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wynnyfryd · 6 months

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Trailer Park Steve AU part 3

part 1 | part 2

(tw: guns, accidental death)

Robin’s already in full panic mode by the time Steve pulls up to her place, flinging the passenger door open and throwing herself into the car with so much force that the car bounces on its wheels a little. “Drive!!”

“Jesus Christ, good morning to you, too.”

“Steve!”

Steve starts to drive.

Beside him, Robin flips the visor down to look at her reflection; groans and scrubs her hands down her face in misery at whatever she sees. Steve doesn’t really get it. He thinks she looks beautiful, with her hair gently moving in the breeze from the open window, with her freckles lit up by the early morning sun.

“Ugh,” she says, turning to look at him, “I can’t believe I look like a zombie and you’re gonna make me late to the first day of school.”

“Wow.” Fuckin’ ingrate. And when he was just being so nice to her in his head. “How about a thank you, huh? ‘Thanks for picking me up, Steve. Thanks for bringing my backpack, Steve. Sorry you almost got shanked by your neighbor, Steve.’”

“You what???”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Um, yes it very much does matter, what the—”

“—I’m just saying, a little gratitude? Wouldn’t hurt you.”

He licks at the corner of his mouth, spritzes wiper fluid to clear the bugs off the windshield. Robin’s eyes are bulging out of her head, but he really doesn’t want to talk about how he still feels the ghost press of steel against his throat, so: “You’re not even right, by the way; I don’t know why you’re complaining.”

“Huh?”

“School started yesterday. I’m making you late for the second day of school.”

“Yesss,” she draws the word out like he’s stupid, rolling her wrist in a hurry up and get it motion, “but everyone knows that syllabus day doesn’t count. The first pep rally is the real first day of school.”

Ah, there it is.

Steve steals another peek at his best friend while they’re on a straightaway, notes the nervous twitch of her hands as she goes back to fussing at her reflection; the way she’s clumping her lashes together with seven coats too many of some drugstore brand mascara. She’s wearing lipstick. “This is about Vick—”

“—Don’t talk about—”

“—It’s about Vickie, isn’t it?”

“Ughhhhh.” Robin folds forward and thunks her head against the dash. “Fine, okay? Fine! Yes! This may have something to do with a distressingly cute fellow marching band member. Are you happy now?”

“Ecstatic.”

“Oooh, big word for you, Steven.” She swats him on the shoulder, face all twisted up in offense. “Stop laughing!”

“Stop hitting me,” he laughs. “I’ll dump your ass out on this highway.”

She gasps and narrows her eyes at him. “You wouldn’t.”

Steve eases his foot onto the brake.

“Okay, okay! Mercy! I’m being an asshole, alright? I’m sorry. I’m just— I’m stressed! Being gay is very stressful.”

The knife incident pops back into his mind. “Yeah,” he mutters, “I imagine it is.”

—

He catches himself slouching down into his seat a bit when they pull up to the school. Has to force himself to sit upright, hears his mother’s tutting in his ear about bad posture and the message it projects to the world.

It’s not that he’s embarrassed to be here; really, he isn’t. He’s just hoping to avoid being spotted by the nuggets now that they go here, too, lest he be accosted for evading his chauffeur duties.

God.

Dustin’s nerd shit is infecting his brain.

Robin grabs her bag out of the back seat, plants a parting peck on Steve’s cheek as she gets out of the car. “See you later?”

“Yeah, I’ll pick you up for work.”

“Love you, dingus.”

And then he’s alone again.

With Robin gone, Steve finds himself driving. Wandering and aimless, like a ghost who doesn’t know he’s gone. It’s not like he has nothing to do — he’s supposed to be out finding a second job, finding a way to support himself and his mom, because he’s the man of the house now. Because his life has turned into one of those shitty, overcomplicated word problems from math class.

If a recently widowed mother works no hours and her minimum-wage son works as many as Family Video will allow, how much mold-riddled dogshit housing can they afford?

Not much.

Inevitably, he finds himself circling the scorched bones of Starcourt, driving tired loops around the barbed wire perimeter. His ghost likes to guide him here; can’t shake the place where he shook off the mortal coil.

He didn’t know it at the time, but Steve Harrington died the day the mall burned down. Embarrassing, to not hear the death knell as his family name went up in smoke.

It was hard to hear much at all that night, between the concussion and the fireworks and the shrieking of a monster being torn apart, but the memory caresses his mind now in cruel whispers: the headrush of victory; the blood and the sweat; the relief that they’d won, they’d done it, it’s over, they won.

Steve tugs at his bad ear ‘til the ringing subsides.

Some fucking grand prize.

The thing is, you can’t go around exploding an eldritch horror without alerting the US government, and the US government can’t go around letting major investors in a hostile commie invasion keep their assets once they find out about their treasonous schemes. It happened fast: the arrest, the bail, the impending trial and the seizure of property. Richard Harrington was once a small town god on an invisible throne, making deals with devils in shadowy boardrooms, and suddenly he was looking at life in a cell.

Maybe it was a blessing he died before his reckoning was due. Maybe it was no accident at all.

The second, and perhaps more important, thing is: stray bullets don’t care about your looming court date.

Dad had a habit of cleaning his guns while he was drunk, nursing a whiskey in one hand while he polished the gleaming barrels with the other. Pointless, really, because the guns were always pristine to begin with. Dick Harrington didn’t hunt. Didn’t shoot. Claimed the pistol was for home defense, that he kept it loaded in case anyone ever tried to hurt his family, but Steve knew the truth.

His dad just liked to flirt with death. Liked to handle pretty, deadly things, stroke his fingers over ruthless metal and feel the rush of power when he walked away unscathed.

He didn’t walk away that night.

Didn’t even face death standing.

Sliced through his femoral artery and rolled right out of his chair.

They found him lying on the ground in a dark, sticky puddle, gasping like a fish as blood spurted from his thigh. Crazy how fast it happened. Steve had been in his room when the shot rang out, and he barely managed to reach the bottom of the stairs before the gurgling noises stopped. Just boom! whizz! bang! and Dick Harrington was gone.

Maybe it’s a good thing, too, that they lost the house.

The image of his mother in the hallway that night — shellshocked in the doorway, one pale hand shaking in front of her open mouth, features wide and wet with waking horror as she stared into the room — was enough to make him never want to step foot in the place again.

So now they live in a rundown piece of shit on the wrong side of town, with hideous burnt orange carpet and wood paneled walls, with cracks in the ceiling and cigarette burns in the walls, some parting gifts from whatever feral hick lived there before them, and it feels like another cruel, cosmic joke. Like the universe is delighting in the Harringtons’ comeuppance; like the blackened beams and brick rubble of Starcourt are all twisting to form one great, mocking mouth; the better to smile and laugh at their misfortune.

You bought your bed, now you have to lie in it.

He didn’t even know that the Harringtons owned Forest Hills until it was the only asset left to their name.

He’s pretty sure his dad bought it more as a joke than a genuine investment. Meant to teach Steve a lesson, like how he used to bring home Waffle House applications whenever Steve got a C on a report card. This is your future if you don’t straighten up, son.

Kill yourself, dad.

Oh, wait.

You already did.

—

part 4

#trailer park steve au #steve harrington #robin buckley #platonic stobin #eddie munson #steddie #steddie fic #my writing #my fic #tw: guns #tw: death

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apomaro-mellow · 1 year

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"Okay, be straight with me."

Steve leveled a look and Eddie almost swooned but he kept it together. This was serious.

"Right, okay, be bisexual with me."

"Eddie, we're in public", Steve said, mock-scandalized.

"I'm starting to regret becoming a level 5 friend of yours Harrington." Dustin had said Steve could get silly and goofy. Of course Eddie didn't believe it. Not until he had seen it. Not until he had seen that secret handshake of theirs and seen him pump his fist in victory when he beat Erica at rock, paper, scissors, and when he'd seen him-

"Did you have something to say, or...?"

"Yeah! Okay, so, what I wanted to ask waaaas, did you ever, you know, look at any guys?" Eddie cleared his throat and continued when Steve looked at him blankly. "Sinfully?"

The location for this conversation could either be really good or really bad. In the McDonald's parking lot on a late afternoon. Steve just got off from a relatively short shift and wanted lunch. Eddie was wasting time until Hellfire that night. Of course they were eating in Eddie's van. Not a single crumb graced Steve's car.

"I mean, I guess I did", Steve shrugged. "Before I really understood what I was feeling. Honestly it felt like I just hated guys for no reason."

Eddie nodded in understanding. Before realizing what all those slurs meant, he definitely felt like some dudes were attractive in a way just to spite him. Then he came to realize he didn't want to punch them, but to do...well other things with his hands.

"Soooo, you ever have a crush?"

Steve let out a bark of laughter so loud it startled Eddie.

"What are you serious?"

"I-yes? What? Is it so ridiculous?"

"Eddie I-", Steve cut himself off and looked him in the eyes. "You asked me that question and you really don't know?"

"Is it a sensitive topic?" Eddie went on ahead and stuffed a handful of fries in his mouth before he stuck his foot in it.

"No, it's just, you of all people asking me that." Steve put a hand to his mouth and looked out the window and Eddie felt like he was missing something.

"So was there ever anyone?"

Steve turned back towards him. "Was...and is."

"Well shit, don't leave me hangin'."

"Are we doing girl talk or something now?", Steve grinned.

"I know for a fact you and Bucks talk about the girls she likes. Why can't you talk to a fellow queer about boys?"

"I've talked to Argyle and Jonathan about it", Steve shrugged.

Now that got Eddie raring. Jonathan he could understand. But he just met Argyle!

"Okay, you gotta tell me. It can be either the 'was' or the 'is' but I need to know who caught the eye of the Hair."

Steve laughed again, this time bending over. "Eye of the Hair sounds like one of your dungeon things."

"Don't try and distract me with DnD, Steve. Spill."

"Okay, okay. Let's talk about this is."

Eddie was torn. On the one hand, he really did want to know who Steve was crushing on. On the other hand, if he knew the dude what was stopping him from going over to his house and busting his nose?

"So, he's our age. Went to Hawkins High-"

"Wow that really narrows it down."

"He and I were in different cliques. Didn't hang out a lot until he started hangin around my kids."

Eddie let out a snort. "You do remember you didn't actually birth a gaggle of children, right?"

"You wanna hear this or not?"

"Continue."

"Anyway, he's a nerd. Like a huuuge nerd. Like sometimes I can't even believe I like him, but then he...I mean I....it's not like I like him despite his nerdiness. I like that part of him too now."

Eddie began listing the choices. Someone from school, who hung out with the kids? Recent? That could be someone from Hellfire. Kind of think of it, Steve and Jeff have been talking a lot more recently. It was just here or there when Steve was dropping off or picking up kids from meetings but still...

"Can I get a description?"

"What are you? The cops?"

"How dare you!"

"He's got dark hair and dark eyes", Steve conceded with a roll of his eyes.

Fuck it could be Jeff. Okay, okay, he could be supportive. Jeff was a good guy. A great guy. And Jeff would be a lucky son of a bitch to get Steve.

"Son of a bitch", he murmured.

"Hm?"

"Son of a witch, nerd thing", Eddie waved off. "I think you should be able to trust me with his name. I could even maybe hook you two up if I just so happen to know him~"

"You'd hook me up with some guy?", Steve asked.

"I know right, I'm so generous." And maybe if Jeff blew his chance with Steve, he could be there to pick up the pieces. No! Bad Munson! Bad thoughts. Jeff would never hurt Steve and he shouldn't hope for it. But what if it wasn't Jeff?

What if it was some other geek he didn't know? The freshies were into science too. What if it was that chemistry dork Howard?

"Actually, I think I really do need to know who this guy is. Need to be sure he's good enough for you."

Steve smiled in a way that rivaled the sun and Eddie truly felt like a knight in shining armor. He'd protect his princess from any undeserving mouthbreather.

"I think he's more than worthy. And I hope you would agree", Steve said.

"I'll know for sure once I see him." Eddie crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat, already formulating ideas to make this dude wet his pants. "So tell me more about him."

"Okay, we knew of each other for a while, but the first time we officially talked, he attacked me."

"Red flag. No go."

"In his defense, he was on the run from the law", Steve added quickly.

"A criminal? Second red flag."

"Allegedly. And that's big talk comin' from a drug dealer."

"Who you partake with", Eddie reminded him.

"I do. But it's a little less than legal what you do. As is several things both of us have done. I don't think either of us has a high horse to look down on."

Eddie hemmed and hawed before letting out a sigh. "Alright, we'll call that a yellow flag for now. What else?"

"He's just...so different from anyone else I've ever been into, Eds. I'm really into him. Like an embarrassing amount." And now Steve was blushing and Eddie felt jealousy boil in his gut. But he also felt happy that Steve was happy. He could take solace in that. Even if he wanted to deck this guy on principle.

"Do you know if he's like us?"

"Oh, I know", Steve said, putting his elbow on the rest between them and leaning in close. "Wanna know more?"

And fuck his masochistic heart, he did. What could this guy have that he didn't?

After Eddie nodded, Steve continued. "He's larger than life, honestly. In a way I thought I used to be but he's the genuine real deal. He can be kind of a jerk, but it's clear when he cares. And that mouth-"

"Okay! Please stop torturing me and tell me who this guy is so I can decide if I hate him or not!"

Steve was laughing again and as beautiful as it was, Eddie felt like a joke himself.

"If you're gonna start hating yourself then we've got a problem", Steve said.

Eddie jerked around like he was short circuiting as all the pieces came into place. High school, nerd, with the kids, attacked him, running from the law.

"You! You are unbelievable, you know that?"

"That's a new one", Steve was still grinning. "So are you gonna kiss me now? Or are you not worthy?"

They were in a parking lot. In broad daylight. This could be bad. But Eddie was a weak, weak man and his dream boy was asking for a kiss. So he leaned in and obliged. Son of a bitch he was the son of a bitch that caught Steve's eye.

"Well?", Steve asked when they pulled away. "What do you think of the guy I like?"

"I still think you could do better."

#apo writes #fanfiction #stranger things #steddie #jargyle been known about steve's crush #as does robin #dont worry steve's 1st gift to his new bf is some self esteem

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somnambulic-thing · 10 months

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had to think about Eddie seeing the lotr movies again and my hands started moving like on a ouija board. For all my fellow nerds who just want to be silly with Eddie.

"It's so impressive," you say, your mind still busy processing that masterpiece of a movie Eddie and you had just watched on a huge screen with clasped hands and big eyes and uuuuhs and aaaahs and even a few tears. "I want to know how they did all of that shit."

"Yeah, right? The Fellowship was already incredible but this?" Eddie's face is still flushed with giddy excitement, his fingers twitching laced between yours as you walk back to your car.

"The Ents!"

"And Gollum!" he whines like he just had witnessed something divine. "I think Gollum was my favourite thing about this... how do you even do stuff like that?"

"Eerie, right?" you shiver a little thinking back, face lifted to the clear night sky, December air cold on your cheeks and you just think out loud, lost in the moment. "Still like your Gollum more though."

Your arm is pulled back, shoulder straining slightly as Eddie just stops abruptly and spins you around to face him. His lower lip pulled between his teeth he cocks his head and studys your face with a weird expression around his dark eyes.

"What?"

"Just making sure you're not messing with me," he says before pulling you to his chest and into a crushing hug, his face buried in the side of your neck and sighs heavily.

"Ed, are you alright?" you ask, sliding your palms up to his shoulder blades when you think you feel something wet against your skin.

"Totally alright, never been better, uh-hn," Eddie mutters into your hair. Then his voice changes, from soft and deep to a rough and raspy hissing sound. "Eddie just needs a moment with his preciousssss. Nice precious, always soooo good to Eddie."

You shudder and laugh and Eddie pulls away to press a smirking kiss to your lips, swallowing your laughter.

“You’re such a nerd,” you chuckle, your forehead pressed to Eddie’s, hands tangled his hair in the nape of his neck.

“Yes, perhaps, yes,” he stays in his role. “But so is precious.”

“Will Eddie be my guide then? Show me the way home? There I can show Eddie what I got in my pockets.”

Eddie’s eyes widen as a sharp grin spreads over his face before he takes your hand again and yanks you in the direction of your car.

“Bless my bark,” you say in your best Ent-manner. “Not so hasty!”

“We wants it. We needs it,” Eddie quotes directly from the books, words he memorized years ago and will probably never forget. “Must have the precious.”

“Such a nerd,” you chuckle and hurry along.

---

more lotr blurbs

#Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson x Reader #nerds in love #Eddie Munson fluff #shortfic #lotr blurbs #blurb

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whositmcwhatsit · 7 months

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An Enjoyable Slide to Oblivion

Chapter 11: To Know Him is to Love Him

A/N: I'm so sorry to anyone who still enjoys this or even remembers it! I deeply appreciate you taking the time to share it with me. If writing is an act of communication, consider this a love letter from a bruised and broken heart.

Thank you as ever to @thatbanditqueen for supreme alpha services. Grammar fixes, clarification, cheerleading, and tough love, she's got it all.

Gratitude to my fellow Elvis nerds/sister wives: @ellie-24, @be-my-ally, @vintageshanny, @from-memphis-with-love, @missmaywemeetagain, @peskybedtime, @lookingforrainbows for letting me sit by their brilliance and share its reflection.

Previous Chapter

The phone started ringing just as Chancy returned from overseeing a final fitting for a cotillion dress. The mother had made passive aggressive comments throughout about how she hoped it fit, because Chancy’s departure for the tour had meant that there was no time to make any major adjustments before the ball.

Luckily, the girl had not given in to her mother’s sideways criticisms or helpful hints on how to starve herself, so the dress fit perfectly and Chancy was walking across the parking lot of the strip mall, rubbing her cheek muscles to compensate for the fake stretched smile she had to wear, when her assistant Lynette came to her side and said her grandmother was on the phone and it sounded important.

Chancy went straight to the office at the back and snatched up the receiver.

“Grandma?”

“Oh Chancy, there’s a big truck just shown up in the driveway and I… I have no idea where to put it!”

At first, Chancy thought her grandmother was crying and her spine went cold. She had never seen her grandmother cry, not when her own two children, Chancy’s mother and uncle, died far too young, and not even when she fell five years ago and broke her shoulder.

Chancy imagined that whatever had finally managed to make her cry had to be horrific. That was when she realised that Grandma was laughing, in an overwhelmed, slightly hysterical way.

“Where to put what? The truck? Grandma, what’s going on?”

“He already gave me a car, and now this.”

Chancy closed her eyes slowly and nodded to herself. Elvis, of course. Only he could provoke that kind of helpless hysteria in women of all ages.

“What’s he done now?”

“It’s a piano. He bought me a piano.” Right, the birthday present that couldn’t be delivered right away. Because it was a damn piano. “They’re saying they might need to take out the side window to get it in.”

“Get it in where?!”

“Inside the house.” Grandma’s voice sounded far away and Chancy listened to her pleading with the delivery men not to drop whatever they were snatching out of harm’s way.

Chancy rifled through her day planner, but knew that she couldn’t cancel or postpone any of the appointments because most had already been rearranged once when she rushed off to join the tour.

“Uh, will they put the window back once they’ve taken it out?” She could hear Grandma ask the question in the background and a low, rumble of an answer.

“They said they can recommend a carpenter… No, Harold said that he could probably do it as long as they leave the frame intact.”

Chancy massaged her face with her fingertips, trying to breathe out evenly.

“Okay, let them do it,” she sighed. “If- if it doesn’t work out the way Harold hopes, can you get him to make it safe at least, board it over or something? I’ll deal with it later.” She hoped she sounded confident because she had no idea how she would deal with it.

That evening, as her car bounced along the road to her house, Chancy was imagining the entire front façade of her home in rubble at the foot of her porch. She told herself that her grandmother would have probably called her again if that had happened.

At first glance the house looked intact and she let out a shaky sigh of relief. As she climbed from her car, she could hear toneless banging on the keys of a piano. She sighed and climbed the steps of the porch.

Alicia was standing in the doorway of the kitchen across the foyer, a pained smile on her face as she clasped her arms, watching her four-year-old daughter ‘play’ the new piano.

The piano itself was a beauty, a black lacquered upright, far too large for any room in the house, especially the homely living room in which it now stood in the centre.

“Hi, we got a piano now!” Alicia said loudly over the top of the clanging.

“Yeah, I can see- hear that,” Chancy replied, nudging her out of the way so that she could get into the kitchen. Grandma and Ruth were preparing dinner and they smiled back at her as she entered.

“Well, we still have a window,” she observed, “so that’s good!”

“The boys were just wonderful in the end,” Grandma nodded. “They even helped Harold put the window back in. And you have to see the piano, Chancy!” She gripped Chancy’s arm and tugged her back into the living room.

Faye had got bored and was now watching TV on the couch, the sound of clanging replaced by cartoon sound effects. Chancy watched with a faint smile as her grandmother approached the piano, putting her hand reverentially on the lid and patting it gently.

Ever since Chancy could remember Grandma had played the piano at church, not for services, but social events and fundraisers. She couldn’t read music, but she had learnt all her favourite tunes by ear and never seemed to forget how they went. The church piano was a battered, scored, over-varnished instrument that was frequently in need of tuning. This was different.

“I wish I could call and thank him, but I don’t have a number for where to reach him,” Grandma murmured. “Maybe I should send a note. What do you think?”

“A note sounds fine,” Chancy assured her. “We can send it addressed to Charlie or Mr Presley, they’ll make sure he gets it.”

Grandma contemplated her gift a little longer.

“If you speak to him tonight, be sure and tell him thank you for me.”

“Of course, but I don’t think I will. He’s going to the movies.”

Chancy knew this because he had invited her and, when she hesitated, told her to just think about it. Then he got Charlie to call her first thing in the morning as she was leaving for work. She was beginning to feel guilty for continually making Charlie the bearer of bad news, but not guilty enough to go.

Here, now, in the sober clarity of her day-to-day life, Chancy had no intention of walking back into that situation again, no matter how well Elvis kissed. And he kissed very well. Which was why she was flagging after working on two hours of sleep. And that was just the physical repercussions of a relatively mild evening with Elvis. No, she couldn’t live like this, any entanglement with him was out of the question.

“I can’t believe you’re not going,” Alicia said, shaking her head as they ate dinner in the kitchen. “What if he meets someone at the movie theatre?”

Chancy gave her a knowing look. “I have no doubt that he will. He could meet a new girl sitting in the chair at the dentist, Ally, he’s Elvis!”

“And that doesn’t bother you? I saw the way you two were last night. Something happened on that tour, you don’t even have to tell me that.”

Chancy pulled a face and looked sideways at Grandma and Faye, trying to convey ‘shut up’ and ‘I will cut your hair in your sleep if you don’t stop talking’ with just her tired eyes.

“I’m telling you right now, the best thing that could happen for both of us is that he meets another girl at the movies tonight, okay?” She pushed away her plate. “I’m tired, I’m turning in early.”

Brushing her teeth, Chancy glared at her reflection in the mirror with its curlers, scarf and comfy brushed cotton nightdress. She knew was making the right choice taking care of herself and thinking of the future. Because whatever being around Elvis brought: excitement, extreme emotions of all kinds, and so much pleasure, it did not bring a future. She was too much of a grown up now to live the way he always had, immersed in the moment with any consequences a problem to be faced (avoided) tomorrow.

They had left things relatively friendly the night before. Hopefully, after some time, everything would go back to normal and she could return to her habit of intermittently showing up in the outer circle without being dragged too far into his orbit. Until then, she had to be strong and stay away.

Several hours later, Chancy was snatched from a dream about pianos raining from the sky by her sister grabbing her by the headscarf and whispering in a terrifying harsh voice that she had to get up right now!

“What’s going on?!” She shot up, imagining fire, burglars or sickness, wiping the drool from the corner of her mouth.

“Elvis! Is downstairs!” Alicia hissed. “He just showed up out of nowhere! I look a mess and I just ran upstairs. You need to go down. Chancy!”

There was a long beat while Chancy’s body registered that there was no threat and stopped pumping her full of adrenaline, only to then realise that there was a fight or flight scenario of a different kind and release more panic in her bloodstream.

“Elvis is here?”

“Yes! C’mon, I left Grandma down there on her own with him and the guys.”

“Why’d you leave him?! You know he could just decide to walk on up here by himself! Dammit!” Chancy tugged off her scarf and stumbled out of bed as she yanked out the large curlers, as well as a fair amount of her own hair.

Alicia darted off to her own room to try and make herself more presentable, while Chancy threw off her nightdress and pulled on an A-line minidress, trying to brush her hair and apply eye make up at the same time.

Tugging on some underwear, she hastily brushed her teeth again and padded across the hallway to the top of the stairs. To her left she could hear Alicia blow-drying her hair. Faye’s door stood open as well. It looked as though Elvis’ arrival had managed to wake everyone apart from her; she wondered what that said about her.

As she tempered her speed to at least pretend to be casual while she descended the stairs, the sound of the piano began to resonate through the creaking old house. Not Faye’s inexperienced clanging this time, but the measured and careful tones of someone who drew such overwhelming joy from the keys that they had to touch them sparingly.

As soon as she heard voices begin harmonising on Peace in the Valley while Grandma played, Chancy sank down to peer through the bannisters. Any irritation she felt at being woken at- she checked the hall clock- 1AM- dissipated at the sound.

Elvis was leaning into the lower notes like he always did on this song and it made her stomach clench as she focused on his voice over the others. It was magic, the things he could do to her with just his voice alone. She rubbed her arms to stop the goosebumps from tingling and then wrapped them around her legs as she crouched on the stairs like a child sneaking out of bed to spy on an adult party.

From her position, she could see only his back clad in a black three-quarter length coat and the bluish gloss of his hair in the lamplight as he leant on the top of the piano, looking down at Grandma.

What was he doing here? He was supposed to be at the movies falling in love with some young girl with endless legs and large, admiring eyes. She had been torturing herself with that image for most of the evening, but he never did what he was supposed to do!

Almost as if he could hear her thinking this nonsensical rant, he whirled round and leant forward so that he could see her through the doorway of the living room. His eyes obscured by his sunglasses, his cheeks brimmed and a radiant grin slid across his face as he caught her peeking through the bars of the bannisters.

He left Charlie and the others to finish the song and walked slowly across to the staircase, his footsteps alternately clomping and muffled as he crossed the floorboards scattered with an assortment of rugs.

“Naw, you weren’t really in bed,” he commented with playful derision. “What are you, eighty years old?!”

Chancy opened her eyes wide and gestured to her grandmother, who was busy accompanying Charlie during his solo. Elvis ducked his head as he laughed and pulled a sheepish face, reaching out through the bannisters to wrap his long fingers around her bare ankle.

“Well, c’mon down now, baby, we gotta try out your present.”

“Grandma’s present,” she reminded him.

“S’what I meant.” He tugged at her leg, eyebrows raising and head tilting as the motion straightened her knee and made her skirt slide up. She pretended to frown and yanked down the hem, tugging her ankle free as she stood up.

“I thought you were going to the movies,” she said, hopping down the last step.

Barefoot, she had to bend her neck to look up at him, which was when she felt the errant curler poke her in the back of the neck. Casually, she slid her hand under her hair and attempted to work it out without ripping out half her scalp.

“Yeah, we were, but I got to wondering if those guys followed through on their promise to deliver that big old sonovabitch and since I didn’t get no phone call or nothing, I figured we should check up on it.”

“Grandma doesn’t have your number,” she replied, deliberately misunderstanding his subtext. “She was going to write you a thank you letter. She’s really thrilled with the piano, though, Elvis. It was a great gift, so thoughtful.”

He shrugged and nodded diffidently, eyes boring into her even through his dark lenses and his front teeth worrying at his ripe bottom lip.

Under the guise of stretching, she gave the curler at her nape a tug and tried not to grimace at the burning in her scalp.

“Well, that’s good,” he murmured. “I guess we should go rescue her from Charlie’s yodelling.”

As he turned, she gave the plastic roll one final sharp yank and yelped a little as she palmed it, tossing it into the drawer of a side table while she followed him back into the living room.

“Oh my, I didn’t offer you all anything to drink!” Grandma was saying, rising from the piano bench and smoothing down her skirt. “Can I fix you some sweet tea, or perhaps you’d prefer something hot? For your throat, Elvis?”

Chancy’s eyes narrowed and she turned to him as he politely and sweetly accepted her grandmother’s offer of sweet tea.

“You’re sick?”

“Just a cold, honey,” he demurred and, now that he said it, she could hear a slight grate to his voice like he was pushing through sounding hoarse, straining his voice. Which was fine, it was not like he relied on it for his livelihood or anything.

“You do sound sick,” she returned, reaching up to touch his forehead. He ducked away before she could register anything other than he was sweating and even hotter than normal. “Elvis, I think you have a fever.”

“What a lovely way to burn,” he sang back at her, before snorting. “Didn’t even know I was gonna do that, man, guess I’m brainwashed that way now.” The guys laughed uproariously on cue.

“I’m serious, you should be in bed.”

“That an invitation, honey?” She tried to fight the smile his saucy twitch of the eyebrow brought out in her, but it was impossible, and her attempt to evade the arms he wrapped around her waist was cosmetic at best. She wasn’t about to embarrass him in front of his guys and he knew that.

“Resting!” she insisted. She turned to Charlie, Sonny and the new guy, Dave, who were grinning at their carrying on like kids who had schemed to get their mom and dad back together. “And you should know better than letting him gallivant all over town when he’s sick!”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Elvis cried, giving her a sharp tap on the butt, “what’s with all this talk of lettin’?! Nobody ‘lets’ me do nothin’. I make the damn decisions round here. Anyway, honey, what was I s’posed to do, stay home with Charlie playing nurse?” He curled his lip to show how appealing that sounded to him and Chancy gave in and laughed, enjoying his self-satisfied smirk in response.

Alicia appeared in the doorway, the knowing, triumphant look in her eye telling Chancy that she knew she had been onto something during dinner.

At the same time, Grandma returned with drinks, so Chancy broke free of Elvis’ arms and moved until there was a gleaming new piano between them.

In spite of his obviously sore throat, Elvis encouraged Grandma to run through her repertoire on the piano, gamely singing along to everything she could recall. When she made an off-hand comment about wanting to learn how to play her favourite song, ‘Reach out to Jesus’, from his last gospel album, Elvis immediately dropped down onto the bench beside her and started working through the chords, humming the melody under his breath so that she could hear the changes. He was so gentle and patient as Grandma faltered, giving her reassuring nods as she frowned over the keys and glanced up questioningly at him.

“That’s it, Grammy, you got it. Hold on now, you missed- Naw, that’s okay, it sounds better your way anyway.”

Chancy watched the two of them, both so serious and quiet in the eye of the larger hurricane swirling around them. Faye was thrilled to be out of bed in the middle of the night and was running loops around the house, bringing every toy she owned to Sonny, who had made the mistake of pretending to be interested in her doll. With much the same energy, Charlie was doing his whole corny vaudeville routine for Alicia, who was too polite not to laugh. Dave just sat looking slightly bemused by it all.

When Elvis excused himself to go to the bathroom, Charlie broke off from hassling Alicia and turned to Chancy.

“Hey, darlin’, could I grab a coke or somethin’ to run out to the kid in the car?”

“What kid?” she asked.

Charlie looked immediately awkward, realising he had said something he was not supposed to. When he didn’t answer, Chancy marched into the hall and swept aside the lace curtain at the window. Despite the heavy darkness, she could make out the silhouette of someone sitting in the backseat of the moonlit car.

“Who is that?” she asked over her shoulder. “Is that, is that Ricky? Y’all left him out in the car?!”

“Well, we cracked a window,” Charlie shrugged, trying to play it off as a joke. “Look, don’t say nothing, Chance, you know how he gets about you and the kid.”

Chancy raised an eyebrow and shook her head. “Well, why’d he even bring him if he wasn’t going to let him come in?”

“We none of us knew we were heading out here when we got in the car, darlin’.” He explained that Elvis had been edgy all evening and kept putting off leaving for the movies. When they finally set off for the theatre, he had abruptly pulled away without a word from the cavalcade of cars filled with the guys, girls and fans and drove off at speed, eventually arriving at her place.

“Well, he seems okay now,” she commented, as he walked back into the room, laughing softly at a comment Alicia made, and looking immensely comfortable bracketed at the piano by her sister and grandmother.

“Yeah, now,” Charlie replied pointedly. She thought she heard an entire novel in that answer.

After surreptitiously passing Charlie a bottle of pepsi and some of chips to deliver to the outcast, Chancy returned to the living to to find Elvis crouched by their shelving unit with Faye next to him in her Sesame Street pyjamas, flicking through their records. Chancy shot Alicia a curious look.

“Elvis offered to autograph Grandma’s copy of his album,” Alicia explained.

Chancy watched him with his record in his hand, still rifling through the row, tilting his head to read the artists and titles.

Somewhere in the background, Grandma was talking about making everyone sandwiches, finally hearing the clarion call of her natural instinct to stuff everyone full of food at every opportunity.

Charlie made some tired old joke that Alicia started to laugh at, but lost energy for halfway through.

“Hey Grammy, you want me to put ‘love Elvis’ on this? I don’t want to start no rumours and get you caught up in those movie magazines,” Elvis asked, his increasingly croaky voice almost cracking as he raised it to be heard in the kitchen.

“Well, that would give those biddies down at the sewing circle something to gossip about!” Grandma called back.

Alicia and Chancy pretended to look shocked as they always did whenever their grandmother said anything less than saintly.

“Grandma!” Alicia cried. “Those ladies are your friends!”

“’All my love’, I got ya,” Elvis said with a laugh, scribbling away.

“You’re going to be the talk of the town, Grandma,” Chancy warned.

Finishing his autograph with a flourish, Elvis hesitated as he returned the record to the shelf.

“It’s looking pretty lonely there, man,” he observed with a self-deprecating huff of a laugh. “All by itself.”

Chancy’s cheeks flushed with warmth as she heard the hurt buried beneath his light tone.

“Well, these are mainly Alicia’s records. She’s not known for her good taste.” His mouth quirked at the corner, but he didn’t say anything, rising to his feet with a grunt as Grandma announced the food was ready.

In spite of the usual Elvis-induced chaos, the atmosphere in the kitchen felt stilted and subdued to Chancy.

Grandma had performed her usual magic and filled the table with food like a souped-up Julia Child. Charlie busied himself narrating as he constructed his sandwich, breaking into loud laughter at his own jokes. Faye, overtired and overexcited, bounced in her chair at having the opportunity to eat Grandma’s leftover coconut cake at nearly 3 a.m., while Grandma and Alicia fussed over the guys, making sure everyone had enough to eat.

All of Chancy’s senses were tuned to Elvis. What had he called it? Communicating soul to soul? She didn’t even have to try, her body naturally filtered out everyone else. It always had to some degree, but, before, she was at least able to function normally when he wasn't around. Now, when she couldn’t hear and feel him, everything around her stayed muted and cold.

Elvis was uncharacteristically quiet while they were eating and, even more out of character, only picked at his food. This of course alerted Grandma that something was off, and she asked if he needed some Tylenol for his throat and fever.

Chancy coughed to cover her snort at the thought of his body deigning to notice the presence of Tylenol.

He gave her grandmother a small smile and assured her he was fine. His gravelly voice contested that, but no one was inclined to argue with him.

After a few more minutes, he excused himself to get some air and stepped out the back door.

Chancy tried to play it cool, pushing her food in swirling patterns around her plate, but the sound of someone sharply clearing their throat made her glance up. She blinked at the sight of so many eyes pinned on her.

“I guess I’ll, uh, just-” She winced as the feet of her chair screeched against the linoleum.

Night was beginning to loosen its grip outside. The sky showed faint signs of light in silvery blue veins against the black-grey velvet and katydids were screeching against the rustling whisper of the trees moving slightly in the faint breeze. An owl hooted as she scanned the sagging porch and only caught sight of Elvis after the moonlight hit one of his rings as he reached up to adjust his glasses.

“Hey.”

“Hi.” It was a full sentence, an instruction and an explanation, all in one word.

Chancy hesitated, looking back at the door and wondering if she should give him space, but then she reflected that someone wouldn’t show up at another person’s house in the middle of the night looking for solitude.

Scrunching her toes against the damp of the old boards beneath her bare feet, she joined him at the railing, looking out at the garden. Back when the house had been a working farm, everything that could be seen from the porch had belonged to the farmers that lived in this house. Now, the black silhouetted tree line of oaks and maples marked their boundary, enclosing the yellowing lawn.

“You know, the phrase ‘the still of the night’ has never made any sense to me,” she remarked, as a bullfrog made itself known. “There’s nothing still or quiet about it.”

“Well, not with you around,” he murmured, so softly that he was almost drowned out by the ambient orchestra.

She nodded, chewing on her lips, before turning back towards the house.

“No, wait, I was kidding, honey, I was kidding. Don’t go.” He grabbed her wrist a little too tightly and tugged her to his side. He leant against her slightly as he threaded his fingers between hers and squeezed, turning back to the dark.

Her first instinct always was to solve problems and the urge to ask him what was wrong nagged and worried at her, twisting her gut as she soaked in the sound of his sigh and the pressure of his coat against her bare arm. She knew he wouldn’t tell her if directly questioned. Rushed or confronted, he always withdrew like a ghost hiding behind scripted words and the crooked smile he wore like armour.

“You shouldn’t live out here, it ain’t safe.”

Ten minutes of thick silence had passed between them, leaning into each other as they listened to the birds tweeting as they gradually woke. It was a jarring thing for him to say.

“I don’t know, it’s a good neighbourhood. Nothing to worry about really apart from the odd rock ‘n’ roll singer roaming around in the middle of the night.”

He nudged his shoulder down at an angle against hers and twitched his cheek in a faint recognition of the joke. She suppressed a worried sigh and frowned at the trees.

“Honey, if you only knew the kind of sickos and crazies that wander around this county. Hell, I was just talking to Sheriff Nixon just the other day, and it’s like goddamn Sodom and Gomorrah out there. Y-you think all the freaks and the rapists and all those motherfuckers are in the city, but that ain’t the case. Just ain’t. And I think about you, and-and Grammy and Lil’ Alicia with her baby. I bet you ain’t even got a gun in this old place, have you?”

“We do just fine,” she assured him. “Ray, our neighbour- that’s his barn there through the trees- he’s a deputy himself and we have his number if there’s any trouble. And we got Ed and Marie who own the farm just down the road. They own more guns than you do, probably. We’re fine, honey, really.”

He just shook his head vehemently, biting back whatever heated retort had been burning on his tongue.

Charlie had been right, it was a strange mood he was in, as many emotions roiling within it as colours on an oil slick, all sliding together and gleaming at different points. He wiped some sweat from his forehead and released her hand to snatch off his sunglasses and rub his eyes.

“Man, I ain’t feelin' worth a damn,” he muttered. “My goddamn eyes are killin’ me, my head, throat… I’m just fallin’ apart, Cha Cha, everything’s goin’ to hell in a fuckin’ handbasket.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and winced, while she reached up to rub his back.

“You need to be resting,” she said gently. “You push yourself too hard.”

“You tell that to- to the old man, and goddamn RCA Victor. They’re on at me day and night to get down to the studio and cut some third rate shit records that ain’t nobody gonna wanna hear. I tell ya, it’s like walking on broken glass going into those damn sessions. You should hear some of the crap they try and palm off on me, like they think I ain’t got standards, like it don’t matter.” He wiped some sweat-damp hair away from his face. “Hell, maybe they’re right. Maybe no one’d buy it regardless.”

His chest was heaving as he flexed his long fingers, clenching his hands into fists and releasing them just like she had seen him do countless times backstage when he was overwhelmed and overexcited.

His mood and his suffering was almost corporeal, like a case of spikes enclosing him. She could feel the prickles on her skin, niggling and digging into her. She wouldn’t have been surprised to see blood.

Wordlessly, she stopped rubbing circles into his back and moved her hand around to take his, giving it a tug.

“I wanna show you something.”

Almost like a lightning strike, the dark expression on his face was instantly superseded by a grin, though it didn’t reach his slightly puffy eyes, wreathed in dark shadows.

“Well, I want you to show me something too, baby,” he returned smoothly as they stepped back into the now empty kitchen, “but I was trying to be a gentleman about it.”

She screwed up her face, feeling it throbbing as she blushed and that seemed to cheer him up further because he smirked down at her and stepped into her personal space. She could feel the warmth radiating from him, like standing too close to the sun.

“Stop that!” she murmured with no force behind it.

“Stop what?” he asked softly, breathing hot against her ear. She nudged him with her elbow and then immediately felt bad because he was sick and grabbed his arm as he pretended to stagger.

“C’mon.” She nodded towards the stairs and did a quick survey to make sure that no one could see them.

“It ain’t my fault, Grammy,” he said softly. “She ain’t giving me a choice… I tried to say no!”

“Stop!” Her words quivered as she laughed.

As much as he was fooling around, she did feel nervous fluttering in her tummy as she led him upstairs as if she was a teenager trying to sneak around under Grandma’s nose. He didn’t help at all; she could have sworn he was purposely stomping on the stairs to get everyone’s attention.

Elvis had to duck to get through the low doorway of her bedroom and, combined with the extra width added to his shoulders by the half cape of his black coat, his presence almost engulfed the room. As he drew closer to her, his gaze fixed on her mouth and she almost forgot why she had invited him up there in the first place.

“Wait a minute.” She put her palm against his chest, the wool of his coat scratchy against her skin. Who else but Elvis would wear a wool coat indoors in the summer? She shook her head in answer to her thought.

“What? You’re the one who keeps draggin’ me into your bedroom,” he remarked, dropping down onto her unmade bed and reclining back onto his elbows. “Can’t blame a fella for thinking it was for a good reason.” He pulled his sunglasses down his nose and wriggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Chancy snorted as she crouched down beneath the cabinet holding her record player.

“Maybe I just wanted your autograph too,” she shrugged, gesturing to the cupboard she had just opened. He sat back up wearily, frowning, and came to kneel next to her. She watched him run a bejewelled finger over her large collection of his records.

There was a long pause.

“I was only kidding, you don’t really have to auto-” She let out a muffled yelp as he turned and kissed her hard, knocking her onto her butt. His hand clasping the back of her neck and head was the only thing that kept her upright. She grabbed hold of the lapels of his coat though just in case.

“Honey, you know you didn’t have to pay for those, I could've got ‘em for you for free,” he said dryly, when they breathlessly broke apart. “I know some people.”

“Aw, if only I’d known that sooner.”

“Hell, maybe it’s better this way. With you buying ‘em it probably doubles my numbers.”

Chancy frowned as he nuzzled her neck, feeling his dark mood lapping yet again at the edges of their conversation. She worried that teasing him would only speed up the tide and she wished that she knew the real cause so that she could navigate with more confidence. He might just be feeling sorry for himself because he was under the weather, but equally, something soul-destroying could have happened and he could be trying to bear its weight until he sank beneath the burden.

She reached up and cupped his cheek with her hand, her thumb running down the crease from the side of his nose towards his mouth, which was unusually closed and not smiling. He tightened one side of his lips, but it was almost an impersonation of his usual crooked smile, and she felt vaguely insulted that he thought she of all people would be fooled.

She scouted around for something to say, some way to usher him out of his gloom without accidentally rousing his temper, the triggers hidden better than landmines.

“You know, I didn’t really invite you up here just to see my record collection.”

“Why, Cha Cha, you naughty lil girl. I tell ya, I’m shocked.” He was saying all the right words, but the energy and humour were missing. They were like empty clothes flapping on the line, imitating movement.

“I also wanted to-” She shrugged and started to unfasten a slightly strained button on his coat.

“Hey,” he said quickly, almost under his breath, “what are we doing, what’s goin’ on?” His large hands clasped her shoulders and he looked down, watching her work.

“You know, I’d never question your outfit choice, honey, you always look so good, but you’re making me feel hot looking at you. Let’s just take this coat off.” She had only managed to undo three buttons, but she could feel him tensing, ready to withdraw.

“C’mon now,” she teased gently. “I’m probably not even the first girl to try and rip your clothes off this week, am I right?”

“Well, you sure are the most determined,” he murmured, as she sped up.

“The prettiest!” she tssked. “You’re supposed to say I’m the prettiest, Elvis! Jeez! I’m gonna let you off for that just because you’re sick, but my gosh!” He huffed a laugh and cleared his aching throat.

“It goes without sayin’,” he replied with a tone of playful irritation. She lifted his coat off one shoulder and moved around to do the same to the other, folding it over her arms.

“What does?”

“That you’re the prettiest.” He sighed as he dropped onto the end of her bed.

“Ha, I knew you were in there somewhere.” She took in his blue silk shirt and how the back was almost soaked through with sweat, the front taut against his round stomach. She turned on the lazy overhead fan and gave him a helpless shrug. “It’s better than nothing, I guess.”

The look he gave her pierced right through her, his eyes narrowed and twinkling, cheekbones arcing and his lips giving just a glimpse of his teeth. It sent her temperature shooting up in spite of the fan.

“Get over here,” he instructed, his hoarse voice making it sound almost like a growl. “C’mere woman.”

She approached, still clutching his coat to her front. He took it from her and tossed it onto her chair. Then he wrapped his fingers around her legs just above her knees and started to lift her skirt. She squealed quietly and feinted a move away.

“What? I thought we were taking it in turns?!”

“I was trying to help you cool off!” she pointed out, her face aching where she was trying to not smile.

“W-well, me too,” he insisted dryly. He hooked a finger under her hem at the front and started to lift it.

“Elvis!” she couldn’t help the giggle that tremored through his name. A lot of it was nervous relief that the airless gloom was beginning to lift, and that she could reach him again. He quickly snatched the material of her skirt in his fist and pulled it back down.

“Naw, I’ll be good,” he said, putting on his baby voice. “Promise.”

He tugged on her skirt, pulling her towards him until his forehead was flush against her sternum.

Letting out a loud sigh with a hint of a wheeze to it, he lifted his arms and wrapped them around her hips, turning his head and pressing his cheek against her stomach. She could feel the heat of his skin through the thin cotton.

“You’re not falling asleep there, are you?” she teased gently, smoothing down his hair.

“Mmm, wish I could.” He looked up at her, his eyes watery and bloodshot but bluer than usual, digging his chin just above her belly button. “You know I wouldn’t mind staying in bed if I had a nurse like you, baby.”

“I’d be a terrible nurse,” she returned, shaking her head. “Almost as bad as you would be as a patient.”

“I don’t know, maybe we should get you a uniform, just to be sure…” He snickered into her stomach as she blushed. She wanted to hold him that way for as long as she could, knowing that he was safe from the problems and worries that consumed him, the humiliation and harm that preyed on him, and most importantly safe from his own dark, self-destructive urges.

Again, the atmosphere was muted when the group finally converged again to leave just as dawn was spilling over the horizon. This time, it was a feeling of peace rather than suffocation.

Elvis had insisted on wrapping himself back up in the big wool coat and he held Chancy’s hand as he said goodbye to Alicia who was cradling a limp, sleeping Faye in her arms and Grandma who, despite her age, looked more spry and alert than the lot of them. Dawn was her time.

Standing on the porch, the guys climbing into the car, and her family drifting back indoors, he turned to her and she clasped his arms as they enfolded her.

“I hope you can get some rest,” she murmured, “and you feel better soon.”

He nodded and leant down, finally pressing his lips against hers. She jerked back and he hiccupped a painful, hoarse laugh. “Well, maybe we can both be patients together.”

“Always scheming!” she sighed, before drawing back in and giving him a long kiss on the cheek, tasting the salt of him. It made her mouth water.

“I’ll see ya,” he murmured, looking reluctant as he stepped away from her and heavily descended the porch steps. She stood and watched the car turn in the drive and slowly navigate the rutted road.

“No, there’s nothing going on there at all,” Alicia remarked loudly from the hall.

Chancy sighed and rubbed her gritty eyes.

“I guess there’s not really any point going to bed,” she remarked, pointedly ignoring her sister. “There’s only an hour until my alarm.”

Alicia groaned loudly as she stomped up the stairs and Chancy snorted as she heard her apologise to Faye and try to hush her back to sleep.

Just over an hour after she watched the Lincoln leave, the phone rang.

“So, I’ve been thinking about how you don’t feel safe at your house.” His voice didn’t sound as scratchy now, but maybe that was because it was hidden behind the slur.

“I don’t?” she asked, frowning at her reflection as she applied her make-up for work.

“There’s these guys I know, police officers, they, uh, do security sometimes for me on the side. I’m gonna send a couple out your way to keep an eye on everyone. They’re good guys, the best.”

“Well, that’s really thoughtful of you, honey, really, but I don’t-”

“And that way you don’t have to worry while you’re gone.”

“I’m- Where am I going?” She felt completely off-kilter in this conversation.

“I gotta do this recording session, baby, they’re on my back about it. The Colonel's talking broken contracts and lawsuits. They’re doing my damn head in. And, you know, I figure I might need a nurse to take care of me when I get sick of the bullshit…” She could almost hear him doing his little boy smile into the phone, the one that always got him what he wanted.

“Elvis, I can’t go- I just got back-”

“Wait a minute, wait a minute,” he snapped thickly and loudly over the top of her. “Wait, before you come up with all your bullshit excuses, ‘cause I got ‘em to agree to me recording here in Memphis. You don’t need to go nowhere, just stay here. Hell, you can even work during the day if you want. I just- I need you here. I-It’s better when you’re here, honey.”

Elvis was a smart man, he wasn’t delegating to Charlie anymore. She thought about how she would work the logistics of working during the day and being with him at night. She considered that the commute to her storefront was shorter from Graceland than her house. She thought about that gutting ache she had only just managed to shift after her ignominious departure from the tour. And then she thought about his pale, feverish face gazing up at her just that morning.

“I can come stay for the recording sessions,” she said, closing her eyes so she couldn’t see her reflection in the mirror.

“Thank you, baby.” He mumbled, breathing heavy into the receiver. “I knew you wouldn’t let me down.” She listened as she heard a faint snore and realised he had fallen asleep.

“Sweet dreams, honey,” she whispered.

Tag List: Please let me know if you want to be added or removed from the tag list. And any scream from the void is always cherished.

@richardslady121, @dkayfixates, @c-rosenn, @fallinlovewithurlove, @notstefaniepresley, @heartbrake-hotel , @freudianslumber , @bbrtt777, @18lkpeters , @prompted-wordsmith . @literally-just-elvis-fics , @eliseinmemphis . @lookingforrainbows , @stylespresleyhearted , @amydarcimarie , @returntopresley , @savedrebelcreation, @lettersfromvenus , @littlehoneyposts

#elvis presley #70s elvis #elvis fanfic #elvis x oc #elvis fanfiction #elvis presley fanfic #an enjoyable slide to oblivion #whositmcwhatsit

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seat-safety-switch · 11 months

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Nobody deserves to live in a polluted, super-stinky world. It’s just unfair. The worst part of it all is that this inconvenient airborne particulate, water filled with microplastics, and heavy metal toxicity wasn’t even caused by something fun. If you’re coughing up black tire dust from doing a cool burnout, then at least you can say that you had a great day out with your fellow car nerds ruining some tires. If you’re hacking up a lung because of some obscure stage of some catalyzation process at an industrial yard 2000 miles away, well, maybe they had fun, but you certainly are not. And we’re all about fun here.

Being paid at least partially by the local oil and gas monopolies, the government was looking for a reason to get themselves out of this mess while continuing to get their metaphorical beaks wet. The solution: carbon capture. In theory, this sounds like a good idea. You know how when you run a bedroom fan in a dusty room, the fan gets all dusty? What if that fan were really huge, and instead of dust, it’s atmospheric carbon dioxide? We could trap it in a box and then bury that box somewhere deep inside the earth. Now we have something to fund, and the oil industry can keep making as big of a mess as they want in the meantime, because we have the solution to their problems on the way. Thanks, eggheads!

Now, some people get morally outraged when they see an obvious scam like this being perpetrated. And, I am sure, somewhere deep down below, I also am. When I see a scam, though, I wonder how I can get in on this. If I could build my own carbon capture machine, even if it didn’t work, then the government and industry would shower me with billions of dollars. Everyone involved would pretend that it works great and just needs to be “scaled up,” and I could spend my autumn years doing gold-plated cocaine out of a human skull on my private island.

I would like to introduce to them, and of course to you, my loyal reader, the Reverse Burnout. Through the use of industrial adhesives, I have made a drag radial so sticky, so absolutely over-gripped, that it pulls the floating black death right out of the air and embeds it into the asphalt (or concrete, if you’re at an old-school track) permanently. It doesn’t do it very much, and the amount of gas that it burns to do each drag pass is well in excess of the pollution absorbed, but I think we can all agree that I had fun. And that is an improvement over the regular state of things.

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coramatus · 2 years

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“Listen, listen! I wanna be a cop. Crowd boos. But only for TRAIN CRIMES! Crowd goes fucking nuts!”

-Alice Caldwell-Kelly, Well There’s Your Problem, Episode 87: UCSB Student Housing Cube, 4:58

AU where Emmet and Ingo host a podcast about trains, Pokémon battles, and sometimes Pokémon battles on trains.

Ingo does most of the talking, usually in-depth, thoughtful, and passionate info dumping.

When Emmet pipes up he’s half insightful, half agent of utter chaos.

Ingo: *detailed analysis of train systems and how they go wrong*

Emmet: *dick jokes*

Emmet occasionally issues actionable threats to troll reviewers that Ingo has to bleep out.

There was intense arguing over whether to keep it to mature audiences and allow for cursing. Emmet won for the adult rating with the argument that it would be funny for either of them to state verrry sternly: “If you are under the legal adult age, cease listening and switch tracks right now. Where are your parents?”

They frequently have guests. Elesa shows up the most and is the honorary third host. They mainly nerd out about Pokémon. To their chagrin, Elesa is popular with listeners because she likes blitzing them with relentless puns and pushes their buttons by deliberately getting train facts wrong.

Sometimes big name trainers guest host. Sometimes fellow Gear Station employees join in. Every time devolves into complete nonsense.

Frequent Pokémon bloopers where they’ll interrupt somehow. Common culprits are Archeops screaming and surprise Joltiks.

It is the nerdiest freaking podcast but they have quite a sizable audience.

They’ve turned down doing ads because this whole thing is just an excuse to talk about trains and Pokémon with absolutely no one to stop them.

Extra:

“Train good, car bad.”

(P.S. Listen to Well There’s Your Problem, a podcast about engineering disasters. It has slides.)

#pokemon #pokemon black and white #pokemon black 2 and white 2 #submas #subway boss emmet #subway boss ingo #coramatus's artwork #i have no idea what theyd even name it #train talk? like car talk but for trains?#¯\ (ツ) /¯

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x0stormie0x · 1 year

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If yo're still taking questions, how would Lightning and Jackson reveal their relationship, or what if they got caught by paparazzis when they're on a date?

(Love your stories btw, they are the bomb and your arts made me smile so hard ❤)

Awwwhh thank you so much anon!! That's so sweet of you to say 🥹🥹 so sorry this took a bit to get too! :] on with the question!

- Big racing day, probably the finals or a Piston-Cup type event. So there would be a lot of people and heavily aired.

- Lightning and Cruz swap mentor roles every race (sometimes they race together, but on this particular day, Lightning was in the stands)

- He loves to route for Jackson, even when he works for Cruz, he'd be happy seeing either of them win.

- Jackson wasn't having a particularly great day as his agent had called him to explain that if he didn't win this race he'd be cut for a whole season. So Storm naturally had a lot of pressure.

- Paparazzi was always suspicious about them, and they normally would have to hide in eachothers trailer to talk to one another.

- but on this particular day, they talked out in the open. Jackson had been having a panic attack, due to the fact that his job was now on the line. And Lightning tried to talk to him, guide him through it.

- A singular paparazzi had caught them, and after the two broke they stopped to ask Lightning questions as to why he had been talking to Storm.

- "He was upset, even if he's my rival, its still upsetting too see a fellow racers mental health down".

- Paparazzi thought nothing of it. Not that they hadn't eventually wanted to tell the world but, they wanted to do it at a good time.

- Race had started and things were not off too a good start, Lightning and Jackson felt their worries grow since Jackson was in 4th.

- Cruz eventually catches on to Lightnings constant pondering and unresponsive moments. She had asked him what was wrong but he didn't really reply.

- Jackson ended up winning the race, and the two were shocked and relieved beyond compare. So much so that as soon as Jackson crossed the finish line, he slammed his breaks, getting out of the car.

- His team and everyone else were confused, normally after wins he'd wave to the fans or blow some smoke, but this time he was running to someone. Lightning..

- It was so quick, so immediate, but he ran to Lightning, jumping into his arms as he caught him. Lightning was grinning like a nerd, and Jackson was in tears. The two couldn't help it, and they shared the most passionate kiss.

- The crowd and paparazzi went WILD. As well as the lovers teams. Some people booed, but it was nothing in comparison to the amounts of cheers.

- Ray and Gale were happily smiling at eachother, even though they pretty much knew.

- Needless too say? It was unplanned, but it turned out so much better then they had imagined.

- For a few months they got slurs and hate speech thrown at them, but they helped eachother grow past it. They just enjoyed the love from their fans, and often got referred too as 'LightningStorm' by their fans!!

Tysm for the ask!! <33 I'm still taking asks so don't feel shy too spam me questions!! <33 I love answering them!

#cars fandom #jackson storm #lightning mcqueen #cars 3 #pixar cars #lightningstorm #stormies headcanons;

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lcvernat · 2 years

Text

Insecurities | Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Request: hello you are one of my fave authors here i super love your works. can i req for a r x natasha where reader has this visual disorder (like her eyes' grade was 1000 and has astigmatism) thats why reader were wearing eye glasses for a long time then this moment when the team was asking for a picture reader takes off her glasses bc she had low self esteem, nat comforts her. thank you and i'll patiently wait for this ❤️

Word Count: 1.6k

Content Warnings: angst with happy ending, low self-esteem, reader is very insecure, some strong language, natasha is the best

A/N: i am so sorry anon this took so long but i hope you like it! fellow glasses wearers rise! this honestly lowkey turned into a bit of a vent but we aren't going to talk about that. i finally got another fic out after months i'm so sorry, but i think i've managed to get passed the writers block and i have motivation to write now! so send in requests or whatever, and expect more fics.

You had always been insecure. Ever since you were young, you hadn’t ever found yourself liking the way you look. Sometimes it even felt like your insecurities had been engrained into your DNA, so you’d always feel this way. You had always had terrible vision, and have been wearing glasses for practically your entire life, which is likely one of the main causes of your low self esteem.

It wasn’t as if glasses were the beauty standard either. Any time you opened a magazine, or looked on Instagram, none of the celebrities or models you saw wore glasses. If, by chance, a character in a film did wear glasses, they were mainly seen as the nerdy, geeky, weird and annoying outcast. None of the popular or 'beautiful' characters ever wore glasses. It sucked. Big time.

Despite that, you’d have to say it’s quite ironic how you were more than likely seen as a nerd in high school. You were extraordinarily smart, exceeding in all of your classes and being the top of the class in each one almost effortlessly. So, it was to no one’s surprise that you were smart enough to get a job as a SHIELD agent. You weren’t a field agent and you didn’t do hand to hand combat - your vision and glasses would’ve caused too much problems (contacts were too expensive, and you didn’t much like them either) - so you were one of the agents who hacked into databases and gathered intel.

At SHIELD is where you met who would unknowingly become your future girlfriend, Natasha Romanoff. To be completely honest, sometimes you sit and wonder how you had managed to make her fall for you. You certainly weren’t anything extraordinary, you were average (or less than average, in your opinion) but her? Natasha Romanoff had to be the most gorgeous, angelic and sweetest person you had ever met. You had fallen for her as soon as her eyes met yours.

Fellow SHIELD agents had warned you about the Black Widow; ‘she’s incredibly intimidating’, ‘someone once said she made multiple men piss themselves out of fear’, ‘she’s so scary, I would hate to get on her bad side’. While that part is, admittedly, true, under her hard exterior you saw someone who loved her family and friends unequivocally and would not hesitate to die protecting them.

She was the best girlfriend you could’ve ever asked for. She showered you with love and gifts that you didn’t need, she knew exactly how to cheer you up and she remembered the little things that you couldn’t even remember telling her. But you didn’t deserve her. She deserved better. You saw the way people looked at you, ‘why is she with them? what does she see in them?’, whether out of jealousy or spite, it didn’t matter, because you couldn’t help but believe them. No matter how many times Natasha tells you differently.

Dating an Avenger meant that you usually got to join in when the team have ‘fun days’, and you’ve practically been dubbed Honorary Avenger at this point. The team had the day off and had so decided to take a trip to an amusement park. You had split up into separate cars. In your one; Sam was driving, Steve was shotgun, you, Natasha and Peter were in the back. Peter had complained he’d been shoved in this car so ‘the adults could babysit him even though he’s old enough to take care of himself’.

It was going great, music was blasting, everyone was laughing and telling jokes and Nat had packed some snacks for everyone. That is, until it wasn’t going so great for you.

“Isn’t that right, specky?” Steve guffawed after telling a story about some form of shenanigans you had got up to one night when you were drunk. You couldn’t remember it, but it was the nickname that had made your smile falter and your voice quieten to a whisper. Even though you had been called it as a joke for most of your life, and you knew Steve only meant it as such, it also targeted your biggest insecurity. Jokes that target insecurities aren’t funny, at least to you.

Natasha had instantly noticed your change in demeanour. She put a comforting arm around your shoulder and turned her gaze momentarily to glare at Steve, “Steve,” she said, her tone stern. The atmosphere in the car immediately tensed, and Sam quietly turned the music down.

“What?” Steve asked, “It was just a joke!”

“That wasn’t fun-“

You interrupted Natasha, “It’s fine, really,”

She looked at you, and you could tell she didn’t believe you. You squeezed her free hand reassuringly, “I promise,” she still wasn’t convinced, but dropped it either way. You were quiet for the rest of the car ride.

Upon arrival at the amusement park, Tony had gathered the entire team in for a group photo. He had asked a random woman to take the photo, who looked equally starstruck and scared to be in front of and taking a photo of the Avengers.

"Y/N, you should take your glasses off!" Tony suggested as he handed the woman his phone and got into line.

Your head whipped towards him, "What?"

He shrugged nonchalantly, "It's just a suggestion, we've never saw you without them before,"

You merely nodded as you felt Natasha's hand squeeze yours, you glanced at her to find her looking at you with a soft smile on her face. You knew each other well enough that sometimes conversation wasn't needed, and you knew she was telling you to only take them off if you were comfortable.

You drew in a deep breath before carefully taking off your glasses, your vision immediately going blurry - it was impossible for you to see anything around you - but at least it was only for the photo. You placed them gently into your pocket. Natasha squeezed your hand again at the same time the woman said, "Say cheese!"

The only sound that filled your ears was all of the Avengers and you saying a chorus of 'Cheese!'. You had a big smile on your face, even though deep inside you your insecurities were gnawing away at you. Tony ran to check the photo as you put your glasses back on, following the rest of the team to see it.

They all tried to gather around Tony, crowding over a tiny phone to see a tiny photo - which obviously wasn't working - so Tony resorted to passing the phone to each person so everyone could get a chance to see it clearly. When it was your turn, your eyes immediately went to you, and you had to stifle a sigh. Once again, you saw nothing worth being called beautiful. Natasha beside you was radiant, the massive smile she had on was one of pure happiness due to being surrounded by the people she loved. She was glowing. You looked dull beside her. You quickly gave the phone to Peter, who was standing beside you, wanting to see it.

Natasha instantly knew something was wrong. "Go on ahead, we'll catch up," she said to the rest of the team who walked away, giving you two some privacy.

"Y/N," she said, standing in front of you.

You avoided her gaze, "Hm?"

The redhead let out a sigh before cupping your cheeks, forcing your gaze to focus on her, "You know I love you, right?"

You didn't answer, so she continued, "You're beautiful," you scoffed but before you could say anything she cut in, "no, really, you're gorgeous. Not just outside, but inside. You have such a beautiful soul. You are so kind to everyone, and everyone who knows you absolutely adores you. Trust me, I've heard the team and SHIELD agents talk about how amazing you are. I'm not bullshitting you. You are so smart, honestly the most intelligent person I've ever met and on top of that you are so pretty," she could tell you didn't believe her, but she pushed on, "listen to me, you only see yourself when your posing for photos, you don't see yourself when you have a genuine, real smile on your face, or when you're laughing at something funny, or when you have a spark in your eye because you're doing something you love. But I do. I see you in those rare moments, and in those moments I swear to you I think you must have been an angel sent down from heaven. It was only inevitable that I was going to fall for you."

By the end of Natasha's rant, tears had sprung to your eyes. She said it with so much ferocity, so much conviction, that you couldn't help but believe her.

"Plus," she kissed the tip of your nose, "I think your glasses are adorable. You might hate them, but some people love them enough to buy fake glasses when they don't even need them,"

She had a point. You smiled at her and she returned the smile, her hand moving down to grab yours. You entwined your hands together, "I love you," you said, placing a chaste kiss on her temple.

"I love you most, now let's go catch up with the team,"

You both walked hand in hand, shortly catching up with the team as they hadn't made it very far (Thor saw a cotton candy stand and insisted everyone get one). You were feeling a lot better than you had 10 minutes ago, the words Natasha said to you repeating in your head, squashing the insecurities that had plagued your mind today. Sometimes you wondered how you ended up with such an incredible girlfriend.

#natasha romanoff x reader #black widow x reader #natasha romanoff fanfiction #natasha romanoff #black widow #black widow imagine #black widow x you #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x you #black widow x y/n #natasha x y/n

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aka-trashrat · 7 months

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tell me more about this mereel fellow. where does he come from. what’s his story.

No art for this one, I'm afraid.

Mereel Skirata and his brothers are from the Star Wars Legends book Series Republic Commando by Karen Traviss. I simply play with them like Barbie dolls, and them being book-only characters, there aren't many illustrations of the boys to work off of.

You can find a fairly succinct introduction to Mereel on his Wookieepedia entry, but essentially he and his five brothers were the Proof of Concept batch of clones that the Kaminoans developed before the Alpha-Class. There were 12 total, but only 6 of them ended up being viable thanks to the "extreme" gene tweaking the Kaminoan Geneticists did to the embryos.

They were slated for "reconditioning" which at the time meant termination, but were saved by a Mandalorian training sergeant named Kal Skirata. The boys were then raised to be "instant death on legs" (I love that term lol) and eventually into stellar Black Ops CLONINT units.

There is a lot more to it, and I do recommend reading the book series. KT did a good job of delivering some interesting characters, even with the limited POVs and some other stuff that didn't age well.

What Mereel's role is in the whole Null-Class unit is a bit vague in my opinion, but it sounds like he mostly rolls around as a subterfuge specialist and a bit (understatement) of a Genetic Engineering Nerd. He likes fast cars, attractive women, and candy—just like any other virile young man set loose on the world, lol.

His favourite place to meet contacts and hang out are in seedy cantinas, where I reckon he's a hell of a sabacc player, though we never got to see much of his adventures in the novels. Most of our experiences of Mereel are on the side, and from the lens of an outsider. He's like some massive, looming leviathan underneath the surface of a still lake. I want so badly to explore how fucked up he is inside, because we catch glimpses of it but it's never quite enough.

I NEED to know!!

Long post. I can write for days about Mereel.

#mereel skirata #possum answers #null arcs #repcomm #i have repcomm brainrot #seriously i can talk forever about Mereel #and the other Null ARCs #i've been on a Prudii kick lately too #so stay tuned for that lmfao!

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stranger-rants · 1 year

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The Duffers seem to think that being a nerd makes you oppressed somehow. To the point, it looks like that's The Thing that makes you oppressed. I mean Lucas' being black and facing racism is portrayed as an afterthought. The situation that played out in S4 seemed like more of nerds versus jocks situation but in Lucas' case, there are more layers to that situation. First of all, he is a black kid, not just an 'oppressed' nerd. Like, people say that the duffers aimed for realism in portraying Will's 'unrequited' crush but where is the realism exactly? If realism is their strong part and if they truly aimed at portraying minority characters facing oppression of some sort, they would have actually given Lucas' character (and Will's) better portrayals of how they face racism and homophobia respectively.

It doesn't take a genius to think that Lucas would want to stop being a target of bullying not just bc he's a nerd, but bc he already gets targeted due to his race. Also him joining a basketball club would make it easier for him to get a scholarship for college aside from stopping his bullying. It is already hard to get one especially if you're a black boy in 80's. Heck, he made a friendship with another fellow black kid in the town; Patrick. And they didn't even do anything about that either. Imagine they bonded over their situation, and if Lucas talked about wanting to stop his bullying bc he's already targeted bc of his race (the writers literally made the bullies call him Midnight in S1... c'mon now), and he wants to go to the college to get further education and that's why he also wanted to try his chance at the basketball club aside from stopping his bullying.

See? That's what's 'realism'. If the duffers truly aimed at portraying such nuanced situations, we would have seen that. But Lucas is made out to be a 'villain' once again, and is pitted against the fan fav character Eddie, so you automatically are pushed to disagree with Lucas already as he's treated as some sort of a traitor for doing the things he likes. We are meant to ignore his real struggles and the oppression he faces and why it makes sense for him to stop his bullying specifically.

And Mike and Dustin not even getting Lucas' point is irritating. Are we really supposed to believe these are real friends? Their comments like ''have it ever occurred to you that we do not want to be popular?'' to Lucas.... yeah dude ofc you wouldn't want to be 'popular' or want to seem 'normal'. You are a white boy with a privileged family background while your friend is literally a black kid in 80's. Lucas's book touched on this topic which I really liked, but the show almost completely misses the point and it is frustrating.

The way they position Lucas is weird.

When Billy pushed him, that was really his first interaction with Billy. Yeah, Billy chased down the boys with his car, but again... this positions the boys as the bullied and Billy the Bully. Why? ... because they are 'nerds.' So when Lucas gets pushed against the wall, what is he supposed to think?

Then when a lynch mob descends on Hawkins, it is again to punish the 'nerds' for being 'different.' But. Lucas is the one to get cornered and almost killed for it... What is he supposed to think and feel? That he is being targeted because he's a nerd? His friends don't get nearly the same treatment.

Lucas is repeatedly targeted in this show, as well as repeatedly villainized for going against the whims of his friends and for what? If this show is celebrating those who are 'different,' why does it alienate Lucas so much and then punish him for feeling alienated by his very friends... who are white.

I firmly believe Lucas joining the team wasn't just about him wanting to be popular. I think his friends have been pushing him away. I think Lucas needed to be around people who understood him, because clearly his friends don't. Then he's the bad guy for wanting acceptance and validation?

Even in 'nerd' spaces, there is hierarchy. There is privilege. There is racism. Then when black or queer or female nerds are largely outnumbered by white cisgender straight males in nerdy spaces, that inequality is taken as proof that they don't belong which is how Lucas must feel.

All of this despite the fact that a lot of "nerd culture" has been built up by people of color, women, and queer people. I have heard good things about the book, but again it is written by a black author. That makes all the difference. The Duffers as white nerds can't be trusted with these narratives.

They make all these false equivalences between being bullied for liking nerdy things with racism and homophobia and systematic abuse and it's that which makes their writing weaker. It's no surprise The Wheelers are beloved by them while characters like Lucas continually get sidelined.

#asks

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streamafterlaughter · 2 years

Text

a/n: I have a thing for the confession-of-feelings trope i guess! Enjoy the gang gossiping to you about your crush on Eddie.

p.s. the song in this story doesn’t exist, or.. it does but like. i wrote it. and i didn’t write any music for it. so it’s just lyrics i made up lol.

Telephone

gif: here

summary: You’re on the Party’s taxi driver today, tasked with picking Dustin up from school, and Steve and Robin up from Family Video. On your way from Hawkins High, Dustin confides a secret about his best friend, and your classmate, Eddie Munson.

warnings: swearing, mutual pining, gossip i guess? but p much pure fluff! may write a dirtier part ii, but this will also work as a stand alone!

pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader, gn!reader, reader is an ‘86 senior with Eddie and Robin, Robin tested out of classes early so she’s at work don’t worry about that.

Disclaimer: I do not give permission to have my work reposted on any other site. Reblogs are welcome, but please inform me if you see my work anywhere except my blog

___

“HENDERSON! You have thirty seconds to get in this car or I’m driving away!!” You’re the chauffeur for the Hellfire club boys this week, after hesitantly volunteering your newly gained freedom. Being a senior had its perks, including getting out of classes two weeks earlier than everyone else. Today, though, you were only in charge of one: Dustin Henderson.

Dustin was probably your favorite of the Hellfire freshmen. He was funny, kind, and had no problem roasting the absolute hell out of you if it was called for. Though you loved his friendliness, it put you at the disadvantage of having to wait for him to finish talking to his clan of nerds. Currently, he’s talking to Hellfire’s Dungeon Master, and, fingers crossed, one of your fellow ‘86 graduates: Eddie Munson.

Eddie was probably the furthest thing from your friend as someone in your shared friend group. Besides sitting in front of him in O'Donnell's English class, and getting your ass kicked by his campaigns, the only interactions you've had with him are when you drop the boys at his trailer, or when he picks them up from your house. It feels a lot more like co parenting than it does like being real friends.

Eddie had a reputation in Hawkins, being “the freak” of the high school, and probably the entire town. You didn’t understand why, though, beyond him being a fantasy game player, and a metalhead. Still, though, you played DnD and listened to Black Sabbath every now and then, and you didn’t see nearly as much misplaced hatred as Eddie. Regardless, you didn’t see Eddie as a freak. In fact, you thought he was a pretty decent, nice guy. It didn’t hurt that he was also extremely attractive.

You had sworn never to admit that last part to anyone, though. Eddie was still a guy, and high school guys, even ones held back for two extra years, usually went for more conventionally attractive people. People like Chrissy Cunningham… or Steve Harrington. Though you sometimes fantasized about yourself and Eddie together, you never act on it, too worried about what it would mean for your dynamic.

“My bad! The Dungeon Master was summoning me.”

“You know you don’t have to comply outside DnD, right?” You joke with a breathless Dustin as he flings his backpack into your backseat. “Wipe your feet.”

Dustin claps his shoes together before bringing them into your car, something you appreciate, since he’s ignored you before. It is strange, though, for Dustin not to be joking around.

“Where to?” you turn to him as he fastens his seatbelt.

“Mind if we just drive for a bit, I need to talk to you.”

You pause. Dustin has never confided to you, having both Steve and Eddie on call at all times. This can’t be good, you think. “How about we go park in the lot while we wait for Steve and Robin?” You offer, and Dustin nods.

You peel out of the driveway, cranking one of your favorite tapes: Parallel Lines by Blondie. The two of you jam for a bit, and you can't help feeling proud as Dustin sings the words to One Way Or Another with you. Eddie hasn’t corrupted him beyond recognition just yet.

When you reach the parking lot of Family Video, you turn the volume down to a whisper, unbuckle your belt and turn to Dustin. “What’s up, kid?” you say, leaning your elbow on the center console.

“Right, well,” Dustin mirrors your posture, crossing his legs like he’s about to share the juiciest gossip of the school year. “I have information that might be of use to you.” He states, and doesn’t elaborate.

You raise an eyebrow. “Go on…”

“Well, you know how you haven’t really dated anyone since you and that guy didn’t work out sophomore year?”

Where the hell was he going with this? “Yeah?”

“And you know how you’re pretty easy to read as a human?”

“Can you arrive at the point, please?” His cryptic behavior was irritating you.

“Fine! Fine, fine. I am on a mission to pass on some information to you, receive corresponding information in return, and report back to my original messenger. Do you accept these conditions as I have relayed them to you?” He is completely serious.

“Yes! Jesus, Henderson, you’re gonna bore me to tears!”

“I’m sorry! I’m actually kind of rooting for this to work out, I’m worried about explaining it wrong. Basically…” Dustin pauses, searching for the right words, “Eddie is being an absolute pussy and using me to talk to do the talking. He wants to, well, he was wondering what you think of him, I guess.”

That was probably the last thing on your list of expected information. In fact, it wasn't even on your list! It was pages below your list, in a different notebook, that you lost in a fire. You had been trying to keep Eddie off your mind, for the sake of the party. You knew how these things went, when two people in the same club, or on the same team, went out, ruining the dynamic for everyone. “I guess, I don’t really think about him.” You feign ignorance, hoping Dustin doesn’t see right through you.

Of course he does. “I already know that’s a goddamn lie.” He crosses his arms over his chest and stares you down.

“If you think I’m lying, why even bother asking me?”

“I don’t think you’re lying. I know you’re lying.” Dustin’s face twists into a smug grin, and you close your eyes to remind yourself this is a child, and you cannot beat his ass right now.

“Okay, say I’m not lying. How do you know that?” You wonder if Eddie was able to tell you liked him, too. Although, if he did know, why would he be sending a 14 year old to do his talking for him?

“The way you look at him when we’re playing DnD. The only other time I’ve seen someone look at someone else like that was when Lucas met Max. That shit can't be interpreted as anything else.”

You blush with embarrassment. You had no idea anyone was able to clock your crush on Eddie, let alone his closest friend. In fact, you thought you’d gotten away with it, all four years of high school. “Does Eddie know I do that?”

“I don’t think so, he’s usually too into the game. But he does the same thing to you.”

Now you’re sure he’s lying. “What are you talking about?”

“He likes to watch you draw. You’ll be sketching at lunch and I catch him watching your hands. I told him he needs to do something about it before I did on his behalf.” Dustin shakes his head. “And, he talks about you all the time. ‘Did you see them smile at me this morning? Did you see the way they looked at me at lunch?’ Cheesy shit like that. It’s baffling how clueless you both are.”

You sit with this new information for a bit. Eddie watches you draw, something you do only for yourself. He gushes about you to your mutual friends. Your stomach flips at the thought of Eddie being smitten by you. “He‘s never tried anything, though?” You’re poking feeble holes in Dustin’s argument, trying not to get your hopes up.

“Why would he do that? He doesn’t want you to know he's into you, he’s terrified of you.”

You sigh, feeling defeated and still very unsure what to do next. “Did he tell you to talk to me?”

“Kinda, he more implied that he wanted me to. He said he was scared of ruining your friendship or something stupid. This way, if you don’t feel the same way— even though anyone with eyes can see that you do— he doesn’t have to face rejection directly. He’s afraid he’s not good enough for you. He only told me that because he was drunk”

“Sounds kinda cowardly.” You admit. Mostly, you’re hurt Eddie thinks you’d reject him. The two of you have so much in common, and most of the time you spend together is really enjoyable, when he’s not kicking your ass at Dungeons.

“I told him that! Hold on, the babysitters’ club has arrived.”

You turn to face the building, where Robin and Steve have ditched their green vests for the day, and are strolling to your car. “Hey, thanks for the ride, I still have no idea what’s wrong with my car.” Steve climbs into the backseat as Robin is kicking Dustin out of the shotgun.

“Glad you’re all here! We have a debate that needs settling.” Dustin announces, adjusting in the backseat next to Steve, shoving his discarded backpack to the floor.

“I can only imagine what this is about.” Robin flips the sun visor down to rub the excess mascara off her cheeks as she sighs, awaiting yet another ridiculous Dustin Henderson exclamation.

“Does Eddie have feelings for anyone?” Is all Dustin says. Immediately, Robin whips her head to face the boys, prolonging eye contact with Steve to exchange a secret look. Steve looks back with a shrug, his lips pursed like he has no idea what Dustin’s talking about.

“I thought we all knew that.” Steve says, looking from Dustin, then to Robin, before focusing on you. “He’s liked you since freshman year.”

Robin smacks her forehead. “Dingus, that information is confidential! He told us specifically not to share that with anyone, especially with the subject— not object because obviously they’re not an object— of his desire.” Robin turns to you. “He’s joking.” She pats your shoulder, a fake smile plastered on her freckled face.

“Dustin asked!” Steve argues, and Dustin puts his hand out to stop the two from continuing.

“I did ask! Because I know he has feelings. And I know he has them for this specific person,” he gestures to you, “and I know this same person likes him back. I just need more witnesses to support my argument!”

“Oh, yeah, in that case,” Robin turns to look at you, grabbing your hands in hers. “Eddie has big feelings for you, my friend. And believe it or not, you have them for him, too.”

“I do not!” You pull your hands away to cover your face in shame. Into your palms, you mumble, “Maybe a little.”

“A little?! I have caught you staring at his hands. You got it bad.” Steve is poking the top of your head over the car seat, and you respond by banging your head on the steering wheel and releasing a small beep from your car. A honk of defeat. You hear Dustin giggle.

“So what do I do?” You ask the floor of the car, not able to look at your friends.

“Do you people have to be told everything?” Dustin groans, fed up with you. “You tell him! You run into his arms like a lovesick puppy and take off into the sunset! Leave this horrible little town that despises you both and start a new life somewhere fun, like LA or New York!” Dustin is on a roll now, flailing his hands above his head, inches from destroying Steve’s coif of hair.

“Fine. If I’m gonna do any of that, you guys are coming with me!” With this, you peel out of the parking lot, and you’re on your way to Forest Hills.

—-

At Eddie’s trailer, you park behind his beat up van and drag yourself out of the driver’s seat. Dustin has gathered at your side, while Robin and Steve rest on the trunk of your car. “Can we wait out here?” Steve asks, “I don’t think Eddie will take us sharing this information very well.”

“You’re scared of Eddie?” Dustin laughs at Steve, who responds by putting his hands on his hips. “I am not… scared of Eddie. I am intimidated by Eddie. I prefer not to have conflict with Eddie.”

“Sure, totally.” Dustin rolls his eyes, and Robin lets out a snicker. “You’re afraid of Eddie.” She laughs, hiding her head in Steve’s shoulder.

“Anyway,” Dustin turns back to you. “Go in there, and pour your goddamn heart out. If it doesn’t go well, we’ll all be right here.”

You hesitate. “That’s the thing though, will you? You were all friends with Eddie before me, I don’t want to ruin our friendships!” You spill to your friends, and Dustin pulls you into a hug.

“We’re not going anywhere! If it doesn’t work out, we’ll figure that part out after.” It’s almost like you had nothing to worry about in the first place. Stupid.

“In all honesty, I don’t think we’ll have to worry about it.” Steve joins the hug, followed by Robin, and you feel the safest you’ve felt in Hawkins in a long time.

“Okay, guys. Wish me luck. I’m goin’ in.”

—-

Eddie answers the door after the third knock, pulling back when he meets your eyes. “Hey, you.” He smiles, then turns his focus to the guys behind you. “You all just gonna stand there?”

Dustin nods. “We’re here as back up, don’t worry about it!”

Eddie cocks his eyebrow at your friends, standing surrounded by your car waiting for the train wreck to start.

“Can we talk inside?” You ask feebly, wanting to be out of earshot when you inevitably embarrass yourself.

“Of course, yeah, come in.” Eddie moves to let you in, and closes the door behind you. When you enter, you take in your surroundings. You’ve never been to Eddie’s trailer before, and you weren’t sure what to expect. Vintage mugs hang on nails in the wall, there’s clutter everywhere and it’s dark. It feels cozy to you, very lived in. “What’s up?” Eddie breaks your train of thought. You turn to where he stands behind you, leaning against the doorframe of the front room.

You blow the air completely from your lungs, then start. “I have received some intel, and you’re the only one who can tell me if it’s good intel or if I’m being messed with.” You’re being vague on purpose, dreading the idea of coming forward with your feelings. You know, full well, that Dustin could be very wrong.

“And what’s that?” Eddie crosses his arms, sticking a hand under each armpit as if to hide them.

“See, that’s the thing. I’m embarrassed to tell you what I was told, lest it be incorrect.”

“Well, I can’t really tell you if it’s wrong if I don't know what it is.” Eddie smirks, and you lose your breath for half a second. His full attention is on you, something you’ve never actually witnessed before, and every muscle in your body tenses. You haven’t let yourself think about Eddie outside of his role as Dungeon Master, so hanging out with him like this is a completely new feeling. And you could sense this feeling would become addictive.

“There’s the rub.” You shrug, and fling yourself face first onto Eddie’s couch. With your face in the cushion, you gather your strength to mumble, “Dustin said you have feelings for me.” You don’t check to see if he heard you, but you feel him sit on the edge of the couch, right beside your waist.

“Sorry, what? You’re gonna need to be a little louder, sweetheart.” Eddie laughs. The words rush through you. He’s never called you that before.

You groan, pushing yourself into a sitting position beside your friend. “I said,” you pause, taking a deep breath in to get all the words out at once. “Dustin-said-you-have-feelings-for-me.” You finally meet Eddie’s eyes, and he’s looking at you with what can only be described as an annoyed confusion.

“Henderson.” He grumbles to himself, shaking his wispy hair around his face. “When did he tell you that?”

“In the car, like 20 minutes ago.”

Eddie pauses, a smile spreading across his blushing face. “And you had to know so badly that you came right here?” Eddie teases, eating up everything you’re saying.

“Technically, we picked up Robin and Steve first, but yes. Otherwise it was gonna gnaw at me forever.”

“Before I give you an answer, I wanna know why you care so much.”

You huff, annoyed at the circles these boys have thrown you in today. First, Dustin’s vagueness, and now, Eddie’s inability to answer your questions. “Because I am terrified of ruining things.” You admit to Eddie, resting your head in your hands once again.

“And my having feelings for you… would ruin things?”

“No! No, that isn’t what I’m saying at all.”

“Then what, exactly, are you saying?”

“I’m saying we have a good thing, Munson, and if you don’t actually feel that way about me, then I’m gonna be seriously embarrassed feeling that way about you.”

Eddie pauses, replacing his smile with a look of shock. “You have feelings for me?!”

You look up at him then, meeting his big brown eyes, taking in his expression of genuine confusion. “Oops.”

“Good thing there’s nothing for you to worry about, then.” he says it quietly, but you’re sure you've heard him correctly.

You tilt your at Eddie, who’s suddenly very fascinated by his own hands. He fidgets with his rings while bouncing his knee enough to shake the coffee table. “You’re gonna have to be a little louder, sweetheart.” You can't help but tease him, feeling a spark of confidence with his confession.

“I said,” Eddie meets your look, dropping his hands into his lap. “that you have nothing to worry about.” Your face splits into a smile, and he mirrors your expression. “I have had feelings for you since the day you joined Hellfire as a freshman. I don't believe for one second that you were that oblivious for four years.”

You roll your eyes. “I was more wrapped up in shielding myself from my own feelings. Forgive me for not immediately thinking the most charismatic person I hang out with would be into me.” You say bitterly, scooting your body away from his. “I don’t see myself as someone worth being the object of affection.”

He pulls you back to him before you can get away. “You’re forgiven.” He kisses your cheek quickly. “And very, very mistaken about that. I’m sure Henderson had tons to say on my behalf. The way I stare at you, watch you draw at lunch, talk about how pretty you always look, writing songs about you…” He trails off, and you bring your eyes back to his face.

“What was that last part?” You try to hide how good it makes you feel, knowing how unbearable he must have made Dustin’s life, talking about you constantly. No wonder he took it upon himself to spill the beans.

“What, how pretty you are? You’re awfully pretty. Not just in the literal sense, but also definitely in the literal sense-“

“No, dumbass, you write songs about me?” You cut off his admittedly sweet tangent. It’s hard to comprehend someone spending enough time thinking about you to write songs. Plural.

“They’re not… good songs, they’re barely playable, but I needed a way to get the thoughts out that didn’t include sharing them with a literal child.” Eddie’s face is beet read, but he’s still looking into your eyes. You imagine you’re about the same shade he is by now.

“You know I'm gonna make you play for me now, right?”

“If it meant you'd hang around longer, i’d get a whole orchestra in here.”

You smile as the silence grows, neither of you risking to fill it with more confessions right away. “Hold on.” you say, getting off the couch. You open the front door to your friends, still idling by your car, shooting the shit. “You guys can take off, the key’s in the ignition. I’ll catch a ride,” you glance at Eddie, who nods his head in agreement. “Thank you, so much.” Dustin's face lights up as you say this, looking only at him. “Get the kid back home by nine, or I won’t hear the end of it from Claudia!” You send them off with a wave, and you think you can hear Dustin exclaiming, “I knew it! Hallelujah!” You giggle to yourself as you close the door again. “Looks like I got time.” you say, turning around to find Eddie isn’t behind you anymore.

Confused, you walk back towards his room, where he sits on the end of his bed with his guitar in his lap. You take a mental picture, loving how focused he looks now, his fingers pressed lightly against the guitar neck, his other hand dancing on the strings, brow furrowed in concentration.

He looks up at you then, plastering his goofy smile across his face. “Glad you could stay.”

“Yeah, Harrington’s taking over, I'm sure it’ll cost me though.” You hop onto the bed next to him, crossing your legs in your lap. “So, Munson, you gotta song you wanna show me?”

Eddie laughs, shaking his head. “Want to is a stretch, but I guess I brought it up.” He positions his fingers and begins to play. It’s a pretty melody, uncharacteristically soft for Eddie’s usual style. He plays metal, and you’ve seen him in that element, going to his shows without him knowing, standing in the back by the bar. Your train of thought shatters, though, when he starts singing. It’s barely audible, his voice low and gravelly from all the screaming he usually does. Your breathing stops as you listen.

I’ve been told that time heals us,

the same way we say liquor does.

I wanted to believe that,

but that isn’t how this goes.

When I met you I was empty,

like I’d dug myself a hole,

but you were there with shovels,

and protection from the cold.

every day forever,

i’d wondered what i’d done,

to make you drag me out of there,

and convince me not to run.

You call me on the telephone,

and i’d try not to share

all the secrets i’ve kept hidden,

as you’re talkin’ in my ear

The song goes on, and you feel the tears in your eyes start to spill. You’ve never had someone feel strongly enough to write you a love letter, let alone one set to music and performed for you. It was overwhelming, how suddenly you could see the way this boy, your friend, felt about you. It hurt, almost, to know you could have made a move at any point in the last four years, and he would’ve dropped it all for you. In another way, you’re glad you didn’t, you couldn’t imagine how distracted you’d make him, and Eddie deserved to graduate.

Eddie finishes the song with one finalized strum, and you can tell he’s crying too. You hold out your hand to him, and he rests his cheek in your palm. “I don’t know what to say.” He glances up at you, awaiting your response.

“You’ve said enough. You’ve said so much more than enough. Oh my god, Eddie.” You use your free hand to wipe your fallen tears, and Eddie brings up his other hand to help you. “That is the kindest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

“I couldn’t get you out of my head. I still can’t.” He moves his face closer to yours, your hand still holding his cheek. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you since we met. In fact you’ve definitely driven me insane.”

“Believe it or not, sweet boy, the feeling is mutual.” You’ve tired of the back and forth, despite how much you love making Eddie blush. You take his face in both your hands, finally pulling him into your kiss. Immediately, Eddie abandons the guitar on his bed, one hand against your face, the other flying to your waist. He kisses you desperately, the one thing he’d been wanting to do since the first time you sat at his lunch table.

Masterlist

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #stranger things #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fic #eddie munson #fluff #personal #willow writes sins

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