Tumgik
#and in the end it got them what? three years?
Text
Tumblr media
DM Tip: Creating a Campaign Skeleton
Learning to be a better dungeonmaster was a protracted process. A younger me was often so stressed out by the desire to be a better artist that I'd have legitimately mauled a person if it would've revealed to me the wisdom I sought (with my hands or even an actual maul given the chance).
One of my biggest hurdles was the idea of a universal framework for d&d adventures, a guideline that would tell me if the things I was creating were on the right track. It was sorely needed, I loved the process of being creative but without an understanding of how my creative energy was best used I ended up sinking days, weeks, or even months worth of energy into projects that went nowhere. Worse yet, when I DID get a chance to put my ideas into practice at the table they'd frequently spiral out of control and crash, resulting in even more stress.
Over time I learned from these mistakes, I got better, and then I got good. I moved from conscious incompetence to competence, and I ended up having a run of absolutely stellar campaigns that were everything my younger self could have dreamed of: stable, enjoyable, meaningful, and most importantly an absolute delight to my players. Routinely I'd have people, including folks that'd only played with me a few times, mention that getting together to roll dice and listen to me babel on in silly voices was a highlight of their week.
It was as one of these campaigns began to wind down (three years! a satisfying conclusion on the horizon!) and I started looking for a followup scenario that I decided to study all my really successful campaigns and figure out what connected them. The end result was something I'd been looking for for nearly a decade, a reliable format that I could build campaigns around.
I want to preface this section with the understanding that while this information is laid out in a vaguely chronological fashion there's no guarantee that these ideas will occur to you in any particular order. Inspiration is a funny thing, and each idea flows into the others to make a cohesive whole. Due to foreshadowing and setup reasons you're also going to need a pretty solid idea about all of these when starting a campaign, though exact details will likely change/ can be vague up until the moment they're needed.
The Reason: Who are we and what are we doing?
Gives your players a solid background to build their characters around and give them a reason to travel together, rather than having to ad lib one on the spot. Likewise sets expectations of what the campaign is "about" that you can build on or subvert in time. The reason doesn't need to hold true for the entire game, just long enough to serve as a framing device. EG: The Witcher starts out as a "monster of the week" setup and then uses that framework to pivot into politics and prophecy once we've seen the premise play out.
The Pilot/Crashtest Adventure: What's first?
I’ve already written about these, but the general concept is to give your party a mostly contained first outing that doesn’t have any larger bearing on the plot so they can focus on learning how their characters play/building the party dynamic.  By the time the party's finished this first adventure they'll have already started putting down roots in the world: they'll have in jokes, npcs they've started to care about, an understanding of what's on the horizon, and an idea of where they want to go next.
The Central Gameplay Pillar: How does this all work?
It's important to have an idea what your campaign is going to be about in a mechanical sense in addition to its plot and themes. There is a difference between an adventure that has the party delve a dungeon, and a dungeoncrawling focused campaign. I like to lead with these outright during the campaign pitch so that players can know what they're getting into. Your playgroup will likely have strong opinions about what they like and dislike, even if they don't have the words to describe it, so you might need to explain the ideas for them.
The Hub: Where are we?
I think every good campaign has a hub, some kind of settlement that the party returns to between adventures to offload loot, pick up supplies, and sift through the latest gossip to look for the next questhook. Letting the party return to the same place lets them build up a relationship with it, clarifying the picture in their mind as new details are added and they grow more and more attached. It's possible to have multiple hubs over the course of a campaign, but I'd advise really only having one per arc to best concentrate your efforts. Fill up your hub with distractions and side adventures, shorter stories that the party can get tangled up in while the larger adventure slowly reveals itself. Returning to the same hub also means returning to a familiar and expanding cast of NPCs, which helps your party become more and more invested in the setting
The Main Event: What's going to happen?
Here we get to the meat of the issue, the big story you want to be telling using this campaign. To pull off the sick narrative kickflip you wish to perform, you're going to need to lay a lot of groundwork, seeding in details left and right as well as giving the party a chance to stumble across evidence of your schemes without ever realizing the whole thing. To do this, you're going to work in the building blocks of your big reveal/twist/pending disaster into the setting along with those side adventures from the hub. This will give your party an idea that something is going on, but with more pressing matters to take care of they're going to be distracted up until the moment you decide to pull the trigger.
The Setting: What's over there?
While things like genre and tone are definitely things you should have a handle on from the outset, I personally feel like the details of a setting are best constructed on an ad hoc basis, either in a direct response to something required by part of the narrative (be it side story or main event), or pencilled in at the margins as the party explores the world.. That said, creation of the hub and setting often go hand in hand because it's important to match the settlement to the environment and then shape the environment to the quests inside the settlement. As for what's beyond your hub, I happen to have just written something about building out settings.
Now, this next option is one that I recommend you start thinking about only once your campaign is fully underway, so it doesn't clog up your creative process by focusing on something that you might not even get to
The Change: What the fuck?
A little while after the main event has kicked off and your party is off on the quest that will turn them from mere adventurers into heroes, they start to hear rumours of strange happenings. It's certainly not related to the present scenario, it may even be an unexpected windfall, but it's not something they have time to look into. Time ticks on, the land is saved, and the party is able to enjoy their victory lap as well as some dearly needed time off. Before they can get comfortable however they're slammed by some strange occurrence that they could have never predicted that changes the state of the world. A neighbouring kingdom invades, an important ally is murdered and they're blamed for it, a dragon starts rampaging through the realm. Its important that this event is outside the party's skillset, not necessarily diametrically opposed, but counter to what they were planning
artsource
207 notes · View notes
vivwritesfics · 3 days
Text
Fire Is The Devil's Only Friend
Chapter Four
There was no such thing as making it on your own with a high profile boyfriend. That was why she kept her relationship a secret. But then after a PR fuck up, her boyfriend is forced into PR relationship and she's left on the side lines, missing him
1.3K
Warnings: suggestive, light smut
Series Masterlist
Tumblr media
"So, you were with him for an entire year and you didn't tell anybody?" Her mother asked her over a cup of coffee.
She'd been there for a couple of days already, crying in her childhood bedroom. For days, her mother didn't know why, but she didn't push. She'd tell her when she was ready.
That came three days into her stay. She and her mother sat down at the kitchen table, a mug of coffee and a biscuit in front of them as she recounted the last year of her life. She told her mother about every moment she had spent with Carlos. From the first time she met, the first date they went on, when he asked her to move in and...
The proposal. Because he was going to propose, wasn't he? She had found the ring in his bag at the last Grand Prix they had attended together.
"He's an F1 driver," she said. That bit she had failed to mention to her mother until now. "They threatened him with his seat, mum. If he didn't do this, they would have replaced him mid season." She wiped the tears from her cheeks, pulled out her phone and showed her mother the article about Carlos, her Carlos, and Rebecca Donaldson.
How would this change things? Would Rebecca go to Grand Prix, just like she did? Would she kiss Carlos in front of the cameras, just like she wanted to?
Her mother let out a sigh as she placed the phone back on the table. "Do you want my advice?" She asked, hand her daughter nodded her head. "You love him, that's clear. If this is all for show, go back to him. Date him and love him in secret until you're both ready to be together in the spotlight. You'll have to set some boundaries, sure. But it'll be worth it."
"What about this other girl?" She asked.
"If he loves you, he'll end it before showing you off."
It was terrible advice, but it was the push she needed. "Thank you," she said as she stood up to hug her mother. Her mother patted her and she went running off to her childhood bedroom to pack her things.
Her mother had never had much success with love. She'd been in love once but she had let him get away. She wasn't going to let her daughter make the same mistake.
Before she knew it she was on the road, her mothers house getting smaller and smaller in her rear view mirror. She couldn't wait to get back to Carlos. She couldn't wait to run to him, to kiss him and then to screw his brains out.
She tapped her nails against the steering wheel as she drove, making her way home. Home. She hadn't just missed Carlos, but she had missed their home too. She had missed the sounds of Carlos as he watched the football, the angry string of Spanish words leaving his lips. She had missed Piñón and having him jump on their bed as soon as Carlos brought him back from a walk, waking her up.
It was maybe an hour and a half until she got home. She parked her car out the front, grabbed her keys and let herself in. She hadn't been in contact with Carlos for the days she had been at her mothers house.
"Carlos?" She called as she shut the door behind her. As soon as she did, Piñón came running. He barked as he jumped up at her, his paws on her legs as he tried to lick her face. "I missed you too, buddy," she said and pushed him away.
"Carlos," she called again as she walked through the house.
Somewhere in the house, a door shut. There was loud, thundering footsteps as he rushed towards her. "Cariño," he pretty much gasped when he saw her.
She dropped her bags and ran towards him. As soon as he got to her, Carlos wrapped his arms around her and lifted her up. His hand was on the back of her head as he held her close. His eyes were squeezed shut as he took a minute to just breathe.
She was back and she was in his arms. Piñón barked until Carlos released her. "I missed you so much," he said as he held her waist. "I spoke to Ferrari and I told them all about you. I'm going to do whatever I can to put a stop to this."
She grabbed his face and kissed him slowly. Carlos melted into it, squeezing her waist. She pulled away from him, keeping her arms around him as she played with the hair on the back of his neck. "Are they threatening your seat still?"
Carlos nodded his head. "But I don't care. I can find another seat."
She shook her head and stepped closer to him, until they were chest to chest. "I don't want you to give up your seat for me," she said. "If Ferrari are gonna take away your seat, then play the part they want you to play," she said and kissed him again.
Carlos couldn't help but think of the ring he still had. "But I want to be with you," He said somewhat quietly.
She kissed him once again. "We can set boundaries," she said. "She knows its not real, right?" Carlos nodded his head. "Well, we can have things in place. Like, i know she'll be at Grand Prix, but I don't want her to kiss you."
"Of course, cariño," he said, squeezing his arms around her.
Suddenly, she was no longer playing with the hair at the back of his neck. She moved her hand up and tugged slightly.
Carlos got the idea. His hands moved from her waist to her ass. "How much did you miss me, cariño?"
"So fucking much," she said as she leaned closer to kiss down his neck.
"Show me."
She pulled away and gave him an incredulous look. "Carlos, my love, you're going to show me how much you missed me."
Carlos couldn't argue with that. Gripping her ass he lifted her up, and carried her to their bedroom. She grinned, her forehead against his as Carlos laid her down on the covers.
He kissed her. It was soft and slow and so full of love. As he pulled away she whined, trying to keeping him as close as possible. But Carlos stood tall, looking down at her. "Eres preciosa," he whispered.
As Carlos looked down at her, she pulled off her shirt and tossed it to one side. His breath hitched in his throat as she threw off her bra and leaned back on her hands, her lip pulled between her teeth. 
Every time with Carlos was simply amazing. He knew all of her buttons, knew what he had to do to get her screaming.
Getting to his knees, Carlos popped the button on her jeans. He kissed the inside of her thigh as he shuffled them down her legs and dropped them to the floor.
A pornographic moan left her lips when he kissed over her clothed mound. She bucked her hips towards him and Carlos couldn't hide his grin. He did it again to evoke a similar reaction before pulling her underwear away from her legs, dropping them onto the pile of her discarded clothes.
He kissed the inside of her thigh once more and looked up at her. But she wasn't looking at him. Her head was thrown back, chest heaving in anticipation.
Permanent Taglist (CLOSED): @biancathecool @rewmuslupin @prettiest-at-the-party @hellowgoodbye @minkyungseokie @formulaal @darleneslane @hiireadstuff @urfavnoirette @goldenharrysworld @andydrysdalerogers @hrts4scarr @llando4norris @evlkking @lilymurphy03 @hollie911 @customsbyjcg-blog @honethatty12 @nikfigueiredo @avg-golden-retriever
“I'm going to ravage you.”
A/N: READER IS SO DUMB IN THIS ONE TRUST IM MAD TOO AND IM THE BITCH THAT WROTE IT
Series Taglist (OPEN):@juleswrites223 @ellessssssxzxz @itsjustkhaos @booksandflowrs @landossainz @laneyspaulding19 @sleepybrokenmelle @92spcy @khaylin27 @princessria127 @aexitizen-ln4 @russellette @cmleitora @shobaes @val-writes @rehenys @sam-is-lost @sp1rl @seasonswinter
200 notes · View notes
puppetmaster13u · 10 hours
Text
Prompt 266
Back on my Danny & Ras frienemies/rivals/maybe-lovers-nobody-can-tell-their-signals-are-very-mixed train. 
See, Danny has gone through time a lot. Often. It comes with being Clockwork’s charge-son-thing and honestly he finds it fun. And several times he’s used this time travelling to get some training in. Enter Ras, stage left, also a teen at the time and also learning swordsmanship from the same person. 
And they… utterly despise each other. They would kill the other for an apple slice, if the other one would die! But also, only they can kill the other, as it is obviously their right! 
And well, they keep running into each other. It has been a hundred years, surely the other would die by now? But of course their rival would live through utter spite. Probably to spite them specifically. 
The amount of times they have ended up sparring- trying to kill each other or not- the moment they see the other is actually ridiculous. But time is also passing. And… Danny understands, not having another to talk about things people are forgetting, or have already forgotten. 
How they ended up actually talking without a murder attempt was a long story that included a demon, a dragon, a pair of fae, some bandits, and a lot of alcohol, but it happened. And then it happens again. And again, and now it’s just kind of normal to share a drink after their spars, talking about things that no longer exist, and things they miss. 
Sure Danny can go back in time again, but he knows better than to do it willy nilly. He’s matured, he’s been an adult for a hundred years now, he knows there’s consequences for messing with time, even with Clockwork’s blessings. 
The first time they got married was technically for an undercover assassination. Well, Ras was there to assassinate someone, Danny was there to grab an artifact that should Not be in the realm of the living. And they got divorced after, it was fine. 
They just, also got married again when they met a few years later, for another job. And… okay, so maybe they have gotten married over a dozen times now and only divorced like half of those times. Half of those were for the bit or while drunk! 
And even if technically they’re married or shared a bed, it’s not like they're exclusive! As Ras’ daughters’ existences attest to (adopted in one case or not). They don’t exactly have a label for their relationship, despite others asking for one or trying to put a name to it themselves. 
Now Danny knows Ras isn’t exactly a good dude, or at least on the side of ‘good’ as he’s a literal assassin. But he also knows that good? Bad? Rather relative. He had gotten labeled as a villain when he was just trying to help all that time ago after all, and really who was he to tell someone else how to live their life? 
Which brings him to now, where he’s run into his old frienemy-rival and his youngest daughter. Who has a braindead teenager and a small toddler. Which is fine, really- but also, Talia dear, why are you using a brain dead teenager to guard your three year old son? 
Okay, Talia dear, Ras (Derogatory), why are you using your brain dead son and grandson to guard your younger son and grandson? Do you not have the Pits, which you were soo proud about Ras? Yes, he will spar with you, but for Realms’ sake, heal, what’s his name? Ah yes, go heal Jason and he’ll actually stick around for a few years, deal? Good. 
155 notes · View notes
Text
Out of The Woods
Tumblr media
pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader
summary: A look back into our reader's past, and a run-in with one, too.
chapter warnings: slow burn,mentions of grief, parental loss, motherhood, swearing, alcohol(ism), child neglect, childhood trauma. Maggie fluff to fix it all <3
a/n: EEP EEP EEP, i know i know its a slooooow burn but we truly are just getting started. Enjoy!
chapter two: Tell Me A Lie || series masterlist
Tumblr media
SEPTEMBER 17th, 1982
Freezer-burnt Egos sit three high on the olive green plate in front of you.
“Great.” Syrup hasn’t been purchased in weeks, so you slather each one with a smear of grape jelly. All served up with a side of tap water.
One bite in, and the sound of shattering glass startles the appetite out it you.
“Dad?!” You shout in a panic.
The sight that greets you on the living room is one that’s become familiar in the few months since your mom’s passing. Your father, slumped over in his beat up recliner, a shattered vodka bottle on the floor next to him.
“Shit…” you’re frantic as you rush to grab the broom and dustpan. It’s become a routine, clean up dad’s mess so that he doesn’t hurt himself when he wakes for his night shift at the Plant.
While it may be routine, it’s certainly not normal. No fourteen year old should be shopping for groceries, and doing laundry and writing checks to the electric company with a letter begging for them to give her a little more time with the lights on.
Every payday, you’d wait for Dad to pass out in his chair, and you’d take most of the cash from his wallet. It was just enough to get yourself food for the week and pay what you could. If he noticed the missing money, he never said anything, but you assumed he did notice that debt collectors had stopped calling so much.
“Bye, Dad.” You whispered. No response—then again, there never was.
The bag of glass was thrown into the trash on your walk to the garage. Hopping on your rusted out silver bike, you started the 2 mile ride to Hawkins High.
In truth, this has become the only slice of peace in your day. You could shut your damn brain off and just breathe. Not worry about the inevitable chaos that waited for you at home.
It was Friday, which means a meeting with the school counselor to see how you were doing since your mom died. June was…it was a time you’ve tried to block out. To suppress any memories or feeling from that awful day.
“Did you hear me, hon?” Ms. Kelly’s soft voice pulled you from your dissociation.
“What? Oh, mhm.”
She looked at you softly, tilting her head as a sign she absolutely did not believe you.
“Listen,” she pulls the file off her desk and turns it for you to see. “Your grades…they’re not at all reflective of your abilities. Your teachers think you’re brilliant, but the lack of effort on homework and tests is something of a concern.”
The pain of holding back tears began to prickle your throat. “I know, I’m—I’m trying. I’m studying as much as I can—“
“You’ve got such a bright future, just work a bit harder, hm?” Her smile was one of reassurance and confidence.
It’s not Mrs. Kelly’s fault. She didn’t know about what was happening at home, so she certainly didn’t know the impact of her advice.
“Work harder,” you whisper, venom coating your tongue. “Got it.”
The smile on your face is only there to keep the tears at bay. She excuses you to get back to next period, and you practically sprint from her office.
Where your legs take you, you’re not exactly sure. But the room is empty and dark and at this point you’ll take any refuge you can get.
So you sit and sob, heaving breaths and crying into your palm to muffle any sounds. How long you were there you have no idea, but it was long enough to hear the bell for end of the school day.
The door to the room opened, pouring in light from the hallway.
“Shit…you okay?”
His voice was so gentle and unsure. Backlit as the door closed, the shadow of his silhouette almost made him look like an angel.
Long shaggy hair, denim and chains and leather.
An angel--dressed like a devil.
You attempted to stand quickly, muttering a half-hearted apology, but you stumbled. Luckily for you, the stranger caught your elbow and waist.
“Whoa, hey just—here, sit for a sec, okay?” He guided you to the table across from where you’d sat, and ushered you towards one of the chairs.
“You’re not hurt are you?” His voice was so soft; a kindness you hadn’t heard in a long, long time.
You shook your head, “No, no. I’m fine.”
He laughed softly, “You sure about that?”
The tears in your eyes put holes in his chest.
“I’m Eddie,” he sat next to you on the table, “Who might you be?”
You whispered your name, and he smiled, then whispered it right back.
Eddie was gentle with you. He sat in silence for a few minutes, waiting for your breathing to return to normal.
What you didn’t know was how he watched you. The way he recognized the pain in your eyes—a kind of sadness that only people who’ve experienced it can understand.
He knew a bad home life when he saw one, and It made him angry.
Angry that someone could look in your eyes and hurt you. That people could see how broken you were and take advantage of it. Worst of all? He was angry there was no one there to protect you.
As far as he was concerned, that changes today.
Eddie cleared his throat, and your eyes found him again. “Look at us,” he nudged your shoulder. “strangers a couple minutes ago, now we’re acquaintances. Who knows? Before we leave we might even be friends.”
A genuine and true laugh escaped you. It’d been so long since you’d heard your own laugh, the sound alone was foreign.
Though for Eddie, it was a sound that made his heart beat faster and face turn rosey, even under the gross fluorescent bulbs.
“I’d like to be your friend, I think.” You smile. Crinkles formed by his umber eyes as he mirrored your grin.
Your hand juts out, extended to him for the taking. “You’re not a serial killer, right?”
His warm grip finds yours, “Not to your knowledge.”
There’s a pain in your cheeks from smiling so hard. “That’s reassuring.”
Eddie jumped up, offering you his elbow. “Whaddya say, kid? Care to cause some chaos and debauchery with your new pal?”
It’d be easy to say no. To allow yourself to return to the shell you’ve built around yourself in order to protect your heart in a way no one else would.
But you didn’t hesitate. Linking arms with Eddie, his scent invaded you—nicotine and weed and…vanilla? Whatever the combination, you’re sure it was uniquely and perfectly him.
“Whatcha got in mind?”
Eddie could have said anything and you’re pretty sure you’d have agreed. “Oh, sweetheart. Just you wait.”
Tumblr media
“Mama! Do we have any straw’bies?” Maggie asked from the kitchen.
The smell from the chemicals you’re cleaning the shower with make your head throb and the sweat on your brow itches you for the ten millionth time.
Deep breathes. Deep breathes.
“No, Mags. C’mon, get your shoes on. As soon as I’m done here we’re going to the store.” You throw the yellow gloves down into the sink, giving them a quick rinse.
The weekend has brought some seriously good progress. Friday you’d managed to get Maggie registered for school, and start cleaning out the house.
Boxes of old newspapers and tchotchkes your father had kept sat stagnant, collecting dust and taking up far too much space. None of it mattered to you, so you’d trashed it.
All of it.
Saturday was spent taking trips back and forth to the Goodwill, hoping and praying your little car would survive after all the driving she did. You’d bought a few cheap gallons of paint from Melvald’s, this house was your home now—Maggie’s home. It was time to wipe the slate clean and create a place the two of you could fill with love and laughter and memories
“Mom?” Maggie mumbled, mouth full of banana as she watches you slink into your jacket.
You grabbed your keys. “Yes, angel?”
“Can we get ice cream? Wouldn’t that be a fun way to ce-bre-late me going to big girl school tomorrow?”
I need to find a damn job.
You do some quick math, adding and subtracting based on what you had left in your savings, and what you’d set aside for bills.
You drop to your knees in front of your daughter, getting right down to her level to place a big kiss on her forehead. “Of course we can. Good idea, Maggie-moo.”
Her dimples were so deep from her big wide grin, you poked a finger in each of them.
“Moooom!” She laughed, swatting your hands away.
“Whaaaat? I just love you! Now c’mon, we gotta go get your asparagus.” You hold the door and Maggie jumps onto the porch.
“Ice cream!” She shouts, making a mad dash to the car.
You chuckle. “Right, right. Ice cream.”
The store is a mere 10 minutes drive from home. If you ask Maggie, she thinks 10 minutes is the perfect amount of time to throw an impromptu concert from the back seat—room for encore included.
The moment your hands grasp the shopping cart, Maggie’s arms are up. “Assuming the position, I see.” You smile proudly.
Scooping her up, you plop her right on her bottom into the cart. Maggie wiggled, gasping as the two of you strolled past the chip aisle. “Don’t forget! We have to get some snacks for school too!”
“Right,” you braked, and turned down it. “Let me guess, Doritos are the perfect school snack?”
Her eyes are wide, clearly overwhelmed at the selection the Pete’s Grocery has to offer. “Can we gets the cheese ones?”
“Sure thing, Sunshine.”
Shopping is entirely uneventful. It’s mainly you budgeting and planning on dinners for the week. Everything bought has to have more than one use or purpose, or you don’t get it. A few jars of pasta sauce, some spaghetti, a loaf of bread, peanut butter and jelly. Chicken, canned corn, strawberries and bananas and a few boxes of mac n cheese. No the shopping spree Maggie thinks it is, but you’ll make it work.
“Alright kiddo, now the piece de resistance…the ice cream section!” You use your best announcer voice as you scoop her from the cart, and let her roam free.
She squeals. “Mom! There’s so many kinds!”
You watch her, taking in how the littlest things in this life make her the happiest you’ve ever seen her. You’re so engrossed in your daughter, you almost don’t hear it. The familiar tone that had engrained itself in your memory, the sarcastic “Sure, Robin.” that had been a staple in his vocabulary since High School.
Any calm feeling you’d had vanished, stomach churning inside you. “Mags,” you called in a hushed tone. “Maggie! C’mon, baby, just choose—“
The voices were an aisle away, and moving closer to you.
Maggie was in her own world, running back and forth to different doors in careful deliberation.
You could feel yourself start to tremble, calling her a bit louder this time. “Maggie-moo, please hurry—“
“Ho-ly shit.”
Of course Robin was the first to say something. She stood with her mouth agape, Steve perplexed next to her. When he’d followed her gaze, the two bags of chips he was holding fell to the floor.
He called your name like he was unsure. Questioning if the ghost in front of him was really his friend from all those years ago.
“Mommy! I founded the one I want!” Maggie screeched as she barreled toward you, clutching a box of Bomb Pops to her chest.
Your two old friends’ eyes went straight to your daughter.
Robin’s eyes were so wide, you thought they’d burst from her skull. “Mom?” She questioned.
Steve followed her up with, “No freakin’ way.”
Maggie chucked the pops in the cart, and stood by your side, your arms instinctively reaching for her. She must have followed your eyes, because soon, she too was in the middle of the staring contest the three of you had started.
She was quiet for a moment, studying them, and it wasn’t that long before she started giggling the tiniest bit. She covered her mouth, making herself laugh with whatever joke was rolling around in her little mind.
Maggie walked up to Steve as she laughed, and smiled her big toothy grin at him. “Hiya, Cheeseball!” She spoke through her giggles.
Robin’s laugh caught her so off guard she started coughing, and Steve was all smiles. “Excuse me? Who told you about my nickname?”
Maggie laughed, “My Mommy! She said your name is Steeb and you’re a real cheese ball!”
“Steve, Mags. Steve.” You were laughing, thankful for your daughter for saving you and for easing the tense moment you were seconds away from having to address.
“Nope, uh-uh. He’s Steeb now, from this day until his last.” She looked at you, get big smile taking up her face. Her eyes were soft, softer than they’d been moments ago. She looked back to Maggie, “And who’re you?”
Pride filled Maggie’s voice, “My name is Maggie and I’m six years old, but I’ll be seven soon! Mommy telled me birthday is Star Wars day.”
Robin’s brows pinched together, “Star Wars Day?”
“May the 4th.” You and Steve answered in unison.
The hazel-eyed boy looked at you, offering you a small smile.
Robin went back to talking to Maggie, asking her about Star Wars and her why she chose Bomb Pops. Steve walked over to stand next to you.
He plopped the chips in the top of your cart, and without any hesitation, pulled you in for a hug.
“God, I missed you.” He whispered into your hair.
You could feel the emotion squeezing your throat, “I missed you so much, Stevie.”
He held you a few more seconds, using Robin as a distraction. “Is…is she—“
You gripped him tighter, “Not here. Please not here, Steve.”
Steve Harrington was many things, but dumb wasn’t one of them. A bit of an airhead, and clueless sometimes, but not dumb. He’d seen it immediately, the resemblance between the two of you, and the one of Maggie and his other friend.
Steve let you go, looking over your face. “Does, um…does he know?”
With shame in your heart, you shook your head. “No, and I need to keep it the way.”
The for now went unsaid.
Steve nodded. “You haven’t ran into him yet then, I take it.”
“No,” you whispered. “I don’t even know what would happen if we did. Can’t think about it, not right now.”
Maggie approached the two of you, yanking Robin by her arm. “You were right, Mom! I do like this Robin lady.”
When the laughter died down, it was then Robin asked the question looming over the four of you.
“So, and pardon-my-french Little Miss M, but what the hell are you doing back in Hawkins?”
And with that, the floodgates opened.
You told them about what you’d been up to the last seven years, and what brought you back. Granted, you kept everything very Maggie-friendly—meaning most of your words were very PG friendly.
It was a weird feeling, admitting to all of the half-truths you told yourself, and how you had to push them out of your life. You wanted to tell them anything but the truth. To spare their feelings and the thought that you too could just as easily abandon the people who, at one point, were some of the most important people in your life.
"That's...that's heavy shit." Steve breathed.
You nodded, fully aware of the hanger-ticking-timebomb Maggie was becoming.
"We'll, uh...we'll catch up soon. Gotta get the grouch dinner."
"I am not a grouch." Maggie crossed her arms, and turned away.
"Of course you're not! You're just a girl who knows what she want." Robin high fived Maggie, and your heart melted.
You hugged them both one more time before loading Mags back in the cart, "Stop by anytime," You said with a smile. "You know where I live."
123 notes · View notes
hotluncheddie · 18 hours
Note
omg I didn't realize you wanted chubby steddie asks 🙈
as much as we love the babygirlification of Steve Harrington..... I'm obsessed with boyish manly Steve who is chubby and Eddie is obsessed with him!!!! I'm thinking about your one fic with the sweaty tank top!!!!! do you have more thoughts on this??
yesssssss!!! anon yes yesssssssss!!!!!
not me being like 'yeah! sweaty task top fic nice nice' then realising i have like three different posts that have Steve in a sweaty tank top lol
thankfully @scoops-aboy86 came in clutch with a new tank top sciario <3 (and held my hand thru writing the end lmao ty pal)
but i just love an ex jock trope, i love bulk under muscle and i think big beefy hairy guys are hot - and Steve harrington deserves to be all of that, and more
and also, importantly, eddie munson deserves to have all of that too, in and around him, all the time, in the form of Steve Harrington.
-
Eddie had come to accept the wealth of things he could be into, the actual buffet of people and scenarios that could get his dick hard. He's had more than his fair share of knuckle biting orgasms over the ex chief of police Jim Hopper. Before and, maybe worse, after getting to know him.
So he knew what it was to have something of a shame wank. To enjoy a moustache or two and a paunch at a middle.
But nothing, no deep seated daddy issues or fantasy of being held down, could ever prepare him for Steve Harrington.
Post upside down, post eventual college and transition to work. Post two bed apartment with Robin, then two bed apartment with Robin and Eddie. Then actual full blow house with Eddie, and more often than not weekend guest Robin. Dating Steve for as long as has was one thing, loving Steve with everything he had was another, and being loved by Steve was something he still had nights of panic about - silent tears as fear and self doubt gripped his throat, nightmares about it all being an elaborate prank that sneak their way in even with Steves arms wrapped tight around his middle.
but Eddie had him.
Was allowed to love him, and worship Steve for all that he was worth. It was wonderful. Eddie knew that.
But it had its challenges. Nothing past Eddie could've done would help current Eddie for what he was in for.
Like how Steve had bulked up over the years, settled and filled out in a way that made those visions of Hopper, and guys from bars he really shouldn't have been at, all come surging back.
Steve was thick, and strong and still so achingly beautiful. Boyish in his actions at times but also protective and capable in a way that made Eddie swoon. Honest to god. Made him feel like a main character in one of those bodice ripper books he had seen (taken out and read) at the library.
And then Steve made it worse.
So so so much worse.
Because Steve went and got a tattoo.
Well, another tattoo. He added roses to go along with the robin and branch on his arm, adding to its greenery with red petals and thorns that Eddie knew were secretly for him. He’d said, offhandedly, that they were his favourite and he knows, because he knows Steve, that thats something he'd listen to and remember.
He’s a die hard romantic.
And now Eddie is going to die, hard.
Soon, if Steve doesn't put a proper fucking shirt on.
Steves been wearing his stupid, old, cropped, white tank top since the appointment. He's "letting the tattoo breathe", "doesn't like the feeling of the healing skin against the fabric", "wants to do it properly". "hates Eddie and wants him to die of hard dick, big-fat-ball disease."
He glares at Steve from the other end of the couch, and maybe only three of those things are something Steve's actually said, but, he thought them. All of them. Must have.
Because Steve's tank is so old it's nearly see through, the peak of his pink nipple evident and distracting. The cropped end keeps rolling up and exposing his wider bellybutton and soft sides. And, as always, with any tank top, with any tank top on Steve, hit tits are there - hairy and lovely and out.
'Steve, please.' Eddie whines, he doesn't think he can take much more.
Steve just raises his eyebrows, taking a swig of beer and not looking away from the tv. 'If I sweat too much, it'll mess with the healing.' He says.
Eddie just crosses his arms, sinks lower into the couch. ‘Can you put on a normal shirt at least? For my sanity, for that alone, please?' Not wanting to sound desperate, but he is desperate.
Steve sighs, muting the TV. 'C'mere.' He holds his arms out and Eddie crawls into his lap. Still sulking, arms still crossed. ‘Eddie, you’re the one who gave me the tattoo. I’m following your instructions.’ Steve says gently.
‘M’firing Robin for getting you to sign the info form.’ He grumbles.
Steve smiles at him, tucking some hair behind his ears. ‘You can’t fire her for doing her job baby.’
‘Maybe not’ Eddie sniffs. ‘But I’m not sharing my baby blue ink with her next time she gets one of her slutty little lady sailor pin ups booked in.’ He mumbles to himself.
Steve pulls Eddie in closer, hands on his waist as he leans in to whisper in Eddies ear. 'Aren't I being so good though? Following what you said, no strenuous activity for two days right?' His voice a little breathy, soft.
And that makes Eddie pause, makes his insides churn and his heart rate increase. 'Ye-yeah.' He rasps, eyes wide. 'So good Stevie.'
'So we have to wait until tomorrow, like you said, yeah?' Steve asks, eyes all big and sweet, lips in a little pouty.
Fuck. He's right. Eddie dug his own grave.
'Yeah.' He sighs. He can do it, for Steve.
Steve smiles sweetly at him, tapping Eddie on the ass and shifting him closer so Steve can unmute the tv and keep watching his game. 'Good boy.' Steve says, kissing Eddies temple.
…Wait. Eddie scrunches his eyebrows, half hard and confused.
But Steve just holds him closer. Eddie buries his head in Steve's neck, and whines.
60 notes · View notes
keirawantstocry · 3 days
Note
that one time tubbo called pac a dilf 😵‍💫
okay wait…
young teacher tubbo and dilf pac comes to collect his son from class…..tubbos got such a crush on him and maybe he asks pac to stay back to talk about richas’s behaviour but it turns into something else….
you've come to the right person (guy who is obsessed with pacbo)
Tubbo wasn't quite sure how he ended up with this job. He had never in any of his years considered being a teacher of any sort. But after he adopted his daughter, he needed a second job. Mechanics weren't paying him enough. Luckily there was a daycare nearby that was hiring. It was a more difficult process than he had expected, much like the adoption. But he got it. 
His daughter stayed with her “other father”. Tom's name was always said in a sigh like that. They were young and stupid and drunk and Tubbo didn't know what he was doing when he signed the stupid paper that Tommy had slid him across the dirty bar table. 
Tommy, and unfortunately Molly, found it hilarious. They both insisted on watching Sunny while he was at work. Thankfully Sunny loved them. Tommy would do her hair in braids. It was something they did when they were younger. Tubbo remembered sitting in fields with Tommy's older cousin braiding his long hair. 
As soon as Tommy saw Sunny's thick 3C curls, he stayed up two nights in a row researching and watching video after video of how to do cornrows and other braids in her hair. 
Molly often sent him videos while he was at work on Sunny prattling on while Tommy listened intently, braiding her hair as best he could. As much as Tubbo joked about divorce and threatened, he was glad to have two people he loved watching his child and caring for them so well. 
He closed his laptop with a sigh, rubbing his eyes. He was the last one there, his co worker had to leave because she had to pick up her own child but they needed someone to watch the singular child whose parents were incredibly late. 
Opening his eyes, Tubbo stared down the young boy in front of him. 
He was a Latino boy, probably around 7 or 8 with an oversized yellow jersey that he wore every single day. He was staring at Tubbo with large brown eyes. It was almost unnerving but he was a cute, decently well mannered child. 
Tubbo remembered the day he joined the daycare. A man with shoulder length brown hair and a singular white streak through it brought him in and explained how the boy had been born without part of his leg but was still very capable of movement with the prosthetic his Pai had made him. 
The owner of the daycare had nodded, assuring the man over and over that his child would be well cared for and that they would make sure the other children didn't say anything nasty as children tended to do. 
Richas, Tubbo remembered, as he continued to stare down the boy. His name was Richas. 
“Hello,” he said. 
The boy grinned. “Ola!” 
Tubbo laughed at his enthusiasm before picking up his phone to attempt to call the boy's parents once again. It rang and rang, like it had three times before click. 
“Holy shit, we are so sorry. Our schedule got all mixed up and we didn't know who was supposed to pick him up today. Fuck!” 
“Hey, hey,” Tubbo said calmly. “It's okay. I'm here with him. Get here whenever you can.” 
The voice on the phone that Tubbo didn't recognize took a few deep breaths. “Sim, sim, of course. Peqi is on his way already. He should be there any minute.” 
Tubbo smiled at Richas who bounced up and down excitedly, trying to climb up the front of the desk to reach the phone. “Sounds good, Mr…?” 
The voice laughed. “Just call me Mike yeah?” 
Richas made the saddest noise possible and Tubbo's heart melted. “Wait, before you go, I think he wants to talk to you.” 
He removed the phone from the side of his ear and carefully handed it to the boy who cradled it with both hands and held it up to his mouth. “OI, PAI.” 
Mike's voice came through quietly. “Oi, Richas. Você está sendo bom?” 
“Sim, sim,” the boy sang happily. “Eu sou bom.” 
“Bom menino. Pai Pac will be there soon okay?” 
“Okay, okay.” 
“Eu te amo.” 
“Eu também te amo.” 
The phone clicked, ending the call and Richas handed it back to Tubbo with a smile. Not even five seconds after the phone was back in his hand, the door slammed open. Standing in the now open doorway was a frazzled and incredibly attractive man. 
Richas ran over, bounding easily into his arms. 
“Richarlyson!” the man cooed, swinging him back and forth in his arms. He met Tubbo's eyes over his son's head. ‘Thank you’ he mouthed. 
Tubbo was almost too stunned to nod but he managed to as Richas's father slowly lowered him to the ground to step over to Tubbo. 
“I have to sign him out, yes?” 
Tubbo nodded, still speechless. He cleared his throat and slid the sign-out sheet across the desk. “Yeah, uh, yeah.” 
The man, Pac, from the signs of his scribbled signature, smiled blindingly at him, his son clinging to his leg. 
Tubbo noticed at that moment that Pac had a near identical prosthetic to his son. “You match,” he said before mentally slapping himself. You don't just fucking point out a man's prosthetic, no fucking wonder you're still married to Tommy. 
But Pac just laughed softly. “We do,” he said softly, rubbing the top of Richas's head. “He is very clearly my son.” 
“Are you his biological father?” Tubbo asked. Holy fucking shit, shut up you fucking idiot. He is so tired of you already, why are you asking so many questions? 
Pac just laughed softly again and the twist in Tubbo's chest felt like falling off a cliff. “Sim, yes, I am. I was the one who gave birth to him.” 
Tubbo stopped himself from asking any questions about that. He knew better than that at least. “That's really cool.” He tried a smile and felt so awkward. 
“Thank you,” Pac said. “And thank you for watching him past time. I know you probably have places to be.” 
Tubbo brushed him off with a wave of his hand. “Oh don't worry about it. My daughter is more than happy to spend more of their time with her ‘other father’.” Out of instinct, he raised his hands and made quotation marks with his hands. 
Pac raised an eyebrow curiously. 
Tubbo flushed. “A, uh, friend of mine. We got drunk married and now my daughter considers him her other father.”
Pac laughed. “No spouse of your own then? One that you're in love with anyway?” 
Tubbo flushed darker. “Ah, no. Just my husband and his girlfriend.” 
“Mmm,” Pac said, leaning over on the desk. “Good to know.” 
Tubbo froze in his spot as Pac's eyes, big and brown just like his son's, stared into his soul. He gulped before clearing his throat. “Yeah, uhmm, yeah.” The heat of his face was nearly unbearable. 
Richas gently smacked his dad on the leg. “Oi, stop that.” 
Pac leaned back, holding his hands up with an innocent expression. “What?? What?” 
The little boy glared at him with no heat. “Pai Mike told you to stop that.” 
“Well, Mikey isn't here right now is he? And he also has no control over my life.” Pac turned back to Tubbo and grabbed the pen again. He motioned towards Tubbo's arm which he held out willingly. 
Quickly the man scribbled a number onto his arm, his grip strong and warm. Tubbo felt dizzy. 
Pac dropped the pen with a smile and a wink before grabbing his son's hand. “Call me yeah?” 
Tubbo stared in disbelief, red as a beet. “...yeah,” he said softly as Pav happily bounded out the door, his son berating him in Portuguese. 
“Tommy,” he said softly when he got home, holding up his arm. “I think I got hit on.”
65 notes · View notes
loveshotzz · 3 days
Note
pretend i wrote this when you were sick - pretend it's also not this long. also sorry if it looks like there are parts missing.
He's on his third call while he waits at the door in the early spring breeze, unbottoned work shirt billowing with him -- silently chastising himself for not throwing on a sweater since you told him to do it before he left. He presses the bell again, hearing it go off in the house for the second time, anxiety brewing in his chest. He'd never seen you so sick, and even though the doctor said it was just a bad flu, seeing you in bed like this made his heart pound. He wasn't sleeping, had been working from home the past few days. He'd set up shop right outside the hall of the bedroom, ignoring his office so he could hear if you called out to him -- Bandit dutifully keeping watch over you at the end of the bed. It was something he wasn't expecting to affect him like this, his thoughts getting clouded with the sound of hospital monitors and oxygen machines.
You did your best to understand and assure him you're okay -- you're just kind of a baby about being sick. Lucky for Steve, he's been loving a chance to get to baby you - despite the ache it causes to see you like this.
But the babying would start even quicker if the front door of the house he was in front of would open.
"Honey, am I gonna have to file a report? You can't just be showing up to my house -- I got a wife at home," the tease comes from a familiar smoky voice, "Do you really want her to find out about us?"
"I called three times," Steve huffs, "I said I'd only be gone for ten minutes."
"Do you really think she's counting? She's probably asleep. Plus, you're a minute man," Eddie winks, beckoning him into the house, "And if she calls you can run right home, you're around the fuck--effing corner."
"Yeah, you're around the effing corner, Big Guy," Gwen's tiny voice repeats from the island in the kitchen.
"Gwendolyn," Eddie warns. "Sorry," she whispers back, "I won' say id again."
"Thank you, doll," he smiles, "Can you ask mommy to bring the soup and meds we packed up for your aunt so we can give it to Steve?" She patters away with her light up sneakers glinting pink and purple with every step, disappearing into the house only to run back winded a few minutes later. "Mommy said you have two hands that work just fine so you can get it," she smiles, not fully understanding what she means, "And then she said to say please after. Please!"
Steve snorts, "Yeah, loser, go grab my shi--stuff."
Eddie rolls his eyes, "Whatever."
As her father leaves, Gwen climbs back up on the bar stool and looks up at Steve curiously, "So when does she get to come back over?"
"When she feels better, angel," he smiles, "Why?"
She shrugs, "I dunno, I like when she comes over 'cause then it's not just you."
His mouth gapes with a smile, "What do you mean? Am I not enough for you?"
Gwen shrugs in the way four year olds shrug when they're feeling sneaky, "She's juss funner, Big Guy." "Do you hear this?!" Steve gasps as Eddie re-enters, "She doesn't think I'm as fun."
"You haven't been playing 'Cool Barbies' with her, lately," Eddie shrugs, popping the two tote bags filled with sick day amenities on the table, "Ow, ow Lu, don't pull daddy's hair, please." "It's okay Luce, you can do whatever you want," Steve coos to the baby on Eddie's hip, grabbing the bags and putting them over his shoulder. He leans forward to kiss her only for Eddie to step away.
"Dude, not with your potential flu germs -- they're picking up enough sh--stuff at daycare," Eddie says, taking the baby's pudgy hand and waving, "Say byyyyeee Big Guy." "Bah," Lucy gurgles in her post nap haze, head resting heavily on Eddie's shoulder. "Bye, Big Guy," Gwen smiles, hugging him at the knees, "Tell Auntie-I-said-hi-and-I-miss-her-and-love-her-and-that-she-is-so-pretty-and-that-I-have-new-Barbies."
"I will tell her, thank you for the message," Steve nods, chest hammering again at the thought of you sick and bed without him. He flicks his head up at Eddie, "Tell Peach I said hi."
"Yeah, I'll tell her somethin' alright," he half grumbles, hoisting Lucy higher up on his hip. Steve blows Gwen a kiss before making it back to you in the quick trip is takes to get back to your place. He knocks softly before stepping in, hearing your soft 'hm?' that sets his whole body a buzz with affection. "I have..." he starts, opening the bags, "Two quarts of Peach's famous 'sick soup', a shit ton of orange juice, 800mg motrin, a card from Gwen, a drawing from Gwen, three new pairs of fuzzy socks, a toy for Bandit? Okay..." He lists off the rest of the care package before looking at you with a smirk, "And absolutely nothing for me." "I can gib you someding," you murmur out with a stuffed nose, "I can gib you a kiss." "Ooh, how about I give you a kiss tough girl?" he asks, chestnut hair falling into his eyes as he leans down to kiss your forehead. His lips are warms against your clammy skin, enough to soothe you back into a cozy half sleep under the covers, "How're you feelin'?" "Dired," you admit, "Bud I could really use thad soup." "Okay," he nods, "I'll heat it up for you." He gets back to the door looking back with a soft gaze on you, thinking of Lucy's face and how it looks when you hold her on your hip, how you look when you play Barbies with Gwen. How it would look when there's a baby that's the perfect blend of the two of you bouncing on your lap, when there's a baby monitor in the bedroom, when you're both complaining about germs at daycare. He opens his mouth to say something, but closes it before going downstairs. Right now, babying you is just enough.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
CAROL!!!! Stop 😩 I physically cannot handle this amount of yearning. What have you done to me?!? I’m still sick (it won’t go away) so this was still perfect. Of course he’s imagining getting me pregnant while taking care of me, ILL GIVE THAT OLD MAN ANYTHING HE WANTS!!
Also shout out to the number one couple here and that’s ocs!eddie and airwiy!steve. I love that the little glimpse we get of them living close to each other now and the little growth of the munson family 🥺
65 notes · View notes
homeofthepeculiar · 19 hours
Note
i do not know if you're accepting requests but i thought of something funny. Reader is basically avoiding Benedict, she's locking doors, running in hallways,hiding behind curtains, and hiding in cabinets. He thought she was having her episodes again ; He wants to help her. But actually, she doesn't want him to touch her because her garden is in bloom. And if they start touching, they probably won't stop it, won't end well. They would probably end up pregnant again she rambles this. And he's just 5 seconds from dying of laughter. A slightly smutty and crack fic perhaps..... You do alterations if you want hahahahaha.
lmaooo yes!! Kinda took it and ran
Over the Garden Wall - Garden in Bloom Series Masterlist
Word Count: 1.3k
Warnings: slight smut; allusions to smut as well, I guess?; straight up horny shit
It happened a year and a half after Lucia was born. They were back to normal. Well, as normal as they could be with four children. Spoiled children who were still yet to unlearn what their grandmother had taught them. 
It hadn’t happened the first time that Y/N had gone without a child. She had lasted three years then but this time, it was less than two. 
She couldn’t look at him. She couldn’t look at her husband playing with their kids or standing behind his easel or even eating breakfast. It was too much. It was all the time. Too hot to sleep beside him but too cold to go anywhere else. And his hands wandered. They always did. They always had. In bed, a hand found her hip. In the hallway, a hand found her waist. In the morning, a hand found her neck and his lips found hers. 
She started to push him away. Literally. A shove here and there. She played it off with a chuckle. 
Benedict noticed because, of course, he did. It became a game to him. A sneak attack of kisses that caused her to laugh and her blood to boil. 
“Alright, I yield,” he finally said one morning over breakfast. The children had been taken out to play before their daily lessons, giving their parents a moment to themselves.
“What do you mean?” Y/N wondered, not looking at him. She couldn’t look at him because was doing obscene things to his spoon. Well, not obscene. He was using it, but she saw his tongue and that was enough. 
“You are ignoring me.”
“No, I’m not,” Y/N said with a chuckle. “I am speaking to you right now.”
“But you are not looking at me,” he said. Y/N sighed and finally looked up, her eyebrows raised in defiance. Benedict narrowed his eyes. He pursed his lips and she looked away again. 
She heard the sound of his chair moving and the sound of his footsteps nearing her. She smelled him and her eyes almost rolled back into her head, but she stayed resolute. Until he placed a hand on her cheek and knelt beside her. “Are you alright?” he wondered, genuine concern in his voice.
Y/N swallowed harshly and nodded. She didn’t trust her voice. Not with the image of him on his knees. 
“Are you sure?” he wondered. He leaned in closer and Y/N immediately jerked back. He let out a huff of laughter. “My love, what is going on? Is it...are you feeling a fit come on?”
Y/N bit back a groan at the term of endearment. After all those years, it never failed to send a shiver down her spine. She felt like the young woman that read that first letter in the observatory. The woman with shaking hands who had never been kissed. And there she sat, knowing her husband intimately. Knowing him in every way. And wanting him in every way. 
“I am fine,” she reassured him as she got to her feet. Benedict furrowed his brow as she left the room. Fled, more like. He started after her, taking wide steps to catch up with her.
He called after her, but she ignored him. She turned the corner and ducked into one of the drawing rooms, closing the door behind her. Benedict jolted back at the sound. “Y/N, what is going on?” he wondered. He pulled the door open in time to see the one on the other side of the room close. “What the devil…?” he said under his breath. It was like some strange game of hide and seek. He loved his wife. She was strange, but he loved her. This, however, was one of the strangest things he had ever seen. “Y/N!” he called out, hearing doors open and close throughout the hallway. 
“Seriously?” he wondered in a huff as he saw her turn another corner. 
But finally, she reached a hall with no exit. “What is going on?” he wondered, arms stretched out in confusion. 
Y/N held out a hand. “Do not come any closer.”
Benedict jerked his head back. “What is it? Have I done something wrong?”
“Yes!” Y/N shrieked.
“What?” he wondered, eyes wide in terror.
“You keep looking at me,” she groaned. 
“Alright…” Benedict said, even more confused then before.
“And you touch me and you are near me and you just…stop being you!”
“I do not understand,” he said, taking a step forward. Y/N stepped back until she met the wall. She looked to either side, already knowing the only way out was past him. She swallowed heavily as she looked at him, hair disheveled, sleeves rolled up, vest undone. She was absolutely and utterly done for. “Are you feeling alright?”
Y/N shook her head.
“Shall I call on the doctor?” 
“No!” she shouted. Then she backtracked. “It is not…I am not ill.”
“Then explain it to me.” He stepped closer.
“Stop,” she urged. 
Benedict held his hands out in surrender. “I am not going to hurt you—”
“I know that,” Y/N scoffed.
“Then why are you looking at me as though you are terrified?” he wondered, desperation in his voice. And that did not help at all.
“I…” she started, but she could not finish the words. She had no idea how to explain it really. 
“You?” Benedict urged.
“I…want you…” she said quietly. 
His head tilted with a laugh. “Alright? You have me.”
“No,” Y/N groaned. She pressed her hands to her eyes. “I’ve been…I am overcome,” she said with a gasp. “Every day, every night, I look at you and I want you…desperately.” Her voice was raspy and the way Benedict’s eyes darkened almost sent her to an early grave.
“I do not see the issue in that,” he smirked as he stepped closer. “In fact, I find it quite…manageable.”
“No,” Y/N said, shaking her head. He was so close now. She could smell him. She closed her eyes as she took a deep breath. He overtook all of her senses. “We agreed on three children. We have four. If you touch me, we will have five. And if we have five, we might as well have eight, which means we will have fifteen—” Benedict cut her off with a laugh that made her narrow her eyes.
His face softened. “Oh, my love…that’s not…We can avoid that, you know.”
“I do not want to,” she said through clenched teeth.
He was even more confused. Then he smirked and took another step forward. He pressed his nose to her neck and inhaled. Y/N couldn’t stop the whimper that fell past her lips. “What do you want, my love?” he whispered in her ear. 
“You.”
“You have me,” he said. “Always.”
Y/N licked her lips and moved her head back. “We said no more children.”
“Then we will not have any more children.”
“I want you inside of me.”
He choked and tried to cover it up by clearing his throat. He pressed his forehead to hers. “You cannot say things like that to me, my love.” He gripped her hips, relishing in the gasp that left her. “If you do, we will surely have another child on the way in a fortnight.”
“Ben,” she groaned. “Please.”
He pressed his lips to hers, taking away all of her anxieties. “We can avoid it,” he said as he pulled away. Y/N did not let him get far. He gripped his neck with one hand and urgently tugged at his vest with the other. He chuckled against her lips but ripped the vest off his body and threw it to the ground. 
He bunched up her skirts, finding her bare legs. He hitched one leg up as high as it could go and pressed her against the hall with his lips. 
“Fuck,” Y/N sighed. 
“Oh, we will.”
-----------------------
Taglist: @imdoingbetternow @dd122004dd @soulmates8 @aureolinb @poppyalice2001 @thatgirljas13 @sunnygrey99 @frogsandhomicidalducks @dreadity @psychomanias @muxshwriting @erinroney @theregencywriter @wobbly-fluggers @moonwayne @esposadomd @marvelspogue @avengersgirllorianna @bwormie @noirrose21-blog @themadhattersqueen @ziarah @esposadomd @thicficbich1 @luvaerina @smileofthesun27 @mythical-mushrooms13 @siimiasoi @wannapizzamymindposts @everavenclaw @kno-way-home @unfortunatekiwitrash @melsunshine @butterfly-skinnylegend @yunloyal @fanfiction-she-wrote @iamaslytherin0 @marvelouslyme96 @soundslikerains-blog @ilovespideyyy @isagivinny @eyesarefullofstars @beingalive1 @the-great-imagines-of-1812 @rayisthehoe @empressnatsume @hopefulatrocity @daddyissues-muah @boo8008 @pinkpantheris @yourmumstoy @jupitervenusearthmars @strawberrypink-jellybeans @crispysublimecupcake @galactict3a @dumdumsun
42 notes · View notes
crownmemes · 1 day
Text
Tumblr media
Assorted Media Sentences, Vol. 8
(Sentences from various pieces of media. Adjust phrasing where needed)
"You know, you're very, very cute. You're also very manipulative."
"Relax. You can't see everything coming."
"Are you trying to make me look stupid in front of the other guests?"
"I'm going to count to three. There will not be a four."
"That's the thing about war. People die."
"If you put your faith in people, eventually they're going to break your heart."
"You don't want to rush into things. You can't undo them later."
"You killed them all, didn't you?"
"I wouldn't be caught dead in that thing. It looks like somebody's nightmare!"
"We know too much about each other."
"I did not ascent to this position by being stupid."
"You just won't die, will you?"
"You take the law into your own hands and I promise you, you'll swing from one of those ropes out there."
"What the hell has my country done for me?"
"What did you say your name was again?"
"These last few years working for you, that's the first home I ever knew."
"How far do you expect to get in life with an attitude like that?"
"Are you talking about spying?"
"The worst thing you can do in this business is overstay your welcome."
"I always knew that you were the one. I just didn't have anything worked out, that's all."
"Who I know and who I don't is no concern of yours."
"You think this is who I wanted to be?"
"That's the second time you've saved my life, and I won't forget it."
"I never lied to you, you know that. I may not have told you everything, but what I told you was true."
"Oh God, you don't dance as well, do you?"
"If I don't kill him, we'll never be out of danger. It's his life or ours."
"That's a very nice suit. It would be a shame to ruin it."
"Innocent people die every day - they may as well do so for a reason!"
"Who are you really?"
"We all have our ghosts."
"With everything that's been going on, it's a wonder that we're not all crazy!"
"Relax. This is a matter of inconvenient timing, that's all."
"If you love someone, you've got to try and trust what they tell you is true."
"I don't suppose it's occurred to you that I might hugely prefer someone else?"
"If ever I have to break your neck, I promise to do it with a minimum of force."
"What exactly are you looking for?"
"In my line of work, it's best not to have any long term plans."
"I always thought my life would end like this. I just never thought I'd care."
"You know you're a nag? A very pretty one, but a nag."
51 notes · View notes
nerdieforpedro · 7 hours
Text
A Poor Plan to Confess
Dieter Bravo x plus size female reader (Moon Pie)
This is fic is for readers 18+ MDNI
Word Count: about 2.1k
Warnings: Dieter being a bit rude, porn use, mention of masturbation, teasing, improper toy use?, very bad communication, some mentions of sexual activities and acts, Nerdie is unsure of what she wrote
Summary: Dieter is doing his best to stay sober. You have a large part in his plans. They aren’t well thought out.
Notes: Written for the Dieter Bravo Brain Rot Server Challenge. @wannab-urs brought me back to Dieter, originally I didn’t have any ideas for this and then boom! 🤯 I had a few. Thanks to @missladym1981 for beta reading for me. 😘
Main Masterlist / Dieter Bravo Masterlist
Tumblr media
A joke between old friends. Dieter was doing well. Three years sober, well from the harder drugs. He still had the occasional joint and alcohol. You weren’t really into the weed, thought it stunk to high heaven. Dieter always managed to find some really fragrant strains though, smelled like incense. Type you would burn laying on a chase couch in a fancy silk robe. Maybe smoke one of those long cigarettes except it had bubbles coming out of it. Dieter bought you one and told you to make bubbles come out of it over FaceTime.
The two of you have many silly jokes over the years. Some about video games, some about animals, some about his job and yours. He never wanted to hear about relationships and didn’t mention any of his to you. You asked why one day because friends normally at least mention if they’re dating someone or not and Dieter flat out told you, “I don’t need to have the image of you fucking somebody in my head.” Had you not been as secure as you were, you’d take offense, but you left it alone, keeping it in the back of your mind.
One thing Bravo hadn’t joked about thankfully was his sobriety, finally taking it seriously. He told you that if he ever called you mentioning coke or pills to lock him up and prevent him from calling anyone for the drugs. This was another joke. He even bought you handcuffs, zip ties and some bondage tape. His assistant dropped it off with a quizzical look on their face. You smiled and put them in your office. You knew why they had that look, you two as just friends and Dieter’s never given you anything like that before. Like an idiot, you googled how to use the zip ties and tape, ending up on Pornhub and unaware that someone was banging on your door.
When the next pop-up blocked your screen again, that was when you heard, “Hey! You alive in there?! Open the hell up! What kind of friend are you?” Running downstairs, you open up the door recognizing the voice, Dieter’s at your door. It’s 11:30 at night. He stares at you and you wonder why. Ah…I’m in my nightgown. My pink satin one to match the handcuff fuzz. I don’t think I washed my hands, and they smell like…fuck.
You now know why.
“Moon Pie, you got someone up in here? Didn’t know you had someone. I need your help your help though, just a room.” He pleads at your doorstep, before you can answer, whatever ad has finished and there’s loud moaning from the video you had been watching. His eyes cut upward to where the noise is coming from. “Or maybe not. I didn’t think you watched porn.”
Putting your hands on your hips, “Anyone can watch porn Dieter. Am I not allowed according to some weird ass rule you have? I have sex sometimes too!” His eyes went wide as you stepped aside lifting him in and he raised his hands to signal defeat, though he did laugh when you said the word sex.
“You can’t even say fuck Moon Pie. Listen, let’s not talk about that. I need you to keep me here. I’m feeling like I may need to make a bad call. I did give my assistant my phone, but I don’t want to chance it. You still got that box?” He pays your shoulder, plopping down on the couch.
“Go find your silly box yourself Dieter. I’m going back upstairs.” Waving your hands, you start upstairs, making it up three stairs before some slaps are heard from your laptop in your room. You really need to turn that off.
“To finish your porn instead of helping your friend?” He popped up met you at the bottom of the stairs, “Come on! You still have the tools, right?” His hands ran up your arms. This man. Despite showing up unannounced, late, interrupting some ‘me time’ and requesting he use tools you don’t know how to use save for the handcuffs, you’d still help him out. Even if he could be troublesome and rude at times, he always supported you in work endeavors and listened to you talk way too much about Final Fantasy games. He blames you for knowing about crystals and different jobs like paladin and black mage.
You didn’t answer him and walked upstairs to your room, to turn the porn off but the screen was frozen, playing the same moan ever and over. The image had a man zip tied to a pole while standing as a woman sucked him off. They both were letting out a combined moan. Swallowing hard, Dieter watched you switch your weight between your large hips, he removed his robe and brown t-shirt leaving himself in his brown pajama pants and removing his gray socks. “Moon Pie. Have you ever done that sort of thing? I doubt it.” His voice snapped you after your haze, turning to look at him, confusion dots your face.
“Why did you remove your shirt? I just need to tie you up and prevent you from leaving right? Put your shirt back on Dee.” His chest only has a small splattering of dark hair on his golden skin. He lays across your bed grinning. “Wait how long am I supposed to keep you here? You’re not getting me arrested.”
“I was hot and until I don’t feel like using. Where’s the box?”
“Stay there, it’s in my office.” You’re back momentarily with the fabled box and open it, taking out the handcuffs, zip ties and tape. “Here which do you want me to use? I’m tired.” Dropping the box on the bed, he frowns, you’re not playing along, you see annoyed. Shouldn’t you be happy he’s across your bed? Dieter is, why aren’t you?
You are tired sure, but you’re hornier and more aware that Dieter is not going to want anything to do with relieving any frustration you have. Holding your hands palms out, “Just tell me what you want me tie you up with so I can set up the guest room.”
“Hey, why are you pissed at me? I’m not leaving until you help me, you said you would.” Dieter scoots to the edge of the bed and leans on his elbows. “Are you really that mad I stopped you from finishing your porn? You don’t need it.” He picks up the handcuffs out of the box and studies the pink fuzz. It looks about the same shade as your nightgown. Moon Pie hasn’t used these has she? No, they don’t look used. I think. These are mine, I bought them for her to use with me. She shouldn’t be watching porn. I need to be the toy.
“Damn it Dieter! I’m not just your friend, I’m a woman who has needs no matter if you wanna think about it or not! Fuck you!” Charging at him, you grab his shoulders and knock him back on the bed, pinning him to bed. He slaps the handcuffs on your wrist and his. “What the hell?! They’re only supposed to go on you not me!”
Bravo licks his lips and turns his head to the side to kiss your hand after pulling his wrist to his mouth. “Oh, I’ve always liked the idea of you in handcuffs. You should fuck me Moon Pie.” His curved nose inches closer to your hand and sniffs it. He has your scent now, sticking one of your fingers into his mouth and pulling it back out.
The sensation from his lips went straight to your cunt and you stifled a moan. He will not have his way; you can ensure even if you’re handcuffed to him. “You said you couldn’t picture me fucking Dee? Are you looking for that much of a distraction?” You moved to sit beside him on the bed, but he pulled you back on top, his free hand roaming freely over your love handles. “Dee, I’m not just going to be used for you staying sober.”
Leaning forward, his face connected with your neck, licking it, “I’ve been using you to stay sober since I finish rehab three years ago. I knew if I went back, it would disappoint the hell out of you.” His teeth bit into your neck and a whimper escaped, small but it was enough to encourage him. “I didn’t want to think of someone fucking you other than me. I’m sure you have; they’re flies drawn to honey.” His hand ran from your rolls to your ass squeezing it. “If I’m going to stay sober for you, I should have you, shouldn’t I?” Rolling his hips up into yours, he licks the bite and lets go of your ass slapping it.
Dropping your hips, you press right into his clothed bulge, feeling it throb against your bare cunt. “You’re insane Dieter, how does that make any sense….?” Unfortunately, he’s making it so much worse, your nipples are visible through your nightgown, erect as you leak onto his pants from your core. “This is only because you stopped me earlier with your stupid request.”
“Whatever you want to tell yourself Moon Pie. Only I’m going to see you like this from now on, right?” The pads of his fingers trail up your spine and pull down one of the straps of your nightgown letting a breast become full exposed. He licks it before blowing on it, eliciting another whimper. “Tell me I’ll be the only one. I’ll take the handcuffs off and make sure you come. Don’t be difficult tonight. Not when I need you.” He doesn’t wait for your answer before taking it in his mouth, and sitting up, pulling you into his lap. Instinctively, both of your hands grab his head, pulling his one hand back. He disconnects from your nipple to yelp from his shoulder suddenly going back.
You grin and try to reach for the key that’s in the box since he’s distracted, but Dieter gets on his knees and pulls on his wrist, having your arm come back toward him and making you fall face first into the bed. “Dieter let me get the key, then I can lock you in another room. Clearly you need to be.” His fingers trace your thighs but don’t go any higher, sighing, he lays down next to you.
“You seriously don’t want to have sex with me? Even after I tell you I want you to be my only one? So cold to me.” He pouts. This man is seriously pouting after he’s teased you? He doesn’t move as you get the kid and unlock yourself. You consider handcuffing both of his hands but release him as well. Moving to the edge of the bed, you stand and turn off your laptop then return to sit on the bed.
“You’ve got to do better than trying to guilt me into it. You’re horrible at this.” You laugh as does he. If it had been anyone else, you’d never speak to them again at minimum, Dieter rolls on his side and kisses your thigh.
“We’ve been friends how long? You know I’m shit at this. I feel like I should ask, you’re not going to have me arrested for this are you?” You poke the scruff on his cheek.
“No, though I should. You’re insane Dieter Bravo. We’ll sleep on it.” You lay back and scoot up to the head of the bed, closing your eyes.
“Did you want to finish your porn? Or make our own? It will be Moon Pie’s debut!”” Slinks up the bed and lays his head on your chest, kissing your collar bone.
“You’re a dumbass Dieter. I would tie you up but you’d like it too much. Go to sleep.” Placing your fingers in his hair to scratch his scalp makes him purr, wrapping a leg around one of yours.
“Keep scratching my head like that and we won’t be sleeping at all you cheeky Moon Pie. I’ll be under that gown soon.” His face found its way back to your neck, licking the teeth marks he made earlier. Letting out a soft groan, you pull on Dieter’s hair, so he pulls his head back. “Jokes on you, I enjoy my hair being pulled. Manipulate me more.” His grin is criminal, he should be arrested for that if anything.
It wasn’t even two hours before Dieter had your legs up around his waist. He’s temperamental and a horrible communicator but damn if he didn’t have you call him an Oscar winner while he rutted into you from behind giving you your third orgasm before one in the morning.
Trash Panda Pals 🦝: @katw474 @readingiskeepingmegoing @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @megamindsecretlair @pamasaur @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @sp00kymulderr @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @titlee78 @tinytinymenace @magpiepillsjunior @soft-girl-musings @morallyinept @rhoorl @wannab-urs @survivingandenduring @missladym1981 @yorksgirl @pedroshotwifey @heareball
39 notes · View notes
There's Such a Sad Love (Deep in Your Eyes) - Chap 3
<- prev | start at the beginning | next -> | AO3
Tumblr media
Eddie’s gonna kill him.
Not even exaggerating, he’s gonna kill Steve dead.
How hard is it to wake the fuck up? His dumb flat phone has been ringing for the last three hours!
…Okay, fine.. Eddie doesn’t know exactly how long it’s been ringing, but when you’re used to head-achingly constant quiet, any interruption becomes a nuisance immediately.
“Hello?”
“Fucking finally.” Eddie grumbles when Steve finally stirs enough to answer the phone.
“I’m sorry?” Steve says to the person on the other end of the line.
“I forgive you.” he grouses.
“No, no, I got that, but you were supposed to be here tomorrow, not today!” he struggles off the sagging air mattress and into his jeans, not even bothering to button them.
“Shit, shit, okay, yep, I’ll be here, I’ll—” His voice gets louder “Yes! Deliver! I’ll be here! Alright, bye.” 
He tosses the phone onto the sagging mattress and scrubs his face with his palms, mumbling “Stupid fucking phone signal..”
Eddie follows Steve out the bedroom door and down the stairs into the kitchen.
He smiles to himself when Steve stops in the doorway; He’d worked all night to get the damn cabinets open again.
“Good morning, Mr. Ghost… Ms. Ghost? Ghost Friend.” is what he finally lands on, unfreezing from the doorway and grabbing a can of something from the fridge.
Eddie breezes past him a bit too close, just barely brushing against him. Steve shudders against the chill. “I’m not sure if that’s a ‘Hello’ or a ‘Get the fuck out of here’.”
In response, Eddie pushes the sleep-mussed fringe of his bangs back off his forehead.
Steve smiles. “Hello...” Then he seems to remember something, “Oh, hey, the delivery guys are coming with my stuff soon.” He pauses a moment, “I’m guessing you’re gonna try something, but can you please not cause any injuries at least? I don’t want any more ghost-y roommates.”
“Aw man, but I do!” Eddie groans.
Steve tilts his head to listen to the quiet of the house for a few seconds, then calls out again. “Can you make some sort of noise so I know you aren’t gonna kill anyone?”
Eddie rolls his nonexistent eyes, “Sure, handsome, anything for you,” and knocks his knuckles on the open cabinet door beside Steve’s head.
Steve startles at the noise, “Jesus fuck! I’d also like to not die today, thanks.” he says, adding on a grumbled “Give me a damn heart attack, why don’tcha..” as he starts back toward the front of the house.
A laugh escapes him and Steve falters, stopping a couple steps away and turning back toward the kitchen.
If his word meant anything, he’d swear that Steve looks right at him.
His laughter stutters to a stop, and Steve shakes his head minutely as if to shake off a thought.
‘Did he hear me laughing?’
“....No, he couldn’t have, it’s way too early..” Eddie answers himself.
He watches until Steve’s out of sight, then floats through the hallway wall and into the closet under the stairs.
It’s one of Eddie’s favorite places in the house; small and quiet, and the place he feels most..solid (the most real?)..no matter what time of year it is. It gives him time to breathe, ironically, and no matter how untethered he might feel after Halloween, he feels like himself again here.
He’s done some long, complicated ciphering about why over the years, and he thinks the stairs and closet are positioned right over where his bedroom used to be in his and Wayne's trailer. He can get his thoughts together here, can think the clearest.
There's some commotion from outside his closet, so Eddie pops his head through the door to watch Steve and the moving company travel back and forth between the front door and the rest of the house.
Looks like he was in the closet longer than he thought (There’s definitely a gay joke here somewhere, Eddie thinks to himself), the hired team of movers are here and already carting in boxes and pieces of furniture.
Steve is helping the movers for some reason, carrying boxes further into the house, and Eddie finds his way back to the man’s side without even thinking about it.
Suddenly, Steve yells, “Nope! I have to do some work on the place, so everything but the bedframe and mattress can go in here!” in response to some question Eddie hadn’t heard. “The master is up the stairs, last door on the right. That one big dresser with the mirror can go there, too.”
“Hope you have some help lined up after they leave, pretty boy. You know I can’t help you.”
“I think I do, actually. Some kids already asked to help with the house anyway, so.”
“...What?”
“What?” one of the movers echoes.
Steve sets down the box he was carrying (‘clothes’ according to the large marker letters on one side) and turns back to the mover, confused. “I’ll have help to move it all again after I’m done with the remodels.”
“That’s..great man, good for you.” he says, equally confused.
Eddie’s frozen. “Okay, what the fuck.”
Tumblr media
Steve can’t help but help the movers; he carries in some of the unimportant boxes, and grabs up the important ones he’d labeled when he packed up everything. Which was also something he couldn’t help but do even though the company he hired would pack and unpack his things as part of the cost anyway.
One of the five man team asks him about putting his furniture in their respective rooms, at least.
“Nope! I have to do some work on the place, so everything but the bedframe and mattress can go in here!” he calls back, carrying the couple of boxes of clothes in his arms into the foyer to the right of the front door, “The master is up the stairs, last door on the right. That one big dresser with the mirror can go there, too.” he calls over his shoulder
“Hope you have some help lined up after they leave, pretty boy. You know I can’t hel...”
Steve huffs in irritation, why are they trying to talk to him while walking away? “I think I do, actually. Some kids already asked to help with the house anyway, so.” he calls back to where the voice seemed to be retreating to.
“What?” the mover asks, sounding closer again.
Steve sets down the box of clothes he carried in, and turns back to the man who’s looking at him like he’s grown another head. “I’ll have help to move it all again after I’m done with the remodels.”
“That’s..great man, good for you.”
“You’re the one who asked..” Steve grumbles to himself when the guy walks back out to the truck.
There’s not much in the moving truck, so while the team is bringing in the larger pieces, he borrows one of them to help him empty his little trailer so he can take it back that afternoon.
The crew is done within the hour, and Steve sees them off, following them down the drive and turning to head into town. He stops in at the deli across from Melvald’s for lunch, and heads into the one internet provider’s office in town to set up his services (which was as easy as flipping the proverbial switch to turn them on, very nice), then heads to the hardware store because of course there wasn’t already a washer and dryer in the house.
Getting delivery scheduled for his new washer and dryer ends up taking forever, and it’s already late afternoon by time he’s done, so Steve heads back out to the big box store for groceries, heads home to eat Joyce's leftovers, showers, puts some sheets on his bed, then (finally) calls Robin..
“Finally got interwebs hooked up?” her forehead says in lieu of a ‘Hello?’ (that’s the only thing he can see on his screen at the moment).
“Yep, didn’t take too long, luckily, and good news for me: apparently the people who built this place decided to put in fiber cords? Which is really good I guess?” he says, flopping down onto his mattress on his stomach.
“Uh, yeah, that’s real good Dingus; Fiber is still one of the better things for internet connections, so congrats! You lucked out.”
“Then the guy at the hardware store took forever to schedule my laundry shit to be delivered, so I’m out a washer and dryer until next week. Yay.” he deadpans to her forehead (still the only thing he can see).
“But you’re settled in better now, right? At least now you can get started on that DIY board you’ve been hoarding onto since you first saw the place.”
“That's true, that’s true,” he concedes, swapping his video call app out for the one that holds all his inspiration boards, “This place is going to be amazing once I’m done with it.”
“I thought you already thought it was amazing.”
“No, no, it is..it’s just..” he pauses, scrolling down the hundreds of ideas he’d saved for just this moment…all of them not quite right. Even the simplest color palettes he’d liked look drab and boring when he thinks about actually using any of them on the house.
“None of it fits anymore, does it.”
Steve snorts out a laugh, “None! How is that even possible? What the hell am I supposed to do now?”
“What indeed..how in the world are you supposed to start changing things if you don’t even know what color paint your ghost roomie likes? What if they start haunting you even more after you paint the dining room sage instead of mustard??”
“Right?! He likes metal music for fucks sake, I can’t paint my whole house red and black or whatever just so he doesn’t haunt the fuck outta me!”
Robin’s silent for a moment, then “Wait, backup. One, how do you know he likes metal music, and two, ‘he’? How do you know it’s a ‘he’?”
“Oh my god! So much has happened, listen,” Steve explains everything to her, shifting onto his back as he does.
He tells her about the kids (“You better take them up on the offer, Dingus, that’s a lot of help.”), the girl Max who said “He likes metal music.”, the way his speaker turned down on its own when he asked ‘Jeeves’ to, the damn acknowledging knock he’d heard when Steve asked the entity not to hurt any of the movers as they brought in all his stuff.. All of it.
“I even heard a laugh, Robin. A goddamn laugh! It’s definitely a ghost.”
“Okay. Yep. That’s it, I’m never coming to visit. Mm-mph. Nope. No way.”
“Oh yeah, and the Hawkins Chief of Police said it might be a murderer!”
“Ah! What?! Steve. Steven. Steeb. You need to move. Pack up all your shit and get the fuck back here.”
He only partially heard her; Now he’s focusing on trying to look up any murders here in Hawkins over the years.
“Are you listening to me, Dingus?”
“Huh–yeah, yeah of course I am.”
“No you’re not, I can see you thinking.” Steve hears her type something into her phone. “The Creel murders, a death by rabid dog, death to cancer…”
“Are you reading the same things I am?”
“...No?”
“Uh huh, sure–ah ha! Listen, listen, listen,” Steve exclaims, sitting up and crossing his legs in the middle of his bed. “‘Hawkins High cheerleader, 18, found deceased at Forest Hills trailer park. Authorities say she was found by a resident of the park along with another body late on the night of the 31st. There is no further information at this time.’.”
“....Holy shit..holy shit..Ah! Okay, I found some more, Halloween, 1986... Uh….” she trails off, mumbling along as she reads. “This one says it’s called the ‘Forest Hills Murder’, and that there was, quote, ‘one suspect, two bodies, and conviction for one count of second degree murder.’.”
“Second degree?”
“Means that it wasn’t planned beforehand.”
Steve hums in understanding, continuing to scroll. “Why are there no names! I want to know who my ghost is, dammit!”
“Maybe…you should go to the library? Does Hawkins have a library? Maybe they’ll have old papers or something.”
“Yeah, it’s basically smack dab in the center of town....Do you think I should go to the library?”
“I think you should go to the library.”
Tumblr media
That night, Steve once again dreams of that vast black place. He opens his eyes to it, and instead of being scared like last time, he’s somehow…comforted by it. 
The loud splash of water that comes from his right, however, makes him jump.
“Hi!” the girl with the ponytail says, bouncing to a stop in front of him.
“Uh, hi? I saw you last time, I think…Who are you?”
“I’m Chrissy!” she grins, her smile bright yet slightly crooked.
“Hi Chrissy, I’m Steve, uhm…what the hell is going on? Why are you in my dream?”
“I assume it’s because I died at Forest Hills.” She shrugs, as if it was the most benign news in the world.
Steve blinks at her in the darkness, takes in her uniform– “Oh my god, you’re the cheerleader who died! Are you–are you my ghost?” It’d be a surprise if Chrissy was a metal fan, but who’s he to judge? Maybe Max got the ghosts’ pronouns wrong? 
Chrissy waves him off with a laugh, “Oh, no, I’m not,”
“Wait, are they the one who killed you? I better not be living with a murderer ghost..”
She looks appalled at that, “Absolutely not! Where on earth did you even get that idea?”
“I’ve only read a little bit about the–your case so far, and all it said was that there were two bodies.” Steve scratches at the back of his neck nervously. What kind of protocol is there for talking to a dead girl about her death? “Rumor has it that the second one was the person who killed you. That your boyfriend killed him right after…?”
The cheerleader is silent, gazing at him sadly. 
“His name is Eddie.”
There’s a pull in Steve’s gut at the name. 
“Who’s name, your murderer? Your boyfriend?” She’s fading into the darkness that surrounds them, and Steve knows he must be waking up. “Please, tell me!”
Chrissy’s mouth moves, but Steve’s already falling out of his dream.
Groggily, he reaches for his phone, 6:04am. 
He huffs as he flops back against his pillows, but freezes in the next moment.
Out the door to his bedroom from where he’s laying, he can see part way down the hall and the last half of the staircase where it comes up to the second floor.
And what he sees glide up the steps onto the landing out of sight is what freezes him to his spot.
It was barely there, but there nonetheless. A shadow, just dark enough to be seen in the low light of the morning, the dark of it standing out against the pale cream of the wall next to the steps.
His heart hammers in his chest, his brain screaming ‘Holy shit, holy shit, he IS real, oh my god there’s a real life ghost in my house.’ at him (Wait, duh. You already knew this?? You heard the speaker lower on its own, you felt that cold breeze, heard that laugh?? He thinks, his thoughts rambling on without him.) when the shadow reappears, drifting into view in his doorway and it itself freezing under Steve’s gaze.
The shadow is still only just barely visible; not freakishly tall, Steve figures it’s about his own height, actually, and the edges of it flicker and move.
Heart still pounding, Steve speaks, his voice coming out in barely a whisper. “Eddie?”
As soon as the name is out of his mouth, the shadow disappears, looking both like it was swept away by an invisible breeze, and as if it dropped straight into the floor.
“Holy shit!”
Tumblr media
After throwing together a whole two pieces of toast for breakfast, and leaving the strips of color he thought to pick up while at the hardware store out for his roommate with a note, Steve takes himself and the name Eddie with him to Hawkins Public Library.
His hopes of scouring old newspapers and records seem at least ten times more likely when he steps over the threshold and immediately feels like sneezing at the smell of the dusty old books around him.
He steps up to the front counter, “Good morning Mrs….” Steve leans in closer to read her name tag; ‘Claudia Henderson - she/her!’ is printed onto the plastic tag in permanent marker and punctuated with a fading yellow smiley face sticker “…Henderson—Henderson? Why does that sound familiar?”
“I’m not sure, hon–”
“HEY MOM!”
They both startle at the sudden yell, turning towards the noise; Dustin, that kid with the cap that had harassed him on his driveway yesterday, is running towards the front counter. 
‘Ah. Henderson.’
Mrs. Henderson tsks at her son, “Dustybuns, this is a library! Use your inside voice.” 
“Where’s th–Steve!”
Steve smiles at the kid, “Hey bud,”
“What’re you doing here?” he questions, then his face brightens exponentially. “Are you looking for stuff about ghosts?”
“Dusty, you know better than to ask that,” she chides, “What people are looking for at the library is no one’s business but their own.”
Dustin, however, chooses to ignore this. “It’s ghosts, isn’t it? Hang on, I know of a couple books that might help you!” 
Both Steve and Claudia attempt to stop him, “Dusty, wait—!”, “No, I’m oka—”, but Dustin’s already disappearing between two tall shelves.
“Damn, he’s quick.”
Claudia sighs, “I’m sorry about him, hon, he just gets super excited about whatever thing he’s fixated on at the moment.”
“It’s alright, Ms. Henderson, I know he means well.” Steve says with a smile.
“Well, let’s get you settled then, you need a library card, I assume?”
“Yes ma’am.”
She gets him set up with a card (‘Harrington? Oh, you must be Patty’s grandson! Oh, I’ve heard so much about you; your gran and I were in the same knitting club, you know.”), then points out an empty table by one of the front windows he can use if he’d like. Where each section is, what their return policy is and about the book reserve program, then finishes with a warm “Let me know if you need any help, Steve dear.”
“Actually, can you tell me where you keep your newspapers?”
She hmms thoughtfully for a moment, “Well, that depends on if you want the actual papers, or if you would like to scroll through them on the microfilm…what are you looking for, exactly?”
“I’m looking for information on the house I just bought? I’ve been told there was a death on the property previously and I wanted to look into it if I could. Library seemed like the best bet.”
“Oh, that’s just terrible! Sure, hon, let's get you set up at one of our machines and you can scroll through whatever year you’re looking for,” she beckons him to follow to another long row of desks. There are a couple other people with name tags like Claudia’s sitting at the computers behind it. “Do you have a timeframe?”
“Mid-80s I think?”
“Let me see what I can find for you,” Claudia nods, sitting down at a large white machine.
She shows him how to operate the clunky device, then disappears through a ‘Staff Only’ door.
Steve’s alone at the machine for five whole seconds before Dustin finds him.
“There you are! Okay, here, these are my favorites on the subject,” he hands him a small stack of books with mostly dark covers, one even has a lenticular image of a fanged skull, “These are a couple that are more fanatical,” two more are added to the pile, “and these two are more scientific in nature.”
He keeps ahold of the last two, stepping to the side to reach for and slide a chair from another machine next to Steve’s. “Are they a poltergeist too?  Are you trying to get rid of them? If so, I’ll need to pull some material on exorcisms too. Do you know why they would be sticking around? We need to figure out what their unfinished business might b—”
“Dustin! Dude!” Steve cuts him off with a laugh, “What happened to “Hey Steve.”, “Didja get unpacked already?”, “How’re your projects coming along, Steve?”...I just got here, my guy, lemme breathe for a second.”
Dustin rolls his eyes, “Did you figure out what colors your ghost likes?”
Steve rolls his eyes, “No, not yet. I put some out for him, so we’ll see if he decides to get rid of any.”
Claudia returns then, “Okay, here you are, sweetheart—Dusty! What’d I tell you about bothering Steve!”
“I’m not bothering him!” Dustin complains at the same time Steve says, “It’s been non-stop.”
The kid shoves at Steve’s shoulder, “Dude, shut up!”
He mimes nearly falling off his chair, “Do you see this, Ms. Henderson? I am being harassed in a public library.” he manages to say before breaking out into a grin.
“Shut up, asshole!” Dustin laughs.
“You shut up, buttface.”
“Okay, okay, settle down you two, Now Steve, do you have anywhere we can start? A date?” Claudia asks, loading up the first film in her small stack.
“I have one,” Steve nods, giving Dustin a final playful shove and reaching into his back pocket. “This article I found about the trailer park that used to be there?” He shows her his phone, open to the article from last night.
She scans it, then nods, scrolling on through the first film. “I say we check obituaries first, see if anyone sticks out? Then we can try birth announcements.”
“Would they have had an announcement printed if he was a murderer though?”
She looks at her son curiously.
“What?”
“Dustin is convinced there is a ghost on the property from the death there,” Steve explains as if he doesn’t already believe it himself, “And apparently the stories of the place include a possible murderer.”
“That’s why we need to figure out who it was so we can get him outta Steve’s house!”
“Well…” she gives them both another odd look, “Everybody has someone; this person’s someone may have had them printed as well.”
The first film ends up being the one they needed, for Chrissy at least.
“Here’s your cheerleader, Steve.” Claudia gestures to the machine’s screen. Half the front page of the Hawkins Post from November 1st, 1986 is dedicated to her. 
The crooked smile, the bangs, the ponytail. “That’s her alright. It’s gotta be.”
Dustin squished in from Steve’s left to read the tiny text. “‘Chrissy Cunningham, 18, was found dead early this morning by local 440 chapter president Wayne Munson at his home in the Forest Hills mobile home park.”
“‘Wayne Munson.’, Who’s Wayne Munson?”
“Not sure, but he’s involved somehow. Write that down.”
“‘Police say they have one of two suspects in custody, the other was found dead alongside Ms. Cunningham.’.”
“That’s gotta be the ones, remember? She died and the boyfriend found the guy right after!”
From there, it’s easy to find the information for one Jason Carver.
“Is he the guy?” Dustin squints closer at the small yearbook picture. “Wait, if he’s the boyfriend, then he’s the murderer! Then who’s this other guy…?”
“What about Eddie, is there anything about anyone with that name?” Both Hendersons give Steve curious looks, “I was given that name from…a reliable source.” Very reliable. 
“Why don’t we go back to that Wayne fella,” Claudia says, standing from the machine to move behind a computer nearby. “If it was his trailer she was found in, maybe the other person has something to do with him?”
She clicks into her computer and starts to type at an alarming rate.
Steve glances over to Dustin, who’s wearing a bewildered look. He turns around in his chair, “Thanks for helping with this, Ms. Henderson.”
“Yeah mom, I didn’t know you would be this interested in something like this.”
“Oh pshh,” she scoffs, “Who doesn’t love a good mystery? Now, read off that last name again?”
“Munson, M-U-N-S-O-N.”
“Let’s see…says here that Wayne was President of our Local 440 branch until…oh, 1986.”
“What’s that?” Steve and Dustin ask in tandem.
“The 440 is the local union! Some of those guys come through here twice a month for their book club.”
Steve takes the name to his phone, typing in ‘wayne munson + indiana’. “‘New UA President Elected!’, obituary, oh! There’s a birth here…and it has a paywall.”
Claudia rolls her eyes and mutters a low “Of course,” then louder, “Let's find it here then, what’s the date?”
He gives her the date, a Friday in mid June 1966, and she sets up the corresponding microfilm roll, scrolling into the birth announcements.
“Ah, here it is: ‘Beloved former Miss Indiana and Hawkins native Elizabeth Munson (ne’ Johnson) and husband Albert Munson welcomed a bouncing baby boy to the world this past Saturday. ‘I am just plumb overjoyed,’ Wayne Munson, Al’s older brother and well-known face of Hawkins’ local branch of UA 440 said Saturday evening. Both mother and little Theodore Munson are happy and healthy after their short hospital stay.’. That’s just lovely, I didn’t know Hawkins had a Miss Indiana!” 
“But that’s Theodore though, not Eddie. Did she have any other kids?”
“Uhhh..” Steve draws out, typing ‘elizabeth munson miss indiana’ into his phone. “No, just the one son apparently..” He reads further, “Says she died in 1974 due to ovarian cancer.”
“Damn.”
“Poor Teddy..”
“Teddy?”
“Well sure, short for Theodore?” Claudia tsks sympathetically, “He was so young when she died..”
“Poor kid, I can’t imagine.”
“Wait! Teddy, Eddie!”
“Huh?”
“I dunno, maybe that’s your connection? Theodore to Teddy to Eddie. Maybe Wayne’s nephew is your Eddie?”
It took some more searching, but Dustin was right on the money; Steve finds the first mention of both names in a 1982 Hawkins High yearbook under a black and white picture of five teens in the book’s club section.
“‘Theodore “Eddie” Munson (far left), leader of Hawkins High’s newest club, Hellfire, with fellow sophomores Ronnie Ecker, Jeff Monroe, Frank Zuiwiski, and freshman Gareth Emerson.’.” Steve reads off. “‘The tabletop, pen-and-paper game Dungeons and Dragons (“D&D?” Dustin yells, attempting to pull the book from his hands, making Steve twist around in his chair to avoid him.) is the club’s main focus and is largely math based.’.”
Dustin pulls the yearbook from Steve’s hands as soon as he’s finished reading. “How did I not know Hawkins had a D&D club?!”
“Oh my god, my ghost is a nerd.”
Tumblr media
“What the fuck?? What the fuck??”
Eddie had not expected Steve to be awake when he drifted upstairs that morning. Nor did he have any inkling that the man would whisper out a trembling “Eddie?” when he arrived at his door.
It’s only March, how in the hell can Steve even see him?
He sounded so scared too… damn it!  He only just got here and now Eddie’s gone and ruined everything.
Instead of bright sparkling happiness or burning hot rage, a deadening, sinking, cold melancholy seeps into his core. The dreadful feeling sinks him further down into the house, all the way to, and into, the floor of his closet under the stairs.
Eddie stays hidden away while Steve shuffles around that morning and for two mornings after that. He’s aware of the living man’s movements through the creaks of the floorboards and hinges as he goes about his day each day, unpacking boxes and accidentally cutting his finger, shocking himself when he sets up his fancy-ass TV in the master bedroom, listens when he sings along to the Spoofy he’s been playing for Eddie and some of his own modern-sounding songs.
But Eddie doesn't make an appearance.
For three days, he wallows, alone.
Late into the night of the second day, well, early in the morning on the third, technically, the Moon reaches to him, asks him what is wrong.
It’s still dark outside, the sky just beginning to lighten, when he leaves his confines and breezes out onto the back balcony.
He notices belatedly that were are boxes and dropcloths littered around the great room as he passed through it; seems like Steve had been busy.
Again, the moon reaches softly to him, What are you afraid of? her soft hold on him asks, the encouragement bleeding through her glow over him evident.
“My heart may be dead and gone, but that doesn’t mean I want it broken.”
He regrets his words immediately, her amusement at his slip up skitters all along the planks of Steve’s balcony.
“Nononono no, not like that, he doesn’t–I don’t–He just…” why is he trying to lie to her? “Okay, so what if I have a big fat crush on him? ‘Ooh everyone look the lovesick dead guy’,” he mocks. “It’s not like jack shit can happen, so what if I do? It’s only a stupid crush anyway.”
Eddie listens to the sounds of the night as the sky lightens a couple shades more, the Moon’s continued amusement apparent to none but him.
Her jovial mood dies off after a shade or so more, then turns questioning once again, though tired, apparent from her low seat in the sky.
Eddie’s gut twists, “He could see me…Why can he see me already?”
The confusion persists, a new drop of encouragement comes and goes.
“I’m sure I scared him with the…” he gestures to the wispy all of him, “I don’t want to freak him out more…”
She grows exasperated with him; Eddie can picture his late Uncle’s good-natured eye roll and practically hear the fond tongue-click behind her new irritation.
“What? What’d I say?”
The Moon all but bowls him over with one more blast of encouragement before she disappears behind the trees and under her sister’s glow.
Eddie huffs out a sigh. Message received…
Eventually, later in the morning, the stairs above him creak with Steve’s weight, and Eddie listens to him hum as he passes outside his door toward the kitchen.
He’s there for a little bit, probably eating something? Then the sound of Dio filters down the hall to him. 
Steve started the Spoofy for him again.
Soon after, the door into the garage opens and closes, and only after the garage door itself shudders to a stop, does Eddie leave his spot.
He wanders the house, taking in everything Steve had moved, or even torn off in his absence (“That wallpaper really was horrible, good on ya Steve.”), but eventually ends up back in the kitchen, thinking this time he’ll open a couple drawers for Steve instead of his usual cupboard fuckery, show him he’s back in action in a “Didja miss me?” type way, but stops short when he notices something laid out on the counter beside the speaker.
Color swatches. 
There’s a couple shades of green, some blues, a deep red, and even a bright sunshine yellow laid out with a slip of lined paper.
Eddie eases forward, clipping into the countertop as he does, to read the note.
Tumblr media
He stares dumbly at it for what feels like weeks.
Steve wants to know what he thinks? What Eddie would pick? Why? This is Steve’s house, why does his opinion matter?
‘It’s because he likes you.’ his not-actually-there brain tells him
“No the fuck he doesn’t, I’m dead. A ghost. I’m a nuisance at best.”
‘He knew your name.’
That happy sparking feeling returns, shooting through where his heart would be.
“He knew my name.”
Bright yellow flashes in his chest briefly. 
How did Steve figure that one out?
‘He said your name.’ he thinks to himself, then the sound of Steve saying his name starts to cycle across his thoughts.
“Eddie?”, “Eddie?”, “Eddie?”, “Eddie?”....over and over again until it stops sounding like a real word.
“Eddie.” Steve says, his tone no longer questioning, but welcoming.
“Eddie.” Steve’s smiling this time.
“Eddie..” Steve’s happy to see him.
It takes him a handful of minutes each time, but he manages to flip over about half of the colors Steve had laid out.
“I must be outta my mind,” Eddie grumbles, glowing bright in the middle of the kitchen.
Tumblr media
It took three days for Eddie to tell Steve what colors he doesn’t like. 
He left the swatches alone until something was done to them but eventually, on the morning of the third day since he’d put them out (after more decisions about where he’d use each if they weren’t vetoed, deciding which room he’d tackle first (the kitchen), and getting the rest of his furniture and TV situated in his room), Steve comes downstairs to find three of the blue shades and one each of the green, red, and grays flipped over on the countertop.
He smiles down at them as he eats his bowl of cereal; he’s not sure where his ghostly roommate is right now, so he sets down his bowl, fishes a pen out of his junk drawer, and adds a line to his note
Tumblr media Tumblr media
<- prev | next ->
i can't believe i didn't do this on the first part, but tagging everyone who was interested in reading the whole fic from my first post w this concept!! (i think some of you already found pt 1 though!!): @gothwifehotchner @puppy-steve @babydollbaron @a-bun-danceoflove @after-the-end-times @mightbeasleep @shapeofaperson @val-from-lawrence @madigoround @steviebats @nburkhardt @scoops-stevie @kas-eddie-munson @i-less-than-threee-you @milf-harrington @khalesprix @matchingbatbites
and also tagging those interested on the last part <3: @little-birch-boy
36 notes · View notes
allyeardepression · 2 days
Text
@jegulus-microfic | march 27 birthday | words: 780
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY BABY!!! i had fun writing this one so i hope y’all have fun reading;3
tw: walburga appears, suicidal tendencies (it’s brief and probably not many of you will think of it that way but still)
Regulus wasn't the type to make grand romantic gestures; it was always James.
For example, when he took Regulus on their first date—not just a meeting in the middle of the night at the Astronomy Tower, but a real date—James’ found this beautiful meadow in the Forbidden Forest, near the Black Lake. Regulus thinks it must have taken the other boy at least half a day to get the place ready, because when they arrived, there were Christmas lights hanging in the trees, a record player was standing next to one of them, quietly playing some Elvis song, and in the middle there was a warm-looking blanket with candles, flowers, steaming food, fruit, and something that looked like a bottle of elvish wine. It is safe to say Regulus was in complete awe.
The other time was just a few weeks later, when it was Regulus’ birthday. James did not buy it, but he made him a little crooked silver ring with antlers engraved on it. When the younger boy asked how exactly he did it, James just shrugged and said, ‘Dad thought me’ like it was the most obvious answer in the world. And, okay, they were wizards, so it wasn’t the hardest thing for them to transfigure something into something else, but when Regulus later tried to reverse any spells cast on the ring, nothing happened, which meant not only did James make it himself, but he also made it without any magic. What a guy, that one.
When James and Sirius came to Grimmauld one night that summer to rescue Regulus and Walburga caught them, threatening to kill all three boys, Potter straightened up, holding his wand out in front of her confidently.
"Leave them alone; if you want to kill someone, try me." As he said this, the woman raised her hand to cast the killing curse, but James was faster; with one smooth gesture, he had her stunned and bound. After they disapparated, landing in Potter Manor, both Blacks started shouting at him for his recklessness and stupidity, while they hugged him tight.
Regulus could talk about every amazing thing James did to prove his love for hours—there were so many. But when it came to his own grand gestures, the list ended at one: when he sent Avery and Mulciber to the Hospital Wing with the skin melted off of their faces after throwing two Bludgers at James at the same time. So, he made exactly zero romantic gestures for almost a whole year of dating James.
Fortunately, the 27th of March was approaching, and with it, his boyfriend’s birthday.
On Friday morning, while the whole Great Hall was having a rather loud breakfast, Regulus scanned the Gryffindor’s table to find—aha!
Spotting that bright smile on the other side, Regulus pulled out the big box he had hidden beneath the bench and sent it flying through the whole room with one flick of a wand. Everyone was looking at it in almost complete silence, waiting in anticipation to see where it would land. Regulus stole one glance in the direction it was going and noticed three different expressions: James looked like he would burst out crying any second, Sirius' face twisted into something between admiration and disgust, and Remus and Peter looked like one was having the time of his life and the other was about to choke from laughing.
As the package landed carefully in James’ laps, everyone went so quiet you could hear a fly buzzing. The Gryffindor opened the box with shaky hands, looking right back up when he saw what was inside. His mouth kept opening and closing while looking at Regulus. The whole student body turned to look at him, but his eyes were trained on James’. Still to this day, Regulus has no idea what got into him at that moment, but he stood up and strode to James with a smug expression.
Reaching the birthday boy, Regulus leaned forward, took his face in his hands, and kissed him softly on the lips; James immediately reciprocated. The kiss was nothing like what they shared in the broom cupboards, in the Come-and-Go Room, or even at the Astronomy Tower; this one was the best of all of them—slow, sweet, and, oh, so full of love.
When they parted, Regulus could finally hear the whispers echoing throughout the room, making it seem as if someone had locked him in a hive. He didn’t care. All he cared for was the handsome man in his hands.
“Joyeux dix-huitième anniversaire, amour de ma vie,” Regulus whispered against James’ lips, feeling the other smiling broadly. Yeah, he thought, this one counts as romantic.
translation: happy eighteenth birthday, love of my life
38 notes · View notes
groguspicklejar · 3 days
Text
tldr: due to my clinical depression and crippling anxiety, i got triggered by an optimist who didn't validate me in my moment of vulnerability.
don't read unless you want to see the ugly side of me.
i swear to god, optimistic people either scare me or annoy the fuck out of me.
and this is not coming from a place of like "oh, let me dampen this person's mood with my negative thoughts, opinions and feelings just for kicks" or "i genuinely hate this person's energy and i hope they die in a ditch" no. none of that. lemme explain.
mostly, it's coming from a place of "all of these atrocities happening around you and either choose blissful ignorance or you see them and your first thought is 'eh, it'll all work out in the end for us' is either slightly or extremely toxic in the sense of you become tone deaf to other people's negative thoughts, feelings and experiences, to the point where you might even completely disregard and invalidate them despite them being vulnerable and telling you very detailed and personal things about themselves" and i fucking hate you for it.
i think my mother is the same way but i can't exactly be sure because she's gaslighted me about certain things so many times into feeling like things weren't as bad as i made them seem when they really might have been three times as bad.
but this one guy, who's a friend of mine, really showed me that he has that exact mentality and i'm starting to hate him for it.
because how do you hear a friend of yours explain to you that their college experience wasn't as good as yours because it wasn't what they signed up for, they weren't physically, mentally, emotionally and financially prepared for it, so they had to drop out of college because they simply could not keep up with the standard required so now they don't miss any of that shit that they went through.
and your first response is "oh, give it a couple of months, you'll start to miss it😃" like—
bitch, shut up. SHUT THE FUCK UP. stop fucking talking right now before i go over there just to throw a cinderblock on your fucking face. repeatedly. until you stop fucking breathing. SHUT. THE. FUCK. UP.
i've never been more angry or just fucking done because i've been made to feel like shit every time i have to disclose the fact that i had to drop out of college because even though i explain from a to z of how it even got to that point, nobody seems to want to fucking hear me.
this guy finished college just recently, he was a year above me so he didn't go through the absurd changes in curriculum as i did so he doesn't even fucking know what i had to deal with. and i get that everyone is entitled to an opinion and you're allowed to disagree but to say "oh, you'll miss it" after i spent how many minutes of my life explaining how i got fucked over into wasting 3½ years of my life on a by a college system that wasn't completely transparent from the fucking beginning and chose to change things for the worst as time went on🚮
like at that point, just shut up. please. for the love of god. i've been bullied enough over this. i don't need to be gaslit into thinking i'll miss anything or anyone anymore. i'm so tired.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
41 notes · View notes
k4thl18n · 1 day
Text
First Kiss (Race 3)
A strollonso AU where 18 year old rookie Lance Stroll falls helplessly in love with the notoriously mean world champion. (1.5k words, angst, hurt/comfort) [@v3lnys @biancathecool] {I was worried I wouldn't have motivation to write this but i got it done in one sitting LMAO}
last part - masterlist - next part (coming soon)
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Thankfully Mark listened and stayed far away from him while the drivers were getting interviewed, leaving the rookie to just have to answer a few questions from smaller journalists.
It was nice to not be swarmed and just asked questions about his dad but he did wish he could've spoken to Fernando again before quali, seeing how much fun he seemed to be having with Mark.
Quali was decent, he got 7th so it wasn't anything spectacular but it was in the points. All he had to do was keep his spot or better and he'd count it as a good race
Before he could even reach Nico's side of the garage he heard a voice call him, though it wasn't the one he expected
"Alright, Stroll, you're the only one left" Mark announced, earning a groan fron the younger
"Mark please" He begged, not entirely serious but also not wanting to get interviewed anymore
"Fernando will but you dinner if you let me interview you" Lance wasn't one to turn down free dinner.
"What am I doing?" Fernando asked, finally reaching the garage
"Sure" Lance laughed, neither him nor Mark answering Fernandos question as the three of them left the paddock
By the time they reached a restaraunt Fernando had pieced together what exactly he was doing but he didn't really mind, the three of them had paid about the same amount while going around Australia together so it wouldn't kill him to treat the two to a little dinner.
They got seated not long after entering, Fernando and Mark in chairs while Lance sat across from them in the booth
"So, Lance. You ready for your interview?" Mark asked, having no plans on really interviewing him
"Shh," He said, bringing his finger to his lips "After Nando pays" Lance laughed, hoping Mark wasn't serious because the last thing he wanted to do after his second favourite part of the day, eating dinner (talking to Nando is first), is be interviewed.
Last nights dinner went well, Lance liked having friends, Karting had kept him from having too many growing up so having friends in F1 was a nice feeling, it gave him something to look forward to outside of the car.
Today was race day and all Lance wanted was to keep himself in the points.
He walked out of his drivers room, race suit tied around his waist (he couldn't be bothered to keep pulling it up), as usual Fernando somehow managed to completely ditch his garage and get away with it just to wish him good luck.
"Lancito, good luck today, let's see if we can get you on that podium, eh?" He smiled at him, elbowing him slightly
Lance loved seeing Fernando away from Media, he was completely different when the cameras were off, by this time in the season Lance had read the articles, seen the blogs, watched the interviews, people were convinced Fernando was some mean winning machine, he was a winning machine, yes, but the last thing he was was mean (at least to Lance.)
"Thank you, Nando, but don't be too hurt when I beat you" He flashed Fernando a cheeky grin, he wanted to beat him of course, all racers want to win, but a part of him knew that wouldn't happen
The cars all lined up and then started the formation lap, as it ended someone had already spun. Lance knew this was gonna be a hectic Grand Prix and it hadn't even started yet.
Lance stared anxiously at the lights ahead of him then everyone took off, the Australian Grand Prix had begun.
Nico was involved in a minor collision on the first lap with two other drivers, causing him to lose his rear wing, Lance was told over the radio that he was fine so he wasn't too worried, the two had gotten used to not finishing by now.
The safety car was deployed then recalled in two laps but then a driver crashed and it was deployed again. Lance was annoyed, why even bother to take it out if it was just gonna be out not even ten laps later.
They got about 20 laps in when cars started to pit and to Lance's surprise he took the lead, he was leading a Grand Prix, he heard instructions over his radio to take care of his tyres, with better cars coming back out with fresh ones he had to defend like his life depended on it.
He wasn't surprised when Fernando took back the lead, he wasnt sure why but he wasn't exactly mad about it either. He managed to build up a decent gap ahead of the driver behind him and asked if he should pit, he was advised not to so he stayed out.
On lap 32 there was another safety car, he took the chance to finally pit, getting into the pit lane first, the race starting behind the safety car again with him just behind Fernando, for the first time he had a chance to be on the podium with him, he was overjoyed at the idea, if his first podium was with Fernando he was sure it would he a memorable one.
On lap 35 the safety car was recalled but literally one lap later it was out again, they might as well have a safety car out all race at this point.
Two more cars retired after the last safety car was recalled and Lance made it to the final lap, he had managed to stay in 2nd for the past 34 laps, it was insane to him, his engineer tried not to say too much but it was obvious how excited he was for him, and now all he had to do was finish.
He had four corners left, then three, then two... then his engine blew. The car right behind him had been covered in oil and the safest thing to do was pull off the track, ten meters away from his first podium.
"I'm sorry- I'm so sorry, I was almost there, I'm so sorry, I'll try harder in San Marino-" He kept apologizing, wondering if he had made the right choice, wondering if the team would be mad at him
"Lance, It's okay, you're the driver, right? Do what you feel is best, if this is what's best then it's fine." His engineer consoled him, the canadian having a hard time not crying
He finally reached the garage, taking off his helment and his balaclava, his eyes red as he talked to his engineer at the back of his side of the garage, not noticing as the tears began to fall
"Fuck, Brad- I'm so sorry, I feel like i fucked up. I could've kept going, I should've, I almost got us a podium, I was so close." He gasped as he spoke, the Canadian distraught as he thought about his team being mad at him, what if he lost his seat because of this? The media already doesnt like him what would they say now? Was Brad lying about not caring?
"Lance, Lance it's okay, no one is mad at you for keeping yourself safe" He promised, speaking to the boy as if he was a child, which wasn't too far off
Lance couldn't respond, all he could do was cover his face, embarrassed at the reality of him sobbing after a DNF, he didn't care the other times.
Lance got himself together before Fernando came looking for him, not saying a word before dragging the rookie out of his garage
"Nando-" He started, Fernando moving them behind the Racing Point garage "Fernando what-"
Then he hugged him, without saying a word he just hugged him, arms tightly wrapped around the rookie as he sunk into his arms, unable to stop himself from crying again
"Fuck, Nando" He choked out "I feel so stupid"
"Shh, is okay, Lancito" He spoke softly, hand stroking the taller mans hair but at that moment the thing he felt was big. He was embarrassed, trying not to cringe at the reality of him crying in another mans arms but all that mattered was he felt safe in his arms "You did well, am so proud"
Lance hummed, sniffling as he kept his head in the crook of Fernandos neck "I'm sorry, Nando," He practically whispered "I wanted to be up there with you"
Fernando knew that, he was upset to hear Lance was no longer behind him, all he wanted was to celebrate with him, he was looking forward to it for the whole race and now he's stood there with the younger man a complete mess in his arms, he hoped San Marino would treat him better.
24 notes · View notes
mercurial-cool · 3 days
Text
💜Ambrosia Progress Update 💜
Hello lovely Bloodweave community! Since my last post was me nearly four months ago saying that a new Ambrosia chapter would likely be coming by the end of the year (lol), I just thought I'd pop back in here to give a quick little "proof of life" post and reassure anyone still wondering that, at least in theory, it still has not been abandoned -- I just took a little time away from working on it for various reasons.
[That's the important part of what I wanted to share, but I'm inserting a cut below for some additional self-indulgent rambling for anyone who wants a bit more context.]
One reason for the hiatus was that my job got crazy towards the end of the year, which both took away from my writing time and also my BG3-playing time, making it harder to jump back in and capture the characters' voices as accurately as I felt I could when I was playing more regularly. And the other, more recent and much sillier reason is that I accidentally and unexpectedly stumbled into an obsession with Formula 1 and had some writing ideas for that fandom that my brain demanded that I act on immediately... so, if you subscribed to me for Ambrosia updates and get a notification soon that I've de-anoned 45k words of (AO3 member-locked) Formula 1 RPF, I am so sorry for the possible bait-and-switch lmao. (But congratulations to the, like, three other people who might exist with me at the center of the Venn diagram of those two fandoms haha... I'd love to know if you're out there!)
I'll admit that I've felt guilty for doing that other writing while Ambrosia was still unfinished. I've never had anything I've written come anywhere close to the level of popularity that Ambrosia has reached, and it was something I've truthfully found a little overwhelming at times. At the very least, it's prompted me to feel quite a bit more anxious and perfectionistic about whether any new chapters I put out "live up to" the bar that's been set by how much people have enjoyed the previous chapters. None of that is to diminish how unbelievably appreciative I am of the people who have taken the time to read and comment on Ambrosia -- I still read and am grateful for every single comment that comes through, even though I've done a shit job of responding to them lately (another source of no small amount of guilt).
But I think I needed to take some time to do some writing that didn't have the self-imposed pressure of quite so many eyes. And now that I've done that, I'm excited to return to Ambrosia refreshed and with a healthier perspective. I know better than to actually try and give a timeline this time around for when the next chapter might be out, but just know that I'm once again actively working on it, and I'm very excited about some of the writing that I've already completed. :)
Thank you (and/or I'm sorry) to anyone who bothered to read this far, and hope you're all doing well. <3
36 notes · View notes
twig-draws · 2 days
Text
Have a fantasy AU!
It’s got a lot of stories from a lot of hermits. Grian and Pearl are the ones I have most figured out There’s the Celestial Kingdom, the Fairy Kingdom, the Hybrid Union, and the Ordinary Empire
Celestial Kingdom: Led by King Solis and Queen Midnight, this kingdom is based around celestial bodies. Everyone living there has wings, whether moth or bird. The current heir is Pearl Celestial.
Fairy Kingdom: Led by Queen Lizzie and King Joel, the Fairy Kingdom consists of fairies, allays, vexes, and other mythical creature hybrids. King Joel is actually a human, which is rare, and many are angry about it.
Hybrid Union: These people are led by a council of five, and are all hybrids. Any hybrid is accepted into the union.
Ordinary Empire: Normal humans are the only people that live in this empire. All leaders are elected.
Pearl: She's a luna moth hybrid, and is Princess of the Celestial empire, the only heir. The one who was supposed to take the throne, her brother Grian, went missing a year ago. She’s now forced by her parents to be perfect, and hates it. Whenever she can, she visits the Underground Acceptance Club, where everyone is welcome. She has a lot of friends there, Gem, Tango, Etho, Scott, and many others. All she needs to do is make sure her parents don’t find out. 5"11, 22 years old
Grian: He's a sun conure hybrid (it's a type of parakeet). Pressured to be the next ruler of his kingdom, Grian wasn’t very happy. His only friend was a royal advisor named Mumbo, who had an interest in machinery. He met a commoner in the Fairy Kingdom while on a diplomacy mission named Scar, and ended up becoming friends. They often communicated via letter. Mumbo noticed Grian was stressed out with the pressure, so suggested they go meet Scar and possibly run away, all three of them, considering Scar wasn’t happy with his home life either. So they did, settling undercover in the Hybrid Union, and they were marked missing from their home regions. 5"9, 24 years old (Scar is 6 months older and Mumbo is six months older than Scar)
Mumbo: He's a cecropia moth hybrid. Mumbo was trained from a young age to be an advisor and counselor for the prince and princess of the Celestial Kingdom. He had a particular interest in machinery, and wasn't too happy with the fact he would have to deal with royals. All the officials he'd met so far had been snobby. That changed when he met the two he was supposed to advise. Though he was a year older than Prince Grian, they became fast friends. He liked Pearl too, of course, but Grian was a better friend for him. He still didn't like being in the palace though, he liked fancy things, but this was too fancy. Now that Mumbo is with Scar and Grian, away from their kingdoms, he feels a lot better. Mumbo is 6"11 (Tall as heck, basically)
Scar: He's an elf/vex hybrid. He grew up as a commoner in the Fairy Kingdom, and baked cookies for a living. No one really bought those cookies, so his parents would always get mad and tell him to 'find a better job' and such. But he liked making cookies, so that's what he did. He'd never liked his parents much, they were kind of mean, but not exactly horrible people. It was pure chance that he ran into Prince Grian and his advisor Mumbo from the Celestial Kingdom, but he insists it was fate. After the initial meeting, they continued to talk via letters. One day, Mumbo proposed the idea to all run off together, and Scar gladly accepted. All three of them ended up in the Hybrid Union, and have a farming job. He's 25 years old, but only turned 25 recently, and is 6"5
Tango: He's a blaze hybrid. Tango was brought up in the Hybrid Union, taught in school to not trust humans. His parents, however, taught him everyone should be accepted. Generally, Tango had a very good home life and still does. He had only a few friends, Zed the sheep hybrid and Jimmy the canary hybrid being his closest ones. When he was seventeen, he discovered his parents had started an underground club for everyone, hybrids and humans. Here, he met Skizz, an angel from the Celestial Kingdom, and Impulse, a human. Now that he's 23, he works as a mechanic for a system of mail that the Hybrid Union wants to use, accompanied by Etho. He's 6"1.
Joel: He's human, but has antennae. No one knows why. He gets super protective when someone mentions the fact that he's a human and is king of the Fairy Kingdom, or that Lizzie made a bad choice. For his own pride, but also Lizzie's. They met at a diplomacy meeting, Joel being the son of a noble at said meeting, and Lizzie being a princess. They fell in love pretty quick, and ended up getting married. Lots of people think Joel is bad or stupid for marrying a fairy, as it's generally looked down upon to marry someone not of your kind. He's 29, Lizzie's the same age, and he's 5"10
Xisuma: He's not classified as a fantastical creature, or a celestial creature, or just a normal hybrid, because he's a voidwalker. Those are so rare that they are practically non-existent, but he and his brother are both one. His brother preferred a loner life, but Xisuma didn't want that. He joined the Ordinary Empire with a mask that had a purple visor, hoping it would hide the fact that he wasn't human and had purple eyes. When he got kicked out eventually because he was discovered, he went to the Hybrid Union. Somehow, he ended up in the council, but he doesn't really know how he got there. He acts like a dad, is 42, and is 6"8.
Other notes: Gem (deer centaur) is a botanist for the Fairy Kingdom, Etho (arctic fox) is an architect and a mechanic, Wels (bright wave moth) is a knight in the ranks of the Celestial Kingdom, Stress is a healer in the Ordinary Empire, Impulse comes from a family of commoners and is an inventor, Zed is a scientist, Skizz is an actor, Scott (elf) is an artist, Jimmy is just Jimmy and works where he can lol
As for some of the ships, we've got Mumscarian, Ranchers, and Gempearl :D
May add more?
23 notes · View notes