bettyfrommars

[bettyfrommars]

The Nightmare Factory

an Eddie Munson x Reader series

The Fabric of Moonbeams

Masterlist

18+Only for mature themes, mention of sleep disorders and sleeping medication, longing, afab!reader, astral travel, horror icons. wc: 4.2.

a/n: there are some mind-bending moments in here, along with typical nightmare!eddie silliness. I initially thought I'd just write a very simple blurb series about the different ways Eddie appeared to reader to try and scare them. Now that this romance is starting to flesh out, I feel like we have much more to explore, so this will not end on Halloween, as I had originally planned. I have a very cool apocalyptic dream planned for the next chapter, where reader and Eddie spend a few days together (enemies to lovers because reader does not recognize him at first), but I wanted this to be something fun for spooky season.

Eddie got demoted to Ominous Thuds & Ghostly Whispers status after the whole Headless Horseman debacle.  Not because Steve or Saul narced on him, but because the eye in the nightmare sky sees everything.

He tried tapping the morse code that Wayne taught him on your bedroom wall one night, but only succeeded in making you sleep upright in the chair in your living room with all of the lights on.  You had dark circles under your eyes the next day, and almost dozed off at your keyboard.

You spent a lot of time looking at the sketch you had done of him, and the description of the headless horseman dream that you remembered with fascinating clarity.  You could close your eyes and smell the soap and leather of his skin now, and you could see the way his mouth moved when he spoke to you.  He knew your name, and you felt like you knew him.  

You found a book at the library called, “My boyfriend, My Nightmare” about a woman who believed she was in a relationship with a man in her dreams for years.  No one believed her, of course, and she was diagnosed with a particular type of rare disorder that had her on such heavy sleeping medication that it was impossible to remember her dreams, if she even had them at all.  

You sank down on a soft chair and almost read the entire thing in one sitting.  According to this woman, there is a place called The Nightmare Factory where your nightmares punch a clock and take lunch breaks together and collect a paycheck.  Apparently, it sits on a separate plane of existence, and you go there when you sleep.  Nightmares can exist during waking hours as well, the author said, and you sat up straight to read that paragraph.  

“The membrane that keeps our worlds apart begins to dissolve when you are able to perceive the nightmares, when you begin to understand that there is no true distinction between reality and dreams.”

“If you can imagine it, it exists somewhere in possibility,” the author continued.  “The Nightmare Factory workers are a form of entertainment to save us from the true horrors of human existence.”

What ever happened to the woman? Did she ever get to be with the man she fell in love with in her nightmares?  You skipped to the last chapter, and skimmed a few pages until you found what you were looking for.  

Her final words were very vague, but she admitted to going off of her prescribed sleeping medication, which made her have insomnia for a week, but then she started to dream again.  

“I know that no one will believe me, and that’s fine, I did not write this to convince anyone.  I’m having it published through a private company to help those who might find themselves in a similar situation.

By the time you read this, I will be gone.

The physical particles of my body have a hard time assimilating when I return from dreams now, and one day soon, I will stay there with him and not return through the secret door.  I’m not sure if I will ever be able to get back to this astral plane as anything more than a visitor, so please, if you are able to cross over, find me.”

You checked the clock on the wall, knowing you should head home, and then you found a few more books to take with you.  One was a manual on how to decipher your dreams, and the other was another memoir, though not as detailed, that someone had written about moving through the dream world with your physical body.

That’s impossible, you mused to yourself.

But still, some strange blossom of hope in your gut moved you to tuck it under your arm.

Meanwhile, Eddie flirted his way into the 7am Unexplained Voices & Creaking Stairs class by offering to service the teacher’s car for free.  She was a ghostly apparition who wore glasses and a pair of gloves to give students a hint to her presence.  She finally accepted after some hesitation, knowing full well that there was a waitlist. 

Anyway, her ghostmobile was not only serviced, but detailed, and there Eddie was, in the front row, bouncing his knee, eager to learn anything and everything he could.  

His band played a show at the Hideout that night.  The Hideout in Eddie’s dimension was a place where a lot of Nightmare Factory workers went after their shifts, so it often looked like the bar scene from Star Wars, but with ghouls. The factory was the biggest employer for a thirty mile radius, and everyone who grew up in Hawkinsville had worked there at least once in their life.  

It had been difficult when Eddie and Wayne first moved there when he was young.  Eddie was what they called “a normie”, meaning he was not born into the nightmare life.  He hadn’t been raised by evil clowns or wolves or demons who walked on goat legs.  He’d picked up shapeshifting pretty fast though, and he’d learned to make his eyes go completely black whenever he wanted to by the time he was ten.

There were more than four drunks at the place that night, Eddie counted at least six, and then there were a few normies at a table, but he didn’t recognize them.  The bartender had a beer ready for him and slid it to the end of the bar before giving him a “thumbs up” motion.  Corroded Coffin did not get paid by the venue to play on Tuesday nights, so the beer was always on the house.  They had a tip jar at the edge of the stage that usually only had a couple bucks in it by the end of the evening, or a sprinkle of loose change.  

They were halfway through the set when Eddie looked out into the crowd and saw you.

He blinked hard, squeezing his eyes shut for a beat, but when he opened them again, he saw that it was really you—standing there, staring back at him, plain as day.

Sure, the room was dark and filled with smoke, but there seemed to be some type of luminescence around you.

Eddie cleared his throat into the mic and wiped his hair off his sweaty forehead, waiting to make sure to make sure you weren’t a mirage for the thirsty man that he was.  Some shrill feedback sounded through the speakers, and he mumbled an apology to the crowd.

You lifted your hand up slowly to wave at him, and you mouthed a little, “hi,” as a smile twitched across your lips.

But this time, it was Eddie who woke up.

He was back in his own bed, gasping for air, wanting to cry, wanting to return, needing to know how you had made it into his dream.

You were looking for him now.  Somewhere, behind the scenes of time and space, an invisible membrane was getting thinner.  

—------

“Are you coming or what?” Your friend Ellie turned to see that you had stopped short at the entrance to the Haunted House attraction you were about to enter.  You’d already paid, and had your hand stamped, but all of a sudden you wanted to be back in your bed, reading.  

You loved Halloween, but you weren’t a huge fan of jump scares, unless they were coming from that guy you kept dreaming about, the one named Eddie.

You wrote his name down in cursive and blocked letters all over the inside of your notebook, wanting to press it into the wrinkles of your brain.  It had been weeks since you last saw him, and every night you hit the pillow, you were hopeful.  

“I’m coming,” you jogged a bit to catch up, listening to the evil, mechanical cackling and high-pitched screams coming from inside.

You caught up to her and stayed close.  There were strobe lights inside and menacing figures loomed in the narrow hallway before you turned a corner into a dining room full of people with decapitated heads.  A few scare actors jumped out to lurch at you from dark corners while thunderous organ music played.

After the next room, there was a shuffle of people as one of the animatronic spiders dropped down from the ceiling, and one of the scare actors with a pig mask blocked your path right when the hallway split, so you lost Ellie, and all of a sudden, you were alone.  

You spun in a circle and called Ellie’s name.

Surely you’d still be able to hear the sounds from the haunt? But everything was quiet, the crowd was gone, and the noises from earlier were muffled, as if coming from far away.

Panic rose in your throat as you felt along the wall for a light switch or a door.  You stumbled around a black, velvet curtain and caught sight of the glowing EXIT sign with a rush of relief.

“Ellie? Anybody?” You eyes were having a hard time adjusting to the inky darkness, but the illumination from the sign gave you hope

This was fine, you’d wait for the other’s outside and tell them you had to duck out because you weren’t feeling well, which was not a complete lie.  

Beyond the door were aged, wooden stairs that went down.  A single light bulb dangled from the ceiling to offer a weak, ocre glow.  You didn’t remember climbing stairs to get into the building, but you must’ve been mistaken.

You hurried down the steps, hearing the door slam shut behind you with unexpected force, enough to shake the walls.  

Something didn’t feel right; the further you went down on the creaking steps, the darker and danker it seemed to get.  There was a sudden heat emanating and you could make out some soft rattling and hissing sounds.

By the time you realized you’d gone down into a sealed basement, it was too late.  

It wasn’t just a basement, though—it was a…boiler room?

There were metal tanks producing steam mounted with temperature gauges, and you couldn’t see to the other side of the space because they were massive.

“Hello?” You took a tentative step forward, looking around the concrete walls for some type of door to get out of the building.  Your heart was in your throat, and your breathing was getting rapid as your eyes jerked from side to side like a scared rabbit.  

You wrapped your arms around yourself. “Can anyone hear me? I got turned around and I’d like to leave now.”

There came a high pitched scraping then, like nails on a chalkboard, and it was so shrill, you had to cover your ears.  

“I can hear you just fine,” a deep, gravely voice chuckled from somewhere to your right.

Your attention snapped in that direction.  Instinct was telling you to start backing up, to get further away, to go bolt up the stairs, but that’s not what you did—you just froze there.  

It wasn’t long before you spotted a pair of glowing eyes peering at you from between two of the pipes, against the far wall. 

There was a person standing there.

It had to be one of the scare actors, down there on their break, or maybe this was a part of the haunt? But where was everyone else? And why was there a huge, poorly lit boiler room in the basement of that old house?

“I’ve been waiting for you,” he spoke in an evil sneer, like a villain in a cartoon.  

“This isn’t funny,” you shouted. “I just want to get out of here, please.”

He gave another diabolical cackle, and then there was the sound of nails on a chalkboard again.

The man in the basement with you stepped into view with a flourish, brandishing the long, metal daggers on his hand, flexing each finger for you to see each one individually; the tips were sharp and the blades caught the light.  He had on an old, brown fedora, a green and red sweater, and his skin was covered in scar tissue from severe burns.

You were down in that boiler room with Freddy Krueger.

The scream you let out as he charged toward you might’ve cracked fissures in the concrete.

You spun on your heel—

—and landed face first into the body of the person that had been standing behind you.  You felt the ragged, torn nature of a shirt under your cheek as whoever it was had enormous height, and then you pushed back and looked up in time to see a hockey mask with black eyes staring down at you, expressionless. His shoulders were broad and his body massive. Out to the side, he brandished a gleaming machete that was the length of your arm.

“Hi baby, get behind me!” The person in the Jason Voorhees mask said, sounding slightly echoed and muffled. The look he had was the same as in the movies, but this one had curly, almost frizzy dark hair that was long past his shoulders.

That voice…it was Eddie.

It was your Eddie.

You stammered a partial question, but then  you were already moving, letting his arm guide you around so that his body acted as a shield from Freddy who was cackling and swiping his finger knives around; you could hear the sharp whistle of air against the metal.  

You held on to the hips of Voorhees Eddie from behind and peeked under his raised arm to look at Freddy.  This Eddie in front of you was tall and massive, much more so than you remembered from the last dream you had.

“What the hell are you doing here, maggot?” The Freddy Krueger guy growled, saliva dripping from his yellow teeth as his pocked skin stretched over his cheeks like curdled milk.  

“Don’t worry about it, Jerry,” Eddie growled with disdain, throwing his machete into the other hand with deft precision. It twirled in the air and he caught it by the handle.  “This one is mine.”

“Oh, really?” The guy who looked like Freddy suddenly had a normal voice again, and his shoulders relaxed, dropping his hands to his sides. “I didn’t know, wow man, I’m sorry. Did I get the schedules mixed up?”

Voorhees Eddie relaxed too, dropping his free hand down to hold your hip, making sure you were still there. “No, you’re good,” Eddie’s voice was light now, soft, even. “I’m just filling in for Alex, he’s on vacation for a few days.”

“Paid leave?” Freddy/Jerry asked.  You were trying to match his face with the voice coming out, but it wasn’t working.

“I think so,” Eddie nodded once. 

“Must be nice to have seniority,” Jerry put his knives hand on his hip and scratched under his hat with the other. “Okay well, I’m going to head over to the next job. See ya, Munson.”

And with that, a black space the size of a door opened behind Jerry and he stepped through it. The door disappeared, and so did he. 

“Eddie?” You said his name over the hiss of the boilers as he turned to you.  You could see the realistically gray, rotting flesh of his Voorhees skin under his mask.  “What are you doing in a boiler room looking like Jason Voorhees?”

“Workin’,” he smiled and dropped the machete to the concrete with a clang to be able to snake his arms around you so that his fingers clasped at your lower back.  “I’ve been missing you.”

His new height was throwing you off as you tilted your head back to look up at him.  

“I recognized your voice this time,” you smiled, proud of yourself.  

He lowered his head to touch the mask to your forehead.  “I didn’t mean to disappear on you.  It took me a while to be able to have physical form again, to be able to see you like this.”

“It’s okay, I know,” you slid your hands up the torn clothing over his broad chest.

“You know?” He pulled back, searching your face.

“I’ve been reading this book, about where you work,” you wet your lips. “That Nightmare Factory place. I’ve been trying to figure out…how to see you more often.”

Eddie’s heart jumped.  He put his hand over yours on his chest and held it there, and you could see that even as Jason Voorhees, he still wore his signature metal rings.  “You’d do that for me?”

“Of course,” you got a bit bashful and looked down. “I want to…get to know you better.”

“I saw you the other night in my dream,” he rubbed his thumb over the back of your hand.  

You stared up into his eye sockets of his mask, and your face lit up.  “That was cool, wasn’t it? I couldn’t believe I found you.  There is a sort of meditation in the book that I did about a thousand times, and it was only for a second. I think it’s a type of astral projection. You looked really good on stage.”

Eddie tucked his chin almost bashfully, moving his hand to interlace his fingers with yours.  “You thought I looked good?”

Eddie had been learning too.  Learning new skills to come to you in your nightmares, but also learning about a rare case where a nightmare worker crossed into your dimension and stayed there.  They were never heard from again, and some say they didn’t survive the crossover and their particles exploded into the ether, but Eddie chose to believe that was a lie to keep people from trying.  

Suddenly, there was a banging sound, muffled and far away, but you could feel it thudding in your chest.  You checked around the room, thinking it was noise from one of the pipes, but Eddie dropped your hand and squeezed your arm, checking his digital wrist watch with a sigh like he usually did when he was about to make his exit.

Back at the factory, someone was banging their fist against the transportation door, shouting for Eddie. He tightened the muscles in his jaw, frustrated that there never seemed to be enough time. It sounded a whole lot like Kevin.

He had to figure something out soon, before his heart exploded.

“Are you in trouble again?” Now that you knew a bit more about what he did, you feared he might get penalized, and you wouldn’t lay eyes on him for another month.  The pounding continued intermittedly, and you faintly heard someone call out Eddie’s name.

“No, not this time, sweetheart,” Eddie stretched, puffing his chest out a bit, and then bent forward to put the mouth of the mask on your forehead. You could feel his warm breath on your skin there.  “But my shift is over.  I have to get back before my timer goes off.”

“Before your timer goes off? Sounds like you’re in a microwave.”

“Well,” he tipped his head to the side, thoughtfully.  “The technology is similar, I suppose, but yeah, I hate to leave you like this.”

You hugged Eddie Voorhees as hard as you could and spoke into his chest.  “Maybe next time, I’ll find you first.”

The distant banging got louder, more persistent.

He bent down to grab the machete, pushed a button on his watch, and the same square, black opening in the air appeared.

There was a second there when you considered just running and jumping through his door, but then you remembered a part in the book when it mentioned how that type of jarring dimensional travel could give Dreamers what scuba divers called “the bends” from the dramatic change in pressure.  

You were about to tell him you’d miss him, or goodbye, or something else, but then, in a blink, you were jolted back to your senses—

—you were back in the hallway of the haunt right after the spider had dropped from the ceiling.

Wait a minute.  How had that happened?

You were at a dead halt, stopping the flow of people traffic as you looked down at your hands and over at Ellie who had turned around to motion you to keep moving as another scare actor dressed like a deranged doctor covered in blood jumped from the corner.

When you got home, you rushed to your desk to open the book, and flipped to the chapter called “The fabric of moonbeams”.  It talked about “dream pockets” that occurred like daydreams when you were linked to someone.  The author didn’t know exactly how to explain it, but she suspected it had something to do with sudden surges of adrenaline that caused a dimensional shift, especially if you had a connection to someone at the factory.  

You sketched out Eddie again that night, this time, it was what you remembered from when you’d visited him for a few seconds at The Hideout.  Flanked by his bandmates, he was strumming the strings on his guitar, looking down with one knee bent out and his hair hanging down.  

You wanted to recapture the scene as realistically as possible so that you could study it to prepare for the next time you tried to visit him.  Next time, maybe you'd step into his world and not his dream.

Maybe next time, he’d kiss you again.

----

Happy Halloween weekend to all of you who are enjoying this series, thank you for reading 🧡

#love you for this my friend #I've been thinking about him a lot too #even have a little thing cooked up #maybe #if he let's me write it #always so happy to see you in my notifs #nightmare!Eddie #nightmare factory #comment reblog

[bettyfrommars]

show me pissed but also slightly aroused

#not the belt #and the mossy shirt #I'm losing my mind #this is the 90's #dork alert #I love him

[bettyfrommars]

This is you i’m convinced

BABE almost! I mean, I do have a bunch of tattoos and a steer skull 🥹 I've been thinking about putting some cowboy boots on and coming over to your place though, let me know. Also made me think of this song:

#Betty's asks #Ziggy 🖤

[bettyfrommars]

No, I don't have a magic bookcase that opens into a secret passage

#put the candle back

[bettyfrommars]

Was this what happened when someone looked upon the true form of a God? Were they fully unprepared for the sight before them? Was that the true test, to see something so unfathomable and horrific and still find it... "Beautiful," you muttered. "God...Eddie, you're beautiful."

(Excerpt from As Above, So Below Chapter 6: Revelation)

A commission from the lovely @toomanyacorns. Or, more accurately, PART of a larger commission by Kelso, just needed to do a little fast hand photoshop magic because it contains a huge spoiler and only a few people know about it. And I will be creating a V2 post once we get there (not long now).

BUT! Our brave Knight and her lost love in his monstrous form.

This one has been a long time in the making and once again Kelso drew this with only a few sentences of a description, almost no other references besides the art that she drew herself . I know a lot of AASB came from my brain but she honestly did a lot in shaping some of the imagery in this story with her wonderful imagination and skill and I cannot thank her enough for her talent and her friendship.

[bettyfrommars]

Betty, betty, betty! I’m just back from a low-key stag do for my uncle-to-be with my da (back in the motherland 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿 for the special occasion), bit tipsy and thinking of biker!steve. Honestly, I’ve been away from home for 7 weeks now and anytime I need a bit of maladaptive comfort before bed, those fics are where I go 🥰 Right now I’m wondering how biker!steve would react to our new/back-in-town!reader getting drunk and needing a little help home x

Mel the way I am kissing you consensually across the miles right now aalkfdajlkljklj I've been needing a biker!steve fix so bad 😭 I wrote this in a frenzy this morning, so I hope it's not garbage, and I hope you like it.

Also, this is Ring of Fire biker!Steve, an alt universe version of I'm on Fire biker Steve. A fic within a fic, if you will. These Steves are similar but not the same.

biker!Steve x fem!Reader

wc: 1k

18+, alcohol consumption, creeps, violence, yearning, mutual crush

You decided to skip on the old faithful Blue Light Tavern that night and leaned into the peer pressure of meeting up with a friend at a newer bar downtown. The drinks were fancy but weak, and the packed crowd didn't seem to mind paying twice as much for less. Heather, a part time cashier at the gas n' sip, had you doing shots with her before you ever had any food in your stomach, and that was a rookie mistake.

During a clumsy game of darts, you spotted Robin, and it made your blood race to think that Steve might not be far behind. She tipped her chin at you from across the room, and you waved the dart in your hand, losing total concentration on the game until Heather nudged you.

"You know Robin?" Heather asked, buying two more drinks from the passing waitress.

"I've seen her around," you muttered. Steve was nowhere in sight, but that didn't stop you from checking every time the door opened.

Heather's boyfriend showed up unexpectedly and so all of a sudden, there you were---a solid third wheel. While they made out at a table in the corner, you took your wobbly legs over to the only available seat at the end of the bar.

The problem with that stage of intoxication was that you felt really good, like maybe one more would make the experience even better.

Just a beer though, just one light brewski before you headed home on foot.

"Have a shot with me?" The guy next to you said, pushing his shoulder into yours.

You didn't recognize him, but his highlighted hair was a bit too perfect, his teeth way too white; he was a dead ringer for Zack Morris. You'd barely taken a sip of your beverage and already you regretted the decision to stay.

"I'm good, thanks."

He scoffed. "Not even one shot? I saw you drinking with your friend over there, I know you can handle one more."

Sober enough to catch his condescending tone, you glanced back to see that Heather and her boyfriend were no longer at the table. They'd most likely gone somewhere to fornicate, and you'd be fending for yourself for the rest of the night.

The guy bought two shots, anyway, sliding one over to you. You stared at it for a reluctant beat before moving to get off of your stool. Your footing was a bit unsteady, prompting the blonde guy to grab your arm.

"Where do you think you're going?" His booze breath was hot in your face.

"She's with me."

Making you do a double take, Steve stepped between the two of you, staring the guy down. Chewing gum so that the muscles in his jaw bulged, Steve dropped one arm behind him to support your hip and help you keep your balance.

"She doesn't look like she's with anyone," the blonde guy challenged.

Steve realized then that the idiot must've been new in town. Somehow, he'd missed the significance of what wearing a Coffin Kings kutte meant.

Steve could take him out to the alley and put a knife in his gut without a drop of moral conflict.

"Get lost," Steve cocked an eyebrow, never breaking eye contact.

The blonde guy snorted a laugh. "How about you get fucked?"

He jammed a palm into Steve's shoulder, and before another thing could be said, Steve took him by the back of the neck and smashed his face onto the edge of the bar.

You stifled a scream, but the place was so packed, and the music so loud, that no one seemed to notice or care as the blonde slumped to the floor. The people next to him simply shuffled over to take his seat, oblivious.

Steve turned to find you, both of your chests heaving as he leaned in.

"You ready to get out of here?" He whispered it softly, brushing his knuckles down your arm. His eyes were such a throbbing hazel at that moment you swore they were about to explode gold flecks all over you.

A nod was all you could offer at the time, and then his arm was around your waist, helping you out of the crowd. Your head bobbed like it was on a spring, making you realize how tipsy you actually were.

Outside, the cool air in your lungs was a relief, and it suddenly registered that Steve's motorcycle was positioned illegally up on the sidewalk.

Before you could question his parking choice, he mumbled. "I was in a hurry," before snatching the helmet off of the handlebar to pass to you.

"What are you doing here?" you turned to find that your lips were inches from his. Steve held his breath, not wanting to move, but also not ready to find out how deep the taste of you would bury him.

"You're not the only one who likes to have fun," he moved his head back to meet your searching gaze, the flicker of a grin teasing the corner of his mouth.

"No, I mean---" you looked down, swallowing hard. What were you even trying to say?

"Robin told me you were here," he admitted, bucking his chin at the building in question. "Otherwise, I wouldn't be caught dead in a tourist trap like that."

You'd figured as much, but never expected him to fess up to coming there just for you.

"But how did Robin---?" She must've called him from a pay phone or...

"You ask a lot of questions." He took over adjusting the strap under your chin, noting that you were having a hard time with it.

"Where are you taking me?" Your speech was a bit slurred, but at the time you were too buzzed to give a damn.

"What do you mean?" He wanted to take you somewhere and press his aching body against yours; to fall asleep holding your hand.

You hated the way he was making you explain yourself, as your brain scrambled for the right words. "The other day, you said you had something you wanted to show me."

"There are lots of things I want to show you," he kicked his leg over the seat to straddle the beast of a motorcycle and waited for you to follow suit. "But there's plenty of time for that. Let's get you home first."

He held onto your thigh, urging you closer until your heat was flush to his lower back.

"Hold onto me, okay?" He said, revving the engine to life. "Don't let go."

#Ring of Fire #biker!Steve #steve harrington #Mel ❤️

[bettyfrommars]

sweet betty baby, hope you’ve been well

💋 ✉️

I've been good, Ziggy darling, it's so lovely to hear from you as I haunt these halls ✨ I hope life is treating you well and your heart is light.

#Betty's asks #Ziggy 🖤

[bettyfrommars]

Anybody else just tired and bored with themself or is it just me and Bruce Springsteen

#wanna change my clothes #my hair #my face

[bettyfrommars]

HI BETTY! I forgot to send you a little message on the 22nd 🤦🏻‍♀️ So happy late 1 year to IOF!! I’m glad I was able to connect w you through this story and share my thoughts and guesses about what would come next. Truly a masterpiece ❤️❤️

Kelsie my love!

Just knowing you had the intention of sending me a message on that day makes me emotional. As you know, I also did not finish the Epilogue on time like I'd planned either 🤣 BUT it's on a good trajectory to be finished in a few days and posted next week. I initially thought it would be a "let's pop in and see how everyone is doing" epilogue, but instead, it's bringing some of the old I'm on Fire drama back, which has been fun for me.

I always look forward to your messages, and I'll be anxious for your thoughts! xoxoxo

#I'm on Fire #biker!Eddie #biker!Steve #Kelsie ❤️

[bettyfrommars]

Caves are weirder and more varied than you think

#swoon #writing reference

[bettyfrommars]

wrong number

'you get a phone call and find out it's a wrong number but realize that you don't want to stop talking to the person at the other end. come to find out, he's from another decade.’

eddie munson x reader/ eddie munson x gn!reader

warning(s): cursing, au (not sure if it would be considered an au but imma put it), mention of modern time. I'm just putting tags I'm not even sure what to tag this under. lmk if there are more.

a/n: prompt # 4 from the strangerprompts by @allthingsjoeq @somnambulic-thing and @bettyfrommars. mkay, I've never done these types of things or participated before, but yknow, I took a shot and I liked it lol so thank you guys!

—

"What?"

Your voice was nothing short of clipped. The results of hearing your phone vibrate too many times for you to tolerate another call going unanswered.

It was abnormal in your opinion. To receive this many calls from the same number within a short time.

While sure, you occasionally complained about the lack of service that came through the device due to your inability to actually hold a relationship with anybody, much less a conversation, this isn't what you were looking for.

And if your shortness wasn't clear enough before, your annoyance must've been by the way you questioned a 'hello,' with a lifted brow. Not really saying it as one should when normally speaking to someone. That was, if anyone was even on the other side.

"Uh, hello." The voice imitated your previous tone, pulling out the last vowel as he sung it.

He.

If you had to guess, probably no more than your age.

"Huh, so you can speak? You know you could've begun with that? When someone picks up the phone after being called, who knows how many times," you state through your teeth, "the least you could do is have the decency to actually say something when they answer."

"Y’know I don’t like your tone, we’re going to try this again.” He mouthed.

“Wait, what? No-”

He hung up before you could refuse. Your phone pulled away from your ear as your mind tried to catch up with what just happened. And in the midst of that, your phone vibrated, again.

Your finger hovered over the button as you eyed the device, sliding it over when you’d been staring long enough.

“Hello?” You questioned, unsure. The shift in your tone is clearly obvious.

“You learn quickly.”

The same voice replied back, and his response had you narrowing your eyes.

Asshole.

“I had said it before. You were the one who needed the lesson in how to answer back.” You reiterate.

“Well, m’not about to respond to somebody who starts a conversation with 'what.' I mean, have you no manners?" The guy said. You could hear the lilt in his voice and how he seemed to be grinning on the other side, but you had to shake your head from thinking any further on it because there was still a question that you'd been meaning to ask.

"Who are you?"

"It's your conscience, clearly I haven't been able to get through to you which is why you're probably lacking, well, manners, but- worry not, for I am here."

You weren't sure if it was you still trying to comprehend everything that's happened in the last few minutes, or that this guy knew how to pull conversation so easily that you went along with it- but you hadn't even realized he never properly answered or that he just lowkey called you out on something you knew was evident to a blind person.

And you didn't even correct him, and rather than just hang up on someone you didn't know, you stayed on the phone and chose to enlighten him.

"Hm, so that's what that was? Who would've thought I'd have one of those," you sighed and shrugged, leaning back against the bed frame. You could hear him snort at the small insult you'd given yourself, hearing the feign in your voice was enough to let him know your humor was in tack.

It made you grin. The first of many, and the first in a while to tell the truth. You also couldn't stop yourself from thinking about how this was probably the longest conversation you've ever held with someone.

"I'm Eddie." His voice pulled you from your thoughts, trying to catch up in the moments you'd been away.

"Huh?"

You could hear chuckling before it was repeated. "My name. You asked me who I was."

Eddie.

It didn't sound familiar. You didn't know anyone named Eddie, but then again, you didn't really know anyone and you had questioned it when you guy's began talking. It was a number you'd never seen before either so there was that.

You hadn't realized you'd been quiet until Eddie spoke.

"Y'know, this is where you tell me your name." He remarked. "We really gotta work on your communication skills and social cues." Unbeknownst to you though, since you only just met the guy, he shouldn't be one to talk.

You let out something between a scoff and a breathy chuckle before telling him yours. And Eddie repeated what you did moments ago- saying your name under his breath, to himself- as if he was worried he'd forget it in those few seconds.

It was easy to get into conversation with him, primarily because he kept pulling you into things he’d knew would get a response out of you. Like saying shit that you’d end up reprimanding him for because it annoyed you.

He knew that, and you weren’t so sure you liked how transparent you seemed to be. You’d known him for only a short time and he already knew how to push your buttons. Which you told him but his response was anything but what you expected it to be. He simply shrugged it off, telling you that ‘you let it get to you.’

To which you rebutted fully knowing he was right, which annoyed you more. Though other than that, the conversation between you two had been decent.

There were a few times when you had been confused by what he’d been speaking about, but you just assumed it was the way he was. I mean, the guy spent- you’re guessing- most of his time today calling the wrong number, only to hang up on you just to call you again because he didn’t like your tone. And then went on to call you out on your shit, which by the way, you still haven’t let go of. Either way, you just thought that what he was talking about, was how he spoke. A sort of slang, you know? I mean, now, that’s all people use these days.

Who were you to question it? It’s not like you could ask anybody what it meant. You weren’t even sure what the words were yourself. I mean you did but nobody said that sort of thing anymore.

There were a few moments of silence that occurred, mainly between your guys' turns in speaking. It wasn’t until you heard him on his end that you asked what he’d been up to. He kept muttering something under breath.

Well, it was more him humming, every other minute or so though you’d hear a word, and the more he hummed- the more familiar it sounded.

“Is that…..Metallica?” You peeked, unsure if you were right. His side went quiet the second you said it, and you could assume it was because you were likely wrong in your guess.

“Y-You know Metallica?” Eddie enounced. He was standing upright, his previous stance of leaning on the frame gone, as he stood there with wide eyes and mouth agape at your sudden query.

So you were right.

“Uh, yes.” It came out sounding like a question rather than you stating the obvious. “My Uncle used to listen to them. Whenever he came over when I was younger, that was all I’d ever hear. He’d tell us he grew up on them, so it was only right that we did too.” You explained. Eddie’s mouth stretched up at hearing your words, too caught up in the story to comprehend what you just said.

“I’ve never-” and then it hit him. His brows pinched together as he pulled the phone away from his ear. Did he hear you right?  “Wait…grew up on them?” If it hadn’t been for the way you told the story, as if it actually happened, he would’ve thought you were pulling his leg. And you probably were so he just reacted logically. He chuckled. “Mkay, right right.” 

It was your turn to pinch your face together, not understanding his sudden shift or why he was chuckling to begin with. “What? It’s true. The man grew up on them.” You raised, still clearly confused by his response.

“Mhm, sure.” You could hear the way he pulled the word, like he wasn’t convinced at all. Why was it so hard for him to get that what you were saying was true? “He’d have to be my age, kid.” He voiced.

W-What? 

“Excuse me?” You uttered, sitting up from your bed frame. Not only were you confused but you were getting a little freaked out. He sounded young, your age, give or take. There was no way you had been conversing with a guy in his 50’s.

“You heard me, he’d have to be my age. There’s no way this guy grew up on them. The band isn’t even that old, it hasn’t been that long. I mean, I get we were joking before but man, you really got me there. I almost fell for it!” Eddie said. “How old are you?” He managed through his breathy laughs.

You could feel your heart pick up, the genuineness clear in his voice. He really thought you were joking, that everything you just said in the last few minutes was made up. But it hadn’t been and that’s what had you getting up from your bed. This was beginning to be too much for you.

“E-Eddie, what are you talking about? You’re freaking me out.”

And suddenly it wasn’t so amusing anymore. His face fell upon hearing your tone. The humor he once found in the situation, now gone, as he stared ahead. You sounded worried, alarmed even. It was quiet for a few seconds until he spoke, his tongue swiped his bottom lip before he did so.

“Uhm, look t-this isn’t-” his hand wiped down his face. “W-What are you talking about, man? One minute we're laughing and joking around and the next you’re telling me about your Uncle growing up on Metallica. There’s no way! Mkay?” He was getting agitated, visibly shaken up as he thought about you on the other side in the same state. “Like I said, the band isn’t even that old. It's only been a couple of years, it’s 1986 for christ sake!” And though he had been saying it all so fast, you still understood them. It’s why you felt yourself unable to move upon hearing his last few words.

1986. 

The numbers repeated over and over in your head as you stood there. 

“W-What?” You stuttered, voice shaky as you asked. It wasn’t possible. “It’s not!” You raise, your hands moving with a mind of their own as you swiped out of where you were and looked at the screen. In the corner of your phone, the current date stared back. The time you were currently in. As in, right now. You could hear Eddie speaking but because you didn’t have it against your ear, you couldn’t tell what exactly he’d been saying.

It’s not possible, it's not possible, it’s not.

He said it like it was true. He didn't just think it was 86', he was saying it like he knew it was. It was just impossible, the year he said, wasn’t the year you were in.

You lifted the phone back up to your ear, hands unable to keep still as you look ahead. Your eyes glassy as you spoke.

“Who are you?”

Eddie’s breath picked up at the way you questioned it, your voice at a whisper. He ran his hand through his hair again, already disheveled from how many times he’d done it prior to when you went quiet.

“I told you. My name is Eddie....and it's 1986."

Your eyes shut as he uttered his name, the lack of deceit evident.

—

a/n: I wasn't sure how to end it.

feedback and reblogs are appreciated.

#TBR #strangerprompts #Eddie Munson #excited

[bettyfrommars]

Through The Echoes.

Eddie Munson x Reader

Word Count:1,025

He shows up at your house covered in mud in the rain, but the problem is, he died two months ago.

Taking a little break from writing A Slice Of Life to take part in the Stranger Prompts, courtesy of @bettyfrommars , @allthingsjoeq and @somnambulic-thing

Eddie Munson Masterlist // Masterlist

Two months, that's how long ago Eddie's funeral had been. There hadn't even a body in that dark wood casket, just a bouquet of white roses and guitar pick on a chain necklace set on top of the casket as it was lowered into the ground.

It had been a quiet gathering of people, his uncle Wayne, who still believed his poor nephew had lost his life to the devastation of the so-called earthquake, and you, and his new-found group of friends who knew the much stranger truth.

Robin wrapped a comforting arm around your shoulders as you shook with quiet sobs, holding your head in your hands, knowing that you would never get the chance to ever see Eddie again. To tell him what he means to you. To tell him how you feel for him way deeper than friends do.

That was two months ago.

The rain patters heavily against the windows as you tie your hair back, getting yourself ready for bed, taking one last longing look at the picture sitting on your dressing table. It was a four picture collage of you and Eddie from a photo booth, pulling increasingly silly faces at the camera to make each other laugh. He had taken you to the fair that had come to town, showing off his skills in trying to win you the giant stuffed teddy, which he had done with an all-too cocky smirk.

Your heart pulls when you look at that picture, the unassuming innocence of two people who didn’t know what was waiting ahead of them.

You kiss the photo in the frame, as you had done every night, before setting it back down on your dressing table and getting into bed.

Just as you were about to reach for the book on the bedside drawer, to read a few chapters before falling into an ultimately restless sleep, you’re roused by a heavy fist knocking at your front door. The sound echoing throughout the house. You untangle yourself from the sheets and reach for your dressing gown before sliding into your slippers and padding your way downstairs.

Who could that be at this hour? And what on earth could they possibly want that it couldn't have waited until morning?

However, it wasn't the splatter of cold rain that had your blood running cold as you opened the door, no.

There, stood in the doorway was Eddie, your Eddie, clothes sodden through and caked in mud. His dark eyes are red-rimmed as though he hadn’t known a decent night's sleep in a long time. The once familiar bounce of his frizzy hair is now plastered to his skin, raindrops clinging to the wet strands.

You could scarcely believe what you were seeing. Was this some kind of sick dream that you were going to wake up from at any moment? A manifestation of your grief?

Then he spoke. As plain as day, letting you know that this wasn’t a dream, no, this was real.

“I didn’t know where else to go.” he mumbles out, sadness and exhaustion clear in his voice.

Then, as if on auto-pilot, you bring your arm around him, ushering him into your house and upstairs to your bedroom, giving him a towel to dry himself off with.

 “I-uh, I’ve still got some of your old clothes, you know so you can have something warm to change into.” you say shakily, handing him over an old Black Sabbath t-shirt and a pair of plaid pyjama bottoms.

He had left a few of his things in your room from the countless times he’d stayed over, staying up with you late into the night just talking. You had fully intended on giving them back to him, but after losing him you just couldn’t bring yourself to part with them. Not when they still smelled so much like him. That familiar warm smoky scent that lingered on the soft cotton of his shirts.

The unspoken question of ‘how are you even here right now?’ hangs in the air as silence falls between you.

“Right, well I’ll give you some space to get changed.” you tell him as you take the damp towel from his hands and take it to the laundry hamper down the hall.

When you return to your room you see him as he’s pulling the t-shirts hem down his body, your eyes catching on the sliver of skin, the angry red scratches and splotchy purple bruises that litter his body.

The silence between you both is awful. You used to be able to talk about everything and anything, no topic was off the table, conversation with Eddie was so easy.

“I guess I owe you an explanation, and by God I wish I could give it to you, I really do, but I just don’t know what happened to me.”

“Eddie..” you start, but what were you going to say to that? Where have you been all this time? I thought you were dead? Everyone’s missed you. I’ve missed you. 

“I don’t remember anything, all I could remember is you, and I don’t know, just the thought of you brought me comfort when I felt lost and alone, and I knew that I had to find you. That I had to come back to you.” he said, his shoulders slumping as his head hangs down, hiding his face from you with his dark shaggy hair.

“Eddie, look at me, please.” you say with a steady breath falling from your lips. “Whatever you need, I’m going to be here for you. I’m going to help you, okay? I’m not going to let anything bad happen to you ever again, I swear.” 

“I don’t know if you can help me.” he sounds so scared and unsure of himself and it shatters your heart to pieces. “I keep hearing things, and seeing things that I don’t understand and everything just always feels so fucking dark.”

You wrap your arm around his cold, frail and bony frame, pulling him closer to your warmth.

“We’ll figure something out, I promise.” you chance a gentle kiss to his shoulder. “We’ll do this together.” 

@penguinsandpotterheads @mrsjellymunson @paybacksawitch @ali-r3n @seatnights @raccoonboywrites

#TBR #Strangerprompts #love the prompt choice

[bettyfrommars]

TWIN PEAKS — 1.07

#these two #dale cooper #harry truman #Twin Peaks

[bettyfrommars]

A Hard Pill to Swallow

Eddie Munson x reader

This is a very random little blurb reflecting a battle of apologising and longing. I may expand it.

“I miss you,”

“I love you,”

“Im-

Eddie looks at himself in the small circular mirror that’s drilled to the trailer wall. It’s speckled with water marks, hanging beside the wall phone and above the key hooks. He never asked why Wayne has it, mainly to avoid some potential speech of wisdom.

He remembers the last call. How it was filled with tears, regrets and the bitter sickness. The lump in his throat thats only just shrunk back down.

A deep breath is sucked in. Dust and musk meddling with it. He starts again.

“I miss you,”

“I love you,”

“I-I can’t say it”.

The man in the mirror looks back. Eyes of inky despair, hair spiralling outward, like the thoughts that take up Eddie’s nightmares.

The callused fingers betray his heart and move with the motions of his mind. They twist the dial to the numbers they know too well.

The phone cord becomes a victim between Eddies grip. Tugged and squeezed like one would a balloon about to be popped.

Eddies ready to pop.

Each ring dials up the thumping in his chest. The script he chants tickles his tongue. The dial tone amping anticipation. Its close. He takes another breath.

It goes to answer phone.

Theres the beep.

The lump returns.

“Im sorry.”

He’ll try again tomorrow.

…☎️…

ᴶᵘˢᵗ ᵗᵃᵍᵍᶦⁿᵍ ᵃ ᶠᵉʷ ᵐᵘᵗᵘᵃˡˢ ˢᵒ ᵗʰᵉʸ ᵏⁿᵒʷ ᴵᵐ ᵃˡᶦᵛᵉ- @bettyfrommars @eddiesxangel @oneforthemunny @silent-stories @bangaveragewhitewine @somnambulic-thing

#oohhh she's back #with a banger #eddie #fic rec #did you write this on the beach 😫 #miss you 🌏 #El's 🩷

[bettyfrommars]

Death Becomes Us

Part 10: The Man Who Made a Monster

vampire!Eddie x supernatural!Fem!Reader

masterlist playlist

WC: 7.6k

18+ONLY, MDNI, mention of wounds, car accidents, a bit of body horror, angst, guns, gunshot wounds, reader gets physically hurt (but bounces right back), blood, drinking blood, allusions to smut, evil men, supernatural powers, a demobat fren, fear of the unknown, a fire, werewolf!Steve, Dr. Brenner. References to one of my favorite 80's shows, the Incredible Hulk with Lou Ferrigno, and mid-90's MTV. Tiny references to FOI that you won't even notice if you haven't read the book.

Summary: Eddie, Jareth, and Steve come to your rescue, but do you even need to be rescued? Bad men surface and reader finds strength she never knew she had. Eddie confesses more than one secret to us, and the tension is thick. Reader is called Dove as a nickname.

Author's Note: I covered quite a few bases in this chapter, but there is still a lot to explore in the next and final part. We get to see reader in action and get some much-deserved satisfaction. I 've been staring at it for so long, I really hope you have fun reading this, love you. As always, Jareth's face claim is Jamie Campbell Bower.

-----

this starts right where Part 9 left off

Eddie snatched his keys and shoved Steve out the door before he quickly put some food down for Dio and locked the dead bolt.  

Steve called shotgun in the air, vaulting over the hood like an extra from the movie Grease, making Jareth roll his eyes.  “Is he part werewolf or labrador?” Whispering under his breath to Eddie, but Eddie just nudged him out of the way.

Jareth paused on the opposite side of the Pontiac GTO.  “We should go on foot, it would be faster,” hinting to the lightning-speed with which vampires moved.

Eddie inclined his head to Steve.  “Not when we’ve got the pup with us.”

“Fuck you,” Steve sneered, brushing back a flop of hair from his forehead.  “I can keep up with you two geezers, trust me.”

“What if I just kill him and rid us of the dead weight,” Jareth grumbled.

“You can try,” Steve bit, growling deep in his chest.

“Enough!” Eddie snapped, swatting the top of the car with his hand.  “Everyone get in and hold the fuck on. We’re goin’ for a ride.”

—----

Heat scorched through your veins like lava, and as your eyes fluttered open, you passively wondered if the car was on fire, and you were about to be cooked alive.

But

You were no longer in the vehicle.  Squeezing your eyelids tight to find the memory, recollection came flooding back as your fingers curled into dirt, cheek pressed into the forest foliage.  There might have even been a pinecone acting as a pillow at your ear.  

The muscles in your arms and shoulders throbbed, not to mention the feeling of your skull being cracked open by a catastrophic neurological event.  A migraine to rival all migraines.

You remembered being taken…the conversation about Brenner…and Bela…

Bela!

You called her name, but it came out as nothing but a puff of air, a whine deep in your chest.  

What if she got hurt in the crash? What if she —

The crash!

Adrenaline flushed through you like a swarm of bees and you sat up, cracking your stiff neck as you went, and your head swam.  

Where the fuck were you?

A car passed a few yards away on the highway and you realized you’d been tossed into a ravine.  In the distance, the SUV you’d been kidnapped in was on its back and smoking as if something inside had caught fire.  Where was that awful witch and the man who was driving?

A memory of ripping the door off by its hinges and climbing out of the vehicle flashed behind your eyes, but that was impossible.  You must’ve been able to jump out and then hit your head or something. You weren’t turning green and ripping out of your clothes; you were no Lou Ferrigno.

You moved your legs to make sure they worked, and soon you were on your feet, using tufts of grass to crawl along as if you were about to fall off the earth.

In the distance, thunder rolled.

—----

“Turn here, take the shortcut!” Steve shot his hairy arm between the two seats, pointing to right after the stop sign.

“I know what I’m doing!” Eddie roared.  “Just sit the fuck back and stay cool.”

Eddie could feel you, and his heart was jackhammering in his chest.

He floored the gas, tires squealing as they ghosted the road, peeling down the old highway through the woods that barely anyone used anymore.  The velocity shot Steve back against his seat, and Jareth’s fingers dug into the console while music from Sisters of Mercy blared from the stereo. 

“We’re close,” Eddie lowered his chin, laser focused on the scene ahead of him.  He could feel that familiar static fill his body whenever he was in your vicinity.  

You were not the first human whose blood he’d tasted, not by a long shot.  In fact, for the first few years after he’d been made vampire, he didn’t care about  himself or anyone else, and it seemed there wasn’t a willing human in a 100 mile radius that he hadn’t tasted.

But with you, it wasn’t even about your blood.

You made him feel a certain type of way that he’d been missing for over a decade, perhaps even his whole life.

The clouds trembled, and a crackle of lightning shot a silent burst of light through the midnight sky. All three of them could smell the wreck before it was ever in view, and Eddie released his foot on the gas to slow down a bit.

—---

You stumbled onto the main highway, and the headlights came at you too fast to understand what was happening.  

Everything was so bright, it hurt your eyes. It made you swipe your hands in the air and groan, fighting the illumination as if it were a tangible enemy. 

The car coming at you screeched on its brakes, twisting to the side so that it wouldn’t hit you, skidding sideways.

In a blink, you recognized the stunned faces on the other side of the windshield.

—---

The other two men in the car didn’t see that it was you at first—but Eddie knew.  He’d witnessed those shock white eyes before, void of color or pupil.

Electricity snapped off you, as if  you were a live wire. It crackled and skipped off of your skin like the lightning that appeared above them in the sky.

One of your arms was twisted unnaturally backwards at the elbow, but you somehow flexed the joint back into place as you stood there, correcting your posture.  You stood on one side of  your foot as if your ankle was broken, but then that righted itself with a sickening twist.  Your limbs jerked like the walking dead trying to move for the first time after reanimation.  All of this, and yet your face appeared unphased, as if you were impervious to the pain.

Your face was set in surprise and fear and confusion, and his heart nearly leapt out of his chest to be able to hold you.

With a curse, he slammed the GTO to a halt, tires burning rubber as they locked and skidded on the asphalt.  

Something told him you were fairly invincible, just like him, but he wasn’t taking any chances.  

Steve slid across the backseat, knocking his head on impact, and Jareth’s fingers dug so deep into the console that they left puncture marks.  

Eddie didn’t have time to think about what the other two were doing or the danger of leaving his car in the middle of the highway, he threw the gear into park and jumped out to check on you.

From above, there came a loud squawking, and Bela soared down from where she’d been circling in the sky to land on your shoulder with a weight that almost made you lose your balance.

—-----

Bela bared her teeth and screeched at whoever was approaching from the vehicle.  The headlights were too bright, and your ear canals were on fire with hot noise.  A loud, shrill ringing filled your skull cavity like sharp a million tiny pinpricks.

But then you recognized his silhouette

You’d know  it anywhere

“Eddie?”

“It’s me,” he assured you.  “Are you hurt?”

Bela settled once she knew it was him, lowering her wings, and his body came to block the light so that you could see the distress in his face.  He reached a hand out to touch your arm, but then he yanked it back with a hiss.  It was like you’d given him an electrical shock, with volts like those from a cattle prod or taser.  

“I didn’t mean to do that,” you hesitated, hoping he’d dare to touch you again. 

And he did, rushing closer without pause, not caring about how bad the last one stung. He cupped one hand at your jaw while the other went to your hip, searching your mouth for temptation's sake.  “Let’s get you home.”

He got zapped a few more times from seemingly stray sparks, in the chest and the side, making him wince, but he did not relent.  It was a good thing the violent stabbing did not force him back, because just then your knees gave out and you slumped into his arms. Bela took to the sky again before landing on the hood of the GTO with another high pitched wail, wings spanning out as if she were about to conduct an orchestra.

Eddie dropped to his knees on the ground next to you, careful to protect your head from the pavement with his hand.  In wolf form, Steve trotted over to nudge your face with his snout and lick your cheek with a whimper.

“She’ll be okay,” Eddie took his jacket off and made it into a pillow for you, before angling to sink his fangs into his own wrist.  “She needs blood.”

“Use mine,” Jareth hovered nearby, and you could vaguely hear them arguing as your adrenaline crashed.  “I’m older, my blood is stronger.”

“No,” Eddie growled, and then the two bared their teeth at each other.  

Eddie knew that, more than anything, Jareth wanted to be in  your head, to be linked to you in the same way he was.  To know where you were at all times and for you to have…those special dreams about him.  No way in hell would Eddie let that happen.

He’d already punctured a vein and had his tattooed wrist over your mouth, leaking his life force into your trembling lips until you were able to latch on and suck.  

Jareth’s stare bore into Eddie.  “Maybe I should tell her you’re the reason Brenner knew about her in the first place.”

Eddie glared at him.  “You don’t know fuck about it.”

Jareth smirked.  “I know more than you think about the little ‘job’ you were hired to do for him.”

Eddie’s eyes narrowed and he shushed him. “This isn’t the place for this, Jareth.”

A car had to navigate around the GTO to continue down the old highway, and the person shouted their disapproval, but then the driver slowed once he spotted you on the ground and the SUV that was rolled over on its side in the distance.

Jareth and Eddie turned to him and hissed with their fangs out, glaring at him with obsidian eyes, until he slammed on the gas and sped off in the direction he was headed.  Steve growled and chased after the car, keeping up with it for a while before hanging back to sniff around the wreckage that you’d managed to somehow survive.  

You mumbled, gurgling on a spurt of blood, and Eddie took his wrist away.  Your eyes were closed, but your tongue flicked out to lick more of his essence from your stained lips.  Were you conscious enough to know what they were talking about? He’d planned on telling you everything, but the time was never right.  He never expected things to get so…messy.  Never expected you’d become so…special to him.  

Some rich dude offers you to keep an eye on someone for a couple weeks for an abnormally huge chunk of cash, you do it.  He’d had no skin in the game when he initially accepted the offer.  

Caring about you as much as he did was the last fucking thing he’d expected to happen, but he didn’t know how to make it stop.

Jareth leaned over you to get closer to Eddie.  “If you don’t tell her soon, I will, and your little fairytale will be over.”

All Eddie could do was grind his teeth: Jareth was right, he should’ve explained the whole thing to you that night when he’d waited for you to get back from your date with Steve.  But by then, he was afraid he’d lose you.

Yet, how could you lose someone you never had?

“We need to get out of here,” Eddie eased you into a sitting position, your head flopped, and then held your chin in his hand.  Your eyelids were fluttering and your skin was beginning to cool as the healing properties of his blood took effect.  

God, how badly he wanted to press his lips to yours.

“What about the witch?” Jareth stood to full height to look over and see Steve sniffing around the crash. “What if they survived?”

Eddie had you off your feet and lifted in his arms by then, but Jareth was right.  As much as he wanted to get you far away from there, he’d watched enough horror movies to know that you never turned your back on a killer until you knew they were dead.  Knocking them unconscious with the back of a shovel wasn’t enough; you had to chop their whole head off and throw them in a cement mixer.

Steve morphed back into human form halfway back to the group, butt naked again, to report back on what he’d found.

Eddie waited for him to announce that there was no one in the vehicle and the bodies were gone…

But instead, Steve shook his head.  “Looks like they didn’t survive.  His neck is broken and she’s—-”

“Are you sure?” Jareth blurted with an air of irritation. “Maybe I should check for myself.”

“I think I know what a dead body smells like, asshole,” Steve grunted, pushing back on Jareth’s chest.

The headlights of another car was approaching, and Eddie reiterated that they needed to get as far away as possible from the scene of the crime. He threw the keys to Jareth, and made Steve sit in front so that he could crawl into the back with you while you healed.  Bela billowed into the sky and hovered there, waiting to see where they were taking you so she could follow.  

It wasn’t his blood that healed your broken foot or your fractured arm though—you’d done that all by yourself.  Maybe you didn’t need him after all, maybe you’d be better off without him.

“Put your pants back on,” Eddie tossed the clothing from the back seat over to Steve.  “I don’t need you teabagging the upholstery.”

Next to him, you had your head on Eddie’s shoulder and your hand on his thigh when Jareth sped off just in time to miss being clipped by the oncoming semi truck.  It blared its horn just as you lifted your head to look up at Eddie with groggy eyes.

He licked his lips, feeling his throat close up at how near your face was to his.

“Did you save me?” Your voice was strained, sounding like your esophagus was constricted.

Eddie put his hand over yours and you interlaced fingers.  “I think you saved yourself,” he mumbled.  “You don’t need me.”

“I do,” you said it so fast, and he leaned over even more, thinking maybe he hadn’t heard you correctly.  “I do need you.”

Your hand in his, he brought it up to his chest, searching your eyes as an avalanche of words trembled at the tip of his tongue, right there wanting to roll out like a carpet of devotion to you.  

He took a deep breath to calm his nerves because he was shaking so fucking bad.

Jareth caught his eye in the rearview mirror and the two glared at each other before Eddie broke contact and wrapped another arm around your shoulders to bring you closer.  “We’re almost home,” he hushed, planting his lips to your forehead, blushing at the way you refused to let go of his hand.  “I won’t leave you.”

—----

By the time you got back to the trailer park, your energy and strength had been fortified and you urged everyone to go home to let you get some rest, except for Eddie, who’s hand you were still holding as you got out of the car.

The witch and her companion being dead felt too good to be true, and a measure of palpable dread hung in the air.  It was unspoken knowledge that Brenner was still after you, and he knew exactly where you lived.  

Jareth stepped forward, tipping your chin up with the crook of his finger.  “Are you sure you don’t need anything, love?”

“She has me,” Eddie growled.

Jareth fluttered his eyelids in that bored way he’d mastered.  “If you’re so concerned, we’d be better off at Sacrament.  I can keep her safe there more sufficiently than she’d be in this…” he fanned his hand around a few times, “...this place.”

Bela landed on the railing with a swoosh and squawked.

“I hate to say it, after everything,” you angled toward the steps, exhausted.  “But I don’t think this Brenner person is going to stop until he gets what he wants.” You glanced sideways at Eddie. “I don’t want anyone else to get hurt because of me.”

“I’d like to meet this guy myself,” Steve said through gritted teeth.  

Jareth flipped the collar of his coat up and ran a hand through his golden hair.  “Well, my offer stands.  Sacrament is at your service if you should require shelter or protection.”

“Sounds good,” Eddie said dismissively, reaching for the railing to cage you away from the two men. “We’ll let you know.”

“Thank you, Jareth,” you told him, and he winked at you, returning the genuine curve of your smile.

And Eddie hated it so much, he wouldn't have been surprised if steam were coming out of his ears like a cartoon villain.

But he let it slide because Jareth could make things fucking awkward in that moment if he wanted to.  

You turned to Steve.  “Would you like to come in? I don’t have much by way of food, but—”

“He’s fine,” Eddie answered for him.

The two glared at each other for a beat, but then Steve relented.  “Thank you, but I’m not hungry.  Still, I think I’ll stick around for a while, check the perimeter,” he ignored the tick in Eddie’s jaw and waved at you as he backed up to disappear around the backside of the trailer. 

“Hey Harrington, my vest!” Eddie shouted, and it wasn’t long before the denim came sailing through the air to land on the dead lawn near the porch.  Eddie bent to pick it up with a huff, and by then Jareth had disappeared into the night.

Now you were finally alone, and as much as it was what he wanted, it made his stomach drop.

Eddie paced the living room a bit before taking a seat, perching precariously at the end of the sofa to bounce his knee and gnaw at his bottom lip.  

“Listen,” you took a beer and a half-full bottle of NuBlood out of the fridge to put it in the microwave for him.  “I figure there’s no use asking you to leave with people obviously hunting me down, but I really need to take a shower.  So just…make yourself at home I suppose?”

The microwave dinged and you walked the warm glass bottle over, and then waited for him to wrap his hand around it, fingers grazing yours, before you spoke. “I feel like there are some things we should talk about.”

Eddie was already nodding. “I’d like that,” he gulped.

Eddie waited until he heard the shower running before he sank down into the cushion and used the remote to turn the TV on.  He needed to distract himself from letting his mind wander to how you were absolutely undressing in there, about to be naked and wet and…

He squirmed in his seat and turned the volume up.  It was an MTV music video for Metallica’s Until it Sleeps, but he only vaguely cared as he puffed his cheeks for a forceful exhale. In his head, he practiced what he would say, how he would beg your forgiveness, and how he never really understood what this guy Brenner was all about until it was too late…

In the shower, you made the water as hot as you could handle it, leaning into the burn, and stood there for the longest time without moving. Eyes closed, you could feel Eddie step into the shower behind you, sneaking his hands around to pluck at your nipples.  “Room for one more?” He rumbled in your ear, just before he nibbled it.

He wasn’t really there, but you couldn’t help but touch yourself with a soapy hand as if he were, biting your lip around a moan.

The water ran cold by the time you were ready to step out, swooshing the curtain aside with a swift swipe of your arm.  

The thump of something heavy falling to the ground out in the living room had you straining to hear what it might’ve been as you pulled a clean t-shirt and jeans on.  Music videos were on, playing In the Blood by Better Than Ezra, and you called Eddie’s name.

The only response you got was from Bela, and she let out one long screech that felt like it had the power to break glass.

“Eddie?” You shouted this time, flinging the door open to let the steam roll out and fill the hallway. “Bela??”

The door to your trailer was wide open, but Bela was there, scrambling from the back of the couch to perch on your shoulder the second you came into view. 

“What happened?” You asked your demobat companion.  “He just left us here? Without a word?”

The potted terracotta plant that had once been above the TV right by the door was on the carpet, shattered.  

You crossed your arms over your chest, and shivered as you stepped one foot out on the porch to look around, a chill breeze nipping at your flesh.  “Eddie? Are you out here? Steve?”

The whole court was eerily silent, even the crickets and frogs were holding their breath.

You backed up into the house, pulling the door shut.

The TV screen went from MTV to static, and you stepped back to stare at it while Bela swished her tentacles around nervously, leaving red, raised scratches on your arm and neck.  She was heavy, but you’d gotten used to her weight and hitched our shoulder up to accommodate.

The static changed to the image of a man standing before a black backdrop.  He was tall and thin, wearing a business suit with a full head of silver hair. 

“Hello Dove,” the man on your TV said.

He was looking right at you.

You glanced around for a weapon, but as if he could read your mind he said.  “No need for that, I don’t want to hurt you.”  He was handsome in a “trust me”, evil doctor kind of way, but the last thing you felt like giving him was your trust.

“What did you do to Eddie?” It felt stupid, talking to an electronic device as if it were a person, but that was the situation you’d found yourself in.  

Brenner said nothing, but you got a bad feeling and swallowed to wet your dry mouth before taking cautions steps over to the window facing his trailer to peel back the blinds.

But you could already see the flames inside, and just then, you smelled the smoke.

His trailer

It was on fire.

“Nononono no,” You chanted, charging for the door.  

“Come with me quietly,” the man on the TV said, calmly. “Or your vampire boyfriend will meet the final death.”

You halted in your tracks, glaring down at the older man, nostrils flaring with anger.  “Come with you? Where are you hiding?” You chided; hands balled into fist as you cocked your head. “You’re not afraid of me, are you?”

Brenner looked down before meeting your eyes again.  “Your father underestimated the capacity for your powers.  I don’t plan to make the same mistake.”

“How did you know my father?” You barked.

Outside, one of Eddie’s windows blew out, glass shattering everywhere, and his curtains went up in flames.

You ran outside and flew down the steps before the man's voice could stop you.  Dio, Eddie’s cat, ran by to hide under your trailer.  

Maybe Eddie had gone in like a crazy person to save some photos or something, and somehow, he’d gotten trapped in there.   Bela took to the sky while you rushed to his door.

But then there he was, staggering out on a dark cloud of smoke, holding an electric guitar in his hand.

“My sweetheart,” he held it up.  “I couldn’t let her burn.”

He was smiling at you from the top of his steps, dimples popping, and you could help but mirror it, flooded with relief.  He really didn’t care that his whole place was burning, as long as he had Dio, his guitar, and you.

He’d lost much more in his life to a fire once when he was younger, so this one wouldn't sting half as bad.  

And it suddenly didn’t matter that some creepy old dude could somehow talk to you through your TV: Eddie was okay.  

But then something else happened. 

He took the first step, never taking his eyes off of you, but something knocked his shoulder back, like an invisible punch.  

And then another and another

The smile on his face quivered and his forehead creased, trying to understand what was happening.

He tucked his chin to look at his torso, and your eyes followed.

Dark blooms were appearing on his shirt like liquid spilled from an inkwell.  On his chest, over his heart, from his stomach.  

He stumbled down the last two steps and then fell to his knees, dropping the guitar so that he could brace himself with his hand.

Had Eddie been shot?

You didn’t have time to figure that out.  Some strange voice in your head told you there was a chance the trailer could explode—or maybe you’d watched too many movies—but you had to get him away from there.  He was a vampire, and even if he had been shot, he could heal, but you weren't sure how he would survive his body being blown to bits.  

The next thing you knew, you were carrying him, much like he’d carried you in his arms earlier.  You didn't need to summon the insane strength; it was just there. There was that buzzing in your skull, and you could feel violent sparks crackling through your muscles.

Everyone was coming out of their trailers at that point, and Dolores was screaming frantically into her phone wearing a nightshirt and curlers in her hair.  You didn’t know how long it would take for the fire department to get there, or if there was a possibility that the wreckage would spread to the other trailers.

You put Eddie down on the other side of your hearse and leaned him back against the tire to find there was blood trickling from his mouth, but he still tried to grin at you.

“See,” he sputtered.  “You’re like a superhero.  You don’t need me.”

“But I do,” tears clouded your eyes while another window blew out from the trailer.  You put your forehead to his and your lips brushed together.  “Please, don’t leave me.  Eddie I—”

“The bullets,” he winced.  “They’re silver.  My body can’t reject them.”

There were three or four different holes in him there that were steaming as the silver burned him from the inside.  You cupped your hand on his jaw, and he grabbed your wrist, turning his head to kiss your palm.  

“Here, take my blood—” 

You yanked your shirt down to give him your pulsing jugular, but all of a sudden you were forced back by some unseen force, flying through the air until you landed ass first in the gravel and skidded to a stop, rolling over to find yourself face first at the feet of someone wearing a pair of black, shiny shoes and slacks.

“Dove,” a familiar, deep voice said. “We meet again.”

You pushed back, scuttling away to find that it was the man from your TV; he was standing in your trailer park.  Flanked by two menacing looking men with bald, tattooed heads, wearing sunglasses.  Each of them in suits and ties as if they were the actual Men in Black.  

“I don’t know you,” you grumbled, getting to your feet that were bare and bleeding, but healing rapidly. You checked around each shoulder cautiously to see that there was a handful of other men in suits, all of them holding guns, and then a tall guy with a scalp of strawberry stubble, no more than 20, in a red jumpsuit. The guy had his chin down, eyes pinned on you as if he might shoot lasers from them.

His expression was deceivingly kind.  “My name is Martin Brenner.  I met you before you died the first time,” he said casually.

“You see, your father and I used to be friends,” he walked a circle around you, before coming front and center again.  “He stole valuable information from my laboratory in order to bring you back.  You're my property as well, but he decided to keep you from me.”  

“My father never mentioned you,” was all you could say.  In your peripheral vision, you could tell the others were inching close.

“We could’ve been so great together, Dove.  Imagine your contribution to science.  And you would not be so uncertain about your powers,” he stepped back to gesture at the boy in the red jumpsuit.  “I want to introduce you to Kane.  He was reanimated the same way you were, but under my expertise and supervision.”

Kane had a railroad scar on his forehead, and a hand that was a different skin color than the rest of his body.  It wasn’t just a different skin tone; it was a body part from an entirely different person.

You thought about all of the love you were raised with, and though your dad fumbled the ball on attentiveness quite a bit, you never doubted how much he cared for you.  You were beginning to understand that maybe he didn’t explain what abilities you might have because it would lead you back to Brenner somehow.

The surge of power was growing inside of you, and instead of pushing it down, you let it grow and churn and spill out, creating a type of electrical force field around your body, a vibrating aura of protection.

“Show her what you can do, Kane,” Brenner said.

Not sure what to expect, you watched Kane rubbed his hands together, creating a bright bolt of lightning from the friction, his eyes went milk white, and then he shot an arm out towards the nearest hulking security guard, palm open, and it sent the man in black off his feet, sailing back as if he were hugging an invisible beach ball.  He smacked into the side of the opposite neighbor’s trailer with a bone to metal thwack.  

Your eyes were fixed for too long on the man slumped in the gravel, and when you turned to face Kane again, he was a few steps closer, peering through his lashes at you with an evil twitch of his lips.

Apparently, you were the next example in his bag of tricks.  

Your feet were off the ground before you could process another thought, catching air like a rag doll only to drop down and skid face first into the cold, dry earth.  

Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be, eh? Lifting into a push up position, you spat dirt and blood from your mouth with a curse.

Gathering yourself up and into a crouch, you vaguely heard Eddie call your name, but he was still rendered temporarily helpless by the silver, and your head was spinning.  Not so much from confusion and fear this time, but more…anger.

You nailed Kane with a heated look, and then your hand lashed out in his direction, though he was yards away, and actual sparks flew from your palm, spitting like fireworks.

Kane was pummeled in the gut with a force he obviously wasn’t expecting, and you kept going before he could find his footing again, knocking him down before he could raise a hand at you again..

“How does that feel?” You bit, towering over him. 

In a heartbeat, you lifted Kane’s limp body above your head with a roar that you could not believe came from your own mouth.  Arching back, you aimed to drop him over the nearby trailer hitch, which would surely break his back, if not kill him, but then you remembered who you were and faltered.

Blinking, trying to quiet the buzzing in your skull, you knew you did not want to kill this boy.

You understood, even under such duress, that he was only doing what he was told.  

But Brenner was actually applauding you, pupils blown from the intensity, urging you to keep going, to murder this stranger at his bidding.  

You could’ve very easily ended up just like Kane, if not for the love and protection of your father.  

Heaving, trying to calm yourself, you threw Kane’s body in the opposite direction, so that he landed on flat ground that would absolutely hurt, but he’d be able to walk away.  

Brenner beamed at you like a parent watching their child take their first steps.  “You’re stronger than I’d imagined.  Your powers have somehow increased since your inception, and I’d love to know why.”

You squared up with him, making him step back to avoid the sparks actively snapping off of you.  “What do you want from me?”

You didn’t have to look to know that all of the guns were trained on you.  

“I want you to work for me, Dove. We could change the world together, you and I.”

It felt like he was trying to sell you a car, not asking to hook you up to electrodes and make you his own personal soldier.  

“Never,” you were calm now, and you wanted nothing to do with this man or whatever he thought he could do for you.

The flames went higher on the trailer, and in the distance, wails of a fire engine could be heard.  

You caught sight of Eddie, but he was flat on the ground now and no longer sitting up.

You rushed by Brenner, slamming into his shoulder as you went, but two of the guards caught you by the arms.  It felt like they were stronger than normal men, and when they bared their fangs, you realized they were vampires.

Growling, you flung them off of you, and they went stumbling back as if they weighed nothing, as if you were suddenly impervious to their supernatural strength.

“Kill the boyfriend,” you heard Brenner bark at the men.  “Use the wooden bullets this time.”

A gun cocked, and you ran a few steps, but then vaulted over Eddie’s body, arms wide, using yours as a shield.

You felt the bullet impact like a dagger in your back, but it was as if it bounced off somehow instead of penetrating.  Eddie barked in pain as you covered him, but then he clung to you as you rolled him under the hearse, away from the gunfire.  

Caging yourself on top of him, knees on either side of his hips, and stomachs touching, you could feel how weak he was; the silver enabled his body from healing, and you had to find a way to get them out.  

You watched the feet of the one with the wooden bullets approach the vehicle, thinking of your next move when Eddie whispered into the side of your neck: “You’re so fucking beautiful—”

If this was the end for him, this was how he wanted to spend it: with you, being able to see your face one last time.  

Before you could respond, there came a shrill, tortured scream, and the booted feet you had your eye on stumbled back.

More agonizing screams, until the body in question dropped to the ground, limbs writhing, and you could see that Bela had attached herself to his head like an Alien facehugger.  

Only because he was a vampire, he was able to pull her off, but she took most of his flesh and his nose off with her.  

Bela took to the sky again, out of view, and they aimed their guns up at her.

“Not so fast, boys,” a new voice rumbled from the shadows. “I want to play, too.”

Eddie’s shallow breaths moving under you, it was all you could do not to cheer out loud when you realized the voice belonged to Jareth.

And apparently, Jareth brought friends; enough to fill the entire courtyard.

They were crouching on the roofs, on cars, everywhere.

Brenner and his crew were surrounded; Bela had gone to get help.  

In the woods, a pack of wolves howled their attendance as well.  

Jareth pierced the closest vampire in the heart with a wooden stake and he exploded, guts flying everywhere.  

As far as the human bodyguards went, the rest was a bloodbath.  

From what you were told later, Kane ran, and Brenner tried to get behind the wheel of the SUV, but instead he was dragged into the war zone and drained dry before being ripped limb from limb. 

Jareth wanted to keep the doctor in his dungeon to torture him, but a few of the vampires knew of Brenner and the experiments he’d done on their kind over the years.  It was all nothing short of sadistic torture, keeping them barely alive so that he could run experiments on them over time and sell their blood for a profit.

They’d been wanting to get their hands on him for a long time.

—-----

By the time the rescue team and fire truck showed up, all of the vampires had evaporated into the shadows, and you’d snuck Eddie up into your bedroom, carrying most of his weight as he was only able to hobble.  You collected his guitar as well, and brought Dio inside, since those were the only two things from the burning wreckage, he voiced a care about.  With the lights out and the curtains closed, you used a modest bedside reading lamp to assess the damage.  While you were concentrating on him, his eyes never left your face, his heart bursting. 

“You might have to suck them out,” he cleared his throat.  “The bullets I mean.  I’m sorry if that’s weird.”

“You mean, weirder than all of the other shit that happened tonight?” You mumbled, coming back from washing your hands.  There was still dirt caked under your nails, possibly some blood, but whatever.

“Good point.”

Until you got the bullets out, any blood you gave him would be useless, so without another moment of hesitation, you crawled up on the bed, springs bouncing, and knelt next to his torso, bracing a hand at either side of him. He was burning up around the sight of each wound, and the skin sizzled as the alloy continued to roast him alive.  

The first one was at the surface and came out fast, hot metal on your tongue.  The next one, under his right nipple, was deeper and you had to suck harder, making Eddie’s toes curl.  You spit each out onto the floor, and strings of his blood mingled in your saliva.

One hand behind his head, the other rested at his hip with a thumb in his belt loop.  “So, you’re like…the incredible Hulk, but with powers.  That’s pretty badass.”

“I don’t know what I am,” you scoffed, sucking out another, and then pausing to watch the openings seal up and heal.  “I’m a waitress, that’s all.  That’s all I want to be.”

He nodded, musing on how many times he’d wished he could go back and not be a vampire. He wanted to tell you the story of when he was reborn, but that could wait for another time.  Now it was time to put some very messy cards on the table. 

The last bullet was deep, and you had to swirl your tongue around in the hole to loosen it.

“I have something I need to tell you,” he blurted while your lips were near his belly button.

“Mmmhmm?”

Fuck, here it goes…

“First, I just want to say that I had no idea who this Brenner guy was before, like, a few months ago,” his next swallow felt like he was chugging a grapefruit. “If I’d have known what a creep, he was I never would’ve…”

You stopped what you were doing to raise your head, waiting for him to finish, the final bit of silver still lodged in his abdomen. “You knew of Brenner? Before all this?”

He couldn’t look at you, he had to stare at the ceiling.  

“Uh, yeah, that first week you were here, he tracked me down at the chop shop and said he’d pay me a shit ton of money to keep an eye on you. I didn’t ask a lot of questions.  As far as I knew, you were his long-lost daughter, or some shit and he wanted to make sure you were safe.”

You sat back on your knees, trying to let that sink in.

He lifted up to brace himself on an elbow, wincing at the sting of the remaining bullet.  “I didn’t know you then, that was before we were…” he fumbled with what he wanted to call you and what you actually were, “...a friend.”  

“So,” you frowned down at your hands.  “You’re the reason I was kidnapped tonight? The reason all of this happened?”  Your wide eyes snapped to him.  “Did you set me up?”

He sliced his hand in the air a few times, shaking his head vigorously.  “No..nope…I had nothing to do with any of this,” he pleaded.  “I only reported back to him for a couple of weeks, and then I stopped, really.  After that night I first took you to Sacrament, I told him I was too busy to—”

All of the horrific memories were rushing back to you.�� “What about the Klemp’s? Did you pay them to hurt me or something? So that I’d have to drink your blood and let you into my head?”

Eddie spoke so fast; he stuttered over his words.  “No, absolutely not, never! I just happened to be in the right place at the right time. I would never let anyone hurt you like that.”

“But they did hurt me,” you muttered.

Now it was you who couldn’t look at him, working your jaw muscles as you tried to decide which emotion you should be feeling.

“Why should I even believe you?” Your voice was small.

“Please believe me I—”

“If you knew this guy was stalking me, why didn’t you tell me sooner? If you’re as concerned for my welfare as you claim to be?”

You couldn’t tell if you wanted to cry or scream; maybe both.

Eddie didn’t have a chance to answer.  You were on your feet at the end of the bed with your arms crossed.  

Suddenly, you were shaking, and you couldn’t control it. “After Sacrament, I didn’t see you for a long time, it felt like you were avoiding me.  Was that because you no longer had to fake interest in me for your scam?”

Eddie pushed himself up into a seated position, blinking back the memory of how painfully hard it had been to stay away from you for all that time.  “No, you have to trust me, that had nothing to do with—”

“Trust you?” You barked a sarcastic laugh.  “Tell me why then? Why avoid me for so long, huh? Because you weren’t getting paid to—”

Eddie’s voice wavered and he spoke in a rush.  “Because I started to have feelings for you, that’s why. Happy? Because ever since that first day I saw you, you’re all I can fucking think about.  Because I can’t even look at another woman without seeing your face, and believe me, I’ve tried. I’ve gotten real good at disappointing people and leaving people behind, and all I know is, I don’t want to disappoint you.”

Your lips parted to say something, but he figured what the hell, he might as well scare you all the way off while he was at it.

He relaxed his shoulders and wet his lips. “I never told you that I was made vampire against my will.  I died and was brought back, but my heart went cold, and I never thought I’d feel anything for anyone ever again.  I didn’t want to feel anything.  I should’ve stayed dead, I wanted to be with all of the people I’d lost…”

His suede brown eyes sought your face.  “When I’m with you, I don’t feel dead anymore. When I think about you, I feel fragile and human again.  Like maybe I’ve got something worth giving away.”

Silence filled the room like helium in a balloon about to burst.  

He’d gone for broke, and there was nowhere left to hide. He was officially at your feet, where he’d always been.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he whispered when you didn’t respond right away. “I get it.”

You tilted your head all the way back to stare at the ceiling.

“I dream about you every night,” you admitted on an exhale. “Logically I know it has to do with ingesting your blood, but it’s…it’s more than that.”

He bit at the inside of his cheek, picking at a thread on the comforter.  “Every night, huh?”

You gave a few slow nods, and you could almost hear the smile pull across his teeth. 

“Yeah, so, blood induced dreaming should only happen a handful of times after it’s ingested,” he said, shifting in his seat. 

You kept nodding, since that was something you’d already suspected.  “The dreams are always so vivid, I wake up…”

He dared to finish for you after a long pause. “Wanting more?”

“No,” you corrected, turning to face him.  “I wake up wishing they were real.”

----

I la la la love you all who have reached out to me about this story and continue to cheer it on. Comments, reblogs, and asks about this world mean everything to me.

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#RHI gahhhh #I’m obsessed with YOU #and flattered to hell that you even read my stuff #on my knees #death becomes us #comment reblog

[bettyfrommars]

Butcher Knife

Gutterballs

This is a late follow up to my fictional self in @dr-aculaaa amazing little Valentine’s Day fic. This is just self indulgent nonsense so like, don’t read it if you don’t want to I don’t care 😂

18+ No Minors

Eddie met you when you worshiped at the altar of Bourdain and read Kitchen Confidential like it was a holy text only given to the worthy. Anyone with the wits and smarts and balls and idiocy to rock up into a kitchen 6 days a week and sweat for 10 hours each night.

He met you when you abhorred brunch because it’s what Anthony told you (and like, he was fucking right it blows) but you had just perfected that pancake recipe. With the buttermilk and separated eggs with whipped whites not at stiff peaks and the good flour mix you’d made.

But you’re stuck on this fucking brunch shift and that asshole Rich is a no call again and-

You shake your head with a laugh at the memory. You’d met Eddie that night after one of those long shifts where you’d been on sides and expo because of Rich being hungover again. A dingy little dive bar in the worst part of town, Keep Your Hands to Yourself weakly trickling through the old jukebox. This is when you still lived in Florida and Corroded Coffin was kind of on tour, kind of just like, doing their own thing man.

"A butcher knife, for Meg." Says the smooth Mrs. H.

"Heheheh... Fuckin' Meg." Says Eddie fucking Munson. You’d put off listening to this particular podcast because it was still a soft spot for you. Tender and pale like a lot of other metaphorical wounds left by various lovers but Eddie was…Eddie.

"I love that you have a whole theme going on: knife, cheese, a sugar cookie's next, an olive-"

"Hummingbird! And what can I say? I'm a simple creature, food is my comfort."

"Is it a love language for you then?"

Yes you think to yourself. You know it is. You remember that first morning after how he’d watched you move around your stupidly small kitchen in your stupidly small apartment like it was a range at the restaurant. Almost like he held his breath for fear of breaking your concentration, but little did he know you worked through most shifts hoarse from yelling over fryers and the busted boombox that crackled overhead on a metro.

"Ohh. Damn, yeah. Food is a love language."

See, you knew something after all this time.

"So what about Meg?"

What about Eddie, huh? Would he talk about your hair? Now bereft of deep auburn but shot through with silver your mother never had. Mention your piercings that you’d let go of after one too many lost screw on balls. Maybe he’d bring up that tiny sliver of scar tissue on your ass that came from him biting you awake. Red tinged laughter while you slapped his arm and he commented on your ‘natural blush’ and he’d somehow ended up with a fistful of his hair in your fist.

"Heh. Fuckin' Meg. She had cheeks like pancakes. I just wanted to eat them. Nom. Bite into her cheek and watch how red she gets in the face. I loved it when she yelled at me. I loved it when she wore heels and was just a smidge taller than me. When she pulled my hair

-what? What? Why are you laughing?”

You can’t help but laugh along with Mrs. H, that lifelong ailment of red cheeks flaring at the mention of any of this to the public. You’re too old to be embarrassed about something as trivial as this but you can’t help the knot that loosens a bit in your chest. He maybe had a tender spot about you too, something covered in flower petals now.

“Ohh..” You hear Eddie pause and realize something in real time. “You know what I just realized? I still use her pancake recipe. Like.To this day, this morning. Waking up at the fuckin asscrack of dawn to make Brock and Hunter pancakes."

He liked when you yelled at him except for that last time. You remember how fucked the night had been at work and there was the band in the dining room suddenly. Lost in the shadow but Eddie saw you running expo and couldn’t read a room for shit at that time. Stuck his head through the window to try and kiss your bangs and you’d snapped. Shoved. Yelled. It’d been happening a lot more recently when he’d roll back through town and it wasn’t him and it wasn’t you.

It was probably the vices and midlife fast approaching you both but he’d left with a goodbye and then you’d gotten a slim box in the mail with simple little E.M. note. It was one of those really nice Wusthof utility knives you’d mentioned in passing one night, flashing him the catalog between a shared beer.

"That's love, Edward."

"Shit. That is love."

You look to the window and see the darkened restaurant. Yours now. New building. New city. The street lights still on outside even as the sun starts to break over the horizon between the buildings. You imagine Eddie walking through those doors, not the skinny 30-something who did questionable drugs with you in dark dive bars after your 12 hour shift over hot pans, but the almost 60-something with the greying hair and the worn in warm smile. He’d walk into your restaurant and lean into your expo window and watch you carve into these vinyl red strawberries, making them little works of art to be buried around your crafted deserts. He’d watch you wield that little German made knife around with dexterity like it was just another finger on your hand.

You could make him those pancakes again. Layer these soon to be syrup soaked strawberries between the fluffy layers. You could make that vanilla bean whipped cream that was basically room temp ice cream. You wouldn’t snap at him this time when he stuck his arm through and wiggled his fingers at you in greeting.

You split the strawberries and carve your notches in them, slide them into the container of cooled lemon syrup and tuck it back in the fridge for later. In your office you connect to your little bluetooth speaker before everyone else starts filtering in and put on The Georgia Satellites and bring up the Instagram for the podcast, hovering over the message button with pink stained thumbs and grin.

#I’m behind on my Gutterballs reading #damn Meg I love the way you did this #the way you and Drac talk about food always makes me drool #eddie munson fic #fic rec #Gutterballs #Meg 🧡

[bettyfrommars]

Squirrel (a Gutterballs story)

Eddie Munson x betty!Reader

A jump from modern day to the early 1990's when we meet a young, aspiring rockstar Eddie Munson at the heart of the Seattle grunge scene. I had the huge honor of being included in the Tattoo Cover-up Valentine's Day Special episode of Gutterballs by @dr-aculaaa and I'm still emotional about it, to be honest. This wee contribution is dedicated to Drac, as well as all of the Gutterballs friends I'm proud to know because of this fandom (coming for you, Daria.)

word count: 1.4k

18+, smoking weed, the term 'bitches' used affectionally, mention of heartbreak, allusions to mental illness, a supposed one-night stand that became more, mention of addiction, that one friend who can find anyone online, hurt/comfort. Reader (Betty) has a good friend named Shelby, which is actually my cat in real life.

------

You picked at the label of your beer, waiting impatiently for your friend to pull up something on her laptop.

It was the recent episode of Gutterballs that had spurred your Sherlock Holmes friend into action. You said something in passing about how it’d be impossible to find the rest of Eddie Munson’s lost loves that were mentioned on the infamous podcast, and then she’d lost sleep wanting to prove you wrong.  

“So. Here’s Abi and Chelsea,” Shelby motioned for you to come and look over her shoulder. She clicked on search tabs one at a time, including one for Ashley, causing a melancholy smile to quiver at the side of your mouth.  “Pretty,” you nodded. “Eddie always knew how to pick ‘em.”

“This one looks dangerous,” she pointed to Jo, adjusting her glasses. “They all seem totally cool, actually.” 

You scanned the various results from her internet sleuthing.  “Which one is that?”

“Oh, that’s Meg,” Shelby clicked on a social media profile, and then pulled up a video of a chef with purple hair preparing something on the morning show.

“Fuckin, Meg,” you said under your breath in your best Eddie voice.  

“Doesn’t she own that restaurant in Chicago we couldn’t afford to go to?” Shelby pinched her joint from the ashtray and took a drag, enlarging photos from their menu, concentrating.  “I wonder if they accept Groupon.”

You stealthily followed Abby on social media from your private account and planned to buy some of her watercolor paintings.  Funny enough, you already knew Emily. The two of you had been part of a mutual friend group for years, and so when Eddie mentioned them being a bitch you had to snort a laugh because…yeah.    

“Nice work, Columbo,” you patted Shelby’s shoulder.  “You found all of them in under 24 hours. I shall make you a commemorative plaque out of dry macaroni.”

Checking her phone, your sleuth friend mumbled to herself as she went down a rabbit hole of social media comments.

“Not all,” she slipped her bottom lip through her teeth a few times.  “Took me a while to find Rose, they go by a different name on social media.  The drawings they do are badass, and they like that same actor you do, the one with the Minecraft head.”

“So, I’m the only one out of all of them who didn’t do anything with my life? Nice.”

“Hey,” she said in mock scorn.  “I bet none of these bitches can say they’ve had absolutely every career that’s ever existed. It takes a special kind of ingenuity to change jobs every 6 months. Plus, you wrote and published a whole-ass novel.”

“It only sold 37 copies,” you muttered. “Ten of which were to you and mom.”

You held your breath after that, watching the screen, waiting for the one name you hadn’t been able to connect a face to yet, but instead, Shelby slumped on the barstool with a defeated sigh.  “Daria might be the one that got away.  Haven’t found even a crumb for who or where they might be.”

“Damn,” you said softly.   …where are you, Strigoi? 

“How does Eddie even pull partners this hot?” Shelby asked, turning to dig for her Visine.  “Wasn’t he the one who bragged about being able to burp the alphabet?”

Laughter bubbled in your throat at the memory; the type of laugh that immediately made tears burst from your eyes. You wiped your face in a way that was more of a slap and turned to stare at the gloom settling into the pines outside the window. 

“He has a way about him I suppose.”

“I think you should call him,” she blurted, offering you a hit off the purple kush, but you waved her off. “If only to figure out the Daria mystery.”

“Oh yeah? Just call him? Just like that? Oh, hey Eddie I know it’s been almost three decades, but what’s new?”

“I mean, sounds legit to me.”

Remember those rainy days, Squirrel? Remember…

You tossed and turned early the next morning, reaching for your phone to scroll and help push away intrusive thoughts.  How many things you’d fucked up, how many friends you’d lost to time and death and sloppy choices.

Maybe not all was lost…

Seattle, early 1990’s

“My lady is here with us tonight,” Eddie rumbled into the mic, gesturing to you from where he stood on that rickety old stage in front of a rowdy crowd at The Crocodile Cafe. Alice in Chains had played there, as well as Mother Love Bone and Mudhoney, back before they were household names. “This next one's for her.”

From your seat at the bar, you locked eyes with him, beaming with pride, but also shaking your head. “I hate you,” mouthing the words made his dimpled grin grow wider.

“Betty Spaghetti…. My beautiful Aquarius twin.”

The ink on your matching Aquarius glyph tattoos were still covered in Aquaphor that night.  You’d spent the past two weeks trying to figure out how this chatty Indiana boy had managed to become a permanent fixture in your life. 

“I don’t want anything serious,” you’d said into his mouth while your hands were all over each other in the dive bar bathroom the first time you met. Bonding over booze, blow, and the shared trauma of losing a parent, you recognized that emptiness mirrored in each other and wanted to fill it.  

“Cool, neither do I,” he mumbled, shoving his jeans down his hips.  

But he’d been lying through his teeth, and he confessed that to you a month later down on the wharf, handing over a little squirrel made of shells from the pocket of his leather jacket. He’d been sneaky and bought it at Ye Olde Curiosity Shop, a place the two of you liked to go to visit the mummified remains of a dude named Sylvester. 

There was no major foundation for giving him the nickname Squirrel, one day it just happened.  He was on the couch in his boxers, stoned out of his gourd, shoveling pretzels into his mouth at such a manic rate that his cheeks looked like they were about to burst.  

“So, you knew I was the one back then? In a dark bar after 8 shots?” 

He looped his arm with yours as you walked. “Uh-huh, still do,” he leaned in closer. “Still do.”

At that moment, during those days, you worried that you wouldn’t be able to breathe without him. You were both so young, too young to fully comprehend the impact of that time in your life in later years, or what a trauma bond even was.

But then the day came that you’d come to realize would always arrive for you eventually, and that was the time to move on: to other experiences, other people. 

You didn’t know at the time that it could be done any other way, and so you made a real mess of things. 

He made several attempts to get in touch with you, including the time years later when he found out from your mom that you were in rehab.  He wrote to you, but you never wrote back, never returned his calls.  

He wasn’t trying to stir up the old flames or get back together; by then, that ship had sailed, and the Eddie Munson you knew never stayed single for long.  But he did want you to know that you weren’t alone, that you would always have a friend in him. That he’d meant it when he said he’d always care about you.

Returning to the current reality, you chewed at your thumbnail, staring at the phone number Shelby had written down for you on a yellow legal pad.  How she’d managed to get a hold of Eddie Munson’s private cell number, you’d never know.  

You were about to end the call after the second ring, flustered, thinking it would be better to send a text, when just then—- he answered. 

Eddie recognized the area code, but never thought in a million years that it would be…

“H-hey Squirrel, it’s me.”

Dead silence made your heart flop.  Maybe you should say it’s a wrong number, maybe this was a mistake.  What if he considered you a lost love, but he no longer wanted anything to do with you? He did cover up the tattoo, after all.  

“Well, well, if it isn’t my Betty Fuckin’ Spaghetti,” you could hear the joy in his voice, could hear his wide smile cracking into seasoned laugh lines.  “I’ve missed the shit outta you.” 

#Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson fanfic #Gutterballs