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#PARANORMAL ROMANCE
There's Such a Sad Love (Deep in Your Eyes) - Chap 3
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Eddie’s gonna kill him.
Not even exaggerating, he’s gonna kill Steve dead.
How hard is it to wake the fuck up? His dumb flat phone has been ringing for the last three hours!
…Okay, fine.. Eddie doesn’t know exactly how long it’s been ringing, but when you’re used to head-achingly constant quiet, any interruption becomes a nuisance immediately.
“Hello?”
“Fucking finally.” Eddie grumbles when Steve finally stirs enough to answer the phone.
“I’m sorry?” Steve says to the person on the other end of the line.
“I forgive you.” he grouses.
“No, no, I got that, but you were supposed to be here tomorrow, not today!” he struggles off the sagging air mattress and into his jeans, not even bothering to button them.
“Shit, shit, okay, yep, I’ll be here, I’ll—” His voice gets louder “Yes! Deliver! I’ll be here! Alright, bye.” 
He tosses the phone onto the sagging mattress and scrubs his face with his palms, mumbling “Stupid fucking phone signal..”
Eddie follows Steve out the bedroom door and down the stairs into the kitchen.
He smiles to himself when Steve stops in the doorway; He’d worked all night to get the damn cabinets open again.
“Good morning, Mr. Ghost… Ms. Ghost? Ghost Friend.” is what he finally lands on, unfreezing from the doorway and grabbing a can of something from the fridge.
Eddie breezes past him a bit too close, just barely brushing against him. Steve shudders against the chill. “I’m not sure if that’s a ‘Hello’ or a ‘Get the fuck out of here’.”
In response, Eddie pushes the sleep-mussed fringe of his bangs back off his forehead.
Steve smiles. “Hello...” Then he seems to remember something, “Oh, hey, the delivery guys are coming with my stuff soon.” He pauses a moment, “I’m guessing you’re gonna try something, but can you please not cause any injuries at least? I don’t want any more ghost-y roommates.”
“Aw man, but I do!” Eddie groans.
Steve tilts his head to listen to the quiet of the house for a few seconds, then calls out again. “Can you make some sort of noise so I know you aren’t gonna kill anyone?”
Eddie rolls his nonexistent eyes, “Sure, handsome, anything for you,” and knocks his knuckles on the open cabinet door beside Steve’s head.
Steve startles at the noise, “Jesus fuck! I’d also like to not die today, thanks.” he says, adding on a grumbled “Give me a damn heart attack, why don’tcha..” as he starts back toward the front of the house.
A laugh escapes him and Steve falters, stopping a couple steps away and turning back toward the kitchen.
If his word meant anything, he’d swear that Steve looks right at him.
His laughter stutters to a stop, and Steve shakes his head minutely as if to shake off a thought.
‘Did he hear me laughing?’
“....No, he couldn’t have, it’s way too early..” Eddie answers himself.
He watches until Steve’s out of sight, then floats through the hallway wall and into the closet under the stairs.
It’s one of Eddie’s favorite places in the house; small and quiet, and the place he feels most..solid (the most real?)..no matter what time of year it is. It gives him time to breathe, ironically, and no matter how untethered he might feel after Halloween, he feels like himself again here.
He’s done some long, complicated ciphering about why over the years, and he thinks the stairs and closet are positioned right over where his bedroom used to be in his and Wayne's trailer. He can get his thoughts together here, can think the clearest.
There's some commotion from outside his closet, so Eddie pops his head through the door to watch Steve and the moving company travel back and forth between the front door and the rest of the house.
Looks like he was in the closet longer than he thought (There’s definitely a gay joke here somewhere, Eddie thinks to himself), the hired team of movers are here and already carting in boxes and pieces of furniture.
Steve is helping the movers for some reason, carrying boxes further into the house, and Eddie finds his way back to the man’s side without even thinking about it.
Suddenly, Steve yells, “Nope! I have to do some work on the place, so everything but the bedframe and mattress can go in here!” in response to some question Eddie hadn’t heard. “The master is up the stairs, last door on the right. That one big dresser with the mirror can go there, too.”
“Hope you have some help lined up after they leave, pretty boy. You know I can’t help you.”
“I think I do, actually. Some kids already asked to help with the house anyway, so.”
“...What?”
“What?” one of the movers echoes.
Steve sets down the box he was carrying (‘clothes’ according to the large marker letters on one side) and turns back to the mover, confused. “I’ll have help to move it all again after I’m done with the remodels.”
“That’s..great man, good for you.” he says, equally confused.
Eddie’s frozen. “Okay, what the fuck.”
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Steve can’t help but help the movers; he carries in some of the unimportant boxes, and grabs up the important ones he’d labeled when he packed up everything. Which was also something he couldn’t help but do even though the company he hired would pack and unpack his things as part of the cost anyway.
One of the five man team asks him about putting his furniture in their respective rooms, at least.
“Nope! I have to do some work on the place, so everything but the bedframe and mattress can go in here!” he calls back, carrying the couple of boxes of clothes in his arms into the foyer to the right of the front door, “The master is up the stairs, last door on the right. That one big dresser with the mirror can go there, too.” he calls over his shoulder
“Hope you have some help lined up after they leave, pretty boy. You know I can’t hel...”
Steve huffs in irritation, why are they trying to talk to him while walking away? “I think I do, actually. Some kids already asked to help with the house anyway, so.” he calls back to where the voice seemed to be retreating to.
“What?” the mover asks, sounding closer again.
Steve sets down the box of clothes he carried in, and turns back to the man who’s looking at him like he’s grown another head. “I’ll have help to move it all again after I’m done with the remodels.”
“That’s..great man, good for you.”
“You’re the one who asked..” Steve grumbles to himself when the guy walks back out to the truck.
There’s not much in the moving truck, so while the team is bringing in the larger pieces, he borrows one of them to help him empty his little trailer so he can take it back that afternoon.
The crew is done within the hour, and Steve sees them off, following them down the drive and turning to head into town. He stops in at the deli across from Melvald’s for lunch, and heads into the one internet provider’s office in town to set up his services (which was as easy as flipping the proverbial switch to turn them on, very nice), then heads to the hardware store because of course there wasn’t already a washer and dryer in the house.
Getting delivery scheduled for his new washer and dryer ends up taking forever, and it’s already late afternoon by time he’s done, so Steve heads back out to the big box store for groceries, heads home to eat Joyce's leftovers, showers, puts some sheets on his bed, then (finally) calls Robin..
“Finally got interwebs hooked up?” her forehead says in lieu of a ‘Hello?’ (that’s the only thing he can see on his screen at the moment).
“Yep, didn’t take too long, luckily, and good news for me: apparently the people who built this place decided to put in fiber cords? Which is really good I guess?” he says, flopping down onto his mattress on his stomach.
“Uh, yeah, that’s real good Dingus; Fiber is still one of the better things for internet connections, so congrats! You lucked out.”
“Then the guy at the hardware store took forever to schedule my laundry shit to be delivered, so I’m out a washer and dryer until next week. Yay.” he deadpans to her forehead (still the only thing he can see).
“But you’re settled in better now, right? At least now you can get started on that DIY board you’ve been hoarding onto since you first saw the place.”
“That's true, that’s true,” he concedes, swapping his video call app out for the one that holds all his inspiration boards, “This place is going to be amazing once I’m done with it.”
“I thought you already thought it was amazing.”
“No, no, it is..it’s just..” he pauses, scrolling down the hundreds of ideas he’d saved for just this moment…all of them not quite right. Even the simplest color palettes he’d liked look drab and boring when he thinks about actually using any of them on the house.
“None of it fits anymore, does it.”
Steve snorts out a laugh, “None! How is that even possible? What the hell am I supposed to do now?”
“What indeed..how in the world are you supposed to start changing things if you don’t even know what color paint your ghost roomie likes? What if they start haunting you even more after you paint the dining room sage instead of mustard??”
“Right?! He likes metal music for fucks sake, I can’t paint my whole house red and black or whatever just so he doesn’t haunt the fuck outta me!”
Robin’s silent for a moment, then “Wait, backup. One, how do you know he likes metal music, and two, ‘he’? How do you know it’s a ‘he’?”
“Oh my god! So much has happened, listen,” Steve explains everything to her, shifting onto his back as he does.
He tells her about the kids (“You better take them up on the offer, Dingus, that’s a lot of help.”), the girl Max who said “He likes metal music.”, the way his speaker turned down on its own when he asked ‘Jeeves’ to, the damn acknowledging knock he’d heard when Steve asked the entity not to hurt any of the movers as they brought in all his stuff.. All of it.
“I even heard a laugh, Robin. A goddamn laugh! It’s definitely a ghost.”
“Okay. Yep. That’s it, I’m never coming to visit. Mm-mph. Nope. No way.”
“Oh yeah, and the Hawkins Chief of Police said it might be a murderer!”
“Ah! What?! Steve. Steven. Steeb. You need to move. Pack up all your shit and get the fuck back here.”
He only partially heard her; Now he’s focusing on trying to look up any murders here in Hawkins over the years.
“Are you listening to me, Dingus?”
“Huh–yeah, yeah of course I am.”
“No you’re not, I can see you thinking.” Steve hears her type something into her phone. “The Creel murders, a death by rabid dog, death to cancer…”
“Are you reading the same things I am?”
“...No?”
“Uh huh, sure–ah ha! Listen, listen, listen,” Steve exclaims, sitting up and crossing his legs in the middle of his bed. “‘Hawkins High cheerleader, 18, found deceased at Forest Hills trailer park. Authorities say she was found by a resident of the park along with another body late on the night of the 31st. There is no further information at this time.’.”
“....Holy shit..holy shit..Ah! Okay, I found some more, Halloween, 1986... Uh….” she trails off, mumbling along as she reads. “This one says it’s called the ‘Forest Hills Murder’, and that there was, quote, ‘one suspect, two bodies, and conviction for one count of second degree murder.’.”
“Second degree?”
“Means that it wasn’t planned beforehand.”
Steve hums in understanding, continuing to scroll. “Why are there no names! I want to know who my ghost is, dammit!”
“Maybe…you should go to the library? Does Hawkins have a library? Maybe they’ll have old papers or something.”
“Yeah, it’s basically smack dab in the center of town....Do you think I should go to the library?”
“I think you should go to the library.”
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That night, Steve once again dreams of that vast black place. He opens his eyes to it, and instead of being scared like last time, he’s somehow…comforted by it. 
The loud splash of water that comes from his right, however, makes him jump.
“Hi!” the girl with the ponytail says, bouncing to a stop in front of him.
“Uh, hi? I saw you last time, I think…Who are you?”
“I’m Chrissy!” she grins, her smile bright yet slightly crooked.
“Hi Chrissy, I’m Steve, uhm…what the hell is going on? Why are you in my dream?”
“I assume it’s because I died at Forest Hills.” She shrugs, as if it was the most benign news in the world.
Steve blinks at her in the darkness, takes in her uniform– “Oh my god, you’re the cheerleader who died! Are you–are you my ghost?” It’d be a surprise if Chrissy was a metal fan, but who’s he to judge? Maybe Max got the ghosts’ pronouns wrong? 
Chrissy waves him off with a laugh, “Oh, no, I’m not,”
“Wait, are they the one who killed you? I better not be living with a murderer ghost..”
She looks appalled at that, “Absolutely not! Where on earth did you even get that idea?”
“I’ve only read a little bit about the–your case so far, and all it said was that there were two bodies.” Steve scratches at the back of his neck nervously. What kind of protocol is there for talking to a dead girl about her death? “Rumor has it that the second one was the person who killed you. That your boyfriend killed him right after…?”
The cheerleader is silent, gazing at him sadly. 
“His name is Eddie.”
There’s a pull in Steve’s gut at the name. 
“Who’s name, your murderer? Your boyfriend?” She’s fading into the darkness that surrounds them, and Steve knows he must be waking up. “Please, tell me!”
Chrissy’s mouth moves, but Steve’s already falling out of his dream.
Groggily, he reaches for his phone, 6:04am. 
He huffs as he flops back against his pillows, but freezes in the next moment.
Out the door to his bedroom from where he’s laying, he can see part way down the hall and the last half of the staircase where it comes up to the second floor.
And what he sees glide up the steps onto the landing out of sight is what freezes him to his spot.
It was barely there, but there nonetheless. A shadow, just dark enough to be seen in the low light of the morning, the dark of it standing out against the pale cream of the wall next to the steps.
His heart hammers in his chest, his brain screaming ‘Holy shit, holy shit, he IS real, oh my god there’s a real life ghost in my house.’ at him (Wait, duh. You already knew this?? You heard the speaker lower on its own, you felt that cold breeze, heard that laugh?? He thinks, his thoughts rambling on without him.) when the shadow reappears, drifting into view in his doorway and it itself freezing under Steve’s gaze.
The shadow is still only just barely visible; not freakishly tall, Steve figures it’s about his own height, actually, and the edges of it flicker and move.
Heart still pounding, Steve speaks, his voice coming out in barely a whisper. “Eddie?”
As soon as the name is out of his mouth, the shadow disappears, looking both like it was swept away by an invisible breeze, and as if it dropped straight into the floor.
“Holy shit!”
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After throwing together a whole two pieces of toast for breakfast, and leaving the strips of color he thought to pick up while at the hardware store out for his roommate with a note, Steve takes himself and the name Eddie with him to Hawkins Public Library.
His hopes of scouring old newspapers and records seem at least ten times more likely when he steps over the threshold and immediately feels like sneezing at the smell of the dusty old books around him.
He steps up to the front counter, “Good morning Mrs….” Steve leans in closer to read her name tag; ‘Claudia Henderson - she/her!’ is printed onto the plastic tag in permanent marker and punctuated with a fading yellow smiley face sticker “…Henderson—Henderson? Why does that sound familiar?”
“I’m not sure, hon–”
“HEY MOM!”
They both startle at the sudden yell, turning towards the noise; Dustin, that kid with the cap that had harassed him on his driveway yesterday, is running towards the front counter. 
‘Ah. Henderson.’
Mrs. Henderson tsks at her son, “Dustybuns, this is a library! Use your inside voice.” 
“Where’s th–Steve!”
Steve smiles at the kid, “Hey bud,”
“What’re you doing here?” he questions, then his face brightens exponentially. “Are you looking for stuff about ghosts?”
“Dusty, you know better than to ask that,” she chides, “What people are looking for at the library is no one’s business but their own.”
Dustin, however, chooses to ignore this. “It’s ghosts, isn’t it? Hang on, I know of a couple books that might help you!” 
Both Steve and Claudia attempt to stop him, “Dusty, wait—!”, “No, I’m oka—”, but Dustin’s already disappearing between two tall shelves.
“Damn, he’s quick.”
Claudia sighs, “I’m sorry about him, hon, he just gets super excited about whatever thing he’s fixated on at the moment.”
“It’s alright, Ms. Henderson, I know he means well.” Steve says with a smile.
“Well, let’s get you settled then, you need a library card, I assume?”
“Yes ma’am.”
She gets him set up with a card (‘Harrington? Oh, you must be Patty’s grandson! Oh, I’ve heard so much about you; your gran and I were in the same knitting club, you know.”), then points out an empty table by one of the front windows he can use if he’d like. Where each section is, what their return policy is and about the book reserve program, then finishes with a warm “Let me know if you need any help, Steve dear.”
“Actually, can you tell me where you keep your newspapers?”
She hmms thoughtfully for a moment, “Well, that depends on if you want the actual papers, or if you would like to scroll through them on the microfilm…what are you looking for, exactly?”
“I’m looking for information on the house I just bought? I’ve been told there was a death on the property previously and I wanted to look into it if I could. Library seemed like the best bet.”
“Oh, that’s just terrible! Sure, hon, let's get you set up at one of our machines and you can scroll through whatever year you’re looking for,” she beckons him to follow to another long row of desks. There are a couple other people with name tags like Claudia’s sitting at the computers behind it. “Do you have a timeframe?”
“Mid-80s I think?”
“Let me see what I can find for you,” Claudia nods, sitting down at a large white machine.
She shows him how to operate the clunky device, then disappears through a ‘Staff Only’ door.
Steve’s alone at the machine for five whole seconds before Dustin finds him.
“There you are! Okay, here, these are my favorites on the subject,” he hands him a small stack of books with mostly dark covers, one even has a lenticular image of a fanged skull, “These are a couple that are more fanatical,” two more are added to the pile, “and these two are more scientific in nature.”
He keeps ahold of the last two, stepping to the side to reach for and slide a chair from another machine next to Steve’s. “Are they a poltergeist too?  Are you trying to get rid of them? If so, I’ll need to pull some material on exorcisms too. Do you know why they would be sticking around? We need to figure out what their unfinished business might b—”
“Dustin! Dude!” Steve cuts him off with a laugh, “What happened to “Hey Steve.”, “Didja get unpacked already?”, “How’re your projects coming along, Steve?”...I just got here, my guy, lemme breathe for a second.”
Dustin rolls his eyes, “Did you figure out what colors your ghost likes?”
Steve rolls his eyes, “No, not yet. I put some out for him, so we’ll see if he decides to get rid of any.”
Claudia returns then, “Okay, here you are, sweetheart—Dusty! What’d I tell you about bothering Steve!”
“I’m not bothering him!” Dustin complains at the same time Steve says, “It’s been non-stop.”
The kid shoves at Steve’s shoulder, “Dude, shut up!”
He mimes nearly falling off his chair, “Do you see this, Ms. Henderson? I am being harassed in a public library.” he manages to say before breaking out into a grin.
“Shut up, asshole!” Dustin laughs.
“You shut up, buttface.”
“Okay, okay, settle down you two, Now Steve, do you have anywhere we can start? A date?” Claudia asks, loading up the first film in her small stack.
“I have one,” Steve nods, giving Dustin a final playful shove and reaching into his back pocket. “This article I found about the trailer park that used to be there?” He shows her his phone, open to the article from last night.
She scans it, then nods, scrolling on through the first film. “I say we check obituaries first, see if anyone sticks out? Then we can try birth announcements.”
“Would they have had an announcement printed if he was a murderer though?”
She looks at her son curiously.
“What?”
“Dustin is convinced there is a ghost on the property from the death there,” Steve explains as if he doesn’t already believe it himself, “And apparently the stories of the place include a possible murderer.”
“That’s why we need to figure out who it was so we can get him outta Steve’s house!”
“Well…” she gives them both another odd look, “Everybody has someone; this person’s someone may have had them printed as well.”
The first film ends up being the one they needed, for Chrissy at least.
“Here’s your cheerleader, Steve.” Claudia gestures to the machine’s screen. Half the front page of the Hawkins Post from November 1st, 1986 is dedicated to her. 
The crooked smile, the bangs, the ponytail. “That’s her alright. It’s gotta be.”
Dustin squished in from Steve’s left to read the tiny text. “‘Chrissy Cunningham, 18, was found dead early this morning by local 440 chapter president Wayne Munson at his home in the Forest Hills mobile home park.”
“‘Wayne Munson.’, Who’s Wayne Munson?”
“Not sure, but he’s involved somehow. Write that down.”
“‘Police say they have one of two suspects in custody, the other was found dead alongside Ms. Cunningham.’.”
“That’s gotta be the ones, remember? She died and the boyfriend found the guy right after!”
From there, it’s easy to find the information for one Jason Carver.
“Is he the guy?” Dustin squints closer at the small yearbook picture. “Wait, if he’s the boyfriend, then he’s the murderer! Then who’s this other guy…?”
“What about Eddie, is there anything about anyone with that name?” Both Hendersons give Steve curious looks, “I was given that name from…a reliable source.” Very reliable. 
“Why don’t we go back to that Wayne fella,” Claudia says, standing from the machine to move behind a computer nearby. “If it was his trailer she was found in, maybe the other person has something to do with him?”
She clicks into her computer and starts to type at an alarming rate.
Steve glances over to Dustin, who’s wearing a bewildered look. He turns around in his chair, “Thanks for helping with this, Ms. Henderson.”
“Yeah mom, I didn’t know you would be this interested in something like this.”
“Oh pshh,” she scoffs, “Who doesn’t love a good mystery? Now, read off that last name again?”
“Munson, M-U-N-S-O-N.”
“Let’s see…says here that Wayne was President of our Local 440 branch until…oh, 1986.”
“What’s that?” Steve and Dustin ask in tandem.
“The 440 is the local union! Some of those guys come through here twice a month for their book club.”
Steve takes the name to his phone, typing in ‘wayne munson + indiana’. “‘New UA President Elected!’, obituary, oh! There’s a birth here…and it has a paywall.”
Claudia rolls her eyes and mutters a low “Of course,” then louder, “Let's find it here then, what’s the date?”
He gives her the date, a Friday in mid June 1966, and she sets up the corresponding microfilm roll, scrolling into the birth announcements.
“Ah, here it is: ‘Beloved former Miss Indiana and Hawkins native Elizabeth Munson (ne’ Johnson) and husband Albert Munson welcomed a bouncing baby boy to the world this past Saturday. ‘I am just plumb overjoyed,’ Wayne Munson, Al’s older brother and well-known face of Hawkins’ local branch of UA 440 said Saturday evening. Both mother and little Theodore Munson are happy and healthy after their short hospital stay.’. That’s just lovely, I didn’t know Hawkins had a Miss Indiana!” 
“But that’s Theodore though, not Eddie. Did she have any other kids?”
“Uhhh..” Steve draws out, typing ‘elizabeth munson miss indiana’ into his phone. “No, just the one son apparently..” He reads further, “Says she died in 1974 due to ovarian cancer.”
“Damn.”
“Poor Teddy..”
“Teddy?”
“Well sure, short for Theodore?” Claudia tsks sympathetically, “He was so young when she died..”
“Poor kid, I can’t imagine.”
“Wait! Teddy, Eddie!”
“Huh?”
“I dunno, maybe that’s your connection? Theodore to Teddy to Eddie. Maybe Wayne’s nephew is your Eddie?”
It took some more searching, but Dustin was right on the money; Steve finds the first mention of both names in a 1982 Hawkins High yearbook under a black and white picture of five teens in the book’s club section.
“‘Theodore “Eddie” Munson (far left), leader of Hawkins High’s newest club, Hellfire, with fellow sophomores Ronnie Ecker, Jeff Monroe, Frank Zuiwiski, and freshman Gareth Emerson.’.” Steve reads off. “‘The tabletop, pen-and-paper game Dungeons and Dragons (“D&D?” Dustin yells, attempting to pull the book from his hands, making Steve twist around in his chair to avoid him.) is the club’s main focus and is largely math based.’.”
Dustin pulls the yearbook from Steve’s hands as soon as he’s finished reading. “How did I not know Hawkins had a D&D club?!”
“Oh my god, my ghost is a nerd.”
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“What the fuck?? What the fuck??”
Eddie had not expected Steve to be awake when he drifted upstairs that morning. Nor did he have any inkling that the man would whisper out a trembling “Eddie?” when he arrived at his door.
It’s only March, how in the hell can Steve even see him?
He sounded so scared too… damn it!  He only just got here and now Eddie’s gone and ruined everything.
Instead of bright sparkling happiness or burning hot rage, a deadening, sinking, cold melancholy seeps into his core. The dreadful feeling sinks him further down into the house, all the way to, and into, the floor of his closet under the stairs.
Eddie stays hidden away while Steve shuffles around that morning and for two mornings after that. He’s aware of the living man’s movements through the creaks of the floorboards and hinges as he goes about his day each day, unpacking boxes and accidentally cutting his finger, shocking himself when he sets up his fancy-ass TV in the master bedroom, listens when he sings along to the Spoofy he’s been playing for Eddie and some of his own modern-sounding songs.
But Eddie doesn't make an appearance.
For three days, he wallows, alone.
Late into the night of the second day, well, early in the morning on the third, technically, the Moon reaches to him, asks him what is wrong.
It’s still dark outside, the sky just beginning to lighten, when he leaves his confines and breezes out onto the back balcony.
He notices belatedly that were are boxes and dropcloths littered around the great room as he passed through it; seems like Steve had been busy.
Again, the moon reaches softly to him, What are you afraid of? her soft hold on him asks, the encouragement bleeding through her glow over him evident.
“My heart may be dead and gone, but that doesn’t mean I want it broken.”
He regrets his words immediately, her amusement at his slip up skitters all along the planks of Steve’s balcony.
“Nononono no, not like that, he doesn’t–I don’t–He just…” why is he trying to lie to her? “Okay, so what if I have a big fat crush on him? ‘Ooh everyone look the lovesick dead guy’,” he mocks. “It’s not like jack shit can happen, so what if I do? It’s only a stupid crush anyway.”
Eddie listens to the sounds of the night as the sky lightens a couple shades more, the Moon’s continued amusement apparent to none but him.
Her jovial mood dies off after a shade or so more, then turns questioning once again, though tired, apparent from her low seat in the sky.
Eddie’s gut twists, “He could see me…Why can he see me already?”
The confusion persists, a new drop of encouragement comes and goes.
“I’m sure I scared him with the…” he gestures to the wispy all of him, “I don’t want to freak him out more…”
She grows exasperated with him; Eddie can picture his late Uncle’s good-natured eye roll and practically hear the fond tongue-click behind her new irritation.
“What? What’d I say?”
The Moon all but bowls him over with one more blast of encouragement before she disappears behind the trees and under her sister’s glow.
Eddie huffs out a sigh. Message received…
Eventually, later in the morning, the stairs above him creak with Steve’s weight, and Eddie listens to him hum as he passes outside his door toward the kitchen.
He’s there for a little bit, probably eating something? Then the sound of Dio filters down the hall to him. 
Steve started the Spoofy for him again.
Soon after, the door into the garage opens and closes, and only after the garage door itself shudders to a stop, does Eddie leave his spot.
He wanders the house, taking in everything Steve had moved, or even torn off in his absence (“That wallpaper really was horrible, good on ya Steve.”), but eventually ends up back in the kitchen, thinking this time he’ll open a couple drawers for Steve instead of his usual cupboard fuckery, show him he’s back in action in a “Didja miss me?” type way, but stops short when he notices something laid out on the counter beside the speaker.
Color swatches. 
There’s a couple shades of green, some blues, a deep red, and even a bright sunshine yellow laid out with a slip of lined paper.
Eddie eases forward, clipping into the countertop as he does, to read the note.
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He stares dumbly at it for what feels like weeks.
Steve wants to know what he thinks? What Eddie would pick? Why? This is Steve’s house, why does his opinion matter?
‘It’s because he likes you.’ his not-actually-there brain tells him
“No the fuck he doesn’t, I’m dead. A ghost. I’m a nuisance at best.”
‘He knew your name.’
That happy sparking feeling returns, shooting through where his heart would be.
“He knew my name.”
Bright yellow flashes in his chest briefly. 
How did Steve figure that one out?
‘He said your name.’ he thinks to himself, then the sound of Steve saying his name starts to cycle across his thoughts.
“Eddie?”, “Eddie?”, “Eddie?”, “Eddie?”....over and over again until it stops sounding like a real word.
“Eddie.” Steve says, his tone no longer questioning, but welcoming.
“Eddie.” Steve’s smiling this time.
“Eddie..” Steve’s happy to see him.
It takes him a handful of minutes each time, but he manages to flip over about half of the colors Steve had laid out.
“I must be outta my mind,” Eddie grumbles, glowing bright in the middle of the kitchen.
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It took three days for Eddie to tell Steve what colors he doesn’t like. 
He left the swatches alone until something was done to them but eventually, on the morning of the third day since he’d put them out (after more decisions about where he’d use each if they weren’t vetoed, deciding which room he’d tackle first (the kitchen), and getting the rest of his furniture and TV situated in his room), Steve comes downstairs to find three of the blue shades and one each of the green, red, and grays flipped over on the countertop.
He smiles down at them as he eats his bowl of cereal; he’s not sure where his ghostly roommate is right now, so he sets down his bowl, fishes a pen out of his junk drawer, and adds a line to his note
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i can't believe i didn't do this on the first part, but tagging everyone who was interested in reading the whole fic from my first post w this concept!! (i think some of you already found pt 1 though!!): @gothwifehotchner @puppy-steve @babydollbaron @a-bun-danceoflove @after-the-end-times @mightbeasleep @shapeofaperson @val-from-lawrence @madigoround @steviebats @nburkhardt @scoops-stevie @kas-eddie-munson @i-less-than-threee-you @milf-harrington @khalesprix @matchingbatbites
and also tagging those interested on the last part <3: @little-birch-boy
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selenekallanwriter · 6 months
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Me, reviewing the half-assed outline I wrote a while ago for my next WIP:
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mishacakes · 1 year
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Eldritch monster girl and gym rat gf💕👁🏋️‍♀️💕
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thebibliosphere · 5 months
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Okay, well, I was planning to build up some hype, but
🦇🎃HAPPY HALLOWEEN🎃🦇
Lorehaven Bound: A Hunger Pangs Short is now available on Amazon.
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A train ride through the Nevrondian countryside should be a calming proposition, but for Ursula, it isn't. Her thoughts swirl, fixated on one thing... make that two things. Specifically Nathan Northland and Vlad Blutstein. It's not just because they are both breath-stealingly attractive—although to be fair, that doesn't hurt. It's because they surprised her, and Ursula is very rarely surprised.
Even more confounding is her reaction to them, particularly the vampire, Vlad. Just what is she supposed to do about these... feelings?
All Ursula knows is that she doesn't have time for emotions right now. Not when the fate of the world is at stake. She can deal with this later. First, she's got to figure out what story she's going to tell the sure-to-be-furious Alfbern. Then, she needs to catch up on all the sleep she missed before hitting the road again. Surely, she can do those things while being Lorehaven Bound.
*
This story is a 10,000-word character study/missing moment that takes place immediately after Hunger Pangs: True Love Bites. You will want to read that first if you don't want to be spoiled for the events in that book!
---
💖 Available now on Amazon
💖 Apple, Kobo, Smashwords, and more... (links still populating.)
💖Payhip - my personal storefront 💖
Happy reading!
Okay, thanks, love you all, bye.
ID: A red book cover showing a feminine figure standing in front of a steam strain. The title reads Lorehaven Bound, A Hunger Pangs short by International Bestselling Author Joy Demorra. There is a glittery crystal next to the text, and gold decorative swirls adorn the corners.
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feli-artblog · 2 months
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Etsy
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berkleypub · 2 months
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The power that Bride by Ali Hazelwood has over me right now
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momolady · 1 month
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Vampire trying to seduce you who is a royal: I cannot wait to taste the blue blood that flows through your veins.
You a Royal with an annoying fact: actually, crabs have blue blood.
Vampire no longer trying to seduce you: get out of my house.
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fox-croquis · 7 months
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Okay imagine a British werewolf who's always talking about his "mates", and everyone assumes he has a big harem of lovers like something from a ridiculous paranormal romance novel. But his mates turn out to be his friend-group of other werewolf lads.
"Aw, mate. Like, full moon tonight innit. Wolf sesh down mine."
And you go to his house and theres a pack of wolves watching football on the telly, chugging cans of Thatchers with their big wolf jaws, and running around barking when their team scores.
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exophilia-interest757 · 3 months
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I love these. They look so awesome. I can't find a link to the artist. If anyone knows it please add it. I tried looking for it but the account doesn't exist. I want to make sure they get all the credit.
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bigforeheadbaddie · 1 month
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not enough people are bringing up the original 1989 production of phantom as an influence for lisa frankenstein. you can’t tell me that lisa’s hair wasn’t at least somewhat inspired by sarah brightman’s glorious 80’s wig
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whereserpentswalk · 3 months
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Imagine you're dating a girl whose doomed to become a lich. She's been raised by a mysterious cult to become one, joining a long line of kings and queens before her.
She goes to the same college as you, and has an aparentmemt in the same city as your campus. You see her all the time before you know who she is, in the halls, on the subway heading to school, in that one comic shop only locals know about.
She shows you magic. Shows you things you never knew existed. Vampires, wizards, demons too old to have names, statues who move in the night, gods who sleep on park benches and in studio apartments, temples deep below the earth. She shows you the world of magic before she tells you her place in it.
You're devastated when you learn what she's doomed to become. You can't imagine losing her, the way she laughs, the way she smiles, her warm soft hand agaisnt your breasts, your body agaisnt her's as you fall asleep. You can't help but know that when she was born she was doomed to die, that when her parents held her the first thing they did was hand her off to a cultist to inspect her body for imperfections, that she was born to be killed.
You just want to hug her and kiss her and tell her not to hurt herself. And you tell her you don't want to see her die. She tells you this is the only way for her to love forever. She tells you it'll be fine, though her humanity and soul will be gone she won't need those things anymore. She assures you she'll still look beautiful, that they know how to keep dead bodies pretty years after they die if that's what you're worried about. You tell her you don't want her body to be dead at all.
You don't leave her. Even if you can't protect her you want her to be warm and happy until she's killed and her body is desicrated by undeath. You cuddle with her knowing how cold she'll be soon. You feel her tongue inside you knowing her mouth will by dry and dead someday. You eat with her knowing someday she'll never eat again. When she cries at that movie you both like so much, you'll wonder if she'll feel such things once her soul is destroyed.
On your last day together with her alive she's so very happy while you're so very sad. She pets your head and tells you it'll be ok while you mourn her death. You look oit the window together at the city below her apartment, and you let her sing to you while you cry.
She spends that night on an alter. Sleeping forever and never again the blood draining from her wrists.
When you see her again she's dead yet still walks. There's something rubbery about her body, there's no difference you can clearly point to outside of the wounds on her wrists, but there's something clearly not alive about her. You cry at first but she's happy to see you, she gives you that smile she always gave you, and hugs you, and though her body is so very cold you can feel that she still loves you. You hold her close, and keep her warm. The light from her eyes is gone but it's still the girl you love. You could have hated her new body in that momment, but you don't want to fear her, you want to be with her.
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jahnavisurenda-21 · 1 month
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Hazbin Hotel ||Alastor X Reader||Rest A Little My Dear
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It's tiring and feeling burnt out but the stack of thoughts, longing and paperwork won't let you sleep.
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It had been approximately two years since that horrible night, but you're not exactly sure how time works in hell, or how many days make a year, or how many days make a month.
You asked some of your other friends as well Charlie, Vaggie, and Angel they just shrugged, although Vaggie did ask you the reason. Then looking at you she figured it,
"Oh, I see... you're still hoping huh?" Vaggie didn't want to tell it, but she thought you were hoping for something meaningless.
"Come now my dear, it's not healthy for you to be locked up in your bedroom the whole day." Alastor reminded, dragging you outside.
To cure you of your homesickness he would make the food you used to enjoy, love, and fight with your sibling for.
Alastor could have handled that, but he knew the stages of acceptance involved Denial, Turmoil, more denial, romanticizing the impossible, and then initial acceptance.
It was a while since you landed here, and the moment he had seen you he knew you could be a more hopeless case than Charlie and a complete misfits of the misfits.
"Here at least come to one of the most pleasant cities of this miserable hell!" Alastor said grinning,
Two weeks passed, And Alastor had gone out for 'Urgent matters' he thought you were to lighthearted to understand or even know about it.
That night he was pleasantly surprised to see you wrapped up with a blanket on your bed, you were taking his advice and calming down a little.
He sat by the bedside, "I know my dear, it's painful. As painful as missing my mother. You know I'd give anything to see her once again." Alastor then looked at you, "Now my dear, when I go, I hope you will help me run this hotel and not stay cooped up here. It's definitely not healthy, well I guess this is hell. Now I better get going. My dear."
"Ah there you are Charlie... why not help me out a little you see my darling Y/n will probably be all delusional again, dreaming, drifting, and mindlessly browsing all sorts of information in those content books of hers, and that picture box thing, so make sure she doesn't get a little to delusional okay?"
But Charlie knew your stubbornness passes the gates of hell and to the doors of heaven, you avoided everyone, anything to study, you studied for hours, without Alastor things got really hellish.
One day in your room staring out to the red skies, Niffty called out to you,
"So why are you such a boring person huh? Why are you not a bad girl?"
"That's because she doesn't belong here Nifftly." Charlie's soft voice called out, she then took your hand, "I know it's hard for you, to have left everyone behind, I know your longing to pick up where you left, you want to forget you are trapped in hell. I can't promise your departure back to Earth, I know your scared, but we'll be right by your side."
You laughed with tears, "You sang and told me this, you and Alastor I'll never know the secrets behind your dazzling smiles, and those songs you both sing so naturally. Thanks."
Alastor was up against the wall eavesdropping is a rude word, he just wanted to make sure you were alright. He was too respectful to eavesdrop.
An hour later, again you think because you don't know how time worked in hell.
"Ah my dear! I see your less delusional than before!" Alastor came smiling, he was really relieved you were smiling.
He had never made a deal with you, because he hoped that one day he could see you truly happy when you return to Earth happily, and when you die, he knows he would most likely never see you again and now he will have two people to give up everything for to just see them once again.
After everyone left, you took Alastor's hand, "I see your in a much better mood!" Alastor commented, "It's thanks to you."
"Oh no my dear, Just smile and one more thing just rest a little more my dear."
And smile you did, the most purest one in his eyes.
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selenekallanwriter · 2 months
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Every single time
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pcm-vandermeer · 10 days
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smutty perks of having a tentacled bf:
✧ constant change of texture
✧ lifting you up in the air
✧ not having a spot on you that he can’t touch somehow
✧ fingering his suckers
✧ attaching his suckers to your nipples
✧ attaching his suckers literally anywhere you want
✧ once again: tentacle hickeys
✧ soft and squishy or hard and heavy
✧ comes with built-in lube!
✧ curling around you to hold you close as he thrusts into you ♡
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thebibliosphere · 8 months
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Hunger Pangs: True Love Bites
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In a world of dwindling hope, love has never mattered more...
Captain Nathan J. Northland had no idea what to expect when he returned home to Lorehaven injured from war, but it certainly wasn’t to find himself posted on an island full of vampires. An island whose local vampire dandy lord causes Nathan to feel strange things he’d never felt before. Particularly about fangs.
When Vlad Blutstein agreed to hire Nathan as Captain of the Eyrie Guard, he hadn’t been sure what to expect either, but it certainly hadn’t been to fall in love with a disabled werewolf. However Vlad has fallen and fallen hard, and that’s the problem.
Torn by their allegiances–to family, to duty, and the age-old enmity between vampires and werewolves–the pair find themselves in a difficult situation: to love where the heart wants or to follow where expectation demands.
The situation is complicated further when a mysterious and beguiling figure known only as Lady Ursula crashes into their lives, bringing with her dark omens of death, doom, and destruction in her wake.
And a desperate plea for help neither of them can ignore.
Hunger Pangs: True Love Bites by Joy Demorra is a queer, paranormal, gaslamp fantasy romance novel featuring enchanted forests, gothic castles, and just a smidge of industrial coal dust, and is the first book of the Hunger Pangs slow-burn polyamorous romance series. Join Vlad, Nathan, and Ursula as they navigate a magical world torn asunder war and politics as they work to restore balance to the world and find love along the way. Book one is available now in ebook, paperback, and audio.
Buy the (high heat) Flirting With Fangs Edition Here. 
Buy the (medium heat) Fluff and Fangs Edition Here.
Why are there two versions, and what's the difference between them? Glad you asked! You can also check out individual content tags and heat ratings on my website at www.joydemorra.com
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Okay this idea has been rotting my brain all night and i need to get it out; i may turn this into a full fic (there’s so much more to eddie and how he died), but here’s some paranormal romance steddie! (with a nod to the @azrielgreen -verse at the end 😉)
edit: i've started posting the full fic! on tumblr | on AO3
imagine ghost!eddie haunting the estate that was built overtop where his trailer had been
ghost!eddie becoming corporeal(ish) every halloween, letting his rage fuel the poltergeist rumors at the old estate.
the forest hills estate sits empty since being completed, until Steve Harrington moves in from Indianapolis.
Steve Harrington who uses the inheritance from his grandfather to fix up the old place, not knowing the rumors, the stories, that have been floating around the last nearly 40 years.
Steve, who ends up learning about them from a pack of young teens riding by the front gate on their bikes.
“You know that place is haunted as fuck, right?” says the red head.
“Language!” he scowls at her, only to get an eye roll from her and the gangly, greasy looking one. “And no, I didn’t know that. Is that why all my cabinets are open every morning when I wake up?” he asks. And they really had been, he kinda figured that there was something going on in that house but hadn’t felt threatened by whatever presence was there.
He relishes in their spooked faces.
“A girl died there and her boyfriend killed the guy who did it soon after.” the one with the high top fade said earnestly.
“Allegedly, Lucas! Allegedly!” this time it’s the one with the curly hair and cap. “He always thought it was him but there was literally a letter.”
“He could’ve faked it, Dustin!” the gangly one snarks at his friend.
“It’s not likely, handwriting forensics concluded it to be her handwriting.” oof, this kid desperately needs a haircut.
“POINT IS.” the red head yells over the boys. It must’ve been a regular occurrence though, as they all fall silent (or silent enough while still bickering). She turns back to an amused Steve, “He likes metal music. If you play it, I’m sure he’ll leave your cabinets alone.”
“He who? The ghost?”
She nods, “Yep!”
So he does, picks up some retro vinyl to play (along with playing some tracks from his phone over his speaker while he works on the house), figuring if the guy died in the 80s, he’d probably like the sound of them better.
He plays the music, finds he likes some of it, talks to this mystery ghost as he goes about the house finishing projects. Throws some classic rock on sometimes too, saying “Hey ghost man, I’m sorry but I can’t listen to this much metal at a time. Hope Zepplin is okay.”
ghost!eddie who will always use some of his ghostly persuasion over things to spin the vinyl backwards on the turntable during ‘Stairway to Heaven’.
Steve, who does some research and learns about his supposed ghost, yells in greeting as soon as he’s back from the library, “Hi, Eddie!! I’m home!” reveling in the swirls of cold air that spin around him in response along with just a ghost (hah) of a whispered “Hi, Stevie..” in his ear.
Steve and Eddie, who get closer and closer over the months, learning anything and everything about one another. Steve goes through a lot of paper in the first couple weeks, asking a question and waiting for the paper with ‘Yes’ or ‘No’ written on it to flutter in an unseen breeze. Which paper scribbled with a different color marker to fly up into his lap (Eddie’s favorite color is blue, Steve tells him his is yellow).
Steve, beginning to see the shadow of another person in the corner of his eye more often the not as the summer winds into fall and the repairs he needed done are wrapping up.
By September there’s no denying the figure he sees reaching a hand out to flick up the answer to a question, or the laughter he hears coming from it after a particularly bad joke.
The shadow is Eddie; and Steve is starting to make out details about his ghost.
The long fluffy hair, the slim waist, the dark eyes that pierce through shadow against the slowly brightening skin beneath.
Eddie, who realizes Steve must be able to see him and starts staying away more often then not, afraid of what he’d see in that beautiful face when he’s finally his old boring self again. Can’t bear to see that disappointment on the face of this man he’s come to care so much for (read: fully crushing on).
He retreats fully by mid September, sticking to the far less quantifiable shadows in the house and between the walls.
Steve still tries, bless him. Leaves questions all over the place, hoping to see them answered. Eddie does, every night, wanting Steve to know he’s still here.
A week later, “Eddie, I know you can hear me, can you make sure to answer this one as soon as you can? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but I figured we maybe show off our house—the house—now that everything’s done.”
‘Our house!! He said our house!!!’
Eddie looks at what his Steve left on the new kitchen counter that night.
“Halloween Party?” is scrawled on an open page of their now worn notebook.
Something hot floods his chest at that. Steve wanting to make sure he’s okay with that many people being here at once. Eddie knows damn well what the feeling is and he’s not about to waste his corporeal time this year, he’s going to do something with it besides wreaking havoc (on the house at least).
Halloween arrives, and many in the small town want a glimpse into the old estate. There are people everywhere, costumes and all.
Steve’s proud of all the hard work he’s done to the place but he still misses Eddie. Wishes he could be here to see what had become of the place he’d hated for so long. See it for real.
Halfway through the night is when it happens.
The party is in full swing, his ballroom full of people and music and food. His playlist changes over to Bowie.
Steve smiles to himself at the memory the song pulls forward. Still soon after learning about Eddie and staring their questions and answers thing, Steve had put on Labyrinth, laughing at how frantically the “i LOVED it!” paper had swirled around in the air after asking Eddie’s opinion.
A new face he hadn’t seen in the crowd before catches his eye. This man coming down the staircase is striking. Long, dark, curly hair is pulled back in a low ponytail, lean legs in off white pants, sparkling dark blue jacket, slim waist… He’s so gorgeous, so ethereal, he can’t be real.
Okay, nope, everyone else in the room is parting for this man. So, definitely real.
Steve stands as the man approaches, a hand extended. Keeping their eyes locked on each other, the man leads Steve by the hand to the center of the room.
The man smirks at Steve, still stunned, and arranges their arms. Then they’re dancing, swirling around the space the crowd created for them.
Steve feels like he’s floating.
He’s dancing to As The World Falls Down with a breathtaking man he now realizes is definitely dressed as the Jareth to his Sarah.
Steve finally finds his voice, “Hi..” It’s barely a whisper.
The man smirks, scoffs a laugh, but whispers back: “Hi Stevie.”
Steve’s brain screeches to a halt, and the man’s eyes sparkle with mischief (and a little bit of apprehension).
He can’t compute the information right away, frantically scrambling for a logical explanation. Some way for someone to know about Eddie enough to imitate him, to know about ‘Stevie’..but comes up with nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch.
“Eddie…is that really you?”
“Yeah, sweetheart, it’s really me.”
Eddie brings their foreheads together and they sway to the rest of the song, Eddie softly singing along.
The song ends and Steve pulls Eddie through the crowd and out into the garden.
His mind is still swirling, so he clings onto Eddie’s arms just as much as Eddie clings to his.
“Eddie—“
“Wait, Steve, let me..” Eddie clears his throat and explains everything. How he died, how long he spent his one night of reality trying to keep people away from where he and his best friend had died. “I don’t want to waste tonight, but I’m afraid if I—if I tell you how I feel about you…I will be complete. Done with my unfinished business and all that.”
“How do you know?”
Eddie chuckles. “The Moon.”
Steve now fully, painfully aware of how little remains of the night, how little time he may have with Eddie altogether, decides he doesn’t have time to unpack that. So he says “Kiss me. Eddie, please, kiss m—“
Eddie does, and the Moon smiles down on her beloveds.
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