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shybunnie20 · 9 months

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Rockstar!Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

★My Masterlist

Summary: After some time in the spotlight, Eddie returns to Hawkins and finds that his unfinished confession to his best friend awaits him.

Author's Note: Here's a little something I wrote while I've been chipping away at my other WIPs. It’s way longer than I expected but I'm happy with how it turned out. The angst is very mild and it has a happy ending!

AU with no Upside Down, no use of y/n, established past friendship, Eddie and reader graduated the same year but ages aren't specified, focuses on Eddie's POV, proofread to an extent.

Word Count: 8.3k

Warnings: MDNI, mentions of sex, includes swearing

After posing for the cover of the latest Metal Edge magazine, Eddie was eager to head back home ASAP. While he enjoys his time on the East Coast, he was really looking forward to some much-needed downtime. As he boarded his private jet and set off, everything was going according to plan. However, the weather decided that he was going to make a pit stop. Rather, an emergency landing.

Plans get derailed and unpredictability is a part of the lifestyle. When your private jet is just about plucked from the sky during a lightning storm, finding a place to land is imperative, no matter the location. In this instance, his jet touched down in Indianapolis. Hopes of catching a taxi to Hawkins were dashed. No taxi driver in their right mind would willingly brave the distance from the city to the suburb in that weather. Eddie was left with one person to call upon—the man whom Eddie had been considering visiting for quite some time.

Wayne was surprised to receive the phone call but he agreed to pick Eddie up from the airport without hesitation. They haven’t been staying in touch as of late; Eddie’s life is nothing short of a whirlwind consisting of sold-out arenas and constant travel. Getting a hold of his nephew became a challenging feat. Wayne rarely got past speaking to Eddie’s assistants.

It was his uncle’s rare day off and calls at that time of night were few and far between. So, when Wayne’s canary yellow phone practically leaped off of the hook, he was astonished. After making the drive through the pattering rain, Wayne retrieved a sulking Eddie from Concourse B. As Eddie settled into the passenger seat of the fixer-upper, exhaustion from his turbulent journey was evident.

The next morning, Eddie wakes up with a protesting ache in his lower back, the result of a night spent on the pull-out couch. As he sits up straight, he lets out a low groan, vocalizing how his body yearns for the luxurious embrace of the Egyptian cotton sheets that are fitted around his California king mattress. They lay chilled without him, thousands of miles away in his opulent hillside mansion in Beverly Hills.

As he stretches in an attempt to unknot the tension between his shoulder blades, Eddie takes in his surroundings. He stumbled through the front door so late last night that he had no energy left to get reacquainted with his childhood home. He even wound up sleeping in his designer jeans, the coarse denim a far cry from the plush pajamas he would normally change into before bed.

A gentle grin forms on Eddie’s lips upon feeling comforted by the familiarity of the room. He hadn’t realized how much he missed the simple life that Wayne brought him up in. Eddie gazes around, noticing the subtle changes such as the addition of new mugs and hats to their respective displays. One particular change catches his attention and draws a fond exhale from his stale lungs. The worn-out doormat, which was torn to hell when he was a teenager, was finally replaced.

Despite his internal clock being out of whack, Eddie’s brain knows when it’s time for a cup of jitter juice. He rises from the rickety mattress, his back cracking loudly at the extension. A moan of discomfort slips out as he winces at the pinch at the base of his neck. “Jesus, fuck,” he mutters aloud. Eddie makes a mental note to buy Wayne a new sofa.

His socked feet slide across the linoleum as he steps into the kitchen. He notices that the bedroom door is closed, though it’s doing very little to dampen the loud snoring emitting behind it. Eddie yawns as he grinds his fists into his eyes, causing a splash of tingling colors across the darkness of his lids. He approaches the corner cupboard, knowing that what he’s looking for will be in the same place it always has been. The cabinet door greets him with a squeak and he’s met with a single dented can of Folgers. That shit is practically varnish remover, it simply won’t do.

Eddie sighs as the craving for his favorite Italian coffee intensifies. It’s so rich, flavorful, smooth, and yet, it packs a punch. Just the thought of the hazelnut dark roast takes him back to the first time he ever tried it in Trieste. From that moment on, he needed it imported back home.

Well, the java situation is a bust. For the time being, Eddie has a choice. Either charred slices of Wonderbread or plain cornflakes. AKA, buttered plywood or a bowl of sawdust. Ew and ew. Settling for the arguably more exciting option, Eddie decides on toast. Each bite into the brittle slice causes dark crumbs to scatter into his open palm that he holds beneath his chin. He can’t be bothered to get a plate, even as an adult. The burnt bits accumulate in his hand as he continues to nibble. While Eddie brushes his palms over the sink to rid himself of crumbs, he catches sight of the magazine clipping held to the fridge door by a Tweety Bird magnet. Frozen in time on glossy paper is a photo of him at the American Music Awards last year. “Damn, I looked good.” He smirks as he recalls the tailored suit, the lapels encrusted with dazzling gems, and his pale bare chest blinding the paparazzi from beneath it. The memories of that night come rushing, the flashing cameras and the cheers of his fans.

With his tummy partially pleased but the craving for quality coffee intensifying, Eddie recalls that there’s only one good place around here to get a quality cup of Joe. Eddie takes a brisk shower to wash away the residual stickiness that clings to his skin from a night spent fully clothed in the stuffy trailer. He dresses in the most pedestrian outfit that’s in his suitcase, hoping to blend in as much as possible, and heads out.

Eddie’s stride carries him through the glass door of Morningside Café, the cheerful bell above it announces his arrival. The café is bustling, as one would expect on a Saturday morning. The patrons have come for their morning pick-me-up, much like Eddie.

Initially, he considers keeping his onyx-lensed sunglasses on, a barrier that would shield him from potential recognition and the commotion that would ensue. But he decides to take them off, knowing that he might stick out if he’s wearing sunglasses indoors. Eddie tucks one of the folded arms of the frame into the collar of his t-shirt. To his surprise, nobody reacts. No one gasps or falls to their knees at his feet. The world around him continues to turn. Part of him yearns for the ego boost that comes with being recognized but, all in all, he’s relieved to experience a semblance of normalcy for the first time in what feels like an eternity.

Taking a moment to soak in his surroundings, Eddie’s gaze sweeps across the interior of the shop. His eyes linger on the display case where flaky pastries drizzled with chocolate and caramel sauces are housed. The cabin-esque aesthetic warms the soul with rich wood tones and a brick fireplace. It stands dormant, flameless, because it’s too warm out for a fire this time of year.

Beside the fireplace sit two figures that catch his attention. Even from a short distance, Eddie recognizes the mane of luscious locks, a signature feature that only belongs to one person. He strolls over with excitement tugging at his chest.

“Excuse me,” Eddie’s voice is hushed as he addresses the two figures engrossed in conversation. “Do you happen to know if the creamer here is fat-free?”

Steve and Robin’s dialogue comes to an abrupt halt, their voices silenced by the unexpected interruption. They exchange a glance, their eyebrows raising in unison. Simultaneously, their heads turn to peer over their shoulders. And there he stands, Eddie, someone they never thought they’d see again.

Steve gets to his feet a beat faster than Robin and he’s all smiles. “Look what the cat dragged in!”

“Must be an expensive cat,” Robin quips while she eyes Eddie, a quick assessment that catches details he overlooked in his haste to blend in. Her comment refers to the flashy jewelry he neglected to take off. “Persian, right? Those are the goblin-looking ones that rich people like? Ugly little fluff balls, if you ask me.”

Eddie’s sigh carries relief, expressing his genuine pleasure in knowing that Robin remains candid and unfiltered, just as he remembers her. As he extends his hand, Steve meets him with a firm handshake.

A friendly slap on the shoulder from Steve follows. “What brings you to this god-forsaken town?” His question is punctuated by true curiosity and a hint of humor, alluding to Eddie’s past that has kept him from ever returning up until now.

“I was in the area,” Eddie replies with a sense of restraint, deliberately avoiding the true source of his change in plans. “Figured I'd swing by to see what’s what.”

Robin gestures for Eddie to take the seat opposite of them. They all settle into their mahogany-colored chairs. Eddie shifts awkwardly, the denim of his jeans dragging on the leather noisily.

With her elbows digging into her knees, Robin leans forward and supports her chin with her balled fists, positioned to hear the greatest story in her life. “So?”

Eddie blinks dumbly, bemusement evident on his face. “What?”

Reclined deeply into his chair, Steve rests his hands on his belly with interlocked fingers. “Enlighten us. Where the hell did ya go?”

“Oh,” Eddie breathes, “Well, uh, I migrated west and lived in my van for a while. Then I found an ad in the paper for a spare bedroom in a janky apartment. I did the roommate thing for a bit and then- I dunno,” He twists the grim reaper-shaped ring around the base of his middle finger. “Things just worked out, I guess.”

Robin blows a raspberry and sits back into a less anticipatory position. “Long story short, huh? The last I saw, you were on the red carpet escorting Heather Locklear.”

Her reference to Eddie’s past event appearance draws a smirk from him, feeling a sense of satisfaction in knowing that his old friends have been keeping up with the big things he’s been doing. While she encourages Eddie to delve into the details of his daily life, Steve looks across the room at you. Your nose is to the grindstone, your hands working deftly to maintain the rhythm that ensures that the orders are being fulfilled in a timely manner.

Opening shifts are the worst, for the customers and the employees alike. Nobody is at their friendliest due to the dark clouds of exhaustion hanging over everyone’s heads. Not to mention, regulars have their quirks. Some are particularly anal—specifying exact temperatures for their flavored fuel. They scrutinize your every move, even going as far as monitoring the thermometer to ensure that their demands are met.

The grind of the morning rush is draining, yet, you soldier on. You wipe away spilled coffee grounds from the countertop and amidst the clatter and constant flow of orders, you catch Steve staring right at you. His expression is peculiar, his arched brows paired with a subtle curve to his lips. You tilt your head inquisitively at him. What?

Steve subtly points across from him and mouths, Eddie Munson.

Your hand freezes mid-motion, the damp rag caught between your palm and the solution-streaked surface. Instinct takes over as you lean onto your tiptoes, straining to catch a glimpse over the top of the coffee machine. And no shit, there’s that head of chocolate curls. Your pulse spikes as apprehension floods your belly. Returning your gaze to Steve, you mouth back to him, oh my god.

Steve’s frantic wave beckons you over, his urgency not leaving room for subtlety. Eddie takes notice of Steve and he looks to see who he’s motioning to. Your eyes meet and for a split second, utter disbelief is mirrored on both of your faces.

You panic and duck out of sight, retreating to the relative cover near the floor. Your thoughts race, your heartbeat pounding twice that. “What the actual fuck is he doing here?” you ask yourself, unable to grapple with the overwhelming emotions.

Eddie’s heavy-footed steps carry him up to the counter, the air around him feeling electrically charged, making his arm hair stand up straight. His chest constricts as he approaches the ledge and looks behind it. There you are, sitting on the floor with your legs pulled close to your chest and your forehead against your knees.

“Sweetheart,” he chuckles airily, though his brows are pulled together as to why you’re down there.

Reluctantly, you lift your head and meet his eyes. A sheepish grin tugs at your lips and you can’t help but scrunch your nose. “Eddie, hi!”

“Whatcha doin’ down there?” he asks playfully, then catching his bottom lip between his teeth in an attempt to suppress the smile that threatens to form. “Almost looks like you’re tryin’ to hide from me.”

You shake your head, only slightly annoyed at his amusement. “I’m just busted, aren’t I?” As you get to your feet, you wipe your palms on your apron before rounding the corner of the counter.

Eddie’s arms are already outstretched before you’re even in full view. You find yourself stepping forward to meet his embrace. The hug is brief, not quite as long as Eddie would’ve liked it to be. His beaming smile accompanies his glittering stare as it follows your features, studying the subtle changes since he saw you last. “Long time no see,” he teases with the lick of his lip.

You’ve already taken a step back, creating a bit of space between the two of you. With a deep breath, you nod. “Tell me about it, it’s been like what, six years?” It’s your turn to trace the contours of his face.

You’ve seen the tabloids on the racks in the supermarket, the pages that showcase his exhilarating career. You’ve seen his music videos on MTV. Regardless of the set design and general concept, there’s a constant—Eddie, partially naked with jeans slung low on his hips, surrounded by bleach-blonde stunners hanging off of him one way or another. He always stood tall, an embodiment of untouchability despite being touched just about everywhere by sets of cherry-painted fingernails. His image has become synonymous with charismatic magnetism and sex appeal.

And now, he’s standing right in front of you. Eddie’s silver nose ring catches the overhead lighting, a rebellious contrast to the well-groomed beard that frames his jaw. He has far more tattoos than he had when you were friends.

The dangling layers of necklaces twinkle like constellations. While you hugged him, you recognized his natural scent which was mostly the same, but with a faint woody undertone. The cologne he wears seems to have become one with his clothes, the scent being inseparable from him no matter how many times the article is washed.

Eddie also looks stronger and his physical presence is more defined. His slim frame matured into something more substantial, and his muscles are built and bound with raw talent.

It’s a curious juxtaposition to see him in such plain clothes. He almost resembles the Eddie that you knew, feeling both familiar and transformed, an evolution you’re struggling to take in all at once.

“Yeah, coming up on six. Feels like it’s been longer than that,” Eddie replies, the joy in his voice unconcealed. He shamelessly looks over your uniform, the baby blue polo shirt beneath the navy apron, with his interest plain for anyone to see. He took in your scent too. Your natural smell blended with coffee, and it struck a chord within him. The combination of the two is better than his beloved Italian coffee beans alone.

“How long are you in town for?” You inquire while playing with the hem of your apron. Meanwhile, you shift your weight on the balls of your feet, attempting to soothe yourself with the rocking motion.

Eddie sucks air through his teeth with resignation. “Just today, actually.”

“Oh,” you mumble, your expression subtly crestfallen at the news of his limited stay. “That’s too bad. You really can’t stay any longer?”

“I wish I could but stopping by wasn’t exactly on my to-do list. I was flying home from New York and then my jet-”

You’re startled as your supervisor’s voice booms from behind you, yanking you back to reality. Her words are stern, reprimanding you for being distracted. She scolds, saying that the line is twice as long as it should be. A quick glance at your coworker makes you feel guilty, seeing as he’s struggling to keep up with taking and filling orders by himself.

“Shit,” you mutter under your breath, “Coming!” With a final moment of eye contact with Eddie, you offer him a rueful smile. “Sorry, duty calls,” As you turn and make your way back to your station, you call out to Eddie over your shoulder. “It was great to see you.”

The sentiment hangs in the air, one that Eddie wishes you had a chance to elaborate on. But, time is of the essence and you’re already back to filling cups without waiting for his response. For a few seconds, Eddie watches you seamlessly shift back into work mode as if he isn’t there anymore. Returning to Steve and Robin, he’s met with pointed looks that are laden with interest. The weight of the encounter, the unexpected vulnerability he felt looking into your eyes, settles on his shoulders. As Eddie returns to the seat across from them, he slumps down with a pout.

Robin’s brows furrow at his sudden change in demeanor. “Why the long face? Didn’t you ask her out?”

Eddie’s response is a sullen half-note while he stares fixedly at a speck of mud on Steve’s shoe. “No,” he says, “I didn’t, and quite frankly, I don’t think she’d even want to.” In the way that Eddie is carrying himself, it’s obvious that his insecurities have been stirred up. “You should’ve seen the way she looked at me. It was like she hardly recognized me.”

Steve scoffs and rolls his eyes. “I dunno, man. Kinda hard to believe a hot shot like you can’t get whatever girl he sets his sights on.”

That remark sparks something within Eddie, a realization that switches his perspective. Steve’s words hit home—he’s Eddie fucking Munson. A Grammy award-winning recording artist for Christ’s sake. Casanova, heavy hitter, ladies’ man. His confidence resurfaces, becoming acutely aware of the charm he can whip out whenever he needs it; he’s well equipped for this moment.

Summoning the deepest breath he’s ever taken, Eddie rises to his feet once again, feeling sure of himself this time. His hands smooth down his shirt and he clears his throat. When Eddie chances a look behind him, Steve and Robin are giving him two, technically four, thumbs up as a means of encouragement.

With newfound resolve, Eddie approaches the counter once again. You’re a flurry of motion, caught up in the demands of your job. A bead of sweat threatens to drip from your brow as you ensure that the whipped cream on top of the ice-cold beverage is the perfect amount.

“Hey,” Eddie’s voice cuts through the ambient noise, a little louder than necessary to ensure that you’ve heard him.

You peek up at him with a grin in acknowledgment. “Hi,” Though his presence is noted, your focus is unwavering, determined not to let any more interruptions affect your efficiency.

Eddie’s knuckles wrap against the counter, a drumming that underscores his everlasting nerves when it comes to you. “What are you doing tonight?”

Powdered cinnamon dusts the air as you gently tap the kitchen dredger over the tower of whipped cream. The finely ground burnt umber falls where it’s meant to, rather than onto your apron. “I don’t have any plans, why?” You hand the completed drink to the awaiting customer beside Eddie, giving them a polite smile that’s a testament to your professionalism.

The act of biting the inside of his cheek does little to help Eddie relax. “Would you maybe wanna grab a bite to eat?” he hesitates for a beat, the thudding of his heart is on the verge of drowning out his voice. “I’ll bet you’ll have worked up quite the appetite by the time you’re shift is done.”

You sigh softly, mulling over Eddie’s offer. “I don’t know…” You say contemplatively while flipping the switches on the machine, causing it to roar to life.

Eddie holds his breath, every passing second heightening his senses.

“Okay, I suppose I will be pretty hungry,” you concede, your eyes nearly forming tears of stress as you accept the ever-present line of customers. “Early dinner at Benny’s?” You suggest with an inviting tone.

“Just like old times,” Eddie smiles so wide that it feels like the corners of his lips might split and bleed. “Yeah, that sounds perfect.” He offers to pick you up, which he’d truly rather not. That would mean that he’d be taking you out in his uncle’s jalopy. In Eddie’s mind's eye, he would pick you up in a sports car and rev the engine to the point where you’re pressing your thighs together to stave off the vibrations coursing through you. A man can dream.

“No, I’ll meet you there,” you assert, your voice firm with certainty. The authenticity of your smile bridges the previously placed distance between you. “Thank you, though.”

His knuckles leave one last sequence of knocks on the marble surface, a rhythm of pride and assurance. “See you later, then,” Eddie confirms, his tone dancing on the edge of excitement.

You nod. “Later,”

Eddie turns away and finds his friends with expectant gazes plastered on their faces, awaiting the verdict of the exchange. His smile hasn’t fallen in the slightest, his dazzling white teeth and flushed cheeks don’t go unnoticed. Eddie’s enthusiasm is palpable, his words coming out in a hushed rush. “She said yes!” he exclaims, trying to shake the blood back into his fingers as the tingling sensation bites at him. “It’s a date,” He adds in triumph.

Sitting at the mini kitchen table in Wayne’s trailer, the rusty metal chair squeaks under his weight anytime he shifts. He can’t even sit still, despite there being plentiful hours between now and when he’ll see you again. Eddie finds himself flipping through the scrapbook you put so much time into making the summer before your senior year. That particular summer holds such significance to him, a time when the days were endless, and the bond between you felt unshakeable.

Each photograph feels as warm and breezy as the one before it. Sunbathing on the shore of Lover’s Lake, your toes dipping into the water as you prepared to leap off of the dock. The memory is vivid—your skin glistening and energy positively radiant with innocence and naivety. One of the snapshots of Eddie is far less flattering. He’s captured with sharp tan lines, the contrast in tones creating the illusion of him wearing a white shirt, despite being topless.

Eddie bites down on his lip as he studies the photograph of you riding your bike in cutoff shorts, your t-shirt having met an equal fate. The wind tangled through your hair in a way that he wished he could with his fingers.

The picture beside it features the two of you together. Obviously, Wayne had taken on the role of photographer. You’re both posed proudly beside a tower of playing cards that you spent 45 minutes building card by card, on the very table that Eddie is sitting at. Both of you held your breath and didn’t speak a word to avoid knocking it down. Taped across the same page are watermelon and grape-flavored blow pop wrappers, unredeemed arcade tickets, movie stubs, and receipts saved from snack runs made on days that you were craving specific treats.

With the turn of a page, Eddie melts a little as he comes across the photobooth strips. It was necessary for you to sit on his lap in order for both of you to fit within the frame. He was able to wrap his arms around your waist and hold you close as if there was anywhere for you to go inside the cramped box. Your arms encircled his neck and rested on his shoulders while you made silly faces at the camera, and even better, at each other.

Eddie recoils at the picture of him with red-stained popsicle sticks protruding from his mouth, immaturely imitating a walrus, of all things. You laughed so hard that you insisted on taking a photo, and as much as dislikes the image itself, he’s still eating up how delighted you were by his antics.

The moments that weren’t captured on film come flooding back just as vividly as if they’re pasted to the paper before him. Inhaling helium from balloons and laughing hysterically at one another is a night that comes to mind. He knew he’d never get sick of making you laugh. And that time when playfully tossing popcorn into each other's mouths evolved from being a fun game to a skill. Last but not least, Eddie reminisces about sitting in his van together with the windows down, sharing cigarettes and music as the cool evening air enveloped you both. The quieter memories are just as deafening as the amusing ones.

His life had its fair share of upheaval and dysfunction that seemed to pull him in all directions. Amidst the chaos, one constant remained. You. Eddie didn’t need more than that, you already made life worth living.

But, as life often goes, the sweet moments can become bitter in the blink of an eye.

It was the night of your graduation party, a celebration meant to be an intimate gathering among close friends—you, Eddie, Robin, and Steve. But when Eddie pulled up to your parent’s house, a scene was unfolding before him that he hadn’t anticipated. The yard was dotted with clusters of students while the front door was revolving with people drunkenly coming and going. Inside the belly of the beast was even more lively.

Eddie hesitantly navigated the throngs of teens in the hallway, people he was sure that you weren’t even on a first-name basis with. He knew your house like the back of his hand but it felt foreign due to the sheer number of bodies dancing, running, and tumbling over.

He was going to finally tell you how he felt, a declaration that had been building within him for some time. Eddie understood that you were out of his league, the unspoken boundaries dictating that best friends aren’t supposed to fall in love, yet he found himself helplessly ensnared by his adoration for you. For so long, Eddie was afraid of pressing his luck, and even more so, was in a state of constant disbelief that he was lucky enough to call you the most important person in his life.

Graduation marks a turning point in a young person’s life, a juncture where change is inevitable. Eddie was ready for change and he wanted his dreams to bleed into reality. He yearned to hold you without any limitations, to kiss you like he needed to in order to survive. It was time for a new chapter and Eddie hoped that when he turned the page, he’d get the girl he wanted more than anything in the world.

You were in the kitchen. Typically, he gets a kick out of the way you act when you’re that buzzed. Your joyful disposition under the influence of celebration and booze led to you being the most laid-back version of yourself. However, he was facing an unanticipated predicament. Eddie was trying to have a serious conversation with you at a rowdy party. His hands were trembling, and luckily, his leather jacket concealed the fact that he’d soaked the pits of his t-shirt.

“There you are,” Eddie hummed and stepped closer to make sure that you could hear him over the music and chatter.

“Here I am!” you giggled, your cheeks flushed and energy unreserved. “Isn’t this wild?” You motioned to the piles of assorted cups and bags of snacks scattered haphazardly.

“Yeah,” Eddie responded, glancing over his shoulder as he was jolted by a stranger bumping into him. “What happened to watching movies and ordering pizza?”

The trace of disappointment in Eddie’s tone might have been discernable to a sober individual, but in your inebriated state, it slipped under your radar. Your smile remained and you swayed. The movement was more so a result of your jelly legs than unenthusiastic dancing. “I know, but my parents went all out and invited our entire class! I guess they figured that throwing a rager was a good way to congratulate me,” You chuckled and took another burning sip from your cup.

Eddie leaned in, his voice carrying a sense of urgency. “Can we go somewhere and talk?” he pleaded. “There’s something I need to tell you.” The weight of his unspoken feelings was on the verge of suffocating him and the heat of the room paled in comparison to the fire in his belly.

You tilted your head slightly, your eyes ever so bright. “What is it?”

Given that you hadn’t budged an inch, that meant that the conversation was gonna happen right where you stood. Eddie tried to breathe steadily, knowing that he’d rehearsed this and he knew what he wanted to say. Unfortunately, the words had startled to scramble in his head. “You, uh- you know that you’re my favorite person in the whole world, right?”

“Of course, you’re mine too,” you agreed as you pawed at his shoulder before leaning back against the counter to make up for your lessening ability to stand up straight.

“I couldn’t ask for a better best friend-” Unfortunately for him, the timing couldn’t have been worse. The song that had been playing ended abruptly. “But I wanna be more than that.”

Eddie’s heart sank as his words hung in the air. The confession that was meant for your ears only was now released into the open, leaving Eddie exposed. A mocking laughter filled the air that the music once inhabited; Jack Carver, the asshole who’s had it out for Eddie since the fifth grade, was locked and loaded.

Eddie’s blood ran cold at the sound as it collided with his ears. His fight-or-flight instincts kicked in, his body tensing as he struggled to prepare himself for what was about to happen.

Jack Carver’s taunting cut like a sharp blade, drawing a wave of laughter from the surrounding students with it. “Did everybody hear that?” he shouted with derision, “The freak wants himself a little girlfriend.”

Defenseless, Eddie clenched his knuckles as the walls began to close in on him. He knew it wasn’t over yet.

“There’s a reason you’re still a virgin, and you’ll die one, too.” Jack sneered.

Prior to that evening, Eddie had steeled himself for the possibility of rejection from you. He‘d surrender to the emotional blow to keep you as his best friend. But he wasn’t armed for the level of humiliation that Jack’s provocation brought down on him. It was the wounds of his childhood, the physical and emotional scars from years of being picked on, that were torn open. Jack always knew how to hit him where it hurt.

The tears that blurred Eddie’s vision shielded him from your pitying and startled expression. It all felt like a cruel twist of fate, a reminder that he was meant to be the outsider, forever on the fringes without someone to hold him close at night. As the laughter continued to echo around him, Eddie fled before the atmosphere could swallow him whole. Without a second thought, he shoved his way through the crowd and bolted out of your front door.

The night air hit him like a wall, cooling the hot tears that streamed down his scorched cheeks. Eddie stumbled to his van and slammed the door shut behind him. He leaned his forehead against the steering wheel and let out a shuddering breath, feeling like everything inside of him was coming apart at the seams. Eddie squeezed his eyes shut to clear his vision by forcing the pooled tears to flow and he raised his head back up. He saw you stepping off of your front porch, a concerned look branded on your features while you called out to him, searching.

At that moment, he decided that he was gonna show every single person who thought so little of him that he could be somebody. Eddie was going to outdo all of them and kick the expectation that he was going to end up in prison like his father, that he was going to be dealing drugs for the rest of his life, and that he’d always be trailer trash.

If Eddie could go back in time, things would have gone differently. But after chasing the California sunrise, he’d mastered the world of glamorous parties, adoring fans, and beautiful women. They threw themselves at him. He didn’t have to worry about rejection because he could have his pick, he had whatever flavor he wanted for the night. But no one satiated the craving he continued to have for you. No one laughed the way you did, no one understood him the way you always had.

You’d never have another moment together, he accepted that. And it didn’t matter anymore because he became the man. He didn’t have time to sit around and sulk about a small-town girl who wouldn’t give him the time of day. But despite putting his feelings in the rearview mirror, he daydreamed nonetheless. Eddie wondered what it would be like to show you the new and improved version of himself. He hoped that you’d be impressed. More importantly, did you listen to his music? Or read about his scandalous escapades in the gossip magazines that wove lies into the truth?

Even so, that night set him straight. It wasn’t going to happen for you and him. His only star had fallen, so he put all of his time and energy into making a name for himself. The songs on his albums are about living life in the fast lane and the thrill of the night. They’re about trashing hotel rooms and experiencing things he never dreamed he would because that’s what sells records.

But at home in his lyric notepad lays the songs of unpursued love, melodies about chances taken and lost. There’s one ballad in particular, its verses tell the story of him introducing you to his newfound confidence, something that you never knew him to have. It speaks of how he’s seen the world twice over, and yet, his favorite place to be is tucked away in the memories where things hadn’t changed yet.

Those heartfelt lyrics remain buried, never to be shared with the world. They’re a tribute to you, the unsung song in his life.

Eddie’s experience when it comes to the attention of women should, theoretically, render him immune to being nervous. Yet, he finds himself impossibly so. The source of his unease? You. This isn’t just anyone, you’re not just some chick. The late afternoon swings around and Eddie’s nerves are in full swing. He’s feeling just as anxious as he did the night of that party because second chances are rare for him. Eddie is acutely aware that this is very likely to be his last shot with you. This isn’t just any date—it’s your first date. The significance isn’t lost on him, and he’s determined to make it count.

Standing in front of Wayne’s bathroom mirror, Eddie attempts to wield the cheap razor to trim the edges of his beard. His curls, normally styled to perfection, look deflated and lackluster without his fancy shampoo and hair products to nourish them. The trailer park’s hard water isn’t doing his hair any favors when it comes to frizz either. As Eddie rinses away his beard trimmings from the basin, he exhales dramatically, watching his self-esteem swirling down the drain. He tries to remind himself of his good looks by reciting a silent pep talk. The thought of disappointing you, or not meeting your expectations, is something he can’t bear.

Eddie parks Wayne’s car outside of Benny’s Burgers and takes a moment to double-check his appearance in the visor mirror. He wants to make certain that he looks as decent as he can. This is the chance he’s been waiting for, this is for all the marbles. Unlike his usual casual encounters, where names and personalities go unlearned, this is different. Eddie has to earn your affection back.

He peers down at his fingernails, thankful that they’re still in good shape from his last manicure. Eddie mutters to himself, trying to get a feel for an appropriate greeting. “Hi, you look… pretty,” Lame. Frustrated, he twists the skull ring on his finger, adjusting it from its sideways position to face the right way up. “It’s so nice out tonight, but you look even nicer.” Eddie groans, banging his head back against the headrest. “Jesus Christ, Munson. Get your fucking shit together.”

With a thick swallow, Eddie steps out of the car and makes his way across the parking lot that crunches beneath his sneakers. As he enters the restaurant, he’s happy to see that this place hasn’t changed one bit. Eddie debates waiting by the door for you or to sit down for the time being. Anxiety wins, and he chooses the latter. As he strides across the room, he tries to keep his easily recognizable face relatively hidden. Eddie slides into the booth that the two of you always sat in. You spent innumerable Saturday nights sitting here, laughing and teasing, talking shit and venting about how high school felt so life or death at the time.

A soft chuckle slips out as he traces the initials that he carved into the table all those years ago. He grins, recalling how much you scolded him while he chipped EM into the wood with his pocket knife. Eddie absentmindedly fiddles with the lid on the ketchup bottle from the condiment caddy, lost in his own thoughts, until the restaurant’s door opens. His heart thumps madly as he watches you stroll in and scan the room until your gaze lands on him. Beyond his control, Eddie’s eyes are gleaming, overwhelmed with the privilege of being in the same room as you once more.

He stands from the booth as you approach, his legs acting with a mind of their own. Once you reach him, he’s not exactly sure what to do with his hands. He decides against offering a hug since you don’t initiate one. Eddie returns to his seat as you settle into the one opposite of him.

“Hey,” you greet him warmly, placing your purse beside you on the seat.

“Hi, there,” he replies, the red of his cheeks deepening as his hands go right back to fidgeting. Eddie clears his throat. “How was the rest of your day?”

“It was okay, nothing special,” you reply vaguely, your voice dripping with fatigue.

Eddie takes note of and appreciates the slightest bit of makeup you’ve applied since he saw you this morning, simply because it accentuates your natural beauty. It’s a small detail, but it doesn’t go unnoticed, and it warms his heart to think that you might have put some effort into your appearance to meet up with him. Or maybe he’s getting ahead of himself and you just don’t like wearing makeup at work. Regardless, just as a complement is about to roll off of his tongue, the table is approached by an old woman.

“My goodness, I remember you too!” She beams, clutching her miniature notepad tightly. “You’re all grown up now.”

You nod respectfully, clearly remembering her. Eddie, on the other hand, does not recognize her as quickly. It’s like he’s buffering as he thinks, and then his eyes widen, suddenly remembering that the woman is the waitress who always served the two of you every weekend. Holy shit, he thought she looked old back then but now she looks ancient. “It’s nice to see you,” He performs, trying his best to be a gentleman and show you that he’s good-natured.

“I’ll be right back, I know just what to get you,” She says sing-songy manner and bounces away into the back kitchen. Even after all this time, she still knows your orders by heart.

Despite the breath that you release, the hurt isn’t evident on your face. “Why’d you disappear on me that night?”

Your straightforwardness catches Eddie off guard, and he struggles to find the right words to respond. “Doesn’t matter why,” he begins, trying to deflect from the topic. He’d much rather you ask him if he has any pets or if he’s read any good books lately. “That was ages ago, what matters is that I’m not a pathetic loser anymore.”

“You were never a loser, Eddie.” You say looking into his eyes, reminding every fiber of his being that you always liked him for who he was. But just as quickly, your gaze drops. You always hated when he talked about himself that way because you thought he was a total catch.

Eddie’s gaze lingers on you, studying the shift. Slowly, the realization dawns on him that your hurt runs deep, possibly deeper than his own. Coming to terms with his self-centered perspective makes his chest ache. He was so consumed by his own insecurities that he never spared a thought for how his sudden departure wounded you.

You change gears with an almost perfected ease, smoothly transitioning from the heaviness of the subject. “So, Mr. Super Star, what’s it like being you?”

A chill is sent up his spine, uneasiness caused by how swiftly you just rebuilt your walls before his eyes. He bites anyway, hoping that your interest in his stories is genuine. “From the outside, it looks like fun but it’s nothing short of chaos. When you’ve got a show every other night, and a band wants you on their new album, and then someone’s throwing a massive party...” Eddie trails off, afraid that his rambling is coming off as braggery. “Anyway, enough about all that. How ‘bout you? How’d you end up working at Morningside?”

There’s a flicker of joy on your face that shows your appreciation for his desire to hear you talk about yourself. “I needed something part-time, I’m actually studying to be a-”

EEK! You both startle at the ear-shattering squeals of three middle school-aged school girls. They’re gathered around Eddie, borderline frothing at the mouth to be looking at and breathing the same air as him. They’re all talking a mile a minute over one another, asking for autographs, wanting hugs, and gushing about his music.

Eddie looks at you and he can’t quite gauge your reaction, your expression is practically unreadable. “One second, I’m sorry,” he sincerely apologizes, scooting out of the booth to greet the rabid girls. He figures that if he handles this interaction skillfully, they’ll likely leave both of you alone afterward.

As you watch him engage, you’re beyond disappointed. It seems like he’s more interested in the attention and adoration of his fans than he is in spending time with you. He should’ve just told them to go away. Now you’re certain of where his priorities lie and you should’ve known from the moment you saw his face this morning. He isn’t here to mend things, Eddie has less than pure intentions and you’re not going to wait to find out what they are.

While Eddie is busy giving the girls his full attention with his back turned to you, you seize the moment to slip out of the booth and quietly exit the restaurant. One of the girls is clinging onto him after a hug and he has to pry her off of himself. In doing so, he sees your hurried movement out of the corner of his eye. He half-heartedly thanks his fans and rushes after you, his mouth going dry as reality hits him like a freight train; he’s getting a taste of his own medicine.

“Wait up,” Eddie calls out to you, his chest heaving.

You stop in your tracks and turn to him with a hardened look on your face. “Why did you come here? Was it so you could show off how untouchable you are now?”

Eddie’s mouth falls open. “No,” he steps forward but you inch away. “Of course not.”

“Then what? Because I don’t even know why I agreed to come here. You’ve obviously outgrown Hawkins and everyone in it. I wasn’t good enough for you to stick around for, much less stay in touch with.”

Eddie’s heart breaks in two at the sunset reflecting in the glossy pools that have formed along your lower lash line. “You were always enough for me,” he says weakly.

You roll your eyes and your car keys jingle in your hand as you cross your arms over your chest. “Do you really expect me to believe that when it’s been nothing but radio silence for six years?”

“Yeah, kinda,” he snaps, suddenly feeling defensive. Memories of the night he left come flooding back and he’s transported to that place of feeling unworthy and inadequate. His chest puffs up and his shoulders tense. “At least I made something of myself. Can’t you at least be a little bit happy for me?

He immediately realizes that was a low blow, evident in the way the tears start pouring from your eyes. The hurt on your face cuts a deep pang in Eddie’s chest for his thoughtless comment. You’ve always been there for him, you were always in his corner for as long as you’d known each other.

You shrink into yourself, avoiding his intense stare as you crumble. “I am happy for you. It just sucks that I had to be forgotten about for you to get there. But I understand, I really do. You had to ditch this town to chase after what you wanted for your life, and that included leaving me behind too.” You wipe your nose with the back of your hand and sniffle.

Eddie’s tense posture relaxes and his expression turns sorrowful as he watches you fall apart from his wrongdoings. It hurts to watch you run a hand through your hair and wipe the mascara from below your eyes in an attempt to compose yourself. The sound of your fumbling car keys is like a thundering countdown in his ears, urging him that his time is running out before he’s lost you entirely. Eddie’s mind races as he fights the impulse to do something, anything, to make amends. “Don’t go,” he begs. “I’m sorry.”

You respond with your eyes fixed on inserting your key into the lock of the car door, your trembling hands making it difficult to do so. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“Yes I do,” he insists, getting as physically close as possible without crossing any boundaries.

The piercing glare that was previously on his face has found its way onto yours. “I disagree. You got everything you could’ve ever wanted.”

When your eyes meet, he can feel it in his toes. “I didn’t, though.” Eddie notices the inflamed veins in your eyes, hating himself for being the reason you’re crying. It’s an odd feeling, but a small, sad smile tugs at his lips.

The scoff from you hits like a slap to his cheek. “Let’s see,” you hold out your hand and begin counting on your fingers. “Expensive clothes, a massive house, I’m sure you have multiple cars. You probably have a personal chef-” All true. “For fuck’s sake, you have a private jet. What more could you possibly want?”

Eddie is terrified of making a move that might push you further away, yet he musters the courage to try to ground you with his touch. His fingers gently wrap around your wrist and both of you watch as he brushes his thumb over your veins. “I never got to have you,” Eddie’s voice cracks ever so slightly as he lays all of his cards on the table. “That’s all I ever wanted.”

A tear dribbles off of your cheek and splashes onto the pavement as your hands begin to interact with his.

You contemplate pulling your hand away, the heartache inching back into the forefront of your mind. “If you wanted me you would’ve been here all along.”

Eddie holds his breath as your fingers intertwine and your palms press together. “I’m here now, and I want you just as badly as I did back then.” His lips press a soft kiss to the tops of your knuckles and his teary eyes meet yours. “I was just a stupid kid who turned heel and ran when things didn’t go the way I wanted them to.”

“Yeah, you were,” you agree with a bite of your lip. “You didn’t even give me the chance to tell you that I felt the same way.”

Eddie grins, giving your hand a squeeze and another kiss. “Is there any chance that you still feel that way? Because I’m still stupidly in love with you.”

“I do,” you breathe with relief, swallowing the pressure in your throat. “I’m in love with you too.”

“Wanna be stupid together?” Eddie tilts his head at you, continuing to hold your hand to his plush lips.

“Yeah,” you giggle wetly, “I’d really like that.”

Reblogs are greatly encouraged and appreciated! ♡

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mayarab · 7 months

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20 Questions

tagged by @artemis-devotee.

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

I have 9 works on several levels of finished on AO3;

I also had an FFdotnet account with a couple fics and I wrote stuff I mostly only shared with friends back in elementary school.

2. What’s your total AO3 words count?

17,379

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Inuyasha is and will always be my main fandom. On AO3, I have one chapter of a Frozen fic that I might go back to eventually.

I have written for Pokémon, Sailor Moon, Card Captor Sakura and Harry Potter, though these are not posted anywhere online that I know of.

And I have since distanced myself from Harry Potter for obvious reasons (terfs can go die mad)

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

All from Inuyasha and I'm not surprised since these are the most recent and the ones I've actually talked about within the fandom ^^

Before You Came Back

Snow

Kagome's Power

Caught in a Wave

Before I Came Back

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Usually not, because I won't add anything to the conversation besides a "thank you" and I forget as soon as I tab out of the email XD

But if it's a long one, I absolutetly do respond!

6. What’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

None yet? I do have ideas, and I do love angst, but I usually give the characters at least on ok ending. Also most of my fics are unfinished as of now.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

So far, Kagome's Power, Before You Came Back / Before I Came Back are tied as they are all super angst with a happy ending.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

None that I have seen thank you very much

9. Do you write smut? If so what kind?

Yes, none are posted though. I'm starting to explore this side of writing so look forward to smutty fics in the cards =D

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

I have a few crossover ideas, but none are written yet

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know? Please don't steal, it's free! There's no reason to steal!

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Again, I don't know. IF YOU TRANSLATE MY STUFF PLZ LET ME KNOW SO I CAN CRY HAPPY TEARS WITH YOU!

13. Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

I've collabed with artists, but never another writer. That'd be cool to do one day.

14. What’s your all-time favourite ship?

I'm InuKag trash and I shall not apologize

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

Look. LOOK. I'M GONNA FINISH IT OK? (it isn't even posted yet, I'm outlining it)

16. What are your writing strengths?

Character work and worldbuilding. These are the things I LOOOOOVEEE

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Fight scenes. WHY DO I LOVE SHOUNEN? WHY?

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I mean, I'm a Brazilian writer writing in english, so either write it in the language (and make it accurate if it's a real-world language so it's an easter egg for fans) if the point is that the pov character doesn't understand it, or just say it was said in said language if the pov character understands it.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Sailor Moon, Harry Potter and Inuyasha are tied for these, because I honestly can't remember what was my actual first fic

20. Favourite fic you’ve ever written?

So far, I LOOOVE Kagome's Power and reread it often.

Anyone can do this if they want, but I'm tagging @wind-on-the-panes, @razdazberry and @anisaanisa

#tag game #fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer #inuyasha fanfic #writeblr #writers of tumblr #brart #brartist #my writing #brwriter #naiveheart

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calaisreno · 3 years

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Time Travel, Johnlock Style

I’ve started another time travel story! Well, that isn’t good news for the rest of my unfinished WIPs, but it’s not as if I can stop myself. There’s nothing that is so much fun as confounding Reichenbach with a few paradoxes-- all leading to Johnlock, of course.

I’m taking the opportunity to offer up some of my favorite time-travel stories in the fandom and ask for your recommendations.

Rewind, by @khorazir / 47553 words. Post Season/Series 04; TFP does not exist. When Sherlock is six years old, he finds out that strange things happen when the mole on his neck is touched under certain circumstances: it switches him back in time. Over the years, he discovers both the advantages and disadvantages of being thus granted a way to relive certain events, to reconsider decisions and remedy mistakes – until an accidental touch sends him back to Barts morgue on 29th January 2010, thus undoing eight years of acquaintance with John Watson. Is this a most unfortunate incident, a curse, even? Or is it indeed a second chance to finally shape his relationship with John the way it should have been from the beginning?

Like all @khorazir stories, this one is beautifully written and plotted, and it has art as well! If you haven’t read it yet, you should!

Nothing Happened in Belarus by @discordantwords / 6589 words. Season/Series 01, Season/Series 04. Six years, give or take. And one night where nothing happened.

This is truly one of my favorite stories. I can’t even describe it without taking away some of the pleasure you will find in discovering it for yourself. Just read it.

A Winter Walk by @cathedralcarver / 3382 words. Post-Reichenbach. Time is the longest distance between two places.

Like almost every cathedral_carver story, this one makes me cry. Sherlock, returning from exile, runs into John from the future. Bittersweet, hopeful.

I’ve written two of my own:

Concurrence by @calaisreno / 70876 words. Episode s01e03 The Great Game. BBC Sherlock is sent back to 1880 by James Moriarty, for reasons that are not at first clear to Sherlock. There he meets Victorian John Watson. They fall in love, of course, and Sherlock promises to bring John back to 2010, where they will not need to hide their relationship, but something goes wrong and they are separated. While John is trying to navigate 2010 without his partner, Sherlock is learning what Moriarty is planning.

This was one of the first stories I posted on AO3, and still my favorite child (but don’t tell the others). It’s about to reach its third anniversary, and ready to hit the 400 milestone, so somebody go there and toss a kudo at it!

While You Were Dead by @calaisreno / 4210 words. Reichenbach Return. On a stormy night at the hospital, John gets a second chance to say something he regrets not saying. This is part of the Many Happy Returns series I wrote last year.

Marked for Later / Haven’t yet read:

tomorrow will dawn the same as today by @hudders-and-hiddles / 17169 words. Episode: s03e02 The Sign of Three. Groundhog Day AU. Sherlock wakes up on a grey London morning, alone. Tomorrow he'll do the same. Whatever he does, wherever he goes, however his night might end, tomorrow he'll do the same.

I love the movie and have had this one marked for a while.

The Case of the Moebius Trip by Bitenomnom. 129,218 words. Post-Reichenbach. When John finally gives in and accepts a case for the first time since Sherlock fell eight months ago, he finds himself in a unique position: in possession of what his client calls a time machine, and desperate enough to give it a go. If it works, he could travel back in time. If it works, he could save Sherlock.

Please share your favorite time travel stories, whether they are your own or written by someone else!

@totallysilvergirl @reveling-in-mayhem @thetimemoves @otterpuff11 @discordantwords @iamjustreading @missdeliadili @therealsaintscully @sussexinchelsea @jazzthecat00 @chinike @sgam76 @notjustamumj @sarahthecoat @shiplocks-of-love @sherlockwatson-holmesblog @loves-to-read-fanfic @fuxshakes @jobooksncoffee @iris-best-taken-in-small-doses @7-percent @mydogwatson @a-different-equation @finamour @pipmer @simplyclockwork @peanitbear @tildathings @shelleysprometheus @wintersnesting @scrub456 @yogaduck @junkenmetel @helloliriels @blogstandbygo @dianadragonfly @br00klynn2428 @keirgreeneyes @the-reading-lemon @copperplatebeech @annecumberbatch @loveismyrevolution @bluebellofbakerstreet @dangeles @bertytravelsfar @thegirlfromthesouth @macgyvershe @raina-at

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gas-station-trackphone · 4 years

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Fic Recs/Mandatory Reading for Reddie fans

Here is an incomplete list of some of my favorite Reddie fics on ao3, because i cannot get over the sheer talent of this fandom’s wonderful writers! A lot of these are the Greatest Hits that you’ll find on almost every fic list, but that’s why I consider them mandatory reading. like if you haven’t read some of these, what are you doing?

the years go by like days by georgiestauffenberg, rated M

the 27 years in between, but better because richie and eddie stay together. every time i think of this fic, i think of that lady gaga meme where she’s like “brilliant, incredible, amazing, show stopping, etc” and maybe it’s bc this is one of the first reddie fics i ever read, but this one is always gonna be my favorite

broken record by spunknbite, rated E

the mother of all time loop fics. every reddie veteran gets chills at the phrase “the house on Neibolt was still standing”

literally everything by stitchy

like seriously just clear a few days bc you’re not gonna want to stop reading this author once you start. no other author has made me literally fucking cackle in one paragraph and sob in the next like this one, pls do yourself a favor and devour all their works like i did

the night we met (take me back) by camerasparring, rated E

ch2 fix-it where eddie shows up at richie’s door alive and with no memory. great slow burn with a wonderfully conflicted richie, 10/10

let’s hear it for my baby! series by cloudings, rated E

OOOOOOOHHH boy! a modern teen!reddie grindr AU that’s both steamy AND sweet?? more like a fucking blessing amen hallelujah

a heart that laughter has made sweet by marjaani, rated E

another lovely teen!reddie fic that’s got it all! sweet, stupid boys, humor, a teeny bit of angst, and some 5-alarm fire smut with some top eddie, as a treat

keep talking. i’ll keep walking toward the sound of your voice. by theappleppielifestyle, rated T

angst with a happy ending is my favorite, and this one is just fantastic. so sweet, so sad! and stan is featured as eddie’s afterlife buddy and idk about y’all but i cannot get enough of stanley uris in my reddie fics. read this, then read all this author’s reddie fics, they’re all amazing

collateral by loosecannon, sheepknitssweater, rated E

a post-ch2 fic that i guess could be classified as fix-it, BUT with some very interesting twists. they beat the clown, everyone lives, but no one really gets the tropey happy ending. the WIP sequel is also incredible and i live for the updates.

the greater fool series by mischiefmanager, mostly rated T with some E

this is a series i’ll reread a lot bc it’s so fucking good. follows young reddie into early adulthood, mostly a bunch of cute shit where they figure out themselves and their relationship. also contains the single best teen reddie fic in existence, he came in through the window, but reading the whole series is a must

brokeback derry and everything else by Amuly, rated E

27 years in between, richie and eddie reconnect in their 20s and meet back up in derry twice a year to remember and love each other before going back to their lives and forgetting. so much pain. there’s a lot of sweet stuff in there, but you can see shit’s gonna get complicated from miles away and the anticipation almost gave me stomach ulcers (in a good way). ultimate angst with a happy ending.

let me name the stars for you by playedwright, rated M

speaking of angst with a happy ending...Martian AU!!!!! this one fucked me up in the best way, i literally called my roommate at 2am to vent to her about my emotions after reading it. i go back and reread chapter 8 just to be overwhelmed by it, and it makes me cry every time. plus, there are awesome sequels/companion pieces in the series! read this, i beg you!

walk through fire for you by hyruling, rated T

unwind after all that angst with some cute, drunk, confused eddie being very upset when he finds out richie is engaged. richie only teases him a little before pointing out the matching ring on eddie’s finger.

in the heat of the summer (you're so different from the rest) by kaboomslang, rated E

post-ch2 slow burn with tags that really say it all, including but not limited to: eddie moves to california and richie is a mess, Eddie Kaspbrak’s Hot Girl Summer, and cute middle aged man dates

pivotal moments by danfanciesphil, polypocket, rated E

high school reddie has a sort of fwb thing goin on, but emotions get in the way. featuring wonderful bevchie friendship, hella miscommunication, cute double dates, high eddie, and a happy ending

like a bullet in the back by jerry_duty, rated M

adult idiots in love! a personal favorite trope of mine! slow burn with a fair helping of angst but a really great ending. richie stays with eddie in new york while he’s there on business, and it takes these losers SO LONG to figure it out but the way they dance around it is very cute

no sense of living without aim [WIP] by liesmyth, rated E

richie and eddie meet on grindr in the 27 years between and hey, whadda ya know, they fall in love! i really love this fic but i’m pretty sure it’s been abandoned. i’ve had it open on my phone browser for like 3 months with no update but i still check it regularly bc i’m pathetic and this fic is just so good i’m DYING to know what happens next so read at ur own risk

a strange sense of familiarity [WIP] by Katranga, rated E

another “they meet and fall in love without remembering” fic, and even though it’s not complete yet, it gets regular updates. oh, also, i’m obsessed with it. they’re long distance fuck buddies who can’t admit they’re in love, and then they get hit with the childhood memories! and everyone lives! what’s not to love! also PLEASE read kisses take like mint and every other reddie work by this author, they are all fantastic

adult friends by sudowoodo, rated T

AU where adult reddie meet at a first aid seminar for work (immediately fall in love), become friends, become best friends, and finally get to be happy. has some super repressed eddie and intensely pining richie, which is always fun, and genuinely made me laugh out loud. also please check out this author’s other reddie fics, there’s some super sweet kid reddie in there that really warms the heart

the mind's a funny fruit by joldiego, rated T

eddie wakes up barely alive in derry, has 0 memory, calls himself richie, and moves in with some lesbians. an absolute must read that ought to be on every reddie fic rec compilation. i read this a long time ago and just thinking about it makes me want to read it again.

now what i'm gonna say may sound indelicate [WIP] by IfItHollers, rated E

it took me entirely too long to find this fic since i joined the fandom, and it’s truly a fucking masterpiece. it’s almost at 200k now and still unfinished, and the slow burn is excruciating, but this is a legendary fic for a reason. eddie spends the first chunk of this fic in the hospital recovering from the massive chest wound, and then he and richie move the recovery to ben’s cabin in the woods. the author’s notes for each chapter are a story in themselves

signs of a new lifetime by swordfishtrombones, rated T

one of the sweetest, most romantic reddie fics i’ve ever read. a fresh take on a classic concept: post-ch2, they’re in love, they haven’t said/done anything about it yet, BUT!!! it’s not angsty! they are all cute and giggly like “you say it first!” “no, you say it first!” and it makes me fucking MELT

broadcasting tower by swordfishtrombones, rated E

back-to-back recs from the same author! bc i love these fics so much! sort of similar to the last one in that they both know what’s up and just haven’t said it, but this one’s got the angst! i didn’t know when i read it that it was the same author as the other fic, and i thought how funny, i found another reddie author that perfectly captures this pair in such a wonderfully romantic way! i also just noticed there’s a follow up to this so now i have to go read that immediately

eurydice; the original comeback kid by Vulcanodon, rated M

for the love of god please read this and the other work in this series. it’s a ch-2 fix-it with some intense action sequences and major pining, and it has haunted me since i first read it

love on the telephone by tempestbreak, rated E

okay this one is really just 30k of pure smut but it’s also so sweet and features a mini sexual awakening for eddie and some insecure richie with an emphasis on how much they love and trust each other. also it doesn’t hurt that the smut is fire, like does anyone else want that twink obliterated, or is it just me?

the boy who loves you by candlejill, rated E

eddie lives, richie confesses, things are chill and then they’re not. richie’s career flourishes, which is always nice to read and is what ultimately catalyzes eddie’s gay awakening and realization of his love for richie. it’s got some sad angsty parts and a very sweet ending, and it up there as one of my favorite reddie fics of all time

richie and eddie break up [WIP] by skeilig, rated M

a refreshing and realistic take on life ch-2 for the losers, because being in love at thirteen doesn’t mean you can fall into a perfect relationship at 40. i’ll admit, i’m hoping this will ultimately be a “richie and eddie get back together” fic, but it’s still a very good read (and often very funny in the second chapter) at the moment in the midst of their break up

september 1989 and everything else by pineapplecrushface, rated T

cute kid reddie figuring it out and making me smile. the follow up to this and the after derry series by this author are also personal favorites

go west by ssstrychnine, rated T

road trip fic! an absolute work of art slow burn with teen reddie in the 90s. it’s so beautifully written i just wish i could go back and read it for the first time again

the edification of eddie kaspbrak by tozier, rated M

character study with some incredible fucking prose, my lord it gorgeous. explores how eddie learns about love as he grows up, and it’s super fucking sad sometimes bc the poor boy doesn’t know how to have the things he wants and i just want to give him a hug, but it’s really a spectacular fic

circular motion by sinchronicity, rated M

soulmate!AU that follows book canon and even though it’s been a long time since i’ve read it and the details are fuzzy, i remember absolutely loving it and thinking it was incredible

tell me you know by RichiesToesHurt, rated E

college losers with some severely pining and jealous richie with a lovely ending

predicament bondage [WIP] by dgalerab, rated E

i resisted reading this fic for so long, recently broke and binged all of it, and now i’m like frothing at the mouth for updates. richie’s a closeted actor/comedian who meets eddie, a professional Dom, when he needs help researching a role. they become friends, they develop crushes, richie realizes he’s a sub, and it’s just so much fun to read

there’s a lot more fics to rec so i might add on to this in the future, but in the meantime my biggest tip for for reading fanfiction that took me embarrassingly long to figure out: focus on the authors! if you read something you like, check out the rest of the work by that author bc odds are you’ll like that too. i mentioned it in a few specific works above, but check out the authors catalogues for these fics. if i included every work by these authors that i loved, this list would be miles long

feel free to add on any great stuff i missed, there’s sure to be tons of it!

#reddie #reddie fanfiction #fic rec #IT movie #it stephen king #losers club #these are mostly just my ao3 bookmarks #there's more in my ao3 if you want to check me out: lilypond3

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majoraop · 3 years

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The following one shot is loosely based on @jemichi90‘s fanfic “The Ruins of a Man” (it’s still unfinished but really good). I’ve had the wip of this short story sitting around for a while, and I finally decided to finish writing it since it was perfect for the “twist ending” prompt on my card for the One Piece Bingo hosted by @op-pirate-fleet . ^^

White Nightmare

Law was walking down a wooded path, white all around him like in a fairy tale. The trees were white, the city in the distance was white, even the sky was white—until it started turning a gentle shade of orange while the sun descended on the horizon. The white landscape shimmered when the night finally covered everything with its large protective mantle. The lights from the homes where families were reuniting to have dinner together reassured him, a comforting feeling of familiarity even as he kept walking alone on his lonely path. Where am I? Law only wondered about that after an undefined time. Had he been walking alone for days? Months? Years? Yet, he didn’t feel hungry or tired. He was accustomed to the whiteness, even if his brown complexion standing against the rest of the scenery made him feel somewhat naked. Slowly, though, he started changing: it was just small white spots at first; then, they grew larger and became splotches of fragile skin. What is happening to me? He kept walking, but his disease made him weak. He felt cold. He felt scared. The whiteness around him did not feel pure and beautiful anymore, but dangerous and cruel. Why am I alone? Suddenly, the whiteness around him became snow: freezing, fierce, extending as far as his squinting eyes could see. The lush forest became a barren land with scarce scrawny trees. The warm wind became a chilling breeze as the night howled with the snowstorm. Where is the city with its lights? Where are the people? Law dragged his feet, tired, aching more and more with each step he took. He wanted to sleep, but he knew that sleeping would mean not waking up anymore. The temperature was too low to stop, his disease too severe to ignore, but he didn’t have anyone to ask for help. So, he just kept walking. The landscape had disappeared, and the storm was so intense that he could only see the snow before him on the ground. Then, that same snow turned red. Blood. The snowstorm stopped at once, and Law looked up. He couldn’t see them, but he knew that strings were enclosing the sky, the land, everything around him. Trapped on a freezing island with no hope of getting away, Law felt the sharp threads getting closer, slowly but unstoppable. There was no way to cut them, to stop that giant birdcage from ensnarling him. He felt like he was suffocating and gasped to force air down into his lungs. It was so cold that he didn’t feel anything anymore other than pain as his skin slowly flaked off. Once his body turned completely white, he knew his end was near and couldn’t do anything about it. But I can still fight. Law’s body changed the moment that thought sparkled in his mind: he became taller, stronger, but his skin looked as pallid as before. He ignored it, together with the pain still accompanying him, and stared up at his enemy: Donquixote Doflamingo. For some reason, he knew his name. However, he did not know who he was and from where he came. But Law understood that he had to kill him if he wanted the cage to disappear. “I love you.” The moment Law remembered those words, his complexion reversed back to its natural darker colour. He felt energy returning to his limbs: his disease was no more. When he turned to look around and find who or what had made that magic, though, he screamed. Next to him on the stained snow was lying a man. The same man who gave me back my life—and my heart. Law recalled everything: Corazon, no, Cora-san, had given up his life to save him. And he also remembered his benefactor’s actual name: Donquixote Rocinante—Doflamingo’s brother. Law rushed to his side, falling on his knees in the puddle of melted snow and warm blood, and searched for a pulse. It was weak, but it was still there. Don’t die, Cora-san! Don’t die!!! A silent prayer crossed Law’s mind as he stood up again and drew his sword. He then leapt ahead in a final attempt to change destiny. Kikoku, the nodachi that had appeared in his hands when he had turned into an adult, clashed against Doflamingo’s invisible strings. He could fight back now: he wasn’t a sick child anymore. Then, the scenery around him changed again. Now, they weren’t on the snowy island of his memories but inside a dark dungeon unknown to him. Law jumped back to put some space between him and his enemy and stopped briefly to study the new surroundings. That place reeking of stale air looked like a prison. Large stones made its walls and ceiling, but he couldn't see its floor clearly since snow covered it. That recurring lack of colour haunted Law. When he noticed bloodstains, though, he wished he could go back to the aseptic whiteness of before. Fear gripped his heart as if a hand was squeezing it. He looked around, and his worries were confirmed when he saw Cora’s unconscious frame lying on the ground. The man’s chest heaved slightly. He’s still breathing! Law remembered that he was a surgeon—a doctor. He could help Cora-san! He needed to hurry and defeat Doflamingo for good. Then, he would be able to heal his saviour and to leave that place together with him. “Fufufu! So full of yourself that you think you can look away while fighting me?” For the first time, Law heard his enemy talking. His voice felt as familiar as Cora’s silence and as sharp as the strings that tried to capture him in a deadly web. Doflamingo mocking him made Law focus on the battle, and he sparred with him some more. He was fast enough to keep up with Doflamingo’s swift attacks, but he was getting tired. Again, he felt the merciless coldness of the snow and the despair clutching at his throat. Again, he felt as helpless as a child. I can’t give up! Law scolded himself, but his vision was already blurring. This time around, he couldn’t block his enemy’s attack. He screamed when the strings cut his flesh, blood spraying from the deep wounds in a red cloud around him. Incapacitated, he felt his body tossed around until it clashed against more invisible threads that cut his skin some more. The cage is still here! Law felt the strings around his arms and legs relenting just slightly, but he didn’t let that opportunity go to waste. He tried to get up and away from his enemy—until he could get his sword back at least: he was willing to fight to the death if that meant he had even the smallest chance to save Cora. However, no matter how much he tried to get up, he remained perfectly still. The “Parasite”. Doflamingo had rooted his strings deeply into Law and controlled his every movement—or lack of thereof. Law felt disgusted to be a puppet under his opponent's cruel smirk. Doflamingo imperceptibly twitched his fingers, suddenly pulling Law’s arms behind his back. After the first moment of shock, Law screamed. Doflamingo moved his fingers again, and the pain of his dislocated arms became so overwhelming that Law could only pant as tears filled his visions. He tried to turn his head to look at Cora one last time, but he couldn’t even do that simple movement. “Where are you looking?” Doflamingo chuckled as he prepared to impale Law with more strings to finish him off. “You’ll die here, and I’ll take Corazon with me.” “Nooo!” Law heard himself crying out, but it was like seeing the scene from outside his body. He saw blood covering his arms and chest, tears flowing down his face. He hated to see himself like that. Please, stop! A mute plea, but he still despised himself for begging before his enemy. At that point, though, he just wanted not to suffer anymore. Maybe, after dying, he would return to that peaceful white place of before. Cora-san may even be there...he must be there! As Law’s consciousness started slipping away, something warm touched his shoulder gently. He opened his eyes again and didn’t see his tortured body trapped in Doflamingo’s strings anymore. His enemy had disappeared, too, and so had the cold dungeon and the snow. When Law realised Cora-san had also vanished, he started panicking. Soon, though, he recalled everything. His heart sunk, but he knew that sadness already and had learned to live with it long ago. Law slowly turned his face around and saw Bepo’s paw on his shoulder and the bear's kind smile. Penguin and Shachi were there, too, and they looked like they were fighting the urge to hug him. Law tried to smile at them but didn't know how much of that showed on his face. He knew his life would never be easy and that he lost more than what he believed he would be able to withstand. Nevertheless, maybe there was still a shimmer of hope. Maybe, I won’t be alone ever again. The empty whiteness and pitch-black dungeon had crumbled together with the birdcage. Now, I’m free.

#opbingo2020 #onepiece #one piece #trafalgar law #trafalgar d water law #law #opfanfic #opfanfiction #majoraop #long post #blood tw #torture tw #(If I need to add more tags please let me know! Any comment would be appreciated—and feel free to point out typos or errors if you find any!#queued

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the-13th-battalion · 3 years

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12, 24, and 44 for the fic writer asks if you want :))) (also if you’re bored just message me and we can talk about whatever because I am also bored) ❤️❤️❤️

Ahhh thank you!!! <3 :)) From these asks:

12. Your favorite work?

Oh my gosh... my latest favorite is Constant, but overall, my favorite is Hold Onto Me. I never thought I'd say that! I hated it when I posted it. I was really down on myself about my writing and I felt isolated from everyone, including people I knew physically. That's when I started getting to know many of you, and my whole perspective changed! I read Hold Onto Me sometimes and I never find anything I'd change about it :) I've written a few for the A:TLA fandom also and I gotta say, The Warmth of My Heart fits in the favorite catergory also :)))

24. How many unfinished works are in your drafts?

Skdksksk just on AO3 and my computer orrrr in my brain also??? Lol ok technically I have one unposted AO3 draft, however, I have 23 more Zygerria fics for febuwhump in my brain (yup I have them planned!!), I have an undetermined amount of drafts in my head for fics in my Anakin as a Jedi Healer AU, and then I have a couple random Obitine and post-TPM fics floating around my head. So uhhh... probably 50+ lol!

44. Share a snippet of your current WIP?

Oh my gosh ok ok so this should be illegal, but I got this image so clearly in my head for day TWENTY HECKIN FIVE and I just had to write it before I lost the clarity... why can't I write in order lol??? My stupid brain! I might just have to go bonkers with the order here in a bit because I'm so scattered! ANYWAY here's a snippet of the Zygerria/Kadavo Chronicles Day 25 Prompt "Car (speeder?? ship??) Accident":

Ahsoka peered around the corner. Sure enough, there was Anakin, on his back and half under the ship. She rubbed her forehead and fortified her mental shields as his frustration and anger pulsed out into the Force with renewed vigor.

She watched his foot tap on the grass, his anxiety manifesting in the rapid, repetitive movement. She wished she could calm his frayed nerves, but the moment she lost focus on her shields, his presence cascaded into hers and overwhelmed her already aching head.

I could help him if only he'd let me.

Metal groaned and creaked from the ship's underbelly. Anakin grunted and muttered a string of Huttese curses. Ahsoka tiptoed towards him a few steps. Her heart longed to lay down beside him and help him sort out the cause, but his protective and stubborn nature prevented that.

In a different time, she would have rolled her eyes. Now, she hardly even knew how to address him, let alone how to interact with him.

Stupid. He's your best friend, your big brother. Treat him like you always do. Nothing's changed.

But something has changed, a sinister voice whispered in the back of her head. The word "master" hung at the edge. She lifted her hand to her mouth and chewed on her nail.

The metal groaned again, then cracked. Anakin stilled. Ahsoka held her breath.

Anakin breathed deeply through his nose. In one fluid, rapid motion, he pushed himself out from under the ship and got to his feet. His eyes blazed. He tossed the tool he had been using into the brush around them.

"FUCK!" he screamed, followed by more Huttese. At last, he sank to the ground. He set his elbows on his knees, shoved his fingers in his hair, and pulled at it.

Tears filled Ahsoka's eyes. She blinked them away as approached Anakin, her feet moving automatically. As she got closer, she heard him mumbling, "I can't do this, I can't do this, I can't..."

She sat down beside him, keeping a small distance between them. She looked at him with wide eyes. "Master" hung on her lips. She hated how poisonous it sounded to her.

Anakin briefly lifted his head. He took his hands out of his hair. Tears of his own shone in his eyes. "I'm sorry, 'Soka. I-I didn't know you were there. I shouldn't...I shouldn't talk like that."

"It's okay," Ahsoka replied, forcing a smile.

"No, it's not okay!" Anakin gestured wildly, his tears slipping down his cheeks, "I can't fix this damn ship! I can't get you home safely, I can't get to Rex and Obi-Wan, I can't even get us off this kriffing planet!"

He stared at the middle distance and barely suppressed a sob. He clenched his hands into fists. After a moment, he looked at her again. He tore off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. "Kriff, I hate that outfit. You've got to be so uncomfortable. I'm so sorry."

She put her arms into the sleeves and hugged herself. She didn't take her eyes off of him. She watched him crumble, pieces breaking off and shattering on the ground, one by one. A million different sentences sprang to her tongue, a million different words with a million different variations. How could any of them tell him what I want to say?

Ahsoka touched his arm. "Anakin..."

They locked eyes. Gradually, they lowered their shields and let the onslaught of paingrieffear I'msorry I'mhereforyou flood their bond.

Then all at once, they launched themselves at each other and tangled in a tight embrace. They trembled and wept in each other's arms until their tears were spent and the tension eased. Around them, the Force glowed and sang not of pain, but of peace.

that's not a snippet that's a whole fic OOPS I GOT REALLY EXCITED AND POSTED EVERYTHING I HAVE FOR THIS FIC UHHHH HNGGGG MELANIE YOU'RE THE BEST AND YOU DESERVE THIS!!! And if anyone else is here reading this far, I LOVE YOU TOO *crying*

#I got so carried away #ha #ANYWAY #it's late I should be in bed #skdkskdks #Melanie you're the sweetest #i hope you enjoy this :')

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orestesdreams-pyladesloves · 4 years

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What fics did you read that totally changed how you thought about certain canon/characters????

oh gosh, friend, here’s where my terrible memory comes into play, I’m going to completely disappoint you by not having anything super Specific to point to.

I guess as of late, when I first started watching The Untamed, I didn’t really place much stock into the internal motivations of Lan Xichen? And then I read a few character study fics about him and all the sudden I really felt my perception of him did such a disservice to his character? I might have a few of those hanging around on my Untamed Fic Recs page if you just search either ‘character study’ or ‘lan xichen.’

I know with Les Mis, it was less about canon, but rather how fics shaped the way I viewed the characters? Here, I do have something specific: talk revolution to me, baby. This collection of fics was my first foray into like the Modern Amis world back in like 2013 and definitely was formative in how I first thought about Modern AUs and what not in terms of Les Amis. I’ve definitely distanced myself from that since then, but I still remember those fics fondly.

What content I was mainly referring to in my tags are not from Current fandoms like TUD or Les Mis, but ones like uhhh Glee and Teen Wolf.

I don’t want to talk too much about Glee because I don’t know if I could do it without like,,, Crying, but Teen Wolf specifically the fics made me realize, oh fuck, these creators don’t know what the fuck they’re doing with their characters. I mean, there’s plenty of media where you run into the creators doing their characters dirty and fic writers come in to save the day. But I cannot overstate how emotionally invested I was into Teen Wolf. There are so many fics that I read that just completely whacked me upside the head with ways to think and interact with the characters from that show and gave me a deeper understanding of them (probably deeper than the creators even intended. bleh). I know some of them are on my Teen Wolf Fic Recs page,, but I’m certain that most of them aren’t.

In general though, there’s definitely fics out there in a myriad of fandoms that I can point to and be like that’s my canon, anything else can leave. Or moments in fics where I’m like,, yes this is now part of that character no matter what universe they’re in, like this is an integral part of their personality random fact from an unfinished WIP.

*shrug* fanfiction is Powerful and I thank the fic writers every day for giving me Much to think about all the time

#ask #anonymous #this has unlocked Forbidden memories about fandoms i've been in and fics i've read oh no #Anonymous

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bookbrd · 5 years

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11/11/11 tag

Thanks @ for the tag! The 11/11/11 tag is where you answer 11 questions, tag 11 people and give them 11 of your own questions. Let's dive in!

1. What’s your favourite place to write

I usually write on my bed, all my pillows stacked behind me and all my blankets around me (I am always cold). Although now it's way too hot for blankets 😂

2. Which character(s) from your wip(s) is your favourite?

Ahh that's difficult. I think I'll go with Will, the protagonist of my contemporary WIP, but that's partly because he's the most developed of them all. Although I recently had some great ideas for Daphne, one of Will's roommates which makes me very excited to develop her further.

3. What are some inspirations for your wip(s)?

My Cursed Islands WIP was originally inspired by the manga/anime One Piece. It really ignited my love for pirates and it really made me want to create my own crew of misfits.

For The Price of a Smile, it was nothing that directly inspired it. It flowed almost naturally from my own experiences at university. I wanted to write about finding your passion like I found mine, but I also wanted to show that sometimes that doesn't happen right off the bat and it can take some wrong turns before you find the right one.

4. How did you start writing?

I had some other story ideas floating around in my head and I just started to flesh them out one day. Some of those combined into my Cursed Islands WIP.

5. Which of your ocs is most difficult to write?

I struggle most with Ben, another one of Will's roommates, because I want him to be a jock type and it's difficult not to make him super cringy 😂

6. What aesthetic do you associate with your wip(s)?

That's difficult to describe haha, let me try.

For Cursed Islands I guess it would be rustling sails, the distant cry of seagulls, some people arguing in the distance and your captain yelling at them to shut up. It's the salty taste of freedom and the wonder of what's possibly out there beyond the horizon.

For The Price of a Smile it's late night chats enjoying the summer night, it's drinking games with new friends, realising you had more in common than you thought. It's lingering touches and looking into their eyes, feeling more like yourself with them than with anyone else.

7. Do you like planning?

I love planning. I literally don't function properly without it. From a young age I've always had to write things down, either in a planner or just on my hand because I'd forget everything. So the same goes for my writing, if I don't write it down somewhere, I'll definitely forget it. Also I've learned the hard way that if I start writing without at least a basic outline, I'll get stuck and I'll quit, that's what happened after I tried to semi-pants NaNo in 2018 with my Cursed Islands WIP. The only thing I learned from that is thst I want to completely rework that plot lmao.

8. What is your favourite quote from your wip(s)?

I really wouldn't dare to delve back into that mess that was the unfinished first draft of Cursed Islands and I haven't started writing Price of a Smile yet so unfortunately I don't have any yet!

9. Do you like to listen to music while you write?

I have a playlist for both my WIPS that I listen to while plotting, but for actual writing I can only listen to music without lyrics. So I listen to classic music or lo-fi music or sometimes I just to ambient sounds to get me in the mold for a particular scene.

10. What do you like most about your own writing?

Erm.. Not much at the moment, since it's been a while since I've properly written. I'm sure that once I start writing some scenes I'll fall back in love.

11. What are/were/would be your ocs favourite subjects in school?

Price of a smile

Will: history, but if he could have taken it it would have been art (his father wouldn't let him).

Alex: science

Cursed islands

Lucan: economics

Layla: geography

Maya: biology

Isaac: science

Olyvia: PE

Alright here are my 11 questions for you!

1. Which of your character do you relate to most?

2. What program do you use to write?

3. What time of day do your write best?

4. Do you have any writing rituals?

5. What are your character's favourite foods?

6. If you could write any AU for your wip(s), what would you choose and why?

7. What do your characters want most in life?

8. What are your wip(s) comp titles? (similar books in your genre)

9. Sort your characters into Hogwarts houses, go!

10. If you're stuck, what do you do to get unstuck?

11. What books would you recommend to your characters?

Okay so I'll tag @tricksexual @holotones, @alessia-writes @writingrailroad, @milestogobeforeiwrite and everyone who sees this can consider themselves tagged as well! I'd love to get to know more about your wips!

Plus if you're (not) okay with being tagged, pls let me know <3

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public-domain-carbonite-man-blog · 6 years

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Unfinished piece #1

Just a little something I started about 6 months ago, then picked up again a couple weeks back, which would explain the slightly conflicting tone about halfway through. Anyhoo, I’m starting this thing off with some of my WIP bits n bobs, as I’m working on something bigger right now that I’d rather save for later. Anyhoo, hope ya’ll enjoy.

From a distance, you can never see death approaching, at least, not in the form you'd expect. That's how it is for me right now anway. Quite literally. I know death's here, but he escapes my sight. He could be anywhere in the crowd of revellers around me. He could be the overweight man in the stained grey vest, with the wide brimmed hat, he could be the mid thirties woman with the grey jumper, dancing out of time with the pounding music. Ah. I see him. He's dancing like the others, and he's dressed like the others, he laughs and sings out of tune like the others, but his eyes give him away. I remember that from my two previous encounters with him, his eyes. No matter the form he takes, the personality of his character, the manner of his visage, his eyes remain the same. I don't mean physically, no. He can change the way they look, the colour, the width, all that. He's death incarnate, his budget covers that. It's the way they feel. It's difficult to put into words, to paint a mental picture of how his gaze feels, but I'll try. You know when you're lying awake, but drifting off to sleep slowly, and there's a sudden jerk and you're awake, heart pumping? It's like that. That feeling of leaning too far back in a chair, and suddenly you're falling into an infinite abyss? It's something along those lines. Ever get that itching sensation after seeing something unnerving, that crawling on the skin? Feels like that too. Every discomfort, every uncomfortable sensation, every moment spent drenched in post-nightmare sweat, hit you like a wave of adrenaline as his eyes meet your own. Then it's gone, in an instant. He's a professional, he doesn't stare. It's a game he plays, he likes to think he's sneaking up on his victims, and usually, he does, they don't see him until it's too late to run, and even then, they don't recognise him for what he is, and they're gone in the barest blink of an eye. But he forgets that I, too, have been playing this game for a very long time. I see the signs, the warnings, the messages that warn of his coming. I play the game, just like him, and so far, I've been a little better, always staying a couple of steps ahead. Today is the closest he's ever gotten to me. Keeping him in my sight, I begin working my way through the jovial crowd, shouldering drunks aside, pushing back the heaving tide of joyous intoxiation. I see him slowly weave his way towards me as I do so, dancing, not even looking at me. He's good. He's getting closer, somehow people miss bumping into him by barest of inches, and he moves through the crowd effortlessly, as I struggle and shove my own path through. He's gaining on me, too fast. As I push forward, I search for an escape, I need something faster. There. A sturdy looking flag pole, the colours of the parade flying atop it. I scramble my way between a dancing couple, stretching out my right hand to the pole, gripping it, then pulling the rest of my body free of the crowd, gripping with my other hand, I hop, lock my legs around it, and work my way upwards. I twist my neck to peer below my at the parade, I can see him, my hunter, glance at me, for the briefest of instants, bewliderment and amusement on his gaunt features. Let him smirk. I'll find a way out of this. Sure enough, as I near the top, I notice that one of the building nearby has a balcony at around the same height that I'm currently at on the flag pole. Looks a bit far, but screw it, how long can I hang on to this thing anyway. I arrange myself to leap, reaching up and gripping the top of the pole, brace my feet against the pole to jump, let go with my hands, lean towards the balcony, and push. For a brief moment, I'm flying. Then I hit the side of the balcony, too low, but my fingers grip with desperation to the lower lip of it, and I feel the jagged edge cut into my finger tips. I heave, feeling the burn on my upper body and shoulders, and I roll over the top, collapsing in a heap on the other side. I spare no time, dragging myself to my feet, stopping only briefly to consider the closed sliding glass doors leading into the house, before slamming into them with my shoulder, bursting into the house in a shower of glass, welcomed by a blaring alarm. I rush for the stairs, straight ahead of me on the landing, feet pounding on the bare wooden floorboards. As I reach the top of the stairs, I'm greeted with an all too familiar face. Death. He grins up at me, leaning against the banister, chunky cigar gripped between the chapped lips, baseball cap low, the shadow obscuring his eyes, the eyes that I avoid. "Well, fuckin' hell, fancy seein' you here" His voice is cool, like running water, it flows and ebbs, soothing yet slightly melancholic. "Hey" I murmur, slightly breathless. He takes the cigar from between his teeth, holds it front of his face in his long pale fingers, inspects it, drops it on the lower steps, exhales a cloud of smoke. "So, how you been anyway? Kids good? Wife still rocking the hippy look?" His smile is almost remorseful as he looks up the staircase at me. "What do you want?" I ask. Futile. I know exactly what he wants. "To catch up, for old times sake" "No thanks, my memories of the old times aren't the greatest" He takes the cap off, scratches his head, ruffling the messy cut brown hair. "Look man, we all did fucked up shit back there, don't try to pretend you didn't, you were one of us, you loved it" "No." My voice comes out hoarse, as if I've been crying. "I may have done the same things as you, but I was never one of you. I never enjoyed it. Never." The laugh that forces it's way out of his throat is cool and sweet, the laugh of an innocent young man, though he is nothing of the sort. "You can lie to yourself all you want, you can tell that shit to your wife, to your kids, you can tell your fucking dog for all I care, but don't you ever, ever, dare look me in the eye and tell me you didn't enjoy it. Because I was with you, every second of the way, I know you." I shake my head with fervour. "You always thought you did, no matter what I told you, but you never listened. You don't know me. I only did those things to stay alive, you and the others carried on doing them for fun." "It was more than fun. It was orgasmic. I'm fucking done trying to convince you of yourself." Even as the last sylablle left his mouth, his right hand flicked up at me, the cap whirling towards my eyes. No damage could be caused there, but as I caught the cap with my left hand, a brief second or so of distraction, he was at the top of the stairs before I could drop it. He opens with a rough right hook, going straight for the side of my jaw. I bring up my left hand, cap still clenched in the fist, and catch the crook of his elbow with my forearm, countering the inevitable uppercut from his other hand with my leg with a crack of knuckle against knee cap. With my right I thrust an open palm at his exposed right shoulder, and he has no choice but to lean back to avoid having his shoulder dislocated, and I follow up with a sudden headbutt, catching his cheek. His back foot waves in empty air at the top of the stairs, and I push with my whole body, knocking him down them. He hits the weak wall at the bottom and smashes into the plasterboard with a snarl. I give him no respite, and take the stairs in two bounds, leaping on the second to fly feet first at him, landing both feet straight into the center of his chest, slamming us both through the wall. In a torrent of dust, crumbling mortar and plaster board we both roll into the next house. He's up first, dust covering his bright hawaiin style floral shirt, and he lunges at me with a knife hand at my neck. I twist and it grazes below my earlobe, drawing a thin line of blood, and his hand over reaches. I catch it with my right hand, bending it over my chest backwards, before pushing my left forearm into it with. With a crack it gives way and bends at an unnatural angle. He grunts and rams a flat palm into the back of my head with his other hand, rattling my teeth and blurring my vision, before pulling his other hand out of my briefly lax grip. I roll and stand, head swimming, then turn to face him, both arms up, fists clenched in front of my face. He takes hold of his broken wrist and pushes it back into place with a crunch of cartalige, skin twisting and pulling in unsettling directions as the jagged bone pulls at it from beneath the surface. Somehow this seems to work, and he rotates his now-functional wrist with a giggle. "Still got a few tricks up my sleeve, eh?" I don't waste time replying, but launch a salvo of hooks and uppercuts at him, brawler style, trying to get a feel for his seemingly healed wrist as I do. He blocks one of my punches with the left hand, and I see a slight flinch on his face. Not fully healed then. I concentrate some of my efforts on the wrist, aiming for the forearm and hand. He yelps slightly as I catch him a solid punch to the back of his wrist, and in panic he grabs at it with his other hand, earning himself a hook to the lower jaw, and as he head rocks to one side, I catch it with my right fist, straight into the cheek. His head swings the other way, and as he brings it back round, I give him a solid one dead center on his nose, cracking the bridge and forcing the front upwards in a welter of blood. He makes no sounds his head snaps backwards, a spray of blood spurting from his damaged nose, only brings his right hand up into a defensive position, his left held lower, behind it. There's a cold rage in those killer's eyes now, I've hurt him and he's feeling it. I go for a low kick, and as I do I see a glint of something swinging from above me, a knife, somehow having made it's way into his hand, jabbing towards my face. I throw up both hands in an X over my face, and the blade stabs straight through my right palm, scraping on my cheek. I twist my hand away despite the pain, in an attempt to pull the weapon from his grip. No such luck, it slides from my hand and he readies for another stab. This time though, I'm ready, I catch it, blade first, with my left hand, bring his right arm down and to the left, before twisting my whole body in towards him, bringing my right elbow into the side of his face. My elbow connects with a solid thump, slamming his head to the side, and I continue pushing, stretching my arm past his face, before twisting my entire self around behind him, pushing his neck backwards, wrapping my arm around his neck, with my hand behind his skull. Then he's gone. Without a sound, without a trace of him being there. I flail, grasping at empty air, stagger a little, breathing hard. I whip my head around, eyes scanning the room, this is something new, something I've not seen before. He's changing the rules again, it seems. I wait for what seems to be an eternity, holding the defensive stance in the middle of the dust covered room. Eventually I convince myself he's gone. I must've hurt him in some way, though I don't believe it. I've seen him impaled straight through the chest with a fucking telephone pole, and it only took him several minutes to drag it out of him and heal the gaping hole in him. Baffling. Ah, I guess I should explain myself a little here, whilst there's a brief respite. I'm not used to having any sort of audience to my pondering, and I'm fairly certain very little of this makes sense. It's all to do with rules, see. Legality. That good shit. The fine print we never bother to read. Turns out the fine print has the potential to save your life, or at least change it in ways otherwise unconsidered by the average Joe. You might've heard the old tale, or one of several variants, about the old man cheating death, with a game of chess, or draughts, or the exceptionally modern re-telling, with ol' Grimmy being thrashed at Top Trumps. It's something a lot of people seem to forget about, but it's actually totally legal for anyone to challenge Death, or whoever's on shift that day, to a game of their choosing, winner takes all, high stakes and all that. In my case, I went for the classic; chess. As luck would have it, my name was picked out of the great hat of those-who-are-to-die-soon by a trainee. Third shift without supervision, apparently, I almost felt bad for doing it. Almost. The day that was to be my last was fairly uneventful, average 9-5 at work, quick ready meal, a comfortable evening Netflix and chillin' with my stalwart pals; me, myself, and I. At 7:36, a knock on the door. More of a nervous tap really, reminicisent of a non-comittal Jehovah's Witness, not really wanting you to answer the door, but having to keep up appearances. Anyway, as it happens, I'd only just finished a particularly gigglesome episode of Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency, so I decided to show my goodwill by answering the door. I swing the door open with a tad more gusto than necessary, tear my face in two with a grin, and greet the intruder. "Hello! How ya'll doing this absolutely fine evening?" I drawl. Standing before me, in all the grease, sweat, and disgustingly pre-pubescant bum fluff that could physically be mustered and forced into one physical space, is Death Himself, in the form of a mid-teenage pizza delivery boy. Blooshot eyes peer at me from under a bright red, logo emblazoned cap. The eyes blink slowly. They regard me again. "Yes, um, hi, I just wanted to pop by, no, I just wanted to come round, to let you know. Ah. Hmmm." He pauses, drags his eyelids up and down at glacial pace again. Opens his mouth again. "Uh, if you'd kindly, invite me inside, we can discuss, the um, the matter with privacy, I hope you do understand." As I'm about to speak, I see a lock of blonde hair slide it's way from under the red cap. Slim fingers tuck it back under, and come away slick with grease. "Hmmmm, I'm not sure I understand, I didn't order any pizza?" I phrase it like a question, I recall it being uttered a questioning tone, though I could be wrong. "Uh, no. No, you didn't, did you." He stutters a tad more, pulls out a chunky, out-dated phone, glances briefly at the screen, mutters "Aw shit. Shit. Shit." quietly, before returning his nervous gaze to me. "According to section 3, paragraph, uh, paragraph 7, I can use, ah, physical force in order to coerce you into, hmm, into, ah, co-operation. Please understand, it's my job." I feel my eyebrows raise of their own accordance. "Is this some kind of shitty practical joke? Did the kids from downstairs put you to this?" The pizza kid's expression flickers, and in the instant before it returns to it's previous manner, I see something. Something cold, distant, monolithic, something truly terrifying in his gaze. Then it's gone, and he's bringing out a fucking baton from his back pocket, an extendable metal baton, with a leather wrist strap. He holds the weapon in front of him with considerable discomfort. Back then I was no fighter, but even I could take a weedy kid with a metal stick. The joke, if that's what it was, had quickly gotten old. "Are you being fucking serious, kid? Put that thing away and piss all the way off home, before I ram the damn thing so far up your ass you'll be able to scratch the roof of you mouth with it by nodding." An unwieldy threat, I admit, but spoken with real conviction. Doesn't deter the kid though, who lunges at me slightly awkwardly, his gangly limbs jutting at awkward angles. I twist aside from the thusting baton, turning so my back is to the kid, grabbing his baton wrist with my right hand. With my left, I swing an elbow back, clocking the boy on the side of his head, swaying him heavily. He wrenches the his arm from my grasp with a surprising strength and takes a step away as I turn to face him. "Please sir, this is serious, if I have to use lethal force to achieve today's quota, I won't hesitate." Quota? What is this kid on? I don't waste any time on words, simply stepping right up into the kid's face, taking his baton swing directly on my left forearm with a crunch of metal on bone, and give him a heartfelt uppercut. The connection is solid, his head snaps back, the impact shudders it's way up my arm. I don't give him time to recover. Shove him roughly with both hands, center of his chest. He falls backwards, through my still open doorway, landing heavily on his back in the hallway. I hesistate, unsure of how far to take it, gaze fixated on his skinny frame as it drags itself up again. As he rises, the kid's cap falls off, along with the entirety of his hair, revealing smooth, pale skin covering the expanse of his cranium. Our eyes meet, and a horrendous jolt runs through my entire body, feels like goosebumps and an adrenaline rush, over in an instant. Odd.

#amwriting

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