#I was going over to my Uncle's county

[gallusrostromegalus]

to help with your spring woes, may i offer you a story about my grandpa

i never got to meet him properly since he died before i could remember him, but from what my mom tells me and photos, he was a complete delight, loved baby me, and had a FANTASTIC mustache. i've been told a few stories and facts about him but this ones my favorite

i'm not sure what year it is but at some point they had driven from texas to arkansas to go see some relatives. they were all having a fun time, someone had a bottle of wine to drink

but NOBODY could find the dang corkscrew

after a few minutes of looking grandpa goes FUCK IT and just goes down to the corner store to buy a new one, an uncle accompanying him. they get the corkscrew, go to the counter to pay, and the cashier says:

"i'm sorry sir, i can't sell you this, it's a sunday"

you might be familiar with dry counties but for anyone who isnt basically you cant sell alcohol or alcohol related items on sundays

grandpa is naturally not having this. he looks at the clerk over his glasses, then at my moms uncle, he looks back at him, and then they both look back at the cashier

he takes out a five dollar bill "im SHOPLIFTING this here corkscrew. heres a bribe to not turn me in"

IT WORKED

LMAO I love a good bit of lateral thinking.

[chaosandmarigolds]

Festival

based on this AMAZING ask!!

“Oi, Olls,” Simon looks down at the skinned arm and then back to the utterly unaffected five-year-old (who just took a rather nasty tumble off the slide). It was an easy back day at the county fair, which for the record he thought was a horrible idea with a five-month old yet Johnny said it would be fun for Oliver and his niece, Jane. Simon tried to get a good look at the wound, covered in dirt and pebbles, “Lad lemme-”

“Dad-dad, I got go- Janie! Wait up!” Oliver snipped in reply, pulling his arm away and trying to take off after his new friend, and he succeeded, taking off to the next ride wait line- where Jane was already standing among the groups of children and teens with the bright red balloon tied to her wrist. 

Of course, he watched the boy run through the crowds and only stood to direct his gaze to Johnny as he stood up, not saying anything but trying to see past the groups to get a good look at the kids- but he could see the red balloon. 

“Think the girls are havin fun?” Johnny asked, leaning onto the stroller. 

To that Simon shrugged looking down to Tess, who was thankfully very much asleep amidst the loud noises, “‘m sure they are.” 

“Shoppin, wine tasting annnn,” Johnny faltered as he thought, looking to the sky as Simon knelt down to fix the baby blanket. Though it was loud and the crowds were bustling it still had a sense of peace about it, small town, small fair but it was enough to make the two kids feel as if they were teleported to the best place on the planet. “An’- gah, Sarah said somethin else, can’t ‘member what though.” 

“Jus gettin dolled up or somethin,” Simon mumbled under his breath and then placed a chaste kiss against the baby’s forehead before standing up to his full height, looking around for the same bright red balloon. 

Only…the balloon was floating away. 

It took about five strides to get from where he had been to the line where Olly and Jane were supposed to be, yet there was a stunning lack of them both. 

He must have called the kid's names twice before Johnny had caught on to what was going on, yet the only thing Simon could think of doing was telling him to go get security, he asked the people if they had seen them- his voice harsh and causing the looks on the parent's face’s to pale. 

He couldn’t find them. 

No one seemed to even see them. 

“A little boy- he’s missin his front tooth, striped shirt with a dinosaur on it.”

   “I’m sorry man, that sounds like every kid I’ve seen today.” 

… 

“Jane,” Ollie said slowly following his friend reluctantly through the corridors of the ‘haunted house’ which they had snuck in through the back, since there was a thirteen-plus age restriction on the attraction, “Janie I reaaaalllly don’t think this is good idea.” 

To that the four-year-old frowns, her pigtails swinging as she looks at him, the blue light and fog doing nothing to ease his fears, “Uncle Johnny always say we got face fears! An you said you are scared of the scary ghosts.”

“Scary is literally in name, Janie!” Ollie countered crossing his arms, “Uncle Johnny and my dad are gonna be mad.” 

Jane shook her head, clawing up on the ladder to reach the main level, “Uncle Johnny doesn’t get mad at me, mum said it’s cus ‘m cute…Uncle Simon might get mad though.” 

Ollie frowned from his spot, looking up at her as she began to disappear from the view, he couldn’t leave her alone, he was older than her and his dad did ask him to look over her. So, he swallowed down his fear and followed behind her, the steam and fog making it a bit hard to see for a moment before he was able to stand up again- the lights dim and red and the floor underneath them seemed to be uneasy, red liquid smeared along the rotted wood and the low groan of something was enough to make him want to cry. 

However Janie was walking forward, so he quickly followed, moving to walk just a bit in front of her- grabbing her hand and doing his best to act brave when in reality he was not. 

Ollie stopped walking when they heard a voice from behind, and he turned to look around for a split second, only for Jane to let out a shrill scream and he turned his head to look ahead again- to only mimic her scream. Shoving her behind himself as what seemed to be a literal monster jumped from behind a barrel. 

“Oh SHIT! CUT IT!!” 

A voice suddenly yelled, and then the monster ripped off the mask, revealing a normal-looking kid, probably sixteen, “Whoa-hey-hey, you guys- JERRY FUCKIN CUT THE LIGHTS.” The kid screamed at the ceiling for a moment for the overhead lights to flicker back on and the noises stopped. 

“Hey,” The kid knelt down to look at the now sobbing children, “Hey, my name is Kyle. How’d ya-oh cmon…it’s okay, I’m not scary.” 

“You-you ghost!” Ollie screamed. 

“No! No, it’s just a costume, ya know on how on halloween you dress up? I’m jus dressing up, I’m not gonna-oh okay, you’re crying…again, okay…” Kyle tried to explain, then looking to his coworker, Margo who was dressed as a zombie, utterly hopeless about the now two screaming and sobbing toddlers.

…

“Called security,” Margo huffs out as she sits down to look at the toddlers, who were much more relaxed once they offered slushies, and she looks to Kyle, “They said two creepy guys said they lost their kids but thought they were lyin.” 

Kyle frowns and leans back in his chair after he and Margo had made a lazy attempt at cleaning off their makeup and explained to the kids it seemed to calm them down, plus the slushies of course. “Hey kiddo, can you tell me your name? So the nice people-

“My dad says to not talk to strangers.” 

Margo gives the kid a look and leans forward on the table, “He’s smart, that’s smart- but we need to-” 

“Margo-” 

“OLIVER.” 

It would be an understatement to say Kyle and Margo picked those kids up within a millisecond, because what they saw were two men that could break them both in half within a second and who did not look like father material walking towards them. 

“That’s my kid.” One of them barked out, pointing to the little boy, who was just happily sipping his slushy. 

Kyle scoffs, “And I’m the fucking king of England.”

To that Margo tried to then play damage control, “Listen, I don’t want to have to call sec-” 

“Uncle Johnny we saw scary ghost!!” The little girl exclaimed happily. 

“See? That’s my niece and the boys mine. Give me my kid.”

Margo and Kyle exchanged looks and then looked to the little boy, who only caught on when he saw the man’s look and he nodded eagerly, messy hair falling in front of his face. 

“That’s Ister Riley he and my mom are married. He’s my dad.”

… 

“I jus wanna be brave ‘ike you Uncle Johnny,” Jane said as they drove home, still sipping her oversized slushie. 

Johnny and Simon had agreed to not mention this, to act like it never happened, for their sake. “I know, princess, an’ yer so so brave.” 

“I no longer scared of ghosts.” Ollie said mindlessly, staring out the window. 

That caught Simon’s attention and he looked back through the rearview mirror, checking on Tess with a quick glance and then to Olliver, “Oi? Yeah?”

“Mmmhm, cause ghosts are jus nice people wearin costumes.”

(annnnyway that's it!! feedback and comments are the easiest way to let me know you liked my work!! thanks to everyone for their support!)

[jo-harrington]

Strawberry Shortcake (Eddie Munson x Reader)

Pairings/Relationships: Older!Eddie Munson/Reader

Warnings/Themes: Meet Cute (ish), Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Medical-Related Talk/Hospitals (Nothing Graphic), Food/Eating

Note: Having a bad day on top of a bad week on top of a bad whatever. My uncle was in the hospital unexpectedly; he’s home now but that hospital in particular is one that doesn’t hold a lot of great memories. (Which ones do?) It's fine, but here we are throwing Eddie into the pot to make things a little easier. If only he was there to have strawberry shortcake with me.

Tagging @deathbecomesthem at their request. Thanks for always being there Than.

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

---

Eddie stared deeply into the cooler, as though he'd find the meaning of life between cups of half-rotten grapes and soggy egg salad sandwiches.

Foods like this...well, they were old friends--too many gas station stops and midnight runs to 7-11s in his life--but for some reason this felt like the hardest decision of his life.

Actually, he'd like something hot for dinner, and the food here actually wasn’t that bad, if he remembered the last time he found himself haunting the halls of Roane County Memorial Hospital. But the cafeteria line is closed. So he'd have to settle for premade sandwiches and salads because he wasn't going to venture outside anytime soon.

His nerves would eat him before he could eat anything if he left.

"The PB&J is pretty good," a gentle voice startled him and an arm crossed in front of him to grab the aforementioned sandwich.

PB&J Crunch - Grape Jelly

"I don't like crunchy peanut butter," he dismissed, trying not to sound as hollow as he felt.

"It's not crunchy peanut butter," you explained and then squinted down at the label. "It's got granola in it or something. It's pretty good, I promise."

He considered it for a second, wondered if his current mental state will tolerate bits in his sandwich, but then he realized he was too tired to care. He just needed to eat something.

He grabbed a sandwich and then a soda from the bottom of the cooler, and he was about to head over to the tired cashier when you asked, "do you like Strawberry Shortcake?"

He paused and looked at you.

Really looked at you, looking back at him with kind and understanding eyes, a small smile on your lips.

There was something else there too. Weariness. That was an old friend too, to both of you it seemed. But where his hung off him like some insidious creature clinging to his back, you wore it as well as you wear your Jurassic Park t-shirt and ripped jeans.

It was worn in and comfortable. You're used to it. He could tell.

And still you're trying to be nice to him.

The least he could do was accept your kindness, even if he couldn’t offer anything back.

"Isn't the sandwich sweet enough?" he asked.

"You look like someone who has a sweet tooth. Besides, if you..." you bit your lip for a second in contemplation, then shook your head. "Nevermind. It's my treat."

"Thank you."

You grabbed two little plastic cake containers from the cooler and then followed him to the cashier. Once you handed the cake to him, he in turn followed you to a table in the corner of the cafeteria.

He felt a little pathetic, following like a little lost duckling, and although he wasn’t really in the mood for conversation, he didn't want to be alone.

Thankfully, you seemed to know exactly what he felt in that moment, and you remained silent as wrappers were peeled open and bites were taken from your respective PB&Js.

You were right about the sandwich, it was pretty good. Reminded him of the sandwiches his mom made for his lunches.

He said goodbye to peanut butter and jelly after his mom spent time in this very hospital.

He said goodbye to his...shit, what didn't he say goodbye to after his own lengthy stay back in '86?

And now?

What would he say goodbye to now?

"Growing up doesn't always mean saying goodbye to things," Wayne told him once, oh so long ago, when they stood side by side at the counter spreading mustard and layering cold cuts onto thin slices of sandwich bread. "But it means they get a little fonder when you make your way back to them."

He's grateful for the peanut butter sticking to the roof of his mouth so he'd have something to focus on instead of the sting of tears in his eyes.

"You know," you finally broke the silence as you set your own sandwich down to take a sip of your soda. "This is what I eat every time I find myself here."

"You find yourself here a lot?"

He laughed as soon as the words left his mouth; not an amused laugh, almost a self-deprecating one. It sounded a lot more flirty than he intended it too, especially given the circumstances, and he felt like an idiot.

You did him a favor as you ignored him, and instead gestured to the food.

"PB&J, Strawberry Shortcake, Dr. Pepper. My mom had this...I don't even know if you'd call it a heart attack...a few years ago. I stayed with her the whole time she was here recovering; couldn't stop crying that first night, which of course made everything better.

"The nurses kicked me out at some point. Sent me down here to get some food. And the only thing that looked good was the Strawberry Shortcake. It was the only thing I ate until she got to go home. Just. Mountains of Strawberry Shortcake."

You broke open the seal on your cake, then did the same for his, talking as your hands kept busy and even as you took your first bite.

"It's what she makes me for my birthday every year," you finished through the mouthful of cake, "and this one almost tastes as good as hers does. Almost. But it's something I can control when everything else feels like it's falling apart."

You stared at him pointedly and then glanced down at his slice of cake.

Eddie stared at the cake-- at the layers of fluffy yellow sponge and swirling whipped cream and dense, gooey strawberries--and considered your words.

Control. Yeah he could use a little bit of that right now.

He picked up the fork and severed the soft corner, then shoved it into his mouth.

It was an assault of the senses, the unlocking of a memory that didn’t even feel like it was his. A store bought birthday cake that he and Wayne had gotten for his mom for the first birthday she had after his dad got sent away. She said it was the best cake she ever tasted, and he and Wayne both agreed.

This seemed like it would be a close second.

“My uncle,” he began, voice thick with emotion and whipped cream. “He had an accident at work. I live in Indy. Not too far but far enough that he didn’t have me as an emergency contact. Called him to tell him something I heard about the Colts. That old bastard…he always picks up the phone when he’s home. Always. But he didn’t this time.

“Figured maybe he picked up an extra shift or something. He gets bored. ‘Specially when I’m not around. But he didn’t answer for a few days and when I called the plant, they said he was here.”

The rest felt like a blur.

Driving out to Hawkins, seeing Wayne in that bed, talking to the doctors. Words like pain management, skin grafts, and physical therapy struck something inside of him that he’d worked tirelessly to forget for himself. Emotional scars were as thick as the physical ones.

Now the wounds had all reopened because of his uncle. More, actually, because he finally realized what Wayne must’ve felt all those years ago seeing him in a hospital bed.

How close he came to losing the only family he had.

“Hey I’m sorry.” Eddie startled as you reached a hand out to touch his arm, as tears escaped the corner of his eyes. “It’s ok, everything will be alright.”

“I know,” he nodded and sniffed, a little embarrassed to be crying in front of a stranger but you really weren’t a stranger. He laid his free hand on yours for a second, heavy as he felt the warmth and weight of you.

Were you a stranger? He considered it. He might not have known your name, but he knew you well. You were here, weary and waiting, just like he was.

“You know, he woke up when I walked in,” Eddie choked a laugh as he continued. “Said what took you so long when he saw me. Then he complained about the bed being uncomfortable.”

“That’s how you’ll know he’ll be alright,” you laughed right along with him.

The two of you finished your dinners, moving onto some lighter topics—the usual getting-to-know-you’s that you did when you met someone new—and once the cashier came to tell you they were about to close up, you got to your feet to head back to your respective family members.

“Thank you,” Eddie told you as you meandered out. “I don’t…it’s…”

“I get it,” you replied with a small smile. “If you need someone to talk to, I’m sure I’ll be around for a few more days until mom goes home again. Just hang around the cafeteria until I materialize.”

There was a weird pause, awkward as neither of you new how to part ways. Eddie attempted a handshake, but you pulled him into a hug instead. Once again, knowing what it was he needed.

He melted into you gratefully.

And he whispered into your shoulder, “The strawberry shortcake will be on me next time.”

[reasonsforhope]

"The New York City Council voted to ban most uses of solitary confinement in city jails Wednesday [December 20, 2023], passing the measure with enough votes to override a veto from Mayor Eric Adams.

The measure would ban the use of solitary confinement beyond four hours and during certain emergencies. That four hour period would be for "de-escalation" in situations where a detainee has caused someone else physical harm or risks doing so. The resolution would also require the city's jails to allow every person detained to spend at least 14 hours outside of their cells each day.

The bill, which had 38 co-sponsors, was passed 39 to 7. It will now go to the mayor, who can sign the bill or veto it within 30 days. If Mayor Adams vetoes the bill, it will get sent back to the council, which can override the veto with a vote from two-thirds of the members. The 39 votes for the bill today make up 76% of the 51-member council. At a press conference ahead of the vote today [December 20, 2023], Council speaker Adrienne Adams indicated the council would seek [a veto] override if necessary.

For his part, Mayor Adams has signaled he is indeed considering vetoing the bill...

The United Nations has said solitary confinement can amount to torture, and multiple studies suggest its use can have serious consequences on a person's physical and mental health, including an increased risk of PTSD, dying by suicide, and having high blood pressure.

One 2019 study found people who had spent time in solitary confinement in prison were more likely to die in the first year after their release than people who had not spent time in solitary confinement. They were especially likely to die from suicide, homicide and opioid overdose.

Black and Hispanic men have been found to be overrepresented among those placed in solitary confinement – as have gay, lesbian and bisexual people.

The resolution in New York comes amid scrutiny over deaths in the jail complex on Rikers Island. Last month, the federal government joined efforts to wrest control of the facility from the mayor, and give it to an outside authority.

In August 2021, 25-year-old Brandon Rodriguez died while in solitary confinement at Rikers. He had been in pre-trial detention at the jail for less than a week. His mother, Tamara Carter, says his death was ruled a suicide and that he was in a mental health crisis at the time of his confinement.

"I know for Brandon, he should have been put in the infirmary. He should have been seeing a psychiatrist. He should have been being watched," she said.

She says the passage of the bill feels like a form of justice for her.

"Brandon wasn't nothing. He was my son. He was an uncle. A brother. A grandson. And he's very, very missed," she told NPR. "I couldn't save my son. But if I joined this fight, maybe I could save somebody else's son." ...

New York City is not the first U.S. city to limit the use of solitary confinement in its jails, though it is the largest. In 2021, voters in Pennsylvania's Allegheny County, which includes Pittsburgh, passed a measure to restrict solitary confinement except in cases of lockdowns and emergencies. The sheriff in Illinois' Cook County, which includes Chicago, has said the Cook County jail – one of the country's largest – has also stopped using solitary confinement...

Naila Awan, the interim co-director of policy at the New York Civil Liberties Union, says that New York making this change could have larger influence across the country.

"As folks look at what New York has done, other larger jails that are not quite the size of Rikers will be able to say, 'If New York City is able to do this, then we too can implement similar programs here, that it's within our capacity and capabilities," Awan says. "And to the extent that we are able to get this implemented and folks see the success, I think we could see a real shift in the way that individuals are treated behind bars.""

-via NPR, December 20, 2023

[urdreamgirls-dreamgirl]

When witches turn eighteen years old, it’s customary for them to be sent out into the world, to practice their magic and find their calling. So when Eddie Munson’s birthday passes in July, he packs a suitcase, says goodbye to his Uncle Wayne—the best garden witch in the tri-county area, ask anyone!—zips his cat into the neck of his leather jacket (whom he’d cleverly named Kitty when he was six years old), climbs on his broom, and sets off for the city on the coast.

Once he gets there, Eddie’s not entirely sure where to go. He’s never actually been to the city before, but he’d heard so many stories—from classmates and friends, from travelers passing through his small town who’d come searching for Wayne’s recipes, from the witches who returned after their year-long apprenticeships—that he’d known since he was thirteen that he had to see it for himself. He wanders the cobblestone streets with his broom and his bag and marvels at the crowds. He watches a magician perform on the street—doesn’t miss it when he slips a card up his sleeve or shifts a coin through his fingers, but it still makes him smile—before he stumbles onto a ‘help wanted’ sign in a shop window. Kitty lets out a tiny meow from where she’s tucked under Eddie’s chin, like she’s trying to get his attention. Eddie glances down at her and she shifts her gaze from his face to the sign and back again.

“Alright, I hear ya,” Eddie murmurs, grinning and cupping a hand over her head for a quick pet.

A tiny bell jingles overhead as Eddie pushes open the front door. Immediately, he’s met with the smell of baking bread and sugary frosting. He breathes deep, giving Kitty another pat on her head. He stands at the counter for a moment before a boy around his age appears from the back room.

“Hi, welcome to The Bakery. What can I help you with?” The boy is grinning wide, wiping his flour-covered hands on his apron. He’s got soft brown hair and eyes to match. Eddie meets his gaze and feels himself blush.

“Um, you have a ‘help wanted’ sign in your window?” Eddie hooks his thumb over his shoulder, gesturing at the sign.

“Oh! Yeah, we just put that up today actually. We’re looking for a delivery person,” the boy is still grinning, eyeing Eddie’s broom. “I’m Steve.” He holds out his hand over the counter for Eddie to shake.

“Eddie.” Steve’s hand is surprisingly soft when Eddie shakes it.

“The job comes with a room over the bakery, our hours are from 6am to 5pm every day but Thursday, and we’d like you to start immediately.”

“Oh, um. Just like that?”

Steve grins again. “I may not be smart, but even I know not to turn away a witch when one comes knocking.” He knocks his knuckles against the wooden counter and Eddie returns his smile. “Come on, I’ll show you the room.” Steve turns to head back the way he came and Eddie takes a moment to look down at Kitty. She blinks at him, all-knowing, and it makes Eddie blush again. He rolls his eyes and sticks his tongue out at her before following behind Steve.

He follows Steve out the bakery’s back door and up a set of wooden stairs that lead from the garden to a small deck, where Steve pulls a key from his pocket and unlocks one of the two doors. He gestures for Eddie to step through the doorway before following behind him.

“The room is furnished, there’s a small stove there in the corner with a sink and a washroom just over there,” Steve gestures to a door on the opposite wall from the tiny bed. “My apartment’s the next door over and I have a full kitchen, which you’re welcome to use if you need to. Here’s your key,” Steve drops the warm piece of metal into Eddie’s palm, “and I’ll have the spare key to my place and the bakery for you tomorrow. Make yourself at home and head down to the bakery tomorrow morning.” Steve pats him on the shoulder before heading back out of the tiny room and down into the bakery.

Eddie is left to do nothing but blink at the empty space Steve had left behind. He’s not entirely sure what just happened, but he’s pretty sure he’s landed both a job and a place to stay. Not bad for his first day in the city.

~*~

A year passes and Eddie is happy. He writes to Wayne and tells him all about Steve and the recipes he tries out in the bakery. Tells Wayne that he suspects that Steve might have some witch blood he doesn’t know about; the things he can do with buttercream are pure magic. Eddie visits Wayne once for his birthday—it’s a long way by broom—weighed down by pastries and cakes that Steve insists he take home with him.

Eddie starts to learn the landscape of the city, learns when to fly over the coastline and when to keep tight to the city streets. He makes his own posters, starts to do some deliveries after hours too, which leads him to meet all sorts of interesting people. He meets artists and performers, writers and teachers, even the man who services the big clock at the center of the city (which Eddie finds particularly impressive).

He spends time with Steve. Steve is funny and smart, despite what he’d said the first day Eddie had met him. He can cook, not just bake, and he insists that Eddie joins him for dinner at least three nights a week. At first, Eddie had tried to say no to Steve’s invitations, thinking that Steve was just being polite, but Steve had insisted and Eddie realized that Steve was actually pretty lonely. He wasn’t from the city and he didn’t have much family; he’d come here when his parents had died. He’d apprenticed with an older woman named Claudia, who’d left the bakery to him when she’d retired not too long ago. Steve’s eyes go soft whenever he mentions her. Her son, Dustin, still helps them around the bakery three days a week, counting down the days until he leaves for university (he only ever relays the amount of days and Eddie’s pretty bad at math, but by his count, Dustin’s still got about three years to go).

Steve also talks about his best friend, Robin, who’s away at art school. Steve is hoping when she comes back in the spring, she’ll work at the bakery decorating the cakes. Eddie’s surprised to learn that Robin is also a witch; he hadn’t known many witches to go to art school.

The year passes in dinners and picnics, in deliveries and odd jobs, and when spring is finally turning over into summer again, Robin arrives home to the bakery.

“Stevie!” A voice calls from the front of the shop, scratchy and warm, drowning out the jingle of the bell. Eddie is sat on the counter in the back room, completely entranced by the way Steve’s arm muscles jump under his skin as he kneads bread dough. He’s barely listening to some story Steve’s telling about something Dustin had done the other day.

Eddie watches as Steve stops what he’s doing completely. “Robbie?” A smile spreads across Steve’s face, quick and involuntary. He doesn’t even pause to wipe his hands before he’s rushing into the front of the shop. Eddie watches through the door as a pretty girl with short blond hair throws her arms around Steve’s neck. He lifts her off the ground, spinning her around, leaving flour fingerprints across the back of her navy t-shirt.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming today?” Steve asks when he’s finally returned her to an upright position on her own two feet.

“Because then it wouldn’t have been a surprise, dingus.” She pokes a finger into his ribs and he half-heartedly tries to shove her away.

Watching them, Eddie feels something tighten in his chest that he can’t quite explain. He knows this is Robin—he’s seen pictures of her before—knows she’s Steve’s best friend, but this is more than mere friendship. This is something else entirely. Something magic. Eddie’s a good witch. He knows true love when he sees it.

“You have to meet Eddie,” Steve says before calling through the doorway, “Eddie, come meet Robin!”

Eddie hops off the counter and does as he’s told.

~*~

A few weeks later, Eddie wakes with a pounding headache. There’s a breeze coming through his window off the coast and it makes him shiver. He coughs and looks around for Kitty, but she isn’t curled in her usual spot on his pillow. Eddie sniffles.

He pulls himself from his bed and feels dizzy. He washes his face and drinks some orange juice before he heads down to the bakery.

“Wow, you look awful,” Robin says by way of greeting. She grimaces as he comes through the doorway.

“Gee thanks,” Eddie grumbles half-heartedly in her direction. His voice sounds heavy and hoarse.

Steve crosses the room from where he stands in front of the ovens and presses the back of his hand to Eddie’s forehead. “Eddie, you’re burning up. You should go back to bed. I’ll bring you soup later.” He pushes Eddie in the direction of the back door.

“But the deliveries,” Eddie mumbles, eyes already half closing as he dreams of getting back into his sleep-warm bed.

Steve smiles softly. “Don’t worry. Robin and Dustin can handle it.” Eddie glances behind Steve at Robin, who nods at Eddie reassuringly.

“Okay.” Eddie’s voice is a whisper and then he’s stumbling back up the stairs and falling into his bed. He wonders again where Kitty’s run off to.

~*~

Eddie is in and out of consciousness for three days. He has strange dreams, some of them nightmares where monsters chase after him as he tries to fly away on his broom; others are about Steve and Robin and even Dustin, good dreams of the life he’s made here for himself.

Steve keeps his promise and brings him soup every day, helping Eddie sit up against his pillows and even helping Eddie spoon the broth into his mouth. Eddie thinks he maybe should be a little embarrassed about it, but it’s so nice and comforting that he can’t. It reminds him of home, of recipes from Wayne’s garden.

Robin comes to sit with him on the second night, stroking his hair and humming lullabies while he drifts off.

On the third day, when Eddie is starting to feel better, Kitty finally reappears. Eddie asks her where she’d run off to, but she doesn’t answer. She’s been keeping secrets lately.

~*~

After three days, Eddie finally returns to work. Steve gives him the first delivery, tells him Dustin and Robin can continue to help out, just for a few days, so Eddie doesn’t overexert himself. Eddie nods.

He ties the tiny pastry box to the handle of his broom and mounts it on the sidewalk outside. He kicks off from the cobblestones. Nothing happens. Flying had always come easily to Eddie. It was second nature to him, something he never really had to think about. Not all witches could fly, but Eddie can’t really remember a time when he couldn’t.

He tries to kick off from the sidewalk again. Again, nothing happens. Eddie can feel the panic rise in his chest. He swallows, tries again. Still nothing.

He hears himself let out a small whimper and he’s glad Steve’s gone back inside and can’t hear him. He glances through the shop window and sees Robin’s clever eyes watching him. She meets his gaze. He can see the naked concern there. He swallows again.

He climbs off the broom and unties the package. He carries both as he re-enters the bakery.

“Something’s wrong,” he says to Robin and Steve.

“What do you mean?” Steve asks coming out of the back room again.

“Dunno,” Eddie replies. “Broom’s broken or something. Can’t fly.” He shakes the broom in his hand.

“Does that happen?” Steve’s brow furrows. Eddie shrugs.

“Maybe you’re still sick,” Robin says. “You should go back to bed. Try again in a few days.”

“Yeah. Maybe.” Eddie looks down at his feet. He passes the box to Robin and then decides she’s right. Decides he should go back to bed.

“Don’t worry, Eddie,” Steve says, reassuringly. “It’ll pass. Robin and Dustin can keep doing the deliveries for a little while.”

~*~

Eddie’s magic doesn’t come back. It’s not just the flying either. Kitty stays away longer. Eddie finds himself misunderstanding her more often than not. He keeps messing up simple cleaning spells and the easy home remedies he’s been brewing since before he can remember.

He takes his broom out every night and under the cover of darkness tries and tries and tries again. Sometimes he feels eyes watching him from Steve’s apartment, but when he glances up, all he can see is the flutter of curtains.

~*~

After three weeks of a miserable, magic-less existence, Robin knocks on the door of Eddie’s small room.

“Wanna talk?” She asks from the doorway.

Eddie considers saying no. Instead he nods and gestures toward his small kitchen table. She sits.

“I saw you practicing,” she says, diving right in.

“Yeah.” Eddie doesn’t try to deny it or even play dumb and ask what she means. She’s a witch. She’ll know. “Flying used to be like breathing. I didn’t even notice I was doing it half the time. Think I learned to fly before I could even walk. Now it’s all I think about. Feels like something’s missing now, like my lungs or, like, a part of my heart or something.”

Robin nods, knowing. “That happened to me, you know. Lost my magic. Felt like I lost an arm.”

Eddie swallows. “What helped get it back?”

“I met Steve,” she says softly, a fond smile playing around the corners of her lips. “I left home earlier than other witches. I never really fit in. I wanted to go to school. Didn’t know if I even wanted to practice my magic at all. My parents said if I stuck it out, I could leave when I was fourteen. So I did. I waited and counted the days and finally it was time. Spent a year in the city. I loved it. But then, one of my friends… something happened to her.” Robin looks sad and twists her fingers together, fidgeting. “She had to leave the city. When she left, I got really sick. Couldn’t do magic for almost a year.”

“A year?” Eddie asks, mouth hanging open. “I can’t not fly for a whole year.”

Robin hums. “You figure it out. You have to. Some days it’s more noticeable than others.”

“But you met Steve. And you got your magic back?” Eddie prompts.

“Yeah. It’s like that saying, you know the one? ‘True love makes the best magic.’” She says it like she’s said it a hundred thousand times before.

Eddie grumbles. “Don’t think I’m gonna fall in love and magically fix my flying problem.” He crosses his arms over his chest.

“I didn’t say anything about falling in love.” Robin smiles again, big and bright this time. “There’s more than one kind of true love.”

~*~

Eddie thinks about what Robin had said to him for days. He turns it over in his mind again and again and again.

He starts laying out treats for Kitty. He misses her. Even before he got sick and lost his magic, he’d started to leave her behind more and more on his deliveries. He’d realized he could fly faster without worrying about her falling from inside his jacket.

She’s hesitant, but she starts coming back more. When they sleep, she returns to her place on Eddie’s pillow and Eddie feels good with the soft, warm weight of her next to his head as he slowly drifts into sleep.

Before he’d gotten sick, he’d taken on too many deliveries. He’d stopped having time to chat with the customers, to hear the little stories of their lives, of cleaning the clock tower at the center of town or a new plot point one of the writers had just figured out. He’d missed hearing the explanations of what celebrations he was delivering cupcakes or tarts or heart-shaped cakes for. Delivering on foot gave him a lot more time to stop and watch the street performers, to help tourists with directions. On foot, Eddie began to appreciate the city again, like he had before, when he’d first gotten here. When it felt like he’d been dropped right into the center of a dream realized.

He starts having more dinners with Robin and Steve. He’d stopped doing it so much, not wanting to feel like a wonky third wheel. But they slot him in right next to them, right in the middle. They fill him in on inside jokes and old stories. Sometimes Dustin joins them and Eddie tells stories of Wayne and the strange people who used to appear on their doorstep in search of some of his magic.

Eddie starts to feel happy again.

~*~

A week after he talked to Robin, Eddie brings his broom out into the center of the street. It’s close to dusk, the sun low in the sky, and the bakery is closed for the day. Steve, Robin, and Dustin stand shoulder to shoulder on the sidewalk, waiting.

Eddie breathes deep. He swallows. Breathes again. And then he mounts his broom like he has a million times before. He grips the polished handle. He feels it thrum beneath his fingertips. He takes another deep breath, closes his eyes, and kicks off from the cobblestones.

There’s a strange sort of hush to the street. Eddie can’t tell if he’s in the air. He squints an eye open and sees Steve, Robin, and Dustin waving up at him. He can’t help the grin that spreads across his face. He lets out a shout.

He does a few circles around, just above their heads, while they all scream and clap for him. Eddie can’t help but laugh. He’d missed this.

When he finally lands, they all rush to hug him. Dustin lets go first and then Steve.

Robin’s arms are still around him when she whispers into his ear, low enough so only he can hear it. “See? True love magic.” Eddie smiles again and gives her one last tight squeeze before letting go.

Dustin and Robin head back inside, leaving Steve and Eddie to stare at each other in the empty street. Steve is still grinning, his hands in his pocket.

“How’s it feel?” Steve nods toward the broom.

“Feels like breathing,” Eddie tells him, closing the space between them. Steve’s cheeks flush and Eddie doesn’t miss the way his eyes flick from Eddie’s gaze down to his lips and back again. Steve licks his own lips. “Feels like home.”

Steve is breathing a little harder now as Eddie continues to slowly close the distance between them.

“Feels like magic,” Eddie whispers, before he brushes his lips against Steve’s. He pulls back slightly. “Feels like love.” Steve’s hand comes up to curl around the back of Eddie’s neck, pulling Eddie in close for a real and proper kiss, right there in the empty street, under the setting sun.

now on ao3 :)

(For @outpastthebrakers for commenting on the post where I mentioned this!!!! Warning: this was fully written under the influence of a sleeping pill in abt an hour and a half. Don’t hold that against me :P)

[slasherx]

I'm doing fine thank you for asking, 😌

Also thank you for doing the request of Thomas Hewitt

I also had another idea you can do if you want!

Can you do a Thomas hewitt with a female s/o who can sing like really well (like lana del Rey) and he meets her at like idk when the town wasn't abandoned they used to have like little evens and the s/o sang up and like thats when thomas fell in love

I know cheesy but like aren't we all

Thats good! And yeah, no problem. Tommy's my favorite so it's always a pleasure doing requests for him :3

Content: Thomas Hewitt x fem!Reader

Warnings: None

Notes: The gif below is one of my favorite gifs of him hehe. I also love Lana Del Rey so I'm basing this off the song "Summertime Sadness" by her. Also I do headcanon Charlie/Hoyt and Tommy to be brothers, with Luda Mae as their mom, and Monty as the only uncle and brother to Luda. I know some people have them as uncle and nephew, but I don't think thats the case. Tommy and Reader are both about 18 in this.

• ───────────────── •

Tommy both loved and hated the county fair.

He hated it because people would tell him he should be with the pigs, or with the cows, displayed for people to judge. He hated the heat that accumulated with everyone smushed together in a crowd. He hated that he had no friends to run off with and have fun with, only Charlie could do that with him, but his older brother was worried about girls. He hated that he had to stay by his mama helping sell jelly and the like, he desperately wanted to go on the rides and see the attractions.

But he also loved it because of said rides and attractions. There was a new one this year, where music was being played. He could hear it from his mama's stand. He kept looking in the direction of it, and Luda Mae could practically feel his wanting.

"Tommy, what'cha keep lookin' over there for?" Luda Mae asked.

Tommy touched his ears and pointed in the direction of the music. Luda Mae understood - he wanted to go see the music. "Well, alright. Maybe it'll lighten up your mood some."

Tommy perked up at that. He hugged her and turned to move towards the music. Luda Mae then piped up again. "But you better tell Charlie to come back if you see 'im!"

Tommy nodded before going towards the music. There was a huge crowd both sitting and standing, consisting of old and young people. The stage was made of some dark wood, with red curtains pulled back to show off the full thing. And there you stood, singing your little heart out.

Tommy could feel his knees wobble. You were singing some soft melody, and your bandmates were scattered around you. But he was attracted to you. Your voice sounded like it was touched by God himself. It was beautiful. You were beautiful.

You wore a pastel blue and white dress that cascaded down to your knees, your (color) hair cascading down (to your shoulders/past your shoulders). Tommy was enamoured. You dressed just as you sang.

As you sang, you noticed this hulking man in the back and tried to subtly get a better look. This man had broad shoulders, wavy brown hair that fell past those broad shoulders, and what seemed to be a mask covering his face. He wore a nice green dress shirt with khaki pants. You smiled, he was cute.

Tommy could've sworn he almost fainted. He turned around to see if you had smiled at someone else maybe, but he was the only one in this general direction. He kept some distance from the back of the crowd so he didn't have to hear any insults.

As you finished your song and began preparing to move to the next one, you locked eyes with him once more, singing loud and proud. Your bandmates played your instrumental, smiling to themselves as they just enjoyed playing their repsective instruments.

Tommy stayed for your whole performance, completely in a trance. He hadn't noticed the sun going down and the heat lessenig. He hadn't notice people and families shove past him to leave. All his focus was on, was you. He felt his heart pound at every syllable you sung, every note you hit.

It was poetic, he thinks. But that was soon interrupted by someone grabbing his shoulder. He whipped around angrily, only to be met with his older brother, Charlie.

"C'mon, Tommy! Been lookin' everywhere for ya! We need to go, mama's tired and sold all o' her jelly 'n shit." Charlie spoke loudly over your voice.

He didn't want to leave you. Even though you weren't singing exclusively for him, and had barely knew him much less even met him, he didn't want to leave. You showed him kidness by smiling at him. That is something he'll never forget. He just nodded to Charlie.

Charlie, figuring that was enough, turned and began heading back to Luda Mae's stand. Tommy watched him go, before turning back to you singing on stage. He raised his hand high and waved, before leaving the crowd.

You were on stage and mid-song, so you couldn't wave back. But oh how you wanted to.

• ───────────────── •

Here's my masterlist, in case you like what you see and want to request more!

[seat-safety-switch]

Birdwatching got really popular in the early days of the Unpleasantness. However, now that the bosses are forcing us all back to the office, the birds don't have anyone to watch them. That's why I built an autonomous bird-observation robot. Its name is SparrowScope 9000, and I recommend not becoming too emotionally attached to it, because it is your competition.

There's a lot of obvious benefits to having a robotic birdwatcher. It can start up early in the morning and go to its charging dock late at night. It never makes a mistake identifying a bird. It won't get tired, cold, hungry, or develop pointless drama with "Uncle" Hudson Carl online over his fucking misdocumentation of Northern Cardinals. You can pop over to its little webpage and see what it spotted that day, and feel pretty good. It's like you're really there, even though you're stuck in an office building wondering if you have enough staples loaded in your stapler to get through the month, or if you should maybe talk to Jan in Requisitioning to get a fresh refill.

However, there are flaws. One of the big things is that the US military doesn't let regular people – civilians – have super-accurate GPS. They fuck with the data a little bit, so that you can't somehow threaten national security by knowing where you are. I didn't know this before I started on the project, and the bird sanctuary has a lot of elevated walkways ever since the flood. SparrowScope 9000 became more of a SoggyScope Wet-Thousand.

If a real technology company had assembled it, that would probably have been the end of the story. They'd have put in some total garbage like a modern microcontroller, maybe some parts made in this century. Not me. This thing is half old pinball machine parts and the other half Aibos. It kept trucking right down the river, and I never saw it again. I do get updates from it periodically as it spots a new bird, but my work schedule forbids me from taking a few days off to drive to the next county over and see if I can figure out which swamp it's floated into this time.

Even with this small disaster, I'm pretty proud of what I accomplished. Our avian friends get looked at by a creepy robot covered in seaweed, and we can all experience what it was like for one brief, shining moment in which we still had hobbies.

[odinsblog]

“How do you enjoy life as the world burns? When the planet is on fire, and the country is falling apart, and the cops shoot another teenager, and half your neighbors are getting evicted or deported, and Bill Maher is still speaking out loud on television, what do you do? I go to the water park with my nephew Miles.

Miles is 12 years old. He is a brilliant, bow-legged troublemaker. I love him despite the fact that he's 12 and still has a rat tail. It's really not that cute anymore, dude. We're not related by blood, but Miles' dad, Kevin, is like a brother to me. So Miles calls me Uncle Josh.

Uncle Josh, when are we going to the Warriors game? Uncle Josh, will you show me how to open that car with a hanger again? Uncle Josh, Uncle Josh, since I'm half Black and half Asian, does that make me Blazian? No, Miles, that makes you Oakland.

It's August, and it's hot, which for the Bay Area, means anything above 67. Today, it's 91. I'm over at Kevin and Miles' place, sitting in no AC, in our tank tops and boxers, watching Key and Peele.

I say, guys, we gotta go somewhere to cool off. Cooler than the movie theater, cooler than the mall, I'm gonna take us to East Bay's water world. Miles' face lights up. But then Kevin says, I don't know you guys. I mean, those water parks, you know, they're so wasteful.

My man Kevin is the worst kind of Bay Area environmentalist. He's that type of dude who will come over your house and use the bathroom, not flush, but instead write a note on your toilet paper telling you how much water he just saved you. That's a true story.

I say, Kevin, it's so hot out here, I could fry an egg on your face, which I will if we don't go to East Bay Water World. Miles says, please dad. I say, please dad.

Kevin says, fine. Go have fun at the park, but take my car. It's a hybrid.

I grab the keys and soon me and Miles are driving through Oakland. We pass by the Trilingual Liquor Store, the farmer's market that accepts food stamps and we make our way through the tunnel and the hills. We emerge on the other side in the valley.

The further we get from the coast, the ground is drier and drier, browner and browner. The only green is the manicured lawns of the suburbs, the golf courses, the empty field of the sprawling county jail. And then we see it and we arrive at our Mecca, our oasis in the California desert, East Bay Water World. And it's even more beautiful than I imagined. There's four wave pools, there's a 50-foot water park, the air smells like chlorine and sunscreen and funnel cake. Delicious.

Miles' mouth is wide, staring at all these things he's never seen before. Carnival games, Dippin Dots, girls in bikinis, Uncle Josh, this place is awesome. I know, Miles. I know.

We go and we jump in the wave pool, we float down the lazy river, we spin through the whitewater rapids until we're totally drenched, grinning ear to ear and surprisingly thirsty. So I go to the funnel cake vendor for something to drink.

Can I get a bottle of water, please? He says, no problem. That'll be $7. $7 for a bottle of water? He looks at the bottle. It says, and he literally read off the bottle, it says this here is bottled and purified up near Lake Tahoe.

This is California water. California water. I buy two bottles and walk back to where Miles is pointing up towards the sky. I follow his gaze and then I see it. There, staring down at us from the tallest point in the park is the biggest water slide I've ever seen. The tallest slide in Northern California, the Annihilator.

The Annihilator is a seven-story, 80-foot freefall drop down all in just under five seconds. It's one of those slides that's so vertical, your back comes off the ride when you go down, so you feel like if you lean over just a little bit, you're done. It's the type of slide that's illegal in 27 states and most of the European Union, but hey, this is California.

I look and see Miles. His mouth is watering in anticipation. We go and get in line.

Now, the worst part of the Annihilator isn't the ride down. That's only five seconds. The worst part is the 30-minute wait in line, standing in the stairs watching and hearing every kid go down the slide, hearing every scream, every shriek, every, oh, sweet baby, Purple Jesus. The That's a direct quote from a nine-year-old. Shout out to Purple Jesus.

Miles is nervous. His hand is clenching the railing. Uncle Josh, is this thing safe?

Before I can answer, I hear a voice shouting from the top of the stairs, Hands up! Put your hands up!

Hands up!

It's the lifeguard, a tall white teenager in red shorts. He's yelling at the girl about to go down the slide. I'm telling you, it's way more fun if you put your hands up.

And the words hit me like a tsunami. It's August, two weeks after Ferguson, after Mike Brown. After those words, hands up became the calling cry for a movement.

In Missouri, people are putting their hands up to protest the police murdering another black boy in America. In California, I'm watching kids put their hands up as they go down a water slide called the Annihilator, and my nephew asks me if it's safe here. It's August in America.

In Detroit, they're shutting off poor people's water. California is suffocating of thirst. Half of my friends are putting buckets of ice over their faces on Facebook. Israel is bombing water treatment plants in Gaza, and in America, we have water parks in the desert. Industrial Almond Farms in the desert, prisons in the desert, my family, me and my nephew right here in the desert looking for anything that could be called an oasis. And Miles asked me if it's safe here.

What am I supposed to tell him?

I don't want to lie to my nephew. I want him to know that yes, some people will always see him as a threat, but I also want him to laugh and play and go get on this crazy ass waterslide.

How do you enjoy life as the world is burning? How do you teach your nephew to hate the park but love the ride? The thing is called the Annihilator. I think it might be trying to tell us something.

And now we're next in line. A girl with blonde pigtails is shaking her head. The lifeguard says, it's okay, you don't have to do it.

She backs away and now Miles is up.

He steps to the edge of the slide, puts his feet in the rushing water.

I can see the brown hills in the distance, Oakland and all its beautiful contradictions waiting on the other side. I wave at Miles, say, you got this. You got this, dude.

And he waves back at me, and when he does, he lets go of the railing. His hand shoots up in the air and the rushing water carries him away. He lets go. He shoots out and disappears over the edge. My nephew!

I rush to the side and look over, and there's Miles at the bottom of the slide, safe and alive and pulling up his bathing suit. He jumps up and runs to get back in line, and the cycle continues. Water, blood, life, death, and maybe rebirth.

I'm still on the top platform of the slide.

I walk to the edge, look down at California, lift my hands, and let go.”

—Mr. Josh Healey

[its-in-the-woods]

Coyote Head - Part 1 - Sharp pain of greif

master list

Pairing: Cooper Howard x Lucy Maclean 

Alternative Universe where I make things up cause I ca

Synopsis: An old farm set on a couple hundred acres of land, surrounded by forest and wildlands. Lucy Maclean is now the new owner of her childhood home, much to her family’s dismay and anger. The land doesn’t feel the same without her Granddaddy around, the woods seem darker and much more vast. Maybe it’s the fact that she’s alone in the middle of nowhere for the first time in her life. Her great uncle Harris has stepped up to help her learn the ropes of the business, which is bigger than Lucy ever imagined. 

Her neighbor Cooper Howard, is happy to meet a new face in the area. Bonding over their shared grief and strife to make ends meet as the world is changing. Their worlds are shaken when Lucy’s home is vandalized, and secrets that were supposed to be buried forever begin to emerge from the woods.  Horror, mystery, and drama all rolled into one. There is something in the woods.

MINOR GET OUT. Rating/Warning:  Alternative Universe, Slow Burn, Death, Aging, Family Feuding, Eventually: Older Man/Younger Woman, Horror themes, long form fic,

Note: that I will not be spoiling any of the reading. So you have been warned. I will keep my tags relevant without spoiling what is happening in the story.

Grandpa Tim passed yesterday, as much as Lucy wanted to say it was peaceful, it wasn’t. The man had always been tough as nails, but cancer was tougher. Though Lucy had fought hard to keep him comfortable, there was only so much the Doctors could do. His hand gripping hers as he gasped for breath, feeling his heart rate speed up as his body tried to fight it. But he had signed a DNR, there was no going back. So Lucy sat there with tears in her eyes as she watched the man who had raised her slip away. One of the nurses hugged her and told her she was brave. Brave for letting him go, for letting him finally be at peace. Lucy stayed as they loaded him up onto a stretcher to be taken to the funeral home. Remembering the disappointment on his face when they told him he wouldn’t be a viable organ donor. The cancer had spread too fast and too far for anything to be usedable. It was a final sting, knowing that his body wouldn’t even be able to help others. 

-----

The funeral was big, with everyone within ten counties coming over to say farewell to their favorite farmer. Tim had lived here his whole life and was born on the property where he raised his kids and grandbabies. His wife, Lucy’s Grandma, Shirley was buried in the same plot he would be now. Shirley had died six years ago after undergoing a complicated heart surgery. Now they could be back together again. It was one thing Tim had talked about the most as he neared his final days, how excited he was to see Shirley again. He often pondered if he would wake up in heaven and if she would look as pretty as the day she met him. Or maybe she looked as beautiful as the day she passed. 

Tears flowed all around, Tim was as big as life. He was always the first to help. Wildfire? He'd be there with his tanker trailer, pump, and hoses. Cow with a calf stuck?  He knew how to move the calf just right to get them out. Farmer got hurt? He was there with his tractor to make sure the work still got done. The school needs sponsorship? He'd be the first to give his dollar. He was a salt of the earth man. Tim was from this earth. As he was raised down into his grave, Lucy pulled out a mason jar of dark black earth. He had told her exactly where to go to get it. A little bit from the garden that Shirley had loved, a little bit from around where his favorite animals were buried, and a little from the first piece of land he had ever worked into a field. He wanted to make sure that a piece of the land he loved would be buried with him. 

Lucy could barely hold back the sob as she opened the jar and carefully sprinkled it on top of his grave. Others joined in, some had flowers, and others had their own dirt. A bundle of dried wheat, some oats, canola oil, and a pair of cow ear tags. As the items dropped the feeling of finality swept over Lucy. He was really gone. The man who had supported her through everything over the last twenty-five years was now in a box. Surrounded by the things and people he loved. On his right the love of his life Shirley, and on the left the two sons he had to bury before him. One was Lucy’s Dad, his headstone is where she went, placing another small jar of dirt beside it. Tears ran down her cheeks as she said how much she missed him, and that he needed to give Grandpa a big hug for her. 

—-

“I am not sure why there is even a discussion happening.” Shrilled Henry, the last-born son of Tim MacLean. He was a fidgety bird-like man who had been all too happy to get off the shit-hole farm. His words. 

“I am the only son, so clearly it should go to me,” Henry pipped, examining his perfect nail beds.

“Why would you think Dad would want you to have the farm? You haven't been here since Mom died.” Katie scolded. A favorite daughter, but still a middle child. She was a petite woman who had married a chicken farmer down south, she wasn't frequent to the farm but she always had made sure to phone once a week.

“Katie, you don't got much to say,” Theresa quipped, she was the eldest of six kids. She was three times divorced and spent most of her time in Europe. “You got your own farm and your own land.”

“Never said I wanted the land, Theresa,” Katie bit back at her older sister. “Just figured it should go to someone who could use it.”

“Who says I wouldn't use it?” Henry joined in, “I know plenty of people who would be happy to help.”

“Oh yeah, I am sure your closet of boy toys could be persuaded to help.” Theresa sneered, making Martha, Henry's wife, gasp.

“How dare you!” Martha gasps clutching at her purse.

“Don't you start, Theresa!” Henry added, grabbing his wife's hands and glaring at Theresa.

A roar began in the small waiting room. People arguing and yelling, and a magazine went flying. Lucy tried to tuck herself away from the madness. She was the only Grandkid there and the ‘adults’ were losing it.

“Alright.” A big man in overalls and a brown shirt stood up. Great uncle Harris MacLean, Tim's second youngest brother. The man was imposing and loud, and easily commanded the room. Making sure everyone settled back in their chairs without more damage. 

“What would your father think of all of you? Damn shame. Fighting over what isn't even yours.”  Harris came over and put a comforting hand on Lucy’s shoulder. 

“None of you were here when your Dad got sick. Didn’t hold his hand when he passed. When he asked for your Mama. But y'all sure show up looking for another handout.” Harris sat down beside Lucy. “Pretty sure the will has all the answers.”

The couples and their lawyers murmured between themselves.  Eyes glaring at each other from across the room, the coffee table scatters different papers.

“You doing alright Lucy?” Harris asked, glaring at his relatives, his voice low enough that only she could hear him. 

Lucy shrugged, “Was hoping it would be smoother.” Hoping was one thing, it was another to have this many MacLean's in one room.

“Thought your Mom would have come down.” Harris let out a huff, watching all his shifty relatives closely. 

“She's busy in Mexico with her latest fling.” Lucy sighs shifting uncomfortably in her seat, why were waiting room chairs always so uncomfortable? 

“Of course she is. Oh, Rosealy, you were never much for settling down.” Harris sighed, big hands rubbing against his dirty jeans. Margie would be pissed to know he showed up at the lawyers in stained clothes.

A striking man walked into the room, he was wearing a pinstripe grey suit that matched his silver hair. He was all long legs and a lean figure, the suit made him look imposing. Looking at the room taking in the rag-tag bunch and disheveled coffee table.  

“I am guessing you all are the Maclean family?” He says, a faint hint of British accent tinging his voice. 

“Yes that would be us,” Henry chirped, his eyes wandering over the man. 

The man let out a sigh, “Well I suppose if you are all here, we will read the will. I'm positive we do not have any other space-” He glanced around, “For everyone.” 

Lucy stood up and handed the man a folded envelope. The man opened it and read it through before reading it out loud. 

“Here is the Last Will and Testament of Tim Louise MacLean, of Rosewood, I make this will being in sound mind and body.” The man continued, going through the document quickly. “I leave an account to each of my five grandchildren held in trust till they turn eighteen. To my last daughter Lucy Rose MacLean, I leave all my property, and worldly possessions, as well as give her exclusive access to my accounts. To the rest of my children, I ask that you remember that you never had a want in this world. From schooling to houses, and though I love you into entirety. Lucy was my first grandchild, and my last child to raise, the one who loved the farm more than me or Shirley ever could. She will be the one to make any decision regarding the property and finances. “ 

Lucy’s mouth had fallen open as the room had erupted in an outcry. Her heart pounded in her chest at the realization that Grandpa had left everything to her. She watched as Tim’s kids stood and demanded that the will be read again. That their lawyers would have to read it, Henry going so far as to say he would contest it in court. 

“If everyone would please be quiet,” The man in the suit hollered, loud enough to be heard over the commotion. The room fell silent as they all turned to look at him. “I understand this can be hard news for everyone. But this will was originally formed a decade ago, it has been updated yearly. Including 6 months before Mr. MacLean’s diagnosis. I can assure you that he was of sound mind, it was notarized and signed by three separate witnesses.” 

Henry was sitting with his arms crossed, Theresa looked close to tears, Katie was bright red, and Great Uncle Harris just looked amused. 

“You are all within your legal rights to try and take this to court. But, I can assure you no judge in the area would not dismiss this case outright.” He made sure to look at each of them in the eye.

“As for Ms. Lucy MacLean. I have a large amount of paperwork to go over with you. As well as an appointment with the bank.” His green eyes locked on to Lucy’s.

“May I bring my Uncle Harris with me?” Lucy asked, her hands tight fists in her lap.

“Yes, of course, love.” The lawyer said, before turning on his heel and walking down a hallway.

----

It took three weeks to finalize everything, Henry had gone to the court, and he had tried several times, unsuccessfully to get the will reexamined. At the same time, Lucy was engulfed by phone calls, emails, and more. Most of these were tenants of Tim wanting to sort leasing arrangements, others were about moving cattle to new grazing homes. Lucy was never more grateful for her Uncle Harris, he had known most of these men and women. Was able to handle the negotiations and fill Lucy in on what she needed to do regarding cattle, seeding, planting, and more. There was also opening up the house again. When Tim had gone into hospice,  Lucy, Margie, and Harris had taken time to go through things. Tim had not had many worldly possessions, a fire had taken most of that less than five years before. But things like a new mattress, power hooked up, gas running, and the wood stove inspected all needed to be done. 

Lucy sat in the middle of a mostly empty house. She had decided at the last minute to leave her job as an x-ray tech and move to the farm. It wasn’t ideal, but she also had come into a fair sum of money. Her Grandpa had been a smart man and a frugal one too. He had kept most of his and Shirley’s money tucked away in investment accounts that had built a neat little sum of cash. Shirley had always wanted to travel once they had retired, so she had also stashed money away as well. It hurt Lucy’s heart knowing that they had never gotten to do that. 

But now it was in her hands, sort of kinda, she had leaned heavily on her Uncle Harris. He was so incredibly kind and made sure she never felt stupid about the millions of questions she asked. The first year they were leasing almost everything, the hundred head of cows Grandpa still had would be taken care of by Cooper, a neighbor down the way. Lucy had given herself two years to get herself sorted and get more acquainted with the workings of the farm. 

It wasn’t that she hadn’t known how to do things, she could run a tractor, cut down trees, med fences; she knew how to preg check cows and what to look for when tilling a lot. But the business end of things was a whole different ball game and she was diving headlong into it.

The trailer was doublewide, the living room had a couch and lazy boy, and the kitchen had a table with 4 chairs. The walls were mostly bare except where Lucy had put her artwork. She had also moved a handful of bookshelves in and her desk. It was surprisingly roomy and beat her eighties-era apartment she had lived in for the last five years. She had slid the desk and table together spreading out all the different pieces of paperwork, along with a large map of where all Grandpa’s property was. Her property, she corrected herself. It was hers now, somehow. Where she lived she was surrounded by almost 200 acres of forested land backed onto parkland. Besides the garden beds, barn, and shop it was wild land. It was one thing that Grandpa had asked to stay the same. That the land around the property be left untouched by man or machine, she planned to keep it that way. Even when several large logging companies had called knocking, for Lucy her grandfather's words meant everything.

A knock on the front door woke her from her musing. She also needed to go get a couple of dogs, not just for company; but also so she knew if someone was coming down the long drive. She walked over to the front door, steeling herself to be met with another person wanting to buy or hunt on the land. Opening it she was surprised to see a man standing there in a cowboy hat, fitted jeans, and button-up shirt. Scruffy face with a day’s worth of stubble, bright hazel eyes, and a blinding smile.

“Good afternoon,” The man said with a nod, “I’ve come over to introduce myself -’

“If you’re looking for hunting, logging, buying, grazing, or leasing, I am not interested,” Lucy said curtly, she really didn’t have a lot of time to dally. 

“Oh no,” The man said, holding up a large hand, “I am the neighbor down the road with your Granddad’s cows. And a friend of your Uncle Harris’. He said that you’d moved in just down from me, so figured it was only neighborly to come say hello.”

Lucy’s shoulders sagged a bit, she had gotten so used to people wanting something from her she had forgotten that most folks out here were friendly.

“I am so sorry,” Lucy sighed, “It’s been a tough month. Been a lot of folks wanting a piece of what’s not theirs.”

The man nodded, “I can only imagine. Not many people have morals these days. If there is a buck to be made they’ll take it. My name’s Cooper.” 

He extended a hand, and Lucy took it and gave him a firm handshake. “Lucy, I am Tim’s Granddaughter.”

“Pleasure to meet yah,” Cooper said with the same grin. “Tim was a good man and talked very highly of his last daughter. You meant the world to him.”

Lucy gave a half-hearted smile, it still felt so wrong that her Grandpa was gone. “Do you want to come in? I can make some coffee?”

“Oh, I will take a raincheck on that. Gotta go check on our newest heifers, see who all needs taggin’ and whatnot.” He said a small grin tugging at his mouth. “Want to come?”

Lucy looked back at the table full of papers, “I am gonna have to pass today,” She could see some disappointment flicker across his features. “But let me give you my number,”

A smirk tugged at the corners of his lips as he dug into his jeans for his phone, the two of you exchanging numbers. 

“Just in case, umm, you need help with the cows” Lucy felt a bit flustered, “Never know.”

The man smiled and tipped his hat to her, “I will see you around Lucy.”

part 2

** If you enjoyed the fic let me know!

** Want to be on the tag list let me know

** Yes this is fic number 3 please don't yell at me. I've had this one sitting for a while. Will mostly likely be updating this one once/twice a week along with all the others.. I DON'T NEED SLEEP. Sleep is for the dead.

[slasherscrybaby]

Raader who comes across a bloodied Thomas Hewitt and her first reaction is to ask if he is okay not being aware that it is someone else's blood that's on him?

Reader who comes across a bloodied Thomas Hewitt and her first reaction.

Thomas Hewitt x Reader

✦•··············•✦•···············•✦✦•················•✦•················•✦

You and a couple of friends went on a small road trip to Travis County, Texas. Why? Because you have it live your life to the fullest! You were taking pictures along the way for maybe a scrapbook. After what seemed like hours, we drove along Texas roads so long and flat that we decided to stop and take a break. Seeing the road entirely and completely quiet, the golden land, and the eternal blue sky that seems to dissolve the land itself. Oh, the heat was hot. You clenched your bag over your shoulder and decided this was a perfect opportunity to go and take pictures of stuff. She walked through the tall grass of the desert, her eyes taking in the sights and sounds around her. She took a few snaps of different things, the tree, the grass. Y/n took a breath in, then exhaled with a smile as she began to walk again. She had no destination in mind, no plan for the day. To live her life and have fun. Y/n noticed a shed it looked abandoned. She came to a stop. You were looking around before going.

Poking her head into the door opening, she gasped at what she had seen a guy with a very bulky and big-boned body, believed to stand at 6’5—throughout the prequel, wearing a button-up striped green and red shirt along with a gold and black striped tie. He wears what looks to be dirty brown trousers under large bulky black boots. Over everything is a bloodied beige apron. “Um, excuse me, are you okay?” Y/n called out. The Guy quickly turned around, startled. Y/n could get a good look at him. His skin is light with a tint of pink and black shoulder-length matted hair. He also wore a mask.

There was an awkward silence. “A-are you hurt? You covered head to toe!” She said as she stepped completely out. He just stared at her. “I’m not a doctor, but I can help you if you're hurt,” you said; he shook his head. “You’re fine then?” She asked. He nodded. “Then why are you covered in blood?” She wondered; the guy froze and then did a chopping method with his hand. “You were cutting something?” She said, confused; he nodded. “Like meat?” She asked. He paused, then nodded. “Are you a butcher? My uncle was a butcher before he quit,” you said; he just stared. “Um, my name is Y/n. What’s yours?” She asked. He just stood. “You can’t talk?” She wondered; he nodded. “Oh, you’re mute,” she said; he nodded again. “I have paper and a pencil,” you said, letting the camera go that was around your neck. Digging into your bag, you found paper but a pen. You pulled it out. “Don't have a pencil, but I do have a pen,” you said as you held it out. He walked over to you almost and gently took the paper and used his other free hand to lean on to write before handing the paper to you. “Thomas?” You read before looking up; he nodded. “Well, Thomas, it was nice meeting you,” you said, smiling at him. He slowly nodded as he thought about two things how cute you were and how he was going to keep you ❦︎

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Hope you like it ♡♡♡

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@lilitharts @rottent33th @kalid-raven @iloveslasher @bluecoolr @slaasherslut @the-pinstriped-hood

[thornsnvultures]

a nice day to start again

eddie munson x plus size!reader

summary: a little rain isn't going to stop your special day

a/n: super short drabble ft. wayne the best duncle (dad uncle) ever, suggested rockstar!eddie au at the end, cw: eddie & reader have pos dads but they have each other so fuck em, <800 words

---

On a Friday afternoon in June, you and Eddie stood by the living room window of his trailer and watched as the skies opened up.

"Did neither of you knuckleheads check the weather?"

Wayne didn't look up from his newspaper, oddly scanning the sports page while Eddie nervously wrung his hands.

"Well, y'see...uh-"

"No, I guess we didn't," you nervously chuckled. You took one of Eddie's hands so he'd stop picking at his fingernails. "But that's okay. We'll only be in and out of the courthouse anyway."

A gentle squeeze to Eddie's hand and a smile softens the worry on his face. All you have to do is drive to the courthouse, do the dang thing, and drive to Steve's for the after party he's throwing with all your friends. Easy peasy. What's a little rain?

The sound of rustling paper and the squeaking groan of Wayne's chair pulls you from your thoughts.

"Grab the umbrella," Wayne grumbles. "The big one. I'm driving."

"Wayne you don't need to," Eddie waves his hands as Wayne pulls on his coat over his dress shirt and tie.

"If y'all want to do this, I am. Not sittin' in the back of that death trap again, Ed." Wayne grabs his keys and quirks a brow at his boy. "You still wanna do this, yeah? Not gonna let a little rain stop you?"

"Hell no," you grin, softening Wayne's gruff expression. Your eyes water, Wayne looks at you with all the fondness of a father you've never had.

"No, sir," Eddie gulps.

"That's what I thought."

He claps Eddie on the shoulder and Eddie rushes off to grab the umbrella.

You hold your dress up and out of the mud as you race with Eddie to Wayne's truck. His borrowed boots are heavy on your feet but it's better than heels.

"Your friends meeting you there?" Wayne eyes the lack of space in the small cab, already too small for the three of you.

"No, they were fighting too much over who got to go and the county clerk told us only two witnesses allowed."

"Ah. So it's, uh, it's just me then?"

"Unfortunately, yes," you tease and pat Wayne's arm.

The poor old man grumbles to himself about punk ass kids while trying to choke back the emotion clogging his throat. You squeeze Eddie's hand in his lap.

"Ready, big guy?" You lean into Eddie's side, resting your head on his shoulder. His thumb rubs across the back of your hand as rain patters against the windows.

Eddie just nods, squeezing your hand tighter for a moment.

"I'll be fine," he relents after a moment of silence. "Just nervous, y'know?" He's quiet, whispering against your hair. "Wanna do right by you. Not like..."

"I know," you bring Eddie's hand to your lips. "Trust me I know. And you will. You already have, every day. That's why I'm here, silly."

Eddie kisses the top of your head but doesn't day anything else, just holds you close until you have to make another run for the doors of the courthouse.

The county clerks office is a tight squeeze just like they said, but it feels that much sweeter. Just you, Eddie, the judge (and his assistant) and a teary-eyed Wayne quietly blubbering in the corner. And when it's all said and done, Eddie's holding your face so gently, so tender that you can't hold the tears back either. You owe Nancy big time for letting you borrow her waterproof mascara.

"You kids have fun," Wayne says as he pulls up in front of Steve's house. "But not too much fun. I'm not ready to be a grandpa, y'hear me?"

"Wayne," Eddie whines and flicks the umbrella out of the cab and into the rain. It's still coming down hard.

"Drive safe, old man," you say as you squeeze Wayne up in a tight hug.

"Yeah, yeah. Don't get me goin' again with the waterworks or I'm gonna miss my shows."

You climb out after Eddie, waving goodbye as Wayne's truck pulls away.

"Ready?"

The front door to Steve's house is already swinging wide open with Robin standing there waving a bottle of champagne around shouting about starting the party without them if they don't get their asses inside already.

His hand is warm and a little sweaty. It's real now, the promise you've made to be together forever. Greater than any record deal Eddie's ever signed.

You squeeze his hand.

"Ready."

[bookshelf-dust]

you are not a monster.

eddie munson x gn!reader

word count: 3,875

warnings: swearing, smoking, the events of vol. 2, eddie’s self-doubt and personal issues, trauma, mentions of blood, of death, sorta a fix-it-fic? the boy who lived has in fact not come to die

a/n: i’ve got, like, 240 followers now, and i am very appreciative. i don’t think i’ve ever had that many on any platform in my whole media-usage-world. i am quite the loser, so it is wild that you guys are—at least slightly—entertained by what i write. i love you ughh. this has been in my drafts for a long ass time seeing as i couldn’t seem to finish it, and i’m worried maybe it’s kinda shitty? i do like it for the most part, though. and it got long. oops. but i hope you enjoy it! <333

————

“Ugh, you know I don’t do double VHS.” Steve waved off Robin’s Saturday morning movie suggestion.

“But it’s about doomed love,” Robin tried again, clutching the video tape to her chest.

“Oh, well, that’s relatable.” Steve grabbed a cart full of movies to be restocked, swerving around a rampaging Robin.

“Precisely.”

You flipped around a movie in the new releases section that someone had fumbled with at some point or another, adjusting it so the poster was facing outwards, half-paying attention to the conversation going on between your two friends/coworkers.

“Also, Julie Christie is b-b-bonkers hot in this.” You snorted at Robin’s comment, and she tossed a sly grin your way before continuing on her rant about the most gorgeous creature she’d ever seen.

“We’re in Forest Hills trailer park in east Roane County.” Your neck cracked with the speed at which you turned your head towards the television Robin had just turned on, seeing both her and Steve staring up at the reporter.

“We don’t have a lot of details right now, but we can confirm that the body of a Hawkins High student was discovered early this morning. Police have not yet issued the victims name…”

“Holy shit,” Steve said.

You swore you could’ve fainted at that very moment. You felt dizzy, started to sweat, felt your hands shake—so much that you tossed the videos you were holding onto the counter, catching Steve and Robin’s attention.

“Hey, are you okay?” Steve asked, glancing at you and clocking how frazzled you looked.

“Th-that’s where Eddie lives. Forest Hills trailer park.” You hopped up the step to behind the counter, trying to see behind the reporter.

“No. Shit. That’s his trailer. Oh my god, that’s his trailer.”

“Hey, woah, woah, woah, calm down. How can you be sure—”

“Because Steve! I practically live there half the fucking time! I think I know what my boyfriend’s home looks like.” You felt like throwing up. Seriously, you needed some air.

"Okay, well when did you see him last?" Robin started, trying to console you before you erupted into full-blown mass panic mode. She set her hands on your shoulders.

"Last night. I went by the drama room to wish him good luck—you know, because of the campaign—" Robin nodded her head, urging you on. "It was normal, I don't know, I-love-you-see-you-later shit, but then I left to go watch Lucas! I didn't see him after that because he said he had a deal, that he had to go home and get something else f-for—"

"For what? For who?" Robin couldn't handle the suspense.

"For Chrissy Cunningham."

"Chrissy does drugs? Huh, that's interesting." Steve cocked his head, slipped his hand under his chin, contemplating the actions of the cheerleader you spoke of.

"Steve! That is not the focus right now. Besides, everyone has their moments," Robin berated her once jock-worthy friend.

"Right. No, you're right."

You separated yourself from Robin’s clutches, moving out from behind the counter. “I need to check on Wayne.”

“Wayne?” Steve questioned, looking at Robin who watched you disappear around the corner.

“Eddie’s uncle, Harrington. Keep up.” Robin clapped her hands. “She’s been with the boy for, like, ever.” Her focused shifted though, as Dustin and Max appeared, the former hurling himself over the countertop.

You collected your things from the staff room, ignoring the bickering from the other side of the door. Wayne was home, obviously, it was day time, but if the cops were there, no way was he gonna answer the phone. Maybe you should’ve gone to hunt for your boyfriend right away, but you couldn’t bear to not check on the boy’s uncle, who was probably just in the dark as you were—if not more.

It took you a little longer to get going, hands shaking so much that you dropped your keys, and then remembered to clock out. You scribbled an excuse on a sticky note in case Keith questioned your early departure on the schedule when he came in on Monday.

Pushing the green painted wood open, you slammed into Steve, who’d just finished helping a young woman, and put his hands out to steady you.

You turned your head, taking in Max, Dustin and Robin chatting wildly on three separate phones, all pacing equally. “What are they doing?” You asked, straightening Steve’s vest where you’d messed it up.

He mumbled something about Eddie’s friends when Max waved to get your attention, slamming the receiver down. “Do you know a ‘Reefer Rick’?”

The question was so odd, coming from her, that you shook your head before answering. “Yeah, Eddie’s supplier. Why?”

“Do you know where he lives? We’re trying to find Eddie.”

“Uh,” you rubbed your forehead, recalling the couple times Eddie had needed to stock up and you’d been with him. “Out by Lovers Lake.”

Dustin slammed his phone down at this new information, the group now frantic with chatter about your boyfriend’s whereabouts. You started toward the door, stressed and suddenly sweaty, when Dustin flew out from behind the counter, stopping you.

“Where are you going? Don’t you want to come look for your significant other?”

“Of course I do, Dustin. But I’m going to check on Eddie’s uncle. I don’t like the idea of him being left in the dark during all this. It isn’t fair.”

Dustin lifted his hat from his head, readjusting it and then setting it right back down.

“Okay.” He let out a breath that sounded like he’d been holding it in for a while. “Well what if he’s there? At Rick’s? Can you meet us there after your excursion? I don’t feel right looking for him without you.”

“Yeah, Dustin.” He gave you a hopeful high five, your palm stinging as you pushed your way out of the door.

————

Pulling into Forest Hills, your hands started to shake. What if they wouldn’t let you in?

You stopped beside the cop monitoring the entrance, rolling down your window.

“I’m sorry, miss. I can’t let you in. We’ve got an active crime scene on our hands.” Shit.

You took a deep breath, trying to keep yourself from stumbling over your words. “I apologize, officer. It’s just that I have a family member that lives here, and I’d really like to check on him. Just for a moment. I’m worried sick.”

The officer straightened from where he’d been level with your window, placing his hands on his hips. He looked around, looked back at you, looked up again. His resolve was slipping.

“Okay. I understand. But you have to be quick, okay? There’s a lot going on that I don’t want you getting caught up in.”

“Thank you officer, really.”

You cranked the handle, rolling up the glass panel and pulled off, trying to find somewhere to stop considering your boyfriend’s home was the crime scene. Eyes scanning for Wayne, you found purchase.

He was sat up against the geometric dome that was meant to be the designated play ground area. Except all the kids in the park had grown up at this point, so now everyone sat there to sulk or smoke.

The slam of your car door caught his attention, and he stood on seeing you, moving in your direction. He met you halfway, holding his arms out. That’s how you knew he was tired. Scared. Confused.

Wayne Munson was no cuddle-bug, but he had no aversion to hugs if he really knew you. But letting you see this much emotion right off the bat, letting you in, that’s how you knew he was hurting. This was his boy they were talking about. Where was his boy?

He was warm from being outside, and smelled of cigarettes. You pretended not to see the tear tracks left in the thin layer of dust on his cheeks. He didn’t let go for a long time.

“Have you seen him? Heard from him?”

You sniffled. “No. Not since last night. I saw him before Hellfire, but that’s all.”

Wayne wiped a hand down his face. “Did he seem alright?”

“More than. You know they were supposed to finish th—”

“The campaign. Yeah. How could I not know?” He smiled, and you could tell he was seeing Eddie hunched over the kitchen counter, pencil in his mouth.

He briefly filled you in. “They’re saying he did this. Killed that girl. But I know Eddie. He’s my boy and he didn’t do it. He couldn’t.”

“I know he didn’t. I’m sorry you had to find her. I’m going to look for him, okay? I probably shouldn’t tell you that, but I figured you needed to know. If I get to him, I’ll come tell you, okay? I’m so sorry, Wayne.”

Another hug. More reassurance on your part, on his, telling you that you couldn’t have known. You asked if he needed anything, but he said the cops were supposed to figure out where to put him soon. And that was it. You left him there, and sobbed in the car knowing how sick he was over his boy. Knowing what’d he’d seen, how frightened he was.

————

“Eddie! It’s me! It’s Dustin!”

The young boy tried so hard to get his older friend to hear him, to calm down. But that was kind of impossible given the situation. He tried to understand.

“You won’t believe me.” Eddie’s voice was broken, his eyes glassy, his fingers going numb from his grip on the broken bottle.

“Try us.” Max knew what it felt like to be that confused. To be that uneasy. But he spilled his guts, and now the group of unlikely friends sat with him.

The slam of a car door made Eddie jump, made Dustin shoot up from his spot on the floor. Dustin peeked over the window sill, spying you looking a little lost at where they might be, so he hurried outside, much to the dismay of everyone else, scaring the shit out of you, but making you hopeful nonetheless.

“Any luck?” You whispered, not quite grasping his sudden appearance from the boathouse.

“Yeah! Yeah. He’s in there. And he’s scared shitless, but he’s okay.”

“Really?” Your eyes were glazing over and there was nothing you could do about it. He was alright.

“Really.” And he took your hand, leading you back and gently pushing the door the rest of the way open. He let you in first, lingering behind.

You moved in, eyes scanning for him, first roving over Steve, Max, Robin. But there he was. Up against the wall, hands in his hair. He looked up at you, and visibly softened, but sunk in on himself nonetheless.

“Baby.”

“Eddie.” You dropped your bag, not giving him time to stand, moving to meet him on the floor.

Your knees met chilly concrete, and you went to reach out for him, but you stopped yourself, noticing how broken he looked. “Eddie? Is this okay? If I touch you?”

“Y-yeah.” He nodded as he said it, eyes moving quickly back and forth between yours. To Eddie, even though there were four other people in the room, it felt like everything else faded away the second you walked in. You came for him. You’d believe him. He knew you would.

You opened your arms, and he fell into them, arms going around your back, head falling to your chest. He buried his face against you, squeezed you so hard it hurt, but fuck if you were going to tell him to let up.

You ran your hand soothingly over his head, gently untangling curls without the intention of doing so. Glancing up, you met Dustin’s eyes, and he gave you a small smile. “Thank you,” he mouthed. Dustin wanted to thank you for putting up with him, for letting him steal your boyfriend, for being so kind, for calming Eddie down. For everything.

“I went to see Wayne, Eddie,” you told him, moving your hand to rub his back. The boy perked up at that, looking at you with fear all over his face considering what he’d done.

“I-is he…is he m-mad at me?” He looked so young, so fragile.

“No, he’s not mad at you, sweetheart. He’s just worried. Scared. Wants his boy safe.”

Eddie winced, but pulled away from you anyhow. You brushed his bangs away from his eyes, straightened his vest, buttoned a chest pocket. “Do you think you could tell me what happened, maybe? You don’t have to now, really you don’t. But whatever it is, I believe you, okay?”

He hummed in reply, and relayed the story again for you, even if it hurt, and the rest of them tried to catch you up on their theory.

What you didn’t see was Robin turning to Steve, eyes softening at the way you and Eddie interacted with one another. How that scared look in your eye that had been there at the store was gone, just from seeing him. How Eddie’s hands had stopped shaking at your presence. How he wasn’t afraid to be vulnerable with you, and how much you cared for him.

But he made it so easy for you.

————

“Shit! Shit!” You stumbled over your own feet, hopping over ever root and vine you met in your path, trying not to make your presence known.

You’d been with Steve, Robin, and Nancy. The four of you were meant to go to Creel House while Eddie and Dustin distracted those fucking bats.

But you had this feeling. This sick, sick feeling.

It was eating you alive. It was something Eddie sad at Skull Rock. Something about running. And then right before you parted ways. When he’d kissed your head and muttered in Steve’s direction, “Trust me. We are no heroes.”

And standing there with your friends, trying to save the world, you ran. Ran for Eddie’s sake. Because he was going to do something. You just knew it. Some sacrificial lamb shit.

And it hurts, the running. Your legs are burning. It’s the kind of running you haven’t done since you were a kid. The desperate kind. But this time it’s not in order to beat a friend to the finish line, to win a competition. It’s to get to your boyfriend. Because you’re afraid he’s going to die.

And you can hear them. The bats. Their horrid screams, the leathery and wet rasp of wings, of tails thrashing in their rage, their determination to get to the source of that noise. The noise that had just quit.

You’d just caught the end of Eddie’s playing, and barely had time to think about how he’d finished it. He’d been determined to finish that fucking song and it’d been two weeks.

But none of that mattered.

Because you could see the trailer now, and it hadn’t occurred to you that maybe you wouldn’t be able to get in. That was the point of their reinforcements, anyways.

You stumbled up the concrete stairs, reaching for the door handle, trying to ignore the ever increasing sound of the bats, the sounds of them closing in. You didn’t dare glance over your shoulder, knowing they’d be right there.

Wrenching open the door, metal screeching, you almost smacked into Eddie. He’d been holding onto the sheets, but he had that look in his eye. The decisive one. And then he heard you clattering in and he practically tumbled free from his hold on the fabric.

“What the hell are you doing here?” You looked up seeing Dustin, who looked equally as frightened and desperate for Eddie to get to the other side.

“Whatever it is that you’re thinking, stop it. Go. Now. Climb.”

Eddie looked at you. Really looked at you. A look that said I need to do this. I need it. “You first.” He backed away, beckoning you forward.

“No.”

“No?”

“You go. Now.”

“Baby, please go. I’m begging you. If I go now, I can buy more time. I know it.”

Eddie looked desperate. He needed this. Needed to know he was good for something. He’d been such a failure. And he could do this. He could be good.

“No! Fucking go, Eddie! Now!”

He blinked at you, not expecting the change he found in your voice. He’d never heard you sound like that before. So angry. So angry at him.

So he let up, reaching and pulling himself towards Dustin. Towards home.

You felt like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders. And then you tried to get yourself up, calming considering in the time that you’d stood there, the noise had stopped—the bats had stopped. Your friends had done their job.

You pulled and it hurt, but you did it anyways.

————

It had been three days since Eddie almost sacrificed himself and you’d been avoiding him ever since. He knew why you hadn’t come to see him, and he was upset at himself for hurting you, for not realizing you could read him so well. But it felt like that was the only way to prove himself.

And now he was living in a fucking tent in the Wheeler’s basement, supposedly like some girl with superpowers had.

The boy was flipping through one of Mike’s old X-Men comics when the sheet providing him refuge was torn back. Dustin appeared, making Eddie jump. “Jesus Christ!”

“Here.” Dustin threw a hand radio at him and then vanished again. It took him a minute before he realized you had one too.

A few guesses later on what channel he needed, he found you.

“Hey, I know you can hear me, baby. I know you’re mad.”

You reached for radio where it resided under your bed, stretching so that you didn’t have to actually get up, the chill of hardwoods meeting your fingers.

As much as you wanted to pretend you couldn’t hear shit, you wanted to talk to him. Something was really wrong if he thought he’d needed to do that. And maybe it was wrong of you to be upset, but you loved him. He didn’t need to complete some grand act of service to be redeemed, he was already your hero.

“Afternoon, Munson.”

Eddie slumped down inside his tent, smacking his head on the wall. He really was too lanky to be living in there.

“Son of a bitch!” He rubbed his hand, skull throbbing from the impact. “Hey, honey, please come see me. I wanna talk to you. Please.”

“Yeah. Yeah, fine. Unlock the basement door, okay?”

————

You sat against the support beam at the bottom of the stairs, watching Eddie tie up the sheet so it’d quit falling down and he could see you properly.

Your lower back started to ache and he noticed, passing you a smushed pillow. Silence filled the hair until you decided to breach the surface. “What were you gonna do, Eddie?”

He scrubbed his hands over his face, fingers bare of their usual silver, as the rings sat in a pile of his other shit, metal accoutrements proving incredibly uncomfortable to sleep in when living on the floor.

“Buy more time. I thought that if I could get the bats to back off, that they would’ve had the chance to kill Vecna. That Dustin could get home okay. I don’t know. And don’t give me that look.”

“I didn’t want anyone else to get hurt. I could’ve done it. I swear. I just wanted to be good for something for once in my fucking life. Prove that I’m not this—this thing. This nuisance. This monster.”

“I guess I thought I could be the hero for once.”

You moved towards him, sitting on your knees and taking his hands into yours. He wouldn’t look at you, eyes darting around the basement walls, the old furniture indented from years of bodies molding the cushions.

“I understand. But I wish you didn’t feel that way. I wish I could fix it. I’m sorry I didn’t come to see you sooner. I was just upset because I had this feeling, Eddie. I thought you were going to die.”

“But, Edward Munson, you are not a monster. You aren’t a nuisance. Anyone that’s ever thought that is a piece of shit and you know that”

You put your hand on his cheek and he blinked. Hard.

“Eddie, look at me, please.”

The boy turned to you, looking just as young and fragile as he had in the boathouse. He looked disappointed in himself.

“You’re my hero.”

Eddie bit the inside of his lip so hard he tasted blood, forcing himself not to cry.

“Your Gareth’s hero. Mike and Lucas’ hero. Eddie, your Dustin’s hero. But, sweetheart, you didn’t have to save the world to prove yourself. You’re everything to me. To your friends. To Wayne.”

That was the tipping point. Uncle Wayne. And the tears slipped out, silent and calmly, easily sliding down his finally clean cheeks.

“R-really? I’m your hero?” Eddie’s hands were shaking.

“Yeah! Of course you’re my hero, Eddie. You’re such a badass, you know.” A grin pulled at the corners of his mouth. “You are not a monster. I’ll spend every day for the rest of my life telling you that if you’d like. I’d do anything for you.”

“You didn’t need to save the world by fighting off demo-bats, Ed. You’ve saved it by being you. By shepherding those little sheepies. Shit, you’re so good, Eddie. You’re golden.”

Eddie Munson had been waiting his whole life for those words. For someone to reassure him that he wasn’t this sick creature. This freak. And he was your hero. That was better than anything in the whole world to him.

————

Wayne rested against the cool brick that constructed Hawkins High School. His current place of refuge post-earthquake. Pulling his flannel closer his chest to keep out the wind, he reached in his pockets for a lighter and a pack of Marlboros.

He didn’t look up at the sound of gravel crunching around him, used to the noise of other people fluttering around him.

“Any chance you’d lend me one of those?”

Wayne’s hands froze from where they’d been peeling the plastic wrap off of the new cardboard box. He knew that voice. But he thought it was a trick. He looked up anyways.

And there, standing in this alleyway, somewhere he definitely shouldn’t be, was his boy. Eddie’s hands were in his pockets, a bandana over his forehead.

He smiled that award-winning smile, the one he’d used on Wayne as a kid when he wanted pancakes or temporary tattoos from the coin machine at the grocery store.

Eddie made his way over to his uncle, to—let’s face it—his dad. Wayne enveloped the boy in his arms, squeezing way too tight, but Eddie wasn’t going to complain. “My boy.”

Eddie rested his head on his uncle’s shoulder, breathing in that familiar scent that never seemed to go away, of cigarettes and the came cologne he’d been wearing since Eddie was a toddler. That smell he’d welcome after a rough day at school, after he’d done well on a science project.

“I never gave up. I never stopped looking. I knew you didn’t do it. Not my boy.”

“Thanks, uncle Wayne. For everything. I love you.”

“I love you too, kiddo.”

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

[sasukesgucciflops]

Here I am back on my John Marston BS.

I pointed this out before ab how ppl loved calling John “watered down” but I’m also seeing people forget that he was also put on a very high fucking pedestal and had no idea how to handle it. In other words; he was the gifted kid who got burnt out after everyone expected everything from him. John never expected to be seen as such. He actually preferred to not be held to such a degree. I’m sick and tired of people feeding into the “John’s a golden boy” “John’s a piece of shit” narrative. Clearly these people have only seen RDR2 and have no clue about everything in RDR1 and yes I’m giving an attitude so y’all better catch it.

Here’s my John Marston character analysis and this is only about one aspect of him. (Wait until you see every other aspect bc I’ve literally dissected this man like a frog oops)

He never fucking asked for it. In fact, he didn’t expect jack shit from anybody. If anything, people used him. People used him up. You see it plainly in rdr1, he’s being used to hunt down his old partners. To find his old partners he’s gotta ask the sheriff, what does the sheriff do? He uses him to handle some lowlife gangs around the county. The sheriff ACCIDENTALLY—not even voluntarily—reveals someone that ends up somewhat helping him out. West Dickens—and what does he do? Uses him. Seth? Uses him. Travels over to another country, what do they do? USE HIM!

Okay, so rdr2—if you couldn’t get the picture already—John was one of Dutch’s MAIN PAWNS. That man raised John to USE HIM. John was young and had lots of energy and he was gullible enough to let Dutch do whatever with his naivety. The most fucked up thing about all of it, not only about how (almost) everyone saw him as a pawn, not as a genuine friend, saw him only for his uses;

John didn’t care. He knew he was being used but he didn’t care. Yes it bothers him and again he’s fully aware he’s being ran around in circles by all these people; it doesn’t matter. He sees himself as someone who is replaceable. He’s expendable. It’s whatever. He was always made to think this and perhaps he knew that it was his fate to be all used up and thrown out like it was nothing. And that’s what ended up happening.

No, he wasn’t a perfect father. He SHOULDVE done much much better about that. Just for that I let anti’s breathe a little because in Jack’s younger years, hell no John wasn’t a good father! John was in denial, busy trying to live up to his dreams of being someone he isn’t. On that note, John slowly realized that Abigail and Jack were probably the only ones that didn’t see him as a pawn; they just wanted him to be present and that causes him to do a 180. To him, it was worth dying for them. Maybe he felt as if he owed them a debt that could never be repayed—it’s almost like he expresses this to Jack a dozen different times. “I’m sorry, Son. I’m not going anywhere.” And “I know I wasn’t around a lot for you but I’m trying to make up for that”. He becomes viscerally aware of the damage of his absence (as he should) and it becomes something he fears he’ll never get to make up for.

Abigail never wanted to use him. She just wanted HIM. Jack—OF COURSE never wanted to use him, he wanted a FATHER. Honorable mention, but Arthur never saw him as a pawn either. In fact, he was well aware of how John was being treated, even mentioning it to him canonically, along the lines of, and I’m loosely quoting this, “At first you’ll be a prize pony until you become a work horse”. These people become so important to John—among others such as Bonnie, Charles, Sadie, even Uncle—because they never tried to use. him. John was more than expendable to them, he was worth something to them and for that he loved them and felt as if he would owe them for eternity.

I truly can’t believe some of y’all completely miss that whole point because it’s written EVERYWHERE it’s literally how John’s story goes and we experience it with him. His story is so fucking tragic and yes, while Arthur was the prime example of “having a doomed narrative from the start”, people don’t talk about how John is literally in the same boat. That man was always doomed, by his friends, the people he would try to call family—he was raised all the way up just to be put down…. THAT’S the story of John fucking Marston.

[writingquestionsanswered]

Hi, I was wondering if two brothers can rule different states or provinces? Currently, I’m writing an original story where I was inspired by the Tang Dynasty, ancient Japan as well as Persia.

Brothers Ruling Different States/Provinces

This is kind of a tough question to answer but I'll do my best. My lens is via Europe, so we'll go from there and see where it gets us.. :)

First, it's worth starting with understanding the division of territory, both in your inspiration locations and your own story. Monarchic states (such as a kingdom) were sometimes subdivided into smaller administrative territories with appointed rulers who managed the territory behalf of the king and were subordinate to him. In Europe, these would be things like duchies (ruled by a duke), county (ruled by a count), barony (ruled by a baron), marches (ruled by a marquess). I'm not sure what the equivalent would be in Ancient China, Ancient Japan, or Ancient Iran. In Europe, things like states and provinces were colonial territories, which were ruled by an appointed governor. In an Empire, typically the absorbed territories would continue to be ruled by their usual ruler, it's just that they would now be subordinate to the emperor who ruled over a collection of territories.

Second, it's also worth understanding how the rule of monarchic states is typically determined and passed down. Most monarchies have been patriarchal meaning that they pass primarily from father to the oldest son. If there are no sons, the crown would pass from grandfather to oldest grandson. If there are no grandsons, from brother to next oldest brother. If there are no brothers, from uncle to oldest nephew. You get the idea. The leaders of monarchic states and colonial territories would be appointed by the king. So, theoretically, a king could potentially make a pair of brothers dukes with their own duchies... but they're not really rulers so much as managers on behalf of the king. A king could also make two brothers governors of different colonial states, provinces, or territories, but again, they're not really "ruling" these territories so much as governing them on behalf of the monarch.

Now, does it work the same in Ancient China, Ancient Japan, or Ancient Iran? I have no idea, but my guess is it's probably similar even if the specific words, subdivisions, etc. are different. If your story is an obvious analogue of one or all of those places, you may want to do some further research to see what you can learn so you can figure out how best to do it. If you're writing fantasy, you've got some more wiggle room. But, in the best interest of simplicity, I think going the route of having the monarch award two brothers each with the leadership of their own monarchic state would be a good route to go. And if you need these monarchic states to be rivals in some way, you could probably achieve that by creating some conflict between them that makes them rivals even though they're subjects of the same crown.

I hope that helps!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

♦ Questions that violate my ask policies will be deleted! ♦ Please see my master list of top posts before asking ♦ Learn more about WQA here

[multifandomworldsposts]

The Boy From Bomont

pairing: willard hewitt x fem!reader

warning: sexual harassment/assault, fighting

A/N: basically footloose 2011 in a different way.

Y/N’s POV

I don’t what it is about Bomont, it’s odd to me, we’re not allowed to listen to music including dancing. I’ve never been to a place like this or live in a place like this. My aunt, uncle, my cousins and I have to go to church, I’m not really a religious person but I’ll try to respect the church if I can.

I go to Bomont High School which their traditions at this school is nothing what my last school had. No school dances and no music allowed anywhere at this school.

I meet Ariel and Rusty in my ELA 3 class and Ariel reminds me of a girl who I went to school with, really rebellious, not a goody-goody I can tell, and has a boyfriend who looks like a college kid. Rusty is like me, not what Ariel is.

Rusty took me to the drive-in and everyone was really nice and really dirty minded, like my friends back home. I met Willard, he reminds me of a boy from my last high school. Really southern and really kinda has a good heart.

“What do want from the menu?” Woody told me.

I look at him about to speak but his girlfriend interrupted me.

“Leave that girl alone, so there’s a lot of good food on the menu, I suggest the hot dog.” She says.

I chuckle, “I think I’d like the hot dog with nothing on it.” I said to Claude.

Claude gives me the hot dog and says to Woody, “Now, I don’t want a fine, and you don’t want to get another ticket.”

“Wait, you got a ticket for dancing?” I asked Woody.

“He got two tickets for dancing, one more then you’re off the team!” Woody’s girlfriend said.

I get my stuff and go outside to see what’s going on, I hear music from the speakers.

“Holy.” I go to where Rusty and the rest of her friends are at.

Everyone continues to dance and I’m amazed by this, everyone hates the fact that dancing is against the law.

“Y/N, come on let’s dance.” Woody’s girlfriend says to me, leading me to the middle of the huge crowd of people dancing.

I start to dance and I get into it and I hear people cheering, I don’t know why for me or for another person. I continue dancing and noticing no one is dancing, just me. I got kinda nervous but I continue to dance. Ren starts dancing with me, I follow his lead, until I notice Ariel so I stop and faked a reason why I’m going to Rusty and the rest of her friends.

“Attention. Attention. Ariel Moore, will you please come to the front of the diner? Your daddy is here for you.” Claude says in a speaker.

Ariel leaves with her dad. “Daddy’s gon’ take her out to the woodshed.” Willard says.

“What does that mean?” I said looking at him.

“It means she’s in deep shit.”

What is wrong with the county?

I got to know Rusty friends a lot better, especially Willard, he told me about his personal life and what even happens at this county. I can’t stop looking in his eyes but I can’t help it. He seems like a sweet guy to me.

Ren gets in an invite to go to the speedway and Woody, Willard, Rusty, Woody’s girlfriend and I go to support Ren and I notice the gang, they are creepy to me. I get uncomfortable by approaching them and Willard notices me get uncomfortable so he holds my hand. The words I’m even hearing right now get me uncomfortable. I don’t want to be here.

“I love that lil dance you were doing last night. Noticed that you can swing your hips like, what are they called, a stripper.” Chuck says to me.

He’s friends giggle.

“Thank you, didn’t notice a maggot was looking at me being a pervert.” I said back.

He wants to kill by the way he’s looking at me.

“Now, how about you start dancing with this.” Chuck says to Ren getting in a tractor.

I hate this.

The race starts and I get nervous because some of Chuck’s gang get in three buses. I hope Ren survives this. My friends and I get up to where the flags are at.

“Go Ren!” We all say.

Ren is winning but we saw the most terrifying things I’ve ever seen. The buses tipped over and destroyed. Ren tries to stop and Woody and Willard goes out there to save him. Ren jumps out with Willard and Woody.

“Holy shit!” I say. Rusty laughs at my comment.

THE NEXT DAY

I get to the library to study for some things in some of my classes and I notice someone in the corner of my eye and it’s one of the guys from yesterday.

“Can I talk to ya.” He says.

I ignore him.

“Listen, yesterday was cool wasn’t?”

I stay silent.

“You’re actually kinda cute. Wanna somewhere more private?” He says.

“I don’t want to.” I said to him.

“Come on, a girl like you, might get a baby in her belly.” He says with a disgusting smirk on his face.

“I gotta go.” I get my things and try to leave but he stops me and tries to touch me.

“Let go of me you creep!” I struggle and kick his dick.

“Excuse me?” A librarian says.

I look at him and he takes me to the principal’s office.

AT THE PRINCIPAL’S OFFICE

“Now Ms. Y/L/N, why did you kick Rich?” Principal Roger says to me with the librarian and a cop in the room.

“Rich tried to touch me! And he, he wanted to rape me.” I said.

“Now Y/N, tell us the truth, what did he do to you to make you hit him.” Principal Roger says.

“What I just said.” I say looking in his eyes.

“Well he said that he was trying to help you with your homework.” He says to me.

“He’s lying!” I kinda yells.

“Now Y/N-“

“He told me that a girl like me can get pregnant!” I interrupt him.

“Then why did you kick him?” The librarian says.

I make a big sigh and say, “He sexually harassed me!”

“I know Rich won’t do that.” The cop says.

“Are you kidding me? Does anyone in this town understand about sexual harassment or assault?” I question.

“We do Y/N.” Principal Roger says.

Bullshit.

“Y/N, here’s your ISS slip and have a good day.” He says.

I take the slip out of his hand and look at it and look at him.

“You guys really don’t know what’s going on with women today don’t you?” I says and walk out of the office and went outside to get out of this hell hole.

“Y/N/N!” Ariel says to me but I ignore her.

“Y/N, what’s the matter?” She comes close to me.

I look at her, “Had the worst god damn day of my life.” I say.

“You wanna talk about it?” She says.

“I prefer not to, you won’t believe me.” I walk away.

“What happened?” She yells at my direction.

“You won’t even care!” I yell back.

I get in my car to drive at some abandoned warehouse. I get out of my car and start to get out and then start to think on what just happened at school.

“HE ASSAULTED ME, HE TRIED TO TOUCH ME AND I GET DETENTION!” I yell.

“IM NOT A STRIPPER CHUCK, ASSHOLE!” I yell again.

I start to cry and I sit on the floor and bawled my eyes out. Why do people don’t take women seriously? I curl up in a ball and cry to myself. I hear some footsteps, I look where the noises are at and it’s Willard.

I whimper a bit.

“What’s wrong?” Willard said walking up to me.

“I got in school suspension.” I wipe my tears off my face.

“What happened?” He sits next to me.

“That guy yesterday, Rich, he tried to touch me and he, he told me I would look good pregnant, and when he was trying to touch me, I kicked him in the ball sack.” I look at him.

“And you got suspended?” He questions.

I nod.

“Y/N/N, I’m sorry that happened to you.” Willard says and hugs me, I hug him back, I cry again.

“Those guys are assholes.” Willard whispers in my ear.

I giggle. “They really are. Does this town even care about women’s rights at all?” I stop hugging him and look at him.

“Apparently not.” He says.

I look down at the ground and Willard makes me look at him. I look at him with teary eyes, he kisses me. I kiss him back. He’s the only guy I can trust to be around me including Ren and Woody.

We stop kissing and he gets my hair away from my face.

“I wanna go home.” I said.

“I’ll take you home Y/N/N.” He says.

“Really? I mean I can drive myself.” I said.

“No, I insisted Y/N/N.” He holds his hand out for me so he can help me back up on my feet.

He helps me up and I give him my car keys. I get in the passenger seat and Willard gets in the driver’s seat.

“You ready?” He says looking at me.

“Yeah.” I look at him.

He drives away from the abandoned warehouse, I can’t believe what happened today. He pulls up to my driveway but we stayed in my car for a few minutes.

“I have a question Willard.” I look at him.

“Yes Y/N/N?” He looks at me.

“Why aren’t we allowed to dance or play music whatsoever?” I ask.

“Um, Ariel’s brother, Bobby and some of his friends went partying, they were drinking and driving, and they got in a car accident on a bridge.” Willard told me.

“Is that why Ariel is the way she is now?” I ask.

“Yeah, she used to be a goody two shoes back when we were freshman and sophomore and now she’s a rebellious girl who goes to church.”

“I met that type of person and she’s my friend since elementary school and she reminds me of Ariel.” I said to him.

“And she’s the preacher’s daughter.” He says.

I can’t believe that I just heard that, I never knew about that but I remember seeing her at church but never got to meet her.

“And she hangs out with those creeps and the one who tried touching me?” I said.

“Yep.” He says.

“Willard, do you want me to drive you home?” I said.

“My house is three houses down, you know that Y/N/N.”

I never noticed whatsoever.

“Oh I forgot about that Willard.” I said.

“It’s okay.”

Willard and I get out of my car and I walk up to him, he gives me my car keys.

“Again thank you for driving me home Will.” I said looking up at him.

“You’re wel- Will?” He questions.

“Am I allowed to call you that? You can tell me if you don’t want me to call you that.” I say.

“It’s fine. It’s cute that you just said that Y/N.” He gets closer to me.

“I-I love you.” I said.

“I love you to.” He smirks.

We kiss again. I hear giggling and it’s my cousins watching us. I look at them kinda embarrassed. Willard laughs at them.

“Again thank you for driving me home Will.” I said to him.

“Once again, you’re welcome.” He smiles.

“I’ll see you tomorrow at school?”

“Hopefully all because of your stupid in school suspension dates.” He says.

“Don’t remind me.” I said walking to my car to get my book bag and the slip.

“See you tomorrow Y/N/N.” He says about to walk away.

“Hopefully Will.” I said back.

I show my aunt and uncle the slip and obviously they get angry but I tell them the full story and they agree with me but they want me to do the suspension days. I’ll do it but I don’t deserve to go to detention for what that asshole did to me.

I eventually showed and told Ariel the ISS slip and the whole story on what Rich did to me and Ariel confronted Chuck and Rich about it and Chuck beats her up. She tells her father and he slaps her because she’s not a virgin. When she came to my house, I call Rusty to come over and I patch her up. The three of us stayed up talking about my situation including Ariel’s as well but besides that, we talked for hours until we fell asleep on my bedroom floor.

A FEW WEEKS LATER

Ren is teaching Willard to dance. Woody, Ren, his cousins, my cousins and I help Willard to dance and he kinda got the hang of dancing. He asks me to dance with him and I join him. Ren and Woody notice us kinda flirty.

“You guys! There’s children here.” Ren says.

“Oh we caught them kissing a while back.” Sarah, my cousin, says.

“She just exposed you two.” Ren laughing.

We kinda get embarrassed but sometimes we don’t even care what people think of us.

Ren and I keep on helping Willard to dance, he kinda got confused but then one day he danced like Ren. Ren and Willard practiced a dance a week or so and Will finally did it!

A few weeks later, the county including students from Bomont High School and parents went to the county courthouse to talk about why dancing isn’t a crime. I sit with Willard and my aunt, uncle and my cousins sit next to me. Ren talked on the bench and a few hours later, dancing isn’t against the law anymore! So the whole senior class goes to the abandoned warehouse that I went to, to cry my feeling out but this is about Bomont’s first dance. We get decorations up on anything that involves a wall.

THE NIGHT OF THE DANCE

I get my dressed for the dance I hear a knock on the door and it’s my aunt.

“You look beautiful Y/N/N.” She says tearing up.

“Thank you Y/A/N.” I hug her.

“Someone’s waiting for you.” Y/A/N smiles.

“Willard?” I smile.

“Yeah Y/N. He looks really cute.” She whispers in my ear.

I look down, I think she can tell I’m blushing.

“I’m going downstairs, don’t stay up here too long.” She says walking out of my room.

“I will.” I said.

I fix my hair and walked downstairs and see Willard. Looking like country boy. I can tell he looks so happy.

I approach him and he has a crossage in his hand, I believe that my uncle gave him that.

“You look beautiful.” Willard whispers in my ear.

“Thank you.” I say.

He puts the crossage on my wrist and it matches my dress.

“Now you two, have a fun time and if something happens, call me.” My uncle said.

“We will Y/U/N.” I said.

I hug my aunt and uncle including my cousins and Willard drives us to the warehouse.

When we got out of the car we see Chuck, Rich and this other guy approaching us.

“Look who it is, the school’s slut and the school’s cowboy.” Chuck says.

“Let’s not fight alright, Rich how’s your small dick.” Willard says.

“It’s fine. Listen, you need to pay my medical bill.” Rich says directly at me.

“Let’s go Will.” I whisper to Willard.

We try to walk away but Chuck and Rich grab me and the other guy grabs Willard and I try to fight back but they were too strong.

“Do something Willard!” I scream.

“I can’t fight Y/N!”

“Fight Will!”

Willard starts fighting the other guy and I start to fight back Chuck and Rich. Ariel, Rusty, and Ren comes out to us fighting.

“Get your damn hands off of her!” Ariel screams at Rich and Chuck.

I fight with Ariel and I notice that Willard, Ren and Rusty is fighting the other guy. When everything was over Willard approached me.

“Are you okay?” Willard says touching my cheek.

“I’m okay, are you?” I question.

“I am Y/N/N. Let’s get in that warehouse.” He says grabbing my hand and taking me to the door.

Ariel, Ren, and Rusty join us and told us if we’re okay. When we got in the warehouse, music began to play, we danced like it was the last day on earth dancing.

Bomont isn’t that bad, except me getting suspended. I made good friends with the best humans I’ve ever met and I have a boyfriend who’s the most sweetest boy I’ve ever met as well.

Ariel told me this quote one day, ‘Dance like no one’s watching.’ And that’s what I did, danced like no one’s watching.

[reluctantjoe]

‘After rehearsal, my face hurts from laughing!’ The Ghosts cast on fun, fame and their festive farewell

One of the UK’s most cherished comedies is bowing out for ever. The stars talk about nicking things from the set – and being called ‘outrageous and shameful’ by Piers Morgan

Thanks, I tell the creators of Ghosts sarcastically, for making my daughter cry. The evening before, my family watched the supernatural sitcom’s final episode, and the only dry eyes in the house were mine.

This reaction, I tell Martha Howe-Douglas, Laurence Rickard, Jim Howick and Mathew Baynton over Zoom call, is going to be replicated across Britain. Did you think about how you were going to ruin everybody’s Christmas when you wrote this tearjerker? “Ah, you can but dream,” says Baynton, who plays the Romantic poet Thomas, wistfully.

The Ghosts team implore me not to reveal plot twists from the last episode, but there are some tantalising details I can share without spoiling the viewing experience. First, this is the episode where the final secret about the ghosts is revealed, namely how the Captain died. Second, there is a flash-forward to Alison and Mike in their dotage. But most of all, this is where we learn the fates of everybody, living and dead. I’d like to reveal more about whether Alison and Mike do sell land from the estate to build a golf course, or if any ghost is going to emulate Katy Wix’s character Mary and be sucked off (their words) into the spirit realm, but if I did it’s quite possible the cast would hunt me down and chop off my head. Or maybe they’d just haunt me for ever which, to be honest, doesn’t sound so bad.

The show’s premise – that the ghosts can never leave the grounds of the house – is a tragicomic trope of Britcoms, ie that the protagonists can’t escape their fate. It was Harold’s psychic wound in Steptoe and Son, and now in Ghosts all the spirits are stuck in each others’ company for good as if Button House is a home counties Hotel California. Or if you prefer, the Horrible Histories team have made a funny Uncle Vanya.

Four talking heads nod on their respective Zoom screens.

“I always think Chekhov is funnier than it’s usually done,” says Rickard – who plays two parts, Humphrey the headless and Robin the caveman. “They’re fixed somewhere and also utterly baffled as to why they’re there. So you have these existential crises going on with people who are already dead.” “I was in a production of Vanya once,” says Howick, who plays Scout leader Pat. “It was nothing like this.”

Baynton says: “On the face of it, it’s about ghosts, but it’s really just a metaphor for what it’s like to be a person. You’re born into the world and everyone’s got different opinions about what everything means. To do that in a family sitcom always felt like an amazing trick to me. It kind of is Beckett, but it’s um ... silly Beckett.”

Cast your mind back to April 2019, when the team behind Horrible Histories unveiled a new comedy. Did your careers ever recover from Horrible Histories being endorsed by Michael Gove as a tool for teaching? “I think that was nicely ballasted by James Cleverly or Piers Morgan a few years later around Brexit saying that it was a waste of licence fee,” says Baynton. It was actually Morgan who, with his unerring grasp of the national mood, in 2020 tweeted that the show was “an outrageous, shameful abuse of public money”.

At the outset, Ghosts seemed like a spin-off from Horrible Histories’ Stupid Deaths segment, in which the team recreated a laughable demise (King Harold shot in the eye at Hastings, self-styled gong farmer Richard the Raker drowning in his own poo, Aeschylus killed by an eagle dropping a tortoise on his head). The eponymous Ghosts often died similarly stupidly: Howick’s Scout leader Pat died in an archery accident and wears an arrow through his neck for all eternity; Lolly Adefope’s Georgian noblewoman Kitty was slain by a spider bite from a transatlantically imported pineapple.

In episode one, thirtysomething herberts Alison and Mike move into an ancestral pile that she’s inherited, only to find that it’s haunted. After she falls through a window and cracks her head open, Alison can see the ghosts but Mike can’t – though if he could he would probably put out the lights of the dead Romantic poet who keeps putting the moves on his wife.

Ghosts has been a lovely antidote to our times. For the cast too, making it has been a joy. “We’re very different people,” says Rickard, “but the thing we’ve got in common is a sense of humour. And if you can have one thing in common, that is the best thing, because it’s a light, fun, nice thing you want to keep returning to.

“At the end of rehearsal day, my face hurts from laughing. It’s a really unusual feeling that you’re giving yourself a headache from having a good time, without being horribly drunk.”

A few days later, I interview Charlotte Ritchie and Kiell Smith-Bynoe, who play Alison and Mike. “I think it has real kindness at the heart of it,” says Ritchie. “The core of the show, I think, is that all these people you might label as different are navigating things together.”

That said, Ghosts also manages to tackle some pretty important social issues. The second world war army veteran Captain, whose love for a junior officer dare not speak its name, is fondly imagined. More significant yet is the representation of people of colour. Smith-Bynoe says he was especially delighted when last year’s Christmas special depicted something he’d never seen on TV before: a Black family having Christmas dinner. “I’ve had couples come up to me and, them being an interracial couple, say that it means a lot to them to see that at the forefront. It’s not talked about, just there.”

Ghosts has made the pair famous. “If I wear Alison’s jumpers when I go out, I get recognised,” says Ritchie. Or misrecognised: “I was out the other day and this woman came up to me and said: ‘Liked you in Fleabag.’ So I went with it.” “Why not?” laughs Smith-Bynoe. “I had a thing where somebody was convinced I did a warm-up for Mo Gilligan.” But you never have done? “Of course not! But it was hard to convince them I knew better.”

Both Ritchie and Smith-Bynoe would like to have a word with the writers. They’re not happy the show has come to an end. “I’ve got nothing in January,” she says. “Me neither.” They have a point. They are unemployed in a cost of living crisis while several of the writer-actors on the show have parlayed their fame into work on other lucrative franchises. Baynton can now be seen as Fickelgruber opposite Timothée Chalamet as the eponymous Wonka, while Simon Farnaby co-wrote Wonka, Paddington 2 and the forthcoming Paddington in Peru.

In theory, Ghosts need never end: spirits are eternal, so shouldn’t a sitcom about them be, too? Perhaps the Ghosts team should consider making a spin-off. What would be the Frasier to Ghosts’ Cheers, I ask. “Mick,” says Baynton. He means the ghost who shares the cellar of Button House with other plague victims, each one played by a member of the main cast. “It’d be called Mick with an exclamation mark. And it’d have a live audience. I’d come on and say: ‘Hello everyone! Hiya! I’m home!’ Like Happy Days. Don’t even bother with the makeup, the lights aren’t on.” It sounds terrible, to be fair.

Perhaps we have to accept that Ghosts is dead. Certainly, the cast have plundered the set for memorabilia. Ritchie has snaffled Alison’s jumpers, Smith-Bynoe took Mike’s monocle, Howe-Douglas has Lady Button’s rings and Ben Willbond has taken the Captain’s stick. Rickard proudly holds up Humphrey’s severed head to camera.

All that remains now are the repeats. “I think, more so than drama, people will go back to comedies they love and want to experience them again and find more in them,” says Baynton. “There are plenty of shows that are comfort. Sometimes you put them on so you can have a nap.” He seems to be suggesting that Ghosts is part of that soporific canon. I look at the four screens, each interviewee giggling happily at the thought of Britain not sobbing over the last episode, but dozing through repeats. It may be ending with a Christmas special, but Ghosts will be haunting us for many years to come.