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#unique and quirky blanket

thatsexcpisces · 5 months

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Gifts to get the moon signs for Christmas 🎄🤍

°❆⛄⋆.ೃ࿔🦌*:･❄️ °❆⛄⋆.ೃ࿔🦌*:･❄️ °❆⛄⋆.ೃ࿔🦌*:･❄️

Aries moon: clothing and items for the gym and working out, bold accessories that make them stand out, hats, earrings, tickets or a class for their favorite activity or take them on any fun adventure, new car (if you wanna go big), fancy mirrors, watch, strong fragrance, trendy gadgets

Taurus moon: jewelry, luxuriously-presented items, something cozy and for the home, a spa day voucher, soft blanket, cute slippers, beauty products, skin and self care items

Gemini moon: cute journals to write down their thoughts, entertaining card/games (ex. cards against humanity), stationary, technology, thought-provoking gifts, their favorite book collections.

Cancer moon: cooking set, something sentimental and hand-made (ex. a scrapbook of all your memories together), a comfy robe to lounge in, recipe book, candles and stuff for the home

Leo moon: gifts related to their interests whether musical or hobbies in general. ex., if they love lana del rey get them a vinyl collection of her music or a poster of her. designer clothing, something extravagant and unique, tickets to their favorite musical or show.

Virgo moon: organized home planners, plants, cookbook, antiques, cleaning gadgets, home fragrances, books on getting organized and lifestyle advice, gift cards for home goods stores or their fav stores in general, maybe even get them a small pet to keep company!

Libra moon: designer handbags, books on fashion, good-quality perfumes, beauty items, fancy soaps, silk scarves or pajama sets, luxury brand shoes, fancy decorations for their living space

Scorpio moons: spiritual gifts, something personal from you, leather/ dark colored clothing, pampering gifts, marble items, brand sunglasses, ruled by Pluto; get them an elegant version of whatever they generally like; if they like gold jewelry, get them a carefully-selected box of fancy gold rings or something like that.

Sagittarius moons: gifts brought from a foreign country, something unique, plane tickets to a country they’ve always wanted to go to, travel picture book to record their journeys, good- quality camera, laptop, money, practical gifts

Capricorn moons: expensive things (I mean it’s a Capricorn moon here 💀), money in an envelope, gift cards to high-end stores, good chocolates, wine, and other specialty gourmet items, functional coffee machine, items to relieve stress (back-massager tool, etc), self-help books

Aquarius moons: technology, new phone, computer, Apple headphones, vintage record player, art materials, something no one else has, something related to their humanitarian or quirky interests, trivia games

Pisces moon: dream journal, thoughtful gifts, paintings, adult coloring books or stuff for arts and crafts, cute headphones, their favorite album and CD’s, something that encourages creativity, collection of bath salts and fragrances, meditation/yoga tools, locket necklace, fluffy blankets and pillows

Thank you for reading hope y’all have a good holiday! 🫶🎁🌟

°❆⛄⋆.ೃ࿔🦌*:･❄️ °❆⛄⋆.ೃ࿔🦌*:･❄️ °❆⛄⋆.ೃ࿔🦌

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moonyswritinq · 1 year

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If you're still taking request and if it's okay could you do smth small ( the format you're more comfortable/in the mood for ) for a male reader in a queerplatonic relationship with Eddie ? Love your writing and thank you !

eddie munson in a queer platonic relationship

❝ HEY, HANDSOME ❞

SYNOPSIS ➢ Headcanons for Eddie Munson in a queer platonic relationship with you.

PAIRING ➢ eddie munson x male reader

CONTENT WARNING ➢ swearing, fluff, mentions of weed and alcohol

WORD COUNT ➢ 1.1 k

AUTHORS NOTE ➢ thank you so much for the compliment and for the request, i hope i made it justice! this is written with a male reader in mind, but it can be imagined as gender neutral, as well.

MASTERLIST

You and Eddie first met in class in high school, bumping into each other.

You had noticed him before, with his eccentric persona and unique style of clothing, but had never dared approach him until now. He immediately recognised you, as you stood out from the rest of your peers with a queerness equal to his.

The two of you got to talking and quickly realised you got on well together. You could match his level of quirkiness, retorting quickly with wit and cleverness.

When you went your separate ways, Eddie couldn’t stop thinking about you. He realised he needed to get to know you better.

And so your friendship began, similar to of the falling headfirst into a deep pit without being able to get back out.

You were immediately close to each other, and there was no turning back.

It’s no secret Eddie sucks at the subjects in school and that his grades are all very low, so he’d often beg for your help and tutoring with those puppy eyes of his. You stood no chance of denying him.

Eddie’s an open person and would allow you into all parts of himself — just sort of dumping all of him onto you.

He introduced you to all of his interests at once; his favourite artists and songs; the wonder of D&D roleplaying; him and his bandmates’ band; even teaching you a few things on his guitar.

If you play D&D, you’d sit right next to him at every session, even helping with some campaigns. He loves playing with you. If you don’t play, he’d insist to have you there, still, just to be near you. And if you played any instruments, he’d want you to join his band.

In turn, he will listen to you talking about all your interests with equal enthusiasm, and wanting to be shown all of them.

Eddie will try to remember everything you tell about yourself, storing the information to be able to surprise you with it later. Although his memory would fail him sometimes, the effort was still endearing to you.

The two of you didn’t really define you relationship, making it into something that was not quite romantic but still not strictly friend-like. You enjoyed each other’s company and were happy to leave it at that.

He likes to keep you especially close, just having some sort of physical contact at all possible times. He’s touch deprived, aright?

In public, Eddie will mostly settle for just an arm around you or to lean against you. In private, though, he is much more demanding; wanting to hold your hand, interlock your fingers, almost to the point of cuddling, and tracing his fingers across any tattoos you might have.

When he’s under some sort of influence this is increased tenfold and he would just dump his whole body on you like a weighted blanket, the weight of him a bit suffocating but also comforting.

If he’s too revved up to stay still beside you, he would play-punch you, hopping on light feet, and which would eventually lead to a play-fight. Who’d win depended on how irritated you’d be with him, and if you’d let him win or not.

Eddie likes to argument about things, but in a banter-kind-of-way. Whether it be music, which he’s especially passionate about, or the best ways to get high or drunk. You’d call each other things like fucker, prick, idiot, and twat, but in an endearing way.

He’s a cheeky motherfucker — and he knows you love it though.

Eddie’s favourite thing to spend time with you is to put on some of his favourite music and sing along to it, having a karaoke party all by your own; or to spend a day out, either walking around the woods or driving around in his van; or to get high and just laugh at stupid shit together.

Let’s be honest, everything he does with you is Eddie’s favourite thing. He’s happy to spend any time with you, no matter what you do together.

Eddie would always drag you to his concerts (if you weren’t already part of the band) and you loved to see him perform.

You’d often help with getting him ready, both with preparing his equipment and his outfits.

You introduced him to eyeliner and he’s been obsessed with it ever since. He always gets you to do it for him, straddling his hips to gingerly hold his face as you applied the makeup. He loves the intimacy and how beautiful you make him look.

Your conversations are always interesting, ranging from the silliest things, such as how melons are considered berries, to the important and big things in life, like future plans. Sometimes you’re just quipping back and forth petty retorts, sarcastic and witty with your banter. You’re always entertained in each other’s company.

With how much time the two of you spend together and how you clung to each other, people would often assume you were a couple. You’d just deny them, saying you two are friends, which the rest of your friends rightfully doubted. Or, if they seemed to be having a problem with it, Eddie and you would fuck with them and be even more affectionate with each other.

It didn’t help people’s assumptions either that Eddie loved nicknames. He’d go around addressing you with hot stuff, handsome, good looking, and his favourite, pretty boy.

He’d be in the middle of a band practice, pausing to call to you:

“Hey, handsome, would you kindly turn the speaker up? Can’t even hear my guitar over the drums.”

You’d just nod and comply without a second thought, while the other bandmates stared at the two of you.

“What?” Eddie asked.

“You just called y/n handsome. Is anything going on between you?”

“No? I just stated a fact. Don’t you consider him good looking?”

“Didn’t say that.”

“Yeah? Then there you have it.”

“Stop bullying them, Eddie.”

“What’d you say, hot stuff?”

He’s a prick, and he knows it, by the cheeky grin he always sent you. He loved fucking with people like that, and implying things that weren’t happening, almost like it was a hobby of his. You admired the commitment though.

Sometimes you’d retort with your own flirty nicknames, turning the conversation into a competition of who could out-flirt the other.

At the end of the day, Eddie is glad to have you in his life, always looking forward to the next time you’d see each other.

And he’d often want to go to sleep with you beside him, cuddling or not. Just your mere presence calmed him and allowed him to sleep peacefully without the help of weed or alcohol.

All in all, you are happy in each other’s company and had a deep connection, something that extended the normal restrictions of friendships and relationships. It doesn’t matter what you labeled it as, as long as Eddie and you were happy.

if you enjoyed this, PLEASE LEAVE A LIKE, REPLY, AND REBLOG

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not-poignant · 2 months

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Hi Pia! I was rereading one of your works and was wondering if you’d maybe wanna discuss the quotations for dialogue? I know both are correct, but I just got a little curious about it the usage of ‘spoken words’ vs “spoken words” and your preference for one. Usually when I’ve seen the ‘spoken words,’ it’s been for older works.

Hi anon,

My preference is that I'm Australian, I learned writing at university many many years ago now (I am an old), and I was taught correct Australian grammar there! And while I still make mistakes on some things, dialogue isn't it.

Some people use the US "" instead of the Australian '' - and that's now okay simply because so many people were doing it, the editors of Australia were like 'fuck it, you can do it' (with exceptions) - but like, most of the Australian copies of international books that I have, actually don't use " " for dialogue at all.

I'm going to get some examples, because this is something you've likely never seen, because publishing houses change the grammar based on the country. This means that books that have double quotation marks everywhere else in the world for dialogue, have single quotation marks in Australia if you're picking them up in Australia or they've been published through most Australian publishers. Because buying books is more global now, Australians will likely have a mix of double quotations and single quotations books. Many Australians don't even realise there's a difference, they're so used to it.

Here's an Australian book:

(Skins by Sarah Hay)

So that makes sense for an Australian book by an Australian author.

What about the classic The Collector by John Fowles. Surely, that not being an Australian book, that'd have double quotation marks right?

Not if it was published here:

What about something a little more recent? Like The God of Small Things by Arundhati Roy?

I'm not sure how to explain it beyond: 'Literally almost every book we pick up here that was published here does this, and it's not a like quirky preference, it's literally what we grew up seeing and reading. To us, double quotation marks is unusual and seems more 'quirky'.'

This is less common now as an attitude simply because of globalisation and the internet existing. But for most of my life, buying books meant only seeing dialogue like this. Right up until I was in the 30s, I think. Purchasing books online changed that, and people who grew up with the internet from the very beginning are going to be more used to seeing double quotation marks.

But many Australian publishers will still insist on correct Australian grammar with preference given to Australian grammar.

Our grammar is quite strange, and sort of a mix between US and UK but with some unique aspects of which you've probably noticed the single quotation marks is one.

That's because Australian grammar is built on journalism, and anything that saved space in a newspaper was prioritised. So Australian grammar eliminates double spaces at the end of periods. It eliminates double quotations because they take up extra space. There are dash rules designed to eliminate space that an article might take up.

And you know, I'm quite proud of that grammar. :D It does get me some heat when I publish something, usually from grammar puritans from the USA, which is why I now just post a blanket 'this author uses Australian grammar so you may notice some departures with dialogue grammar' caveat.

Anyway, the reason/s most newer works have double quotations is because a) they're being purchased en masse overseas and that's cheaper than publishing here, b) those Australians are young and have learned to write based on overseas writing, c) they don't know actually know Australian grammar, it's not actually taught well in our curriculums, d) it is just something they prefer, e) they publish with overseas publishers and because they have to edit their works to UK or US grammar anyway, they just adopted it because it's easier that way, f) someone erroneously corrected them for doing the right thing and they changed to another country's dialogue grammar, g) it really is okay to just pick the one you like best now and stick with it, h) some screen readers cannot cope with single quotation marks (which imho, is something screen readers need to address if it means ignoring an entire country's/continent's grammar style).

And finally, here's the Australian Government Style Guide, which still doesn't permit double quotation marks at all in dialogue.

#asks and answers #pia on editing #pia on writing #um i think this is one of the only places where my patriotism exists sadlkfjasd #i'm proud of our grammar #i want it to exist instead of being homogenised into US grammar #and in that sense i do have a preference towards preserving something #especially if it's still working

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pix4japan · 8 months

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Border Collie at Yokohama Port Symbol Tower

Location: Honmoku Pier, Naka Ward, Yokohama, Japan Timestamp: 15:58 on Sept. 6, 2023

My border collie enjoying a brief rest atop the staircase leading to the Yokohama Port Symbol Tower.

Her unconventional sitting style, a “lazy sit” or “sloppy sit,” stands in contrast to the typical, graceful posture where her legs would be neatly tucked beside her body, and her hind feet neatly tucked underneath.

Years ago, when I first observed this unique sitting habit, I worried that it might be a sign of hip dysplasia. Thankfully, a visit to the veterinarian put my concerns to rest, assuring me that she simply has her own quirky way of sitting.

Luckily, the sun was tucked behind a soothing blanket of thick clouds providing us with a cool and comfortable afternoon.

The vast, open expanse of grass encircling the tower is a perfect haven for dog strolls. This is especially invaluable for urban dwellers like us, conscientious of the need to shield our four-legged companions from the discomfort of hot pavement.

Fujifilm X100V with 5% diffusion filter ISO 400 for 1/110 sec. at ƒ/11 Provia/Standard film simulation

#ストリートスナップ #横浜 #横浜港シンボルタワー #愛犬 #ボーダーコリー #pix4japan #X100V #Fujifilm #street photography #Japan #Yokohama #Yokohama Port Symbol Tower #border collie

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reides · 7 months

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yesterday i managed to hatch a shiny horsea in my copy of emerald version!!!!!! this shiny is one that means a WHOLE LOT to me for so many reasons and i am absolutely gonna start up what will hopefully be a saga of posts related to him.

the gist of it is that this little one is, first and foremost, a nod to my beloved dnd oc, reides. secondly, he is gonna be my first earnest attempt at the ribbon master challenge!

the ribbon master challenge is a really fun - yet really difficult! - challenge which consists of trying to get as many marks/ribbons on one pokemon as possible (basically, from their origin generation to the current one). there are many resources related to this challenge, my favorite one being athis' ribbon handbook. you can see a lot of people talking about this challenge on the pokemon ribbons subreddit as well as in random places online (like this post right here LMAO). there are also quite a few videos about ribbon master challenge attempts on youtube, too; again, my personal favorite one is the story of toast the scizor.

anyway, i talked about potentially attempting the challenge back when i successfully manipulated gen4's rng for a shiny of my fav mythical pokemon, manaphy - which i also named reides, as i associate manaphy with him. i eventually strayed from that idea, however, because i really, really want my first ribbon master to have the gen3 ribbons; most importantly, the hoenn contest ones. (this is 100% just a personal thing - ribbon masters that are from gen4 onwards are obviously still incredibly awesome and i still wanna try the challenge out on my beloved manaphy at some point. i just have a lot of nostalgia associated with gen3's ribbons so i want my first attempt at the challenge to include the grind for them.) that being said, i didn't want to stray from the initial concept of putting it on a pokemon that i associate with reides, so…

that's where this horsea comes into the picture!

i've associated reides with the whole horsea line for a loooong time - longer than i've associated him with manaphy, tbh! i even have a post mentioning that i hatched eggs for a shiny one - also named reides - in ultra sun. i struggled a lot with if i wanted to evolve that horsea fully or not, ultimately deciding to keep him as a baby. but i always wanted to catch another one which i'd evolve fully. i mean... look at this thang.

shiny kingdra absolutely rules, and the royal theme that it has going on is, again, very much up reides' alley. it seemed like my procrastination re: actually hunting for that second shiny horsea actually paid off, in this case, because i realized it'd be sick if my ribbon master was a shiny kingdra. that way, my other shiny horsea can remain as a unique hunt, too.

beyond my shiny requirement, i wanted the horsea to be male, like reides, and for him to have a nature that suited reides' personality. since i already have a brave manaphy, i was torn between quirky or bold for him, but i ultimately decided on bold. so... a shiny, bold, male horsea was the goal. this isn't an impossible shiny hunt by any means, but... well... <3 let's just say i wasn't in the mood to phase on tons and tons of different shiny horseas that didn't meet my somewhat-specific criteria. frankly speaking, it would sour the entire experience for me. add emerald's wacky rng to the picture and it just... wasn't fun to even think about. so i figured that i'd take yet another page from my manaphy's book and that i'd rng manipulate for my ideal horsea. furthermore, i decided that i'd try to hatch my horsea in a cool spot - hence the 'seafloor cavern' met data. (sadly, since i'm transferring him up through the generations, this data will eventually get replaced with a blanket 'hoenn region' line - but i still wanted to do it!!!)

once i had a general Plan of Action, it was time to execute it. a few weeks ago, i made a post about learning how to rng manip in gen3. in that post, i showed you guys my shiny treecko, ivy, and vaguely mentioned in the tags that having the means of shiny hunting in emerald opened up a lot of ribbon master challenges... but i didn't mention my true goal of learning the inner workings of gen3; namely, reides. LMAO. by shiny hunting for that treecko, i was able to deduce my tid and sid combo, which would aid me in my future rng-based shiny hunts in that particular game file.

i then had to play through the entirety of emerald's plot. at first, i dreaded this, since i wanted to grab my horsea asap and get right into the challenge - but it was a TON of fun! i kept practicing different rng hunts and ended up getting four more rng-based shinies in addition to my shiny starter and reides. plus it was just plain nice to re-visit gen3's storyline after all these years. once i got the super rod in mossdeep city (since horsea is a super rod-specific encounter) and my seventh badge (since i needed to be able to use dive so that i could get to the seafloor cavern), i caught a male horsea and a female horsea, popped 'em in the daycare, and - through MUCH trial and error which could, in itself, end up as a huge post - managed to hatch this perfect little horsea.

given all of the setup that went into getting reides, i knew that i wanted him to be on my very first team that beat the hall of fame. it was only fair, considering that the team pretty much existed because of him! and, while this post is focused on reides, trust & believe that i still developed a TON of fondness for the rest of my lovely storyline team! i couldn't have possibly gotten reides his first ribbon without the help of ivy the sceptile, popsicle the cradily, metal the aggron, chimney the camerupt, and miku the flygon!

next on the emerald agenda is ev training reides. i am going to be training him alongside a latios named albatross, a beldum named origin, and a bagon whose name is currently pending as i try to think of something! i've never ev trained in a gen3 game before, so... fingers crossed that it goes well and that i can keep count of the encounters without fuckin up! ;LDFSGKD;FKG i'm ev training so that i can get the effort ribbon on reides but ALSO so that we are at full power for taking on emerald's battle tower afterwards. i'm SUPER nervous about doing this, as i have never attempted the battle tower before, but i'm hoping that it'll go okay!

in addition to aaaaall of this chaos going on in emerald version, i dusted off my good ol' wii and started a replay of an INCREDIBLEEEE game called pokemon colosseum, since i'll need to send reides over there eventually to get a ribbon for clearing 100 battles in a row over on mt battle. (luckily, i still have the necessary hardware from my childhood for doing that.) mt battle is going to be seeing a lot of me, as i'll also need to grind for pokecoupons there so that i can buy special berries which will help him in becoming a contest pro back over in hoenn. colosseum's plot also gave me the chance to soft-reset for a bold-natured suicune that will probably get ev trained too, and who will likely join reides in all of his future battle tower endeavors. i named that suicune after reides' in-universe god, 'persana.'

so... yeah! the setup for this challenge alone has been A Lot but i can honestly say that i've been having so much fun with it. i feel like i'm interacting with like... every single aspect of gen3 at the moment. it's totally revitalized my love for pokemon as a whole and i'm really hoping that i can stick to it and complete the challenge in its entirety!

#jamietxt #shiny hunt tag #ribbon master #im going to be posting about this on my neocities too... if you follow me in both places you will see it on my blog there eventually #reides the kingdra

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the-hedgerow-house · 2 months

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Chapter 1: Ad Terminum

Autumn.

While all the seasons had their charms, it was autumn that you always held a slight preference for compared to the others. Perhaps it was the fiery colors of the leaves or the warming cinnamon drinks that came out for you to enjoy when the weather turned, or maybe the release of the heat and humidity of summer that let you delve into your vast collection of sweaters and long pants at your leisure. Though it hadn’t always been the case, you had come to appreciate the comfort of the mild chill and falling leaves in your late youth, as once upon a time the idea of returning to school made you detest this season long before winter could suck the remaining light and warmth from the world.

Alas, even these small things had a limit, each as fleeting as the season itself. Leaves would run out and become soggy, brown clumps under the damp morning dew, drinks would rotate away to the next holiday-appropriate flavor–ugh, peppermint–the chill would turn to frost, frost beget sleet and sleet inevitably became snow. Like everything in your life, this brief moment of perfection–perfect weather, perfect trees, perfect stillness–would end and you’d be left waiting for the next one to find you. Perhaps in late winter when the sun was coming back and you caught that ideal, windless morning where the snow was powdery and pristine so the cold didn’t make you hate existing on the material plane.

Anymore than normal that is.

That was one reason you’d decided it was worth it to go for a walk at all, hunkered into your favorite worn-out sweater with headphones thrumming away to whichever random track the shuffle dictated. This time of day was calm; the midday rush of drivers going to work was over, kids were in school, and the denizens remaining were too busy raking leaves or getting ‘one last grill in’ to be out to bother you. Any remaining locals were probably busy getting ready for the only truly important part of the season–the thing you secretly looked forward to every year, even if you always ended up going alone.

Eerie Fest.

Small towns being what they were, it was rare to have anything to look forward to that didn’t involve sports, school or the local clergy hosting some event or another, but there was always one thing that each place had that was unique in only the way small towns could manage: quirky local traditions. In this case, your favorite event–the thing you waited for every year without fail–was Eerie Fest. The one community event that wasn’t coordinated by tired high schoolers or overly-friendly church moms, it was open for any and all to participate in, sponsored by the town itself to keep local flavor alive.

Or something like that.

At one time, it was a standard farming-town-produce-market type thing but after a particularly heavy frost pushed the showcase back and ruined the crops somewhat, some of the townsfolk had the idea to make up for the losses by having autumn themed games to turn over some revenue. Next thing anyone knew, kiosks of food and drink popped up, local Halloween enthusiasts put on shows and walked around in costume, and then it became indistinguishable from Halloween itself. Each year a theme was voted on and adhered to, volunteers would help set up and assign jobs to prepare for the event in early October, and the neighboring towns flocked in for food, booze and scares. Actual scares. Eerie Fest was not for kids, they always said.

Kind of bullshit, you knew, but the effort was appreciated. That was the true reason you had even wanted to go out for a walk in the first place, the weather being a nice bonus that motivated you out of your comfy hovel of blankets and Disney movies to brave the outdoors and the chance it was crispy and windy as all get-out. While not paid work, volunteers could get tips, and you’d hoped for a chance to prove yourself as a force to be reckoned with in costume and creep by preparing a bizarre creature sewn together in a fevered rush of creativity once you’d woken from an oddly vivid dream of the thing. It’s not as if you had a job at the moment, much to your dismay, but this! This could be the nudge you needed to start something, to make things!

With any luck, your fabric-and-plastic quadruped critter would earn you just enough attention to start sewing and crafting full-time. You just needed to get to the sign up before it got full. The venue location was, supposedly, in a new place this year; someone had convinced the city library to permit them to host in the forest behind the building as it was a decent bit of walking space rife with trees that really fulfilled the ‘fall festival’ aesthetic quota. Of course it would be a small town library that took up shop in an old, run down house–a ‘historical landmark’ site–that had an estate attached to it that put the local parks to shame. None of those fancy new buildings with free wifi and vending machines here.

You knew it well enough, though, having spent many an afternoon picking through the old books covered in dust and leather at the very back of the collection. Convincing the librarian to let a 16-year-old handle such old volumes was a chore paid in volunteer hours for the summer so if anything happened to them, the insurance would cover it, but you felt it was worth it. Then again, part of you felt that those long afternoons and evenings and weekends tending to creaking shelves and inventory rotations did you no favors in befriending your classmates.

The other part of you doubted that feeling altogether just on principle. There were no sleepovers, no after-school snacks at a friend’s house, no riding bikes to the gas station to buy cheap candy with the change you fished out of the couch cushions–not with company anyway. No, there was nothing you were missing out on that the library was getting in the way of. It had spared you the embarrassment of being rejected if you’d dared ask to join in.

The library was a good place.

Though it loomed overhead like it had been peeled from a classic horror movie and slapped into a suburban neighborhood, all iron gates and black trimming in desperate need of a paint job, it was familiar to you. Welcoming. Close for the day–it was Sunday after all–but even so you felt a bit happier just coming by, wrapping your fingers around the chilly twisted fence while popping an earbud out to listen. “Long time no see,” you said quietly, almost anticipating the house to respond in some way even though you knew it couldn't. Despite your aptitude for the Dewey Decimal System, the library could only allow volunteers that were under the age of 18 to work there for some sort of confounded legal reason; once you were of-age, you had to be employed properly and there was ‘simply no budget’ for another librarian in such a small town. After that, your visits became less frequent, the old librarian–Mrs. Thompson–retiring not long after you graduated only to be replaced by the study para from your school of all people.

You didn’t much care for that para, and she didn’t much care for you either. Especially when you corrected her filing method in passing after she’d taken over the desk that should have had your dear Mrs. Thompson behind it. The library had grown uncomfortable after that, so your visits diminished until they stopped altogether, this being the first time you’d even been in the area in well over a year. You hoped the old house didn’t hold a grudge for your disappearance, but there was to way to know unless it had somehow taken up English in the last few years.

It had not.

After a long moment of glancing around the front of the property, seeing the peeling gray-white paint and black trimming that had come apart along the porch’s front molding, the pots that you knew had once held real plants–you watered them diligently over the summer–long dead and replaced by fake plastic and silk ficuses, the patches of dead grass in a weedy lawn and the dark windows drawn closed with heavy curtains you could only faintly make out, you felt a kind of sorrow. In some way, the library wasn’t there. Asleep. It didn’t notice you, didn’t hear you, too consumed by the neglect of the caretaker who couldn’t be bothered to dust the shelves if it didn’t hold whatever new YA romance novels and New York Times nonsense paperbacks were popular at the time.

What I wouldn't give to get in there and just clean it up a bit, you thought, hand falling from the rail as you followed the cement and iron wall that surrounded the yard to the walkway that would lead to the private wood. Willing as you were with the time to do it, cleaning up would require talking to the new librarian–’new’ being a relative term by now, it had been a good six years or so since the changing of the guard–and you simply couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

The walkway darted straight along the wall, inclined slightly to follow the hill the forest sat on that would give you a clear view of the house, which was partly built into the hill itself in the back. Assuming it was the same as you remembered, you knew there was a room in that part of the house that held the very old, rare books that needed special permission to use as the room was always cool and dark and dry. For a moment, the dead leaves and cold air scent that had been your company for the walk was replaced by the faint memory of old paper, dust and bourbon. Mrs. Thompson swore up and down that the smell was due to the original owner using that room to store their liquor collection but you were never 100% sure after finding a flask tucked into a drawer of the desk in the corner of the storeroom with the letters MT engraved on it. Part of you wondered if, by some miracle, it might still be there waiting for a swig to be taken after a long night of cataloging and inventory. A wry smile turned your lips at the idea but like all of your thoughts at the moment, you pushed it aside, as it necessitated talking to the librarian.

Sarah Duhrn was not getting the satisfaction of your curiosity.

Leaves crunched and crumpled as you hiked the mild incline, the solid thud of boot-to-ground changing from cement to dirt as you moved off the regulated path onto the worn down trail formed by years of feet coming through and forging their own way, sidewalks be damned. Eventually it would level out and lead to a flattened portion of land where the fest was being held but that would still take a bit of walking to reach, your knees already aching as the leaves, now wet and matted with mud that never dried beneath the canopy, slid around underfoot. Banging your shins and getting soggy were not part of the game plan, but the sliding and stopping that jerked your body around like some kind of stringless puppet was almost worse in a way.

I don’t need to roll my ankle again, you told yourself, nails digging into the bark of a sturdy maple while you caught your breath.

With a not-insignificant amount of effort, you managed to drag your way to more stable ground at the top of the hill. At least here there was some semblance of a hiking path still etched into the ground, flattening the rise enough to allow you to balance on your own two feet properly. Begrudgingly, you took the time to scrape mud and detritus from your shoes against an upturned root, losing precious minutes of walking time simply to ensure you didn’t slip any more than the autumn ground already intended for you. Hopefully there would be positions open by the time you arrived at the fairgrounds that wouldn’t involve interacting with attendees sans costume, but none of it mattered if you busted your face or ankles up before then by being careless.

Satisfied with what you did manage to scour off your worn tennis shoes, you took a look around for an indicator of where the festival was going to be; vaguely, you recalled someone in the cafe where you’d heard about the sign up saying it was up in the old campgrounds, deep in the woods where the town’s lights wouldn’t interrupt the ambiance, but where that actually was you had no idea. “Summer camp” wasn’t really your thing growing up, even if it was technically just a four day weekend behind the library. Too many kids from school you didn’t feel like being in close quarters with, uninterrupted, for days at a time to make it worthwhile.

Taking a guess you weren't up far enough, you pointed your toes uphill and began to march, pondering the other details of the event you remembered from the cafe poster. Any other year, you might have passed up on the endeavor simply because the effort wasn’t worth it, but upon seeing the theme that had been voted on, you felt a glimmer of true excitement. For the first time in five years, they’d passed on the milquetoast ‘harvest’ and ‘pumpkin patch’ themes and dove back to the true root of Eerie Fest: actually being scary.

This year, they picked The Hedgerow House.

More of an urban legend than a scary story, there was hardly a teen or college freshman in the county who didn’t know about that macabre place–it was the main reason the campground had been so sought after this year. There was an old multi-story lodge on the property that was being decorated to resemble the forbidden building of legend, with the decor and spooksters–the nickname for the costumed actors given to them by well-meaning parents–being assigned a role as one of the denizens of the house itself. Supposedly, the goings-on of The Hedgerow House were the stuff of nightmares that only the most versed and prolific of horror fans would appreciate, from missing persons to mutilations, cult activity, inhuman creatures and enthusiastic cannibalism; each telling of the house was a bit different yet all claimed to be true. They couldn’t possibly water down this theme! Your excitement for a truly awful, memorable, unsettling Eerie Fest experience was all you wanted. To participate in something you actually cared about.

You were already called a monster by enough people in town, it only made sense to finally cash in on that title.

A rapid beeping struck your ear out of the blue, startling you from your thoughts. What was that? Reaching for your earbuds, you felt a bitter hand of worry grip your neck. One of them was gone! How? When?! Turning to look down the path, the worry grew into a near panic. How in the world could you find your lost headphone in this mess!?

You had to try, or that incessant beeping would continue as the paired headset tried to sync up again and again, fruitlessly. Muttering swears at your own misfortune, you trudged back to approximately where you cleaned your shoes, finding the mud scrapes relatively easily. The beeping stopped as you did, meaning the damn thing was hiding out somewhere nearby; it was bright white, so it should stand out pretty well against the dirt and leaves–right?

Even if it did, that didn’t spare you the time it took to rifle through the masses of plant matter, feeling the wet odor of decaying plant life cling to your sleeves and seep under your nails. Three–five–ten minutes later, it finally turned up, somehow nestled safely under the very root you’d used to clean your shoes. For a moment, you swore it hadn’t been there before, but you were too relieved to find it to question whether your eyes were playing tricks or if the forest had mischievous critters hiding around every bush that enjoyed your misery. Cleaning it off, you put it back in your ear–cold! Ugh.

You rose from the ground, losing hope you’d get to sign up on time at all at this rate.

The ground shifted.

Sopping leaves skid over each other, taking your foot with them with a crunch as gravel and twigs gave way. Your knee burned, taking the brunt of the slide you unwillingly found yourself having. Everything went pear-shaped as you landed with a whump on your back at the foot of the hill, staring up at the gray autumn sky between the treetops. Taking a slow breath, a guttural curse wound its way out of your throat.

“FFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUCCCKKKKKKKKKKKKK!!!!!!”

Carefully, you sat up, wincing; the pain was mild, mostly just bumps and a wicked rug burn thanks to your jeans greeting the hillside on behalf of your thigh, but your pride hurt the most. How in blue blazes did you manage to fall down the damn hill so easily?!

Coming outside was a mistake, you decided, peeling your wet backside off the leafy ground with all the grace of a newborn horse. Home was sounding better and better by the minute, but as you peered up the way you came, you found this side to be the rear of the hill–and that it was overgrown with tall grass wherever the hillside itself hadn’t crumbled away into muddy shelves between gnarled roots. There was no way to climb back up without a ridiculous amount of struggle, enough so that you briefly contemplated just going to the campground anyway to spare yourself the hassle of walking around to managable ground.

Looking around for some indicator of what to do, your eyes glanced off of something odd hanging from a nearby tree. Picking over roots and fallen branches to keep yourself from tripping back into the mire, you approached the thingamabob as your brow creased. It was a sign–literally! Dangling from a single bolt so it swayed idly in the wind, the wooden arrow had been painted with a grayish wash and the words “The Hedgerow House” in blue, but it was chipped around the edges and worn out in places as if someone had taken a belt sander to it.

That’s probably exactly what they did, you realized, playing with it curiously. The sign was hanging upside down, pointing the opposite way from where it would if it had been secured properly.

This presented a mild dilemma. Assuming the sign was placed there on purpose by the crew to help wayward hikers like yourself find their way, that would make it a recent addition put there as part of the event. If that were the case, you had to wonder if the hanging sign effect was deliberate as a part of the horror theme, playing into the idea of worn out warning signs protagonists usually ignored or missed during their unfortunate descent into the terrors awaiting them. That being the case, the upside down arrow would be pointing in the right direction–the way you had been planning to go.

But a deep part of you felt like no one on the planning committee was that clever and the sign had simply been poorly secured, meaning it was indicating the opposite direction. The thought you’d been mistaken and had been walking off into the woods because you didn’t know where the campsite was supposed to be somehow made you both angry with yourself and almost disappointed you hadn't managed to go missing through pure stupidity. Maybe then someone would have cared enough to ask if you were safe and actually invest in your wellbeing.

Alas.

The missing headphone might have saved them the trouble, sparing you from a more embarrassing situation altogether by dropping you down the hill to see the sign in the first place. Deciding it was negligence making it hang off its support and not clever design work–honestly, how many people wouldn’t immediately think it was supposed to be read while hanging the correct way?--you turned your body toward the deeper part of the forest and started your march once again, keeping an eye and ear open for chatter and signs of human activity. Hopefully this hiccup would pan out and you could slip into one of the monster roles before someone else took the good ones.

The Hedgerow House, according to the collective zeitgeist online dedicated to sharing the stories about it, had a decent number of supposed residents in its walls. For a while, you’d been under the impression it was simply a new creepypasta based on how it reached your ear via overheard chatter between classes, but after a particularly stressful night of crap math assignments and a consideration that your English teacher was either an idiot or insane with how much they wanted your class to analyze every color choice of the cast’s clothing in… whatever book you’d been made to read at the time that you couldn't recall, you’d found yourself researching the name in an effort to amuse yourself. ‘Deep’ was not the word for the rabbit hole you found yourself in for the next few hours proceeding that google search. Only the faintest of anecdotes laced these tales together at all, making the pool of proof rather shallow, but there had certainly been enough to make one of those red string cork boards crazy people were shown having when they desperately wanted a connection to be made that supported their conspiracy.

Tidbits of information welled up as you dug through your memories to try and sort out what you wanted to be at the fair; fixation was rare for you, as it was hard to maintain interest in something when there was no one to share it with, so like many things you tried to ‘get into’ through the years the research binge had lost its spark and faded into your memory over time. That didn’t stop the occasional resurgence though, as you had alerts for that topic still saved in your phone, even to this day. If something about that house came up at all, you eventually heard about it and got a refresher of the details–just poor luck you supposed that it had been a few years since the last real ‘update’.

Surprised by the fact it was not some Slenderman-type phenomenon where a fake spooky thing got popular enough that people forgot if it was real or not, this one was a genuine urban legend. Not even the ‘made up urban legend that became popular’ self-feeding loop where no one knew if it was the story or the content that came first. By your research, The Hedgerow House was a true creepy tale, possibly an amalgam of smaller stories about murder houses and missing persons being attributed to one place by retelling-telephone; it had been around for ages with sightings and news clippings dating back to the Great Depression and turn of the century at least. Hell, at this point, you felt that if it came out to be a really elaborate hoax you’d want to shake the hand of whoever did it simply for the effort they went through to convince everyone it was a real tale.

You’d still be mad though.

According to your vague memory of research, the earliest note of the elusive house had to do with another legend of The Blank Man somewhere in Colorado’s mountains and ranch country. Supposedly, if one wandered out to pasture late at night under a full moon, they’d risk meeting The Blank Man, a tall figure dressed in the duster and hat of a cowboy from the late 1800s whose face was just a bit off. Never, ever invite a stranger met at night to the campfire, you recalled, the stories themselves sharing that the stranger would stroll up out of the dark, all manners and agreeable words, sometimes with a horse or mule that was also off in some way, though other times he was alone. If allowed to sit, the others at the fire would be engaged in conversation about this and that but slowly notice the stranger just didn’t quite feel right.

Odd movements, facial features that appeared to change location or color or shape, too many fingers or not enough; the animal with him would be too large or too skinny, sometimes lacking fur or eyes altogether, also changing slightly every time someone dared to look at it. Eventually, the campers would realize the stranger’s features had simply given up and slipped away entirely, revealing a blank face under the brim of the hat like a mannequin. At that point, the stories about this cryptid man varied based on the reactions of the group he sat with.

If they reacted negatively to this faceless man, it ended very poorly for all of them. The details for being rude to the stranger you couldn’t really remember, but most of them were only shared in news reports of missing people being found days later after going to pasture and not returning. Cattle drivers in particular were pretty concerned about the presence of The Blank Man, as he supposedly liked to follow them, which he was wont to do when treated with respect. Pointing out his facelessness without freaking out had mixed results, some saying he’d leave out of shame and others swearing they had shit luck for days afterward with animals dying or feeling sick. The interesting part to you, though, were the two snippets that featured accounts where the campers had been unbothered.

The first was told by an older ranch hand, the kind who wouldn’t be out of place in a John Wayne movie, that had seen more things than any man should see out in the wilds of the Rockies and so was unphased by the appearance of The Blank Man. Outwardly anyway. At the time, he’d been alone at his post, watching for coyotes or other trouble that had been bothering the herd while his comrades had made camp further up wind. When the stranger approached, the usual chicanery commenced, the ranch hand noting the man’s eyes would often go dark and his face warp if stared at for too long. The ranch hand offered the man coffee, keeping his eyes on the cattle, and reported the conversation was slow but interesting. By the end, when the facelessness was revealed, the hand said he’d given the stranger a long look before offering him a refill of coffee.

Having run out of words and drink, the stranger left shortly after, thanking the ranch hand for his hospitality and disappearing into the night. Thereafter, they claimed the drive went off without a hitch, as if the predators had all given up on chasing them down; at the end of the article, the man swore up and down that when he looked behind him he’d see a rider on a dark horse that he couldn't make out as one of his fellows taking up the rear position. None of them would admit to being the one down that way, so he’d taken to pouring a cup of coffee at the fire each night for ‘the helpful stranger’ covering their asses.

The second notable story like that was very similar, however it happened to a group of campers that all swore by the same note that a man with an unreadable face had ridden past them on a tall, withered horse while they were roasting hotdogs and stopped just outside the fire light. They offered him a soda and a frank but he declined, telling them a moment later to not cross the river at the bridge nearby, which had startled all of them at the time as they were all backpacking that way for their outing and had been planning to do just that but didn’t say as much. Thanking him for the warning, he rode on; none of them could agree what he looked like, but they did collectively note he was tall and seemed just a bit off, which they chalked up to a trick of the light. The next day, they found the bridge they’d been warned about and opted to hike down river to the next crossing; later it was confirmed the tresses of the bridge had given out due to intense rain in the preceding weeks, causing it to collapse when another group tried to cross. One of them drowned as a result.

You were personally fond of the cryptids that had manners and rules as they were more interesting than the ‘fuck you and die’ kind.

How did those stories tie back to The Hedgerow House though? That had been your curiosity after reading the tales of camping gone wrong. From your reading of the research, stories about people with empty faces and bizarre fae-like rules of engagement had been appended to The Blank Man over the years, regardless of where they were from or if other features made sense such as the cowboy hat and weird animal companion being noted in the story or not. This evolution of the story had The Blank Man stop his moonlit meetups in favor of welcoming travelers into his cabin, usually on long, dark and rainy nights or when the person in question was in distress. Naturally.

What occurred thereafter was roughly in line with the original stories: unusual facial features, odd behavior or body proportions, polite attitude and a general dislike of people pointing out he was ugly or had no face. Most of the house-related tales devolved into hearsay along the way with none of them having many first-hand accounts due to the victims all supposedly dying. The method of death at least remained consistent, which you felt was the reason they were attributed to the same monster at all in the end.

The quality of terror dropped off significantly when the house-related stories got more common, likely as a result of people making up things to add to the lore so to say, but The Blank Man wasn’t the only victim of this habit. While noting down the other residents attributed to the house, you’d found a vague pattern in all of them where some regional critter or killer devolved from unique local terror to a D-grade horror trope after being forced into the ‘spooky house in the woods’ role. The most bizarre part of it though was the consistent description of the house itself that was used.

Indeed, the corkboard of red string had at least one major commonality justifying its metaphorical existence, and you couldn’t for the life of you figure out if it was a coincidence or if all the fans had decided to default to the same description once they made up their minds about it. Regardless of the reason, it was certainly interesting to see each collection of stories describe the giant, paint-peeling walls, torn up yard of old fountains and sidewalks, the gothic roof and prevalent insistence of a gate bordered by dark hedges that separated the property from the surrounding woods. There was a reason it was called The Hedgerow House afterall.

Of all the things you learned about the collection of nasty things supposedly occupying this house at one time or another, it was the house itself that you kept coming back to each time you got an alert for it. Killer cryptids were great and all, but rarely did you find a literal building being called anything other than haunted, so you grew fond of the property more so than the supposed residents. While the denizens all eventually ended up assigned to the house somewhere along the way, only a few started in one right from the get-go. Most specifically, The Butcher and The Puzzlemaster–their stories strongly featured houses matching the description of the infamous residence, which you felt couldn’t be an accident given they were from opposite ends of the country and predated the internet itself.

By your own research, you would have thought The Puzzlemaster was some west coast tribute to H. H. Holmes and the Saw franchise had it not been for the shocking footnote that the original tale of the ‘house of infinite rooms’ was dated to the 1860s. Holmes had barely gotten out of diapers by then, and with some amount of conspiratorial thinking you’d wondered if he’d heard of this story growing up and if it led to his infamous murder hotel later in life. You’d been disappointed to learn Holmes was born in New Hampshire while Washington wasn’t even a state yet, making it extremely unlikely that the two were even remotely related. After your pride had recovered, you’d been able to find references to the house itself buried between the recountings of locals who claimed their own houses mysteriously acquired new rooms they didn’t recognize or remember and nurses at the hospital discussing the bizarre psychosis symptoms of some of the patients who talked about looping corridors and horrific puzzles that coincided with injuries they sustained.

All of them mentioned looking out a window and seeing a wrought iron gate framed by hedges, regardless of whether they had one or not themselves. This particular feature also appeared in the New England tale of The Butcher, who started out as a typical serial killer story until you backtraced it enough to some extremely old accounts of stories told of settlers–not by, unfortunately–who’d encounter a man in the woods wearing trapper furs and carrying an ax–more often than not they lost one of their party while fleeing. Given how old and vague these particular stories were, it was a wonder that any of them managed to cling to the idea that the manic woodsman was a miserable bloke that cut up people in his basement to use their meat for his dinner.

That basement, of course, belonging to a house with an iron gate framed by hedges in the front.

Over and over, the gate and hedges popped up eventually. Some of the details beyond that would come and go, such as the color of the house itself or the quality of the yardwork, but it always came back to the gate and the hedges without fail. Thus, The Hedgerow House.

The house that sat in the woods, alone, surrounded by dark hedges that never died, hugging an unrusting iron gate that opened only for the wayward and unlucky fools fated to walk its halls, never to return.

Or at least, most of them didn’t. The few stand alone accounts of the house that weren’t appended to other stories–the origin of the description if nothing else–all came from supposed survivors. People that had gone missing in the woods specifically, never from the same area, yet all absolutely certain they found an iron gate and hedges that let them into the yard. One of them had claimed he was let in by a man in a wide-brimmed hat with no face–in Michigan.

That was what had sparked the internet to lose their minds about the implication of a house that never stayed put full of monsters that snatched people out of the woods, tortured them, and then once in a while decided to let them go home. Any of the folks recovered from these supposed ordeals couldn’t recall details beyond the gate they first found and if someone or something had decided to come after them after they entered; beyond three days, they couldn’t remember anything at all, yet continued to carry the psychological effects of their trauma for years after. Folklore enthusiasts, ghost hunters and horror fans alike all pooled their knowledge together to determine the identity of the thing or things inside the residence based on the commonalities between stories matching the description of the house or the behavior of the monster within, resulting in the modern account of The Hedgerow House’s nine potential residents and their preferred methods of torture for the hapless victim they chose.

All of it was a fascinating case study of how scary stories evolved over time and you loved it for that, but more than anything you sought comfort in the macabre existence of the house for getting you through some rough patches growing up. Alerts seemed to come up whenever you were particularly downtrodden after something or other going on in your life that you couldn’t really control decided to mess up your plans and sense of comfort, which was rare enough as is. The idea of a house full of misfit monsters that existed outside of human rationale made you feel that somewhere out there was a place where you could fit in properly.

A laugh roused you from your thoughts as you trudged the unmarked path through the trees in the vague direction of the campground; a good amount of time had passed while you reminded yourself why you were going through the trouble of coming out this way at all simply to try and participate in an event themed around your beloved freak show collection. The sound had been your own voice as you mocked yourself for thinking there was anywhere for you to live peacefully, when you knew at its core that things like The Hedgerow House simply didn’t exist and the monsters in the stories were all made up at some point or another by people who didn’t know any better. There would be no reprieve for people like you.

You could never be so lucky.

The forest was oddly dark, you thought, peering up at the dense growth of the canopy that robbed you of the daylight. At least the setting would be decently atmospheric if it was this far into the trees. Some part of you was beginning to doubt, however. Unaware of the campground’s location or not, surely you’d have found another sign or some sort of activity by now, right? Had the sign tricked you after all??

That would be embarrassing.

To your relief, as you made your way around a large fallen log your eye strayed ahead to a collection of bushes–beyond which sat a large, worn out house. Grinning faintly, you sighed, glad to know you hadn’t managed to fuck up after all. Hopefully. Even if the house was visible, there was little else indicating whether or not anyone had even been around at all today.

With a sick chill, your heart began to pound. Had you fucked up anyway and gotten the wrong date? Was it next week? No, no, that would be short notice. No time to plan.

Maybe they’d quit early and simply went home?

Passing the bushes, you swallowed, finding your throat dry. Stuffing your earbuds into your pocket, you listened and looked, seeing no signs of tables or decorations. Not even a sign up kiosk.

Well, you decided, I can at least check out the locale.

The house was definitely in need of some TLC, but that worked out perfectly in your opinion, the walls worn and faded, showing bare wood underneath. One of the steps to the porch was pulled up at the edge, showing rusted nails and a cobweb tucked underneath; it probably creaked nicely when stepped on. Very spooky. If you did a good enough check, maybe they’d let you assist in planning the decorations? Really spruce up the hell house, take advantage of advanced warning about busted pipes and holes in the floor.

Reaching out to the dirty metal knob on the door, you felt a breeze sweep by, the leaves rustling and falling in that hissing cascade that always marked when something odd or mystical was about to happen. How fitting. You turned the knob, finding it unlocked.

Behind you, the sound of an old metal gate scraping the ground went unnoticed.

#gore #here there be monsters #horror comedy #monster x y/n #creative writing #macabre #THH #the hedgerow house #y/n story #misfits #I'm sure this will go fine

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sofiiel · 1 year

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A cluster of random Eddie thoughts:

Sappy movie Eddie, Him just grabbing your hand anytime there's an extra emotional scene in a romance movie. Eddie lives for the 'chick flicks', and is quickly invested in the relationship within in. He takes you hand on the happy bits, sad bits and everything in between.

Once the movie is over, Eddie's usually left in an extra fluffy mood, meaning he's even more touch starved than usual. He does things like holding you while swaying to music that isn't there, leaving kisses on the back of your hand, using sugary nicknames for you.

A good romcom will have full of fluff'n'stuff for a few days.

The last word, Eddie being hellbent on having the last "I love you" before you part ways. He'd also find unique and quirky was to get the phrase in. Determined to make it seem like he doesn't need to have the last 'I love you', even though he totally does.

Van sex with Eddie, the windows are covered, but everyone knows what's going down inside because the damn thing is rocking like a toy boat in a sea storm. However, you two are absolutely shamless about it and continue taking turns for who gets to be top. The constant exchanging of positions is the main culprit of the swaying of the heavy steel vehicle.

Neither of you are able to be quiet, and eventually some poor soul was brave enough to knock on the window.

Which results in Eddie muttering to himself as he pulls out, tries his best to cover himself and drive the van to a more secluded area. He's gone a little soft, but it's nothing a few dirty words, kisses along his stomach and teasing with your tongue won't remedy.

Aftercare With Eddie, it becomes a ritual to lay and catch your breath before clean up. Snuggled close and just being tow soft little bunnies, nuzzling and leaving little kisses on each other's face. Offering affirmations and quietly spoken words to each other.

When that's over, you run a hot bath and Eddie lights up a smoke with a towel hung around his hips. He's picked out that evening movie and sets it up before going to join you in the bath.

You take turns helping each other lather and rinse hard to reach spots, the warm water and gentle fragrance soothes any worn muscles or over stimulated senses.

The bath is followed up my huddling close on the couch or floor in bathrobes and a huge blanket. Eddie's got the remote, and you've got the bowl of snacks as you two watch a movie together and simmer down.

Loveable menace, He's that guy who's gonna try to smash that piece of cake or whole pie in your face. He'll cackle like 20 hyenas about it, it'll get worse as he looks at your cute 'am angy' face, and then he'll lick your face clean.

Eddie will sweet talk and butter his way right out of trouble, get you a new slice and try to feed it to you.

Takes a piece of home with him, Eddie never leaves the house without something tied to you tucked away in his belongings. A trinket, a keychain, a note you wrote, one of your hair ties, one of your rings either on his finger or hanging from a chain.

Maybe a tap/CD from your music collection for his car or walkman.

If it's not a tangible object, he'll ask for a puff of your fragrance so that he can smell you all day.

If he can't get that, he will steal one of your socks and wear it on one foot. You are his home and he will take a piece with him where ever he goes.

He's a seat stealer, Eddie steals your place on the couch, easy chair, recliner and bed when you get up. Why? Because it's warm and comfy and that spot smells like you. It also gives him an excuse to have you sit/lay on top of him. You gave him a warm spot, so he'll be your new warm spot, everyone wins.

#eddie munson thoughts #eddie munson x you #eh it's tagged mature but its tame af #having an emotional morning and just want to fluff it out

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lightthematches · 5 months

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Maddox Grimwood // Twenty-Seven // Dragonborn // Tattoo Artist

Being abandoned by his parents and dropped off at a doorstep with an unsigned letter attached to the blanket he was wrapped in has never settled well with Maddox. He had a great upbringing with Miss Grimwood, whose name he took on, and the ghouls but he longed for more. He longed for answers.

He wasn’t a sad child but he wasn’t a chipper and joyful one either. He was moody and lashed out a lot, confused and upset why his parents weren’t in the picture. As he got a little older he accepted they never were going to magically appear one day at the door by some miracle. Would he have ever left Miss Grimwood and the ghouls behind if they had though? At this point he would say no but when he was young the answer was debatable.

He was still pretty young when his powers came to the surface. Fire would appear when he was angry or upset and over time he learned to control it and manipulate it on his own. It was cool and he learned to love his abilities. They made him unique but where did they come from? He did a lot of research and spent a lot of time reading books about dragon lore. What did it mean that he had dragon blood in him? The first time he shifted was terrifying but badass. Maddox never expected to be able to turn into a dragon, but he could. As he came to experiment with his powers he was able to develop them and adapt to them.

He has a naturally warmer temperature than the average person. His normal temperature is a bad fever for most. He rarely goes to the doctor if he’s ill and uses remedies he picked up from Miss Grimwood growing up. With his warmer temperature he’s learned he can control the warmth around him. Not far, but more like a room or a large bubble of space outside.

Don’t ask him if he has a favorite ghoul he will be upset. He doesn’t have one and loves them all and their quirky traits. He took on a role of protector for them, throwing more than a punch and beating a few asses over the years despite knowing they are perfectly capable of taking care of themselves and each other.

He was always a bit of a rebel and getting into trouble. Sneaking out or getting arrested for stupid things late at night. He doesn’t know how to keep his mouth shut so that has never helped him get out of trouble. He’s not a bad person, he just makes stupid choices. Not an alcoholic, but likes to party and smoke sometimes. Isn’t going to rob someone blind but damn he sure does love a pretty or shiny thing at the store.

He didn’t have many hobbies growing up besides reading but he did love art. There were so many different and strange pieces of art, some haunted, at Miss Grimwood’s that inspired his art. He has a very alternative style and enjoyed drawing everything creepy and spooky. He drew a lot of dragons because despite not knowing where he came from he still connects with them.

Has multiple tattoos going up his arms, chest, and back. Some on his legs but not as much as his upper body. That being said it only made sense when he ended up in Evermore he became a tattoo apprentice. He enjoys what he does because it keeps him grounded and focused as well as express himself.

When the ghouls first disappeared he was heartbroken. He was very unwell and didn’t know what to do with himself. He failed at the only thing he ever thought mattered in life and let everyone down. He had no leads and no answers, but despite that he promised Grimwood he would find them and bring them home.

The last thing he remembers before waking up in Evermore was saying goodbye to Miss Grimwood. It’s a clear memory. He hugged her tight before he left but didn’t look back because he knew he would have cried if he saw her alone at the door. He regrets never looking back once more just to smile at her.

Evermore was a nightmare waking up to. He had a feeling the ghouls were there and never stopped what he was set out to do. He couldn’t let Miss Grimwood down and he wouldn’t. He hadn’t anticipated being trapped though. That was a big damper on his new life.

Finding the ghouls was relieving and Maddox promised them they would all see Miss Grimwood and their families again if it were the last thing he did. He’s so determined that he often spends nights researching until the sun rises so they can all go home.

He’s an insomniac. He’s always up late and sleeps through his alarms. He can’t help that he’s more alert at night, he was practically raised that way!

Collects random, shiny antiques. He likes things with little jewels or old knick knacks with gold plating.

His memories of the past are hazy. He remembers growing up but memories of Miss Grimwood are few and far between. He knows she was amazing and wonderful and he loves her like a mother, but he can’t remember making swamp cookies with her or how she used to calm him when his temper rose as a child.

Summers were very lonely for Maddox. The ghouls were back home with their families and it was just him and Miss Grimwood. He spent a lot of time getting into mischief or spending time alone, trying to focus on his hobbies or research.

When he is researching he writes down notes. They’re messy and have a lot of doodles on the pages, but he writes everything down that he learns to try and connect the dots of the mystery of where he was from.

Currently, he’s just trying to live a good life and find a way out of Evermore. He’s honestly just trying to vibe his way through life until things work out in his favor. He’s picked up some bad habits from it along the way, but hey, who doesn’t?

He’s not sure he wants to be tied down in a relationship if he’s stuck with a longing for a way out. At the same time though he wonders what if he never does and someone comes along? In the meantime he just resorts to hook ups and short lived flings.

Sometimes when he’s angry or upset he just cleans his whole apartment. The place is usually pretty spotless, aside from an odd thing or two.

Aries sun, Leo moon, Aries rising

#🐉 about #🐉 headcanon

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fabulivonline · 1 year

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Can you use an Ottoman as a coffee table?

A Guide to Using an Ottoman as a Coffee Table

When it comes to furnishing our living spaces, we're all trying to make our homes both functional and aesthetically pleasing. And while there are plenty of coffee table options out there, sometimes we stumble across something that seems like it could be a multipurpose solution - like an ottoman.

The question is: can you actually use an ottoman as a coffee table? Well, such questions have always boggled the minds of furniture connoisseurs. We’ll find the answers to all these questions but first, let us understand what exactly does Ottoman mean?

The Basics: What is an Ottoman?

First things first: let's clarify what we're talking about. An ottoman is a piece of furniture that usually has no back or arms and is typically used as a footstool or extra seating. They come in a variety of styles, shapes, and sizes - some even have storage compartments built in.

Using an Ottoman as a Coffee Table: Pros and Cons

Now that we've got that out of the way, let's get down to business. Can you use an ottoman as a coffee table? The answer is: yes, you can. But, as with most things in life, there are pros and cons to consider.

Pros:

Soft edges: If you have small children or clumsy friends, a soft-edged ottoman can be a great option. No more worrying about bumped heads or stubbed toes!

Versatility: Ottomans can be moved around easily, which is great if you like to rearrange your furniture frequently.

Extra seating: If you have a lot of guests over, an ottoman can double as extra seating when paired with a tray on top.

Cons:

Durability: Ottomans are typically not as durable as traditional coffee tables. If you're prone to spilling drinks or putting your feet up, you may end up damaging the fabric or cushioning.

Stability: Depending on the style of ottoman you choose, it may not be as stable as a traditional coffee table. This could lead to spills or even injuries if someone leans on it too hard.

Functionality: While an ottoman can certainly serve as a coffee table, it may not have the same level of functionality as a traditional coffee table. For example, you may not have as much surface area to work with or as many storage options.

How to Make an Ottoman Work as a Coffee Table

If you've decided to take the plunge and use ottomans as coffee tables for living room, there are a few things you can do to make it work.

Choose the Right Ottoman

Not all ottomans are created equal when it comes to coffee table duty. Look for an ottoman that is sturdy and has a flat, even surface. If you're worried about spills, consider a leather or vinyl ottoman that can be easily wiped clean.

Use a Tray

To create a stable surface for drinks and snacks, use a tray on top of the ottoman. This will also help protect the ottoman from spills and scratches.

Keep it Simple

Since an ottoman may not have as much surface area as a traditional coffee table, keep your decor simple. A few books, a vase of flowers, and a decorative tray should do the trick.

Consider Storage Options

If you're using an ottoman with a storage compartment, take advantage of it! Use it to store extra blankets, pillows, or even board games.

Embrace the Quirkiness

At the end of the day, using an ottoman as a coffee table is a bit unconventional - but that's what makes it fun! Embrace the quirkiness and make it a conversation starter with your guests.

Conclusion

So, can you use an ottoman as a coffee table? Absolutely! It's a unique and playful way to add functionality and personality to your living space. Just remember to consider the pros and cons before making the switch, and make sure you're using the right ottoman for the job.

At the end of the day, furniture is meant to be functional and serve a purpose, but that doesn't mean it can't be fun and quirky too. Using an ottoman as a coffee table may not be the most traditional option, but it can certainly add a touch of whimsy to your decor.

So, go ahead and experiment with different ottomans and tray options, and have fun making your living space a reflection of your personality. And who knows, maybe your ottoman-turned-coffee-table will inspire your friends and family to think outside the box with their own home decor.

#center coffee tables #coffee tables

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katarascape · 1 year

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And spirit untamed! Drives me batshit that movie does. Like, it's pretty much beat for beat just a rehash of like every horse girl movie out there. It does nothing new, or unique or original!

City girl is Quirky, she moves to small town, meets Special Horse. "No horses," says wet-blanket dad. Girl and Horse do the Bonding. Disaster! The Disaster is averted by the power of Horse Friendship! Wet-blanket dad eats his words, family repaired. The end.

Like honestly, the only conventions that the movie break are that the main character isn't fully white and that it's set in colonial usa.

It's honestly kinda pathetic. Like it really feels like they didn't even try, like this was just a quick cash grab and nothing more.

#Spirit untamed hate

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aragarna · 1 year

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🦋 Which character is your favorite to write?

Hi Anon! Thank you for your question! :-) As I'm not sure which fandom you know me from, I'll answer for all of them ;-)

My favorite character to write is usually my favorite character in the show. The one I empathize the most with. Not necessarily someone who's like me, but someone whose struggles I understand, whose tragedy make my heart break.

In White Collar, it's Peter Burke.

In Person of Interest, it's John Reese.

In Forever, it's Henry Morgan.

I love exploring their psyche, their points of view, their sorrows. I want to meet them, and wrap them in a blanket, and comfort them.

Though I also really like writing the quirky characters, because it's always fun. Mozzie or Lucas have such a unique voice, it's a fun challenge to find the exact line that would sound just like them.

#about me #about fanfic #writing

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