#ride or die fanfic

[monaownsmyass]

Reunion

Book: Ride-or-Die (2)

Pairing: Mona x MC (Ellie Wheeler)

Genre: ANGST (and just some general fluff)

Rating: PG13, Mona has a colourful vocabulary

Word Count: 3,930

A/N: So since we now know what was supposed to happen in Book 2, I HAD to write Mona reuniting with MC again for the first time in 5 years. The idea of them seeing each other after so long, the tension, mhmm! Since I'm working with the bare bones, I'm only guessing how most of the plot was suppose to go down. So if there's any plot holes in my own story, just ignore it :3

I never thought I'd be posting a fic again. And yet, here I am, years later writing for Mona cuz we were ROBBED of Book 2. I feel like I've come full circle cuz my very first fic was for Mona and I'm pretty sure this is gonna be my last. At least for a while. The last fic I posted was the last time I think I properly wrote anything so forgive me if I'm rusty, but anything for my baby Mona <3 Lmk whatcha think of this fic!

Ellie stared unblinkingly at the still face looking back at her from the screen. Her jaw clenched as her mind raced. Five years, it's been five years since she had seen her, five years since she's heard anything about her and there she was. And tomorrow, if everything goes to plan, she'll be right in front of Ellie. She'll actually be there, with her in the same physical space and not the one she had shared with her in her mind over the past half decade.

Just the thought alone was enough to make Ellie want to throw up, either from excitement or nervousness or both, she wasn't sure. All she knew was that she had been imagining this moment constantly ever since she last saw her. Ellie always thought about what she would say, what she would do, but she could never quite figure out what that would be. And for the longest time, she thought it wouldn't matter. She thought she would never see her again.

Until now, that is.

Ellie inhaled deeply and let out a shaky breath, trying to get her thoughts in order. But she never seemed to be able to whenever she looked into those sly brown eyes and at that infuriating smirk on that gorgeous face. It was no different now, apparently.

She slammed her laptop shut. She'll worry about it when she's there.

~.~

Ellie was hyperaware of everything around her. The heat emanating from her coffee into her palms, the espresso machine whirring, the music in the background, the grains of the wooden table.

Suddenly, she heard the shop doorbell ring and her heart fell to her stomach.

She just knew.

Ellie didn't turn to look, she just couldn't bear the weight of it. Instead, she heard, she felt.

She heard the familiar footsteps of boots walking towards her that awoke distant memories. She felt her eyes shut on its own accord. She heard a soft sound of curiosity coming from where the footsteps had stopped. She felt her heart drumming so hard in her chest, she could hear it in her ears. She felt a presence looming over her. She heard a hand slap against the metal backing of the chair across from her.

And then nothing.

Ellie slowly opened her eyes and gulped. When did her throat get so dry?

The first thing she saw was a perfectly manicured hand gripping the chair in front of her that lead up to a familiar fully tattooed arm. She forced her gaze upwards, finding it exceedingly difficult, feeling as if she was fighting against an invisible force, as if the more she dare to look up, the more her own eyes were denying her.

She took in the other hand resting against the waistband of dark pants. She noticed a black tank top covered by a black leather jacket and the way the necklaces worn rested against it. Her breath hitched and her heart stopped when her gaze finally met the one of the woman she had been dreaming of for 5 years now.

And goddamn, was she just as stunning as Ellie had remembered, even more so maybe.

"Mona," she softly breath out as if she was hoping it was true. The name sounded foreign yet familiar against her lips. Oh, how she had missed saying that name.

There Mona was, a hand on her hip and the other propping herself up by the chair, a brow raised and the corner of her lips quirked upwards, as if fighting a smile back. Her pretty brown eyes gazed down deeply into Ellie's and Ellie felt as if she was losing an unspoken uphill battle.

"Well, well, well," Mona whispered and Ellie nearly laughed in relief at being able to listen to her voice again. It was surreal. "If it isn't Ellie fucking Wheeler. Hello, princess."

~.~

The entire situation was so overwhelming for Ellie, she didn't know what to do with herself. She was between a constant push and pull state of fidgety and paralyzed. It was like a dream and a nightmare come true and Ellie wasn't even sure if she wanted to be woken up if it was one.

But it wasn't, and Ellie still wasn't sure what she'd say or do now that she was face to face with the woman that had been haunting her thoughts since she met her.

Ellie took in Mona who was now sitting opposite her. She was leaned back with her arms crossed and her lips pursed. Everything about her posture would suggest to Ellie that Mona was being standoffish. The only thing that was making her second guess herself were those damn eyes. Mona made no effort to hide the fact that her eyes were blatantly flickering up and down Ellie's form. They finally settled back on Ellie's and she swore she saw Mona's gaze soften just the tiniest bit. Ellie had no clue if she was assessing her as well or checking her out.

Despite her many psychology classes on body language and facial expressions, she still couldn't read Mona. She never had been able to. It was something that Ellie had appreciated every now and then, she liked that Mona kept her on her toes. But now wasn't one of those times.

"I didn't think you'd come," Ellie blurted out and finally broke the silence, not being able to stand the way Mona was looking at her anymore.

Mona cocked an eyebrow at her and shrugged a little. "It's not everyday I get a letter from a girl I took a bullet for 5 years ago. Had to see for myself." Ellie had no idea how to respond but she didn't need to because almost immediately after, Mona leaned in forward and glowered at her. "How did you find me?"

Mona was so near, Ellie could smell her perfume and she'd be lying if she said it didn't make her a bit heady. Ellie leaned back into her chair, feeling the need to put some space between the two of them. She saw the corners of Mona's lips twitch in a flash as she did.

Unlike Ellie, Mona always could've read Ellie very much easily, probably even a bit too easily.

Ellie shut her eyes tight, trying to think of an easy, gentle way to break the news to Mona. There was no easy, gentle way.

"Look, Mona," she sighed and looked up at her. "I was hoping to warm you up a little before I jump into it but since you asked...," Ellie drifted off and paused for a moment to try and figure out the best way to phrase her next sentence. "I'm working with the FBI and I need your help."

Just as Ellie had predicted, Mona was mad. Her hands gripped the armrests of her chair and leaned in even closer to Ellie, her eyes wide in disbelief.

"What the fuck, Ellie?!" Mona whispered angrily, her voice low. "If you're working with the cops, then you know that I fucking broke out of prison, right? You're basically leading them back to me!"

"Mona, listen," Ellie leaned forward and placed a hand on Mona's, not knowing how else to reassure her. It was a mistake, Ellie's breath hitched being so close to her. Both their eyes flickered down at their hands before meeting each other's again. Mona jaw unclenched just the slightest bit and didn't pull away so Ellie continued. "They agreed to clear your remaining offenses and even your criminal record if you cooperate with them."

Mona finally pulled her hand away and she folded her arms again, leaning back into her seat. Ellie leaned back as well, thankful for a way out. She knew she was on the verge of doing something stupid.

Mona considered what Ellie had told her. "What makes you think I want that? If you're working for the pigs you'd know that I'm still involved."

"I'm working with them, not for them," Ellie corrected. "And from what rumors I heard, your current situation is more of a necessity than a want, it's transactional."

Ellie looked at Mona expectantly. If she was honest, she was hoping Mona would fill in the gaps for her because that was all she knew. She hadn't gotten any details. Instead, Mona asked, "Why are you working with them, anyway?"

"There's a heist crew that Logan was in that obtained list of important informants and the FBI thinks I can help 'cuz I have ties with him."

"And where do I fit into this?" Mona questioned, unamused.

"Your current... involvement... appears to have connections to them, so we need your help to gather intel," Ellie put it plainly, no point sugarcoating it and wrapping it up in a pretty bow, especially since she knew Mona would appreciate the directness more.

"Hm," Mona squinted at Ellie and Ellie tried her best to maintain composure which was proving to be very hard in Mona's presence. "Very bold of you to assume I'd risk my neck by going behind the backs of one of the most dangerous crime families just to helps out a bunch of cops. Very stupid, but very bold too. I'm not sure if I'm impressed or disappointed."

Ellie couldn't help but grin. It was the most Mona-like thing she had said and just for a little while, it felt like old times. She decided to push her luck a little further. "Can you... is it okay if you explain to me why you're with them?"

Mona glared at Ellie and then let out a huff, running her fingers through her hair, clearly frustrated. Ellie just watched in silence, unsure what to make of it.

"After all this time and you still can make me want to talk, it's embarrassing," she mumbled and Ellie had to strain to listen to her. Ellie felt her heartbeat start to pick up again at Mona's words. "I'll make it quick. Escaped prison, cops chased, crime family protect, work for them, safe from cops." She gestured with her hand lazily, explaining with complete disinterest as if she's told this story a million times which was ironic since this was probably the first time she told this to anyone.

"Well, think about it this way," Ellie had offered in response after taking some time to ponder. "If you help the FBI, you'll help bust them and clear your offenses, which means you'll be free, Mona."

Ellie could practically see the gears turning in Mona's head, or more like, she could practically see her weighing out the pros and cons on a scale. Mona's eyes flitted from staring at her table up to meet Ellie's and Ellie forced herself not too look away, daring to challenge Mona to accept her offer.

Mona sighed and unfolded her arms to gesture with her hands. "It's a very tempting offer, believe me."

"But?"

"But there's a reason they're the biggest crime family," Mona said in a hushed yet hurried tone. "If they haven't gotten caught for this long, I doubt me throwing a wrench in their plans and schemes would do jackshit!"

Mona was frustrated, but Ellie could tell it was more so about her situation than at Ellie which kept Ellie at least a little calm for now.

"Not to mention, law enforcement fucking sucks, I don't exactly trust them to catch every single member."

Mona's eyebrows furrowed and her lips were set in a displeased line, the wrinkles at the corners of her mouth prominent with her scowling. Ellie found herself missing it.

"I know, I know you're not their biggest fan and I know what I'm asking of you-"

"NO!" Mona slammed her palm against the table, not loud enough to attract unwanted attention but that didn't stop Ellie from jumping in her seat at her sudden outburst. "I don't think you realise exactly what you're asking me to do, princess," she spat out the nickname venomously and Ellie fought hard not to flinch.

"Mona-"

"Listen, I took a bullet for you, I went to fucking prison for you. You get in touch with me again after all this years only to ask me to die for you." Mona paused and closed her eyes, exhaling slowly. Ellie watched in silence for a moment, her heart beating a mile a minute in realisation.

"You're right, I didn't think of it like that, I'm sorry." Mona snorted but Ellie continued. "But that's not the only reason I wanted to get in touch with you, I promise."

Mona opened her eyes and looked at Ellie. Ellie could sense she was trying to read her expression, decide if she was being sincere. She was.

It was quiet for a moment.

Mona crossed her legs at the knees and leaned forward. Ellie could see the anger in her expression dissipate into subtle smugness. Mona whispered, "What's the other reason then?"

There it was. Ellie knew Mona knew just from the slight pull of her upper lip and the way she was gazing at her with such intent. Over the past 5 years, Ellie had so much she wanted to say to Mona. Far too much to condense into a one sentence answer, but she tried anyway by saying, "I missed you, Mona."

"After all this time, and you still haven't learnt to save yourself." Mona let out a short, soft chuckle and shook her head. She stood up and tugged at the collars of her jacket, fixing it before shoving her hands in her pockets and turning around.

"Where are you going?" Ellie stood up in alarm, dumbfounded by Mona's actions.

Mona turned to face Ellie again, shrugging slightly. "I have to go, I came here on borrowed time."

"Will you consider it? At least?" Ellie was pleading at this point, but mostly because she knew if Mona said no, this would be the last time she saw her. She was very desperate for it to not be.

"I'll find you," Mona said and started to walk away again.

Ellie sighed softly, relieved that she's got Mona's word that she'll at least hear from her. But Ellie couldn't help herself, she had to ask, she had to know.

"Did you miss me?"

Mona stopped and and turned her head to the side to quickly glance at Ellie at the corner of her eye over her shoulder. She faced head on again and exhaled, as if the question itself exhausted her.

"I haven't learnt either. If I did, I wouldn't be here."

Mona walked away and left Ellie standing there speechless, mind and heart racing.

~~TIME CUT~~

Ellie looked around cautiously as she walked down the dingy back alley. Only a singular, dim streetlamp illuminated the street. Every small sound or movement caused Ellie to whip her head around in it's direction.

Leave it to Mona to pick the most unsavoury, suspicious place at the darkest hour of the night to want to meet up.

All of a sudden, she spotted a car headed in her direction. The headlights so bright, it temporarily blinded Ellie. She would've ran if she didn't catch a glimpse of the familiar purple of the car in the midst of being rendered sightless.

The car stopped right beside her and the door popped open to reveal Mona looking expectedly at her.

"Well, c'mon, get in."

"Mona! You still have your car?"

She rolled her eyes. "Questions later, get in now."

Ellie silently obeyed. As soon as she slammed the door shut, Mona sped off, leaving Ellie clumsily grabbling for her seatbelt. She managed to click it into place before turning to Mona who had a smirk on her face.

Mona looked at ease as always behind the wheel. Leaned back in her seat with one hand on the steering and the other on the shift stick, Mona was definitely in her element. And definitely looked hotter driving than Ellie remembered.

"Not used to the speed anymore, princess?"

"It's been a while," Ellie reminded and looked out the passenger's window, watching the buildings whip past them. "Some things never change though."

Mona drove in silence, not even humming along to the hip-hop music she had playing on the radio. Ellie cleared her throat and decided to speak up. "So, are you accepting the offer?"

"We'll talk later." Mona looked at Ellie briefly before averting her eyes back on the road.

Ellie looked around outside, roughly recognising their surroundings but not exactly being able to place her finger on it.

"Mona, where are we going?"

"You don't remember?" Mona quirked an eyebrow at her as they pull into an open area where a bunch of cars were parked. A video was projected onto a huge display screen right at the front. Ellie's eyes lit up in realisation.

"The drive-in theatre! The one we came to with Mercy Park Crew!"

"The one and only," Mona confirmed as she put her car into park and pulled the hand break up. "Literally."

She pulled the lever of her chair and leaned so far back, she was almost laying down. She raised both hands behind her head and stared at the projection in front of them.

Bewildered at Mona, Ellie's brows furrowed in confusion as she looked at her. "What are you doing? What are we doing?"

"We're watching a movie, duh," Mona replied as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Mona was being difficult, Ellie had enough experience with her to at least know that. And lucky for her, she also had enough experience to know how to annoy Mona into talking.

Mustering up the most gushy and enthusiastic voice she could, she said, "Aww, Monaaaa!" Ellie grabbed Mona's knee and Mona looked at her, with both brows raised, clearly confused and maybe even looking a little weirded out by her sudden change in tone. "If you wanted to take me on a date you could've just said so!"

"Pft! A date?" Mona sputtered, taken aback. "You wish, princess."

"What is it then? Are you feeling sentimental?" Ellie cooed and Mona lightly slapped her hand away, the one that was on her knee.

"Hah! Definitely not."

"It's okay if you are, it's actually so cute of you."

Mona gasped and sat up straight as if it was the most offensive thing to mankind.

"I am not cute," she glared at Ellie and Ellie fought hard to hide her bubbling laughter.

"Then what is it?"

"Fine!" Mona threw her hands up in defeat. "I just wanted to relax before we got down to business but since this is so much more stressful let's just talk now." Mona leaned back against her seat and motioned Ellie to copy her seat position.

Ellie smiled to herself as she adjusted her seat lever. "Why are we leaning back?"

"'Cuz it's less suspicious. Also it's more comfortable."

"So," Ellie turned to face Mona. "Why are we here?"

"Because, we needed a private place to talk in public at 9 p.m. and this was what I thought of. They have eyes and ears everywhere, this is the safest bet." Mona looked at Ellie. "I need to know the exact terms of this agreement before I give my answer."

"Yes, yes, of course," Ellie replied eagerly, hopefully that Mona was considering the offer.

"I will be exempted for all my crimes, correct?"

"Yes."

"And my record will be a clean slate?"

Ellie nodded.

"The leak must be anonymous, the gang won't know the mole was me. And I don't want the FBI to be tailing my every move either."

"Okay, that can be done."

"While working with them, I want the FBI's word that I'm under their protection and I get full immunity. I know it'll get messy. I need all of it in writing."

Ellie saw a flicker of emotions pass Mona's face. They both knew how dangerous this proposition was for Mona. Ellie gentle placed her hand on Mona's thigh and Mona stiffen at the soft contact, not daring to even look at it.

"I'll be with you the whole way, Mona. I promise, I-"

"Don't," Mona interrupted, sounding pained almost. "How many times must I tell you. We don't do promises, we don't do loyalty. It's each man for themselves, if you need to run, you run."

Ellie was quiet, letting out a shaky breath and squeezing Mona's thigh. Mona finally looked down at the contact and winced as if she was hurt, as if she could tell what Ellie was going to say next.

"And yet, you're still here."

Mona stared deep into Ellie's eyes, her gaze so intense it was hypnotising.

"I'll do it," Mona said softly. "I'm in."

Relief washed over her. Ellie smiled a little a nodded. As she did, a strand of hair came loose and fell in her face. As if on reflex, Mona's hand came up to brush the hair away, tucking it behind Ellie's ear. The gentle touch of Mona's fingers against her face made her sigh in contentment. Ellie had missed Mona's touch so much, she thought she could cry. It felt like an oasis after years of being parched.

Ellie thought Mona would pull her hand away, but she didn't. Instead, she let it rest on Ellie's cheek. Mona's warm hand cupped Ellie's cheek and Ellie leaned into it. She closed her eyes, reveling in the comfort and familiarity of it after 5 years. She moved her hand that was resting on Mona's thigh up her wrist, holding Mona's hand there, afraid Mona will move, afraid of missing the contact. But she didn't move. Instead, she whispered her name.

"Ellie."

Ellie's name coming out of Mona's mouth sounded so intimate, so precious. Ellie opened her eyes and her heart skipped a beat when she saw Mona staring back at her. She had never seen Mona look at her like that before. She looked soft, conflicted, as if she was fighting back. Ellie's lips parted and she noticed Mona's gaze look down at her mouth.

"Mona."

Ellie breathe her name out slowly, a praise, a hope, a gift. Silently wishing Mona would do what she'd been dreaming of for the past half decade. She was so close to getting what she wanted- no, what she needed. The touch, the gaze, the shallow breathes, it was all too much to handle. Ellie was ready to burst out of her skin, it was all too overwhelming.

"Fuck," Mona cursed, her resolve crumbling. She leaned into Ellie while pulling her closer as well. Their lips met halfway in a gasp and Ellie arms immediately wrapped around Mona's neck, her fingers playing with the baby hair on the nape of her neck. Mona moved her free arm around Ellie's waist and securely held her close.

Ellie could help but whimper at how good it felt to be in Mona's arms again, to be kissing her and holding her and savouring her. She had waited years to be able to do this again and it was beyond what she had hoped. She had forgotten how good Mona felt, she almost laughed at how she ever wondered why no one else could make her feel even a fraction of what Mona did. How could they when Mona made her feel like this.

Their lips moved in tandem and their grips on each other tightened. Even though Ellie had been waiting for so long for this, it was hard to believe any time had even passed between them with how in sync they were with each other.

Mona moaned softly into Ellie's mouth when she grabbed Mona's hair in her fist. Mona reluctantly pulled away and rested her forehead against Ellie's. Their hold on each other never ceasing as they tried to catch their breath.

Ellie felt delirious, she thought she would ascend at any moment. Mona softly brushed her thumb against her cheek. Ellie hummed softly at the touch and turned just the slightest bit to kiss the palm of Mona's hand. Mona sighed.

"I can't believe I'm still here."

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[missameliep]

From lovers to strangers (Colt Kaneko x MC)

Book: Ride or Day (post canon)

Pairing: Colt Kaneko x Ellie Wheeler (MC) (past relationship)

Rating: Teen and Up (the swearing, kissing)

Word count: 3,4k

A/N: this is my submission to the first @choicesprompts : August 15th - August 31, the prompt is in bold. I hope I made it on time!

Forgive any mistakes, there was no editing this time, and it's been a really long time since I wrote for Colt.

The cool wind pushes my hair back as I walk along the familiar path, every step taking me deeper into the past. It’s been years since I’ve been here; everything is different.

Everything is the same.

I’m not paying attention to the present as I walk, I’m too lost in memories of long ago. That’s why I don’t notice the person walking towards me until I hear a familiar voice call my name.

I freeze. It can’t be. What are the odds?

I lift my head as my eyes dart wildly around before finally landing on a face I’d recognize anywhere, even now.

“It’s you.”

The late afternoon sun cast its light over us and our long shadows on the ground almost touch, but we do not. The gap between us is larger than the few feet that keeps us apart. An entire Grand Canyon separate us.

Swaggering in my direction, sporting a worn leather jacket that looks almost the same, he eyes me with curiousity until stopping a few feet away from me.

His voice echoes, filling the distance.

“Who else?”

I am not offended by the tone nor the insinuation that my previous statement was stupid. He is right. Who else but he could be here in this place and know my name?

I am surprised nevertheless.

His jet-black hair is longer and dances with the wind. The black mass of hair moves away revealing a fresh cut over his eyebrow that will leave another small scar on his beautiful face. Some of those scars were not there when we met, reminding me that time has not stopped since the evening we said our goodbyes.

It didn’t stop for me – though sometimes it stretched endlessly in my attempts to convince myself I was in the right path, pursuing the right dreams – and it certainly didn’t stop for him.

Nearly a decade went by.

Nothing remains the same.

Neither of us is the same.

Over the years, whenever I came to visit my father, I avoided places I could run into him, which was easier than I first assumed. Even the times I met with Ximena and Toby. Just picked a different club, a different crowd. It’s a big city. We could both be here at LA at the same time and oblivious about the other, coexisting in different universes, moving on and never meeting. No matter how much, deep deep deep down I wished we would meet.

This time, however, when I booked my flight, I picked one earlier than necessary, giving me two entire free days before my three-day lecture at UCLA.

I wanted to come here.

It was an unexplainable urge that possessed me ever since Roger found that box in the closet. It was like opening a faded pink Pandora’s box.

Instead of all the evils, the box contained one too large Black Sabbath t-shirt, a silly cactus that used to be in my car, a couple of instant pictures and that old phone. After so long, I was amazed it still worked, keeping pictures and messages alive from a different version of me. Little tokens and treasures in the palm of my hand. Too many memories came rushing back from a part of my life that I have tried to bury deep inside.

I didn’t say a word to Roger about the Mercy Park Crew, gangs or heists. I called it all garbage and lied about throwing that stuff away.

Ever since that day, I wanted to see the garage and visit this place. A walk down memory lane was not enough. I needed an entire tour to the past to remind myself of that rush of energy and life. I considered taking a jump off this cliffside and dive into the ocean even if it’s no longer summer and I’m not a rebellious eighteen-year-old anymore, looking for adventure and trying to prove myself.

Maybe I would find what I have lost.

Maybe I would find something to help me close this chapter of my life before moving to the next one. A chapter I don’t feel ready for. Maybe I’m just getting cold feet. People say that happens often, right?

I didn’t expect that he would be here. Not in person at least. I didn’t expect to see him so soon. Or at all. But he is right there in front of me. If I just reach out, I can touch him. Though I won’t.

My mouth opened in spite of being emptied of words and then closed.

Expectantly, he stared at me.

I know not what to say. Maybe I should leave. That is the wise choice. But I don’t turn around.

As if he was one of the samples in the lab, I study him. His unsmiling face and enygmatic eyes. My gaze roams further down. Like black tendrils crawling beneath the edge of his white t-shirt to the side of his neck, there are pieces of a tattoo I have never seen. Does he have as many tattoos as his father once had? Is it because of him? I wonder what is drawn in his skin, if they symbolize victories or losses, and how far the needle touched it. I wonder if his pains are etched in his skin as mine are in my heart.

“Why you’re staring like I’m some fucking ghost, Ellie?”

“Sorry, Colt.” Saying his name after so long is bitter and liberating at once, like removing a foreign body that has been stuck in your throat all too long. “I was not expecting to see you...”

A smirk curls the corner of his mouth, and he’s that nineteen year old boy again, the twinkling in his eyes while thinking about a clever comeback.

“Then you shouldn’t come to my spot...”

There is humour in his quip, undeniably, and something that edges irritation. Is it Colt being Colt or did he want me to be looking for him?

I don’t let myself linger in that thought. I shouldn’t presume anything or expect to be able to read him now.

I force myself to break eye contact and smile towards the cliff, answering with a joke of my own like I used to, “The garage must be doing good if it bought you the sea coast...”

He snorts with laughter, and I dare throw a glance at him over my shoulder. There’s only amusement in his expression now.

“I told you. Someday I was gonna rule this city. One cliff at a time.”

“Solid investment.”

We share a quick laugh, almost too intimate.

I tuck a lock of hair behind my ear, and his eyes accompany the motion with undivided interest. A shiver runs down my spine but I tell him the same protocolar thing I do whenever I meet some colleague or student and I feel wary on how to carry on a conversation.

“You look good.”

His lips are drawn inside his mouth in that familiar way before relaxing into a small smile that still makes my heart accelerate.

“Thanks.” The corner of his lip and an eyebrow raise at me. “Are you fishing for compliments?”

“I have a mirror, so I don’t need to fish for compliments...” I mimicked his dull tone and his eyes widened for a fraction of a second, before his expression returned to the usual resting bitch face.

“No ulterior motives?”

“Do I need one?” I snort and stare him down. “I'm just making conversation...”

A gush of wind blows our hair and pulls his jacket back. I bow, lowering my gaze to the ground to protect my eyes and his shadow has earned a pair of black wings ready to fly over the Pacific ocean. Like the myth.

As he zips up the jacket, the wings are gone.

I don't share this thought, but the tragic Icarus remains in my mind. Too young, too eager, too close to the sun. But for a fraction of his life, he flew. How many of us can say the same?

Colt glances at the ocean and back at my face, studying me. It’s so similar to the way he did the night we met. I wonder what he sees now. Would he tell me again I don’t belong here? Or that I am trying too hard? He wouldn’t be wrong.

“You're obviously hot...” his voice comes almost like a whisper, gently carried by the wind, “but the best parts of you were not your looks...”

My entire face warms with a rush of blood. I am not easily flattered, I know how attractive and accomplished I am, but his words somehow hit me differently and he knows it.

His gaze lowers in appreciation. Soon, however, the smile disappears when his eyes narrow staring at the diamond ring in my finger.

There is no use in hiding it now, but I do it anyway, shoving my hands deep in my coat pockets.

“Do you still dive?”

His gaze quickly return to mine and he waits a beat before answering my question.

“Sometimes...” His lips roll inside his mouth. “So, is that why you’re here?”

“Maybe...”

“Are you looking for company or a nudge? I can push you.”

“Always so helpful...”

“I am a helpful guy.” He takes a step forward, edging me and the cliff, and wiggles his brows. “Just say the word.”

“It’s too cold. And the sea looks rather unfriendly. I’ll probably have cramps and drown...”

He tsks me and I throw him an inquisitive glance.

“None of that would ever stop you...”

“What can I say? I am much wiser now.”

“Did the East turn you into an old boring wimpy?”

“I’m older, not old.” I cross my arms in front of my chest and look at him in defiance. “I am no longer young and stupid.”

“You were rarely stupid.”

“Thanks.” I emphatically roll my eyes and take a step back. He follows, still keeping the distance.

We both look at the ocean in silence. The roar of the waves reminding me of the dangers bellow.

“You regret?”

“What?”

“Things...”

“Wow. Could you be any more vague?” I laugh and play with my hair, curling a lock around my fingers over and over. He tries to look cool, but the way his eyes don’t waver from my face indicate eagerness for an answer.

“A fashion intervention was totally necessary back then.”

“Can’t disagree with that,” he snorted with laughter.

“Jerk.”

“Don’t come at me for agreeing with you!”

I don’t hold the laugh.

“What about the rest?”

“There are no do-overs,” I shrugg, looking back at him, “so, what’s the point? The past is not a place we can live, right?”

I try to come as nonchalant, and if he suspects I am not entire honest about it, he doesn’t say anything.

“Are you back?”

My negative comes in a shake of head.

I take a deep breath, letting the salty misty fill my lungs. The sun is slowly descending towards the ocean, painting the sky in orange shades.

“I missed this...”

“What?”

“Everything. The sunset. The ocean.”

“I heard there’s an entire ocean on the other side... Just take the I-95.”

“I already did that... It’s nice.” I lift my hands and deftly braid my hair to avoid it from getting into my face and mouth as the wind blows stronger. “It’s actually conveniently close. Beautiful sunsets. No jams. Unlike here. But...”

When I stop talking, he kicks a small rock and it falls over the cliff. I kick one too, while dancing around what we don’t talk about.

“You miss it here.”

A lump forms in my throat and I don’t trust my voice, so I nod.

He nods too and his hair falls to his face for a moment.

This is the complete opposite of what I imagined meeting Colt would be like. There are no passionate kisses nor angry shouting and fingers pointing at each other’s faces.

Years ago I desired meeting him face to face with all my heart. First in a naive and hopeful way, as if it was possible to resume what we had, ignoring that we lived in different worlds.

With each passing week without news from him, that earlier feeling turned bitter. Resentful, even. I wondered why he never reached out. How could he forget me that quickly, while I still loved him? Many times I wanted to march into the restored garage and shout that question to his face. Why did I expect that he would not forget me?

I hated myself more than I hated him for being so naive. I spiralled into self-loathing and cheap booze before focusing on the one thing I was ever good at: studying.

He moves, protecting his eyes with a hand from the dust blown by the wind, and deliberately gets closer as if about to say something. Perhaps changing his mind halfway through it, he simply shoves his hands inside his pockets and stares at the horizon.

In silence, I stand beside him.

The dusking sky is almost purple with splashes of orange and red and it is breathtaking.

I search my brain for anything else to say.

I don’t want to talk about the few but intense months we had. I don’t want to talk about the dreams and expectations that crumpled or the way I don’t fit in the roles expected from me. I don’t want to tell him I don’t know who I am or what I want anymore.

I silenced about those things to my therapist and my fiance, I will not disclose it to a stranger.

Stranger.

From lovers to strangers.

That is what we are now.

What is left to be said if you cannot say what truly matters? Do we talk about the weather or how horrible traffic is? Maybe something more controversial like what he thinks about the candidates running for Senate or what he makes of those guys who still believe in flat Earth?

I don’t want to talk about any of that either. I fear if I open my mouth now, the truths I have hidden inside me will spill like a broken dam.

Tears prickled at the back of my eyes. I press my tongue to my palate and blink them away. I force myself not to break, not to give in first.

I don’t want him to know how much I have missed him and ached for him and hated him and worked so hard to not think about him. Every unsaid word and broken promise consumed me. I once was a girl with love in my eyes but now I don’t have love nor hate for him, I am long past the hope and the anger. I don’t know what I have.

“Are you thinking about doing it?” he asked me quietly.

“Excuse me?”

“The jump.”

By his tone and the way he stares at me, I suspect he doesn’t mean the literal dive from the cliffside. Either way, I don't have an answer.

“I don’t know.”

“What’s stopping you?”

“What if I drown?”

“I wouldn’t let you...”

“Why should I trust you?”

“You shouldn’t. You should trust yourself. That’s the only thing we have in the end of the day, right?”

“Doesn’t it get lonely?”

“Only if you think about it...”

A blanket of purple and deep blue is covering the sky and I can barely make his face as the sun disappears into the ocean, taking the dive I won’t.

For a moment, Colt looks over his shoulder, distracted by the roar of a bike’s engine in the distance.

“What if it is not like I remember?”

“There is this Greek dude that wrote something like you can’t swim twice in the same river or some shit like that... Things change. It can be worse. It can be better. Who knows? But it won’t be the same anyway...”

“That is less encouraging than you think...”

“It was not supposed to be. You always knew better and never needed that kind of thing...”

“Who said I didn’t? Maybe I wasn’t as strong as you guys thought...”

“You are Ellie Wheeler. You take no shit from punk heads... Your students agree with that moto.” Colt elbowed me and I chuckled.

“How do you even know that?”

“Who says I know anything?”

I wrapped my arms, pulling my coat tighter around myself.

“What if I don’t want to jump?”

“Then you don’t.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

Years lying about acceptance and moving on crumple inside. It is Colt. I can’t help it. I feel. I feel so much. I am hit by feelings like the waves hitting the rocky shore. I crumple. I want to reach out. I want to know if I can have those feelings back, even if it will destroy me.

“Was that what you thought when you walked away from me?”

“I never walked away from you.”

“That’s bull and you know it.”

“I did what I had to do. Just like you.”

He tries to move away but I block his path.

“What do you mean?”

“We better not go there. You don’t live in the past, right?” he give me his back. “You need a ride?”

“I never moved on... from you.”

“Aren’t you engaged?”

I muttered a string of swearing against my fisted hand.

“I don’t know if I can do that. Any of that. I'm not like them.”

“You can.” He put a hand on my shoulder. “I saw you at Langston.”

“You did? When?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Tell me.”

“It was some presentation. You were doing good. Great actually, like your friend said you were... when you spoke to that packed auditorium, people were just eating in your hand... You were fucking brilliant, Ellie! I was so proud of you and I knew right there and then. I just had to step away and let you go on and live your life, do all that great stuff you’re destined to. Last week, I heard Ximena bragging about your lecture at UCLA and that you’re like this big shot and people come to hear you talk about this dope drug you created... She just talks about you even if she has no idea what this shit even is about... You inspire people, El.”

“Fuck you!” I pushed him and I felt the salty of my tears reach my lips. “How dare you? How dare you decide something that important without telling me?”

“Hey! What else was I supposed to do?”

“Stay. Talk to me. Anything. Just don’t make assumptions about me!”

“I am a criminal, El. I was on the run. I shouldn’t even be there!”

“You had my number... You knew where I lived... It didn’t have to be in the middle of campus.”

“I did for you. We can’t play dream house. You can’t introduce me to your colleagues or your financiers. I probably stole shit from them.”

The tears wouldn’t stop streaming down my face now, no matter how many times I brushed them. I wanted to be angry with him and shout. But I was sad. I could rationally understand what he said and why he did it. This was the closure I was looking for, then why doesn’t it feel like an ending?

Unexpectedly, his arms pulled me against his chest, and I buried my face in his neck.

“That hurt me so much...” I sobbed against his skin, and his hand stroked my back in a soothing motion. “I hated you. I hated me.”

Despite my resistance, I was pulled even closer, his arms impossibly tight around me.

“I love you. Always did. I just couldn’t be a fucking moron and drag you with me.”

When I managed to look up at his face, he was already looking down at me.

“I want to jump.”

“Now? Have you lost it? It’s too damn dark –”

When my lips touched his, it silenced him.

Colt was right.

It was not the same.

The kiss felt familiar and strangely new at once.

As our lips glided against the other’s and when our tongues finally met, it felt like riding a bike. Even if it wasn’t like that first time, the thrill from each ride and from moving faster and faster never failed to rush my heart. Just like being in this embrace.

His hand delved into my hair and he pulled me closer like I was the air he needed to breath. I got that. I finally felt like breathing again.

I touched his neck, letting the tips of my fingers trace the tattoo, making him shiver. His lips touched my neck, retuning the courtesy and shooing every coherent thought from my brain.

The world had submerged into darkness and the moon was over our heads when we parted breathless many minutes or hours later.

Who knows and who cares?

We made no promises and said nothing we could regret.

But as he held my hand and guided me to his bike, I knew I had made my choice.

I jumped.

We both did.

#choicesprompts #choices fanfic #ride or die fanfic #rod colt kaneko #colt kaneko x mc

[angelasscribbles]

Reunited Master List

Fandom: Ride or Die

Ellie tries to move on with her life. Logan can't stay away.

My other stuff: Master List.

Chapter 1: Not Him

Chapter 2: Reunited

Chapter 3: Reunited Part 2

Chapter 4: Logan

Chapter 5: Can’t Leave You (Logan)

Chapter 6: Together Again (Ellie)

#ride or die #logan x mc #ride or die choices #ride or die fanfic #angelasscribbles

[aces-and-angels]

Title: Just Try It (Vaughn ft. the Mercy Park Crew)

A/N: A forgotten fic found in the depths of my drafts- originally this was supposed to be for ROD week, but I never ended up posting it. Until now lol 

I have not seen a lot of Vaughn content since joining Tumblr. Maybe I’m not looking hard enough, or maybe this is the start of giving this side character the major love he deserves. Side characters create the perfect opportunity for crack!fics- and damn it, I want to create a crack!fic. Think of this as: if Ride or Die had a filler episode.

Rating: PG/PG-13 (Swearing)

Pairing(s): Colt x MC (implied)

Summary: Inspired by this article. Vaughn is in a culinary rut and needs to reignite his imagination. So, he calls up his favorite band of criminals to help him.

---

“Vaughn, you in there man? Are you hurt?” Logan frantically scanned his place for any signs of a break in. No broken windows- a good sign. He jiggled the doorknob. Locked. The eerie silence didn’t do any favors for his anxiety. He glanced down at the text that had him bolting out of the shop to his cousin’s apartment. 

Vaughn: HELP- need you here ASAP. 

“Wait a minute,” Logan yanked his wrist free, “you’re not being murdered?!”

His head snapped up at the sound of the door opening. “Thank God, you’re here!” Vaughn pulled him inside and shut the door. “We have a shit load to do. Sooner we start, the better.” Logan was dragged into the kitchen where he saw piles of grocery bags filling up all the counter space. Annoyed, he gave his very unharmed cousin a glare.

“Why would you think I was being murdered?” He shoved his phone in Vaughn's face. He squinted as he read the small text on the screen. “That message was accurate. I regret none of those words.”

“Vaughn, there’s an entire gang out currently hunting my ass down. The hell was I supposed to think?”

“Look, I’m sorry. But I’m fine, see?“ He twisted his harms, "No stab wounds, I can walk, and I still look incredible.” Logan’s lip twitched upwards, the worry fading away from his body.

“You’re a six at best,” he teased, chuckling at his cousin gasping in mock-offense. “So, what’s with all the food?” He got a better look of his kitchen island. Pickles, blueberries, sesame seeds. “And what the hell are you trying to make?”

“I’m in a rut man,” Vaughn sighed, ignoring his question. “I haven’t come up with any new dishes for the truck in weeks and customers are starting to notice.”

“Is it really that bad?” 

“Yes it’s really that bad,” he echoed, “now call up the rest of the dream team. We’ve got work to do.”

---

One quick text to the group chat later, the rest of the crew arrived and were sat in front of a table full of questionable looking dishes 

“Why did I come here?” Colt groaned, wishing he hadn’t followed Ellie.

Mona poked at a bowl of ice cream topped with diced pickles. “Full offense, V, I think these combos are going to put you out of business.” 

“We came because Vaughn needs our help,” she squeezed his hand underneath the table, partly to lift his spirits, mostly to make sure he didn’t run out the door. 

“You haven’t even tried anything yet,” he whined, setting down another one of his creations on the table, “look at Toby. Now that looks like a satisfied customer.” The group whirled their heads around to see him scarfing down a steak smothered in blueberry jam.  

“Wha-?” he asked, mouth full of food, “’s free.” 

Colt rolled his eyes, stabbing his fork into a green apple slice smothered in salsa. He took a deep breath before shoving the fork in his mouth. “How is it?” Ellie peered into her boyfriend’s eyes, trying to gauge his reaction. Wordlessly, he placed his fork to her lips for her to taste as well. She took a small bite, chewing slowly before swallowing. “Too much apple, not enough salsa.” 

“That’s what I thought,” Colt hummed, pushing the bowl back towards Vaughn. “You gotta dice the apple, man.” 

“It’s awful, but I can’t stop eating it.” His face contorted in disgust as he bit into another fry. “ My brain keeps gaslighting itself into thinking my experience is going to change.” 

“Dice the apple, got it,” Vaughn wrote down his feedback in his notepad. “Logan, how’re the honey chili fries with pickles?”

“Yeah, you can pair it with this salad that’s bringing up my repressed childhood trauma,” Mona deadpanned.

“Fries-induced Stockholm syndrome,” he scribbled another note down. “That could be a fun special, right?”

---

Over the next few hours, the crew reluctantly filled their stomachs with Vaughn’s experiments, each one stranger than the last. After the last dish, they all sprawled out in the living room. 

“I’m definitely going to poop weird later,” Toby blurted out, breaking the silence.

“Dude, shut up,” Logan groaned. He was lying flat on his back, trying to ignore the growing pain in his abdomen.

“If I have to try another pickle-infused dish, I’m going to kill the next thing that moves,” Colt threatened.

“I’ll help you,” Ellie grumbled, her cheery disposition replaced with utter regret after the fifth pickle-forward recipe. “Why don’t people just sell pickles by themselves? You don’t need to do anything special to them,” her rant was muffled into Colt’s shoulder. He attempted to soothe her by kissing her temple while lightly stroking her back. The gesture seemed to work, as he felt her shoulders relax into him.

“Could you two be less nauseating? I’m trying not to hack up that salad,” Mona glared at the touchy couple across from her. With his free hand, Colt flipped her off, the grip on his girlfriend slightly tightening in defiance. She responded by flipping him off with both her hands. 

“I know y’all are hurting right now, but I really appreciate the help,” Vaughn said earnestly. Despite the twinge of guilt that he felt at seeing his friends suffer, he was certain that all those taste tests would help him keep his food truck afloat.

“No worries, man. Glad we could help,” Logan said with a strained voice, a new wave of pain hitting his stomach. 

“Speak for yourself, pretty boy,” Colt scoffed. He turned his head towards Vaughn, “I’m serious about killing you if you shove another plate in my face.” 

“Noted,” he rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, feel free to crash here until you feel better.” The crew members mumbled a bunch of nonsense, which Vaughn took as an okay. 

#ride or die #colt x mc #if you squint #colt kaneko #logan #mona #toby #playchoices #choices #fanfic #my fic #vaughn #crack!fic #love a good side story #choices fanfic #ride or die fanfic #rod fanfic #rod colt #rod mona #rod toby #rod logan #pixelberry #colt #despite all the pickle slander in this fic #i actually love pickles #but i gotta say some of yall wanna pair it together with the strangest shit #just eat the dill plain lmaoo #p sure the rod fanbase is dead for the most part #but couldnt get myself to delete this

[choicesficwriterscreations]

Ride or Die Masterlist

✒️= Fanfic | 📱= Text Fics/Edits | 🎨= Fanart Ⓜ️ = Mature Content 18+ | 🔥 = Explicit/NSFW 18+

October 2023

Colt Kaneko Fanart 🎨 - @nukritus

April 2023

Knowing ✒️| Teppei Kaneko x OC - @lolablackwrites

#ride or die #ride or die fanfic #choices fic writers creations #cfwc fics of the week #ride or die 2023 masterlist

[flowercrowngods]

the prompt: rest | rating: G | cw: non-explicit trauma-related insomnia

The steady thrum of the engine is like gentle white noise that not only fills Eddie’s head and smoothes out the frayed edges of consciousness, but runs through his whole body as a comforting presence. It spreads from the hands holding the wheel in a loose, easy grip up his arms and to his shoulders, down his chest where it settles in his gut. That feeling of belonging, of comfort, of familiarity. It leaves him with a smile as he shifts the gear, accelerating a little on the open street.

No one else is out here tonight, and there’s no destination ahead, but his goal has long since been reached.

Part of him wants to roll down the window to feel the breeze in his hair, allow November in just for five minutes, just for the duration of this next song.

Hey, little girl, is your daddy home? Did he go and leave you all alone?

But he won’t, because this moment is not his.

He glances over to the side, catches the split second where the passing street lights make Steve glow golden, his breath even, his face relaxed. His eyes closed, his forehead void of pained frowns. He’s been asleep for an hour.

It mends something inside him, seeing Steve like this, but something splinters all the same.

“What do you need? What can I give you? Please, Steve, you need to sleep. You deserve to rest.”

He remembers asking, tears welling up in his eyes and desperation clawing at his insides, clawing to get out and tear at Steve, tear at him to find out what it is that Eddie can do.

“Can we just— Drive? For a while?”

“Where to?”

“Nowhere, just… Might help.”

And it did. It does.

It’s been a few months now, and sometimes it’s Wayne who takes Steve — or both of them — on a ride to lull him to sleep with a steady engine and a tape that Vecna never touched.

And every time, Steve wakes the second the car stops. But it’s fine, because he’ll smile, he’ll say, “Thank you”, he’ll say, “I love you,” and he’ll lie on Eddie’s chest for the rest of the night, listening to the steady thrum of his heart while Eddie hums a quiet melody until Steve is asleep again.

written for @steddiemicrofic, dedicated to @auroraplume because i can 🤍🌷

#steddie fic #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fanfic #stranger things #steddie microfic #hi reese this is for you idk #🤍 #i wish i could enjoy car rides again. especially at night and with music. unfortunately my intrusive thoughts get in the way #they get really really bad and i don’t wanna watch people die anymore but the concept is still nice so here 🥺 #dio words #dio’s steddie ramblings

[star4daisy]

there is no rosekiller breakup in my mind they're either dying or they sticking together

(I can totally see Evan trying to break up with Barty and him laughing, showing his middle finger and screaming ride or die bitch)

#ride or die fr fr #rosekiller #my favourite murderous boys #evan rosier x barty crouch jr #evan rosier #barty crouch jr #barty crouch junior #barty x evan #evan x barty #marauders fic #the marauders era #the slytherin skittles #evan rosier headcanon #barty crouch jr headcanons #marauders headcanons #marauders #slytherin #ao3 #fanfic #slytherin skittles

[ineedtogetalife11]

Why nico di angelo deserves better friends

• percy kind of looked down on nico in the titans curse.

•when Percy found out that nico was missing and potentially dead, his first thought was that he was going to wring his throat for keeping secrets

• homie was literally ordered by hades to keep this a secret, like he had no choice, and percy was like "wow I will strangle that poor little kid that might be dead"

• Jason and Leo elected not to save him, then when they did, Jason decided it was time to pretend to be his buddy buddy.

• leo and piper continued to make rude jokes about him, then when Jason did the right thing, the were like: " omg since when was Jason friends with nico?

• he's not!! He just got some common sense!!

• hazel was like, the only one nice to him

• when hazel got poisoned in hoh, frank was like " omg you little piece of shit how dare you not remember this creature from a game you played 4 years ago and tried to erase from your mind bcs ur sister died trying to get you an action figure"

• no offense to frank he also deserves so much better

• but like man, nico was going thru stuff 2! That was his SISTER and only friend and like, if it weren't for him, you wouldn't even know her

• everyone was like omg he's so creepy bcs he doesn't talk excessively

Part 2 later bcs the list is endless

Remember 2 request fanfics!!

#fanfic #pjo #pjo hoo toa #percy jackson #x reader #nico di angelo #solangelo #hades #I love him he's my homie best buddy ride or die pookie wookie best buddy

[punk-in-docs]

🕷️ Girlfriend is Better 🕷️

Eddie Munson x reader

10.9k words

Summary: Eddie x Pencils hit a bit of a hurdle in their early relationship. But she puts it to rights - and then hits the sweet metal head with an offer he can’t refuse- tw violence, past assault: in this chap folks - sorry its taken so long to get this done - enjoy

Eddie can feel their eyes on him.

He feels it’s undeserved and let’s be honest, a little odd. It’s not as if he’s not doing anything out of the ordinary here. He’s just being- normal.

His version at least. His wheelhouse batshit normal. Eddie-like.

They’re looking at him like he’s grown a new head.

Munson Motor mouth, rabbiting on its usual mile a minute as Motörhead shreds through the van speakers with Lemmy’s choppy and tasty riffs.

Early morning cigarette that he lit before he hopped in the van for the drive to school, curling smoke held between two fingers.

He’s batting the saggy steering wheel in time to the song. Ba-da-da with his other open palm to coincide with drum clashes that pound through like falling rocks and crashing thunder.

He still takes the corners way too fast like a coked up maniac. Some things will never change.

He looks the same. Smiles the same. But there’s a new breed of manic warping his usual calamity of a nature.

He’s not grumbling about this morning. Or a test or pop quiz he had coming up. No miserable sluggishness. Toothpaste breath. Not slumped and still yawning. With nothing but a weak instant coffee, two sugars, as his one and only source of breakfast. Gritty coffee that still catches the grounds between his back teeth.

Hair that mushed dry state that’s hard to tell if it’s met with a brush or not yet. Possibly this morning. It’s a maybe. It’s a not really.

Leather and battle vest showed up for duty on his lanky torso as per usual. Hellfire shirt of course. The ripped jeans. The wallet chain that swings and jingles and clatters to denim when he walks and makes him sound like a jangling six foot cat with a little tinkling bell on its collar. It’s all there. The jangly jacketed freak is all assembled.

But there’s this newness to the way he’s smiling.

So wide it dimples his cheeks. Creases the corner of those intimidating wells of eyes. It’s like someone’s fuel injected him with something to make him wilder. More swirly. Practically floating. Any higher he’d be in the big blue stratosphere. Sun grazed and heady. Icarus soaring too close to the sun. Not yet plunged to earth. Melting gold spattered on milk white swan feathers as he tumbled to earth.

Jeff makes a joke about him toking up before school. Eddie reached over and ruffled his hair. Making that demons smile. Rings flashing from his fingers in the meagre sun. “Man, I wish.”

“Got new pills from Rick or something?”

Eddie frowned. “Hell no. Besides. Wouldn’t be wasting those beauties right before first period English class.” He scoffs.

Dustin and Mike share a furtive glance that begs to know what’s up. Dustin mumbles What the shit, man?

He’s finally cracked. I’m calling it.

He didn’t have far to go.

He judders the van along the lot at school. Rumbling tyres over the loose gravel. Head bobbing to the metal as he lurches the wheel and swings into a space.

“Be seeing you. Little hellions. Be free. Give em hell.” He chuckles. Lumping the van into park. Watching them open doors and frown. Scurrying away to class. Gathered close and whispering. Hiking backpack straps up their shoulders and clutching chunky math books and still regarding him like more of an oddity than he actually is.

Of course there is a reason for the golden sunshine visibly sneaking out his pores, and bouncing the soles of his happy feet today. And it’s his wonderful secret.

Eddie shakes his head, and shoulders all his jagged chips and hatred for this place.

The amount of chips he’s got shelved there, worn on his shoulders, about this stunning educational penitentiary, frankly, he could very realistically wear like scales at this point.

He puts a cigarette to his lips and slips around the corner of the lot, jacket and wallet chain clinking as he goes, sneaking to the smokers spot.

A balding patch of grass skimmed to mud, and a graffitied brick wall, snugly hidden around the side of the squat building where some go to steal a quick smoke before class. He usually occupies the spot alone and has to haul ass like a frightened racoon if a teach clocks him.

No sooner had he come within an inch of the corner, cig almost to his lips, and he is yanked around it by a sturdy hand yanking him fully out of view - by his wallet chain. He feels the tug on the denim around his hip, pulling taut.

He wants to yowl and start squirming away from the grip, slinging fists into faces at this ambush. When really he wants to turn tail and leg it in the opposite direction. Flight not fight.

His back collided with graffiti breeze block and before he could turn out his pockets, show them holding lint and nothing else save for a quarter and a D20, screechily proclaim his dispensary is clean out man, back off-

Then some warm lips mould to his.

A gentle artists hand, faded blue polish on the nails, knuckles scraping bricks, is cupping the back of his wild mane and cupping him for a kiss he slowly melts too.

He honest-to-god goes fully boneless with the way you kiss him. The scrappy fight and shock slowly leeches out those gangly poky limbs. Sparks shoot to his fingertips.

He smiles. You can feel his dimples and a cold leathered arm comes folding around your back. The bracelet and the jangle of those zips up his wrists. Settling at the dip of your waist and his fingers slide into the back of belt loop of your jeans.

When you pull back for breath that you’re not sure you want more than him, he has the dopiest grin skated on his face.

“Morning.” You beam finally.

Because that kiss seemed way more important. You can’t help the feeling he instills. Feels like your belly is birthing a wild jungle crammed with winking wings of butterflies. Brilliant blue. Wicked electric yellow. Gossamer pink. They all shimmer.

“Hey hot stuff.” He smiles. Not restraining himself whatsoever.

Oh, they shimmer even more to the sight of that. Mad. Wild. Unhinged.

His cheeks kissed a little pink. He doesn’t even care that he dropped his cigarette in the mud. He’d rather chase the taste of your lips and let that sustain him all morning. Better than pills and nicotine. This static-fizzy-starburst feeling he gets big lungfuls of when around you.

“Didn’t mean to grab you like that. But I must admit that chain is certainly a handy hook.” You flick a fingertip to it. Sway that lolling chain into his thigh. Biting your lower lip in a smile.

He cups one side your face. If anyone got to chew that lip, it’s gonna be him. Leans in to gently smooch you again.

“Goddamn. I was reaching for my attack whistle there, pencils.” He rubs his hand over your hip. Rings chafe against your denim waistband.

“Maybe I was overzealous. But I do have a stunning defence.”

You lean up on tiptoes to smash a polite smooch back to his mouth. He mumbled a curious sound into your lips.

“Which is?” He seeks. Lips chasing yours for more. Even through speaking. Insanity catches.

“I missed you like crazy and it’s been barely 12 hours since I last saw you, and kissed you. And etcetera…” You flirt.

He can see these little delighted pips in your eyes. Like sowed little seeds of pride. The etcetera being all the dirty things you finally got to indulge in last night. Threaded in moonlight at skull rock.

No regrets. He doesn’t see any tint of regret in you.

Seeing that kicks his rocker heart right up to the moon, and sailing on over it. Like those old songs. Moonbeams and old soft tinkling pianos. Ladies with gardenias in their hair crooning about moondance, love and seeing stars.

He gets it now. He totally gets all of that sappy shit.

“I hereby decree that is far too long, and way too stupid of us, actually.” He finishes your thoughts for you. They were symmetrical to his own after all.

“So stupid. We’re just like, a complete pair of morons right now.” You concur. Linking your fingers into his. Standing toe to toe and just drinking in how it feels to be near again.

“So I’m thinking, we should cease all impending stupidity and uh y’know, catch a movie tonight or, grab a bite at Benny’s. Something like that. Anything.” He says. Smile all limned in excitement.

Shaking that big moppish mane of hair as a grin splits his mouth when he speaks, makes him look like an out and out excited little kid.

Fidgeting with your hands and immersing himself in the tactile deliciousness of your hands being held in his. Little touches that stayed with him all night.

Kept bugging him even in dreams he’s sure thoughts of you crept at the oil slick lining of his mind like wing tips of persistent gentle moths. The dusty old ones the colour of sour grey milk. Ones that they get flapping around the trailer porch light at night in balmy summer. The soft blink as they hit the glass shade.

“Burgers at Benny’s sounds so good.” You grin. “Loaded chilli fries?”

He scoffs. “Naturally. I’m not an animal.”

You run your hands through his wild hair. Listen to him talk. Heart entirely bloated with love of this boy. You swear it’s knocking all giddy up against your ribs like some deformed roaming creature seeking release.

“Shall we head out after class? I’ll drive.” He offers. His stomach zig-zags in vicious excitement.

“Catch you after class, handsome.” You grin.

“Ohh, whoa. I never said I was done with you yet.” His eyes flicker with something you think is cheekiness.

Swooping in to slow kiss you for a beat too long. An embrace that makes him hum softly. Makes you mewl. Right at he back of his throat. Lips roaming gentle and soft and your bodies rock together. Gets him cupping your back to keep you near.

“Fuckk gimme another one of those, pencils. I’m not below begging.” Cups your face again. He wants another kiss. Eyes wide as bourbon brown saucers

Chuckling in the muggy space between your smiles, cheeks fired all warm, sharing the same breath, you lean in and give it to him. Giving him the deep messy kiss you’d been craving.

When it’s time to pull back to guzzle air and maybe some reality again, Eddie chases your retreat with his mouth. His lips bruised a stunning cupid pink. Taking a breath that he’s not sure he needs more than he does you.

“Jesus H Christ. How the hell am I gonna even attempt to concentrate today-“ He asks. Voice all raspy and slow gravel.

“What usually stops you?” You sass him. He bites his lip all naughty and softly jabs you right in the stomach; a move designed to tickle.

“Blasphemy. Dear one. I mean, how dare you.” He grins. Chocolate drop eyes all crinkled at their corners. You cover his hand on your stomach, with your own. He likes the soft warm pouch of you there.

It’s tactile. It’s touch. It shoots right to the roof of Eddie’s brain and does something so funky to him he can’t even describe it in words. Actions maybe - Beer on an empty stomach. The first hit of some really silky smooth strain Rick gives him to try. The home made warm sugary scent of that peach cobbler Wayne makes him on his birthday.

They haven’t designed or discovered enough appropriate words to put to this feeling. None that even his whip smart nature can grasp at.

“I’ll soothe that wounded ego and buy you a chocolate shake later if it pleases.” You offer. Tilting your head. Offer placed on the table.

“An ego bruise is a problem I will gladly allow you to throw chocolate and ice cream at.” His fingers worm their way through yours. Knuckles locked. You could do this all day.

“Can be swayed with chocolate. Good to know.”

“And candy. Pizza rolls are good too.”

“Noted.” You beam. Snuggling to his front. Hands still joined. Fused as one.

The sound of the bell ringing for first period is a rude interjection into a morning that’s shaping up to be stellar.

Eddie didn’t seem best pleased by this. Judging by the way he takes advantage of that split second of your distraction hearing the bell, to snatch his hands at your shoulders and loop you round so your back is to the wall instead of his. Sneak attack.

His arm is a leather band over the back of your waist and he gently cups your chin and deepens a silky melting kiss that is, just, so many elements of perfect it should be outlawed that just kissing can be this good.

The plush of his deeply plump lips, with the scraping push of some stubble on his upper lip. It’s delicious. The way he kisses is better than any hit off any joint. You don’t care what he says. Better than purple haze. Better than fucking anything. Backed by sheer dopey sized crushes that take you both, head to toe. Crushes taking on a life of their own. Wearing your skins whole and making you desperate. Make you ache.

You kiss him back. Desperately. Drenched in want. But also knowing that you should be hot-footing it to your first class lest you get a tardy slip. To turn up late, with a very very kiss worn mouth like that would be about as obvious as the nose on your face.

“Eddiii-mmmmm.” You plead to his bewitching mouth. Smoky minty breath and the faintness of his morning coffee on your tastebuds. He’s cupping your face like your some sacred relic he has to handle gently. As if he had corrosive fingertips. Strychnine laced touch.

When he pulls back. Hands two big gangly paws holding your neck, there’s this sweet dazed look all over his expression. Drugged on you. The way you kissed him like his tongue is made out of cherry candy and you only want more- oh lord.

How’s that for irony. The Hawkins High school dealer and here he is getting a huge hit, from kissing you. Nothing that comes pre rolled in a baggie making his mind fuzz like hot molasses, or circled into a wild little chalky pill that makes his head all bright and fuzzy sharp like cotton candy.

Making out before class he can gladly get hooked on. He thinks he’s there already. DT-Ing for more. Make him shake and rattle on all fours like a rabid dog.

“One for the road…” He explains inbetween raspy pants for breath. A silly smile all yours for the keeping.

You pat his chest. He could honestly whimper at the tactile feel of your hand resting on the meat of his pectoral. So dangerously close to skin on skin.

“I better go.” You sigh. A drop kick to your mood to leave him. You take a step back.

He can’t allow that. He whines like a kicked puppy. Button eyes all round and shiny with whatever amount of sadness it would take to root you here, with him.

“Don’t. Pencils. Stay here. Stay uneducated and stupid with me and let’s just make out, all day.” He waggles some filthy intentioned brows at you. Pleading threaded onto his voice. Trying his best to yank you back.

“You could easily tempt me to play hooky any day, Munson. But I’ve been studying for this test all week.” You point out.

“Well. I can’t deny that dorky chicks turn me on.” He sighs nicely. You can’t help smiling.

“Really? I figured tiny pleated little cheerleader skirts and peppy bouncy pom-poms turned you on.” You tease. Voice all sultry.

He leans in and smacks a kiss to the end of your nose.

“Nuh-uh. I like em’ covered in paint and jeans and artsy, and working in record shops with old hippies. And hopelessly in all consuming love with me.” He grins.

“Kiss ass.” You smirk. Smacking a kiss to his cheek. Stepping back. His hand slithers to find yours again. Links fingers. His rings glitter. They’re all warm where he’s been holding hands with you. On you.

“Hey, my girlfriend is a damn fox. This is a hill I’ll die on.”

You bring your joined hands up and kiss the back of his for that.

“Class beckons.” You roll your eyes. Shouldering your bag. Unwilling to unlink hands until you absolutely had too.

“See you at lunch?” You ask. His brows creased. Makes him look like an upset puppy.

“Can’t. Got a drop to make in the woods.”

“Parking lot after school?” He counter offers.

“You bet.” You agree. And you cannot even handle the wait.

You walk away around the corner. Eddies eyes trail over you as you go.

“Enjoy the smoke.” You turn over your shoulder and call back.

He saluted you with a flicking motion, with that million dollar grin pleasured all over his face.

“Brutal babe. You know what I’d enjoy more…” his inflection at the end of his words lets you know what he’s referring too.

“Down boy.” You play as you head off. Smile all secret and wide for him. Grin so wide it makes his heart pulse.

He’s grasping a hand over his mad heart as you slip away. One knee bent up. Sneakered foot flat to the wall behind him.

He reaches for that cigarette and his lighter. Though he doubts this little stick will do any damn thing that kissing you didn’t. He lights up. Grinning. You left his heart thrashing about and kicking inside the shell of his denim and leather like a damn drum in a cramps song.

Way, way across the field, sat high up on the bleachers with some of the girls on the cheer squad. In full view of the back brick wall where you had just been. Supposedly around the corner and concealed from view-

Linda snapped her binder shut. Eyes packed in venom. Huffing as she picked up her books.

Lipsticked lips pursed together in a grim hot pink line. Annoyance fills her chest and rams up against her ribs. Sour in her stomach. Nastiness curdled up on her tongue. She’d seen enough.

You and the freak. Just like Jonny said.

No fucking way.

~

Eddie bapped along to some rock that had been trapped in the lining of his crazy head since this morning. Head bumping as he hummed along, sang under his breath to Rattlehead. That mane flicking every which way.

Metal lunchbox swings from his hand and clatters as he bounced along the familiar route. Feet trained for the way. Leaves cushion his rustling step. He drags his eyes over the foliage spread high above.

Dappled with gold sunshine of the afternoon that chips down. The odd scurry of a bird flapping around the treetops. Nature and the soothing crash of wind lacing through wide apple-green leaves. He darts his eyes around, seeking and searching for the shape of anyone to come crashing through the trees.

He arrived at his little decaying stoop in the woods. The table that’s so carved and scarred with crude drawings and initials it’s chipped and falling to bits. Cig butts littered everywhere and Eddie shamefully admits some of them are most likely his. His place of business is well reputed.

Swinging his leg over the bench seat and slinking himself up onto the table to take a pew. Sneakers resting on the seat. Cause when has he ever approached anything normally, or fallen into doing anything that comes into the category of usual.

He throws the lunchbox lid open with no gilding the lily, and braces his scattered mind into this deal. Shoves through the bags to find the semi-decent stuff. Wave of heady green hits him in the nose as he rummaged and carried on humming to himself.

Though really for the preppy guy who propositioned this drop, he’s tempted to charge way too much for a thin little roll of ditchweed.

Alas, his reputation is too important. One bad sale and he’d never touch profits on it again. He will unwillingly part with some decent sativa for the knucklehead.

He thumbs through his papers and rustling bags and makes a note of exactly what he’ll put his fistful of measly dollars from the sale towards; another date with you.

He’s heard of this great alt store a couple towns over. Super your style. Record store in back, cool clothing, apparantly a rock n roll kinda vibe that you would appreciate. Posters, merch, jewellery, you name it.

He can’t think of a better place to take you for a date. He’s keeping it under wraps even though, god knows, his blabber mouth which runs and rants away from itself, wanted to yell and shriek about it to you nonstop.

How he wanted to scrape together some dollars to buy you something. A handful of punk style patches, a tee, a poster for your bedroom door that needed some anarchy or some goth Siouxsie. Maybe a little Joan and some Blackhearts action.

He’s heard you crank them up on your headphones to blaring when you’re trying to concentrate on a sketch. Like the loudness lifts you out your mind and transcends into the paint.

How he wanted to make a mixtape for you, of all the metal songs - and to his embarrassment some of the less tacky love ballads - that bring you to the forefront of his mind when he hears them. Even some older crooning songs that Wayne likes.

The stuff he was drip-fed on in his early days, sweet and crooning, like slow gold honey melting into his ears. Listening to them and snatching pieces of melody that breezed through the trailer. Warm and sunny to listen to. Softly swaying Don Henley, Woodie Guthrie, and Jim Croce. Even some Ella or some Julie London and her smokiness.

He smiles to himself as he comes to Rattlehead’s chorus. Toes tapping the rotten old bench and creaking the wood, as he scrunches bags aside this way and that to find the pre-rolls. Fingers drum the beats off the side of the tin. Clacking out into the woods.

The brutal snap of a twig makes him peer around.

Eddie swims his eyes through the trees and eventually drags them to find a Jock with his hands shoved in his pockets.

It’s not someone he’s on a first name basis with. He’s lost amongst a sea of sensible jeans and varsity two tones. Sea green and blinding white with the lion gold yellow Hawkins H proudly blazoned on his front.

Crazy how differently they wear their allegiances.

He’s the anti-thesis of Eddies style. Shirt tucked in. Sensible white sneakers that aren’t beat up to shit. Preppy. Hair brushed. Some square jawed Ryan or Chad or whomever, pads towards him.

The look in his eyes twists Eddie’s gut like wet flannel. Scathing.

He’s seen hatred and distain before. Of course. It’s poured very freely his way.

Thats nothing new to him. Distaste. Eye rolls louder than claps of thunder and tutts coming stabbed under breath peppered with nasty words.

This is that crowd at its ugliest. The tribe this guy is happily a part of. Supposed fuckin’ Normalcy. They scar the word ‘Freak’ into him over and over again. Stomp it into his messy maned head over and over with their feet.

Finally he got tired of the brutal raining down kicks and just took it. Weened the power of it. Stole it from them and flipped it. Made it his shield. Propped it up with that DIO patch on his back. Let their hatred sink into that and roll away useless.

Let them know it doesn’t sink down to places where they want it to hurt.

Eddie swallows. Throat suddenly a sticky chasm. Tried to soften the blow and put away whatever the fuck this guy was trying to scowl and throw at him.

“Hey, man. You’re my 1 o’clock right?” He asks. Tapping his knee still and fiddling with his hands.

The guy swerved his jaw before he spoke. “Yeah.” Spine held poker rigid as he answered. Like it offended him to have to be here and talk.

He came into the clearing. Sneakers rustling leaves. Something feels sour about this whole thing.

“Okay. Well- um.” He awkwardly clears his throat. Reaches into the box that he gently sets beside himself. Grabs the joint and fidgets with it for a second.

“It’s uh, it’s twenty bucks for a pre-roll.” Eddie tells him.

“Great.” He watches the guy nod. Curt. His expression steely. Eyes glassy in a way that’s beyond unsettling.

“Ohhhkay.” Eddie nods. Eyes a fraction too pinched at the corners. Concerned frown dragging down his brows. Wondering what the stitch up is. His eyes dart around. Bordering on panic.

He stands to get off the bench, the guy doesn’t so much a muscle to reach across and take the joint off him. Hands still shoved deep in his pockets.

Eddie holds the joint. The guy doesn’t even move to take it.

“It won’t bite man. Smooth as silk and just, hits you like a cool wave when you smoke that puppy. Trust me.”

Something flickers like a sneer across the guys mouth. He looks at the innocuous rolled joint Eddie’s holding out to him. Looks at the brown paper all rolled in his palm.

Eddie shrugs. Wide open. Leather crinkles over the jutting movement of his shoulders.

“You want it or not?” A razor edge starting to creep into his tone.

If this is someone who hasn’t made their mind up, he’s got other places to be. Better times to be had. Than waiting on whether or not the preppy jerk is gonna take the goods off his hands. Or use more than two syllables.

“If you don’t want it. I’ll go right now. Forget it. No hard feelings.” He takes the edge off for him.

Despite the fact that actually a little simmering front of annoyance bubbles at his belly for the guy wasting his free period he could have used to kiss you senseless with wandering hands, right up against the side of his van.

He turns around and throws the joint back into the box. Shaking his head. Making his hair do that wild kicky thing it usually does.

“Maybe you should go. Freak.” Comes spat his way. Drawn in a snarl.

“Whatever, dude.” Eddie puts his back to him. Folds his product back into his box.

More snaps. More rustled leaves. Eddie drifts his eyes up and sees three more guys coming through the woods to the clearing. Walking slowly, picking over nature to come to the bench all menacingly slow. Like he was a deer they were in danger of spooking.

All wearing Hawkins letterman jackets. Sneers writ on all their faces. Intimidation carved into every step they take. They look way too happy to see him here alone.

Suddenly Eddie feels small. Feels like he’s right back in middle school. Being tossed around and bashed up by the bullies. Coming home with stinging scraped knees and a cheek that feels swollen hot, itchy like bloated meat. The crust of dried rust scabbing under his nose.

This feels exactly like that. Some things never change.

“The fuck?” He asks. He won’t lie. His voice wobbles to a croak. Set on shaking sands.

“Where you goin’ loser?” One of them huffs out. Eddie turns his head.

Strutting towards him like the bullshit cover of macho magazine. Or J-Crew, is Barbies boyfriend. The blonde ape.

One of them he doesn’t recognise proudly comes up and slaps the lunchbox out his hands.

Eddie flinches back. Shrinks away. Puts distance between every step they eat up eagerly to come towards him. He doesn’t want this. He doesn’t want whatever’s coming barrelling his way. He hasn’t done anything except sell some reefer.

“Alright. Alright-“ Eddie stumbles back from the table. Hands high and empty. Voice jittery. His head and gut yell in sync - telling him to run the hell outta there.

“Clearly you guys have some sort of agenda I’m not aware of so why don’t we all just-“ His smile is all tremulous and shaky.

A fist drags his collar into a yank. A curled up punch swings into his face and knocks him clean to the ground before he can chew out his next words. His jaw snaps together. Hot pennies comes flooding his tongue where his teeth cut his cheek.

Stars and bursting black galaxies accompany his artless tumble to the ground.

And then some more fists come raining down. A sneakered foot planting square into his side to kick the wind clean out of him.

They leave him crumpled on the ground. Cushioned by rotting dry leaves. Smeared in mud, blood leaking from two places in his face. Spotting down to his dark shirt.

As a parting gift one of them empties his lunchbox over the floor and stomps its contents into the dirt.

He knows the feeling only all too well.

~

You clatter into the bathroom after your last class.

Let the bustle of crowds fall far behind you as everyone rushes to the lot to leave. Afternoon summer sun stripes its sneaking glory across the halls and slants the window ledges in gold.

You cross to the sinks and set your sketchbook crammed with new drawings on the side. Leafs of the paper and all the dried paint crinkling, as it’s wedged partially open by the sheer number of crammed pages all skated on dusty pencil or charcoal.

You’d need to buy another pretty soon. One with thick cloth like paper pages for you to fill up.

You go through new books like running water. Never stop sketching. You’d wanted to take Eddie to the funky art shop you grab your supplies from. You’ve a feeling he’d love seeing the paint sets and the sheer number of spray paints they got.

Creativity seemed to flourish from him. His imagination permanently running wild. Could never stop it. One of your favourite things about him in fact.

He would talk about your sketches. Ask you about them. Ask you what the best paint would be for decorating some new figurines he’s got.

He’d twirl the pen you’re using out your hand and tell you all about the way he’d sit in the library for hours drawing fantasy maps for his campaigns on graft paper. Drawing rolling green islands. Mountain caves with trolls. Boggy muggy swamps with draping trees and hidden dangers. Vast seas with coily sea serpents hiding in the waves.

He’d chat to you about your ideas. The ones you’re struggling with for art class. The things you need to study and learn about. The theory of colours. The use of them all dotted in a Poussin or swirled in a Van Gogh.

You could talk to Eddie about anything. For hours and hours. The mere fact of going to grab a huge greasy meaty junk fest of a dinner with him has you walking on clouds.

You want your evening with him already. It can’t come fast enough. You want salty loaded fries and a cold shake and relentless plush Eddie kisses. You wanna climb into the comfy ratty seat in that tired old van that you love. Listen to whatever blasting metal cassette he’s been humming along to all day.

Hell- even just seeing his whole face light up with a smile as you saunter up to his van. The way he’d look at you - the way he always looks at you - with those big shining brown eyes all haloed in golden sun. Brimming with mirth. Cheeks split wide and crow-eyes all bunched up at the corners in glee.

He burns so bright to see you, it’s like he’s swallowed the sun and stars combined. You feel so lucky to have that.

The way he links his fingers with yours. Lopes your fingers together as one and doesn’t even mind if your all paint spattered or your hands are too dry. Palms all hard from scrubbing off acrylic smudges.

He kisses your fingers and acts like you’re draped in diamonds.

Acts like you weren’t wearing a ribbed worn Henley. A large - borrowed - Berkeley blue varsity sweater knotted around your waist, or your straight worn baggy jeans, cuffed up hems and patched at the knees that you mended. And your truly awful red sneakers that are so beat up with age they’re almost a sad faded pink.

He still looks at you like you’re a holy revelation. Each time.

You heap your bag next to the sinks and scrub the last of the charcoal off your hands. Sticky pink soap making a lot of lather around your fingers as you washed the smudgy grey away from the creases in your knuckles. Watch the way it circles down the drain.

You pull up and dry them with the crinkly paper tissues sat on the side.

Take a second to look back to the mirror. Centred all around the ugly squiggles of old sharpie doodles etched on the walls. Contemplate your reflection.

You smooth the hair away from your forehead. Attempt to neaten some of the crazy fluffy bits that kink down around your ears. Fuss with it for a minute or two. Smudge the charcoal away off your cheek.

“Who you trying to look so nice for-“ Comes a cutting tone from behind you. Tone dredged through revulsion and back out again.

A twist over your shoulder reveals Linda. Stood there in her oversized acid wash denim jacket and too-short purple skirt. Hair all bunched up and piled on her head in a half up style wound with a magenta scrunchie. She stands with one hip cocked. And her eyes are frosty daggers.

Heat licks your spine in the shame that you’d been caught preening. “No one.” You say too quick.

Try and inflect some humour on your voice. “You know I don’t exactly have anyone to preen for.” You lie.

Looking down at your hands as you dry them. Scrubbing water away with damp paper. Crush it into a fist and ball it in the bin when you’re done.

You can feel her stare embedding itself into your skull. Like an engraving. Sharp. Scratch of a knife on hollow bone.

“I saw you with him. So don’t try and come at me with your bullshit.” She spits. Words tired and clipped.

You turn over your shoulder. She stands there seething. Looking as bitchy as she usually does. Pink lips pursed.

“Saw me…” you check.

“Yeah. You and Eddie ‘the freak’ Munson?” She poses the words like they’re offensive. Mocking.

Anger furred the back of your tongue. Like feasting on too much sugar. Or a chalky jagged pill lodging itself in your throat.

“Look. I know you’re like, a lonely little virgin or whatever, and you wanna pop your cherry and all, but there’s way better guys out there to screw-”

Your venom stops her words dead.

“Don’t you fucking dare.” You bite.

You see her face fall into shock at your tone. Snappy and sudden. She looked stunned. As if you’d wheeled around 360 and slapped her.

“Oh my god. Don’t tell me you actually like him? Are you serious?” She gapes like it’s illogical.

“He’s a loser with ratty hair who sells weed and lives in a shit hole trailer park.”

“I do like him. I more than like him. We’re dating.” You tell her with steel. “We’re going out tonight as it happens.”

“I knew you had a screw loose but this is just another level of low. Even for you.” Linda bitches.

“How do you never get tiredwith that constant tirade of shit that spills out your mouth Linda.” You snipe.

She rallies to respond. Scanning you with hard eyes backed with new levels of poison.

“I’m not the one dating the King of the freaks.” She hits at you, real low.

“No. You’re dating a two-bit jockstrap who doesn’t even like you, unless you blow him. At least Eddie wants me for more than my pussy.” You point out.

She swallowed. Eyes glimmer. You know that one bit deep.

“Don’t come crying to me when that trailer park asshole dumps you like a cup of cold poison.”

You shake your head and try to remember how to breathe. Snickering cracks of bones in your throat as you swallow. You want to fly into rage and slam your textbook into her stupid scathing face until it dents one of her precious cheekbones.

“You don’t even know him. None of you do. You don’t even know the first two things about him.” You defend loud.

“I know he’s weird as shit and sells skunk. What a catch.”

You bite your tongue. Plenty of insults about Jonny come crawling to mind.

“How long have you two been-“ She sniffs.

“Couple of weeks now. Since Kyle’s party.” You hurl at her furiously.

Her face fills with an expression you can’t read as everything comes to make sense. Falls into place. Puzzle pieces clicking.

“You’ve been lying to me this whole time.”

“Yeah. And you’re so self centred look how long it’s taken you to even notice or give a shit about what’s happening to me or my life.” You finally say all the things you should have voiced long ago.

“You’re only interested now because you care what other people are gonna say on Monday, and what they’ll gossip about.”

“He’s trouble, and he’s gonna get you hurt. Probably gonna give you a filthy rash or something too.” She sneers. “Lord knows what he’s riddled with.”

“You’re such a fucking bitch.” You grit your teeth. Emotion gets the better of your voice. Tears bubble at your lash line. Red hot.

“Not gonna be my problem to have you trailing round after me anymore. Cause by the way, we are no longer friends.” Linda spits. Eyes narrow to slits.

You nod. Resigned. Tears of anger prick the corners of your eyes. You’re too angry to let them loose.

“What a goddamn relief.” You hit back. Chew your lower lip.

“I’ve had to listen to you bitch at me, and whine and snipe, and moan, for years. I’ve had to endure your tantrums and your cutting comments, and every play-by-play of every unsatisfying Friday night screw around, with your shitty dirtbag of a boyfriend who treats you like garbage. And who you run back to each time he fucks you over. And I’m so sick of you.” Your voice comes out raw.

“So yeah. You’re right. We’re not friends anymore. I don’t think we’ve been that for a very long time.”

You put your back to her and grab your books.

“Don’t let the door hit you in the ass on the way out. Freak.” She sideswipes nastily as you shoulder your way past her.

Catching her on purpose. Shoving her with your shoulder to catch her teetering in those heels.

“Have fun with your trailer trash.” She snips.

“Word of advice. Make sure Jonny wraps it first. Word is he’s been screwing Tina on the cheer squad behind your back every Wednesday.“

You watch her saunter up past you to get to the mirror and touch up her lipstick. Ignore ignore ignore.

Her too sweet Revlon perfume making your stomach roil. She looks at her reflection. The thing she loved most. It’s amazing you ever got a look in. She scrunches up sections of her hair to make it bounce. An indifferent mask on her face.

Trying to ignore you already so the tears don’t come. So what else is new.

You pause at the door. Hand on the handle. Books piled on your arms.

“Sad thing is. I never expected you to act any different when you found out. Turns out you’re just that shallow vain bully I always suspected you to be.”

She pretends not to hear as you slip out the door. You’re sure to slam it as loudly as you can.

Coming out into the partially empty hall. Quickly skating a hand down your cheek. Taking a gulp of a deep breath. Starting down the hallway to come to the doors at the end.

Letting the distance to that girls restroom salvage some of your anger. Let it ebb away and let the savage venom words roll down your skin like blunt razors.

You wait to see if they feel like they’ve drawn any blood.

Maybe just a raking deep black bruise. Perhaps the confrontation has lifted a rock solid weight off your chest. Cut your ties to something corrosive.

You storm to the doors at the end, and push your way out. Into the midsummer air. Afternoon sun washing over you as it creeps it’s golden-fiery way by. Slanting ochre across the parking lot.

A gaggle of people clutched around one of the sticky lunch tables stops you dead in your tracks.

That weight comes crashing back with all the subtle tact and grace of a tank storming a building.

It’s Hellfire. The crowd. It’s Gareth, Mike, Jeff and Henderson. They’re all clutched around someone sat on the bench seat. Someone who is leaning forwards with his elbows resting on his knees. One hand held up to his head.

Your mood plunges even more. There’s a sour shift as some of them twist to look at you.

Big childlike eyes full of something that approaches wariness. Sadness dashed with insecurity. The kid-like uncertainty of how to deal with this very gruesome and very real situation.

A cold can of tab, now warm, for the crescent bruise taking shape around his eye socket.

One of them fishing around in the bottom of their bag for crumpled blue band aids. Anything to help.

A wad of crinkly and loveless paper towels snatched from the boy’s restroom and wadded into a wet lump for the blood pouring under his nose. The fresh red that’s staining his tee like big gruesome poppy petals.

His free hand is wrapped around his side for the bruise he can already feel like a dark cloud of cherry red and blue cobwebbing up his skin and over each slat of his ribs on his left side.

They shuffle away from the table and you finally get to see what they all look so grim about.

Eddie is hunched over with a black eye and a bloodied face and nose. He’s muddy and dirty and scratched up and when he meets your gaze, your world shudders on its axis, to a grinding halt.

The way he’s looking at you shatters your damn heart into huge glassy shards. Diamonds and sprinkles of it, sharp and chunky, cut into your chest. Daggering.

He’s hurt.

He swallows and keeps eye contact. Looks at you with such fear and sorrow emanating from those big round bourbon eyes. You see the apprehension in his body.

It doesn’t get any better when he winced and tries to stand. Body bowing as he slowly eased himself off the bench seat. Hand cupping his ribs as he inched his way to a full stand. You hear him groan.

You see as pain flickers across his face. The usual springy frolicking gait is muted. It’s etched with pain and writ with ache.

He wishes he could read your expression right now. As it is he’s struggling to sort it into one emotion.

You look hurt, tear stained, livid and clenched rigid with something that could only be bone deep anger. Venomous, mind numbing, anger. And it was just bubbling and clawing it’s way to a fever pitch.

“Pencils-“ He wets his lips. Looks meek as he watches you carefully. Tenderness in his voice.

You dump your books where you stand and turn on your heel. Sketchbook cast to the floor and heaped atop your bag. You slam back through the doors and into the school - mind set on one salient thing.

The doors slam not seconds after you. The creaking jolt as the metal crunches back into place. Footprints scatter after you on the lino. The squeak of muddy sneakers. The gusting air of a sigh bred with a wince.

Eddie chases after you with all his might. Hooks his hand to your elbow. Tries his best to stop you.

“Hey. Pencils. Babe. Please, let’s get outta here. Let’s just forget this. I don’t know who it was- I didn’t see them.”

He’s really a terrible liar.

“With all due respect Eddie. I know who did it.” You explain bitterly, as you wander along. His touch turns to a tug on your elbow. Pulling at your shirt.

“Because he’s not smart enough to juggle two thoughts at once, much less try and hide the fact he beat you up. And second his jagged pill of a girlfriend just tore me to strips in the girls restroom for finding out.” You say. Possibly louder than you intended.

His face falls.

“Hey, hey…” He says softly.

You turn back. Tears springing down your cheeks. His hands are all over you. Cupping your neck. Your shoulders. You can smell the blood coming off him. Sour pennies. Desperation laced his voice. Comes off him in waves.

Desperate for you not to to this.

“This isn’t stupid shit to me Eddie. This is not okay. Not something I’m gonna let get brushed under the rug-“ your lip wobbles. You shake your head. You rub your nose. Chase the tickling tears away.

He mimics you. Shaking his own head so his hair flicks out. Eyes wide and terror stroked words pour out his mouth.

“Don’t go getting into trouble for me. I don’t want that for you.” He begs. His eyes are wide with it.

“Good thing I want it then.” You resolve.

He looks apprehensive. Choked by it. Scared by your resolve. He doesn’t want to let you do this. This is a doomsday territory.

“Pencils-“

You continue down the hall. He follows. Still doing everything in his power to convince you, or try to stop you. Credit to him, his list of reasons are pretty excellent.

Babe. Please. It doesn’t have to be a thing.

You’re on track. You have your grades. You got Indie state in your future to think of. I don’t want you jeopardising that for me.

I don’t want you going and getting in trouble for this.

He doesn’t stop you from making your way to the gym. But he is right there at your back as you push open the doors, shove your way inside and you don’t care if your entrance is loud.

The idiot jocks practice in the gym after school. Basketball mostly. Some dotted in the bleechers. Long suffering girlfriends sat with bubblegum pink coloured files, shaping their nails to the side and chatting and trying not to look too bored whilst the guys play. Linda sits chattering to one of the cheerleaders.

You wrinkle your nose at the stench. Whole place smells like musty sweat, floor polish and old socks.

Jonny has his back to you as he dribbled the ball. The ricochet of it pangs across the court.

You race across the floor to him like a hell fury. Fists clenched at your side. Eddie still trying in vain to get between you and your stubborn brain. To try and talk you out of this before it’s way too late.

Your entrance with him hot on your heels and whispering pleas at you, draws laughter and sniggering sneers from some of his dirtbag friends. Shouts come aimed your way.

Hey, look who it is. It’s the freaks.

Closed practice, morons.

Jonny doesn’t turn back but you make your presence known.

“Hey. You dumb fuck stain.”

You march right up to his sweaty back and shove him hard with both hands. Wrinkle that goddamn white basketball jersey.

The guys around him make mocking noises. Chorus of awes and exclamations.

The room slowly dawns quieter. The squeak of shoes muffled. Everyone’s eyes centre court where you stand seething. Panting for breath and trying to look as livid as you felt.

He turns back to you all slow and condescending. Like he’s some golden haired Apollo flouncing down from Mount Olympus to grace you with his presence. He’s limned in sweat and dissects you both with conceited arrogance.

“What’s your damage?” He sarcs. Looking down at you like you’re an ant. Or a mangy mongrel.

He flicks his eyes across and landing on Eddie.

“Munson. How’s them ribs.” He sneers.

You’re about ready to topple over the edge and spit nails. Anger gently creeps to a boil.

“Just peachy, thanks for asking.” Eddie answers. Mouth is a grim line. And his eyes look stern coal black. He turns his attention back to you.

“Pencils please. Let’s just let it go. There’s no point…” He whispers. Standing with his hand gently cupping your forearm.

“What do you want? Teams full. We don’t accept weirdos anyway.” Jonny pushes at the both of you.

“I’m not leaving this spot until you tell me why you attacked my boyfriend.” You steel. Voice low and even.

You can feel Eddie’s eyes on you like lasers. Burning holes in the back of your head.

His mouth gapes a little. If it weren’t for the fact he’s terrified off his ass stood here, his heart would flutter like a fledgling baby birds wings, to hear those words admitted aloud.

“No reason. Just don’t like him.” He shrugs all honesty. Passing the ball over to his friend. Standing with his hands on his hips.

“Careful hefting those big thoughts around. You might hurt yourself.” You fire out.

Your fight with Linda left sharp scalpel words on your tongue and now you ache to use them to their fullest.

He doesn’t look happy. Dark gold hair beading sweat down into his cenote blue eyes. Rigid anger on his frown as he glares at you.

“Linda didn’t like the idea of him being around you. She told us we were teaching him a lesson. To stay away from you. We were protecting you, moron.” He says like it should be obvious.

“How fucking considerate. Your girlfriend couldn’t think her way out of a damn paper bag if she had a map, Jonny.”

You feel Linda’s scowl all the way across the room. The weight those slitted eyes and a bitchy scoff. You know those echoing words found their target. Slammed right into bullseye red making their mark. You hope it truly hurts. As much as she hurt you

“She didn’t reserve the right to presume any fucking thing about me. And not one thing gave you not the right to hurt Eddie. Not under the guise of some macho-stupid ‘protecting-you’ crap.” You snarl.

He bounces the ball. You slam forwards and bat it out scathingly out his hand. Send it rolling away.

More chorus of noises scattered around you both as you stepped toe to toe with the guy who almost towered over you.

“You acted out of pure hatred. So don’t try and dress it up at something else. You useless. shithead.” You insult.

“And what are you going to do about it, freak, huh?” He jabbed. Nostrils flaring. Lips pressed together unattractively thin. Looks like a provoked silverback in his enclosure. About the beat his chest.

He turns to guffaw laughter and sneer with his friends.

When you speak it’s so reed thin it even makes a shiver run up Eddie’s spine. Slices of jagged metal.

And he’s not even on the receiving end of this frightening ire of yours. The one that’s bursting out of you like raw lightning. Like it can’t fathomably contain you. Love and fierce packed rage tight in situ.

“This…” You remark with a clenched fist. Thumb wrapped over your knuckles.

Your nail polish glints blue in the light like steely-inky beetle wings. Your eyes barely smother down live-wires. Danger, danger.

You thought about how they would’ve laughed at him.

Kicked him into the dirt like wet leaves and muck that drifts off the trees in fall.

How they would have laid into him and left him there. On the floor. Blood soaked.

Shown the freak who’s in charge.

It flashes when you rear your arm back. Putting full force into your right shoulder, feet taking a firm stance. You channel everything you have into this fearsome right hook;

You swing your fist straight into Jonnys face.

It’s powerful enough to hear a loud crack, you feel the blow shudder into bone. Catching his nose, which spurts blood.

He recoils and staggers. Knocked off balance. Sound punctured out his mouth. Clutching his bleeding face as red streams drip on his pretty white shoes. Stains his pristine uniform. Good.

Try explaining that one to mommy and daddy dearest.

You don’t even let him swing back around. You grab the shoulder of his disgusting sopping jersey and ball it in your hand. Using that as leverage to drive your knee high - hard - into his balls.

Before you let him slump to the floor in a bleeding pile of sweat glazed limbs. You mutter words just for him to take caution of.

“Come near me or Eddie again, and believe me I will break your goddamn jaw, Lopez.”

You let him crumple this time. Flag to the floor in a heap of collapsing bones and sweaty jock uniform.

He looks up at you, trembling. Blood skirting down his arms and past his cupped palm. Tears streak down his cheeks. You step back and let him crumple.

He’s spitting and snarling crude insults in between wails of pain, and a sticky mouthful that smears his teeth red, and stains his tongue with metal.

“You broke my nose, you crazy fuckin’ bitch.” He spits. It sounds wet. Words sluiced in crimson.

“Finally. A nickname I can warm too.” You scathe.

When you look up, guys around him flinched back a good few paces in case they fell into the category of your rage. Wariness edging their expression. Eyes wide and mouths caught suspended open, like brain dead guppies at feeding time.

Eddie stepped forwards and gently laid his hand on your shaking arm. His fingers urge you closer. Get you following him to haul ass outta there.

You scan the room and find Linda gaping at you just as dumbly as everyone else. She’s risen to a stand. Face like she’s just swallowed a painful poison pill. Apparently in no rush whatsoever to get to her boyfriend.

“It’s ok. I’m done here.” You tell him. Gritting your teeth. Meeting Linda’s eyes.

You turn and walk away. Back to this whole affair Amazed how scarily easy it is. Leaving your supposed friendship in the dust. Bleeding crumpled on that floor.

You feel an enormous sense of relief walking out that gym.

Your hand killing you. No doubt about it. Shooting mad red hot fireworks up and down your forearm. Your knuckles feel like hell. Sparking furious with pain.

You reach for Eddie’s hand anyway. Screw the pain. You slip your fingers into his. Turn and catch his eyes.

He’s watching you with so much cautionary care and concern.

You breathe. Lungs shivering around new calm air. Words come easy but you feel shaky with them.

“C’mon. Let’s go get you something for that eye.”

He agrees with a nod. Then that hopping spark that’s truly skated in usual Munson mischief, comes springing back full force into his eyes. Lovely happy bourbon again.

“Wouldn’t dare refuse you, Pencils. Not after seeing what you’re capable of.” He grins. Nudging you with a shoulder to get a smile out of you.

“Damn right. Those idiots just cost us a date night. He deserved all that and more.”

“Ain’t that the truth.” He smiles. Eyes still stuck on your face.

He lopes alongside you. Hand clutched in yours. Shoulder rolling to yours. It feels whole. It feels like trust.

~

You sit in Eddie’s van in the parking lot of the Fair Mart. Despite your protestations, he fully insisted he was fine to drive. He rolled into park out front just about as the sun began to set.

The night started to pull in. All lilac and periwinkle skies, soft as a vintage eiderdown that made you think of bluebirds feathers as you watched that solemn shade of blue overtake the sky.

Making the all too yellow lights within the dingy place stand out proud. Blinking a little. Humming along with the huge freezers inside. All the twee touches of home made signs telling you about the canned goods on offer. Written on card with flicky show-manly italics. Some easy friendly music sparkles out the speakers.

The plump clerk is smiling and jolly and bubbly bright, even when you unload for a whole armful of some medical supplies on the counter. Eyeing your now purpling knuckles with sparky perception. Ringing things up, you throw in a bag of jolly ranchers and a couple of ice cold cans - they suggest a rattling jar of aspirin.

“Take away the sting, honey.” He wafts a knowing hand. “That’ll be $11.90.”

You pay with a watery smile and walk out with a paper bag full. It crinkles in your arms as you go back to Eddie. Who’s sat with his legs dangling out the driver side of his van. Fidgeting with his rings all skittish. Legs swinging to an invisible tune. Still Rattlehead, actually.

You’re the only people in the place. Talk about lulled and sleepy Hawkins. This clearly isn’t a place for two teenagers on a Friday night. They’re all off sucking face at the quarry or skull rock. Or gathering at the arcade.

You come back and get to work cleaning him up.

Lump the bag down beside him, close to his hip, and you stand between his spread legs. Hand fiddling with your belt loop so carefully. He feels you gently brush sweeps of his bangs off his forehead to get at his skin and smudge away a bit of dirt. He lets you. Sat there and losing himself in his gazing.

He winced a little when you gently dabbed some antiseptic cream on the cut at his cheek.

“There’s Jolly ranchers in there you know.” You supply.

“Is that a bribe for me to sit still?” He checks. “Cause it will definitely work.” He dives his hand into the crinkly paper and searches for the candy. He finds one and holds it in his palm until you’re done.

“Who, um.” He swallows. Looking too intently at his ripped jean kneecap. “Who taught you how to—“

You draw back and let him find his words. Let him come to you with it.

“Who taught me how to throw a punch?” You smile.

Still dabbing his cheek. Fingers slipped under his chin and tilting his head up to you. When he could stay still enough.

“My sister. She bought me self defence lessons after-“ The words die and wither up all grey and ashen in your mouth.

You break eye contact for a second and rub at your brow.

It slowly creeps over his head like some dreadful tide. After what?-

Eddie knows he doesn’t like the look settling over your features. One bit. He doesn’t care for it at all.

“It was the summer before junior year. Around the time Linda and Jonny started dating. We went to this party. She didn’t want to go alone so I was roped in. Dressed me in one of her stupid mini skirts, planned to set me up with one of his buddies, Alex.” You pause and chew over the words.

“It was stupid as shit, looking back now, but we got so stupid drunk. Teen freedoms and lite beer. We thought we were so cool. So much so I didn’t notice that my drink was spiked with something. I don’t even know what. All I can remember is just, blackness, and then waking up with Alex sliding his hand up my skirt.”

Eddie blinks. Shuts his eyes for a second. His voice sounds so far away. “Shit. Pencils.” He rasps. Upset and angry on your behalf. He looks more hurt than all those bruises scattering his face.

“Nothing else happened. I screamed blue murder, and shoved him off me and just turned tail and got the hell out of dodge. Walked miles home in heels til I got blisters all over. Charlie was so so pissed. First time I’ve ever seen my Mom go full apocalyptic angry.” You explain.

“She wanted to bring charges but Alex’s family lived on Loch Nora, and his dad was a bigwig in local council so naturally he just chalked it up to underage kids having too much drink and touting it around town that a ‘misunderstanding’ occurred. Transferred their golden boy to a private school. And it just got, quietly swept away.” You accept.

All the pieces slowly floated and formed together to clarity in Eddie’s head.

“Linda stayed with Jonny even after all that shit you went through…” He asks. You nod.

“Stuck like glue.” You infer.

He can’t stand it any longer. wraps his arms around you fully and tugs you into a bold hug. Burying his face in your chest. Listening to the tick of your heart, and feeling you hold him back. Smiling and pressing a kiss to the wild nest of his hair. He smelled like sour-sweet green apple shampoo and earthy papery leaves.

“I’m so sorry.” He rumbled into your arm. His hug says so much more than that.

I’m here and I’m not leaving. Whatever you need - I’ll give it. Carve it out of my chest because you own every piece of me - in full.

“Not your fault, Eddie. I stopped being mad a while ago.” You tell him. Pressing another kiss to his head.

That’s why he’d been so unsuccessful in being able to stop you today. Because you’d let one bout of assault go, like hell were you about to let that happen all over again. And not to him. Drew some blood of your own to partially settle an old debt. To quiet some old violent ghosts.

He lets go of you and plonks the red wrapped jolly rancher in your right hand.

“I think you need and deserve this more than I do. And I’ll keep on being mad on your behalf - if that’s ok.” He says honestly. Fingers slithering through yours. He twists your hand over and sees the bruises wrapping around your knuckles.

You smile.

“I’ll take that.” You answer in reply to his offer. “The candy and that kind offer.”

Cause this is exactly what you need. Him. Him in all his unusual and funky glory.

Metal head with a heart so pure you’re actually certain it is made of solid gold. He whom proclaims to the world he’s nothing but a devil worshipping Satanist, made up of cynical death metal, and pot smoke.

Yet, he’s the guy who puts wrapped candy in your hand. Plies you with kisses and tried to hard to keep you out of tumbling headlong into trouble for his sake. Wanted to take you for a greasy burger and just share every silent soaked moment with you. No matter what you’re doing as long as you’re shoulder to shoulder.

He’s springing up before you can stop him. Sits you in the seat he occupied and told you firmly to ‘wait here, toots.’

Then, he’s scampering across the grocery store lot all jangly jacket and mad frizzy rocker hair bouncing as he goes. The soft pad of his feet on the doormat and the swish of the door he pushes open.

He drifts around the aisle for a few minutes before you see the top of his head bounce as he jaunts to the checkout and pay with a load of coins and a crumpled bill dug out his pocket.

He’s out the doors and whirling back to you in no time at all.

Hand on his ribs as he winced and realised that moving around all silly like he normally does would have its consequences. Ode to a bruise.

He comes over and crouched in front of you. Proudly showing you his purchases. He holds them up like he’s won an award.

bag of frozen peas and a tub of mint chocolate chip ice cream.

“For you, my most dangerous slash badass weirdo.” He grins. Even under that black eye, and the cut limned with purple across the bridge of that nose, his brightness and joy is infectious.

He takes your hand and you smile as he settles the peas on it. Settles his hand on top of it and stays crouched. Looking up at you with literal stars in his eyes.

You’re hit with such a fierce wave of love it shocks you from the inside out. Punching into your ribs and mangling and mashing your heart and lungs together with something that burns all mean like static. Words trip off your tongue like a smudge of sugar. You feel drunk on them; fever and maddening realisation in a shockwave.

You put your hand over his. Ice cold and shifting crunch on the bag.

“Eddie, you’re free tonight right?”

“Well the beauty pageant will have to take a hike with these shiners.” He plays. Tilts his head.

“What would you say if I asked you to spend the night?” You check.

His brain seems to crunch and churn through the cogs to answer.

“The night?” His eyebrows almost swoop up and disappear into his bangs.

“Not sure your mom would be too wild about that.” He says.

“She’s in San Francisco. Short haul. Not back til Monday.”

“Oh.” Eddie nods. And then it hits him.

“O h.”

You keep eye contact and smile. “I'm game. What’s say you, Munson?”

“Holy shit. Pencils.” He wets his lips. Grinning.

~

T A G S darlings

@ceriseheaven @indouloureux @fujiihime @youaremyfamiliar @ghosttownwherenoonegoes @greenishghostey @svenyves @sammararave @feralgoblinbabe @groupie-love-71 @andromeda-andromeda @morganamoonstone @ramona-thorns @gvtosbith @munsonswhore @munsonlov3r @lunatictardis @shenevertricks1831

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#punkwrites #eddie munson #i would die for this man #joseph quinn #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie my boy #eddie x pencils #pencils x eddie ride again #eddie munson angst #angst with a happy ending #violence #tw blood #tw violence #stupid Linda and her stupid bf #stranger things 4 #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #eddie munson fanfic #Eddie munson fluff #ends so fluffy ok #fluff #Spotify

[writeshite]

Puppy Love

Summary:

“One would think you’ve become besotten with me, Lord Stark,” you quip, circling each other at a slow pace. “I would agree.” His arm moves up, and you meet it, wrists side by side, “dragons are a rare sight in the North; anyone would be enamored.” You chuckle, “I should say the same; wolves are equally as captivating."

Pairings:

Robb Stark x Male Reader

Tags:

Targaryen Reader | Fluff | Smitten Robb Stark

Words: 2122

Author's Note:

I have not actually watched the show or read the books fully 👉🏾👈🏾 I know things, but most of my knowledge is sporadic and random; it'll be like 60% accurate, I think....in my defense, I want dragons, and I also want Robb Stark, so like what else am I supposed to do 💀. Also, sorry if the High Valyrian in here is shit; I'm very behind in my Duolingo course.

“The dragons have taken back the Iron Throne.”

Robb didn’t quite know how to react to the news; his battle had been for the North, and the workings of the other kingdoms and their squabbles had never immensely mattered to him as much as he knew they should. The ball had been his mother’s suggestion, correction insistence, “As king, you should set an example and get ahead of the other kingdoms.” 

The Targarayens arrive on dragon back - each on a separate one - the beasts shake the ground when they land, thunderous roars echoing into the skies. Her Majesty, Daenerys Targaryen, is poised, expression calm as she descends her dragon; another figure follows behind her - the Queen's Hand Missandei - the other dragon rider, steals more of Robb’s attention. Expression perhaps more joyful, you appear rather ill-equipped for the weather, furs less than satisfactory in Robb’s opinion. Your attire appears snow-touched, with little color - a touch of red on the collar of your coat - and dragon detailing on the lapels. Your silver locks are platted back in a simplistic rider’s style, held together by an intricate golden band.

Your company trails behind, arriving just moments later. Robb is accompanied by his mother, Sansa, and Arya, the latter of the three stares in awe at the dragons. Robb picks up a bit of conversation as you approach them, dying down when you come to stand in front of them; the words are of another tongue - High Valyrian, he thinks. “Your grace,” he greets, “welcome to Winterfell.”

“Thank you, Lord Stark,” she gestured to one side, “you know of my wife and hand, Missandei,” Robb nods, and she gestures to you, “and my cousin.” 

“A pleasure,” you greet him.

Robb had yet to follow etiquette, and in the spirit of that, he responds to your greeting and awaiting handshake with a kiss - placed on the back of your hand. Your skin trembles in the cold, cool to the touch; he rubs his thumb along it in an effort to create some heat. The purple of your eyes was entrancing, deep pools that drew his gaze easily. His mother’s cough draws him back; her disapproving and mildly irritated glance is counteracted by Sansa and Arya’s amused ones. The servants lead you to your temporary quarters, and Robb’s linger on your retreating form; his mother’s lecture drifts elsewhere in his mind, barely settling before it’s tossed aside by the glee of seeing you once more at the welcoming banquet.

Winterfell was colder than you expected. 

The invitation had seen no hurried response - with the rebuilding of King’s Landing, a new Dragon’s Pit, and many other matters - coming to Winterfell had primarily been driven by the need for a break. You rode on Morghon, Daenerys, and Missandei rode on Drogon, with Rhaegal and Viserion following and a company of Dothraki followed from the ground. The cool weather had been the first thing you’d noted, the second being the admittedly attractive King in the North. He donned a thick fur cape overtop his attire, a ringlet crown surmounted by iron spikes, and three wolves at the central front.

“Dubāzma,” you shrug at Daenerys’ warning tone; you hadn’t done anything; you simply glanced at the man.

You counter such, “Eman gaomagon daorun, ivestragon zirȳla Missandei.” 

Missandei shakes her head, amusement in her tone, “Iā bughegon isse suvion iēdar kostilus,” she jests.

You shake your head, and the conversation breaks off as Lord Stark welcomes you to Winterfell. Daenerys responds with light introductions for both Missandei, then you.

“A pleasure,” you say once introduced, hand held out, ready for a handshake. Lord Stark does something far different. Taking your hand, he turns it over and lays a peck on the back of it, causing Lady Stark’s eyes to grow wide in surprise and his sisters’ expressions to morph into grins.

“The pleasure is all mine,” he replies, eyes locked on yours as he does so. His hand remains with yours for seconds longer, thumb caressing the skin, and when her ladyship breaks the brief haze with a cough, he leaves behind a phantom warmth.

The temporary chambers are cozy, readily warm, and stocked with furs; you set your luggage by the bed and don’t dwell too long on them - furs, a bed, fire, and comfort - as the welcome banquet requires far more attention. You replace your traveling coat with one more suitable for festivities - dark with gold embroidery and light fur trimming on the bottom. You exit the room to find Lord Stark’s figure leaning against the wall opposite, and a smile lights his face at the sight of you.

“Have you come to escort me, Lord Stark?” you inquire.

“If you’d allow it,” he responds with a hint of hope. You chuckle and nod, drawing out a broader smile on his face. The hall is not as far off as you’d imagined; light chatter filters through the open doors as people mill into the open-spaced hall. Far from the entrance sits a horizontally set long table - the Starks on the right, Taragrayens on the left - the other tables line the sides, leaving the middle empty. 

“Lord Robb of House Stark, King in the North, Lord of Winterfell…” the announcer declares, drawing attention to you both; he announces you next, “...of House Targaryen….” It had been your idea to drop your name of Velaryon, “...Dragonheart of Old Valyria, and Prince of The Ashes.” The latter of the titles stood more as a slight mockery, with your old life on the remnants of Old Valyria, those that had spotted you and Morghon had called you that in whispers.

You take the two remaining seats at the long table, Robb near the center, you near the edge, close to Missandei. The food is wonderful; meats, deserts, ale, and various Northern delicacies are brought to the tables - the honeyed chicken may well become one of your new favorites. People begin to mingle after the main courses as music fills the halls in steady beats; you follow suit at Lord Stark’s request to dance. 

“One would think you’ve become besotten with me, Lord Stark,” you quip, circling each other at a slow pace.

“I would agree.” His arm moves up, and you meet it, wrists side by side, “dragons are a rare sight in the North; anyone would be enamored.”

You chuckle, “I would say the same; wolves are equally as captivating,” your arms turn, both palms now against the other; he laces his fingers with yours, a cheeky grin on his face. You turn to circle in the opposite direction, the crowd around you filtering out as you remain fixated on each other. You draw back, hands still intertwined; coming back again, he places his other hand on your shoulder as yours goes to his hip. A few paces and you should separate from the other, turn to another person and carry on the dance, but you don’t, remaining in each other’s grasp as you drift across the floor. 

The music changes and a joyful beat begins; the formality is lost as the crowd of dancers switches to more upbeat and expressive movements. Lord Stark tugs at your arm, head tilting towards the doors; you turn briefly to glance at the long table - Lady Arya is immersed in conversation with Daenerys; Missandei and Lady Sansa are the same; Lady Stark herself, however, appears to have swallowed a lemon, eyes glaring daggers at his Lordship. You return your attention to said man and allow him to drag you away from the hall.

Robb hadn’t paid much attention to his mother’s lecture; her words went in one ear and out the other; she wasn’t angry, not truly, merely cautious. The interest seemed mutual to some extent, though the matter of marital affairs would be complicated - gods know the Lords of Westeros would turn their noses high in disgust - his almost engagements had all fallen through when he’d paid them little mind. 

“Robb Stark!” His mother’s voice cuts through his thoughts, “I understand your attraction circumvents what the realm would regard as suitable, but that is no excuse, do not trifle with him; we don’t need them setting our lands ablaze.” 

“You’ve outdone yourself this time,” Sansa comments after their mother leaves. 

Robb purses his lips; a wise man would take the words to heart and cease whatever he was doing - even if this interaction bore positive fruit, there was no certainty it would be in the best interest of the North. Her Majesty could have him abdicate his throne in favor of moving into the Targarayen household, or she could disapprove of him and feed him to her dragons. Robb was a man of heart, the kind that intercepted the servant at your chambers and took it upon himself to escort you personally to the dining halls.

Your previous coat has been replaced by a darker one; golden dragon heads decorate the cuffs, and it sits tighter on your person, with the fur trimming at the bottom fluttering delicately as you walk. “Have you come to escort me, Lord Stark?”

“If you’d allow it,” he responds, and gods, he hopes you would. He feels himself smile wider at your agreement, arm threaded with yours; the short walk to the dining halls leaves him ecstatic.

“Lord Robb of House Stark, King in the North, Lord of Winterfell…” the declaration echoes in the hall; brief glances become more fixated on your intertwined arms. His mother’s eyes squint, a frown on her face, “...of House Targaryen, Dragonheart of Old Valyria, and Prince of The Ashes.” 

Robb thanks the gods; his mother’s seat is further from him; if looks could kill, he’s certain he’d have died at the entrance. “You’ve taken to my cousin quite quickly, Lord Stark,” Her Majesty’s voice draws his attention.

Her gaze is steady as she regards him, “I suppose, your grace, is that a problem?” 

It’s no secret that certain parts of Westeros and their rulers disapprove of other attractions; Robb’s not quite sure where his father would have stood on the matter - he imagines him supportive - he knows his mother prefers he be less expressive on the subject. Queen Daenerys had been quite clear on her stance, disregarding the disapproval of her new laws and marriage, though that’s not to say she would like to have him as her in-law.

“Not as long as he is happy, and well,” she answers, “I have little family left; I cannot help my worry.”

There is an underlying threat to her words, and Robb nods in understanding, and it satisfies her enough to turn away from him. The food is brought in just after - honeyed chicken, venison pies, cod cakes, ale, candied bread - the music begins near the tail end of the feast. Some sway to the tune, conversations carrying in the air, as the music changes to something more befitting a dance. He stands and moves down the long table towards you, “Care for a dance?”

“One would think you’ve become besotten with me, Lord Stark,” you quip. 

“I would agree; dragons are a rare sight in the North; anyone would be enamored.” Your arms meet in the middle, level to your heads, as you circle each other; even as the other dancers switch partners, you remain together. Up until the music changes and a less formal tune carries in the air, you follow suit, hand in Robb’s as he drags you from the hall. You stroll idly through the halls, hands held together and swung lowly and sharing idle chatter.

“What do you call your dragon?”

“Morghon,” you respond, “it means death, a fitting name. Would you like to see him?” Robb pursed his lips, and you chuckled at his hesitation, “Don’t tell me you’re scared of dragons,” you teased; coming to a halt, you tugged him closer, “certainly not after flirting with one.”

He can feel the heat creep up his neck and imagines his skin pinker at the moment, “What if he bites?”

“He won’t,” your graze drifts a little lower, “but I could.”

“Is that an invitation to your bed, my prince?”

“If you’d like, you could show me how warm the North could be. I’m sure a few hours of demonstration should suffice.”

“The demonstration will have to wait for another time, your grace,” his mother’s voice cuts in. You both jump apart, hands loosely held together; she grabs Robb by the arm, “I apologize for the interruption, your grace, but we have some familial matters to attend to.” His face pinches into a frown as his mother leads him away; he remains turned enough to send you a brief wave and a smile and is thrilled to see you return it.

End Note:

Hope you enjoyed this mess. Stay hydrated.

#robb stark x male reader #robb stark x reader #game of thrones imagine #shut up i want dragons alright #i am disregarding canon because i think he's too hot to die #and also cause there's like a few solid male reader fics i think and the rest aren't so here comes the petty dragon riding bitch #if you came here expecting canon accuracy go touch some grass this is fanfic we don't know the meaning of that word

[multicolour-ink]

One of the things I love to think about regarding Mario and Luigi's bond (and get emotional over!) is the way they communicate.

It's not just words exchanged to each other, it's the non-verbal gestures;

A look, a loving touch, a hand on a shoulder, foreheads pressed together - all these things speak in so much volume, without a word being uttered.

#love / devotion / I'll ride and die with you / I'll never leave your side #those are the words I get from those simple gestures #my favourite bits in fanfics are when mario and luigi hold an entire conversation just from looking at each other #super mario #mario #luigi #the super mario bros movie #super mario movie #mario movie #mario and luigi #super mario bros #mario bros #brotherly love #communication #non verbal communication #family love #loving gestures #loving touch #please don't tag as ship #i beg #brothers

[a-strange-inkling]

Eddie: Best friend!! 😃

Jeff: Second best friend!! 😁

Eddie: …I’m going to need a little more commitment from you, Jeffery 😡

#unnamed freak is his ride or die okay #when jeff leaves the band tho 😭 #eddie munson #jeff stranger things #hellcheer #eddie x chrissy #eddissy #munningham #chrissy x eddie #hellcheer fanfiction #hellcheer fanfic #old haunts #unnamed freak stranger things #corroded coffin #incorrect eddie quotes #incorrect hellcheer quotes

[missameliep]

What are your MCs favorite holidays?

That’s such an interesting question, Anon! For some of my MC and OCs I have considered this subject before and even written something, but not for all of them.

Elizabeth Foredale (OC/Desire and Decorum AU!) - For Elizabeth it’s definitely Christmas. She loves everything about this holiday, from the family gatherings to decorating the tree (in the one-shot A Dash of Christmas Magic I wrote a little about her impressions about the holiday and how she used to decorate the tree with her mother growing up and how this tradition brought her joy, they would create the most fun and extravagant decorations for their home, like a Hello Kitty themed tree, which she loved it!, and in this fic Hamid helps her find the same joy again). Choosing gifts for her loved ones is also something she adores. Even though she misses her mother, the season is still very special to her and definitely the favorite holiday.

After she starts dating Hamid, she'll become fond of New Year's too, because he loves it and there's a lot of fun traditions and in his home it involves delicious meals with his family and parties with his friends, and he's always so happy that the holiday grows on her.

Olivia and Kai Park (MC/Perfect Match) – both my MCs Olivia and Kai love Christmas! For them it's the season of joy and they walk around like they were living in a Hallmark movie even without taking a plane to a small winter Christmas town. I wrote one fic showing Kai and Nadia Park's passion about the holidays and their traditions in a fic called The Most Wonderful Time of the Year (Or Maybe Not). While the Parks love the holiday, the grumpy Detective Damien is on the opposite spectrum...

Malia Jones (MC/Wake the Dead) – Malia grew up in a post-apocalyptique world where many of those things that bring us together were lost, not to mention the Tower is the kind of colony where survival was the most important thing and old world's traditions were not appreciated. So I HC they haven’t preserved most of the holidays from the Old World, maybe just celebrating the 4th of July in some kind of tradition to honour the founding fathers or something like that, or maybe created some holiday to celebrate their leader or the colony's endurance. I don't think Malia and her rebellious and anti-authoritarian spirit would appreciate this sort of celebration. But if she learned about the Old World's holidays and traditions, I have a feeling she would love most of it, but specially Valentine’s Day, a holiday to tell people you love and appreciate them is something she totally relates to, and would think this should be celebrated monthly at least because when you're always risking your life and losing people you shouldn't wait a moment to tell them that. She’d like the romantic aspects of V-day too, of course, and would not mind at all if there could be gifts and nice meals involved, and if Troy prepared something to surprise her, but the fraternal and platonic loves would resonate much more with her.

And New Year would also be a favorite! To celebrate you survived another year and think about the future means hope. And that’s something that moves her and is essential when you're leaving after the world ended.

And at Olympus and the new colonies, they'd probably create their own celebrations and she’ll definitely be the most enthusiastic celebrator of all.

Arwen (MC/Blades) – Probably all of them! I think in their universe, most of the holidays are related to crops and the changing of seasons, and Arwen would love all the happy ones filled with music and dance and drinking. She’s an optimistic and overall happy Elf and she loves to celebrate. She’ll have no problem in joining Tyril for the elven celebrations at Undermount too, specially if they involve food and dancing and fancy clothes. After the ball at Undermount, she discovered she really likes dressing up. In our world Halloween would be the kind of holiday that would have her sooooo excited!

Zoey (MC/Ride or Die) – before her mother died, Zoey loved all the holidays and celebrate them with her family, she has plenty of memories of 4th of July barbecues, dressing in matching costumes with her mother and father for Halloween, stuffing herself with her mother's famous pumpkin pie and all the traditions before Christmas and during the entire season... But after that, she lost interest in most of them. It was bittersweet and her father had no interest in celebrations either. Probably she’ll manage to find new meaning for them when she gets older and create new memories for them, but for now, I think during college years Halloween and New Year’s Eve would be favorites.

The first because it’s a moment to pretend being someone else, use costumes, dance and party and she can relieve a bit her days with the crew, and the second because a brand new year ahead is something that gives hope, and she’s hopeful to find her way and become the woman she’s suppose to be. And lists. Zoey is obsessed with lists and organization and she’ll dedicate a long time writing the resolutions for the new year (it’s also a way she finds to honour her mother’s memory, since it was something they did together).

Again, thanks for the ask! ☺️

#ask box! #choices fanfic #desire and decorum fanfic #blades of light and shadow #perfect match fanfic #ride or die fanfic #wtd fanfic #wtd choices #oc: elizabeth foredale #mc: olivia park #mc: malia jones #mc: zoey #mc: arwen of riverbend

[tumbletaker]

Darlin: This is a crazy idea. Insane. Stupid. It doesn’t make any sense Angel: …so you’ll do it? Darlin: For you? Of course

#Darlin and Angel are ride or die #redacted #redacted asmr #redacted audio #redactedverse #redacted fanfic #redacted headcanons #redacted darlin #redacted tank #redacted angel #redacted shaw pack #incorrect redacted quotes

[tworegimesof]

My GetoHime Trash

When I die and go to heaven, no doubt an angel will ask why I put so much GetoHime content onto the internet. I shall have no good response, other then things just played out this way. My head, heart, and gut all say ShokoHime, but GetoHime is too conceptually entertaining for me to ignore.

Below is a master list of my GetoHime stories. They are all on ao3. Please note the rating at the end of the description. All adult situations depicted are between consenting adults. There is also drug use, mental health issues, and violence in a few of the stories. Please mind the tags of each story - I go out of my way to ensure that readers know what they are getting into. It is all NSFW, lol.

Ongoing

In every dream home a heartache: When Suguru comes back to pay Mei Mei his half of the rent, he finds that Utahime has moved into his old room. He doesn't know how to feel about it. Rated M.

Multi-chapter

Father and Mothers and Daughters and Sons: Suguru and Utahime realizing that adulthood is purgatory. Rated E.

Kept in Place: Suguru and Utahime, evolving. Rated E.

I give you my life: No one ever wants to wait for their real life to start. Rated E.

Invite the Weight: Being with someone doesn't fix the hole left behind by someone else. It's worse when you invite that person back into your life. Rated E.

Even Cockroaches Can Dream: Watching someone change right before your eyes. Or: Suguru’s charm and Utahime’s denial can only hide their crazy for so long. Rated E.

Osteosarcoma: When it's over, it's just Geto and Utahime. Rated E.

Lightning Strikes Twice: When Suguru stops being the person Utahime thinks he is, he decides to make sure that she can never forgive him. Rated E.

When the Birds Began to Die: Being stuck with someone you haven't seen in years for days doesn't usually end so well. Rated E.

One shot

But I love him: "I love you, call me back." Rated M.

If We Make It Through December: So, where was Utahime during the Night Parade? Rated E.

Melted Brains: Suguru and Utahime, getting into it. Rated E.

Sticking Point: Worst cab ride ever. Rated M.

The Past Participle: Coming down easy. Rated E.

#geto suguru #utahime iori #geto x utahime #getohime #jjk #fanfic #my contribution to the culture #treat me nicely please #sometimes i just imagine them arguing in an ikea #geto just rolls with the punches because utahime is ride or die

[choicesficwriterscreations]

2022 Fic Masterlist for Ride or Die

August 2022

New Beginnings: A Choices Prompt Story | Logan x F!MC - @angelasscribbles

September 2022

From Lovers to Strangers | Colt Kaneko x MC - @missameliep

#ride or die fanfic #ride or die fanfiction #choices fanfic #playchoices fanfic #choices fic writers creations #cfwc fics of the week