you actually wanted to clean his house, it was just fun to annoy him into thinking you did.

Leaned against the doorway, he crossed his arms and tilted his head, mirroring your fondness in his gaze. “Yeah, yeah. Get out of here before people start gossiping about the pretty girl leaving my trailer, alive.”

The sudden belly laugh escaping you reverberated off the metal boneyard.

You slapped your hand over your mouth. “Sorry,” and after a thought, you asked gently while crouched to unchain your bike from the handrail, “Do you normally joke about what happened to you?”

His shadow shrugged over the hubcap hidden amongst the crunchy brittle grass. “Makes it easier, sometimes.”

“Noted.” You threw your leg over the seat, and made a big production of clicking on the headlight situated between your handlebars. “See you at work tomorrow, pretty boy.”

The scoff he was going for devolved into a snort. “Bye. Be safe. Please.”

Eddie locked the door behind him.

For minutes he stood at the center of his uncle’s trailer. It looked much the same as any other day when he came home from work, if not neater. But things had changed. As much as he liked eating across from Adrie, the two bowls in the sink were adult-sized, and it wasn’t the scent of stale smoke clinging to Wayne’s flannels that had Eddie throwing his arms over his head, locking his grip around his wrist, and twisting back and forth on the spot.

“Not exactly what I meant when I said I was gonna invite her over,” he informed no one but the darkness behind his closed eyes, remembering he promised Adrie that you’d come over soon.

Inhaling deep, he expelled a loud sigh and addressed the leftover soup. “But what a fucking night, huh?”

Inundated by the heaviness of feeling wanted, he opened the fridge and grabbed a tall boy stuffed behind the shelf of condiments. It wasn’t a drink of sadness as it usually was, but in celebration.

Afterall, he had much to celebrate. He held your hand. Twice.

And, not to mention, you know, how he showed you the gruesome details of the reality he lived in–his home, his reputation, his daughter sneezing into his open mouth when he was instructing her on how to take her temperature while you gagged from outside her bedroom. You knew it all, and you’d see him tomorrow. And the next day. And the next. Morning smiles, afternoon laughter. Maybe he’d even ask that question he’d meant to before you left.

But for now..

He ran his fingers over the old tattoo on his shoulder, and pressed his palm over it, replicating the weight of your head resting there when you so lovingly witnessed Adrie being his best wingman, hugging her stuffed unicorn while she slept. It’s what gave him the bravery to wrap his arm around you. And what did you do in return? You leaned into him with a smile, utterly charmed by his forwardness, if his cynical eyes weren’t playing tricks on him.

A voice in the back of his head whispered a seed of doubt, but after a sip, he dismissed it.

“Still fucking got it, Munson,” he complimented himself, downing a long gulp.

————

See you at work tomorrow..

You definitely didn’t see him tomorrow. Or the next day. Or the next.

“Here you go, my lovely,” Robin cooed. She entered your room on tiptoes, ever so quiet, and placed your requested bottle of Nyquil on the bedside table with a glass of water. “How’re you feeling, sweetheart?”

You broke from your nest of blankets for the lone reason of glaring at her saccharine voice; somehow sweating through yet another t-shirt, while still shivering as if you’d just emerged from an ice bath.

“Aw, don’t look so grumpy, baby,” she comforted you with a pinch to your cheek. “It’s what you get for locking lips with Eddie.”

“I did not–” You cut your own self off with a round of coughs, making your attempts at speaking scratchier, and scratchier. And by the time you’d recovered, Robin had escorted herself out of your vicinity.

Her giggles haunted you from downstairs.

“Yeah, she’s fine!” She yelled to her mom. “Just lovesick.”

You rolled over, and sighed.

Goodbye extra sick day.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie munson smut #mechanic!eddie #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #the yes policy

[thefvrious]

@ghostsxagain sent -> 'shivers' for lucifer's reaction to adriel trailing his fingers down luci's spine.

It's been some time since their conversation, since the last time Lucifer proved his real moniker in the Bible true. He is the accuser, but what he says is true. It's time for Adriel to remove the wool from their eyes, too, the way Luci and Lev and Zaz and the others have.

Adri needs time, Lucifer understands that. At least... he tries to convince himself he does, but the days stretch on and on and the ache in his heart grows. Never before have they made such progress, never before have they seen each other so many times in such close succession with such positive end results. His heart had been soaring. They had convinced themself that things were going to change, that their angel was finally coming around, seeing the unfolding of events for how they had truly occurred. But the silence? It was eating away at Lucifer more quickly than it used to.

They had endured centuries, millennia over and over, what's different now? Is it that he can see the physical changes in Adriel? The darkening of his wings, the difference in his aura. Or is it that Adriel has given him more now than he has since before? Lucifer can't reconcile the truth, figures it's complicated and probably some mixture of the two and something else they haven't thought of yet.

Sighing, he closes his eyes, reaching out and beckoning Adriel to him again. "Come to me." His voice echoes in Adriel's mind, he knows, and he draws in a deep and weary breath where he stands on a precipice somewhere humans cannot reach. He can feel the mist of a waterfall, the cool night air all around him, the sky clear and filled with twinkling stars. When they feel the gentle touch to their spine, they're almost positive they've imagined it, and they keep their eyes closed a beat longer so as not to burst the bubble. After a moment, however, it becomes obvious that this is no working of his mind and he dares to look over and see the very one he had been beckoning.

The breath leaves Lucifer's lungs as joy fills his expression, his eyes alight with it. He reaches for the other's delicate, beautiful hands and pulls them closer. "You came..."

#lucifer ~ thread #lucifer x adriel #ghostsxagain

[localfuckeryinc]

anyone wanna hear me rant abt miraculous ladybug. yes? good

please dont get me wrong. i really like the concept of this show. im a huge sucker for animal themed superheroes and magical girls. the powers for the heros and some of the villains really interest me, and i even like some of the designs (some of the later heros like rooster bold) but i also really hate this show. the shipping is really frustrating, especially when you do not care about half of the characters that the show is trying to make you want to ship. im not even gonna TALK about the shipping square with adrien chat noir marinette and ladybug bc that thing is so infuriating. especially when i dont like marinette and think ladybug and chat noirs relationship is kinda weird. anyway. im not talking about it. im not talking about it. marinette is personally just one of those characters i dont like- she gets better the farther you get into the series but shes just so high energy all the time that it exhausts me to watch her scramble around for too long. chloe is more entertaining and i like her more despite her being racist (shown mostly in kung food if i remember right). adrien is ok. if he got more screen time i think i wouldve liked him more but for some reason hes treated like a side character. im not basing this off of any real numbers but CHLOE, a minor antagonist, gets more or less the same screen time he does. and so much of his screen time is just him transforming. im also not counting chat noir as part of his screen time. theyre different. alya is fine but for some reason she cant tell her best friend is a stalker. nino is actually one of my favorites hes like marinette but a lot more chill and doesnt stalk his classmates. rose and juleka are gay. ivan and mylene are there. max is good if you need someone to say a lot of words. i really like alix shes cool and actually acknowledges how weird it is that marinette knows adries whole schedule. nathaniel is also a character i really like i cant really explain why. kim is there but hes annoying sometimes. also the wiki says his last name according to the wiki is lê chiến which is way too close to “the dog” in french for it to not be funny to me. sabrina is a lap dog. maybe her last name should be la chien. lila is FINE but why are the lies she tells so big. whats the point. luka. this bitch annoys the FUCK out of me i hate the way he is. we get it you play guitar. marc is nice i feel like he would write really good fanfic on ao3. zoe does not exist in my mind. hawkmoth is kind of annoying and makes too many puns. try a stealth mission with someone who doesnt have ulterior motives PLEASE that would be so cool. mayura is a queen i love mayura. she does look like a grape tho. im rotating felix around in my brain rn i cannot figure out how i feel about this guy. hes fine i like the parent swap bullshit he always pulls. as for the heroes. god. why are they the way they are? ladybug i like more than marinette but only barely. its weird how the ladybug and cat miraculous are presented as a duo but you really only need the ladybug to save the day. they point this out at some point but its still really weird to me. the cat miraculous does have better outfits though since the ladybug outfits are just. uh. red spotted spandex. it would be cool if the ladybug miraculous got nerfed and instead it got little wings to go with the outfit that could spring them up in the air. and maybe a visor. and maybe antennae. and- ok im done there. chat noir is fine hes weird abt ladybug but that becomes something you expect in this show. i LOVE queen bee. shes so dramatic i love her. fuck vesperia all my homies hate vesperia it would have been so much better if chloe got to keep the miraculous like SOMEONE did after her identity was revealed. cough cough RENA ROUGE cough cough. rena rouge is fine but why is her outfit exactly the same as lila when she was akumatized- each outfit is based off the miraculous user’s personal preference (SUPPOSEDLY). carapace is pretty good- anansi is actually a really solid episode despite nora being nothing like anansi in the mythos, i think the writers just wanted a cool name. carapace/nino are actually really similar so im not surprised that alya figured it out so fast. for some reason the fox and turtle miraculous dont do anything to the users personalities but the ladybug and cat make major changes. for some reason. maybe its power levels? were never told why. i dont think ill talk about any of the other heroes because there are SO MANY OF THEM. i like rooster bold though his design is just really cool to me. this show actually has a lot of structuring issues for me- the concept of this show would be helped so much if it wasnt episodic and everything wasnt reset every episode. having running arcs would make it so much more interesting- i love the monster of the week format but it would be cool if characters could retain memories from week to week. uhhhhhh what else can i talk about. ships? i like marc and nathaniel- i like both characters and i think they would be happy together instead of nate crushing on marinette “i am in love with adrien” dupain-cheng. can we talk abt how dupain means “of bread” (or close to that i havent taken french in a while) these last names are really odd. the akumatization process is fun i guess but the designs. oh the designs. they hurt my eyes sometimes. i do like silencer though despite hating luka. i think im done now? i cant think of much else to complain about besides the animation of the hair making it look so flat. im done.

#do i maintag this #hmmmm #yeah fuck it #miraculous ladybug #miraculous #honestly alya and nino are cute together #theyre both decent and have weird best friends #im fine now i just really needed to tell someone other than my friends discord server abt this show #and my thoughts\

[princesssarisa]

The different names of Cinderella, her stepmother and stepsisters, and her prince

For @ariel-seagull-wings

In Gioachino Rossini's 1817 opera La Cenerentola, the heroine's real name is Angelina, a stepfather named Don Magnifico takes the place of the stepmother, the stepsisters are named Clorinda and Tisbe, and the prince is named Ramiro.

In Jules Massenet's 1899 opera Cendrillon, the heroine's real name is Lucette, the stepmother is named Madame de la Haltiére, the stepsisters are named Noémie and Dorothée, and the prince is just called "le Prince Charmont" (Prince Charming).

In the 1947 Russian film, the heroine is only called Cinderella and the stepmother and prince are unnamed, but the stepsisters are named Anna and Marianna.

In Disney's animated version, the heroine is only called Cinderella, her stepmother is named Lady Tremaine, her stepsisters are named Anastasia and Drizella, and the prince is unnamed.

In the 1955 film The Glass Slipper starring Leslie Caron, Cinderella's real name is Ella, her stepmother is called the Widow Sonder, the stepsisters are named Berdena and Serafina, and the prince is named Charles. (A slightly cringeworthy name choice now – the real Prince Charles was just seven years old when this movie came out.)

In the 1955 German film, at least in the English dub, Cinderella's real name is Margaret, the stepmother is unnamed, the stepsisters are named Lottie and Dottie, and the prince is called Prince Charming.

In Rodgers and Hammerstein's musical, the heroine is just Cinderella, except in the 2013 Broadway production, where her real name is Ella. In all versions, the stepmother is unnamed, and the prince is named Christopher Rupert Windermere Vladimir Carl Alexander Francois Reginald Lancelot Herman Gregory James, though he only goes by "Christopher" (or, in the 2013 version, the nickname "Topher"). The stepsisters' names change in each new version of the musical, though: they're Joy and Portia in the original 1957 telecast, Prunella and Esmeralda in the 1965 remake, Minerva and Calliope in the 1997 remake, Joy and Grace in the 2000 touring stage production, and Charlotte and Gabrielle in the 2013 Broadway version.

In the Muppet production Hey, Cinderella! the heroine is just Cinderella and the stepmother is unnamed, but the stepsisters are named Mona and Lisa, and prince is named Arthur (full name Arthur Charming).

In the film The Slipper and the Rose, the heroine is just Cinderella (I think) and the stepmother is unnamed, but the stepsisters are named Isobella and Palatine, and the prince is named Edward.

In the Faerie Tale Theatre adaptation, the heroine is just Cinderella and the stepmother is unnamed, but the stepsisters are named Arlene and Bertha, and the prince is named Henry.

In Into the Woods, Cinderella is just Cinderella, and the stepmother and the prince are both unnamed, but the stepsisters are named Florinda and Lucinda.

In Gail Carson Levine's novel Ella Enchanted and its film version, Cinderella's real name is Ella (obviously), the stepmother is Dame Olga, the stepsisters are named Hattie and Olive, and the prince gets the punny name of Charmont, but is nicknamed Char.

In the anime Cinderella Monogatari, the heroine is just Cinderella, the stepmother is named Duchess Dalbin, the stepsisters are named Catherine and Jeanne, and the prince, as in The Glass Slipper, is named Charles.

In the film Ever After, Cinderella's real name is Danielle, the stepmother is Baroness Rodmilla de Ghent, the stepsisters are named Marguerite and Jacqueline, and the prince is again named Henry.

In Margaret Peterson Haddix's middle-grade sequel/deconstruction novel Just Ella, Cinderella's real name (of course) is Ella, the stepmother's name is Lucille, the stepsisters are named Corimunde and Griselda, and the prince is literally named Prince Charming, though in this version he's anything but.

In Malinda Lo's LGBT+ YA retelling Ash, the heroine is named Aisling (pronounced "Ash-lin") and nicknamed "Ash" instead of "Cinderella," the stepmother is named Lady Isobel, the stepsisters are named Ana and Clara, and the prince is named Aiden, but Ash doesn't end up with him, instead falling for a huntress named Kaisa.

In Marissa Meyer's sci-fi YA retelling Cinder (which I haven't read yet, I'm only going off Wikipedia), the heroine is just called Cinder until she learns (spoiler alert) that she's really the lost Princess Selene. The stepmother is named Linh Adri (Linh is her surname – in the book's Asian-inspired setting of New Beijing, surnames come first), the stepsisters are named Pearl and Peony, and the prince is named Kaito, but nicknamed Kai.

In Disney's 2015 live-action remake of their version, the stepmother and stepsisters are still Lady Tremaine, Anastasia and Drizella, but Cinderella's real name is now Ella and the prince is named Kit (presumably a nickname for Christopher).

In Betsy Cornwall's steampunk YA retelling Mechanica, the heroine is named Nicolette, called Nick for short, and rudely nicknamed "Mechanica" instead of "Cinderella" because she's an inventor. The stepmother is named Lady Halving, the stepsisters are named Piety and Chastity, and the prince, in an obvious shout-out to the Rodgers and Hammerstein musical (with a little Ever After Easter egg thrown in too) is named Christopher Dougray Fadhiri Anton Abdul-Rafi Finnian, but nicknamed Fin.

In Andrew Lloyd Webber's new stage musical (based on the synopsis and the lyrics – I haven't actually seen it), Cinderella is only called Cinderella and the stepmother is unnamed, but the stepsisters are named Adele and Marie, and the prince is named Sebastian (Prince Charming is his older brother).

In the new Sony/Amazon movie musical, Cinderella's real name is Ella, the stepmother is named Vivian, the stepsisters are named Malvolia and Narissa, and the Prince is named Robert.

These are all the versions I can think of for now.

#fairy tales #fairy tale variations #cinderella #name suggestions

[hopes4gf]

Thievery and Mischief- (a descendants/marvel crossover)

After the tour, I decide to pay a little visit to my friends at Auradon Prep, Tia and Tavian, my favorite twins from Louisiana and drama club captains.

”Yo, Adri! What’s up?” Tavian says.

”Long time no see, how y’all doing?” I ask.

”Good now that there’s some peace and quiet,” Tia says, looking up towards the top of the stage.

”Not my fault you guys are so boring,” A voice says from the rafters.

I look up and see a guy with large wings, almost like a bird’s.

He stares at me, his eyes widening and suddenly he swoops down. 

“Holy crap, you’re Adri Ababwa. I’m a big fan,” The guy says now standing in front of me.

”Nice wings man,” I say.

”Thanks, I grew them myself. Mutant powers y’know?” Angel says.

”Mutants?” I ask.

”My dad is a fairy, my mom is a sorceress. I’m Angel, by the way,” He says.

”Angel...by any chance are you the Bell twins’ cousin?” I ask.

He nods.

”They talk about you all the time, I see why now,” I say.

”It’s rare to see mutants in families. Some have wings, have claws in their hands, can shapeshift, that’s probably why I look up to you,” Angel says.

”Cause I can shapeshift into a tiger?” I ask.

”Exactly,” Angel says.

Tia and Tavian stare at us confusedly.

”Power talk,” I say.

The bell rings and the twins collect their things.

”Ooh, Tia! When’s the next time your mom can make me some of her famous gumbo?” I ask.

”If you come with me now, we can stop by her restaurant,” Tia says.

I turn to Angel.

”Wanna come?” I ask.

”Sure,” Angel says.

————

After meeting Angel, I learned some things about mutants and their abilities. This lesson was pretty enlightening and made me feel like I wasn't alone with my curse.

Later, I get a call from a number I don't recognize while walking through the gardens. I pick up the phone.

"Hello?" I say through the phone.

"Hey, Adri. It's been a while," A familiar voice says through the phone.

I recognize the voice to be Stefani, or Lady Gaga through the phone.

"Oh my gosh, Stefani! It's such an honor to talk to you again," I say happily. 

I sit under the usual gossip tree to take the call.

"I know. Anyways, darling, I have a little project for you. You're someone who I love and hold dear as an artist, so I want to collaborate with you on a couple of songs for a movie I'm producing a soundtrack for," Stefani says.

"You want to collaborate with me for a motion picture soundtrack?" I ask.

"Mark Ronson is also gonna help and a couple of people from my team too. I was also looking in the credits for your album and I saw your boyfriend did the mixing for a couple of songs. I was hoping you and him might want to tag along on this," Stefani adds.

"I'm sure he would e happy to, but for now all I can say is yes to you on my own behalf. I would absolutely love to," I say with a smile.

"Great! I'll text you meeting details on Friday," Stefani says.

"Great!" I say.

I hang up the phone and giggle. I feel like screaming for joy. So many great things are happening! I guess that's what happens when you hit rock-bottom, you only go up from there. And now, everything is looking up.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I walk to the gym where I find Jay with Lonnie and the rest of the fencing team.

”Take a break, boys!” Lonnie says, blowing her new captain’s whistle.

Jay spots me by the doors and walks over with a smile on his face.

”Hey, babe,” He greets.

Before he can kiss me, I put my finger over his lips.

”We have songs to write for Gaga,” I say with a smile.

Jay’s smile drops.

”Gaga? As in, Lady Gaga? Grammy award winner, Gaga?” Jay asks.

”She just called me and she wants us to write her songs for a movie,” I say.

Jay smiles widely and lifts me of the ground, hugging me tightly. 

“Jesus, why didn’t you tell me sooner? That’s great! What if we win as Oscar or a Grammy or even a Teen choice award? I’m so proud of you,” Jay rants.

I laugh at his reaction to the news.

”Why is Jay smiling like that?” Lonnie asks, coming up to us.

”We get to write music for Lady Gaga,” Jay says proudly.

Lonnie’s jaw drops.

”Congratulations! You deserve it for making such good songs for her album,” Lonnie says, patting Jay’s shoulder.

”Nah, the real mastermind is Adri. Her lyrics and her voice made the songs much more beautiful,” Jay says.

I blush softly and punch his arm shyly.

”Shut up,” I mutter.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After Jay’s practice, we follow Lonnie to Coach Jenkin’s office.

”There's my favorite captains!” Coach says.

“Oh shush, we know we’re good,” I say with a smirk.

I first bump Lonnie.

”Speaking of Captains, I got word of your schedule changes,” He says, pointing to me and Jay.

”Even though these changes have been made, I still think you’d be able to advise your teams. Especially you, Jay, since Ben is out of action,” Coach explains.

”Are you promoting me?” Jay asks.

”I’m making you Captain of the Tourney team, Jay,” Coach says.

Jay’s jaw drops.

”No way,” Jay says in shock.

“Looks like things are looking up, JJ,” I say with a smile.

Jay’s mouth morphs into a smirk.

”Damn right,” He says.

Coach gives us a soft smile.

”You guys can celebrate or something, but on Monday, I expect you all to adjust,” Coach says.

”Yeah,” We all agree.

Suddenly, the announcements go off.

”Adri Ababwa, please report to Fairy Godmother’s office,” The announcement says.

”Did you get your skateboard taken again?” Jay asks.

”How many times are you gonna get that thing confiscated?” Lonnie asks, rolling her eyes.

”It’s in my locker, chill. I have no idea,” I say, getting up from my seat.

I walk through the door and walk to the office.

I walk into the headmistress’s office and I see Mal and Ben with Fairy Godmother.

”Long time no see,” I say to Ben and Mal.

”Glad you’re here,” Ben says, hugging me.

”We called you here because Mal has a proposal for you,” Fairy Godmother explains.

“Rogers stepped down from his position,” Mal says.

My smile fades. Steve Rogers? Family friend, Avengers, Steve?

”Steve stepped down from Captain? Why?” I ask.

“He and Tony had a dispute after Voltron in Germany. I’ve tried to keep a temporary position since Uma came into the Isle, but we need more troops. I think you’d be the best for it because of your powers and experience. And plus, you're already trusted on the court,” Mal explains.

”Mal, I’d be honored to. But I have to find a way to fit it into my schedule. The only free time I have is around now,” I say.

”So, then you can clock in at 5 and finish at 8,” Ben says.

”It's an intensive training role. You’d pick up recruits, train them, and go to the dungeons,” Ben says.

”Not bad,” I think.

”Fine, I’ll do it,” I say.

”Thank you so much,” Mal says with a smile.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I walk into the base of operations and spot a familiar face. Bucky Barnes, Steve’s best friend, and newest Avenger.

”Hey, metal arm,” I joke.

”Thank god you’re here,” Bucky says, spotting me.

He gives me a side hug.

”What the hell is wrong with Steve?” I ask him.

”Steve doesn’t agree with the new laws set by Rhodes and the Marshall. Since Sokovia, they wanna add restrictions on our powers because of the explosion and because of that telekinesis girl,” Bucky says.

”I mean they did destroy the city too,” I mention.

”The reason for Tony’s nightmares,” Bucky recalls.

”He has nightmares?” I ask.

”Yeah, if Loki ever comes back, he’ll have a malfunction,” Bucky says.

”Let’s hope that his arc reactor surgery saves him,” I say.

Bucky laughs, remembering he doesn’t have a heart.

”Anyways, let me show you around. So, this is the center of the base, here we have our tanks, our fake grenades, our armory, and training center,” Bucky explains.

”And the troops?” I ask.

”I think that’s your job to cause the first commotion,” Bucky says, handing me a grenade.

”Watch this, grandpa,” I say, taking the grenade from his hands. 

I toss the grenade into a group of guys.

They all huddle near the grenade trying to cover it and push each other away.

”Hey! What the hell are you sons if bitches doing? If you see an enemy grenade, you take cover!” I yell.

”The hell is this bitch?” One of the guys asks.

”Bitch? I’m not anyone’s bitch, and for the record, I’m your new Captain,” I say.

The troops all mutter and scoff at each other.

”Go home, kid! You’re kidding yourself if you think you’re gonna train us,” Another guy says.

”What’re your names?” I ask the guys.

They both look at me like I’m dumb.

”I’m Jack. This is Lio,” Jack says.

”I’m promoting you,” I say.

They both look at each other in shock.

”Both of you are now my Lieutenants. You’re gonna spend the majority of training by my side. Whoever are Lieutenants, you’re demoted. If there’s anything I know about being a soldier, you’d fight any fight or anyone to make it to the top. As I train each of you, you must be following my direct orders only. I will watch you all carefully and see if any of you demonstrate proper soldiers' skills. That will determine if you are my second in command. New recruits will all be promoted in place of older ones. As long as you keep up with your task, you’re safe. Any bullshit, you’re out, understand?” I say.

”Yes ma’am,” The Troops say.

I grab a sword from a barrel and I throw it at Lio.

”Get to work,” I order.

The troops go to their assigned positions and Lio and Jack come towards me.

”Who the hell are y-“ Lío starts.

”Bro, that's Adri Ababwa,” Jack explains.

”The artist?” Lio asks.

“Yeah, I’m a huge fan and I’m so fucking sorry about the way I acted earlier,” Jack apologizes.

”It’s fine, I don’t take shit personally. At least anymore,” I say.

”Bruh, you called her a bitch,” Lio comments.

”Shut up,” Jack mutters.

”Listen, I can already tell you two are friends. So please make this easy for me and shut the fuck up and listen,” I say honestly.

”You know you remind me a lot of Rogers,” Jack says.

”We’re friends,” I say.

”You’re friends with Steve Rogers?” Lio asks.

”Yes, now listen up. We’re gonna do some tactical work. You’re gonna go through the grass here with your rifles, your gonna shoot three birds and bring them to me. Got it?” I order.

”Yes ma’am,” They say.

They then pick up their rifles and crouch through the grass.

They miss every shot when birds pass by. One of them lands on Lio’s head and he coos the bird. I roll my eyes at his action. Then, Jack shoots two birds at once. My eyes widen at his shot. They fall into the grass and he picks them up. Lio shoots a bird and it falls slowly.

”That's one big bird,” Lio comments. 

As it falls to the ground I notice it’s not a bird. 

“Are fucking stupid? That’s a human, not a bird!” Jack shouts. 

I run quickly under the person and they fall in my arms.

”Angel? Jesus, are you okay?” I realize.

The metal winged man winces in pain. I realize his hip is bleeding.

”Lio, what the hell is wrong with you? You shot him in the ribs,” I say.

I place him in the grass and reach for Jack’s medkit. He hands it to me and I open it up. I take a pair of tweezers and some alcohol.

”Sit still,” I advise.

I pry the bullet from his hip slowly and Angel grits his teeth from the pain. The bullet comes out cleanly and I put alcohol on the wound and wrap it up.

”Can you fly?” I ask him.

”Sure,” Angel says.

He uses his wings to fly up straight.

”Now who the fuck mistook me for a hunting duck?” Angel asks.

Jack points to Lio.

”Come on, man,” Lío says exasperatedly to Jack.

”Terrible shot,” Angel comments.

Then he takes the gun from Lio’s hand and shoots a bird. The shot is clean and the bird falls quickly to the grass.

”That's how you shoot,” Angel says, picking up the bird from the grass.

He’s good. And he’s got those wings too. 

“Hey, Angel? You got anything to do after school?” I ask him.

”No,” He scoffs.

”Would you be interested in being a troop?” I ask him.

”What?” Lio and Jack ask.

”Well, I’ve got nothing else to do,” Angel says.

I smirk and pat his shoulder.

Later, I give Angel his new uniform and make him another Lieutenant. We continue tactical shooting until sunset.

I then search the premises of the base and look at the other troops. They whisper and smirk as I pass by. Some troops, practice grenade launching, shooting positions, fencing. I think to myself:

”Maybe this is something Jay would be interested in hearing.”

I smirk to myself as I think about how successful Jay has been so far in his time in Auradon. I walk into the training center and spot Bucky talking to a troop.

”Hey, how was your first day?” Bucky asks.

”Could’ve been better, but it means progress,” I say with a soft smile.

”Good to know you’re a hard hitter instead of a soft princess. Kind of like your mom,” Bucky says.

”Don’t mention me and my mom in the same sentence, you 100-year-old soldier. That’s like putting you and Steve in the same sentence about ice,” I say, rolling my eyes.

”Shut the hell up,” Bucky says punching my arm with his regular fist.

”You ever punch me with your vibranium arm, I will kill you,” I warn.

Bucky laughs and leaves me alone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

One day at school, Angel and I decided to sit together at lunch. We talk about training and new things I could teach the troops. As we talk about ammunition I spot Jay talking to Ruby Fitzherberg, Rapunzel’s daughter. I see her pressing upon him and twirling her blonde hair. Jay uncomfortably tries to walk away.

”Oh god,” I say, rolling my eyes.

”God what?” Angel asks me.

”Jay is with Ruby,” I say.

”Ruby? The girl who slept with five guys at once? You better scoop your man before she gets him,” Angel advises.

”How do you know that?” I ask.

”What? I’m gay. Of course, I know,” Angel explains.

My eyes widen at his words.

”Huh?” I ask dumbfoundedly.

”I said what I said, I’m gay,” Angel says.

I blink in confusion and stand up from the bench. 

I walk over to Jay and Ruby and sling my arm around his shoulder. 

“Hey guys,” I say.

”Adri! Nice to see you after you dealt with Angel in the theatre,” Ruby says.

”You were there? I didn’t see you or hear your annoying voice,” I say with a smirk.

”I was just asking Jay whether or not he likes my new hair,” Ruby says flirtatiously towards Jay, ignoring my words.

”Um, it looks the same,” I say.

”That’s what I said,” Jay agrees.

”Come on, I cut it 4 inches!” Ruby says playfully hitting Jay’s arm.

”Excuse me, can you not put your hands on him?” I ask her.

”Why not?” Ruby asks.

”It’s super clear that he’s uncomfortable,” I say.

”No he’s not,” Ruby replies bitterly.

Ruby turns to Jay.

”Adri, can we go?” Jay asks.

”Gladly,” I say through gritted teeth.

I grab Jay’s arm and we walk back to my table.

”Who’s this?” Jay asks, seeing Angel.

”This is Lieutenant Angel, the guy Ruby was talking about,” I say.

”Jay. Jay Farr, I’ve heard quite a bit about you from Adri,” Jay says.

”I’ve heard a lot about you too,” Angel says.

”Anyways, you saw what I saw right?” I ask Angel.

”Um, obviously. Ruby has absolutely no self-control. Hey, I’m gay by the way and if you ever and I mean EVER dump her, you’re either getting a Louboutin heel to the face or a date with me,” Angel says.

I scoff at his remarks.

”What? He’s hot,” Angel compliments.

”Thanks, man but I have plans with this girl so...no thanks,” Jay says, wrapping an arm around my shoulder.

”Like I was saying, Ruby thinks she is all preppy and cool when she’s totally out of line for that shit,” I say to Angel.

”What did she do exactly?” Jay asks, peeking in the conversation.

”She was flirting with you- anyways I try to be sane one...”

”And you’re complaining why?” Jay asks in between my words.

Angel snickers to himself. I glare at Jay.

”You. Are. Mine. End of story,” I say through gritted teeth.

Jay laughs to himself after I speak. 

“Jeez, you’re jealous! I didn’t actually think you’d slide into the conversation because of that,” Jay laughs.

”With your tendencies, it was so obvious that you were uncomfortable but when I walked over you played into it! It was so clear,” I say frustratedly.

Jay continues to laugh at my responses. I look over at Angel and rolls his eyes.

”She feels like your toying with her and she doesn’t like it,” Angel blurts out.

Jay stops laughing and his smile drops. He turns to see me.

I play with the underside of my nail, trying not to look at Jay.

”Is that true?” Jay asks.

”I don’t know. Maybe I just feel like at any moment you could be suddenly interested in some other girl who’s better than I am,” I mutter.

Jay puts a hand on my thigh and I turn to face him.

”Baby, why would I make plans with you if I didn’t love you or care about you enough to stay with you?” Jay asks.

I blush lightly and shrug.

”It’s because I think your worth every minute of my life,” Jay says sincerely.

I smile softly and I kiss his cheek.

”That's cute,” Angel says.

”Shut up,” I giggle.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A month later,

”Tell me something, boy. Aren’t you tired try to- Fuck what rhymes with that?” I sing, stopping mid-way to think.

”Void?” Stefani suggests.

”Damn it, why is it so hard to write a love song without having the word love in it?” I ask exasperatedly.

”Cause it’s impossible?” Jay suggests.

”It is possible. We’ve just got two weeks to figure it out,” Stefani says, sitting back down in her chair.

Jay puts out his hand for me to pass him the guitar.

”How about we just repeat a couple of lines?” Jay says, receiving the guitar.

“Tell me something, boy, aren’t you tired of trying to fill that void?

or do you need more?” He starts.

”Aint it hard keeping it so hardcore?”  Stefani finishes.

”Yes! That’s it,” I say, writing it down.

We’re about to finish the last song of the motion picture and we’re almost done. But the lyrics keep falling apart.

”Maybe Bradley should just come in here and help us,” I suggest.

We call in Stefani’s co-star, Bradley and he sits.

”What’s the dilemma?” He asks.

”We need more ears. So, how about it?” Jay asks.

Jay hands Bradley the guitar.

”Shit, I’ve only been in classes for a month,” Bradley hesitates.

”You can do it,” Stefani says confidently.

youtu.be/MUX4ZWkDS-s

Bradley starts to strum the chords of the song. I hand Stefani our brainstorm journal and they both look at our lyrics.

They sing the parts of the song effortlessly. At one part, Stefani improvises and nails the part.

They finish and Jay and I clap.

”That was movie magic at its finest! Now, let’s record it, mix it, and then off we go,” I say.

We all get up from our seats to start working on our parts.

Jay and I lay down the mixing and Bradley and Stefani record. And just for fun, Stefani plays a piano version and we end up recording that too.

Later that night, we come home absolutely exhausted.

I plop onto my dorm room bed and sigh. I look up at my ceiling and see the moonlight peeking through my curtain. The bed sinks and I turn to see Jay lying there next to me, looking at the curtains.

”Long days at work, huh?” Jay asks me.

”I took off training to do that, so, yes,” I say.

We both paused in silence for a minute.

”Hey,” Jay speaks up.

”Yeah?”

”Do you think we’ll get nominated for anything?” Jay asks.

”Probably,” I say, thinking out loud.

”You know. I’m glad you asked me to start making music with you. It’s like something I can remember about you...like our own special thing, you know?” Jay says.

”Yeah. By the way, Stefani was the one who asked for you. Not me,” I say.

”Really? I didn’t think that would ever happen,” Jay says in surprise.

I chuckle at his reaction. I turn to my side and wrap my arm around his body. He does the same, pulling me closer to his chest by gripping my waist.

”Baby, where do you see us in the next year?” Jay asks.

I furrow my brows in confusion.

”I mean. Do you think we’ll be together after senior year next year?” Jay asks.

”I mean, we’ve had no problems with our career schedules so far. Sure we had the situation with Lonnie but luckily I’m that wasn’t real,” I say.

Jay laughs at my recollection.

”I’m sorry for that,” Jay chuckles.

”I know. Anyways, I actually believe we could be traveling, making songs, doing couples interviews and photoshoots, and maybe I can have you come to Agrabah and convince my parents to help us get married?” I suggest.

”Married? You wanna marry me?” Jay asks.

”I mean, we need a new heir in the bloodline. And I don’t think Aziz wants to settle down or rule the kingdom yet,” I say.

Jay chuckles to himself for a minute. He scoops down and places a kiss on my forehead.

”Why can’t we do that now then?” Jay asks.

My eyes widen at his words. I blink twice adjusting to his reaction.

”You wanna do all that now?” I ask him.

”Why not? If that means I get to spend the rest of my life with your crazy ass? Definitely,” Jay agrees.

A smile morphs on my face and I jump up to get my phone.

I dial my mom’s number.

”Ma, it’s Adri. We’ve gotta make some plans...”

3,858 words

#marvel #marvel x oc #descendants #descendants jay #descendants x oc #descendants novels #fanfiction #multifandom #loki #son of jafar #descendants 2 #descendants 3 #loki x reader #jay x reader

[shmowlwrites]

(LATE) NaNoWriMo Day 4

Daminette pls. But going off the “Wonder Woman’s mother was a Ladybug” thing. Sister/mentor/(personal favorite) treating Marinette like her mom. Whatever you like.

Okay so this turned out as a general “found family” kind of thing and Daminette doesn’t happen until later. Adrien is a decent human being in this because I’m so tired of writing and reading salt that I’m just going to leave the readers to assume Adrien actually had character growth in the show and stopped being a pushy, petty, sacrificial child. 

Anyway, this thing was 2340 words so buckle in babes!

Diana Prince perhaps should have been aware of the Hawkmoth problem, seeing as she was an employee of the Louvre. But do not blame her, she would have known the problem her city was going through if she hadn’t been on leave to deal with the other side of the world’s problems. 

It was a year before she finally got to return. A year that had so much happen within it. She finally learned of the Hawkmoth issue when Hal was complaining about this reoccurring video about “Miraculous” that also managed to delete itself. If he got to watch it as soon as it appeared, he could only get halfway through before it disappeared again. He couldn’t trace it to the city it came from. Ladybug and Chat Noir never said where they were from before the video deleted itself. But he was also complaining about the Miraculous. What were they? What did they do? Ladybug and Chat Noir only said they held those Miraculous.

Diana knew. Diana nearly threw a fit at the knowledge that the miraculi were active again, somewhere in the world, and she never knew.

On her first day back at the Louvre, her boss filled her in on everything that had happened and she wanted to strangle this “Hawkmoth” and “Mayura.”

Representing the Justice League, Diana, as Wonder Woman, managed to find Ladybug and Chat Noir while they were out on a patrol. Ladybug was stiffly polite and Chat Noir was acting like a puppy getting adopted. Several meetings later, Diana learned that Ladybug didn’t know how to respond to the daughter of a previous holder. 

In her meetings with them, Diana could only keep thinking of one thing: whoever their previous mentor was, they sucked. Ladybug and Chat Noir didn’t know much about their powers. They didn’t know the history of their Miraculous. They didn’t know how to properly fight and had been winging their battles since day 1. 

Diana found herself connecting to the two strongly. Ladybug was like the little sister she never had. Chat Noir was like a son who melted in any show of affection - which strangely also included compliments on growth. 

“I think what you two need is to get out of the city and learn how to fight from someone who has taught kids how to protect themselves quickly,” Diana found herself saying during a break in a training session. 

“But what if Hawkmoth sends out an Akuma while we’re gone?” Ladybug fretted.

“You have the horse miraculous, yes?” Diana nodded to the egg box. 

“Oh… you want me to take that with us?” Ladybug’s brow furrowed even more.

“Of course! Right now, I’d say nowhere is safer for the miraculous than with you. The temple is still regrowing, they won’t know what to do with your box while it is still incomplete. But, if you are so anxious about leaving Paris, I might be able to convince my friend and one of his sons to come here instead.”

“Really?” Chat Noir perked.

Diana gave him an easy smile. “I’m sure he’d be happy to.”

“For us?” Ladybug asked.

“You two are like my family by now,” Diana held out her hands. “And my friend will do anything for family.”

Bruce and Damian Wayne were in Paris by the end of the week. 16-year-old Damian was still a brat, but he was still a growing teenage boy forgetting old customs and learning about the real world. Bruce thought getting him around other young superheroes might help- he was horrendous at socializing with civilians due to still believing he was superior. 

That was a horrible mistake, Robin’s first act was to insult everything about Ladybug and Chat Noir. After a good long lecture from both Bruce and Diana, Robin apologized to both… in a way that left them more confused than accepting of him. 

A week later, Bruce tried the “let’s have a civilian day” card. Ladybug nearly threw a fit.

“We aren’t supposed to know each other’s identities!” She recited.

“Why not?” Robin scrunched his face. “I know all of-”

“You’re Gotham’s superheroes,” Chat sighed. “You don’t deal with a magical emotional terrorist. Ladybug and I are not immune to Akumas, we aren’t immune to strong emotions. What if one of us gets Akumatized and we know the other’s identity? We could tell Hawkmoth. We could succeed in taking the other’s Miraculous. And then what? He wins. We have to stay secret until Hawkmoth is gone.” He said it with practice, the concept having been drilled into his mind by Ladybug during their earlier days. 

“I’m sorry, Batman and Robin, we would like to, but please understand that for the safety of Paris, we literally cannot,” Ladybug gave a sad smile. 

They were there for another week before Robin, after pinning Ladybug with the end of his katana, suggested just hacking CTV cameras to track Akumas.

“It might work,” Chat grinned, before getting a light punch to the stomach and a “constant vigilance!” from Batman. 

“I surrender,” Ladybug told Robin before pushing Robin’s katana away and pushing herself into a sitting position. “It might. But I don’t have high hopes- kwami can’t even be seen on camera. What’s to say the effects of a Miraculous can’t either?”

“But,” Chat was buzzing, “you’re Cure always does! We’ve seen it on the news enough times.”

Ladybug pursed her lips. “I don’t know the first thing about hacking.”

“Good thing we do,” Robin cracked a grin.

“Do you normally find such joy in illegal activities?”

“Are you kidding me?” Chat’s voice was shrill and Ladybug had turned to Diana with wide eyes.

“Is it true?”

“We didn’t tamper with the footage besides getting it, if that’s what you’re asking,” Robin shrugged.

“But- but-” Chat sputtered, his cat pupils in fearful slits and tears glossing his eyes.

“Chat?” Ladybug softly called.

“That’s,” Chat’s bottom lip trembled and he looked between Ladybug and Diana. “That’s my house. Hawkmoth can’t be my dad- he can’t be!” Chat shook his head in denial. 

Ladybug paused in trying to comfort Chat, now realizing the boy before her was Adrien, the boy that used to be her crush. She was unsure on how to continue.

“Chat,” Diana spoke, moving forward to slowly place her hands on his shoulders. “Whether or not your father is Hawkmoth, somebody is sending out Akumas from your house. Since this is personal now, do you want to go with us? We’ll understand if you don’t.”

Chat blinked several times and looked between each person in his company. “I- I’ll go. You’ll need my help to get inside anyway.”

And so, in the middle of the next almost harmless Akuma attack, Adrien stayed in his room rather than go out. He popped open his window. Batman, Robin, Wonder Woman, and Ladybug swung inside and they began their journey through the house. Adrien led them to Gabriel’s study and faced the portrait of his mother. 

“There’s a safe behind the portrait. It’s where I found the grimoire. And now that I think about it, the peacock miraculous was in there too. I didn’t think much about it at the time,” Adrien rubbed his arms. Wonder Woman reached out and he grabbed her fingers in comfort.

“What’s done is done, do you think the portrait could also lead to where Hawkmoth is?” Batman asked.

“I think?” Adrien scrunched his face.

Robin walked up to the portrait, running his fingers around it. “There certainly are buttons on this, under the guise of being mosaic pieces.”

Adrien stepped up to it, fitting his fingers onto the supposed buttons, and before anyone could protest, he pressed them. The floor below them opened up and the elevator began to descend. They quickly fitted themselves into the tiny space.

Gabriel was standing in the middle of a garden, before something brightly white.

“Father?” Adrien’s voice was hardly audible but Gabriel Agreste still whipped around and saw the group of five. 

“Adrien!” He barked, unsure of who to call. “My son…”

“Father, no,” Adrien moaned, backing away. “How could you!”

“Adrien, I’ve been doing this for us! I’m bringing Emilie back. Don’t you want to see your mother again?” Gabriel stepped aside, tilting his head towards the coffin. 

“I would, but not this way,” Adrien shook his head, looking away from his father and the coffin. “I’ve grieved and moved on. Mom is dead and you shouldn’t be trying to change that!”

Gabriel frowned and narrowed his eyes. “Fine then. Nooroo, Dark Wings, Rise!”

 He called his Akuma back and sent another one, to whom they didn’t know. But what they were trying to do was get the brooch back. Gabriel, Hawkmoth, had almost lost from the shock of seeing his son transform into one of his own enemies, Chat Noir. 

Mayura joined, but Robin was quick to bring her down when she had doubled over from the sickness her Miraculous was causing her. Volpina made another return, hindering a good portion of the entire operation. Chat Noir had accidentally cataclysm-ed the entire platform, sending everyone down. There, in the dark and in the knee-high water, they continued the battle. Hawkmoth’s cane was shattered and he hid behind Volpina and her illusions. 

Volpina held up a good fight, but her mistake was physically attacking Ladybug. That had cemented her as the real Volpina.

“Finally,” Volpina screeched, hands on Ladybug’s earrings. “Finally! You little bug will finally be gone!”

She had gotten one earring out before Robin had sent a flying kick towards her, and the two of them began wrestling in the water. Ladybug was slowly disappearing, and the familiar form of Marinette was coming out of the suit. 

“Tikki, Spots off! Where’s my other earring?” The two of them began hunting the earring.

Chat Noir’s timer was finally up, and he returned into Adrien and was kicked away by his own father. “Plagg!” 

Diana finally managed to shove Hawkmoth’s face under the water and rip the brooch off and left Gabriel to find Marinette. Batman held the struggling Gabriel by his arms.

“What’s her Akuma?” Robin called, having learned the same trick.

“It should be her necklace! Don’t destroy it, we need Ladybug to purify it!” Adrien responded, finally finding Plagg and giving him a soggy slice of cheese. His night vision back, he dove under and plucked the earring from the ground and pushed it into Marinette’s hand. 

“Tikki, spots on!” Marinette called and Ladybug shot at Volpina and ripped the necklace off of her. The familiar sound of the Akuma’s wings managed to be heard over the infuriated screeches of Lila and the struggling grunts of Gabriel. Ladybug caught and released the Akuma. 

Emilie’s coffin was found in perfect condition after the Cure was cast. Gabriel and Lila were given to the police. Afterward, Adrien and Marinette were standing in front of it. 

“Do you think perhaps she isn't actually dead?” Adrien asked, reaching out to touch the coffin while Diana came walking up behind them.

“A misused Miraculous can be damaged, and a damaged Miraculous will injure anyone who uses it,” Diana explained, taking her circlet off. 

“I had thought Nathalie was sick with the same thing as Mom, they both started coughing before it began to actually start crippling them. I wonder why she was using the Peacock, then,” Adrien trembled.

“The temple might be able to help,” Marinette suggested. “They are the ones who know everything about the Miraculous. And, now we finally have the whole box.”

“You might be right, sister,” Diana placed a hand on Marinette’s shoulder. “But don’t put all your faith in them. They might not be able to bring her back.”

“If-” Adrien began, his voice trembling. “If they don’t, where am I going to go?”

Diana offered her hand again and he squeezed her fingers. “If you want, I would take you.”

“You would?” Adrien raised his eyebrows.

“Of course,” Diana grinned. “Marinette is like the little sister I never had. You, you are like a son to me. Marinette has her family and has grown with guidance. You… when I came, you were like what I imagine Bruce feels when he found his sons. Someone who needed guidance. Someone who needed an adult there who cared.”

Adrien looked on the verge of tears.

Emilie truly was dead, when they gave her to the temple. Adrien changed his last name to Prince and stayed with Diana. Marinette let him keep Plagg, but changed Tikki for a zodiac, taking Mullo. She didn’t want both the black cat and the ladybug active at the same time anymore. 

Diana stayed around in the bakery while not on Justice League business or at the Louvre, and got to know Tom and Sabine quite well. Marinette and her relationship strengthened, and Marinette quite liked to tease Adrien at school by calling him “her nephew.” Nobody really knew why. 

As they grew older, Adrien and Marinette kept in touch in their civilian lives and stayed as partners in the superhero world. But, Adrien never re-entered Marinette’s love life. No, he got his kicks out of returning Marinette’s teasing here. 

Damian Wayne and Marinette had gotten to know each other in the month he and Bruce had been in Paris. Marinette had a delivery to them, and then continued having deliveries. That was on Bruce’s part and him trying to set Damian up. Well, it worked, and the two fell into an awkward “I like you” stage after the downfall of Hawkmoth. When Marinette graduated, she had gone to Gotham University so she could be closer to Damian and they really did start dating then.

Adrien got his kicks from this. Whenever Diana came for a visit, Adrien was with her and always asked how Damian was treating his aunt. There were normally angry, muttered snide remarks in Cantonese from Marinette and smug replies in Mandarin from Adrien. 

Life was as peaceful as the life of a superhero could be for our young, found family.

#Maribat #Diana is Marinette's older sister hc #Daminette #platonic Adrienette

[xhanisai]

Pretending To Say Goodbye

(My submission for the ML Guess Who challenge! If you’ve guess me right, congrats~)

AO3 / FFN

Summary: 

"We can always make another son, Gabriel. One that is actually fit to bear the mantle of destruction as well as be a sweet, obedient boy that listens to his parents- unlike him."

The consequences of a forbidden wish has never seemed so cruel.

~(x)~

 .

 .

 .

   "No...this isn't how it was supposed to go..."

 The corpse of the Eiffel Tower laid in ruins.  Phantom echoes of the metal groaning filled the air from time to time as the debris that coddled the tower's beams occasionally tumbled from the sharp wind. 

  "This didn't fix our mistake..."

 The Notre Dame continued to crumble bit by bit despite already being destroyed beyond comprehension. The ancient, stained glass windows were nothing but dust that could blind one's eyes if they were unlucky.   From time to time, the sound of the church's bell would haunt the awoken, a bass droll that would vibrate through the air followed by a higher pitched accent that would send shivers down one's spine. 

 "You were meant to just wake up so that you, I and our son could be family again..."

  The sky flickered from one hue to another ethereally, churning to a complexion of butchered meat, to darkening to the shade of blood and then rinse and repeat. The moon hung upside down, alarmingly closer to the earth's orbit and glowed like the eyes of a predator in the night. 

 The acute shaped clouds, almost like pitch black smoke, flared around the moon like the wings of a devil, only spreading across the sky like a plague. The copper scent of blood mingled with the sour stench of death and destruction in the air that mirrored the devastated city it was born in.

  "Son? You call that our son? Don't be silly Gabriel,"

 Two frail bodies, battered and dishevelled, lay side by side in a crater of what's left of the Agreste mansion. 

 Blood pooled from their bodies like a puddle and bloodied hands laid tightly entwined between them, glassy eyes peering ever so slightly under their unmoving lashes. The girl's vacant dead blues remained in contact with the boy's empty greens whilst the icy wind lightly blew against their hair and the blood from her ears and his finger kept on running.

 They didn't move.

 They didn't blink.

 They didn't even breathe.

 "How could you dismiss Adrien like that! Our little Adrien...your little sunshine...remember...? Please...bring him back!"

  Gabriel Agreste begged on his knees again and again, practically grovelling at the feet of the glowing figure that watched him apathetically. The tears that streamed down his weak, exhausted face didn't even make the figure flinch; instead, she stared him down as if he was a mere worm begging not be eaten by the crow.

 Raising a brow, she lifted Gabriel's chin up with her fingers, allowing her lips to stretch into a smile that seemed far too saccharine to be genuine.

 "We can always make another son, Gabriel. One that is actually fit to bear the mantle of destruction as well as be a sweet, obedient boy that listens to his parents- unlike him."

 .

.

.

 In a split second, her hand was smacked away and Gabriel scrambled backwards till he reached the corpses of the failed heroes, biting back a sob as his fingers sunk into the cooling pool of blood that seeped out of the duo. 

 His determined grimace countered her blank smile while they both stood up simultaneously. If anyone were alive nearby, witnessing the husband and wife, they'd have momentarily compared their synced movements to Ladybug and Chat Noir.

 Head bowed down, the man opened his arms like a barrier, as if he was trying to shield the children and took on a defensive stance. Exhaling sharply, he peered back up and gathered all of what remained of his energy to send a powerful, spine chilling glare.

 .

 "You're not my Emilie. My wife adored Adrien more than anything else in the world! She wouldn't have wanted this!" The broken miraculouses that he wore flared with life on his earlobes and finger, filling the deranged man with hope. The cracked gloss of the earrings swirled with a red light whilst the shattered steel of the ring glowed acidically. 

 Creation and destruction is not dead yet! There is a chance to set things right!

 "Ah, ah, ah," Emilie- the imposter tsked playfully, wagging her pointer finger at him and ventured closer despite Gabriel crouching animalistically. "Looks like you didn't know me all that well, Gabe. Quite ironic for someone who wielded the mantle of empathy." She purred but that only filled Gabriel with dread from head to toe.

 "How should I prove that I'm the real deal, dear? Should I..." She hummed exaggeratedly, tapping her finger against her cheek with nonchalance. "...recite our first date?" She was now trailing a hand up his arm. "Our first kiss?" Her hand curled behind his neck, cupping it as her fingers tangled with his shorter locks. "Our wedding night?" She was only a breath away now, melting away all of Gabriel's defenses, regardless of the way his mind was screaming to fight back. "Or when we discovered the miraculouses?"

 A tight slap was delivered across his face, whipping his face to the side, the inhuman strength behind it caused his body to lurch backwards like he's been whacked with a baseball bat. He crashed through numerous walls and buildings like a bullet until he was finally sprawled within the remnants of the Dupain-Cheng's boulangerie. 

 It hurt to move.

 It hurt to see.

 It hurt to breathe.

 "I...I-I...I'm s-sorry...Adrie-Adrien...Mar-Marinette...so...so sorry..." The words came out as dying whisper from his throat, followed by blood being coughed out horrendously. Gabriel's vision swirled into a fuzzy blur till all he could see was splotches of colour. 

 He was dying.

 He wasn't going to make it.

 "N-Nooroo..." He whispered, summoning the frenzied lilac kwami from the brooch under his torn tie, having hidden there for the time being. The little God fluttered anxiously, hand cupping his mouth as horror etched into his face when he had a quick glimpse of the world around him. Just the sight of the fallen Ladybug and Chat Noir in the distance and a blonde woman that began to float towards them not too far away was enough to make him heave.

 "Master...what have you done?" Nooroo sobbed, clutching what's left of Gabriel's tie. "Your wish got everyone killed...it got your son killed!" Big, fat tears rolled down the little butterfly's cheeks, internally berating himself for not trying hard enough to stop his charge from creating this dystopian world. 

 "Nooroo...no am-amount of apologies or r-regrets...from me...will salvage this..." With the last of his energy, Gabriel pulled the earrings out of his lobes and slipped the ring off, handing them to the distraught kwami. 

 Nooroo gasped at the jewels, tears only cascading furthur and then glanced back as Gabriel. For the first time in what seems like decades, a soft smile was present on the usually stoic man's lips. 

 "T-There are...survivors...there must be! Find them N-Nooroo...they can ch-change this timeline!" With another gasp, Gabriel slumped back into the debris and exhaled his last breath. Eyes that mirrored steel clouded into a murky grey as the head he always held up in pride finally lowered down.

 Nooroo awaited for a heartbeat, a breath, anything. Alas, acceptance settled in the ancient God's core and he respectfully bowed his head towards the now dead, ruthless man that deserved a fate much worse than what he was given. 

 Blinking back his tears, Nooroo darted away as fast as he could with the miraculouses of creation and destruction in hand. 

 "This isn't a goodbye...not yet!"

.

.

.

~(x)~

.

.

.

  The survivors lost the battle.

 .

#my writing #my fanfiction #ml fanfic #miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug and chat noir #ml #mlb #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #gabriel agreste #nooroo #emilie agreste #dystopia #tragedy #angst #open ending

[yunsoh]

🐉 🐅 for the ask game :)

🐉: fave au; if we’re talking like, au’s that err more on the side of fantasy, i don’t actually read very many of them! the couple i can think of off the top of my head are adri’s soulmate yukikyo fic stains on me and taylor’s greek myth kyoru fic and therefore is winged cupid painted blind, both of which i really enjoy lmao. but otherwise i usually just chill in the realm of “college au” fics, which i don’t really think of as au’s.

🐅: which character would be your real life best friend; i think haru tbh! he reminds me very much of my actual best friend :,) chill, and funny, but also very passionate. i think he would be a good bud to just quietly hang with.

#ty zoe! #ask game #answered #miss-coverly

[spearxwind]

Hawk behavior...

The context for these is ive been playing modded mc with friends and the other day i was circling the desert knife in hand trying to spot rabbits to dive down kill and I did that repeatedly for a solid 10 minutes before realizing "am i a fucking hawk" and my mc skin happens to be Adri so I can't not draw him doing that bc it's hilarious to think about

#also adri feathered wings real again after many years #adriel #windyart #shitpost #scribble comic #(technically) #bird of prey behavior... mc does something to creature brain #soupcraft

[rxptured]

Rules

First of all, thanks for stopping by, i really appreciate it! :D

Second, a disclaimer: Adrianna is a very difficult muse. She’s fundamentally speaking a mean, frustrated, narcissistic, better-than-thou type of persona, who tries to hide it all away behind a wall of lavish elegance and confidence. She might not be super nice to your muse if they interact. She might do or say controversial stuff. She was at first thought out as a villainous character and only now is exploring her better sides, to say so. There might be some justification for her actions, some real good angst and drama to feed on, but overall people might not agree with her. So please be mindful that this muse a different entity from myself and while i do enjoy writing morally ambiguous characters i do not condone their behavior in real life.

Ok, so, more info about Adri and some context. She is basically a Fallen Angel. God kind of exists in this world and Adrianna was a Heruvin ranked angel. She served for a few thousand eons, then she began to question the authority of god and when she actually walked out of line her wings were cut off and she fell down to earth. She refers to it as a ‘realm’ and the humans are ‘earthlings’. Time wise, she fell before the First World War so technically she is around 100-ish years old, but looks to be in her early 30s. The setting is a modern day fantasy sort of deal.

Now for what i ask of you if you’d like to interact with me.

Please don’t power play my character cuz no one likes it. Or at least talk about it with me.

I love plotting, i love OOC chatting, i love knowing all the extra juicy info about your muse and i like making friends so know that i might be inclined to interact with you, the mun, a lot too and also, feel free to do the same.

Another thing, please don’t just try to have sex with my muse. Ok, it might happen but it needs some spark, some chemistry, it needs to make sense. Ok, Adrianna is very sensual and uses her sexuality a lot, but there’s more to her than just this. Also, when it comes to shipping, she’s a slow burn sort of muse, very hard to access emotionally so don’t expect a whole lot of romantic stuff. Oh, both mun and muse are of age ( mun - 25+ y.o. / muse - 100+ y.o. ) and will not rp sexual / NSFW themes with minors. Non negotiable. Just putting that out there too.

I don’t really tag triggers besides [ tw:trigger ]. I personally don’t have any triggers either.

Also, and this is important, all icons and artwork of this character is done by me soooo don’t try to use it, mmmk? it’s a huge dick move. If i do art of your muse or our muses please don’t be upset over it, like i drew your muse inaccurately or stuff like that. It happened before and it’s a huge social turn off.

Please fell free to send in unprompted asks, memes, prompts, or art requests! I love getting stuff in my inbox!

You got so far. Kewl, i appreciate it. Know that i can change these rules as i see fit tho. I’m gonna announce it so don’t be mad about it pls.

updated - 1/12/2020

#Rules

[3rachad-archive]

what would your mutuals and their biases dress up as for halloween? (If you want ofc!)

this is such a cute ask !! ok i picked a few mutuals bc i jafwiefnoaw just rushed this and did those who first came to mind ;; ofiawnoefawioe and i put it under a cut bc i think im funny

edit: i didnt spell check this so like rip ig 

@minboo ++ minho: would go as cAts don’t fight me on this…. they’re both intellectuals (unlike 2/3 of skz wtf) and would wear cute cat onesies (we stan furries ig) !!! but yeah, minho would convince you to paint your face and you’d be #regret the whole time but minho’s having the time of his life so .

@hxnjisung ++ hyunjin: WOULD GO AS SOMETHING REALLY REALLY CUTE !! like something THEMED !! like a prince and a princess and hyunjin would go tf out of his way to be dramatic and extra and if you got out of a car, he hold the door open and be like ‘my princess’ !!! 

@boojacob ++ jacob: AS SAKURA AND YUKITO !!!!!!!!!!!!! FROM SCC !!! ARE U KDDINGNG ME !! ITS AIS DREAM !!! AND JACOB WOULD DO ANYTHING TO MAKE HER SMILE SO LIIKE !! WITH THAT SILVER HAIR??? AND THE GLASSES? ICONIC!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 

@johnnyakgae ++ johnny: frogs. im kididignignwngoawngie lmfaooo !! mmm!! nita and johnny would be vampires !! ur kidding yourself if you think they wouldn’t be the BEST vampire couple e v e r !! both show up in gothic old time fashion and they’d be so suave and cool but also dumb idiots and trip over their own feet ! 

@doyjoy ++ doyoung: WOULD GO AS AN ANGEL AND A DEVIL BUT LIKE. U KNOW THOSE FUCKING COSTUMES WHERE ITS HALF AND HALF?? LIKE BOTH OF THEM WOULD BE ANGEL AND DEVIL JFJFJOAW. bc doyoung thinks he’s both. and joyce is too tired of Dantics (doyoung antics) to argue- but regardless they somehow still look Cool and everyone is enthralled 

@kqngyounghyun ++ younghyun: go as vampires!!! anyone remember the ICONIC younghyun vampire look? yea. they go they look so good???? like real vampires you’re just gonna be fcking captivated !!! they look so stylish and good and you’re like huh..r we sure they’re not real??? 

@demon-l ++ taemin: would go as demons, i really don’t make the rules!!! but they’d somehow be cute and hot at the same time- we love duality!!! both adri and taemin come off kinda intimidating, especially in a demon style costume- but if you talk to the demons, they just want to talk about worms and ants!!

@hanracha ++ jisung: go as characters from a scary game!! mm !! like maybe resident evil’s mia and ethan (though we all know ethan ain’t shit)- or lynn and blake from outlast!!! just something that they both get SUPER into it and have like the coolest/creepiest costumes !!! we stan !! 

@fanghyuck ++ jisung: lumi and jisung would go as angels !!! LUMI WOULD CONVINCE JISUNG AND JISUNG WOULD ONLY DO IT IF LUMI JOINED IN. so they got big ol wings on their back and they bump into each other every now and then but they’re giggling and smiling and THATS what matters !!! there’s lots of glitter and highlighter and i can’t tell if their smiles are more blinding or their makeup!!! 

#anon #answered #long post #im not v creative but ! #i hope you all smiled at least a little #this was SO cute i love this ask #i wish i was more CREATIVE JFAIOWFANOFW #itried my b e s t

[rxpturred-a]

Rules

Okii, so first welcome to my blog, you made it this far.

Second, this is super important cuz this is a SIDE BLOG. I know, not a good idea, but meh, im a lazy POS and i dont feel like making another account. My main blog is http://halfwayoverthere.tumblr.com/ from which i will follow and like your posts. You DON”T HAVE TO follow that one, just know about it, mmmk?

Third, a disclaimer: Adrianna is a very difficult muse. She’s fundamentally speaking a mean, frustrated, narcissistic, better-than-thou type of persona, who tries to hide it all away behind a wall of lavish elegance. She might not be super nice to your muse if they interact. She might do or say controversial stuff. She was thought out as a villainous character. There might be some justification for her actions, some real good angst and drama to feed on, but overall people might not agree with her. So please be mindful that this muse a different entity from myself and while i do enjoy writing evil characters i do not condone their behavior in real life.

Ok, so, more info about Adri and some context. She is basically a Fallen Angel. God kind of exists in this world and Adrianna was a Heruvin ranked angel. She served for a few thousand eons, then she began to question the authority of god and when she actually walked out of line her wings were cut off and she fell down to earth. She refers to it as a ‘realm’ and the humans are ‘earthlings’. Time wise, she fell before the First World War so technically she is around 100-ish years old, but looks to be in her early 30s. The setting is a modern day fantasy sort of deal.

Now for what i ask of you if you’d like to interact with me. Please don’t power play my character cuz no one likes it. Or at least talk about it with me. I love plotting, i love OOC chatting, i love knowing all the extra juicy info about your muse and i like making friends so know that i might be inclined to interact with you, the mun, a lot too and also, feel free to do the same. Another thing, please don’t just try to have sex with my muse. It’s just...ugh, i dunno, it needs some spark man, it needs to make sense. Ok, Adrianna is very sensual and uses her sexuality a lot, but there’s more to her than just this. Oh, both mun and muse are of age and will not rp sexual themes with minors. Just putting that out there too.

Also, and this is important, all icons and artwork of this character is done by me soooo don’t try to use it, mmmk? it’s a huge dick move.

You got so far. Kewl, i appreciate it. Know that i can change these rules as i see fit tho. I’m gonna announce it so don’t be mad about it pls.

#rules

[mytherapistsays-blog]

Victoria's Secret Fashion Show 2018 Best & Worst Dressed

Victoria's Secret Fashion Show 2018 Best & Worst Dressed ⁣⁣ ⁣⁣ @MyTherapistSays ⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣ https://mytherapistsays.ca/victorias-secret-fashion-show-2018-best-worst-dressed/

Best Dressed

ADRIANA LIMA – CELESTIAL ANGEL SEGMENT

I’m not crying, you’re crying. Adriana Lima is hanging up her wings after walking in the show for the past 17 years (except for one when she was prego, understandably so). The mom of two killed it again this year in this galactic look with a sparkly moon-shaped wing. Let’s be real, Adri will always be THAT bitch and honestly the show won’t be the same without her. Like, girl could be walking the runway with a cane at 70 and I would be velling at my tv “Yasss queen SLAY”. I haven’t been this emotional since like… well no I cried yesterday during a commercial. I just have a lot of feelings OK. 

TAYLOR HILL – GLAM ROYAL SEGMENT

Taylor Hill looked so hot opening the show in this plaid school-girl esque number. Unlike some looks in the Glam Royal segment (we’ll get to that later), Taylor’s incorporated a Scottish kilt without looking too costume-y. The wings in this look are also amazing and remind me of a more vintage VS era. Old VS we miss you, please come back.

ROMEE STRIJD – CELESTIAL ANGELS SEGMENT

Romee was literally dripping in Swarvoski diamonds in this jaw-dropping bodysuit. 

ELSA HOSK – FLIGHTS OF FANCY SEGMENT

Elsa Hosk looked so angelic. I love how delicate these wings are- it really matches the whole ethereal vibe she has going. The feathered heels are also v cute. At first, I thought this fantasy bra was pretty lacklustre compared to Fantasy bras of the past, but she actually worked it well. Insta thots are going to have a field day when VS releases the $250, cheaper version of the bra. Sit down Kayla, you’re not a supermodel, you sell fit tea. 

KENDALL JENNER – CELESTIAL ANGELS SEGMENT

Kendall came back to the VS fashion show with a bang wearing this beautiful black sparkly ensemble. Unlike many other outfits in this show that repulsed me, this outfit made me actually want to buy VS lingerie. Also, I know she’s supposedly gotten a lot of work done as of late, but I must say, her doctor knows whats up.

WORST DRESSED 

YASMIN WIJNALDUM – MARY KATRANZOU SEGMENT

This outfit is just….. so confusing? SO many questions. This looks like something someone would come up with if they dropped a lot of acid. Truly revolting. Thanks for letting me know that I should stay far far away from Mary Katranzou. 


BARBARA FIALHO – GOLDEN ANGELS SEGMENT

Victoria’s Secret is officially out of ideas when it comes to segments because I’m pretty sure this whole “Golden Angel’s” segment is just them wrapping an orange silk bow around their necks and calling it a day. Truly, a gift that nobody asked for. 

GIGI HADID – MARY KATRANZOU SEGMENT

What in fresh hell is this?! Grandma called- she wants her sheets back. Victoria’s secret did my girl Gigi dirty this year, i’m pretty sure someone’s out to get her for the whole nepotism thing. 

BARBARA PALVIN – DOWNTOWN ANGELS SEGMENT

Ok but why does Barbara look like me “running errands” (aka going to target)? Like come on VS it’s a fashion show, it’s supposed to be over the top glam. Coming from someone who is allergic to trying hard, try harder VS. 

CINDY BRUNA – GLAM ROYALS SEGMENT

When I look at this, it makes me think that they’re purposely trying to make an outfit as horrendous as they possibly can. There’s just wayyyyy too much going on. Who thought plaid wings was a good idea? I just want to talk. Victoria’s Secret, you should be ashamed of yourselves. Tbh they should probably send a formal apology to all the royals for this utter disrespect.

#Beauty #Fashion #Instagram #Style

[book-of-angels-inactive]

seeing all this angel stuff makes me a bit uncomfortable because i'm like not actually an angel? I was originally a demon, but got really bored of it, and just cheated and stole my way to Divinity and now i have a pair of wings and even worse anxiety. Am I a real angel? My two wings are singed and burnt from my Demonic roots, and I don't have a halo. I'm not connected to an element, and I'm just some guy with wings. What am I?

i’m not entirely sure, my friend. i wish i could be more helpful. anyone have any thoughts?

- mod adri

#Anonymous #actuallyangelic #divinediscussions

[anthonymmartinez]

The Rhino - Just a Memory? (Documentary film - 2019) from Stephanus Pretorius on Vimeo.

Rhinos have been around for millions of years but it is unlikely that they will survive this century as they are routinely killed for their valuable horns. When I saw a picture of a slaughtered rhino on Facebook I became interested in their plight. This is a documentary about the plight of the rhino worldwide and it looks at a possible solution: a private rhino farm in South Africa with an interesting approach to the problem. Shot on location in South Africa, this film is about the war on poachers and what can be done to prevent it.

Anglia Ruskin University - 2019

Credits

Director and Producer - Stephanus Pretorius Director of Photography - Stephanus Pretorius Sound Recordist - Stephanus Pretorius 2nd Cinematographer - Sarel Snyman Narrator - Lourina West Logistics - Chris Bester Interviewer and Interpreter - Adrie Pretorius and Ivy Scaife Sponsored by Dr. Kieran and Mrs. Lourina West With thanks to Piet and Christine Warren

"WARNING: The Real Face Of Rhino Poaching" by Kruger National Park section ranger Richard Sowry and Earth Touch.

Videos and Images by Chris Botha 'Weapons Inspector'

Music is not my own:

Music: "Few Survivors" by Blear Moon (copyright owner)

Music: “African Safari” by Geoff Harvey

Music: "On Angel Wings" by Cliff Masterson (copyright owner)

Disclaimer: Any views expressed in this film by interviewees are solely those of the interviewees. Any interpretations made or further views expressed in the film are solely of the filmmaker.