#don’t talk about the sparkly eggs | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dadsbongos · 2 years

Text

skipping through a john hughes' movie

8.3K words

warnings - reader has major anxiety (but it’s the 80s so people just call you insane), speedrun friends to enemies to lovers, allusions to children-having but no actual kids or anything

summary - Your Home Economics teacher assigns a project - take care of an egg for a full week and present your report on it. You assumed it would be a solo project, so imagine the surprise when your golden-girl cheerleading ass was paired with Eddie “the freak” Munson. At least your best friend, Chrissy, seems excited for you. ~~

There was one bright side to Ms. Vin’s painfully boring sixth period Home Ec. class, you and Chrissy were designated seat partners since the beginning of the year. Meaning every project - every quilt, dish, quiz, and assignment in the books - was done as a top-tier team. This one, despite being what you’ll assume is a solo project, is no different.

“So, how’re you gonna decorate your egg?” Chrissy grins, setting her chin into her palm, “I was thinking Barbie meets Madonna but on, like, a really bad bender.”

“I dunno, I might just draw whatever I want on it until time’s up,” you pick up one of Chrissy’s sparkly pens, “Mind if I borrow this?”

She shakes her head and beams at you, “Take whatever you want - my pens are your pens, doll face.”

You glare and she giggles.

“Ick,” you uncap the pen and lean back into your chair, taking the violently shiny pink pigment to your skin and doodling a flower over your thumb, “Ick, I say, Chris.”

Meanwhile, Eddie is busy braiding a section of his bangs while Gareth draws on their shared table.

“Honestly, I don’t even think I should do it,” Gareth murmurs.

“Do what?” Eddie pauses, finally realizing his poor friend had actually been talking to him.

“Were you not listening?” Eddie shakes his head, “Jesus. I was saying that my sister wants my egg when we’re done with this whole thing, but I don’t think I should give it to her. She’s just gonna put it under someone’s pillow or some shit.”

Eddie nods solemnly, watching as Ms. Vic begins handing out eggs, “At least you’ll pass, man. Knowing my luck, it’ll slip right outta my hands the second I grab it,” then he points at the table right in front of them - yours and Chrissy’s table, “Only good thing about this being a solo project is I don’t have to worry about fucking up someone’s grade.”

Since the beginning of your senior year, you’ve felt it. The stares. You’ve heard them - the whispers. And it certainly doesn’t help when people like Eddie Munson don’t shy away from mentioning it.

Chrissy side-eyes Eddie and no matter how much she may enjoy his presence, she can’t excuse him now. She lays a hand to your shoulder, “Hey, he’s, like, the only person who talks about it.”

“But everyone thinks it,” you meet Chrissy’s eyes and don’t notice that Ms. Vic is only leaving one egg per table, “Everyone’s just weird around me.”

Everyone except Chrissy.

You were always quiet in the crowd, and that’s mostly because you hate crowds. But it’s also because of the incident last year - being quieter means less people notice you which means less people talk about you which means eventually the incident stops getting brought up. Unless it’s a group as vindictive as Eddie and his band of freaks.

“So, many of you already know what this project is about, but I just want to go over it again. Just in case,” Ms. Vic stands at the front of the room, an empty carton of eggs in one hand and the other beginning to write on the chalkboard, “This will be a paired project, not a solo like I’ve been hearing!” you and Chrissy smile at one another while Eddie and Gareth share a nod (though with a lot of groaning and mumbling from Eddie), “You’ll have one egg to care for from this point until class next Monday. Then, your team will have to present to the class your method of caretaking, why you decorated your egg the way you did, any mishaps and accidents, and so on and so forth. I will then grade your pair by both presentation and how roughed up your egg is.”

She steps away from the board to reveal a list of names. And there’s something hot in your veins, freezing cold on your skin when you see your name.

You pray to God, but He isn’t there - and part of you now thinks He never was.

“These will be the pairs! Go ahead and move to sit by your partner!”

Your jaw drops and there’s a raucous from behind - Eddie laughing, “No fuckin’ way!”

“Mr. Munson,” Ms. Vic snaps, “we don’t use that language in school! I don’t care if you’re older than the other students.”

Eddie merely mutters under his breath while you put your head in your hands, “That felt uncalled for.”

Your name is right there on the chalkboard - right there, right next to Edward Munson in thick, unforgiving white chalk.

MONDAY

Your name is right there on the chalkboard - right there, right next to Edward Munson in thick, unforgiving white chalk.

Chrissy hisses as though your partner stings her and pats your shoulder, “Sorry, girl. Good luck.”

“Easy for you to say,” you groan.

Chrissy got paired with the chess club captain - Corey Watts. A sweetheart who’s the easiest, most agreeable person to work with since a corpse.

There’s a clang and screech and squeak of metal scratching linoleum, and Eddie has finally slammed himself into the seat beside you.

You straighten up and plaster on a grin, “Hi, Munson.”

“Munson?” he pouts and tilts his head, “Aw, c’mon, I know you’re all pissy about this, but don’t be so cold. We’ve gone to the same school together since we were little, I’d say we’re on a first name basis.”

“I feel more comfortable using ‘Munson’,” you grab the egg and hold it softly, “Unless you prefer Edward?”

He retches, holding his stomach, and you hate how you laugh. It’s a little too loud, you think, but Eddie seems to shine under the sound.

“How do you wanna decorate it?” you hold up the fragile egg.

Eddie holds up a pair of scissors from the table’s tin to his head, “What d’ya think, sweets? Wanna give the little tyke his daddy’s hair?”

You gasp and cradle the egg to your chest, “You will do no such thing! That’d be so weird!”

“Yeah, that’s the whole point,” he sets down the scissors and holds out a hand for the egg, “You can pretend it wouldn’t be fun all you want, I know you would’ve laughed.”

“I would’ve gagged when you made the whole room smell like burnt hair,” you point across the classroom to the counter that holds the hot glue guns.

“Fine, what about James Hetfield?” he suggests, kicking his feet up onto the table.

You swat his shin and furrow your brows, “Who the hell is James Hetfield?”

His big eyes widen impossibly further, “Oh my God,” he looks at you like you said the ocean was neon pink, “you’re so out of the loop it’s fucking insane.”

“If he’s from one of your bands then I’m not out of the loop,” you roll your eyes, “It’s just not my thing.”

“Metallica should be everyone’s thing,” he plucks the egg from your grasp, where it was still pressed gently to your chest, “I’ll show you later. Just say ‘yes’ so we don’t have to fight in front of the baby.”

“Fine, fine, but you’re gonna have to do it yourself, ‘cuz I don’t know who James Hetfield is,” you lean forward, resting your cheek on the table, “And you’re gonna show me what? Metallica?”

“Hell yeah,” he says it like you should already know the answer, “you’re missing out, sweetheart.”

“You’re nuts, Munson.”

If he were just a little more comfortable, he’d call you nuts. But Chrissy is burning a hole into the side of his head and even if he doesn’t feel that close to you, she’s his friend (even if it’s secret) and he doesn’t like hurting his friends. So he lets it slide and passes you the egg with the promise to retrieve a couple googly eyes and a hot glue gun.

He makes you glue the eyes on, not that you really trusted Eddie Munson with such a task - he might actually try gluing his hair on if you did.

But you can feel it - his eyes on you. Not your hands, but your face; your tongue between your teeth - a habit for when you’re trying to focus.

“Why’re you staring, Munson? Last I checked, I’m not the one who reeks of cigarettes,” your eyes draw to his and you grin sardonically, “Gross, by the way.”

Eddie’s twirling a piece of hair in front of his mouth but you can see the way his lips are pulled high - the way his eyes crinkle with the tellings of a smile, “Your teeth are sharp.”

“Huh?” you rear back, laughing half in earnest and half in shock.

“Your canines,” he nudges his head towards yours, “they’re sharp.”

“Yeah, they’re canines! Obviously, they’re gonna be sharp.”

“But they’re sharp like mine,” he lowers his hair and opens his mouth as if you would inspect his teeth, “Two freaks with stupidly sharp canine teeth.”

A couple of people stare following your outburst, but you can’t bring yourself to care much. Not when Eddie’s hunched over, brows scrunched and tongue out in concentration as he now tries coloring the egg in black marker like it’s wearing clothes.

“You should probably take it home,” Eddie hands you the egg and you reach into the pile of yarn he’d gotten for hair, “I don’t trust myself to not lose it.”

“Sure,” you’re a little surprised at how down-to-earth Eddie seems, considering what all your peers had said about him, “and then switch off between classes? Just so one person isn’t doing all the work.”

Clearing a spot on the table, Eddie lays his head down and nods, “I’m fuckin’ exhausted already.”

He’s right. It’s a little too peaceful. Nothing like your usual crowd (not that you’re all too enamored with the loudmouths of your usual crowd).

“I think you should take the egg during lunch no matter what, though,” you hiss when some hot glue touches the pad of your finger and that sends Eddie sitting straight up, “My table’s riddled with jocks, so I think he’ll survive at yours. Just try not to step on him during your table rants.”

“That was only three times,” he huffs jokingly before taking the hand you burned, “Lemme see.”

“It’s fine,” you’re almost tempted to rip your hand away, but more than that - you want him to keep it. His palm is warm and, despite the calluses, feels nice against yours. Weird.

“Just don’t want our princess hurt,” he releases your hand, “Looks fine. Shouldn’t scar.”

“Yeah, I figure,” the bell rings and you shoot up from your seat, “Uh, sorry- do you mind taking him now? My next hour is taken up by cheer practice.”

“Thought you guys practiced after school,” he’s whining but he holds his hand out for the egg anyway.

“It’s either more practice or regular gym and the regular gym coach scares me.”

Eddie hates to admit it, but the golden girl, golden cheerleader, golden little smile you shoot him would’ve made him agree no matter what.

TUESDAY

“Fiskle is a good partner,” Gareth, weirdly enough, isn’t complaining about a project as he speaks to the lunch table, “Said she’d take care of the egg the whole time, I just have to write up the presentation.”

“I’m not looking forward to taking care of an egg,” Dustin shakes his head, “Sounds nerve-wracking and boring at the same time.”

“It is,” Gareth nudges his head towards the head of their lunch table - to a suspiciously silent DM, “Eddie got paired with the psycho cheerleader.”

Mike and Dustin glance at each other, confused, then turn to stare at the cheerleaders.

“Oh, shit,” Jeff laughs at the freshmen, “you guys don’t know.”

“Know what?” Mike tosses up his hands, a brow quirked, “They all look normal.”

“Bland, even,” Dustin agrees.

“People don’t even talk about it that much,” Grant takes a glance at you from his peripheral.

“But why shouldn’t they?” Gareth’s eyes narrow, “‘Cuz why does she get to go around like that and it’s all good, but we just like a game and we’re nutbag cultists?”

“Well, what the fuck happened?” Mike throws a fry at Gareth, “Stop stalling ‘n’ tell us.”

Eddie sighs, loud and heavy, and finally looks up from your shared egg. He can see a smudge of glittery pink pen over the face, and he hates how it makes him think of you. And he hates that every time he thinks of you, he has to justify it - only to himself and only because he isn’t big enough to admit that he finds a cheerleader pretty. Still.

“You want to know the tale of the nutso cheerleader, young paladin?” Eddie looks at Mike, then Dustin, “It’s a harrowing story, not for the faint of heart. Or children.”

“Get on with it,” Mike jeers, throwing yet another fry.

“Get on with it,” Chrissy teases, pinching your arm, “You’re so adorable when you lie to yourself.”

“Shut up,” you huff, “I’m serious, though. Sure, Munson’s not that bad, but it isn’t like we’re gonna be friends.”

She sets you with a pointed look, “It’s totally possible, though.”

“As if.”

“Well, I think it’s for sure,” Chrissy’s eyes fly past you and an impish grin raises to her lips, “His little minions are staring at you pretty hardcore.”

If you hadn’t turned - oh, if only you hadn’t turned - then nobody else would’ve noticed. Andy wouldn’t have noticed and turned to Patrick who turned to Jason Carver.

Jason is Jason and Jason is an asshole, so he stands from his seat and squares his shoulders like he’s really about to fight a pair of freshmen just for looking at cheerleaders. You wouldn’t put it past him, though.

“Jason,” Chrissy whispers, “c’mon, don’t.”

But Jason doesn’t listen well, “What’re you freaks staring at?!”

Immediately, Mike and Dustin go pale - snapping their bodies back into their original position. Eddie’s hands settle on the table, ready to stand.

You reach out and grab Jason by the sleeve, “It’s not a big deal, Carver, just leave them be. They’re kids.”

“They’re old enough to know staring isn’t polite,” Jason’s loud enough for them to hear and you hate seeing how the boys flinch, “If I didn’t know better, I’d think they’re planning something.”

“They’re- “ you groan and stand, pushing Jason back by the chest, “It’s fine, Jason. Seriously. Leave them alone. Please.”

Jason is an ass, but he always thinks he’s doing what’s right. Sees himself as a knight in shining armor - little does he know, all the joints are rusting and everyone cowers under his fist. His brows draw and he frowns, “What if they hurt you?”

“They’re kids,” you toss up your hands in exasperation, “I’m fine, Jason. You’re just making a scene.”

Chrissy stands as well, her lithe hands settlinh on her boyfriend’s shoulders, “Yeah, just sit back down and enjoy lunch, okay? They didn’t mean anything by it.”

Jason waits. One second. Five seconds. Ten uncomfortable seconds pass before he relents and takes his seat at the table. You watch Eddie settle back into his seat and you don’t get the same opportunity before the bell suddenly rings.

Hellfire files out of the cafeteria quicker than usual and you can assume why. Jason is hot on their tale, Chrissy hot on his. You meet Eddie at his table and wave.

He takes up his bag and holds out your egg, “Thank you, sweet princess, for extending your neck in the name of a couple freaks.”

You roll your eyes at his sarcastic tone, “Yeah, okay. I think more people should.”

He agrees. He’s only unwilling to thank you sincerely because while he does appreciate it - it’s what you should do, right? Yes, it’s kind, but there’s that undeniable part of him that grows increasingly bitter about how only Chrissy stood up with you. But it’s easier to play up the part of the freak than be vulnerable with someone like you (a stranger, a cheerleader - same difference).

“Wow, you’re a regular Josie, aren’t you?”

You tense and his eyes anxiously fly to your face, but you’re smiling. Big and bright as you hold the egg carefully.

“You good?” he tilts his head, smile nothing if not mocking.

“Sorry, I’m just…” you giggle, fit with nerves and insecurity, “I loved Josie and the Pussycats - I hated that it ended.”

“Aw,” he pouts and the two of you finally exit the cafeteria, “that must’ve been tragic for you.”

“It was. My little 3-year-old self couldn’t get out of bed. And then when I got older and rewatched it, I was just as inconsolable.”

“Oh? And when’s the last time you watched Ms. Josie and her rock band of the ages?”

“Last week.”

You like his laugh. And his smile. It’s sweeter than what the jocks pull - a whole lot sweeter.

The minute bell rings and Eddie decides to swallow his pride - a consolation prize for Josie and the Pussycats ending.

“Thanks again, I really didn’t feel like getting my ass suspended defending those little shits,” Eddie scratches the side of his nose.

You shrug off the gratitude, “‘s no big deal, Eddie,” he hates the giddy in his chest when his name flows from your mouth, “It’s fine, honestly. You know, everyone thinks I’m, like, some superficial bitch. Or whatever.”

Eddie smiles, cat-that-ate-the-canary and snarky, “Yeah.”

“Oh my God,” you grab his arm and gasp, “I thought you were against the system!”

“I am!” a spark flutters through the arm you’re holding, even under the leather jacket, “Until it proves me right.”

You huff and grin and wave him off. Your cheer skirt flutters as you turn and walk down the hall, but your voice echoes through the walls,

“Dick!”

The bell for class to begin shrills and Eddie just watches you go. He’s ashamed of falling into the stereotype - but then again, he’s a super senior that deals drugs, so that isn’t actually new, is it?

WEDNESDAY

Five minutes. You’re trying not to freak out. You’re five minutes late.

Sorry, Chrissy mouths, frowning.

Five minutes ago, you were supposed to meet Eddie at his van so you could take your egg home, and cheer practice was nowhere near done. Despite being captain, Chrissy didn’t really call the shots of when to end practice and you can’t blame her.

None of the girls notice you’re anxiously glancing at the clock every other second, and honestly, if they did, you doubt they would care.

Then, the doors slam open - each girl jumps and attention snaps to the jingling chains and clanking rings that storm through. A circus of boos ring around the gym and Chelsea Rivers even throws a pom-pom at poor Eddie.

But in true Munson fashion, he catches it with the hand not holding your egg and holds it above his head - muttering as if in prayer and tossing it back.

“What’d you do, freak?” Chelsea jumps away from the pom-pom, it tumbles and the tassels just barely brush her sneaker.

“Just some casual demonic ritual, don’t worry about it!” he cheers, blowing a kiss when Chelsea kicks the pom-pom away.

“He’s fucking with you,” you pick up the pom-pom and hand it to Chelsea, then calling to the rest of the squad, “Chill out, girls, he’s here for me!”

Eddie kneels as you approach, presenting the egg as though it’s a prize on a game show.

“Thanks,” you wring your hands, “Uh, practice should be over soon, but I totally get it if you just wanna leave the egg here ‘n’ go.”

“No, no,” he holds the egg to his chest when you try to grab it and sits back on the bleachers, “I will be patient and celebratory of your cheer duties, as I should be.”

“If you insist,” you bow and that’s how you know you’re starting to spend a little too much time with Eddie for the sake of a project, “then I guess I just have to give a proper show.”

Eddie’s loud as he watches you all. Every stunt - back handspring, round-off, pike, tumble - no matter how repeated, earns you a ‘woo!’ and banging on the bleacher.

“Eddie,” you wave him off, grinning, “Seriously, you’re being distracting.”

“I’m being supportive,” he points to where the egg is now nestled on his bundled-up leather jacket beside him, “Now stop whining and be the mom he can be proud of.”

You flip him off and he gasps, covering the egg’s googly eyes.

Chelsea leans close and while Eddie can’t hear her whispers, he already knows what she’s saying. He’s been down this road and it always leads to the same dead end. She moves away, eyes flickering between you and Eddie and he can’t help but groan.

You pull back from Chelsea, eyes narrowed, “Huh?”

“I said,” she crosses her arms, “is he making you uncomfortable?”

If it were Jason here for Chrissy, nobody would be saying anything. And you’re perplexed until you remember who Eddie is to these people, and you don’t understand how they can think that until you remember you used to believe it, too. Maybe not to the full extent they do, but it isn’t like you ever approached him in the halls.

You were even initially mortified to be working with him, and now you’re giggling at his jests.

Eddie stands and you watch him until you can find your muscles again. You rush to him without responding to Chelsea and you can hear the questions that the other girls are raising behind you.

Maybe if people see how much you actually enjoy being his project partner, they’ll get over themselves.

But the most cynical part of you doubts it.

“Hey,” your hand wraps around his, your lips tugged in a frown and Eddie has to look away lest he be tempted to fix it, “you don’t have to go, y’know?”

The way you’re pouting at him is dangerous. It reminds him of sick, twisted feelings. Reminds him of the stereotype he is - where the freak falls for the cheerleader that’s nice to him. Reminds him of just how badly he wants to kiss you under the bleachers he hides under during pep rallies (‘cuz of course, who wouldn’t? You’re a cheerleader. A gorgeous, competent, kind cheerleader).

It’s dangerous because it’s unreal and it makes him overthink. If he can’t do so much as get the girl, how will any of his other dreams come to fruition?

So Eddie just laughs, “I’m not very welcomed.”

“Well, what if I want you here?” you look down at your white sneakers while he stares - wide-eyed and sweet - at you, “Hate to admit it, Munson, but maybe your hollering is good for something.”

“In that case…” he glances at the lone egg on the bleachers, to your squad, to you. You, sweet and smart and so, so unattainable, “if I must be a cheerleader’s cheerleader, then how could I ever refuse?”

THURSDAY

Ms. Vic’s sixth hour Home Ec. class has gotten more interesting since Eddie’s been your seat partner.

“Not a single dick on this desk,” Eddie ‘tsk’s and shakes his head, “Shameful. What the hell do you and Cunningham even do over here?”

“We talk, like friends do,” you rub a thumb over the smooth shell of the egg as Ms. Vic passes out a packet to each pair, “Is that what you and Gareth do? Draw dicks all over the table like children?”

Eddie hums and leans over as if to check, “Yep. And demons. Sometimes both at once.”

“Dick demons?”

There’s a lull as Ms. Vic comes by to set down your team’s packet.

When she’s gone, Eddie nods curtly, “Demons’ dicks.”

“Gross,” you open the packet.

It seems straightforward. One column for mishaps. One for cracks. One for shatters.

Obviously your egg hasn’t shattered.

“Check for cracks, please?” you pass the egg to Eddie.

“Just mark whatever you want, it’s not like she’s actually looking at it.”

“No way, if we don’t properly do this and then later she catches us in a lie, we’re…” you shake your head and wave your hands about, “It’s just not gonna happen. I’m not lying on an assignment, Eddie. Now stop whining and inspect the egg.”

“Fine, here you go, sweetheart,” he makes a show of himself, what else is new? He hums and nods and ‘ooh’s and ‘ahh’s, “Yeah, we’re clear.”

“Har, har,” you take the egg to double-check it.

“Oh my God, do you distrust me that much?”

“Yeah.”

“Cold-blooded!” Eddie rocks his head back, “How could you, sweet princess?”

“Easily.”

Gareth watches in terror, only because he’s known Eddie for a long, long time. He’s seen Eddie get crushes and he can tell that the crush he had on you last year is striking again at full force. He’s seen the way light dies a little in Eddie’s eyes when he sees the guys you hang out with - not out of jealousy, but realization. Eddie always gets his hopes up and then remembers how different you two are. How different your circles are. He’s seen the more bold girls come and fuck with Eddie for free weed, and he’s seen how it hurts the poor bastard (not that said poor bastard would ever admit it).

Chrissy, meanwhile, watches in glee because she can see how much you’re enjoying yourself. She likes that you’ve made another friend - an actual friend - outside the circle jerk of jocks and preps. A friend who isn’t judging you for being the “psycho cheerleader”.

FRIDAY

A regional cheer competition was the talk of Hawkins High. Until seventh period, the cheer squad was gone and everyone who actually cared about where they were was overcome with concerns about if they would win. Hawkins had a reputation of flailing last minute when it came to stuff like this and Coach G was increasingly - visibly - sick of it.

Hellfire never cared for that, or at least they didn’t until Eddie was just staring at the jocks’ lunch table for something other than trying to rile them up.

Eddie finds it unrelentingly bizarre how miserable he feels. He hates the ball of muck and tar that’s collected in his chest - sticky and thick and aching. He knows you’ll be back by the end of the day, but that doesn’t mean his stupid heart doesn’t clench at your current absence any less.

Stupid, stupid, stupid…

The other guys have noticed it, too. The table is quieter than usual because nobody’s prodding Eddie and he isn’t leaping for interaction either. It’s weird.

Eddie’s not dumb, though. He knows why he misses you. He knows why it stings to see a you-sized gaping hole at the table.

Gareth knows, too, and that only makes him more nervous.

SATURDAY

“I brought the egg,” you pull the fragile thing from your shirt’s front pocket, “Figured you’d wanna see your son.”

“Aren’t you adorable,” Eddie pushes open his trailer door and takes the egg, “Thanks, Mama.”

“Don’t call me that,” you’re hot in the face and your giggle is nervous. You aren’t dumb enough to not know that he’s why.

“Aw, why?” he leans in close, lips wide and teeth on display.

“‘s intimate,” you whisper it like it’ll burn you to be uttered.

“You’re precious,” Eddie nudges his head further into the trailer, “My room’s down here.”

You see a familiar body in the kitchen of the trailer, though; making coffee for his thermos before heading off to a grueling shift at work.

“Hey, Mr. Wayne!”

He turns and waves and that’s enough from such a naturally stoic guy, “Just Wayne, girl, you know that.”

“Didn’t know you two were friends,” Eddie holds open his bedroom door for you, eyes fluttering between you and his uncle, “How’d you meet?”

“We’re not friends,” you shrug, “And we just see each other for volunteer work: cleaning up waste ‘n’ stuff. He usually gets stuck with Chrissy and I because he doesn’t bother getting into other teams and nobody likes working with teenagers.”

“Just when I thought you couldn’t get sweeter.”

Your eyes trail after Eddie as he hurriedly picks up scattered items on his floor. His shirt rises from time to time. Sometimes there’s a peek of the course, dark hair on his tummy that leads to his jeans and sometimes there’s a view of his boxers. You just try to be respectful - eyes slamming to the clock he keeps on his nightstand, then the handcuffs right by his bed.

“Volunteer work is, like, completely mandatory for the cheer squad, Eds.”

He shrugs and pretends his heart didn’t clench at the precious nickname on your tongue, “But you could volunteer anywhere, and you choose waste cleanup.”

“It’s not even that big a deal, we aren’t even doing actual work with the waste, we clean up the aftermath of other cleanups. We’re the just-in-case crew.”

“Still,” he insists, “so cute, I could eat you up.”

“Shush, hush,” you swat at Eddie and step over a twisted, tossed shirt left behind in his bedroom’s doorway, “Anyway, handcuffs?”

Eddie immediately grabs the cuffs and throws them into his overstuffed laundry basket, “You’re delusional. You never saw any handcuffs.”

“I think that’s manipulation,” you pluck the egg from his hands and look around the room. It’s still messy, but you don’t think any other room would fit Eddie, and you don’t think you’d want to be in any room that wasn’t Eddie’s.

Then you see it. Right on his desk. Next to the ashtray and dust-ridden sunglasses that look two-sizes too small for his head.

“Uhh,” you pick up the small blue box and shake it by your head, “had big plans for tonight, Munson?”

Eddie’s eyes are wide at the box of condoms in your hand. You can see endless possibilities in those baby browns - actions, words, every response he has planned. Irreverent denial, acceptance, laughter, joking insistence. But eventually, he settles to square his jaw and his eyes are back to usual.

He nods curtly and folds his arms, “Yes, princess, I brought you to my trailer after saying we should go to your house and then intentionally parade myself for an ass kicking by hooking up with the state’s golden girl.”

“I am not the state’s golden girl,” your nervous breakdown last year soiled such a title for the rest of your life.

“And why not?”

“As if you don’t know what happened.”

He does but he keeps quiet. Shrugs. Throws himself onto his bed and smiles when you kneel on the mattress next to him.

“Who cares? ‘s not like anybody important even talks about it.”

He’s instantly smacked with guilt, but then again, he’s nobody important - not at all. Not until you’re giggling at him.

“Yeah, whatever,” you lay the egg in your lap and watch it tilt, rock, then balance, “Imagine if this was a real baby, it would not be this well off.”

“I dunno, I’d think baby Munson would love watching you practice your, uh,” he blinks up at the ceiling and waves his arms out wide with flair, loose and flimsy, “jumps and kicks.”

“I think baby Munson would get used for football practice by Jason ‘n’ his goons,” you turn to Eddie as he smiles and it brings one out of you, too. You raise a hand and make it look like you’re palming a football, “His soft spot would look gnarly as hell, though.”

You like the way Eddie laughs at your jokes. Your jokes usually fall flat with your friends.

You once heard that in order to find someone funny, you first have to find them smart enough to be capable of making a joke. And if Eddie’s enjoying himself this much at a simple jab, then he must think you’re some kind of Einstein. Or perhaps he’s just that willing to freely enjoy himself.

Either way, you like it.

SUNDAY

You know that feeling you get when you’re walking up to a group of people and they instantly stop talking, and you know they were talking about you?

What’s worse than that?

When they don’t see you coming and don’t stop talking.

You can see it in their faces that you weren’t supposed to hear what they were saying, but they shouldn’t have been saying it in the first place.

In a handful of measly minutes, the week leading up to now was smashed and you can only watch Eddie’s cheeks flush in embarrassment. Then it drops into realization.

A handful of minutes ago, you were first walking into Eddie’s trailer to finish up the presentation you two started yesterday. The door was unlocked and you could hear him and his friends in his room - the door was cracked just enough for you to hear them when you got close. Before you get to open the door, you hear your name.

You freeze and the hum of Eddie’s guitar pauses.

“What?”

“I’m just saying,” Gareth tenses, looking between Eddie to Mike and Dustin, “you need to back off your partner,” when all Eddie does is stare like he’d heard the date of his own death, Gareth continues, “I get it, you know, she’s nice and all but come on… you know better than that. She’s a walking hazard sign.”

Eddie looks over to Dustin and Mike - for assurance, support, affirmation, he isn’t completely sure - and they only look away.

Gareth puts up three fingers, “She’s a cheerleader, it’d never work out, your social standings are way too different,” his ring finger goes down, “Even if it did work, you’ll get your ass beat by her family, like, every Tuesday,” his index finger goes down and he’s flipping Eddie off, “She’s completely mental.”

Eddie immediately snaps to attention, body rigid and stiff and hands frozen on his guitar, “She is not mental, Emerson.”

Mike butts in, “I mean… you guys don’t call her the psycho cheerleader for nothing.”

Dustin shrugs, “Not the most intense freakout, but… with all things considered, I don’t know, Eddie.”

He doesn’t know you’re there - silently begging for backup. So he sits back and bites his lip, “Whatever. Fuck you guys.”

Silent defeat.

Silent admission.

His bedroom door creaks as it opens and each head whips around to face you. Egg and papers in one hand, the other wrapped loosely around the knob.

You look defeated, sound defeated, “You what?” your eyes fall to your white sneakers and suddenly the room is just a little too hot, a little too stuffy. Your throat swollen and eyes burning, “I didn’t even think you guys cared about that sort of thing…”

Wasn’t their whole deal about the system being bullshit?

You could understand when Eddie thought you were like the other cheerleaders before you two actually met, but now it was different. He was still actively using a name that burned you when you thought that you two might actually be able to be friends. Maybe more.

You hate that you ever hoped for more.

You hate that you already miss him.

You kick at the floor of Eddie’s cluttered room, “None of the other cheerleaders even call me that. But yeah, they’re two-faced.”

None of them can gather the courage to so much as look at you, even Eddie - who you thought prided himself on being big and loud and unafraid.

You roll your eyes just to hide the disappointment and tears and you’re trying so hard to sound stern, but there’s no way to keep your voice from shaking, “Here’s the egg. Do the final yourself, and if we fail - it’s your ass, Munson… Might go fuckin’ crazy on you or some shit,” you sniffle and laugh dryly, walking away.

Eddie suddenly finds himself and stands just as he hears you mutter a borderline acidic “stupid dick”.

Not that he can even blame you for saying it. He’s dug his grave and when you’re already driving away and he remembers he doesn’t know where you live - he knows that he must lie in it.

His best option - his only option - is to write a good presentation and apologize like hell at school tomorrow. Maybe you’ll forgive him.

Or maybe he’s doomed.

MONDAY

Eddie managed to catch you right at your locker during zero hour.

“Do you think you can just say whatever you want, Munson?” he rears back, eyes wide. You laugh, bitter and dry and only a little teary-eyed, “You think that just because you’ve been screwed over, that gives you the right to turn your back on someone because they’re a cheerleader. You think we’re all the same and you didn’t bother defending me ‘cuz I’m just another cheerleader to you,” he opens his mouth but you put up a finger to shush him, “I bet the people here aren’t even people in your head, are they? We’re just faceless masses that you lump in with the ones that pick on your friends. It’s bullshit, Eddie.”

“And what? You’re so special because you’re what?” he shouldn’t be talking like this - he should just grit his teeth and bow his head, but you’ve struck a chord and he’s never been good at backing down, “You’re… the quiet one, right? That’s your little calling card. You’re the nice one that can smile and laugh at the freak’s jokes and that makes you better than the others.”

“I didn’t say that,” you snap.

“You didn’t have to,” Eddie’s face is stone cold and it’s more unnerving than the worst horror movie, “I’m not a fucking idiot. That’s your schtick. Your gimmick. You’re the sweet one that even the losers like because she sticks up for them, but we’re not friends, and we never would’ve been.”

He should shut up. He needs to shut up. But right now there’s a burning ball of anger and hatred and it’s all at himself and the jocks and the school that would end you if you two did become friends.

“We could’ve been friends,” you stand tall, but your voice wavers just a little. Just enough for him to know you’re insecure, “We really could’ve.”

“Your friends would eat me alive and mine would eat you,” Eddie has to look away, lest he’s swayed into begging forgiveness on his knees at the sight of your crestfallen face, “It’s better like this. No little cheerleader has to get hurt, and I’m just a good memory with a bad ending. That’s how it would’ve gone anyway, now we’re just skipping to the finale of a John Hughes’ movie.”

Chrissy doesn’t recognize the boy in front of her. This isn’t the Eddie that always made her feel safe. This isn’t the Eddie that was always going to be a friend after high school was done. This isn’t the Eddie she’s proud to know.

“Fine,” you shake your head. There’s something inside you that’s screaming - shouting that this is wrong. Your Eddie wouldn’t say this. He isn’t like this, “Do you really think that, or are you just being pissy?”

“We both know I’m just being pissy,” he’s quiet. It’s odd. You hate it.

Chrissy shakes her head and tugs on your arm, “C’mon, we’re gonna be late.”

If you two leave now, you’ll actually be two minutes early, but you have no idea how to carry on and you’re sure Eddie doesn’t either. So you leave with nothing more than a “Talk to me when you get your head out of your ass, Munson.”, and he doesn’t follow.

It’s like that for the rest of the day, too. Between classes, when you’re meant to be trading the egg - he initially tried not taking it, but it hadn’t worked. Not at all.

With Chrissy, concerned and tender, you’d leave. One arm looped with your cheer captain’s and the other carefully carrying your egg. And when he returns the egg, it’s nothing different.

Only when you’re sat by each other during sixth period Home Economics does he finally get the chance to speak.

“Alright, yeah, I know,” Eddie sighs and reaches into his metal lunchbox and pulls out two slightly torn pieces of loose leaf, “I fucked up, sweets. I know. I’m sorry, really, I’m sorry. What can I do? Just say the word and I’ll do it - whatever you want.”

You take one of the papers he holds and wrinkle your nose at the resounding stench of weed, “Do you keep drugs in there or something, Munson?”

Without hesitation, he nods, “Yeah. I thought you knew.”

“I didn’t think you carried it to class!”

“Never know when an emergency will strike.”

You hate the grin that wants to creep over your face, “You’re an idiot, Edward.”

He grimaces, shaking his head so theatrically, his hair flutters around his shoulders, “I’ll literally let you stab me if you just never call me Edward again.”

“So dramatic,” you swat the boy in the arm and shrug, “And maybe I’ll forgive you, if we ace this presentation,” you hold up your paper and shake it about.

“Then thank God I’m the one who wrote it,” he grumbles.

“I believe in you, Eds,” you punch his shoulder and watch his chest puff up - big and proud.

It deflates as soon as your names are called. Ms. Vic gestures to the floor beside her desk and smiles - kindly and ignorant to the teenage angst festering between you and Eddie.

You clutch the presentation - lips pressed and hands clammy. There’s a burning, aching that lies on your heart - guts entwining and sweat breaking over your skin. Sure, you’re a cheerleader and sure, you’re technically popular, but in no way do you actually enjoy being around throngs of people.

You put up with the pep rallies and the games and the parties and the crowded lunch tables because that’s what’s best for your image. And that’s what’s best for Chrissy’s image. And Chrissy is your best friend and you just want her to be happy and you don’t want her to be stuck with you like you’re stuck in these situations.

Eyes scorch at you and you realize how long you’ve been stalling. God, they must all think you’re a freak. Your knees strike straight and you think you can feel your lunch coming up.

“Uh- “ you clear your throat, shake your head, anything to just rid yourself of this feeling, “The- so…”

Air is short and thin and there’s an overwhelming need to run. You’ve felt like this before. You know it. You deeply know it.

You’ve felt it many times - before every rally and game and party and in front of every single crowd - but only one time has it been this severe.

Last year - second semester, fourth quarter, Mr. Perry’s first hour U.S History class. The second week until the end of school, your parents took you out of Hawkins for a family emergency and just your luck - an exam was taken that day. An exam you couldn’t make up no matter how much you begged and an exam that dropped your A to a C.

When you earned the title of school psycho for flipping your lid on Mr. Perry on the last day of your junior year because you got a C+.

But nobody understood, they really didn’t. It was more. It was different. It was so, so different.

And now you’re practically hyperventilating in front of your classmates and now it isn’t even about the stupid fucking presentation. It’s about knowing that tomorrow you’re gonna get those weird stares and miserable glances. It’s about knowing that no matter what you do and no matter how hard you try - you’ll always be nothing more than Chrissy’s neurotic best friend prone to a nervous breakdown at the slightest sign of danger.

It’s about knowing that Eddie will call you crazy with his stupid friends at his stupid lunch table with his stupid smile and those stupid laughs.

Ms. Vic leans around to see your eyes clenching shut, head turning down, but before she can - Eddie takes a rather obnoxiously large step in front of you.

He beams at Ms. Vic, hands flying to your shoulders, “A moment.”

She nudges her head towards the classroom door and calls the next group.

Once in the hall, you’ve let the tears fall. You’re crumpling the paper in your hand and nearly wailing, “Oh my God, I- I’m so sorry, Eddie.”

Eddie squats down so your downturned gaze is forced to lock with his, “Hey, no,” his hands find yours and he squeezes, rings biting at your palm, “it’s alright. You froze up, so what?”

“I could feel them staring at me,” you sniffle and whimper and hiccup, “I don’t wanna go back in there, I can’t look at them. I can’t do this, Eddie. I fucking hate this.”

This overwhelming dread whenever you’re faced with too many faces and too much judgment. This need to cry and hide and run like a child when you’re overwhelmed. This painful, exhausting, languishing need for people to just like you and be proud that they know you.

“Goddammit,” you rip your hands away and cover your eyes with your arms, “I wanna go home.”

Eddie waits a moment and you’re convinced he left. He’s better off that way; delivering the presentation alone so that Hawkins’ local nutjob can’t fuck up his last chance to graduate. Then you feel a hand on your cheek, tender and affectionate.

“Wanna look at me, sweets?” you shake your head and keep your eyes down, “Alright, hey, don’t worry about them, baby, you got this. You’re a rockstar here, remember?” your brows furrow and you purse your lips, “Don’t let a couple dorks with eggs stop you from killing this presentation.”

“We’re dorks with an egg,” you mutter. You look away, “Do you think I’m crazy? Like your friends do.”

“No,” he shakes his head, then remembers last night, then gently brushes his thumb over your cheek, “I mean, sure, I dunno anybody else who explodes on teachers or anything, but you’re not crazy. You just do crazy shit sometimes, sweetpea, ‘s totally different. Not even that crazy, just a little odd, maybe.”

You shoot him a disbelieving stare.

“Really, honey, you’re completely fine. Got some cold feet, that’s all. We just go back in there and kick ass, right?”

“It’s gonna be so fucking weird, Eds.”

“Just don’t let it be,” he stands and you hold your head up this time, still clutching the presentation he wrote last night, “Really, I didn’t stay up all last night writing this just for my pretty partner to not read it.”

“Fine,” you jam the toe of your sneaker into the linoleum floor, “Okay. Fine.”

Eddie holds his arms out, “Hug, for my brave knightly duties?”

“Hug,” you meet him in the middle and squeeze your arms around his waist, Eddie’s arms looping around your neck - his lips dangerously close to your forehead, “Thanks, Eds.”

“Don’t mention it.”

You two return inside and Ms. Vic moves aside for you. She mouths a quick ‘are you okay?’ and no, no you aren’t, but you nod and swallow the marble in your throat all the same.

“Hi,” you do your best to appeal to the people who would throw you overboard for a misplaced giggle, “sorry.”

Your eyes flutter to Eddie and he winks. You take his hand and he squeezes yours - a loving three times.

You keep your eyes on the paper, brows furrowing, “‘We decided to model our egg after James Hetfield, the lead singer of Metallica, and that made it all the more important that we don’t crack it’?” you shoot a quizzical look to Eddie, who only nods excitedly, “‘Our main method of egg-watching was to switch between the two of us during each passing period. That way we could both get the real experience of this project and wouldn’t let one person burden the other.”

Some of Eddie’s words don’t quite make sense where they are. Some of his wording is simply too clunky. A lot of it - most of it, in fact, is misspelled. But you’re slowly forgetting that this is being delivered to a room of other people, and you’re having fun. Weirdly enough.

You’ve had a lot of fun, actually.

Maybe forgiving Eddie won’t be quite as hard as you originally thought.

Chrissy, as usual, cheers you on the loudest. She cups her hands so her clapping can be heard over the mild applause of everyone else - including Ms. Vic’s. Gareth gives you a thumbs up and you start to think that maybe in another universe, this is the final stretch of a cheesy coming of age movie. Written and directed by John Hughes.

Eddie releases your hand and part of you is terribly embarrassed over how much you miss the warmth of his palm on yours.

You two wander back to your seats as Gareth and Sally are called to present. You feel bad for tuning them out, but it’s forgotten in the way sunshine flits through the window and lays kisses to Eddie’s profile.

He grins suddenly, his eyes catching yours and you look away. There’s a chuckle in his throat and you feel his fingers loop with yours once again. You find the courage to stare at him again and he hasn’t looked away from you yet.

You don’t know where this puts you and Eddie, but you do know that tomorrow shouldn't be boring. No day following today will be boring with Eddie Munson.

There’s stars in his eyes as he watches you. His pretty lips whisper, “Wanna go out?”

You squeeze his hand and nod, earnestly bashful.

Because yeah, maybe going out with Eddie Munson will be a form of social suicide, but it isn’t like your standing was all that great in the first place. Besides, you had more fun this week in the sparse moments with Eddie - and your stupid James Hetfield egg - than you think you’ve ever had at Hawkins before.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson #stranger things x you #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #stranger things #eddie.🍓

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lucero-is-here · 10 months

Text

The camera turns on, as it slowly focuses on someone sitting neatly in a chair. They are eating some candy, and are wearing a top hat

“Good evening, morning or afternoon ladies, gentlemen and folks! I am your host, Lucero Moone. And it’s headcanon time. Today we have Rockley Rochester as our star guest!”

Requested by:

I’ve seen this man before, and I quite like him. Now let’s get to him!

- pansexual. He doesn’t really care who he dates. As long as they treat him right and support his career and love him, he’s good.

- he talks in third person sometimes. Like: “Rockley is going to commit crimes make more candy!”

- he likes anything that sparkles and shines- he likes sparkly things.

- has an insane amount of strength- he’s really strong. When he formally met Arthur, he grabbed and shook Arthur’s hand so hard Arthur’s hand was probably going to break.

- he cannot eat too much sugar- or else he’s going hyper. If he eats too much candy in a day, he’s not getting any sleep-

- he’s really good with mechanics. Similar to Larry, he’s good with mechanics and clockwork!

- has the attention span of a teaspoon with ten holes drilled into it. Basically cannot pay attention to anything unless he’s super interested in it-

- loves all his family members to death. Whenever he meets any of them, he runs over and hugs them and lifts them up. Two examples: When Bernadine was like…20 and he was like 22, he ran over, hugged her and lifted her up because of how excited he was to see his cousin again. And when he met Arthur a second time, he literally hugged Arthur and lifted him off the floor-

- he pretends he’s a velociraptor. He does the little velociraptor hands and stands on his tip tops and pretends to be one-

- he loves candy a lot. Which is obvious. But he would eat candy for breakfast- and he has a really really big sweet tooth.

- high heels boots. Cause they make him look ✨FABULOUS✨

- his nails are painted with glitter nail polish

- IF YOU’RE DATING HIM- EXPECT REALLY EXPENSIVE GIFTS OR A HELL OF A LOAD OF SWEETS-

- he fights with Larry every now and then.

- messy handwriting, and is fast writer.

- if you (as a friend or more than friends) tell him you like something, he’s buying it without hesitation for you-

- he bought an airship once. He was just supposed to buy eggs- but he remembered to get the eggs so all is good.

Leopold: Don’t. Forget. The. Eggs.

Rockley: buys an airship. Oh and he got the eggs this time

- when he’s super happy, he starts jumping up and down like a rabbit-

- he can play the violin- and he’s really good at it too. Leopold taught him.

- He told Horatio to go fuck himself after learning about the shit Horatio did.

- he can be super super sassy- it scares the hell out of anyone cause he gets really sassy and almost a bit mean.

- went to Justin Lawson’s grave and said: who’s laughing and alive now Lawson.

- dressed up as the mad hatter for halloween once.

This is all I have for this silly man. If I think of more a part 2 will come up. And why do I find him adorable for no reason- he gives me mad hatter vibes for some reason-

#criminal case #headcanons #rockley rochester

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yyumemika · 9 days

Text

Colourful Good Job Episode 5

Episode 5

Season: Summer

Characters: Subaru, Kuro, Sora, Tsumugi, Niki

(A few days later)

Sora: Hmm~. Sora messed up again~ It’s hard to wrap yakisoba in egg

Niki: Not at all, you’ve only just started practising and you’re already pretty good!

The next one will surely be a beautiful soba omelette! Keep going, don’t be discouraged!

Sora: HaHa~. Even if Sora uses a lot of eggs, Sora can’t get it right~?

Niki: Please don’t worry. I’ll be responsible for eating everything Harukawa-kun makes♪

Kuro: Shiina. Do you really think that’s what Harukawa is worried about?

Niki: Harukawa-kun, I think you’re good with your hands, there’s just a strange force in your body

Let’s take a break and try again after. We still have time

Sora: Cooking-onii~san is so kind~? But it’s okay. Sora wants to keep it up for just a bit longer

…Whenever Sora does this, Sora remembers the time when Sora cooked for Kei-chan-senpai~♪

Kuro: Kei-chan-senpai… Are you talking about danna?

Sora: HiHi~. Last year, Kei-chan-senpai and Sora made Chinese dumplings together. It was fun~

Niki: Sounds great~, Chinese dumplings. If you can even make bean paste dough, it can easily be added to the menu!

Kuro: Haha, that’s a good idea. If we do then I want danna to come eat some too

Sora: Sora wants Kei-chan-senpai to come too! Sora wants lots of people to have fun at the staff appreciation party~!

Niki: …Speaking of which, Kiryu-kun. Are we good for time? Didn’t you say you had work in the afternoon

Kuro: Shoot. It’s already noon huh. It seems a little early to head over now, but its always good to be flexible

Sorry but, I gotta get going. Harukawa, don’t overdo it

Sora: Yep! Next time Sora meets red-onii~san, Sora will show you how to make a really beautiful soba omelette~!

Kuro: Sure♪ I’ll leave the rest to you, Shiina

Niki: Leave Harukawa-kun to me! …Now then, let’s give it another shot

Subaru: Ummm… Oh, found him! Hey there~ Little yellow~!

Sora: Ah, Sparkling-onii~san! Hello~!

Subaru: Yup! I’m relieved you look like you’re doing okay~☆

Niki: Akehoshi-kun. Did you come to have your lunch at ‘Cinnamon’?

Subaru: Nope. I had lunch in the lunch room so I’m all good. Aside from that, you’re planning a staff appreciation party, aren’t you? So was true that you were working in ‘Cinnamon’

Niki: When it’s not busy I’m allowed to borrow the kitchen

Ah, did you get permission? On the day of the staff appreciation party, lots of people will come to help

Subaru: Is that so? Shiina-senpai, you’re surprisingly reliable~♪

I saw Kiryu-senpai earlier, could it be that you’re already done preparing?

Sora: No, Red-onii~san had work, so Sora is still practicing a little~

Subaru: Oh, I see! From the looks of it, it’s going well

Sora: HuHu~. Sora is going to be a cooking master after this! Right now Sora is going to make a soba omelette, and Sora wants Sparkly-onii~san to watch~

Subaru: Sounds good☆ I’m curious about why you chose soba omelette!

Sora: Fufun, the staff requested it!

Subaru: …H~mm. If you’re practising hard, then it'll be the best thing on the staff appreciation party menu

Niki: No, not necessarily. I’d recommend the yakitori and potato fries too

Subaru: Really? I like soba omelette and yakitori and potato fries, so I’ll be happy no matter which you recommend♪

Sora: Red-onii~san taught me about yakitori so that Sora can grill it properly!

Sora will also be able to wrap the soba omelette nicely! Senpai and the others will be really surprised~

…HeHe~? Sparkling-onii~san, did you just take a picture right now?

Subaru: Sorry for taking it candidly? I think I just feel more relieved if I can see that you’re having fun cooking

Niki: Speaking of which, you said you were relieved earlier? Were you worried about us?

Subaru: Something funny has been happening to Natsume recently~ He’s always groaning “Sora this, Sora that”

I think he gets a little lonely if he doesn’t see Little yellow for a while. He’s getting frustrated because you haven’t even discussed it with him

Sora: …Sora is making Master~ uneasy?

Subaru: Is that true? Is that why he asked me to check on you?

…Ah, I shouldn’t have said that. Keep it a secret from Natsume, okay?

Since I’ve come all this way… Why don’t you tell me more about this staff appreciation party

I have to tell Natsume no matter what the situation is, so I’m curious about what kinda plan you’re coming up with☆

(A few minutes later)

Sora: …Like this~? Did Sora explain it well enough?

Niki: I think you did. Is there anything you didn’t understand, Akehoshi-kun?

Subaru: Nope. You properly conveyed what the staff appreciation party is going to be like

I thought it would be okay because Natsume says that NEW DI is always on fire, but I think that’s a good thing too

The staff appreciation party is going to be the usual fun isn’t it?

Sora: …’Usual’?

Subaru: Yeah. Because Little yellow is the host, I thought the staff appreciation party would be a little strange

I’m glad it’s come together nicely. Is it the result of you asking around?

Niki: Well, although it can’t be extravagant due to the budget, isn’t it okay as long as it makes people happy

It’s not like Harukawa-kun isn’t satisfied with the current plan, right?

Sora: Yeah. This is a plan to make Senpai and the staff happy. Sora properly understands that~?

Subaru: H~mm. You’re really thinking about everyone huh. I think it’s certainly going to make them happy…

But, are you really having fun Little yellow?

Sora: …Does Sora look like Sora isn’t having fun?

Subaru: It’s just that, I don’t know you that well so I don’t know what your true feelings are

It just looks like you’re holding back somehow. Am I wrong?

Sora: ………

Subaru: Sorry. If somethings up, Natsume’s really gonna be upset. But, maybe I stuck my nose in too much as an outsider

As I thought, we’ve been talking for ages, so I’d better get back. On the day, I’ll take Natsume along to hang out☆

Niki: He said what he wanted to and left

Sora: (Sora just wanted to do something for Senpai and the others that are always working hard)

(Cooking-onii~san and the others are helping, and the preparations for the staff appreciation party are going smoothly. Sora thought that if the party was held, surely everyone could have fun)

(Sora is having fun too, right?)

#suntan SUMMER #ensemble stars #enstars #subaru akehoshi #kuro kiryu #sora harukawa #niki shiina #english translation

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cookierunauprompts · 2 months

Note

Arcane egg: Her familiar, Charcoal loaf.

Yup, you read that correctly. Arcane has a familiar! And he’s a little bastard! But like in a fun way.

First things first, what does he look like? He’s a shapeshifter spirit that arcane accidentally made by combining some of her personal magic, with some magic of her virtue, with a very special magical ink. As a result he’s an inky black malleable little blob when he’s not in his cookie form, of course he takes the shape of a cat. But tbh he can be any creature he really wants if he puts enough effort into it. Also you read correctly he has a cookie form, here look (design subject to changes.)

Now, what’s this cat like? A little bit of a bastard I must say, he trolls and messes with most people. And one of the only exceptions is Arcane egg. Even then he’s very sassy, also since he’s a spirit he has a very different morality system compared to cookies. He’s on the orange and blue morality spectrum while everyone else is black and white, this way of thinking applies to all spirits. But he cares very deeply for arcane, even if you think he doesn’t.

That’s why during the story he’s not afraid to give the other beasts shit for being mean to Arcane, you don’t treat someone you care about like that. Even in his books, you just don’t. Period. He gets this strong sense of devotion and defiance unsurprisingly from Arcane, but that’s not the only reason.

Back when he was first made, arcane wasn’t around because he came to a bit after the fact when the ink and magic mixed. And let’s just say the cookies around him were terrified, and as a result he was severely frightened. He just came into existence after all, so he escapes and hides in the building's attic. A few hours pass and he’s still so scared and confused, he feels so unwelcomed in this realm. Like he doesn’t belong.

Until a pair of footsteps can be heard, he stays under this table he’s hidden himself under. He sees that hat first, than a plain white cloak. They seem to have sparkly pieces of see through cloth as well, it feels…comforting for some reason. It reminds him of the spirit realm, which he shouldn’t know what that is but he feels it within every drop of his body. Than he sees it, two piercing yellow-orange eyes. As intense as the sun, bright and warm. Filled with magical energy and vibrancy. Most cookies are intimidated by her eyes, but not spirits. Not him. It feels safe, like a home.

But those eyes are obscured, their vibrancy dampened by the veiled hat. “Hi little guy-“ her voice is different from those cookies as well, she seems so comfortable here with the magic and spirits. “Can I come closer?”

Of course, why wouldn’t he agree? Why wouldn’t he want to bask in this magic, this warmth. Why deny the sun? It’s probably hard to see but he nods.

She takes a few steps closer before dropping to her knees and crawling closer, till she can meet his eyes. “Hey buddy… quite striking eyes you got their huh?” Such an odd statement to say, but weirdly comforting. She talking to him like he wasn’t this scary monster, but as a living being.

She taps her gloved fingers across the ground, beckoning him forward and out. “Cmon out bud, I won’t hurt you- I’ll even get you out of here. How does that sound?” Why- why was she being so nice? So at ease around him, this blob of unsculpted ink?

“W-why..?” His new formed voice can’t help but ask, “a-aren’t you afraid of me? dis-gusted?”

She chucks slightly, “oh silly silly, why would I be afraid of you? Your clearly more afraid of me.” She continued to try and beckon him out.

She for some reason complies, his small mass of black ink with only bright yellow-orange eyes giving him any sort of definition. “Oh wow! Aren’t you marvelous!” She says with wonder. He must’ve given her a weird look as she begins to explain “why wouldn’t I be amazed, from what I can tell- you can be anything!”

“…but still… I’m still a spirit- a monster…” her kindness was almost overwhelming.

“No, not a monster- I would say your quite lovable. Quite lovable indeed-“ she continues to ramble on as she gently lets his head, but he’s not listening- loavable? He was lovable in her eyes…? H-he wanted to chase this, this feeling… he wonders if she would let him stay by her side…. He hopes she would…

But yeah, that’s piece of his backstory! I hope you enjoy, tell me what you think or if you have any questions. Bye!

AUAHGABSUDGHU*sobs* I LOVE HIM !! this might be because of cat bias, but i love him! he looks like a funky little bastard man and honestly he's so right for that

and now a question, is charcoal loaf essentially the polycule's son/hj

Okay now a real question, since he's a shapeshift then how many forms can he take?

#not a prompt #cookie run #crk #cookie run kingdom #cr kingdom #beast yeast #other's ocs

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darcyfangirlsfrequently · 1 year

Text

Secret Santa

Summary: The team is doing a Secret Santa Gift Exchange, and Penelope decides to enlist a little bit of help to ensure that her gift is absolutely perfect.

Word count: 2489

Can also be read here on Ao3

Penelope Garcia did not do anything half-assed. Especially not gift-giving. She’d earned a reputation at the BAU for being the best gift-giver, a reputation she was determined to keep. Even if it mean she had to come up with the best possible gift for a certain Newbie that she loved to pretend to hate.

The BAU did a Secret Santa every year, and this year she’d drawn Luke’s name. Of course. She suspected Tara and JJ had something to do with it, if the teasing looks they shot her were any indication, but she had no proof. Regardless, it meant she had to come up with and deliver the Perfect Gift to Luke at their work-slash-family Christmas party at Rossi’s the night of the 25th, serial killer-permitting. And she knew just what to do.

It wasn’t that she hung on the man’s every word, she didn’t. Honestly. It’s just that whenever one of her favorite heroes happened to mention something they liked, she filed that information away for future use in case they ever needed a pick-me-up or a smile. Or, in this case, an amazing Christmas gift. She had heard Luke mention—quite a few times, actually—how much he missed the flan his Abuela made every year for Christmas. Because of his job, he hadn’t been home for Christmas in years, and every year he mourned his loss of that baked custard and caramel dessert. She considered for a moment buying him a ticket home to go see his family, but no, that was definitely out of the budget. What was not out of the budget, however, was calling up his Abuela and baking them herself.

She found his Abuela's number easily enough–well, everything of this sort was easy for her. The only question was if the elderly woman would answer her phone.

Fortunately for Penelope, she did. "Hello?"

"Hi, Claudia Alvez?"

"Yes, this is she."

"Hi, Mrs. Alvez, my name is Penelope Garcia, I work with your grandson Luke."

"Oh, you're the famous Penelope my grandson has told me all about! Yes, yes, I know you, what can I do for you, dear?"

"Well, Mrs. Alvez–"

"Oh please dear," his grandmother cut her off. "Just call me Claudia, or even Abuela Claudia if you like. The Lord knows Luke's told me so much about you that you're practically a part of the family."

Penelope blushed at the thought that Luke talked frequently to his family about her, but decided to ignore that reaction. The kind old woman probably meant a general "you," as in, the entire team. "Alright. Well, Claudia, we're doing a Secret Santa gift exchange at work, and I'm the one getting Luke a present. I've heard him mention that he misses the flans you make every Christmas, so I was wondering if you would be able to send me the recipe so I can make them for him? I know he'd really appreciate it."

“Oh, that’s a wonderful idea! He’ll love it, I’m sure. The only thing is, I don’t have a hard copy of the recipe, I have it memorized. If I recite it to you, are you okay with writing it down?”

“Yes, for sure! Let me just grab a pen and paper.”

Claudia dictated the recipe over the phone, and like a dutiful student, Penelope put down every last detail with a sparkly pen on pink stationery.

“Thank you, Claudia,” Penelope said once she was done. “I really appreciate it.”

“Any time, my dear. Do call me when you make them and let me know how they turn out, okay? And call me when you give them to him to tell me how he reacted.”

“I will, I promise. Have a good day.”

“You too, Penelope.”

***

There were many things that Penelope Garcia could bake. Flan was not one of them. Either her eggs curdled, the caramel burned, or a combination of many other things. She’d called Claudia after every failed attempt to get some help, and the two women had become close friends, Penelope finally accepting the other woman’s invitation to call her Abuela Claudia. “These seem so simple,” Penelope grumbled to herself after her tenth failed attempt. “They should not be so hard to make!” Penelope picked up her phone and called Abuela Claudia.

“Penelope!” The old woman greeted her. “Hello! How are the flans this time?”

“Terrible,” Penelope moaned. “I just can’t seem to be able to make these. I’m so sorry for wasting your time with this, Abuela Claudia, you’ve been so patient with me.”

“Nonsense, Penelope darling, it's been my pleasure. I'll tell you what: I was considering flying down anyway to surprise my grandson for Christmas, so why don't I do that and we can bake together, yes?"

Penelope loved that idea. "Yes! Absolutely! That sounds wonderful!"

"Perfect. I'll just have to book my flight and hotel–"

"No no no," Penelope interrupted. "There is no way I'm having you stay in a hotel. If you're helping me bake, the least I can do is put you up in my spare room. I insist, really, Abuela Claudia, hotels around Christmas can be so pricey."

“That's very sweet of you, Penelope, thank you very much.”

“No worries, Abuela Claudia, it’s really my pleasure. Besides, Luke would never forgive me if I made his beloved Abuela sleep in some overpriced hotel when I have a perfectly good spare room just sitting here doing nothing. Call me when you’ve booked your flight so I know what time to pick you up from the airport, okay?”

“Will do, Penelope, I’ll talk to you soon.”

***

Abuela Claudia truly was the magic touch. As soon as they had her things settled into Penelope’s guest bedroom, they began baking, since it was already the 24th by this point, and the family dinner was the next day. Their first batch was an instant success.

“Oh Abuela Claudia, these are perfect,” Penelope moaned as she took a bite of one. “I will never understand how you do it.”

“Decades and decades of practice, my dear.”

“Luke’s going to love them, I know it.”

“About as much as he loves you,” Abuela Claudia teased.

Penelope groaned. “Oh my god, not you too!”

Abuela Claudia raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean me too?”

“Our entire team has been teasing me for years about there being something between us, and they’ve probably been teasing him just as long! But there isn’t, I swear there isn’t. We’re just friends, at best good ones. Nothing more. He doesn’t like me that way.”

Abuela Claudia looked at Penelope as if she was studying her. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that if I were you, Penelope. A boy talks to his Abuela.”

***

Penelope and Abuela Claudia were the first to arrive at Rossi’s mansion for the Extended BAU Family Christmas Dinner. Penelope had asked if it was okay if she brought a special guest as part of her Secret Santa gift, and Rossi had given his consent without a second thought. He’d also agreed to tell Luke to come a little bit later so that everyone else would already be there by the time and he wouldn’t be able to figure out who his Secret Santa was until the gift exchange actually happened.

When Luke walked into the main area where everyone had gathered, he stopped dead in his tracks. “Abuela?”

She grinned at him. “Surprise!”

Luke ran to her and picked the tiny woman up in a tight hug. “It is so good to see you again! I’ve missed you so much!”

The elderly woman pressed a kiss to her grandson’s forehead. “I missed you too, Luke.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m a part of your Secret Santa gift."

His eyebrows shot up. "Part of it?"

"Mhmm," she replied, patting Luke on the arm. "But it's not time to talk about that yet."

"She's right," Rossi said. "Dinner is ready, let's eat!"

The dinner was absolutely wonderful. In addition to Rossi's delicious meal, the team ate up every story about young Luke that Abuela Claudia could dish out, much to his mortification. There were some things he wished his co-workers–one, especially–didn't know. Not that they were anything bad, he just knew his friends and knew they would never let him live down the time he wore underpants overtop of his actual pants for months because he wanted to be Superman.

After dinner, it was time for gifts. Rossi volunteered to give his gift first, and presented Tara with a package that, upon unwrapping, turned out to be a sizeable bottle of old scotch, which she absolutely adored. This meant that Tara had to give her gift next, meaning a new set of books for Reid, who in turn gave Emily some CDs by a Russian composer they both liked. Emily gave JJ a nice brown leather jacket, JJ gave Matt a basketball, and Matt gave Rossi a set of monogrammed drink glasses that he surprisingly didn't already own. This left Luke and Penelope.

"Looks like we got each other, Chica," Luke said with his signature smirk.

"Looks like it. And you already know part of your gift," she gestured at Abuela Claudia.

"Yeah, how did that not break the budget?"

"Oh," Abuela Claudia said, waving him off. "I bought my own ticket. But Penelope here has been putting me up in her guest room. You told me she was sweet but you didn't tell me she was an angel."

Penelope fought hard against her blush, hoping that any redness she couldn't fight back could be attributed to the wine she'd consumed. So this was the kind of "talking to his Abuela" that she was talking about.

Luke elected to ignore that part of her sentence and focused instead on the guest room. "You're letting my Abuela stay at your house?"

"Of course! I wasn't going to let her stay in some pricey hotel, especially not when I needed her help to create the other part of your Secret Santa gift, AKA all it was supposed to be until Abuela Claudia offered to come, which I now must go get from the fridge."

"What the hell is my gift doing in the fridge?" Luke called after her. "And why are you calling my Abuela 'Abuela Claudia?'"

"You'll see, and because she told me to!" Penelope shot back.

Penelope returned a moment later with a Tupperware and a fork. Luke opened it carefully, and his eyes shot wide open when he saw what was in the Tupperware. "You guys made flan?" He took a bite of one and had to hold back a moan. It was as good as he remembered. Better, even, since it had been years since he'd had one and it had been prepared by two of his favorite women. "It's perfect, I– thank you." He got up and hugged Penelope tight. "You're the best, Penelope." He almost said I love you, he almost kissed her on the cheek, he almost kissed her. But this wasn't the place. He then turned and hugged his Abuela. "Thank you, Abuela Claudia, thank you." He then pulled out a package and gave it to Penelope.

"Oh my god!" She exclaimed upon unwrapping it. "It's matching sweaters for me and Sergio! Thank you, Luke!"

"You're welcome, although now it feels like they don't quite reach the same level as your gift."

"Nonsense, it's wonderful. Thank you."

The celebrations continued throughout the night. At one point Penelope went to go refill her wine glass, and Abuela Claudia came up to her grandson. "You should go, thank her properly," she told him, nodding in the direction of the kitchen.

Luke groaned. “Oh my god, not you too!”

"Interesting. That's exactly how she reacted when I made a similar comment to her."

"When you… what?"

"You may be a profiler, my love, but I'm your Abuela, and that beats profiler any day of the week. I know love when I see it. Now, go. Dile lo que hay en tu corazón." Tell her what's on your heart.

Knowing his Abuela wouldn't take no for an answer–and knowing she was probably right–Lule slipped into the kitchen behind Penelope. "Hey."

She turned, a large smile on her face. "Hey! Was your gift okay? I hope I didn't overstep by contacting your family without your knowledge."

"No, it was perfect, amazing, thank you, sincerely. I loved it. I– thank you." he almost said I love you, but caught himself. He wasn't ready to say that to her yet, and frankly, he wasn't sure she was ready to hear it.

"And thank you for the sweaters. I'll make sure you send you a picture of us wearing them once I wrangle Sergio I to his."

"I can't wait. I figured, you know, for all of the times you got Roxy a gift, I should probably return the favor."

"Well, that's very considerate of you." There was a moment of silence before Penelope said, “So… Superman, huh?”

Luke groaned and Penelope laughed. “I’m never going to live that down, am I?”

“Oh absolutely not.”

She had thrown her head back when she laughed, which moved her hair and allowed Luke to see the earrings she was wearing. "Your earrings… are they mistletoe?"

She raised a hand to one of them and blushed a bit. "They are, thank you for noticing!"

Heart racing, he stepped a bit closer. If he had been looking for an opening, this was the best one he could ask for. "So… you've been stuck under the mistletoe all night?"

"Looks like it." She was clearly nervous too, but she made no effort to stop Luke's slow advance toward her. Maybe nervous was the wrong word. She was thrumming with anticipation.

"So… someone should probably kiss you to release you from this trap before we all go home, right?" Another step toward her, their bodies practically touching now, their voices coming out in whispers so as to not draw the attention of the other party-goers.

"Yes. I'd say someone probably should."

"And if I were to offer to be the one…"

"I would ask you if my mistletoe earrings were the only reason you were kissing me."

"And if I said they weren't?"

"Then I would ask you what took you so damn long, Newbie. And also to shut up and kiss me."

Slowly, gingerly, he pressed his lips to hers, as if he was afraid this was all some beautiful dream that would shatter if he came on too strong. When she looped her arms around his neck and held him closer, he knew that wasn't the case, and started moving his lips against hers in earnest.

They finally broke apart when the need for air became too great. They rested their foreheads against the other's, panting slightly.

"Merry Christmas, Penelope," he whispered.

"Merry Christmas, Luke."

#Garvez #Garvez fanfiction #Penelope Garcia #Luke Alvez #Criminal Minds #Criminal Minds fanfiction

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ladywynne · 1 year

Text

Part 6 - Seven Years Old: Murphy's Law

Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist

For @omgbarbiegurl Thanks for the request. I hope you like it!

CW: little bit of blood

♥🌙♥🌙♥🌙♥

Marc woke with a... well it certainly wasn't anything as unmanly as a yelp, but his arms flew up protectively and his whole body jerked. Whose wouldn't when you opened your eyes to a huge, bony beak inches from your face? Marc groaned and pulled the pillow over his head.

"Khonshu. What do you want? We're off this weekend."

"I require your assistance, Marc Spector."

"Is the world ending?"

"No."

"Then go away."

"An artifact must be retrieved."

Oooh, Steven chimed in. Ask him if its magic.

"Is it dangerous?"

"No."

"Then it can wait."

No reply. Odd. Marc put the pillow aside and sat up. Khonshu was now standing in the corner between his dresser and the window. Marc eyed the god suspiciously and finally asked, "What is so important about this item?"

Khonshu fidgeted slightly with his staff, then said, "Hathor asked me to retrieve it."

Hathor, as in the goddess of love?

Khonshu is into her.

Marc groaned again, "Geez Khonshu! You want me to give up time with Mandy to help you with your girlfriend? Get out of here!"

"Perhaps Steven can assist me."

Marc threw the pillow through him. "There is only one body, and it is staying with our daughter today. End of story."

Khonshu huffed and disappeared.

Great. Now he has a headache.

♥🌙♥🌙♥🌙♥

Marc had planned on pancakes for breakfast, but they were out of flour, so he tried scrambled eggs. This was going well, until he burned himself on the stove and scorched the eggs. A few minutes later he put a plate of brown blobby bits in front of Mandy with his bandaged hand. Mandy raised her eyebrows (which was an interesting look on a seven-year-old) and rose to grab an apple.

They were supposed to teach Mandy to ride a bike today, something everyone had been looking forward to, but it was raining cats and dogs. As a consolation Steven offered to take her to an aquarium because Mandy was in love with nature, especially plants and animals. Her window already overflowed with hanging plants and little pots with cacti and succulents and violets, and she begged them daily for new friends for Gus III.

They were heading out on this new adventure, feeling optimistic; that is until Jake turned the key in the ignition and the car didn’t start. It took him an hour to discover the problem and correct it. By the time they made it to the aquarium it was after noon, and pretty much no one was surprised when the place was closed for refurbishment and to acclimate a new sea turtle named Jeff.

“Well,” Steven looked down at Mandy and sighed, “at least it stopped raining.”

♥🌙♥🌙♥🌙♥

After a quick lunch during which Mandy managed to get peanut butter in her hair, they decided to try the original plan. So, Marc loaded up Mandy’s new turquoise sparkly bike and they went to the park.

It was actually great.

“Don’t let go Daddy. Promise.”

He took firm hold of the back of the plastic seat. “I won’t let go until you’re ready. Just remember what we talked about.”

Mandy nodded and faced forward.

“Ready honey?”

She tightened her grip. “Ready.”

“Ok. Pedal!” Marc ran behind the bike, watching with pride as Mandy’s fear became excitement. “All right!” he said, smiling, “You got this!”

Marc let go and watched as the bike wobbled a bit. He kept pace with her, “Good job sweetheart!”

“Yes! I’m doing it!” Mandy’s feet pumped frantically. She was laughing with delight now. “See me Daddy? I’m doing it!”

Mandy went a little further, and Marc caught her as she was trying to stop. She looked up at him from under her helmet with face shining. “That was great!”

They kept practicing and soon Mandy was riding on her own. She began to get further and further ahead as the day went on. Marc was keeping watch, walking a little behind her, when his attention was caught by a man next to the path. He was wearing a dark beanie, shoulders slumped, drinking something from a can and swaying slightly.

“Mandy, stop there,” Marc called and moved into a jog as she was getting closer to the guy.

Mandy still wasn’t very good at keeping the bike straight, or at stopping. At his words, she tried to brake but ended up swerving so that the man in the beanie had to hop clumsily backward to avoid getting hit. His drink went all down his pants.

“Watch where you’re going brat!” The guy wiped exaggeratedly at the spill, and before Marc could step between them, he shoved Mandy and the bike hard. She splashed into a huge muddy puddle left over from the morning’s rain.

“Ow!” Mandy cried, clearly scraped and bruised by the bike on top of her.

Marc felt a sharp tug and he was in the back seat.

Jake didn’t say a word, just grabbed the guy by the shirt and drew back. He punched the bully hard in the face. Blood poured from his nose, and Jake gave him another quick jab in the stomach, “Like picking on kids, pendejo?” He drew back again.

Jake! Stop!

That’s enough man. Mandy is here.

Jake paused and looked over his shoulder at his daughter. She was sitting up now, but her huge eyes were on him, and she was cradling her elbow in her hand. “Mierda.”

He pulled the bully close to his face and growled out, “Today’s your lucky day, asshole, but I better not catch you in this park, or anywhere near kids, again.” Jake shoved the jerk to the ground, turned back toward Mandy, and forgot him completely.

He took a deep breath and crouched down, lifting the bike and setting it to the side. “Ok, mija?”

She nodded, already getting up, “Si, Papá. You?” She glanced at his knuckles then behind him to where the bully had been.

“Si.” He looked her over, turning her muddy arm and assessing the damage.

And that’s why we should have done elbow and knee pads along with the helmet.

Shut it, Steven.

It doesn’t look too bad. She probably needs some ice.

Jake nodded and stood, righting the bike. “Time to go, chiquita. Want to ride back to the car?”

Mandy hesitated and Jake waited, but in only a moment she was climbing back on.

He patted her back. “That’s my girl. Tough.”

“Like my Papá?” Mandy turned a grimy face up at him with a grin.

Dios mio, I love this kid.

♥🌙♥🌙♥🌙♥

That night Marc put on Encanto and sat on the couch with Mandy to watch it. The sink was full, the laundry basket too, his head hurt, and his hand hurt... but the warm pajama-clad weight against his side made up for all of it.

He thought she was asleep when Mandy mumbled something.

He leaned down, “What?”

“Daddy, what’s a pendejo?”

He is going to kill Jake.

#mandy and the moon #moon knight #murphy's law

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dempsey46linde · 2 months

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The Ultimate Guide To best squishmallows

Fifi’s Story: Fifi has presently been everywhere within the mountains to your Arctic and he or she wishes you to come along, way too! This lively red fox is recognized as a bit firecracker and is currently focusing on getting her yoga certification. Skip the pastels in favor of this Daring, vivid option. This scorching pink chick is hatching proper from a colorful, painted Easter egg. https://toolbarqueries.google.ie/url?q=https://squishmallowsmart.com is thank goodness for Amazon! However the massive on-line retailer does not have the many Squishmallow people in inventory for the time being, a good couple are offered on Amazon's official Squishmallow storefront. Here is the ideal Answer for all those of you that just can not choose which adorable character to pick. A miniature character is Within the shock box waiting to reveal itself. Against this, whenever you click on a Microsoft-provided advertisement that seems on DuckDuckGo, Microsoft Promoting won't affiliate your ad-click on conduct which has a user profile. What's more, it doesn't shop or share that info apart from for accounting needs. On this pack of five minis, you'll get an assortment of four-inch variations of some of the greater dolls. This ten-inch penguin appears like he got caught in a wreath, which someway will make him even more lovable than usual. Narwhals are in essence unicorns in the ocean, so it’s worth including this sweet Squishmallow on your escalating squad. Naomi the narwhal contains a sparkly horn, but even better, she includes a good Mind-set as well. Just one reviewer explained, “So delicate, I don’t even recognize! It’s an awesome pillow. Perfect amount of squish. I just take it to bed and I bring it with me into the couch After i awaken. I’m a 27 12 months aged girl obsessive about a stuffed animal and I’m not ashamed.” Usually you wouldn’t say an avocado is sweet, however , you’ll change your brain any time you fulfill Austin. And this certain avocado has the additional bonus of hardly ever finding overripe in your countertop. Naomi features a rainbow belly plus a sparkly horn, ideal for including a whimsical flair towards your space. This Squishmallow is 16 inches tall. Naomi is understood to possess an outgoing temperament and likes to go on adventures. Each individual Squishmallow also comes along with a tag carrying their title, birthday, and a short backstory. These generally centre about different Careers but in some cases might be far more inclusive, For example there’s a mango Squishmallow with dyslexia and an axolotl that “talks together with his hands.” Insert in your ever developing succulent assortment with a little something lovable such as this Succulent PlushToy Mini Squishmallow ($thirteen). It's really a five-inch super smooth succulent plush. Any time you order on line, You will be absolutely surprised with which 1 you get. If you embrace thriller, this is the enjoyment a person to receive. It can be an elf plus a delicious espresso handle all in one! This minty pal would pair well by using a Starbucks gift card.

#squishmallows #mart #squishy #best #top #new

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ozma914 · 1 year

Text

Wake Me When Valentines Day Is Over

Note: I stumbled upon this post from 2006 recently, and thought it gave an interesting look at my viewpoint at the time--after my first marriage, but before my second. In other words, I'm much happier now.

What am I doing February 14th? Let’s see: I have a doctor’s appointment that day, and not with the “Love Doctor”. I’ll fit an early dinner in -- just me, with no chocolate for dessert in any form. Nor do I plan to buy myself, or anyone else, jewelry.

What do I have against Valentine’s Day? For starters, I was one of those Charlie Brown type kids who waited hopelessly by the mailbox for a Valentine that would never come. Eventually I got married – on Valentine’s Day. I’m no longer married. Get the picture? I could have just as easily gotten married on Christmas, and spent the rest of my life shooting at Santa’s sled with guided missiles.

I’m as romantic as the next person. Well, the next man. I’m up for hand holding, candlelit dinners, full body massages, and lingerie. Lingerie’s questionable, of course: Sexy female underwear is a gift for the giver, not the wearer. Personally, I love lingerie – but I’d never wear any. It’s uncomfortable (Okay, I assume), overpriced, and under covering, but it sure looks good on women …

Where was I?

The point is, I'm smart enough not to gift a microwave, or a new vacuum cleaner. Okay, once, but that was a joke, I swear, and the bruises healed.

Guys, it is not the thought that counts. It’s vital to understand that. It doesn’t matter how much you love that pair of season tickets to your favorite sportsball team. Also, you get no brownie points for recognizing that your lady needs a new mop. You can put on all the lovely wrapping and pretty bows you want, and she’s still going to wrap it around your neck.

After that it gets a bit more difficult. Candy is iffy, for instance. You might get the, “I’m trying to lose weight!” cry. “Don’t you care about me? How can you torture me like this?”

You could always give her a dozen eggs, but jewelry would be cheaper.

Just to clarify, I’m trying to lose weight, and yet would still gladly accept chocolate as a gift. In case anyone was wondering.

Cards are great, of course, but they don’t qualify as the gift – they go with the gift. Also, on this holiday funny cards are not funny. Go for something with poetry in it, and not poetry that starts with, “There once was a man from Nantucket”.

Flowers are generally safe, unless she’s allergic. Buying flowers goes against a man’s instinct: He doesn’t understand the point of something that doesn’t feed anyone, do anything, or provide entertainment, and soon becomes ugly and worthless. The parallels to your average politician are obvious.

Still, Valentine’s Day, like a wedding, is for women, not men. So going for the flowers seems like a good idea, until you consider the fact that certain flowers mean certain things. This flummoxes men. What do you men, yellow roses mean something different than pink roses? They’re flowers, man! Who made these rules? Who cares?

Yes, it's cheaper to pick something out of the yard, but tell me where you'll find this in mid-February.

Well, the women care, that’s who. Get on the internet, ask a florist. You’ll soon find that baby’s breath has nothing to do with projectile vomiting, and that presenting a lady with black roses may not bring the reaction you’d hoped for. You might even be startled to find there actually are flowers other than roses. Carnations are more than condensed milk, fellas.

If all else fails – and it will – there’s another choice: Jewelry.

Yes, it's expensive. Get over it. Many women like sparklies, and I’m not talking about the finish of your new fishing boat. Speaking of which, if you’ve bought any “boys toys” in the last year, she will inevitably compare the value of her gift with the value of the toy. She may think, “He loves his boat/gun/four wheeler/golf clubs more than me!” She’ll be right, but believe me, admitting that is not the answer.

So suck it up, and get her the jewelry. And if your own toy is a brand new bass boat, add in the flowers and a really nice card, the one with three digits in the price. Think of it as insurance – you want to avoid those sudden glares that seem to happen out of the blue, which can lead to raging battles when you admit not knowing why she’s mad. You’re guaranteeing a peaceful home life and a contented significant other.

At least, until her birthday. You’ve got that marked on the calendar -- right?

http://markrhunter.com/ https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/"Mark R Hunter"

#valentines day #valentine #humor #humorous #love #holidays

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circlet-and-sarissa · 2 years

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Hello hello!!!!

Bird here, lovely to meet you, I wanted to help with the blog! As far as we know, the most important thing about being part of the community is sharing experiences and writing essays? This will be on a forum too: Nonhuman National Park! Love them.

So.... experiences. What is it like being the fabulous and wonderful bird? Sparkly. That’s only mostly a joke. I... don’t talk about myself a lot, despite talking very loudly about how wonderful and pretty I am, because I’ve gotten a lot of flak for being a black alter. I didn’t want to detail what else I am and make people even more mad!

So I will tell you what I tell myself. I am not African American, or any other kind of African, not by blood or culture or anything. I know I’m not and I won’t pretend to be! But I am an alter, and I can’t help that. I’m the color black, too, shadow-black, and that’s just me! So I advocate for diversity and all of those things, but I’m just a little bird in the end.

With that out of the way, let’s TALK about being a bird!!! A magic bird, at that.

I’m an impundulu, a lightning bird from South African folklore (Pondo, Zulu, Xosa). Not quite strictly, because I’m sort of a mix of that and a nightmare or shadow person, but enough to say I’m mostly bird flavored! Impundulu are a kind of “demon” that you could probably recognize- bringer of plague, drinker of blood, defiler of corpses. We speak to animals and seduce your daughters, kill your cows and blight your crops. Naughty, naughty birds, full of terrible and wonderful ideas, who lay eggs where the lightning strikes.

In otherkin circles you talk a lot about instincts and what they mean for you. I don’t have problems often. I’m a shapeshifter- I’m beautiful as a man, a boy, a bird. Wearing someone else’s skin isn’t so bad, when you’re used to riding in the bodies of the dead! I do get a lot of dysphoria though, more than anyone else in the system, if I stay very long.

But instincts... mine are “problematic”. Ugly. Deliciously vile. I’m the cutest and prettiest bird and I never use delicious for things other than hot men, but if the point of an otherkin essay is to be honest? I’m a demon, gorgeous. I want to twist and corrupt and defile, I want to coax you through the mud and blood of repression to drink deep of whatever makes you feel so guilty and alive. People look at me because I’m loud and cute, and then they love me because I’m free. I want you to be free too. I want you to play with me.

I don’t want to go into details about my instincts much because it really is quite a shock, and this is Tumblr, but you can probably get the idea! Morality is a... learned thing? I wasn’t always so lovable. Or, well, I was, but that’s not really the point. It was a long road to becoming the sparkly and adorable little bird you see today!

I’m open for questions!!! Thank you for coming to my TED talk. 💜

#bird chirps #otherkin #alterhuman

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stayathomesurveys · 2 years

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033.

Were you awake before 9am today? Yeah, I was up until about 6 am this morning.

Do you have an alarm clock, or just use your phone to set an alarm? I use my phone.

Do you own any shirts with wording on them? Mhm.

^ If so, what does your favourite one look like? I don’t have a favorite.

What beverage do you prefer to drink in the mornings? Anything with flavor, I’m not too picky. I just hate having straight water first thing in the morning.

Tell me what some of your nearest & dearest like to eat for breakfast. My boyfriend likes fried egg, cheese, and bacon on a bagel with cream cheese and hot sauce.

What colour was the last car you travelled in? Black.

Have you added any books to your shelves lately? Yes.

Have you bought any new cosmetics or toiletries lately? Which? Yes. From Morphe: 35F Fall Into Fabulous Artistry Palette, 35T Sweetest Tea Artistry Palette, 35XO Natural Flirt Artistry Palette From Ulta: CosRX Advanced Snail 96 Mucin Power Essence From Poshmark: Too Faced Born This Way Ethereal Setting Powder and Morphe 25B eyeshadow palette From Sephora: Fenty Beauty Fairy Bomb Shimmer Powder in Rose on Ice, Charlotte Tilbury Mini Pillow Talk Lipstick & Liner Set, Dior BACKSTAGE Glow Face Paeltte in 002 Glitz, Laura Mercier Caviar Eye Shadow in Magenta

When was the last time you bought a new pair of shoes? Last weekend.

^ What did they look like? They’re just pink Teva-esque sandals with a floral print on the straps. I needed some cheap sandals to walk around the water park that we ended up not getting to go to, lol.

Do you own any sparkly accessories? Yeah.

Do your pets have a specific type of food that they prefer? Not necessarily.

When was the last time you ate one of your favourite foods for dinner? Hmm.

What’s your favourite variety of apple? I don’t know.

Does anything you own have an image of a cat on it? Yeah.

Are you looking forward to anything within the next few days? No.

How have you mostly been feeling today? Tired, depressed, ugly.

Does anyone you know own a pocketwatch? My dad used to. I don’t know if he still has it.

Do you know what you’re going to have for breakfast tomorrow? Nothing.

How did you meet the last person you sent a message to on social media? That’s my boyfriend. He worked my flight a few years ago.

When you woke up today, did you have unread messages on any social platform? Yeah.

Do you watch any costume dramas? How about medical dramas? Yeah.

Which of your physical features do you receive the most compliments about? Nothing anymore. I’m ugly.

Look around the room and name 5 random items. No.

#survey

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onsunnyside · 2 years

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Oh myyy, this sunny bunny party is the fucking cutest😵‍💫(ironic, isn’t it💦👀)And I neeeed me some mr. easter!lloyd hansen. maybe there is this event for kids in the park where they can dye eggs and decorate easter cookies and you volunteer there and maybe lloyd has some kind of a domesticity kink and when he’s passing by, he sees you interact with the kids, helping them tie the bows on the eggs or the little bunny stuffies🥺so he makes up his mind that he has to have you and idk does he do it the dark way? or will he be soft for her? you decide!!🥰 (if you want of course!!!😁) i love you, happy easter<333

ah yes, the moustache era lives on, I can’t wait for TGM !! I hope you enjoy this bestie, i love you too and happy (late) easter !!

𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 | soft!dark Lloyd Hansen x teacher!reader

𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 | soft dark!Lloyd Hansen, SMUT - minors DNI, domesticity kink, Lloyd wants to be a daddy, the clit tickler, the pussy loofa & duster, sex in the form of a fantasy: oral (f), dirty talk, daddy kink, spitting, degradation, exhibitionism, breeding kink, pinch of housewife kink, beard (moustache?) burn

𝗪/𝗖 | 1165

🐰 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐁𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

“Mr. Hansen!” You exclaim, bright and happy as you skip across the grass, the baskets sitting in the crook of your elbow, the eggs jostle in the paper nest. “Can I interest you in a gift this Easter?”

“Is it candy?”

“Of course! Although, I think a few are those cute little erasers too...” You cheekily slip two into his pocket, and make a shushing sound. “Don’t tell the kids I gave you two, they’ll get jealous.”

Lloyd laughs, and tucks his cigarette back into the packet, the lighter disappearing with it. “How have you been, sweetheart—or should I say kitten?”

“Huh? Right.” You suddenly remember the facepaint on your face, the kids begged for yours to be painted too, and you let them pick, so they went with a cute black cat. Not quite Easter-themed, but adorable nonetheless.

“You know, same old. The school has been thriving with all your donations! We’re able to fund all the educational trips this year, the daily snacks and all that. And we’re going to renovate the library because of the damage from the flood, and with your help, we’re able to make it even bigger with a whole reading nook area for the kids. Oh and of course, comfy chairs and bean bags included. I could show you the plans if you want, you know, to see what your money will be spent on.”

“Sure.” Lloyd couldn’t care less about the children at the school, that was nothing but a sparkly decoration on his wall, among the portraits of you and your gleaming face. “But, I asked about you.”

You blink, “Oh, I’m good, great even. I’ve been covered in paint the past few days, and today isn’t any different as you can tell.” You gesture to your once-white dress—you should’ve known better than to wear white when the children were going to be trusted with pastel paints. In a way, they made it better.

Lloyd would’ve preferred you in nothing but his bedsheets, chest heaving and a far look in your eyes as he took you apart with his fingers.

A child runs to you and addresses you by a muffled verison of your name since his mouth is full of chocolate, and blabbers about the photo booth.

Lloyd watches you affectionately clean his mouth, having pulled wipes out of nowhere. You talk to him quietly, something about manners—Lloyd doesn’t know for sure since he’s distracted by your maternal instincts, a warm protective glow surrounds you and blooms onto everything you touch.

You’d be the best mother, and you’d look absolutely radiant pregnant.

He can imagine you waddling barefoot around his home, perhaps in an apron as you cook dinner and clean, awaiting his return home. And once he walks in, you’ll flip up your dress and let him have you however he pleases, bent over the kitchen counter, the couch, in the shower, or perhaps you’ll warm him in his office, squirming and whining on his cock as you complain about being so full—of his baby, his cum and cock.

God, the things he’d do for just a taste of you.

“Care to take a few pictures with the Easter bunny, Mr. Hansen?” You ask hopefully, “You did pay for this whole thing, shouldn’t you get a souvenir to commemorate it?”

He nods wordlessly following you to the booth, past the picnic tables spread with various activities for the kids, the snacks and overflowing trashcan of candy wrappers and napkins. Kids were messy.

As the camera flashes in his eyes, he catches glimpses of a fantasy in this very park, against a tree right in the view of the quiet road.

“I’m your little slut, daddy.” You whimper, thighs quivering in his hold, and your tippy toes press into the dirt. The bark of the tree is rough against your back as you try to grind against his mouth, tingles shooting up your spine with every swipe of his tongue, his facial hair only enhances that euphoria. “I-I, oh!” You gasp as he slips one finger into you.

“Gotta stretch you out, sweet girl. This little cunt can’t even take two fingers,” He’s proven right when you roughly squirm as another prods at your entrance, fitting in after he’s spat on your centre. “Poor baby, you’ve never been fucked right, huh?”

“N-No, daddy.” You moan, knotting his hair in your hand, panting for air that seems so far. “Want you to take me—please, stretch me on your cock.”

His moustache has nearly rubbed you raw, every movement has your sore cunt begging for a break, but you want more, you need more.

“I will, baby. Gotta make some room for my cum, don’t I? Can’t have it leaking out and going to waste.”

“You’re gonna cum in me?” A light sheen covers your face, the face-paint is fading.

“A pretty pussy like this deserves to be filled up,” He suckles your clit, massaging the bundle with his tongue. He groans against your wetness, “Don’t you think so? Fuck—you want daddy to put a baby in you, honey?”

Right now, you’re on your knees, the back of your dress flutters in the wind as you collect the various pieces of paper form the grass. Lloyd can’t help but stare at the slivers of skin in the afternoon sun, painting you in a rich glow. His keys jingle in his hand, and you jump.

“Oh god! You scared me, Mr. Hansen.” You chuckle breathlessly, exhaustion evident on your features, “I thought you already left.”

Lloyd offers a hand and helps up stand, his touch trails to your waist, “I took the trash out and cleaned the tables.”

You wonder how a man like Lloyd isn’t already married with a family of his own, he’s be a great husband and father. “You didn’t have to help, I bet you’re tired from all that… business? I don’t actually know what you do”

He smiles at your cluelessness, “I’ll gladly explain it all to you, are you free tomorrow night?”

You think for a moment, “After five.”

Lloyd smiles, “Great, I’ll pick you up at six.” He quickly kisses your cheek, and for a moment you think it might be more, but lots of people use that as a greeting or farewell. “See you then.” He turns around, broad shoulders swaying with each step.

“Wait, Mr. Hansen!”

“Call me Lloyd.” He corrects, turning around.

“Sorry, Lloyd, is this—” You pause, “Is this also for the school library donations? Should I bring the plans for the renovation?”

The man chuckles almost tauntingly, “I don’t even want you thinking about work tomorrow.”

“As if that’s possible.” You kick your foot, “My head never stops thinking about work.”

“Sounds like a challenge.” He smirks, dark gaze dragging over your figure, lingering on your stomach. He knows you’ll look even more beautiful in that dress when you’re pregnant. “Which I’ll happily accept. I’ll take care of that loud head of yours, sweetheart. I promise.”

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glamrockerfredbear · 2 years

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i've been stalking ur blog for a while now and i'm so giddy for your growth bc u absolutely deserve it u feed us so well & ur writing style is 🤌✨

i do have a hc request- how would freddy, bonnie, sun, and moon handle a situation where someone's flirting with them but they're already taken? with the reader trying to hide their jealousy

🐿 this ask is so good Anon. Whaaat I’m back whaaaat. ALSO I HAVE A AO3 ACCOUNT PEOPLE. SAME USERNAME.

Idiots with jealous S/O

☆ .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. ☆

𝐌𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐠𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐆𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫 🐊

Mr Gator. The stupidest, most stupidly popular gator in the Plex. Now, we all know how many fans groupies he has had. Far too many for any of us to count one by one. Monty loves any type of attention he is given, he gobbles it up like the golf balls he eats!

So sometimes, you can actually catch the dumb gator gently rumbling and purring at the praise he is being given by his fans. Usually, you don’t mind. As long as Monty is happy and is enjoying his time being praised by his fans, who are you to step in?

But this time

Oh THIS time

You almost had to certainly step in.

You were busy doing your thing, setting up the neon decorated plates and paper cups for a birthday party that had Monty booked. As the shiny and sparkly Monty balloon went up above the chairs, you went off to look for the equally shiny and sparkly Monty. He was running late! He needed to be at the party soon or else you’d have another child puffing their cheeks and beginning the wailing sirens…

Your madman running around the Plex caught the attention of Freddy, the biggest gentleman—or gentlebear—of the Plex. He, bless his sweet soul, guided you to where he had last seen your gator: Roxy Raceway.

Number One: You avoided Roxy Raceway because this is where most angsty and emotional teens went to hide from the annoyingly 80s restaurant. So often you would get nasty glares or be asked questions that made you want to go against guest safety guidelines.

Number Two: Roxy was nice and all but she certainly had her moments. Being a rockstar must not be an easy life since what you’ve seen it’s done her. Sometimes you find strands of her hair around the raceway, and you’re too afraid to ask if it’s from her pulling them out or from stress.

Number Three: …Who is that girl?

You squinted your eyes to spot your tall handsome boyfriend talking to a girl decked out in Monty merch. She obviously seemed extremely excited and enthusiastic to meet him but—him? Not so much. Monty kept shifting his eyes towards the side and even up to ceiling, something you came to known as ‘I-Don’t-Wanna-Talk-To-You’. (He does this many times when managers scold him)

You went to rescue, but as you inched closer to make up a little white lie about having to whisk Monty away into a world of glitter and funfetti cake, he spoke before you,

“Ah, my darlin’!” He grinned, quickly pulling you close to him. You looked up at him, already knowing to play the part and help him escape the conversation.

“My sweet, sweet Monty. We have to go. You’re wanted at Table 7!”

“Shit- I mean- Shoot, I forgot! Damn, talk to ya later, Kim. Nice meetin’ ya.” Monty gave his signature two wave salute to the fan, who seemed content with her time with Monty. You grinned up at Monty, who seemed less uptight. You didn’t want to brag or anything, but you almost certainly had an affect on Monty.

He always loosened his tough guy looks, softened his snarls, his tail wagged ever so slightly, his sometimes loud bellows became soft and rumbly in his chest. He always seemed to slow down and relax with you around. And you always internally felt yourself explode seeing the reaction from him everytime.

“Guess I really saved you, huh?”

“I’m only going ‘cause you said you would play golf w’me.”

𝐆𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐤 ☆ 𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐲

Freddy is a pushover, there is no doubt about that. You have never seen someone be such a doormat. You could ask him to jog around the entire building with a delicate egg on his head and he wouldn’t find the courage to say no. (Don’t actually try this out on him :( he’s sensitive)

So you really, really have to take the role of the assertive partner. You know those memes of guys saying that when they get the wrong order or are missing something, their s/o speaks up? Yeah that’s you.

Freddy, ever the loving boyfriend he is, often apologizes for the situations he gets himself in when he can’t find the courage to say no. He honest to God feels guilty everytime he sees you jogging towards him. He droops his ears and saddens his often bright eyes. You can’t take it everytime he does it.

And this time, it was no different. A rather chatty boy came up to Freddy, clearly showing romantic interest by feeling Freddy’s arm and asking if Freddy’s single, which Freddy obviously replied with ‘no, I am in a committed relationship!”

If the flirting wasn’t bad enough, the boys ‘jokes’ about stealing him really got under your skin. You glanced at Freddy who was clearly in distraught at what to do. Already standing, you were about to make your way to your too sweet to say no boyfriend, when…

“I-I’m terribly sorry if this comes off as rude, but please, refrain from making suggestive jokes about me and my Superstar.” Freddy choked out, somehow seeming small and timid. The boy shut his mouth.

Then, the boy nodded awkwardly and quickly excused himself to his group of friends. And you finally saw Freddy uncup his hands and exhale, staring at you with a wide smile.

“You did so great, Freddy!” You praised, raising your hands to a happy bear who was already kneeling to your height, allowing you to pet and kiss all over his favorite spots.

“Thank you, Superstar.” Freddy hummed softly, clearly enchanted and loving all the kissing he was receiving.

This was a big step for Freddy; becoming more assertive about things meant he’d find an easier way to put his foot down. A small thing to achieve for some, sure, but for you and him?

It obviously meant a celebration in late night cuddles and abusing Level 10 Security Clearance to the movie theatre!

𝐆𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐤 ☆ 𝐁𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐞

Bonnie was very chatty and friendly. He was very approachable compared to others and besides Freddy and Sun, he was the most amiable. Which meant he fell victim to a loooot of flirting and suggestive stares from guests.

Unlike Monty who shuffles from side to side, avoiding his tanturms in worry of being scolded or locked in his room or Freddy who is a pushover,

Your sweet bunny put his foot down when he saw your discomfort or annoyance at anyone. He didn’t care if it made them uncomfortable by the sudden tone change, you came before a lot of other humans in his eyes. You were his dear.

He was more protective and affectionate than Monty. You may be wondering, ‘How is he more affectionate than the Gator?’ Well he literally throws an arm around you and man-spreads if he’s sitting, basically inviting you to sit on his lap.

You choke everytime he does it. Because to be honest, nobody expects this behavior from such a funny guy like Bonnie. You think he’s just fooling around,

But that serious, loving and suggestive gaze says otherwise everytime.

You couldn’t forget how he made you feel everytime. Enclosed and protected and safe and loved and jeez, is it hot in here?

And you always believe, stupidly, that the last time he did it will be the final time. (It never is)

Now you find yourself plotted on his lap like a pretty decoration to his large and broad figure. Bonnie’s decorated ears bounce with his shiny, golden earrings as he sends a straight message to the two behind him trying to feel his shoulders.

That soft yet strong grip he has on your hips makes you want to flop around like a fish. Bonnie will never, ever shy away from pda and you don’t know if that’s a blessing or not. He loves to fluster you in public like this.

“Well, I say I’m pretty tired. Why don’t we head to my room for some alone time, cottontail?” Bonnie smiles down at you.

Well? Why don’t you? :)

𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐨𝐩 ☼

Listen: Sun is everything but oblivious. He runs a very busy and popular daycare with minimal staff help. He catches everything even if it seems like he doesn’t. Observant should be his middle name with how much his eyes are peered for everything.

So, when staff or even guests flirt with him, he plays the role of oblivious very well. He hates confrontation, so often he tries to find other solutions to problems. And those solutions often require you, the sunshine of his life to help him.

You side glance a guest who was getting too comfortable with staying so close in proximity to Sun when discussing business hours. His pleading side glances sent you the message that you had to rush over to save your dear sweet.

Your march towards Sun was full of jealousy and annoyance.

“Who are you?” The guest huffed, their annoyance practically dripping out of their lips. You unconsciously formed a disgusted facial expression under workers’ hat. They did not just ask that.

Who they think they are? You are obviously someone important to not only the daycare but to Sun with how decorated you are with Sun pins, cheery grin and everything!

“I’m someone who Sun wants to actually be around.” The snarl you gave would’ve even intimidated the DJ.

You were really about to catfight this bitch guest on the matted floors of the daycare. Unfortunately, the tall daycare attendant gently tugged you to a mess of toys in the far distance, very far from the glaring guest. You swear that if Sun had the chance, he would’ve picked you up and carried you away to his room.

But duty calls before any cuddles, so you two kneeled down to pick up some toys off of the ground with the help of a STAFF bot and a kind child.

“Sweet sunshine,” Sun began, eyeing the Sunny pin on your blue work shirt,

“What’s up Sun?”

Sun’s little giggles intrigued you. “Don’t look like you’re about to rip someone’s head off next time.”

You scoffed, but smiled with Sun, “I can’t help it! I had to. They were asking for it.” You reasoned as Sun’s slender fingers gently caressed your skin and his ‘kisses’ soothed your heated cheek. His ‘kisses’ and affection made it worth it.

“Let me handle it, do not lose your temper over jerks.” Sun reasoned, the excessive eyeing of the Sun pin on you making you think he had some pride in being displayed so proudly on your person.

“Alright alright.”

Sun smiled and sneaked a loving kiss to your lips when the child helping you looked away, causing the STAFF bot to stare. You could’ve sworn you saw a tear fall from its eyes (MUST BE NICE??? DATING SUN.)

𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐨𝐩 ☽

Out of all the animatronics, you’d consider Moon the most avoiding of crowds and people in general. So when he got flirted with by someone who was very interested in him, he often shuddered and stuttered out polite and awkward sentences.

He’d get annoyed quick enough and sometimes just, leave. It’s not because he’s rude, no, he tries his hardest to be as kind as possible to guests. It’s literally ingrained into him through his programming and code.

But it’s just if you push Moon too far, he will just up and leave the conversation.

You’ve seen this happen too many times before. A guest or staff member becomes too friendly, touching Moon too much that it overwhelms him. And then, the minute they turn to see some noise in the distance, Moon climbs to the ceiling to scurry off into his room to relax.

You never had to do anything to step in. He always treated it himself. You did have to help him though.

And that was by relaxing with him by allowing him to vent and to tell his frustrations to you as he lays his head to the comfortable pillow. He always waited for you to enter his room so you could begin to cuddle and detangle from the social interactions.

The soft mechanical whirrs of his body, the gentle breathing, the hard glow of his red eyes softening so it won’t hurt your eyes in the dark, the comfy hat on his head feeling soft and nice on your hand and fingers, you never felt too jealous because you always knew Moon and you would end like this. Intertwined and unwinding from social life.

The times you do get jealous though are when you silently think to yourself because a guest is tinkering with Moon. You don’t show it, but you do get jealous when Moon is doing things with others that you could’ve clearly done it with him too. But maybe you’re just clingy or something…

However, you never act on these feelings. Because he’s more valuable to you than you dumb pettiness :)

Also he likes to fall asleep cuddling, so, you will always feel reassured at the end of the day!

#glamrock bonnie x reader #glamrock freddy x reader #montgomery gator x reader #fnaf sundrop x reader #moondrop x reader #fnaf sb #security breach #five nights at freddy's #glamrock freddy #montgomery gator #glamrock bonnie #sun and moon fnaf #fnaf

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