#Penny Pink Copper

[female-buckets]

ALL HAIL QUEEN ISLA, SUPREME RULER OF PLANET MERCURY

[punk-in-docs]

🕷 Don’t Need Telling Twice 🕷

Eddie Munson x Reader

10.4k words

Summary: Movie Night at Eddie’s place. All the little things that sneak into the cracks in between new love and affection. So I was intending to get a lot filthier with this but somehow it turned out sweet enough to rot your teeth- Eddie being insecure. Wayne being parental, Pencils being nervous. Let’s see how they iron it out man. (It’s really just me waffling about insight into these two lovebirds)

Saturday morning in your scruffy yet clean kitchen. Stereo cranked high. Melded into your happy place.

The bright slip and drip of the opening guitar licks to ‘Should I stay or should I go.’ Joe’s condescending spitting voice begins. You twirl around with the greased baking sheets in hand.

The kitchen is warm, it’s got this odd glow about it, from the slanted sun gushing in through the cream drapes that have yellow flowers on them. The shabby wood cupboards and the creamy tiles of the breakfast counter with its little peach-pink roses, which is now cluttered with baking trays.

Entirely rose tinted in your view. But you’re blasting the Clash. Loud enough to wake the neighbours.

You’re making cookies for your date tonight. Moms tattered pink apron hanging limp off your body from too many washes. Really it’s a scratchy old thing.

This morning did come around quick. Sunrise like a copper-red wound knifing slashes across the sky. Burning the whole horizon to that fantastic blood orange. You’re too squirmy to sleep. Too excited.

Seeings as you were up early, you put it to use and ran to the store. And now you were knee deep in cookie batter. Chocolate chip. Little starbursts of Cocoa powder and flour dusted everywhere. Head banging, head shaking and hair flicking along to Joe Strummer and his ridiculing tone.

You kick the walnut stained cupboard door closed. It’s wonky and juts out like a stubby tooth snapped off a jaw. It’s always been like that.

Every door in your kitchen creaks. Whines all aged. The appliances have their knacks and sticky tricks that come with years and years worn behind them. Temperamental.

Sure even your whole house is nothing fancy. You’ve never had that much money to scrape together, or give a shit that the whole place is dated. One thing wins favour over all that; your place is cosy.

It’s stuffed with life. Scored deep with it. Consumed. It’s not some ultra chic monotone black-red wasteland. It’s got posters and art on the walls, the crazy bohemian touches that come from your entirely whacky mother.

Sure this house wasn’t all that. But she made it great, and celebrated it in it’s own uniqueness.

Same goes for the best kind of people too. She’d say that to you with a wink.

Handfuls of pennies and some imagination went a long way. Clicking her tongue and shooting you her fierce brand of optimism that seeps out her every pore: eternally unflinching.

A lot of it, this house, echoed its funky warm pattern after the musical, magical, mental, woman who birthed you.

Forever hunting thrift stores for funky things. Weird shaped clocks. The Who posters. 60’s pop art. French Impressionism posters. Stupid cartoon lamps with Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck on the shade. Broken and chipped from the Goodwill but she liked that it wasn’t perfect or level.

She bought prints of famous artworks. Degas. Van Gogh. Millet. Flower drawings, or pressed leaves and flowers behind a sheet of glass. Not one piece of furniture matches in your living room. Or any room. The rugs are old and squishy soft, worn to death. It’s whacky to say the least. But you’d take it over any home they’re always flashing from the interior pages of a magazine.

She has blue daisy pillows on the couches. Always buys godawful cheap lemon candles that are all sugar acidic when they burn. But it cements that scent of home to you now.

There’s no inch of wall space not covered by frames or colour. One day she got up and impulsively painted your kitchen a bright buttery yellow. Just because. Flowers stamped everywhere cause she saw the idea in some hippy book.

And she filled this house with second hand books, too many, spilling over with them. She crammed your home with laughter, and literature, arts, and so many idols of your taste in music came from her.

You wouldn’t trade her for the entire world.

Flighty and bonkers as she is. You hate her being away so often, and with Charlie gone off now with her serious boyfriend, it does chip at you on the sadder days. Being here alone. It gouges just that little bit more when she’s not around.

The days when Linda says something particularly cutting, or times when jocks insults jab just that little too deep. You do miss her then. You can’t hate her for it. her job is a real earner and it makes her so happy. She brings you back souvenirs from every little corner of the globe she’s seen. Postcards. Snow globes.

She trusts you. She always says you’re her favourite kid in the world. That she knows of.

She’s not like some of the other Hawkins Moms you’ve seen. Not at all. The ones who all go to the same lousy hairdresser for the ruler straight highlighted bob. Go to Jazzercise on Thursdays. Hate their ignorant husbands. Wear beige cardigans and chunky gold jewellery and are the queen of boring casseroles and insist their kids be in bed by nine.

Then there’s her. Jagged and wound down and much looser. Etched in coolness. Less controlled - more quirky. Crazy hair even on a good day. Cherry ice cream smile. Young by their standards. Berkeley dropout. Strolling around in her suede fringed jacket and a Patti Smith t-shirt and boot cut jeans.

You’ve always seen the way other moms raised their brows at her appearance. They think she’s trashy. A single mom who dresses and eats and acts the way she does.

Scoffing behind her back at the rhinestone jacket or her vintage cowboy boots. She’s punchy. She doesn’t give two shits. She loves both her kids passionately and would be the first to swing a punch, split her knuckles open for you. Always in your corner. No matter what.

She had you both so young and braved through your dad walking out. Good riddance. He never did have the balls to do the important shit.

She told you that once you were just on the cusp of being old enough to understand why he wasn’t around.

Told you as she wrapped her arms around you and engulfed you in a hug. Smelling like Yves Saint Laurent Paris and gold Newports. She kissed the top of your head.

He couldn’t hack responsibility babe. He had his chance. Too bad he blew it. Cause I happen to think you’re the coolest pair of kids in the world.

She bucked up and scraped money together and it stung a bit sure. Pinched the corners of life at times. But she turned the back of her Brooke Shields shiny hair to the stares she gets in this town. Flipped the bird to those Carol’s and Susan’s who dared to judge her.

Somehow they thought she was a deadbeat mom. But she’s now raised two honour roll kids. First Charlie. Now you.

You’re on track for Indie State. Charlie went to Purdue. She said she’d love you even if you wanted to flip burgers or fix greasy old clunker cars for a living.

The phone shrills out loud as you’re scooping sticky chocolate chip dough into the greased sheets. It clumped between your fingers.

“Hang on.” You call out with no patience to the ringing, as you lean over to pluck it from the wall. Cradle it between your shoulder and ear. Trying to locate a dish rag for your smeared messy hands.

“Yeah.” Figured it would be someone for Mom, or a telemarketer.

“How’s it hangin, Pencils.”

Immediately a grin bursts on your lips. It’s Pavlovian. He smiles. You echo it.

You hear his voice? Ok then. Your stomach flew to bits. All fluttery like confetti.

“Well well well. If it isn’t my favourite metal head.” You say as you balance your trays down. Bumping the counter with your hip.

He chuckles through the phone. You hear the crackle of his exhale. You can picture his smile and it’s doing something to your guts that is just, crazy.

“Hey, c’mon now. Play fair. You never told me you were seeing other metal heads? I bet it’s that lanky haired bastard from the pizza place on Beechwood Drive, in his Slayer tees.” He twirled the old green phone cord around his finger. It clacks around that chunky silver ring of his.

He’s so quick to step up and play around and you love it. You can hear the jokiness layered on his voice. Hear him moving around cause staying still is his worst nightmare. Typical Eddie.

God. Look at you. You’re both twirling the phone cords around your fingers like middle school girls. Crushes thick in your throats and smiles. Choking your hearts fully. Paper airplanes tossed with love notes folded inside. Initials crossed together in a pink love-heart.

“Yeah.” You tease. “But his hair isn’t as great as yours. And don’t you know by now that I’ve got guys lined up around the block. I’ve had to have a ticket booth installed.” You pick up your wooden spoon to mix.

“Oh I’m so sorry, Linda. I thought I rang my pencils.” You hear the soft scuff of his laugh.

“Hang on one second, my lipgloss needs refreshing.” You pout. “And I feel like I should be singing ‘If I only had a brain’.”

He beams and it’s so wide his cheeks hurt.

“That’s not the Wizard of Oz I’m hearing over there pencils, right?” He deciphers.

“Saint Joe of Strummer. Our lord and saviour.” You tell him proudly. Cursing when you splodge a little of the sticky dough on the countertop. Looking around for the dish rag.

“I’m of the Anti-Christ church myself. Ozzy is my devil and I’m bound to obey.” He leers. His voice drops and it slithers between your legs to hear it get deep.

“Mmm. Sounds kinky.” You flirt. Trying your hardest not to drop dough on your bare toes where you’re scooping it to the tray. He’s a great distraction to your focus.

“If you’re into blood play and satanic practices baby, I got some great news for ya.” He fiddles with the empty microwave packets on the kitchen counter.

Chicken pot pie from two nights ago. The Kraft mac n’ cheese that he shovels down like air. Usually scraping it out the pan, eating it with a too big wooden spoon. As he reads a rock magazine at the kitchen counter.

“Sadly no. Dungeon stuff only. Oh and leather. Face masks. Lots of whipping too. And biting.” You tease.

“Hang on. Lemme get a pen and some paper… I’ll make a note…” He rustles around like he’s actually searching for it. Wiry body with the twisted phone cord wrapped around his torso.

You smile at his eagerness to please you.

“I don’t think you need to take notes, Munson. Last time was pretty sensational.” You blush. Mixing your batter and flirt is creeping onto your lips.

“Yeah?” He asks. “Jesus. You’ve no idea. It’s been driving me crazy. I should be committed. Look, I couldn’t even wait til tonight to hear your voice. I-“ He sighs in wanting. His tongue was tripping away from him. He drew back. Worried he was being too much.

He couldn’t wait. He had to call you.

“Munson. You never have to be sorry for calling me.”

Cause, I fucking like you.

“You know, you can call me Eddie. Pencils.”

“First name basis? How brazen.” You rib.

“Yeah, later on I was planning to show you my ankles. Risqué or what?” He flirts. You chuckle.

He’s wandering over to the window and flicking the curtain aside with his fingertips to see the same old drab and murky Forest Hills staring back at him.

“What would the village elders say-“ You gasp. “My reputation will be in tatters.”

“Not possible. Your name isn’t Linda.”

“I may have to kiss you for that one.” You warn.

“I’m very open to that.” He says very quickly. Twirling a packet of reds around the shiny surface of the table. Considering lighting one up. The rush of your voice is his nicotine until he hangs up.

You close a cupboard door and Eddie’s ears perk at the sound. “Learning drums over there?” He seeks.

“I’m baking.” You offer up.

Phone at your shoulder and between your ear still as you mix the dough with your other hand to fold in the chocolate chips. Shaking the packet and watching the chips fall. Plinking into the thick batter. It’s very messy and clumsily done.

“Tell me you’re wearing a tiny pink Betty Crocker apron?” He all but purrs down the phone. Licking his lips.

“It’s pink and frilly.” You drawl.

“Mmm. More-“ He rasps down directly down the phone. Grinning. Holds it right to his mouth to talk louder into the receiver.

“Pretty heels too. Lacquered hair like Donna Reed. Whole shebang.”

“Fuck.” He twirls hair around his finger. Almost bites down on his skull ring.

“The images in my head are so unmatched right now. You’ve no idea.” He charms.

“Damn.” He moans again. It’s low and it strikes a direct chord with your pussy.

Shit. You’ve had delicious filthy dreams about those moans. Your hands on that hard dick of his.

“Yeah and don’t forget my strand of pearls.” You grin.

He splutters. Oh he could give you pearls if you wanted them. It’s what he’s been dreaming of.

Such a horny boy.

“You’re the perfect date you know. Kinky as fuck, into whipping and leather. But pearls and baking.”

“You don’t even know what I’m baking-“

“You say pot brownies pencils, I’m gonna go out right this second and buy a goddamned ring.”

“Remember the four C’s. Colour. Clarity. Carat. Cut.”

“Shit. You want a diamond? Hmm I was thinking more along the lines of a pop ring. More in my budget. Or maybe something out the claw machine in the arcade.” He bargains.

“I like a man who puts in the effort. And, hey I’m not picky. I’ll take it. Diamonds are way overrated anyhow.” You decide.

“And just to lay your mind at rest I’m making Extra Chocolate, chocolate chip cookies.”

He cradled his aching throbbing heart. Hand splayed over his chest. Made a groaning noise like he was mortally wounded. A crackle of the sigh rattled the phone.

“Alright. You’re officially too good for me. I’m gonna have to hang up.” He jokes. You laugh.

You really hope he doesn’t.

“Don’t do that.” You ask quietly. “I need to talk to someone sensate. I beg of you.” You urge. “I had to listen to Linda bitch all the way home on Friday about how low fat ice cream sucks, and how much she wants to bang James Spader in Pretty in Pink.”

“Wow that really says a lot about her taste in guys.” He commented. She really was Tiffany-twisted, that girl. Wrapped up in her own over groomed looks, bouncy blonde curls, and sex life. Lived by rules out of Cosmo magazine and fad diets.

“My ears wanted to commit suicide by the time I got home. Thank god cause as I got out the car she started to mention the words sleepover and boyfriend and I just about had the sanity to slam the car door, before anymore came out.”

“Wise move baby.” He beamed.

You preened at the nickname that did dirty things. Finally you now had the cookies ready for the oven.

“Alright...” You clunked the wooden mixing spoon down. “First wave of troops going in. I’ll you know their condition after battle. Hopefully they make a worthy addition to our night as I am trying to impress you with my passably mediocre baking skills.” You charm.

“Hey don’t practice too hard now. You know us guys like em stoopid.” He puts on a southern-belle twang.

“If you can navigate yawself round a tree girlie. Keep on walkin. Them slick city fellers can have ya.” He drawls.

Your laugh makes his whole mood hop into giddy.

“You’re such a goof.” You smile. He couldn’t wait to see that grin of yours in person again. In a mere handful of hours-

“I didn’t need another incentive to be impressed by you, pencils...” He smiles. Tone slipping back into genuine. “Already there.” He offers.

Before you can respond. Hurricane Munson struck elsewhere.

“And uh, Whatever condition those troops are in. I’ll take it. I’m not picky either. Charlie. Tango. Bravo.”

“Good.” You answer. Twiddling with the corner of the dish cloth. Fondness settled like warm oozy mush on your chest. Inescapable.

You could spend hours down the phone listening to Eddie crack his jokes. Twirl around. Get distracted. Put on stupid drama club voices like he was at Hellfire

“There aren’t trees in the way of your trailer are there? Cause I won’t be able to navigate round them all on my own.” You joke in reference to his earlier remark.

“You’re the perfect lady.” He sighs in a sweet hum.

“Oh and uh, I picked the movies for tonight.” He suddenly announced. Sounding cheeky. Brimming with it.

“Yeah?” You asked with inflection. “Yeah.” He answered. With none.

“You’re not gonna tell me are you?” You clued up.

“Leave me to have my wicked wicked fun.”

“VHS tease.” You complained all snarky.

“Scoot your pretty ass over here and come see for yourself you coward.” He dares. Tongue tipped out between his smiling teeth.

“Six still good?” You check. Up on your tiptoes and swirling around the tiled floor. Stomach swooping with anticipation.

“Golden.” He answers.

“Guess I’ll see you then. I’ll be the one in the skirt.”

He sucks air through his teeth. “Ah same here. I hope we don’t clash.”

“Bye, Edward.” You joke. He gasps.

“Mm. Definitely gonna have to let you see my ankles now.” Comes his voice. Smile traced on it. You could tell.

“I’m counting the minutes.” You dip your voice low.

“See ya.” He parts. Slinging the phone back into it’s cradle on the wall. Smile charged to megawatt from your conversation. He wants to twirl and flip his hair. Goddamnit. He couldn’t keep still.

Then he drags his eyes to his surroundings. The crushed beer cans crumpled up on the kitchen counter, and the coffee table. The overflowing ashtrays. Trash in the kitchen. The dishes. The laundry strewn sofa. The dust- he chews his lip.

It was like he was seeing this place through fresh eyes. And it needed rectifying. He rolled up his sleeves.

Shit. He needed to hustle.

~

It was fair to say Wayne and Eddie had to grow used to living with each other.

The veil of constancy was Eddie’s safety blanket when it came to the gruff and earnestly stoic man, that was Wayne Munson; he pretty much remained himself. Didn’t change much.

Liked his bacon crispy. Made a peach cobbler that would blow your socks off til next Tuesd ay, but couldn’t assemble a sandwich neatly at all. Used to drive big semi trucks across the states. Did the crossword in the Hawkins Gazette. Adored Billie Holiday. Collected comical mugs. Liked strong coffee with cinnamon and had a dislike for cilantro. Loved old spaghetti westerns and that twanging soft country music he always hums too, which had carved space out of his soft-soppy Tennessee heart.

He had hatred for people with nasty gossiping sniping souls. Ugliness born inside, he thinks people don’t ever shift it on or lose that. He worked his fingers to the bone for the modest home and the little money they raked by on. He was unfailingly honest and generous. He had few words to give. He was Eddie’s weather-beaten yet reliable rock.

Eddie can imagine that Wayne getting to know him was more of a challenge; tricky to navigate; herding cats, walking on-knives-and-eggshells kind of difficult. How do you get to know someone when their character is set on shifting sand?

Thing is. Eddie never really changed that much.

He’s still the starry-eyed kid leaping on the couch, shredding air guitar to Metallica in filthy sneakers cause the moment just ran away with him. He’s the one making a huge show of not stepping on cracks in the pavement cause he’s down enough as it is. Not breaking mirrors, ever, and picking up sidewalk spilt pennies. And apologising and stepping over weeds in the trailer lot. Not trampling them underfoot.

Eddie was still the boy inside that felt bad for struggling weeds. The one to feel sorry for a squashed little dandelion.

Wayne wrenched open this home to this kid as a stranger. Barbs and shame-wrapped guilt set in his heart that he didn’t know his brothers own kid better than he did. He kept to his lane. He stayed out the way of his brothers numerous convictions. Remained a stranger to trouble.

But then, when need came knocking; he offered up, no questions asked. The way a bird offered the gentle lift of their wing, to something foreign needing shelter, in a warm bramble nest, from the raging storm.

Eddie will never forget the first words he heard out of Wayne’s mouth. Around the corner of some bland police precinct. Warm. Firm. Dependable.

“He’s my family. He’s blood. That’s enough. Kindly let me see him.”

He didn’t regret stepping up to bat for one minute. Maybe he’s grouchy and he’d never fully ‘get’ or approve of everything his nephew did, or enjoyed. But he didn’t chew him out, or pick at him for it.

He learned what flavour pop tarts Eddie liked best for breakfast. When he needed sleep or help. When he needed space. When to warn him to watch his attitude, or his mouth, or manners, and when to back off. Parental things.

Eddie was a stale eyed kid when he first met Wayne. Perhaps innocent and maybe just jaded enough to see beyond the rose-tinted prism of childhood. He was jaggedy-rough round the edges and not worn into himself yet. Caught up in the hard knocks of social care and down-and-out on his luck, as a mostly unwanted eight year old. That stuck some nasty pins in his ego pretty early on.

Wayne could see how Eddie kept expecting to be shuffled on elsewhere. Big shining eyes that a puppy would envy under a scruff mop of hair. Clutching all he had for dear life. His scruffy collection of tattered comics and stubby pencils and half broken toys.

Kept looking around the trailer like he shouldn’t get too attached. Sat gingerly on the edge of the sagging bed. Shouldn’t make mess or get comfy. Cause soon, he’ll have to pack his scrappy things into that sad cardboard box and eek out a wobbling lipped goodbye. Sad that home hadn’t stuck, again.

Eddie kept that empty scruffy little box sat in the bottom of his closet for six months. Just in case.

Wayne threw that box right in the trash.

Bought him a beat up old turntable. Put a shelf up in his room and a stood a few second hand fantasy paperback books on it. Bought him a few new things that didn’t belong to someone else first.

Wayne watched Eddie fall into stability. To learn how to put roots down. Grow steady and then in quick spurts, into who he was. In that way kids do. The way they grow into clothes that were too big. Shoes that would eventually fill out to fit their steps.

He watched the love of music come blasting in. Middle school. Rolling Stones magazines. Catching Black Sabbath on the radio one day. The appreciation for that loud thrashing dirty-steel rock he now loves. The one that ran vein deep. His idols with the crazy scruffy long hair. He discovered Ozzy and Axl, Judas Priest and Lemmy.

Watched him sew on badges that he bought for pennies at dime stores, and get bloody fingertips cause he really was useless at needlework. Found his signature rings at a cool vintage place outta state. Watched him saw off the arms of his denim jacket and come home with a swing in his step and a DIO shirt from the goodwill - a twinkle in his eye. Determination threaded in this burgeoning passion. Tip of the iceberg.

A plan Wayne. I have a well executed, thorough plan. Foolproof.

Mmmhmm. Is this gonna end up exactly like the last plan you had, kid?

Let’s find out.

Gone from the sweet boy who was too scared of everything, and everyone boring, and being judged, and now he’s turned inside out, full circle, to become this genuinely sweet young man, who turned against that boring tide of beige normalcy.

Eccentric and whirly with the unfocused energy that never burned out. Dynamite blaze kid. Even when he tried to hide scrapes on his knees, and raw knuckles. A shiner that he let his shaggy fringe cover, from an attempt to fight and claw back.

He still gave Wayne that shocking toothy grin with a fat lip and a busted nose, cause he was actually stupid proud of himself - and the way he stuck up for some freshman. The tiny nerdy one who had a carton of milk poured over his head by the meat head jocks. Having pages ripped out his science textbooks by them and spread to the wind like leaves.

Eddie sat beside the newbie with bleeding raw knuckles, cracked jokes, sellotaped those torn pages back together - wonky. Just to show that someone out there, cared.

The smiles became armour, devil horns and Gene Simmons tongue. The hair started to grow out into rioting curls. Doe eyes glinted promiscuity; to those who didn’t know him well enough to know there was no shred of malice anywhere in him.

Eddie collected parts of himself, the way someone would laundry plucked off the line- like the badges and pins he secured on his chest and flashed around for fun.

He found his first DND board and his dice at a yard sale. And then came that sweet head-muzzy strain of Colombia gold, and Reefer Rick and light frothy cans of beer on an empty stomach. He found acceptance. Ripped jeans and scuffed knees. The exquisite pin pricks of a scratchy tattoo the day he turned 18. Asked if he could wear the old sagging leather jacket he found hung in the back of the closet, from Wayne’s younger and more hip days.

The way he went full bonkers-gaga over seeing his 24 fret NJ warlock in the window of a music store in town. Bursting big heart eyes over it and saving up for months. Awfully tempted by the idea of some piercing, somewhere, but nearly fainted when he got in the shop. So that was the end of that. He founded Hellfire and he protected his fellow freaks. Scraped together his high school band.

Collected the little lost sheepies in armfuls, in bunches, so that no one within his reaches would ever have to sit and console that festering hungry chasm of being an unwanted kid, with nowhere to turn.

Cause Eddie knew well enough, it was a bottomless gremlin pit with gnashing teeth, and it would take take take as long as you bothered to feed it.

And all that learning and comfiness, and living, now it currently tapered down to Wayne not being at all surprised, by watching his nephew shaking frail little spindly spiders out into the doormat, talking soothingly to them.

Shooing them out off the glossy pages of his rock music magazine. Telling them to get used to the brave new world of Forest Hills outside these four walls.

“-And kudos by the way for eating the flies. Appreciate you for that. Sorry I’ll have to take down those cobwebs. Consider this your eviction notice.” As he jimmied the last one off the paper and it crinkled noisily. Bracelet on his wrist jingling.

Wayne is peering over the shield of his paper. Coffee steaming away in a chipped Snoopy mug by his side. Cigarette dangling from his fingers. Watching Eddie crouch right at the mouth of the trailer door. Holding it open and watching the insects lope away in new brave directions.

Pieces of clarity started to to swim together when he takes a look at Eddie’s clothes.

Different to his normal threads on a Saturday night; Either he’s kicking his feet into reeboks, shouldering on his leathers and vest to go out a party at some place, and come back reeking of grass and beer breath. Or; he’s shuffling around in his thread bare plaid pyjama pants and a ratty AC/DC tee, asking what’s for dinner through a smeary eyed yawn.

This is neither; he straightened up to go and neatly return the magazine to his room, as opposed to throwing it down to rest in any old place. Odd.

Wayne took notice of his clothes. Black jeans that were suspiciously clean of ash stains or frayed knee holes. His long sleeved black skull tee rolled up to his elbows, ink on display. Chest blazoned with a band name he’s never heard of, and down the sleeve too in gothic red. His hair was all fluffed up - like he’d finally discovered what a comb was.

Eddie saunters back into the room. Flitting from place to place. Shoving beer cans in a bulging garbage bag. Along with empty crushed food packets that he left out. Sweeping crumbs off the counter with his bare hands. Probably over the floor but the effort was there- picking cigarette butts off the floor that he was careless enough to drop.

And Wayne didn’t even have to shoot his usual look, clearing his throat at him, about that nasty habit. He was clearing up entirely on his own. Without prompt.

He was rushing. Rushing was the antithesis of Eddie’s speed. A thin film of sweat on his brow under that choppy lollop of a fringe. He’s crammed garbage bags full. Shoving stuff inside.

Says something under his breath that sounds like “shit” as he darts back into his room. Wallet chain jangling behind him. Socked feet thudding softly on the carpets.

He keeps an ear open for what sounds like commotion. Frantic tidying. The shuffling of clothes by the armful. Closet doors shutting with a thwack. He talks to his guitar as he hums and tidied.

“I know I know. Sweetheart. I should have done this earlier. Don’t look at me like that…”

He rounds up his dirty clothes and does a sniff test - again. That was the third time tonight.

Movement clattering along the hall. Socked feet storm back to the washer. He’s stuffing an armful of mostly all black clothing into it like he’s trying to dispose of body parts in there. Ramming in so much he has to shut the door quick.

“Rat bastard.” He hissed after he shook the dream fresh laundry powder in and slams it shut. Punches it for good measure. His rings clack on the metal-metal contact. Shook his fist out I n the air cause that hurt more than he thought it would.

Now he’s back to the trash bags in the kitchen. Looping them up and walking across the door to dump them outside in the garbage cans. Hopping across the sharp gravel in socked feet like a jumping hare.

Wayne sees that determined set in his brow as the door snaps open and back in slams Eddie at a million miles a second. Frowning at everything he sees. Sloped brows. Mouth curled into a grimace.

He comes to empty the overflowing ashtray on the coffee table near Wayne. Well, it was an old soup can that somehow turned into an ashtray. Annoyed that he missed it. Muttering to himself. Scooping away dust. It was like watching a one man ant farm.

This led to him now being stood on the couch, suddenly reorganising the shelf behind it. Batting cobwebs away from mugs and wiping a hand on his jeans.

“Jesus. I mean how dusty is this place?” Eddie asks to no one in particular. Not expecting an answer.

Silence. Rustling.

Wayne folds up his paper and nicely slaps it down on the arm beside him. Folds his hands in his lap. “Eddie.”

Eddie turns around like a doe eyed deer caught in semi headlights. Twisted at the waist. Back of his shirt riding up over his lithe waist. Peek of his back and his plaid red boxer band showing over the back of his jeans.

The bony notches of his spine poke through skin where he’s leaning over. He blinks owlishly at his uncle. One foot braced on the back of their elderly moth-eaten couch.

“What the hell you doin?” Wayne asks with kind bewilderment. Shaking his head at his kid.

“Spring cleaning?”

Wayne’s eyes narrow as he lifts his hand up and sucks on his cigarette. “Sure?” He checks.

“No?” Comes the answer. Carefully. Wincing. Wayne takes a breather.

“There’s cobwebs. And, dust.” He explained. Pointing to the wall before him. “Look see, dust.”

“Why the sudden aptitude for household chores there, huh?” Wayne asks as he nurses his cooling coffee.

To his shame they don’t exactly keep the place pristine. He tries his best, but on some days work takes it clean outta him. Eddie’s room resembled a garbage tip bomb-site most likely.

Eddie swallows. “You know. Just- some light maintenance.” He shrugs. That was the most plausible answer his brain spat out upfront.

“On a Saturday night?”

“I’m um, totally slammed on Sunday.” He admits. Clapping off his hands.

“Kid. How stupid do you think I am. Because frankly, all I’ve seen, is all I need to see. If you get my drift.”

Eddie turns away and continues his frantic cleaning. Polishing a mug with his shirt sleeve.

“I have… guests… coming over tonight.” If he makes it plural maybe he can get away with it.

“Your DND club.” Wayne guesses. This earns a snort from the metalhead.

“I once saw Gareth eat pizza off the canteen floor. Like I’d bother dusting here for those doofuses.” He grins.

“Then question remains; who are you dusting, and laundry-doing and taking out the spiders for?” Wayne leans forward and asks. Scratching the stubble at the side of his grizzled jaw.

Eddie clings to silence. Which he never does. Never ever does this boy exist without noise bursting out his mouth. Looks like a sheepish kid again.

Wayne’s gaze meets his. ‘Well?’

Cause he would support whomever Eddie chose to bring home. Girl or boy, or undecided. He’s no dummy. He’s got eyes in his head. He’s seen things. The little quirky tics in Eddie’s character when he likes someone. He knows his kid pretty darn well enough by now.

“A girl.” Eddie concludes turning away, like it was casual, cool, and nothing to get worked up over. No biggie. Just… the girl of my dreams. So what? I can be casual about this. It’s totally fine. And normal. Normally fine.

“A girl.” Wayne nods.

“Change this record. It’s skipping.” Eddie leers. Pointing a funny wagging finger at his relative.

“This girl. She royalty or something.”

Eddie cuts a look. It’s just bordering on grumpy and peeved.

“Listen, she ain’t coming to inspect the place or audit us. A little dust and clutter isn’t gonna put her off spending time with you, now is it.”

Eddie sighs. Itched the back of his head. Screwed his eyes shut.

“No. See man. I wanted to be presentable. Cause when she walks in this trailer, she’s gonna be expecting me to look and act like sleazy, greasy trailer trash. And I just. Wanna-“ he clenched his fists.

“Just wanna be….presentable.” He mumbled. Repeating. As he softly scuffed the couch arm with his foot. He sighed. Rubbed a dusty knuckle in his eye until stars scrawled black and bursting.

“Goddd. Look at me. I’ve showered twice. And I untangled the knots out my hair. I used that fancy bar soap I got for xmas that smells like lemons. I brushed my teeth for a whole two minutes. May have used a splash of your cologne. That stung like hell by the way.” He added naughtily. Pinching the collar of his shirt in two fingers and flapping it up and down to cool himself off.

“I’m sweaty. My hair feels itchy. I don’t know what I’m gonna say. She’s gonna be stunning, and awesome and I feel like I’m having a heart seizure or probably a stroke over here. I don’t know man. Fuck-“

Wayne let’s him get it out. As he’s learned with Eddie sometimes it’s best. He often just needed a ramble. To let his tongue lash til he ran dry.

He kicked the couch again. Harder. Still standing up tall on it.

“What’s she like, this girl. She into the same kinda stuff as you?” Wayne enquired.

It dipped muzzily into his big soft heart seeing Eddies mouth hooked right up into a petite smile when he asked about you. One side curls.

“No she’s, uh, she likes Punk music and Bowie, Talking Heads, Billy Idol, and like, you should hear her, she talks about all these artists and shit I’ve never heard of. It’s amazing-“

She’s entirely too good for the likes of me.

“She’s so cool. Effortlessly cool y’know?- And creative?! She likes scary movies and she works in the record store. She hates jocks. I cannot believe she’s actually bothering to look twice at a moron like me. Super senior, King of the freaks.” He jabs his fingers into his bony skull clad chest.

Because Eddie didn’t think it was exactly a secret that flunk out’s like him, were never exactly crawling in babes, or cramming in dates on the weekends.

“I really like her.” He mumbled openly. Wiping palms on his jeans. That’s what this effort all whittled down too.

He couldn’t meet Wayne’s eyes as he said it. It seemed to good to be true. His hopes were so little. Floundering seeds.

He wanted this to go well. He whirled his eyes elsewhere and fidgeted through his words. Typical Eddie.

“I gathered as much from your general-“ Wayne waved his hand around in the air of the living room and towards the kitchen “…Running round. Giving me whiplash just watching you, kid.” He stubs out his cigarette.

Eddie stays where he is. Stood couch top. Absorbing the information Wayne fed him.

“Why don’t you get down from there. Leave the dusting the hell alone. And just relax.” He soothes. Always a balm to the frizzy fraying nerves.

Eddie looks like it could be a trap if he dares to let himself chill out. You say it like it’s easy.

“She must like you to come all the way out here to spend time with you. Just be yourself. I guarantee you, that’s what she’s interested in. Not the state of this place.” He shifts in his chair and groans a little. Adjusts his legs.

Eddie let’s out a huff. Slumps down the sofa and throws his body onto it. Crazy hair flicking after he moved. It’s fluffier too. Some lame attempt at his own hands to pretty it up from its usual insanity.

“What you guys planning on doing?” He seeks. Sips his coffee. Distraction worked well, too. He often found.

“Ordering pizza and watching a couple movies.” Eddie says up to the ceiling. Scanning for cobwebs. Fiddling with the rings on one hand. One knee twitching up and down.

He had the stack of videos ready on top of the TV. Night of the Living Dead. Nightmare on Elm Street. And then Ghostbusters for something undeniably cheesy. The microwave popcorn in the kitchen. A number for the pizza place hemmed in on the fridge with magnets, as per usual.

Wayne makes a soft noise at the back of his throat at hearing that. A smile creeps on his lips. He idly reads the folded back of his paper.

“What?” Eddie quizzes.

Wayne’s smile grows if anything.

“I may be an old man. But I was young once. I do happen to know what that means.” He stared Eddie down in that parental way.

“You’re gonna be careful with this girl, right. Safe sex ain’t no joke.”

That did it.

“Aww man, c’mon.” Eddie choked, cringing, as he launched himself up out the sofa and quickly scurried away like a jangly pillar of goth black missile. Aimed sharpish in another direction.

“It’s a first date, by the way. I’m not gonna be breaking out the condoms and whistles and bells here.” He lets out.

He’s shaking his head and losing himself in the confines of his room. Music is softly shredding out the low stereo. Alice Coopers ‘Welcome to my Nightmare’ sneers softly into his room. He cranks it up.

Wayne stood up. Smiling and shaking his head in making his kid cringe. Gathering his things for work. Walking to the kitchen slowly to empty the dregs of his cup. Leave it in the sink for later. He grabs his things as he walks on past the front door. Heavy work boots crushing soft on the carpets and then the lino.

He walks right up to Eddie’s door, peers into the clustered metal gilded mess of his room.

Shocked to notice he could actually see the floor. And the raunchy pin ups were safely shepherded away inside the closet. The playboy magazines he pretends he doesn’t know about shoved under the bed. The dresser and side tables were still messy as. There’s been an attempt at making the bed. The sheets are straightened and tucked in.

“Listen now, you’re 20 year old man, and you have a zipper. I won’t say any more than that. But you best play it safe. Y’hear?”

“NO.” Eddie fairly shrieks.

“Not listening anymore.” Comes the answer as he faffs around and pretends to be busy with some things in his closet.

“Eddie.” Wayne smiles.

He turns back around and stands up. Expression of limited enthusiasm.

“Wayne. I am the town fuck up in a lot of ways. But not in this way.” He marched back to his bedside. Throws the blue Trojan condom packet up in the air and catches it. A silent ‘see?’

His uncles brow crooks up. Shuffling his wallet into his jeans. Pulling on his heavy fleece lined denim jacket. “Jeez. Those things still in date?”

Eddies face falls.

“They expire?” He flips the packet and looks at the back.

“Lord. I am gettin out of here. Save me some pizza would ya.” Wayne dismisses with a shake of his old head.

This high school romance thing was better left a young man’s game.

~

Eddie thinks he forgets how to breathe, when the buttery headlights of your car slant into the big window of the trailer.

He poked his head out the door earlier. The air is cool out tonight. Hung with moisture, so thick you could sip at it. Icy cold like a dirty clear martini. The kind of night that bloats up and leaves the taste of wet grass on your tongue.

The headlights are a sobering neon yellow under the cushy spring night that was churning slowly in dregs and streaks, to a violet. Lilac bathed air punched with cold. One of those night slow nights that gets slipped into dark majesty, and the stars cluster bright like winking pearls.

Eddie’s eyes have been on the windows for an hour. He’s paced groves in this thick matted carpet, he’s sure of it. Eyes set on the windows like he’s on a mission. Trying not to chew his nails. Got him acting like a pound mongrel waiting for their owner to come home.

The car lights flick off. Engine cuts dead.

And now he can hear the slam of your car door. His heart rockets into overdrive with scary amounts of adrenaline and stabbing excitement that will, he’s sure, undeniably make a moron out of him before then night is out.

You’re stepping up the creaky porch. He knows those snaps and shifts of the old steps. You’re knocking on his door.

He takes a deep breath. Fills his crappy sentimental lungs, that he placated with a cigarette, twenty ache filled minutes ago.

He cannot open the door fast enough, and the sight of you the other side, roundhouse whirls into his chest. Smacks right between the ribs. Fists him by the front of his t-shirt and yanks-

You’re like that song Wayne hums and taps his feet too, when he makes eggs on a Sunday mo rning. ‘Like being hit by a falling tree, woman, woman what you do to me.’

“Ah woman bearing beer. You’re definitely welcome inside.” He grins. Leaning against his door.

He thinks he keeps on imagining how pretty you are. But here you stand with the cheap orange light of the trailer washing back over you, haloing your body like a wash of heaven, and he’s gotta remember not to stare.

You’ve brushed this smoky-sparkly purple eyeshadow on. Nightshade purple like the sky out tonight. Big lashes all dark too. Your lips are pink shiny and glossy. (You so totally stole a tube from Linda, naughty pencils)

You’re wearing a brown corduroy skirt and a black polo neck. Long brown leather boots up to your calves. Your hair is so silky. Eyes shimmering this angel honey warmth at him.

You’re holding an eggshell coloured plate of Saran-wrapped cookies. Piled high and dark chocolate. In your other hand you have a six pack of coors and something else-

“Best part?” You begin.

You hold something up, tilt your head and there’s that smile.

The thing you hold, it’s all canine teeth and fake tufts of hair. Two triangle ears. Tacky acetic smell of plastic. “For the Heist.”

A wolf man mask. A smile leaps onto his lips.

“You think of everything.” He shakes his head in disbelief. “Got yours I hope Pencils?” He asks with a levelled look as he widens the door for you to step in.

“It’s in the car. Messes up my hair.” You shrug. You climb up the last uneven wedge of a step and move to come inside.

“Hey.” You smile. He liked that you goofed around first. Went traditional greeting second.

“Hey back.” He said softly. Pretty smile all wide. Espresso dark eyes fixed unendingly on your face.

You nervously chew your lip and gaze down. You want to lean over and kiss his cheek but didn’t want to overstep or be weird about it.

You clunkily flounder on the doormat. Self doubt lingers on your fingertips. You wish you could just escape into the confidence to lean over and kiss him like you did the other night. But then you had a belly of vodka and Dutch courage backing you up.

Decide hand him over the plate of cookies. He can smell the cocoa and sugar sneaking out when he takes the thing off you. “For you-“ you gift.

“Troops made it. Well done boys.” It makes you chuckle. Wiggles the plate in one hand and talks to the cookies.

“Hope you got a sweet tooth. I made so many.”

“Always.” He answers to your enquiry. “My diet is 98% Oreos and mini powdered donuts.” He beams.

You nudge the beers in your hand too. “Fridge?”

He takes them off you gently. “Yeah, here, gimme.” He bundled them up and stepped past you. The door snapped shut behind him and you took in the space as Eddie padded to the fridge.

You smile as you gaze around the walls. The scratchy orange curtains. The warmness of the lamps splashing up light. A very well beloved couch and all the mug keepsakes and hats on the walls. It’s cosy. It’s a home. Capital H. Just like yours. You can see that from one glance.

The Campbell’s soup can used as an ashtray cause the actual red glass ashtray next to it was overflowing with pocket junk. The plaid shirts yet to be ironed, crumpled somewhat clumsily in a laundry basket. Some sepia family pictures tacked to the space above the counter where the sun won’t bleach them. The red pansy pattern on the sofa that clashes with the lone saggy yellow throw pillow. The marbled malty brown carpet.

A place that sure wasn’t fancy, but had character and warmth in swathes more than anything designer and clinical green money could buy. It’s a sagging trailer sure, no hiding that. But you imagine with a cold shower of outside patting at the roof, these friendly yellow walls would swallow you up in their charming blanket of old cigarettes, male cologne and powder dreamy detergent. Some scratchy record playing blues and a snuggly throw on that couch, it would be a sort of enclosing haven.

“It’s uh- not much. But… a place to crash or to hang your hat, as Wayne says.” Eddie trails off. Setting the cookies on the counter. Nodding in jest towards the numerous baseball caps.

“I like it. Honestly. You should see my house. Moms hippy-bohemian posters and pretty strange sense of interior decor reigns strong.” You tell him.

“I’d like to see that.” He says as he clunks beers in the ancient whirring fridge. You smile over at him. You nod and share eye contact.

“Come through the front door this time though, perhaps. Save your ass from that thorny rose bush.” You encourage warmly.

“Awh. You’re worried about the state of my ass.” He preens. Leans against the counter and gives you moony eyes.

“Damn right. Someone’s got to be.” You answer back.

“Thank heaven it’s you.” He simpers. Smile

Slowly crawls up and your stomach warms all dizzy. You bite your lip.

“Drink?” He offers. Hands splayed over the counter. “We got Pepsi, ginger ale.”

“Actually, a beer would be great.” You nod. Cold buzz light give you some courage to finally bump your mouth to those soft sweet lips you adore. And had missed.

You should have done it tonight the second he opened the door. Damn politeness. You should’ve sprung on him.

“Two beers. Coming up.” He grins. Drums the counter with open slaps of his hands. Dives for the fridge.

You unzip your boots. Worried about getting wet marks on the floor.

“Princess. Your shoes are probably cleaner than this carpet.” Eddie explains wryly from behind the fridge.

Coming back to see you standing into the mushy carpet in your bare feet. Painted toes mulberry purple. Sparkles glitter gritty over the deep paint.

“It’s the principle of the thing now, Munson.” You say as you toe them off. Stuff your socks inside. You place them by the door and wander over to the jut of the counter. Standing the other side looking at him. His skin itches and leaps with the realisation of your smiling at him. He more than likes it.

He’s got the beers before him. Cracking them open. The fizz and the hoppy mist. He slides yours on over for you to catch like a saloon bar in a western.

“Mi’lady” He says as he raises his can up for you to crash them together in a toast. A tinny clank where you toast. His rings clack on the side of the can.

“Thank you, gallant Knight.” You flatter. After taking back a cold hop filled sip.

It makes you think of that slanted drunken time in Kyle’s garden. Sharing polite sips of a warm beer. Stealing glances under fringes and sparing longing looks.

You watch his brows raise with surprise at your choice of title. “And here, I thought I was the jangly belled jester dude. Or the scrawny but lovable bard.” He grins all toothy.

“Fraid not. You’re my Knight in shining DIO vest.” You tell him.

If you had to, you’d rearrange the entire solar system by hand to see the sight of Eddie Munson blush again the way he is now. His cheeks full with it.

He scratches the back of his neck and looks like he wants to twirl away and hide in his hair all bashful.

“You rescued me from the pack of Ogres and brought me healing Campbells aid. Not to mention some very seriously delicious behaviour in a closet.” You played along. Fiddling your fingertips along the edge of the counter. “That’s Knightly behaviour, my guy.” You nod.

“You’d be ok with being my maiden then, huh?” He can’t ignore the very bloated intent behind those words. Chews the inside of his lower lip. He can taste beer and he’s so aching to kiss you again.

“More than ok.” You met his longing brown gaze. Those melty eyes standing stark under that chippy fringe. “Hey, as long as you don’t think I’m the Dragon. I’m fine with whatever.” You hold your hands up.

His smile brightens. “I think we all know who the dragon is, pencils.”

You laugh.

His heart swoons.

And then it twirls somewhere different. He looks intent. Like he wants to grab something but can’t. Pent up. Like he’s digging fingers into the counter to keep from something else.

“Ok, excuse the shit outta me but, fuck it, I should have done this the second I saw you tonight.”

He suddenly bursts into movement around the counter. You follow where he rounds it in record time. Chain jangling. Socked feet padding the floor.

Emotions are chunky jagged things that can’t contain him. Slip off his body like oil slick. Beat off him like rain bouncing off concrete. It can’t contain him or maybe it’s the other way around.

He comes your side and you can barely have a breath before he’s cupped your neck either side, so gentle, and pushed his lips onto yours in a kiss so sweet it made your brain wipe blank.

His body cages you back into the counter. Tile top digging the back of your waist. Your hands flounder for a second. You smile to his lips before your hands come to his back. His belt buckle jams to your skirt and it makes your stomach flutter with want.

He tastes the same and it’s a flavour you’re oddly fascinated by. Smoky brush and hoppy beer. Maybe a little acrid but you don’t mind it. So traditionally Eddie it makes your knees wobble.

His thumb is soft on the line of your jaw. Savours the way He languidly kisses you out of breath. He swallows a sugary clasp of a little gasping noise you made. Wants more- more more more of them. He’s caught in your orbit and never wants to fall out of this clutch of your gravity.

Tastes the gloss off your mouth and he prays you don’t think him a massive perverted creep for this.

When you break for air, his lips don’t wander far. Spit wet and near yours and now he’s wearing sugar high pink gloss too. His nose lays along the line of yours.

“Sorry-“ He gasps.

He may have short circuited your brain with that kiss. Glitched something out for sure.

“I don’t see what sorry has to do with that.” You murmur softly. Leaning up to brush your nose into his. Try to contain this harsh vein buzz he’s got going in you.

“Inviting you over to my trailer and mauling you.” He gasps as he rakes a soft brush of hair off your cheek. Back tenderly behind your soft ear.

You push on your tiptoes. Capture his mouth in a slowly melting peck. Hand sliding across his cheek. Palming a cheekbone. Fingertips nesting in that dry wild mane.

“I don’t mind a little mauling.” You explain. He rests his hands on your hips with a self satisfied chuckle. Thumbs stroking the waistband of your skirt.

“Not very Knightly.” He quipped. Going dumb the way you plucked kisses at his mouth in-between his attempts to speak.

“Chastity is overrated. I’m not waiting in a fucking tower to protect my virtue.” You tell him.

You’ve got his fucking chest skipping and his heart is on the roof of his mouth. Cheeks ache from smiling.

He holds your waist like he’s afraid you’ll move or drift away. Ridiculous. You’ve patiently waited to get here. You’re not budging. Eyes set on yours. The wet gloss glimmer of your lips and those eyes he pathetically wants to stare into like he’s discovered a new form of Eden.

“I can’t believe I didn’t work up the courage to talk to you sooner.” Bursts out his mouth before he can stop it. A shy little confession that he feels very nerdy to have given a voice too.

“Wanna know something?” You tell him all softly. Stroking over the wavy tips of those choppy bangs.

“If not guess I’ll just kiss it outta you…” He decides. Eyes dizzily on your lips. His hips sway into you and he tilts his head to plant a sweet kiss at the corner of your mouth.

“I think I had a crush on you from the very second you got sat behind me in history class.” You explain.

You couldn’t help it. There you were all wrapped and stirred up in your love of punk and anarchy. And then in walks this crazy, messy leather clad and metal dipped kid with doe eyes and trouble stroked deep into his smile. The frenzy and the non-conformity. Clutched you good.

“Why do you think I always tapped on your shoulder asking for a pencil, pencils?” He teased. But he wasn’t done;

Sense slotted into place.

“Do you know why I call you that by the way?” He checks. Voice such a soft chasm of purity.

“I assumed the way I’m always covered in graphite and ink, and paint splatters.” You shrugged.

“No.” He raises your hand up and marks a kiss the back of it. “But I do really dig that look on you.”

“Alas-“ He continued. “Its because you never snapped at me. Never once rolled your eyes or ignored me when I tapped on your shoulder. You didn’t dismiss me the way everyone else did.”

You’re floored. Stood pinned to this counter and you’re so touched.

“You always gave me a pencil. Always. And you smiled at me as you did it. Didn’t tell me to keep it with disgust or bark that you wanted it back right after. Look at it like you’d contract rabies from being touching something I’d used.”

You indeed smiled at him. You asked about the patches on his vest. About the bands you’d not heard of. Told him the answer to a random question of the pop quiz if you saw him struggling. Twisted around and caught sight of the horned devil skull he was doodling and thought it was cool.

You lit up when he came into class or when he said something funny. And sure, he did show off in the hopes it would earn that beam of yours. He always felt like opportunity slipped out his hands when you scurried away after class finished.

He tried every day, to stay and catch your eye- make you laugh again. Just something to rouse that little kernel of connection he had to you. And when he saw you around you were always alongside the blonde one he assumed was too cool to approach.

“Wow, we’re morons. It’s only taken us this long to get things going.” You supplied casually.

“Pencils. Trust me. I noticed you beside that blonde poodle friend of yours a lot. I thought how pretty and awesome you seemed. Would’ve tried to talk to you, but I kinda thought you hated me.” He admits with a wince.

“Why?” You ask almost sadly. Ready to crunch up your own conscience in guilt.

“That’s what people usually do. They don’t even get to know me they just decide to skip right to the ‘hating my guts’ part.”

You shake your head. Boldly.

“Not this people.” You say. Cupping his cheek. “And I’d like to spend a lot of time proving that tonight.”

Your free hand slunk to his waist. Holding him with a perfectly lovely touch that has his knees swooning. Fuck it, yes. He could swoon too.

He smiles at that. And it’s so stunningly honest it makes the slippy walls of your heart ache. Lays his lips onto yours again.

“What’s say we order this pizza, get buzzed and uh, do some very dirty hand stuff on the couch whilst we pretend to be interested in it?” He grins.

“Perfect.” You slip up and kiss him again. Arms crossed over his shoulders. Body entirely pasted to his.

“Does this mean we’re officially dating now?” You ask him sweetly when you pull back. Not having moved one inch away. Engrossed, entangled and entwined.

“It better.” He nudged his nose to yours. And it really was as simple as that.

“Fuck. I wanna kiss you again. Can I-“ He started, and before you can even answer. Before your tongue can shape and push words out your teeth. He’s on you again.

“Baby. We’re way past asking permission.” You break away and breathily tell him as the kissing gets heavier, more intense. Arms squeeze harder. Getting closer when there’s no room to spare already. Crushed. No breath. It’s glorious.

“Don’t tell me that.” He flirts. If you give him free-reign, you’ll never be able to reel him back again. You just won’t. He’s far too, far gone.

“Believe I just did.” You tell him. Ballsy.

He leads you stumbling by the waist over to the couch. Smiling. Nibbling your lower lip. Sucking and his tongue sweeping yours. Knocking and kissing, knees touching. Falling and falling into each other again. You gasp where you awkwardly clash together on the lumpy couch cushions.

“Oh, you’re gonna regret that one Pencils.” He teases. Face all blushy and definitely love-drunk. Kiss dazed. Funny how you’d quite forgotten about those beers all of a sudden.

“Bring it on, Munson.” You urged.

~

🕷️This here? Oh no biggie. Just the next part of Eddie x Pencils 🕷️

My taglist for the JQ babes; @ceriseheaven @indouloureux @stiegasaw @fujiihime @youaremyfamiliar @captain-tch @ghosttownwherenoonegoes @svenyves @sammararaven @feralgoblinbabe @groupie-love-71 @andromeda-andromeda @starbxcks @morganamoonstone @ramona-thorns @gvtosbith @poppy-metal @munsonswhore86 @munsonlov3r @lunatictardis @shenevertricks1831 @hazzaismyreligion @harrys-tittie @anaisweird @cerinthussulpicia @cinnamoncunt @thincrusttheworks @manicpixiedreamcurl @therosietoesy @fanficappreciationblog @thicksexxualtension @tvserie-s-world @sharp-and-swift @dadsbongos @2clones-1kamino @edsforehead @chcolateeyelver @seven-glass-kids @forever-is-not-for-everyone @creme-bruhlee @bkish @wayward-rose @wyverntatty @latenighttalkingwithgrapejuice @churchmuffins @chickpeadumpsterfire @choke-me-levi @prozacandnicotine @xeddiesbattattsx

~

[marlynnofmany]

Sometimes I think the main difference between Writer Brain and Normal Person Brain is that the writer notices more. And I don't mean JUST the "Hey that would be good in a story" things.

A moment ago, I was eating lunch while staring absent-mindedly at a pile of stray coins on the counter, counting and analyzing while I thought random thoughts. Two of the pennies were new and bright, the unlikely pink of fresh copper. The total value was 23 cents.

There was one dime (10¢), two nickels (5¢) and three pennies (1¢).

Look at that, I thought. The numbers are opposite. What the proper terminology? The quantity is inversely proportional to the value? What are the odds? How cool!

And then, instead of dismissing the thought like a normal person probably would, I decided to write it down. And then tell the internet about it. Because that kind of tiny coincidence written into a story would have felt completely fake.

[fireyfobbitmedicine]

Rainbow/Shadow High Ideas for Dolls

Copper - Penny Copperfield

Caramel - Carmela Salt

Chocolate - Chaka Lotte

Butterscotch - Bedda Scott

Coral - Carol Reeves

Licorice - Lika Twist

Marshmallow - Marsha Mellow

Plum - Prunella Plume

Royal Blue - Azura Queen

Cherry Red - Cerise Maraschino

Radioactive Green - Clover Curie

Steel Pink - Rhoda Steel

Shocking Pink - Mason Schiaparelli

Hermés Orange - Hermia Thierry

Valentino Red - Valentina Garavani

3D - Trey D'Cruz

Glow in the Dark - Lumina Darko

Black and Red - Louie Boutin

Candy Corn - Candace Corns

Negative Rainbow - Nica Tiv

Peppermint - Peppa Minton

CMYK - Sam Watke

RGB - Archie Bea

RYB - Primera Newton

Opalescent - Opal Shimmers

Mermaid - Merissa Van Der Zee

Unicorn - Una Cornish

Aurora Borealis - Aurora North

TV Error - Signa Null

Watermelon - Melona Linnaeus

Lapis Lazuli - Rumi Tomioka

Black Pearl - Poehere Kohumoetini

Fire Diamond - Ember Varon

Chrome - Chroma Sorayama

Neapolitan - Nia and Polly Tanner

Angel and Devil - Angela and Demona Wingate

[twothpaste]

fic bit featuring Claus and Nana. a scientist and a paramedic debate the former's relentless work ethic, despite a No Good Very Bad Lobotomy-Induced Chronic Headache. 😏😖🙄

The process is a softer affair than it used to be. When the world population clambered by the billions, pharmaceuticals comprised a labyrinthine industry. Bloodthirsty minotaurs n' all. Ruthless steel compaction, from the milling n' grinding to the pretty penny on the opposite end. Stuff's still made of powdered plants, mostly. They've still got laboratories, concocting the rest. Factory lines, however, were a centuries-prolonged growing pain. As was the chokehold on your very biology. We're post-apocalyptic anarcho-communists, for Christ's sake. Get with the times. Y'need pills, just take 'em.

When the Commander clambered from its recharge station, it took what was fed to it. And asked for nothing more. Any pang or spasm, no matter how severe, warranted not even a note in its data log. Biology was superfluous. Far as it was aware - ruthless steel had always trumped flesh.

Claus comes to. Six on the dot. Darkness strobing like sun spots. An aching exhale, through a clenched windpipe.

Their left brain says:

- [ Loading Status Report… ] -

- [ <STATUS: "Migraine."_> ] -

Their right brain says:

Ow.

Zolmitriptan makes it into the running, this morning. Alongside painkillers of an entirely unrelated ilk - dosed low, for his eighty or ninety pounds of biomass. There's the Adderall that almost works like a charm. The SSRI that failed him, the other night. Cyclosporine's what keeps his insides from breaking out into unrestricted civil warfare. A calcium supplement might accompany his lunch. Assuming he can stomach it. Ocean waves send the cramped bathroom roiling, and his guts right along with it. Yellowish wood walls, closing in tight, parrot the creaks in his joints. Or vice versa. Or vice versa… Cold fingers knead the right temple, with blunt faux-nail tips. Incidental luster stings like tarantula hawk.

A ghoulish countenance greets him in the mirror.

He grins back. Crooked teeth n' all.

"G'mornin', sunshine."

The Commander wouldda headed to work nonetheless, bright n' early, on nothin' but a stern order. Claus does it on a cane. N' a belly full of get well soon.

See? Softer.

As they don their lab coat and step outside, the upper bunk remains utterly undisturbed. Hardback volume nestled somewhere ajar in the covers. Sweet dreams of omelets and Middle Earth carry on, and on. Lucas' slumber is as nigh-sacred as it is boulder-esque.

Anyways.

Rhinos predate hippos by thirty-four million years in the fossil record. Prototype Rhinocerocket models, likewise, predate Hippo Launchers by about twenty-two months. With New New Pork shrinking, year by year, tighter quarters had driven both clades to territorial disputes. A contributing factor toward the latter's increased aggression, Claus hypothesizes. They've gotta wonder if similar bloodshed arose along the Nile, when planet Earth simmered to a fever pitch. Or whether Noah took care to board 'em on opposite ends.

(They consider these things in meticulous detail, mulling them back n' forth between circuits n' neurons, to distract themself from the dawning sunbeams. And the nauseous discrepancies beneath their boots, trekking uneven terrain. Both of which gnaw incessantly at every periphery.)

Sanctuary Shipment Part 2: Electric Boogaloo begins in - [ <3 DAYS, 21 HOURS, 27 MINUTES, 49 SECONDS_> ] -. Hippo Launchers, as I'm sure you've gathered, will not simply march onto a ship 'cause you asked 'em nicely. N' those Rhino whistles do fuckall to charm 'em. They'll have to bring out the big guns. Literally. It's an old Pigmask blaster. Standard issue. The heavy sort, that pink suits used to haul around. Yank out all the laser beam cartridges, and replace 'em with a transformer n' a capacitor. Ain't aimin' to hurt 'em. No pain nor irreparable damage is due upon any chimera. 'Specially not on Dr. Westwood's watch. Tune the copper coil just right, n' the big lugs'll doze right on off to sleep mode. No fried wiring. No ruptured batteries. Their artificial hearts won't skip a single beat.

Of course, should he miscalculate his extremely precise adjustments, this chimera may be in for an absolute boatload of pain and irreparable damage.

Claus ain't allowed to work on the EMP Gun unattended. Which is fair, he thinks. Totally reasonable. He most certainly and definitely has no restless qualms about it.

If he wants his electronics specialist, he'll have to wait another four hours. Sheep sleeps in almost as late as Lucas, when given the luxury. His weapons specialist, however, retains the circadian rhythm of a true soldier. Hell, Hox was prob'ly up long before the accursed sun clawed its way over the horizon to chew on Claus' frontal lobe. Now, if he can just find her…

"Hi, Claus," chirps a dearly familiar voice, from the elevated walkway to his left. Pitchy, yet even-keeled. A far cry from the ex-colonel's gruff zeal. "Good morning."

"Hah.. Uh - Mornin', Nana!" Their headache strains in unheeded protest, as they swivel sideways n' up-ways to face her. Cane wobbling ever so slightly. "You're out early! Whatcha up to?"

"Restocking first aid supplies. Bronson got a papercut in the mailroom yesterday. He's on those blood thinners now, you know. Have you ever seen any slasher movies? It was like that. We went through so many sanitizer wipes."

"Sounds like a bloodbath."

"It was."

"I bet the doves were totally traumatized."

"They were. And I figured, well. If I need to restock there, I may as well check everyplace else. I'm headed to the transit ship, next."

"Aw, same here. I'm lookin' for Hox. Have ya seen 'er?"

"No. Why are you down there?"

Claus, hardly perturbed, grants his lowly surroundings only a cursory glance. There's a marked sinkhole next to him. And a big pinkish-whitish hunk of billboard signage. So bleached with age, you can scarcely read the words "YOU HAD ME AT BACON." (Come to think of it, the Harbor's garbage is a trench knife to his right eye's nerves, too.)

"Oh. Heh. Shortcut," he answers.

Nana's ponytail's already comin' loose in the breeze, sending wild strands of blonde across her face. She squints through the thicket. Inspecting her old friend with about as much scrutiny as the litreage of rubbing alcohol available in each work station's first aid kit.

"You look awful."

"Well, shucks, thank ya."

"You've got another migraine. Don't you."

"I resent that accusation," Claus retorts. Leanin' back, shruggin' his arms wide, in a show of lackadaisical cowpoke bravado. Only for his balance to lurch beneath him. And for his head to sear with a particularly potent throb, when he jolts to steady himself. He opts to cough, instead of whimper. "Ah-ugh…!"

"I'm surprised Lucas let you by."

"Hngh.. Luc's asleep," they remind her. With a little shushing hiss, and an index finger to their lips.

"Come on. Up here. I'll get you an ice pack at the med bay."

"Nah. Don't worry. M'fine."

Their winking thumbs-up is less than persuasive. Folks like Jill n' Bateau love to mistake Nana for a terminal case of social agnosia, on account of her tactless tirades. Makes 'em feel real psychologically savvy. But they're simply incorrect. She can tell the difference between an earnest smile and a set of clenched teeth from a mile away.

"You know you don't have to do this to yourself, Claus." They seem to perk up, at that. Their one eager eyebrow, beckoning forth a forehead wrinkle or two. "You could take the day off, or at least stay in bed until you feel a bit better. We don't need you working yourself sick -- "

" -- Dr. Westwood!! We need you over here! Immediately!"

Nana doesn't flinch at the brash bark, or the imposing presence, or the heaps of curly hair that've erupted abruptly beside her. Just glances sideways, expressionless. Heartfelt sentiments sink in her chest, as she sees who's actually snagged Claus' attention.

"Heyyy, Hox! I was just lookin' for ya! What's up?"

"Found somethin' weird out by the Junkyard. You'd better come check it out."

"Aw, yeah? What kinda weird?"

"Weird weird."

"Couldja be more specific?"

"'Fraid I can't. No one on staff right now can identify it. If yer askin' me, I would describe it as ooey-gooey, Mx. Look, with all due respect, can you just get the hell over here?"

"Ten-Four, comrade. Agh. Ughff…"

Their metal hand clatters onto the walkway. Followed by their cane, sideways, clenched in a fist. Boot treads gnash and heave, from garbage to pristine timber. Eighty or ninety pounds of biomass. The other hundred n' ten or so's all metal n' plastic. And every remaining bone's got somethin' to say about it. Climbing used to be Claus' strong suit, back in the days of yore. Nana could offer him a helpin' hand, up top a beachside oak tree, and the little hooligan'd take it as an insult. This morning, he grips tight. Nearly pops every one of her knuckles, as she hoists him up n' over the railing.

"Hah.. Whew. Thank ya, Nana. 'Preciate it."

"Sure," she replies. Dryly.

She spots his limpish leftward lean, sparing his opposite hip, as he rises back to his feet. Hox's limp leans right. Conversely.

"Make sure they take it easy," says the paramedic to the ex-colonel. Doctor's orders. "They've got a migraine. Just so you know."

"A migraine? Huh. I didn't know cyborgs got headaches."

"Oh. Claus gets them all the time."

"Alright, alright! Ha, jeez, y'all! I toldja, I'm fine…! I promise I can handle a little ooey-gooey."

Hox snorts. Nana rolls her eyes.

[whisperthatruns]

After Preparing the Altar, the Ghosts Feast Feverishly

How hard it is to sleep in the middle of a life. — Audre Lorde

We wake in the middle of a life,                    hungry. We smear durian            along our mouths, sing soft death a lullaby. Carcass breath, eros of  licked fingers and the finest perfume. What is love if  not         rot? We wear the fruit’s hull as a spiked crown, grinning in green armor.   Death to the grub, fat in his milky shuffle! Death to the lawlessness       of dirt! Death to mud and its false chocolate!   To the bloated sun we want to slice open and yolk                      all over the village. We want a sun-drenched           slug feast, an omelet loosening its folds like hot Jell-O. We want the marbled fat of steak and all        its swirling pink galaxies. We want the drool, the gnash, the pluck of each corn kernel, raw and summer                   swell. Tears welling up                     oil. Order up! Pickled cucumbers piled like logs for a fire, like fat limbs we pepper and succulent                in. Order up: shrimp chips curling in a porcelain bowl like subway seats. Grapes peeled from bitter bark — almost translucent, like eyes we would rather see. Little girl, what do you leave, leaven              in your sight? Death to the open eyes of  the dying. Here,           there are so many open eyes we can’t close each one.          No, we did not say the steamed eye of a fish. No eyelids fluttering like no butterfly wings. No purple yam lips. We said eyes. Still and resolute as a heartbreaker.         Does this break your heart?                                      Look, we don’t want to be rude, but seconds, please. Want: globes of oranges swallowed whole like a basketball or Mars or whatever planet is the most delicious.                   Slather Saturn! Ferment Mercury! Lap up its film of dust, yuk sung! Seconds, thirds, fourths! Meat wool! A bouquet of chicken feet! A garden of                   melons, monstrous in their bulge!               Prune back nothing. We purr in this garden. We comb through berries and come out so blue. Little girl,                            lasso tofu, the rope slicing its belly clean. Deep fry a cloud so it tastes like bitter gourd or your father leaving — the exhaust of his car, charred. Serenade a snake and slither its tongue into yours and                           bite. Love! What is love if  not knotted in garlic? Child, we move through graves like eels, delicious         with our heads first, our mouths agape. Our teeth:         little needles to stitch a factory of everything made in China.      You ask: Are you hungry? Hunger eats through the air like ozone. You ask: What does it mean to be rootless? Roots are good to use as toothpicks. You: How can you wake in the middle of a life? We shut and open our eyes like the sun shining on tossed pennies in a forgotten well. Bald copper, blood. Yu choy bolts                  into roses down here. While you were sleeping, we woke to the old leaves of  your backyard shed and ate that and one of your lost flip-flops too. In a future life, we saw rats overtake a supermarket with so much milk, we turned opaque. We wake to something boiling. We wake to wash dirt from lettuce, to blossom into your face. Aphids along the lashes. Little girl, don’t forget              to take care of  the chickens, squawking in their mess and stench. Did our mouths buckle                                at the sight of  you devouring slice                after slice of  pizza and the greasy box too? Does this frontier swoon for you? It’s time to wake up. Wake the tapeworm who loves his home. Wake the ants,                  let them do-si-do a spoonful of  peanut butter. Tell us, little girl, are you hungry, awake,                               astonished enough?

Jane Wong, How to Not Be Afraid of Everything (Alice James Books, 2021)

[tiremascriancasdasala]

Achei isso perdido num arquivo antigo, editei 2 ou 3 respostas et voilá! (:

Color Asks

red: describe your favorite shirt

Cinza, decote em V e tem um pequeno furo na frente.

orange: if you could, would you change your eye color? why? to what color, if so?

Não mudaria.

yellow: name of an artist you think is underappreciated

Alabama Shakes.

green: do you have a favourite flower?

Gérberas.

blue: preferred type of weather?

Qualquer um que não me faça suar: fresco, frio, ventandinho...

magenta: do you keep your fingernails long or short?

Short. With dark nail polish.

turquoise: favorite sea animal?

Polvos.

fuchsia: favorite land animal?

Cachorro.

cyan: are you religious? spiritual?

Religiosa não. Talvez um pouco (bem pouco) espiritual.

sea green: can you fold a fitted sheet?

Sinceramente, eu nem nunca tentei. Faço um “bolinho” e tá ótimo.

violet: are you a part of the lgbt+ community?

Não. Meu defeito é ser hétero. ):

amber: what's saved as your phone's lockscreen?

Uma linda estampa da Pip Studio. (:

aqua: do you thrift?

Sim!

pink: what's your natural hair color?

Grisalho.

beige: have any pets? what're their names?

Nop.

black: would you ever try going vegetarian or vegan?

Não!

coral: an animal you wish hadn't gone extinct

Mamute.

grey: how many languages do you speak? do you want to learn any more?

Português, inglês e castelhano.

maroon: do you care for clothing brands?

Nem um pouco!

rose: favourite scent on a person? 

Cheiro de banho tomado.

charcoal: have you ever been camping?

Jamais!

claret: do you play an instrument? do you want to learn to play any?

Não.

copper: gold or silver jewelry?

Silver.

cream: any piercings or tattoos? do you want any?

Nenhum piercing. Umas 19 tattoos.

salmon: how many pairs of sunglasses do you own?

Três.

ebony: would you ever want to play a game on television? (jeopardy, family fued, etc)

Nunca.

indigo: have you ever lived on a farm?

Sim.

emerald: if you had the option, would you choose to move and live in another country? which one?

Sim, iria criar ovelhas na Islândia.

lavender: relationship status?

Feliz! (:

erin: what was/is your best school subject?

Bioquimica e fisiologia.

mauve: any unpopular opinions?

Não concordo com tudo o que é considerado “politicamente correto”.

fulvous: another name you think would suit you

Devo ter cara de Tatiana, pq muita gente acha que este é o meu nome.

coconut: a subject you enjoy learning about

Joalheria! (((:

porcelain: an tv show you used to Love

Anos incríveis e Mad Men

fawn: any interesting family stories?

Nop.

gold: do you wear your socks mismatched?

Nop.

honey: your thoughts on magic- does it exist?

Acho que existe.

rust: form of art you enjoy doing?

Cozinhar, bordar e fazer jóias.

ginger: any sideblogs?

Nop.

cherry: YouTubers you enjoy watching?

Nenhum.

wine: do you have a 'type'

Não acho que seja um “tipo”, é mais pré-requisito: não ser burro, nem tosco (ou seja, não pode ser Bolsominion nem terraplanista) #FORABOLSONARO

mahogany: your sun, moon, and rising signs

Não faço a menor ideia!

blood: twin beds, queen, or king?

Queen.

plum: a food you've never tried

Eu como até pedra. Não tenho preconceito.

lilac: dogs, cats, or fish?

Cachorros.

amethyst: do you collect anything?

Bijoux: anéis, pulseiras e colares.

mulberry: earbuds or headphones?

Headphones.

azure: jean jackets?

Não tenho nada contra, mas não costumo usar.

teal: have a job?

Sou espiã secreta.

denim: kill the spider or take it outside?

Kill.

sapphire: do you think you can sing well?

Nop.

mint: favourite flavour of gum?

Melancia.

pecan: shuffle your playlist, what's the first song that comes up?

Nina Simone – Take care of business

penny: icecream or cake

Cake. With icecream.

ash: can you do your own makeup?

Uso apenas o básico, então consigo.

jade: ever written fanfiction?

Nop.

grape: how many blogs do you follow?

Uns mil.

umber: do you brush your teeth before you eat?

Claro!

prussian blue: what's your first choice at the vending machine

Batata chips e Coca Cola

aquamarine: beach or pool

Piscina

brass: least favorite food condiment

Coentro.

mustard: how much sugar in your tea/coffee?

Nenhum.

silver: ever broken a bone?

Nop.

rose quartz: rings or necklaces

Anéis!

burgundy: ever ridden a motorcycle?

Já, mas sou “garupa”, não sei pilotar.

scarlet: favorite Holiday

Carnaval. Tenho um encosto de Chacrete.

apricot: opinion on 3 in 1 body wash/hair wash 

Tanto faz!

[the-al-chemist]

Artemis Hexley and the Return to the Riddles

Chapter 16: Nothing to Fear

A/N: With the Cursed Vaults active once more, Dumbledore enlists the help of a professional, and Artemis has a nasty re-encounter in the library… Warnings: threat, peril, mild horror.

Having volunteered in the Hospital Wing for over a year and a half, Chiara Lobosca was now relatively proficient when it came to healing spells. However, after seeing the state of Ben Copper when the Curse-Breakers returned from the Vault of Ice, she quickly decided that his injuries were beyond her abilities. She, Jae, and Diego took him straight to the Hospital  Wing, leaving Artemis, Andre, and Merula to hide the evidence of their adventure.

“I don’t really get why you’re bothering with this,” Merula muttered, as Artemis caused the secret staircase and icy footprints on the floor to disappear with a few waves of her wand. “Madam Pomfrey isn’t an idiot. She’s going to take one look at Copper and know exactly what we’ve been up to.”

“She won’t,” replied Artemis, though in truth she wasn’t sure. Would Madam Pomfrey be able determine what had happened to Ben from looking at his injuries? Would she be able to treat them without knowing what had caused them?

Thankfully, though Ben had been admitted to the Hospital for a few weeks, it was likely that he would only be left with a few nasty scars, and her friends’ quick thinking had managed to prevent Madam Pomfrey’s suspicions being raised.

“She thinks that he had a spell backfire whilst practising duelling,” Chiara said at the Circle of Khanna’s next meeting. “They all lost a few house points, but it was probably better than if we’d told her how it really happened.”

Artemis nodded. “Good thinking, Chiara.”

“Well, it was Jae’s idea.”

Jae’s cheeks turned pink at Chiara’s words, and Artemis could have sworn that she saw Chiara’s small smile widen slightly. 

With the first of the Cursed Vaults now having been opened, it wouldn’t be long until the second released its curse upon the school. Surely enough, at the start of May, Penny Haywood arrived late for lunch with her face flushed and eyes lit up with news.

“Well,” she said breathlessly, before her bottom had even touched her seat. “I was just speaking to Cressida Ruddy, and she said that one of the second year Gryffindors had a Boggart appear in their cauldron in the middle of their Potions class. You know what that means, don’t you?”

“I think,” said a deep, drawling voice from behind Artemis and Penny, and they both turned to see Professor Snape the potionsmaster standing behind them, “that we all have our suspicions as to what that means.” He looked pointedly at Artemis who glared back at him. “As much as both you and I would like to hear Miss Hexley’s take on the matter, it would seem that we are not the only ones. Headmaster’s office, Hexley. Immediately.”

Artemis just about managed to stop herself from sighing as she took a final bite of her sandwich and slung her rucksack over one shoulder, before rising to her feet and walking out of the Great Hall in the direction of the grand staircase, already certain of what it was that Professor Dumbledore wanted to talk to her about, and why. 

Clearly, Professor Snape had not long left Dumbledore’s office, for the griffin gargoyle that guarded its entrance was already stood to the side, leaving the ascending spiral staircase behind it unobstructed. At the top of the stairs, the door to the office was closed. Hoping that Dumbledore might not hear her and that she might be spared from answering any incriminating questions, Artemis knocked as softly as she could.

“Please, do enter, Miss Hexley,” Professor Dumbledore’s voice called out from the other side of the door. Clearly, she had not knocked softly enough. She entered the office to find him standing next to an open cupboard containing a stone dish of silvery liquid. “You have an exceptionally - and dare I say, uncharacteristically - genteel manner of knocking. It is fortunate that I was not so deep in thought that I failed to hear it.” 

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled, and Artemis shrugged her shoulders in lieu of giving a response.

“Snape said you wanted to see me, sir.”

“Professor Snape” - Dumbledore placed the slightest emphasis on the word ‘professor’ - “was in here mere minutes ago with reports of a Boggart materialising in his classroom this morning. I thought that I would take the liberty of asking him to send you here so that you may offer an explanation for this situation.”

“I don’t have an explanation,” Artemis lied. 

“Ah, so I must be incorrect in my thinking that the appearance of this Boggart is probably connected to Mr Copper’s peculiar injury and the meeting that you and your friends held in the Hog’s Head at the start of the Easter holidays.”

“You know about that?”

“I happen to be familiar with the barman.” Dumbledore smiled serenely, but his gaze was penetrating, and Artemis found herself regretting not having insisted that Professor Snape teach her Occlumency two years previously. “I am relieved to hear that this string of events is likely to be coincidental, Miss Hexley. Were they not, I would be suspicious that you and your friends might be embroiled in the Cursed Vaults again. After you managed to seal the Sunken Vault last summer, such a venture would be an incredibly dangerous one to re-embark upon, would it not?”

“It would, yeah,” said Artemis, making a conscious effort not to blink as Dumbledore continued to stare at her. Eventually, he bowed his head and turned to look into his dish of Pensieve. 

“Miss Hexley, you need not lie to me. You are not in trouble.”

“I’m not?”

“No, my dear girl. Naturally, I can understand why the as-yet unsolved riddle of the Cursed Vaults might prove as tempting a challenge for you as it has for countless others over the centuries,” he said, gazing into the silver liquid. Artemis craned her neck to see what he could see, but to no avail. “As your Headmaster, I must dissuade you from getting involved again.”

Artemis frowned. “But?”

“But as an old man who was once a young person, I know that my doing so will bear little to change your mind if it has already been made up. Particularly if the Vault of Ice has been opened, and the curse from the Vault of Fear been released, as I presume it has. If that truly is the case, the Vault of Fear will need to be either sealed or opened to stop the Boggarts. The former will be less risky, of course, as opening the Vault will cause the subsequent, more dangerous curses to be released, but will prevent the final Vault from being opened and ending the whole sorry mess, once and for all. Such is the conundrum.”

“I’m confused, Professor,” Artemis said. “Do you want me to open all the Cursed Vaults, or not?”

“I wish for someone to open all the Vaults,” Dumbledore told her. “Which is why I have written to Gringotts Bank and asked them if one of their Curse-Breakers might be spared in order to help with the task.”

“Because that worked out so well last time,” muttered Artemis, and to her surprise, Dumbledore began to chuckle. 

“Miss Hexley, you need not fear. After all, I sincerely doubt that the issues we had with Patricia Rakepick will present themselves where William Weasley is involved.”

To Artemis’ delight, Bill Weasley arrived from Egypt the following evening, appearing between Hagrid and Professor Sikander at the top table at dinnertime. Artemis waited impatiently for a chance to speak to him as she and her friends ate their meals, and the moment she saw that Bill had finished his own, she rushed up to the daïs to talk to him.

“So, it’s true? You’re really Dumbledore’s new Curse-Breaker?”

Bill paused his conversation with Professor Sikander to grin wryly at Artemis.

“It would appear that way, wouldn’t it?” he replied. He cast a glance back at Sikander. “Though maybe now isn’t the time, Artemis. I’m just in the middle of-”

“Ah, never mind me,” said Professor Sikander, dismissing Bill’s display of good manners with a wave of his hand. “You two look like you’ve got more important things to talk about.”

Bill tilted his head to one side. “Are you sure?”

“Positive. If you like, I can explain more about electricity to you another time.”

“Please do, my dad wouldn’t forgive me if I passed up that opportunity.”

With Professor Sikander’s blessing, Bill and Artemis stepped away from the teachers’ table, walked through the Great Hall, and out into the entrance courtyard outside.

“How long are you back for?” Artemis asked him, as soon as she was certain that none of the teachers could hear them.

“Until this business with the Cursed Vaults is over, one way or another. Gringotts have loaned me to here indefinitely; apparently Dumbledore asked for me personally.”

Artemis’ nose wrinkled in confusion. “He did?”

“Even offered to pay for Gringotts to hire a replacement while I’m gone as well as my wage. Sounds like he’s desperate to get the Vaults sorted. I’m not surprised, seeing as the curses have come back already,” he sighed, and looked out in the direction of the Black Lake. “Artemis, are you sure that you and your brother sealed that Vault properly last year?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, in which case it might be that someone has tampered with the Vaults again, and that’s what’s caused…” Bill’s voice tailed off as his eyes settled on Artemis. “Oh, no. You didn’t. Did you?”

“Look, what you need to know-”

“For Godric’s sake, Artemis! Did you not-”

“- is that I had to get involved in the Vaults again.”

“- think about how dangerous that might be?” Bill sighed. “Okay. Why did you have to meddle?”

“Because of the prophecy.”

“Prophecy? What prophecy?”

“The one me and Charlie stole from the Department of Mysteries.”

“You and Charlie what?” 

“We broke in to the Department of Mysteries and stole a prophecy,” Artemis repeated, and Bill placed his hands to his head and raised his face skywards. “It said about the Cursed Vaults, and how the person to open them would do it whilst leading the ‘Ronde’. At first we thought it was R, but it means circle. Circle, Bill. That means us, all of us, the Circle of Khanna.” He lowered his gaze again, and she told him earnestly, “This is our chance to stop R from ever getting to the Vaults or hurting anyone ever again.”

Bill visibly softened. 

“Does Dumbledore know?” he asked.

“I dunno. Maybe. I told him it wasn’t us, but he didn’t believe me. Do you think that’s why he hired you specifically? So that he could get someone to help me?”

“Potentially. It would seem so, but then why would he want someone to help you do it and not do it themselves? Unless he knows about the prophecy, of course.”

“How would he? Only us and the Cabal know.”

“He had Rakepick working for him. Maybe she let something slip,” said Bill, frowning deeply. “Or…”

As Bill’s voice tailed off, Artemis raised her eyebrows. “Or?”

“Or your brother.”

“Jacob wouldn’t have known about the prophecy. He wasn’t a part of-”

“Artemis, he admitted to working with R in front of the entire Wizengamot,” Bill said. Artemis narrowed her eyes, her temper rapidly rising. Bill seemed to notice her anger, because he sighed again. “Look, I’m not saying that he’s a bad person. Just hear me out, okay? What if he also found out about  this prophecy, and he thought that there was no choice either? It would explain how he got tied up in all of this, and why he did some of the things he did.”

Artemis considered it for a moment, before nodding her head. She couldn’t help but admit that Bill’s logic made a lot of sense.

“Maybe,” she shrugged. “I guess with him still in Azkaban we can’t really ask him. Or Rakepick, for that matter.”

“No. Which is almost a shame, because I’m sure that they’d have some information that might be useful for opening all the Vaults. We could use it to make a plan.”

“We’ve already got a plan,” Artemis told Bill. “We’ve split into teams to train for each Vault, and Corey Hayden is helping by translating all the rest of Jacob’s notes that Rowan started doing. We’ve actually got it all covered, except for the final vault, because that’s the one no one knows how to get into.”

“What are you saying, little one? You don’t need me anymore?” Bill grinned. “Tell you what, I’ll help Corey with the research. I’m technically staff, now, so that gives us access to the Restricted Section, which we’ve not had in the past.”

“And knowing Rowan, those will have been the only books in the library she didn’t read,” said Artemis, with a quiet laugh. “Are you sure you don’t mind? I would have thought you’d want to do actual curse-breaking, not reading and researching.”

“Reading and researching is an important part of curse-breaking. Besides, the final Vault is the one we really need to open, and the one we know the least about. The more people we have looking into it, the better,” Bill paused, and raised his eyebrows. “Though talking of the library,  I do think that I should come with you to the next Vault.”

“We don’t need that many people to deal with Boggarts, Bill.”

“I know. But it would be a shame not to complete the set, wouldn’t it?”

The addition of Bill to the group engaged in tackling the Vault of Fear meant that the first obstacle to the Vault was completely removed, a fact that not everyone was thrilled about.

“I still reckon we could’ve gotten her out of the way with a prank anyway,” Tonks whispered to Tulip, as they walked through the restricted section. “Just for fun as much as anything else.”

Bill laughed out loud. “Sorry I ruined your day out, Tonks.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it. It’ll be good to have more people against these Boggarts to confuse them. Means they won’t know which fear to pick and will get confused. Makes them less scary, doesn’t it?”

“And anyway,” Tulip said in a low voice, “we can save the Weapon of Mass Distraction for some other time.”

She and Tonks shared devious looks, and Artemis saw a look of mild concern cross Bill’s face. Behind her, Ismelda just glowered at the bookshelves.

“So where’s this Cursed Vault, then?” she asked, as if she would much rather be spending time with Boggarts than with Tonks and Tulip.

Artemis nodded her head in the direction of a bookshelf in the right hand corner of the Restricted Section, which although it looked no different to the others, she knew was not truly a bookshelf at all. As she had done four years previously, she walked across to the shelf, pulled an old leather book out of her robes, and placed it into a gap in the books. There was a loud clank, and the fake bookshelf split down the middle, forming an entrance to a dark, tunnel-like corridor. 

“Still wicked,” Tonks breathed, as Bill stepped forward to admire the hidden entrance. Though Ismelda kept her lips pursed, Artemis could have sworn she saw a flicker of admiration in her green eyes. 

The group made their way down the corridor with their five wands raised, the light coming from them the only lights at all in the darkness. Artemis felt someone tremble behind her, though she wasn’t certain who. 

The tunnel led down to an ancient looking wooden door, inscribed with runes. Artemis raised her wand to unlock the door, but stopped as Bill leaned over her shoulder to read the inscriptions.

“Interesting,” he murmured. “Did you translate these last time you were here?”

“No, why? What do they say?”

“That if you seek great power, you must first overcome your greatest weakness, and be prepared to do it alone, without your greatest companion and helpmate.”

“But we managed it last time all together.” 

“I know, that’s why it’s interesting.”

“So what?” Artemis asked. “You think I should go it alone this time?”

“Not a chance,” said Bill. “I’ve waited four years to see what’s behind this door, I’m not turning back now.”

Artemis grinned, and used her wand to unlock the wooden door. She pushed it open to reveal the Vault of Fear, where the centre of the chamber dimly illuminated by the cool glow of its central column, though the walls were still cloaked in shadow.

There was something else cloaked inside the Vault, however: a person. Or, more likely, a Boggart. Artemis steeled herself, readying herself for the moment the figure turned and revealed its face to be that of either herself, her brother, or Lord Voldemort. But, as the person in the cloak let out a quiet but harsh sounding chuckle, Artemis felt her blood run cold. She recognised that laugh. No, it couldn’t be…

“Rakepick?” she whispered, and the cloaked figure lowered its hood to reveal a head of bright red hair before slowly turning around to reveal Rakepick’s face. Artemis’ eyes widened. “No. No, that’s impossible, you’re in Azkaban. You can’t be…”

But Rakepick was not in Azkaban, she was here, in the Vault of Fear, with Artemis and her friends, who - she realised with a jolt - were now in danger again. Because of her. Her heart started to race, and Rakepick’s lips twisted into a crooked smirk.

“Miss Hexley,” she said, her voice echoing in Artemis’ ears. “What fortunate timing.”

Despite her mouth feeling drier than she knew was possible, Artemis managed to find her voice.

“Everyone, run!” she called to the others, as loudly as she could. Rakepick raised her wand, and so too did Artemis. “Protego!”

Her shield charm proved unnecessary, for Rakepick did not cast a spell at her. Perhaps she was biding her time, or perhaps it was because of the second person approaching from behind her, lowering his hood to reveal his dark hair and hazel eyes.

“Patricia, don’t do this,” said Jacob, and Rakepick smirked again. “I’ll do anything. Anything.”

“Jacob, how did you… Why…”

“Some things are unavoidable,” Madam Rakepick said, ignoring Artemis’ words as she advanced towards her. “Some things are greater than any of us, more powerful, and more important.”

“I betrayed my friend Duncan Ashe to further my own ambitions.” Now Jacob was also advancing towards Artemis. She shook her head.

“No, that’s not true,” she told him. “Jacob, you don’t mean that. Why are you saying that?”

“His death wasn’t an accident, it was orchestrated by the Cabal, and my involvement proved my loyalty to them and my dedication to their cause.”

“No,” Artemis couldn’t stop shaking her head. “No, no. That’s not right, it’s not…”

“Rowan Khanna paid that price. She made the ultimate sacrifice. You can condemn my actions, but I stand by them. What I did was necessary.”

“She’s the one to do it, Patricia.”

At Jacob’s words, both Rakepick and Jacob’s faces began to shift, and their bodies shrunk down so that Artemis was staring eye-to-eye at two doubles of herself. Both Artemises opened their mouths and spoke in perfect unison:

“It was all my fault.”

“NO!” 

“Artemis.” A hand settled on her forearm, and she turned to see Tulip Karasu standing next to her. Tulip squeezed gently. “They’re not real. They’re just Boggarts.”

Artemis blinked back tears, and looked again at the two versions of herself before nodding. The Boggart-Artemises began to shift their features again, but only one returned to looking like Jacob Hexley. The other grew taller and slimmer, and though he had high cheekbones and dark hair, his was neat as a pin and lined with streaks of silver, and his eyes were not hazel but dark and almond-shaped, like Tulip’s own. Beside her, Artemis felt Tulip stiffen.

“Why could you not be the child I wanted?” asked the Boggart who looked identical to ambassador Karasu. “Why do you have to be such a disappointment?” 

Tulip’s face fell, and though Artemis wanted to comfort her, she couldn’t, because next to Boggart-Karasu, Boggart-Jacob’s face was shifting again, back to Rakepick’s, and she was powerless to do anything. 

Something was moving in the shadows around them, which seemed to be growing thicker and darker by the second. Artemis could hear it, whatever it was, growling and prowling, but every time she pointed her wand towards the noise, it seemed to move to the other side of the chamber. Soon, there were noises coming from all seven walls. These noises were different, however, the footsteps lighter and quicker, and the animalistic noises higher pitched.

Bill Weasley ran towards the centre of the chamber, his wand raised, shining a light at the walls. His face was pale and grim looking. The scampering and squeaking grew louder, until suddenly, a horde of rats began to flood the chamber, running in towards the middle of the room where they stood from all directions, the floor so full of them that Artemis dared not move her feet for stepping on one. One started to climb up Bill’s leg, and a second soon joined it. From the look on his face, Artemis thought that he might faint clean away. 

“They’re Boggarts,” she shouted, trying to convince herself as much as Bill. “They can’t hurt you, they’re just Boggarts. Think of something funny! Tonks, tell a joke. Tonks?”

She turned to look at Tonks, hoping that she at least would be able to make light of the situation, but Tonks clearly unable to do so. She was standing stock still, not even aware of the rats climbing over her feet, staring at another Boggart, one with features that were instantly recognisable as those of Tonks herself. 

But this was not Tonks as Artemis knew her. Gone was her wicked grin, the mischievous look in her eyes, the pink flush to her cheeks. Boggart-Tonks’ skin was pale and sallow looking, her hair lank and mousey, and when she screwed up her face, her features remained the same: plain, dull, and devoid of humour or colour. 

“I thought,” said Ismelda, the only one now paying attention to the ominous growling shadow still prowling around the edges of the Vault, “that bringing more people was supposed to confuse  Boggarts, not make more of them appear.”

“Welcome to the Cursed Vaults,” Artemis muttered in response. She gritted her teeth and raised her wand at her own Boggart, whose face now looked identical to that of Jacob, desperately trying to think of anything that might be funny about this situation. “Riddikulus!”

Boggart-Jacob’s body grew taller, and his hair longer, lightening and rusting as it did. The Boggart’s facial features became identical to those of Bill, and when it opened its mouth, it spoke with Bill’s voice:

“I’m not scared of them, I’m repulsed by them,” said Boggart-Bill, and hearing his own voice echo across the Vault, the real Bill looked up and at him. “Artemis, I swear to Merlin, if you bring that rat anywhere near me…”

In spite of everything, Artemis giggled, and Boggart-Bill disappeared with a loud popping noise. The real Bill sighed and shook his head, but the colour had returned to his cheeks. He raised his own wand once more, and called out the same incantation as Artemis.

“Riddikulus!”

A set of bagpipes appeared in mid-air and began to play themselves, and as they did, the rats stopped scampering and climbing about Bill’s feet. Instead, they each rose up onto their hindquarters and began to dance their way away from the curse-breakers and towards the pipes, and once there, gavotted and jigged merrily beneath the floating instrument. As the bagpipes changed their tune to one originally performed by the Weird Sisters, the rats stopped country dancing, and started to bang their heads as if they were at a rock concert.

That seemed to get even Tonks’ attention, for she stopped staring at her own Boggart, and instead turned to look at Bill’s. At the sight of the head-banging rats, she let out a loud, cackling laugh, and not only the rats and bagpipes, but her own Boggart and Tulip’s also popped and disappeared.

Artemis raised her eyebrows at Bill. “I thought you weren’t scared of rats.”

“I thought you didn’t find me funny,” he replied, and both of them grinned. “Well, that was horrible. Shall we-”

A deep, rumbling growl echoed around the chamber, so loud that it made even Artemis jump. Ismelda’s usually pale face fell and turned a deathly white.

“Ismelda,” whispered Artemis, as a second growl came out of the darkness. “What form does your Boggart take, exactly?”

But Ismelda was clearly too frightened to speak, and Artemis could hardly blame her, because the shadows around them were swirling, and that bloodcurdling growl kept coming, and there were heavy footsteps growing louder and closer, from all directions and yet no direction, all at once.

In her peripheral vision, Artemis thought she could see the outline of a creature, but a second later, she could hear its growl coming from behind her. As she turned to look, she could have sworn that she saw a pair of glowing red eyes in another location entirely.

“Ismelda, what-”

That growl, once more, and louder than ever. The darkness shrunk inwards, and from out of it stepped a black beast, with its fur on end, sharp white fangs bared, and hackles raised. It was no creature Artemis had ever seen or even heard of before, even in all her years of living with her Magizoologist uncle; not quite wolf or dog-like, but not quite like a panther or bear either, but something that seemed to combine all of them, with glowing red eyes and impossibly large paws, it must have been a creature that had stepped straight out of Ismelda’s mind and into the shadows, which it almost looked to be made up of.

“It’s a Boggart, Ismelda. Cast the spell!”

Ismelda did not cast the spell, or even move a muscle. The shadow-beast turned it’s red eyes to her and licked its teeth. There was blood on the underside of its tongue. Ismelda trembled.

“Now, Ismelda!”

It was too late. The beast pressed back onto its haunches and pounced, flying through the air at Ismelda, knocking her off her feet and landing on her chest, its enormous paws pressing on her shoulders, rendering her unable to move her arm to cast any spell at all.

“Help me!” she cried, and the beast gnashed its great teeth. “Please, do something!”

Tulip raised her wand and pointed it at the beast. “Riddikulus!”

The creature began to shrink in size and grow fatter and rounder until it was the same shape as a large coconut. Its dark fur lightened until it was a middling brown, with a single streak of orange just over its forehead, framing eyes that were no longer blood red but vivid violet.

“Is it just me,” said Bill, his head tilted, “or does that Puffskein look a lot like a small, hairy Merula Snyde?”

Boggart-Puffskein-Merula looked up at Bill and bared her tiny teeth at him, letting out a high-pitched disgruntled growl. Artemis couldn’t help but laugh at the sound, and as she did, the Boggart disappeared.

“That wasn’t funny,” said Ismelda, climbing to her feet as the others caught Artemis’ giggles and struggled to stop laughing.

“No,” Tonks was almost crying with laughter now. “No, that was terrifying.”

Ismelda’s lips twitched, and a few seconds later even she was struggling not to laugh. Still grinning herself, Artemis joined Bill by the central column of the Vault, where he was examining the runes inscribed on the base.

“You have to sacrifice your magic?” he said, frowning deeply. Artemis held up the broken pieces of her brother’s old wand to show him, and he nodded as if realising something. “Without your greatest helpmate. That’s it. Your wand.”

“Well, this one is my brother’s old one. I left the one Rakepick broke at Ollivander’s,” Artemis shrugged. “But it’ll do. It worked last time, anyway.”

She pressed the wand pieces to the glowing crystal of the column, which sprang open. The light inside pierced her eyes, and the world grew hazy around her. Before her stood a cloaked figure, silent and still. She raised her wand, ready to duel, but the figure made no attempt at an attack. Instead, it held a wand up between a single forefinger and thumb, as if examining it closely. Artemis frowned. She recognised that wand. It was hers, her first wand, the one Rakepick had broken, now fixed and whole once more.

“That’s mine!” she told the figure, but they did not reply. Instead, they pocketed the wand and bowed their head at Artemis before turning and walking away into the hazy light. 

“Are you okay, Artemis?”

Artemis blinked. The haze had gone, and she was back in the Vault, standing on her two feet as she had been before. There wasn’t a scratch on her.

“Yeah, I… I’m fine. What happened?”

“You did that weird floating thing you did last time we were in here,” said Tonks. “But last time you fell down from the air, this time the light went really bright, and you sort of just lowered back down to the ground slowly.”

She demonstrated with her hand, moving it gently downwards like leaf falling in the autumn. Artemis frowned, but nodded.

“Because of my wand,” she whispered. Seeing the others’ confused faces, she explained further: “Last time I used my brother’s broken wand, and the figure in my vision got angry and attacked. This time, they were holding my wand - my old wand - and they were happy. They let me go.” Something niggled at her, and she shook her head. “We’re done here. We should leave.”

“Already? But we’ve been having so much fun!”

[thelittledudeok]

The Cross-Dimension Body Swap|Ch. 1

Before you read, I want you to know that this is one of the first times i've written, so please tell me if I did anything wrong. I will accept brutal honesty.

Jenny is what some people call an NPC. She has never had an original idea her whole life except for her online username. When she went to school, the only time she would talk is if the teacher called on her. Even though Jenny never cared for anything, she loved collecting loose change… pennies, preferably. 

She knew that pennies were useless, but her father collected them before he died. Before that, Jenny thought it was stupid. She wasn’t ever happy except when searching. But today she found one that instead of the usual copper, was more yellow. It said on the front, “Do Not Flip.”

It was flipped without hesitation.

--------------------------

Bob has what some people call rizz. At least 99% of the girls at the school had a crush on him. The reason It wasn’t 100, was because the other 1% were lesbian. His parents also own a huge factory to mine 2 rare resources. The first was salt. Salt was so rare, there were only 4 salt mines in the world! The other resource was some weird copper that the ruler wanted for some reason.

Don’t even think about the rich-handsome-boy-is-a-stupid-bully stereotype. He wasn’t stupid. He had only A+ grades. As for the bully part? Absolutely! That is what made everything so bad. One of his victims snuck in over the legal limit of salt(5 grains) into his cauldron while he wasn’t looking. He looked back as his pink demon-healing potion into a green…something potion.

The next thing he knew, he saw a flash of green light, and he was unconscious.

----------------------

Hatty wasn’t sad that his friend, Vase, died. If anything, he was slightly annoyed. All Hatty had to do was press a button on the Recovery Center. Vase came back, good as new! He started looking for Boot, his favorite person in this whole show! A few weeks ago, Hatty was created for the sole purpose of playing in a fun competition against other objects. The host, who was an entire deck of cards, would be arriving soon to decide who goes to what team.

Hatty heard Tire popping, so he decided to recover him. But the Recovery Center was broken! It’s okay, Hatty thought, I’ll just plug then unplug! But he didn’t find the plug. Instead, he found batteries in the back. “We need AA batteries over here!”, he shouted. He was taking the 12th battery out when suddenly he got zapped with Recovery Center electricity! This isn’t good! He’ll either survive and never die again, or die and never come back. 

Then, everything went black.

---------------------

When Jenny woke up, she didn’t feel right. Like, she was fine, but she felt different. Then she looked down and saw that she was a man.

“He’s awake! I thought I killed Bob for sure!”

She stood up and felt hi- he- the face that was being used by Jenny. When she felt pointed ears she knew what had happened. She had her body swapped with a real-life witch.

--------------------

When Bob woke up, he didn’t feel right. When he went to put a hand to his head because of a headache, he couldn’t. He had no arms. And he was a hat.

“He’s alive! I thought Hatty was dead for sure!”

He looked down at a giant boot holding him up, then a deck of cards showed up, and said to split into 2 groups of 10. That’s when he knew. He had joined an object show.

-------------------

When Hatty woke up, he didn’t feel right. Actually, he could feel more than usual. He then looked at the hands. That was attached to his body. That he could move.

“She’s alive! I thought Jane Doe here was dead!”

Hatty ran away as fast as he could away, but not before he shouted “My name is Hatty!”.

That’s when he knew. Dying permanently wasn’t that bad!

[curewhimsy]

A bunch of theme colors for characters in my RWBY Crossover AU

I do realize some theme colors’ names are established characters’ names (like Ruby lol) but I wanted a LOT of characters in this universe

Also I might put major established characters with these colors (Like Penny with Copper)

RWBY AU colors

Red (Ruby)

White (Weiss)

Black (Blake)

Yellow (Yang)

Blue (Taya)

Indigo (

Purple (Uta)

Pink (Amelie)

Peach (Momo)

Cerise (Teto)

Scarlet (Ritsu)

Orange (Koto)

Snow (Haku)

Ochre (Neru)

Crimson (Akaito)

Cobalt (Rhona)

Teal (Luana)

Magenta (Nagisa)

Carnation (Joy)

Aqua (

Lavender (

Chartreuse (Rie)

Turquoise (Miku)

Silver (Dell)

Azure (Kaito)

Strawberry (Doremi)

Auburn (Hazuki)

Cerulean (Aiko)

Puce (Edgeworth)

Navy (Phoenix)

Violet (Maya)

Cyan

Green

Royal

Gray

Periwinkle

Salmon

Pastel

Lime

Lilac

Midnight

Madder

Clover

Sky

Tomato

Blueberry

Candy

Sunflower

Denim

Powder

Aegean (Franziska)

Ink (Nagisa Misumi)

Moonlight (Honoka Yukishiro)

Vermilion

Veridian

Maroon

Flaxen

Raspberry

Mauve

Coral

Cloud

Copper (Penny)

Bubblegum (Nora)

Fuchsia (Ren)

Khaki

Flamingo

Mint

Rose

Sapphire

Melon

Ruby

Pearl

Lemon (Jaune)

Flame (Pyrrha)

Garnet (Octavia)

Jet (Reina)

Abyss

Platinum

Spring

Carmine

Wintergreen (Sonata)

Plum

Sage

Pine

Seafoam

Cinnamon

Jade

Emerald

Olive

Smoke

Sienna

Brown

Rosewood

Pewter

Beige

Umber

Tan

Coal

Burgundy (Candela)

Ultramarine (Blanche)

Gold (Spark)

[beautybysparkle]

NORTHERN LIGHTS IN AN EYESHADOW

Do you wanna know the best drugstore eyeshadow which gives that sparkling wet glowing looking eyes?? which is obviously the current trend going on, then you are in the right post. Let me introduce you to the world of sparkling duochromes and multi colour reflects in a pan at an affordable price. Here we have our EUROPE GIRL COSMETICS DIAMOND EYESHADOW PALETTE in the variant DAZZLE LIGHTS. This has 18 amazing reflective shimmers with high shine.

REASONS TO LOVE:

The dazzle in this is appropriate for night outs, parties and also for everyday as a wash of colour for your regular everyday routine. These are pigmented enough to take your shine to the moon. 🌙

PRICE AND AVAILABILITY

Priced at 2150 INR for 18 ultra-shine shades it's quite affordable because technically you are paying 120 INR per shade. Isn't it awesome?? Please do remember formulating reflective shifty shades are quite costly. Still feel the price is high?? then do keep your eyes on Amazon as you could get it on discounts, that would save some penny. Also do watch out their official website as they give out freebies now and then. Regarding availability, it's easily available on Amazon, Myntra and Europe Girl Cosmetics website. The restocking time is quick on all Europe Girl products in case of out-of-stock conditions.

WORLD OF DUOCHROMES AND MULTI COLOUR REFLECTS

Finding a single pan duo chrome or multichrome eyeshadow, that too at a budget friendly price with good quality is rare in India. With brands bombarding with new launches everyday Europe Girl has given this palette as a boon for makeup enthusiasts. These are in between glitters and shimmers so would like to address the formulation as GLIMMER PIGMENTS.

POV: I have barely touched any shade to swatch it

SHADE DETAILS

Silver shade with blue and green reflects

Proper gold shade

Rose shade with gold, blue, purple reflects

Purple shade with natural duo chrome shift with blue reflects

Bronze shade with gold reflects

Brown to black duochrome with blue purple reflects

Lilac shade with blue duochrome reflects

Copper shade with gold reflects

Red with gold reflects

Blue with silver reflects

Green with gold reflects

Brown with gold purple reflects

Light olive green with gold reflects

Grey with pink reflects

Copper brown colour

Pink with purple reflects

Berry shade with pink reflects

Brown shade with pink, purple reflects

IT'S AN AWE:

Highly reflective glimmers

Great quality pigments

Wide variety

Duochromes and multi color shifty shades

Easily available

Long lasting and no creasing (please use eyeshadow primer to be more effective and also wait a little for a blog on best drugstore eyeshadow primer )

Quite travel friendly and sturdy packaging

Big mirror

Budget friendly

Perfectly pressed pigments and quantity to last for eternity

Blends effortlessly both with fingers and shimmers

IT'S A NAH:

I know you got me. Absolutely nothing.

CONCLUSION

I have bought this just before 2 months and have worn it 4 times till date and there wasn't a single time, I didn't get compliments on my eye look. It's beautiful enough to mesmerize and make others feel you are a pro in your eyeshadow game while you would have hardly spent any time in doing it. If you are a bride-to-be or MUA, or just a girl who loves makeup and eyeshadow, what are you waiting for?? Run to get your hands on this!! Highly recommend. If you are a beginner, get ready to be hypnotized.

This is my first blog. I love makeup, being a professional MUA and a makeup enthusiast, I wanted to write my first blog on something that blew my mind and would knock your socks off. This is magical and prepare yourself to be the Centre of attraction, I bet you will never be disappointed. Shifty shades are like icing on the cake!!! A chef's kiss!! This is not a paid promotion post!! Just my love to this adorable product.

Have you tried this product? Or anything from this brand? If so, what are your thoughts? Would love to hear it from you? Do let me know if you want an honest opinion on any product. Would be happy to help you out. Please leave your suggestions and recommendations. Please do support my page and stay connected.

MY NOTE FOR THE DAY

POSITIVE VIBES ONLY !!!DELETE NEGATIVE AND TOXIC VIBES THROUGH SELF LOVE ❤️

LOTS OF LOVE

SPARKLE

( Shruthy Ranjith )

Shrutiranjith23@gmail.com

[topknotstrunk]

Where Did You Get Your...? Fashion:

On TikTok I get asked about stuff I own and where I got it all the time. I wanted a centralized place to point to, with links included if it’s a thing you can buy online. If you’ve found yourself here from TikTok, or anywhere else, really, you can ctl+f your way around this list to find what you’re looking for.

I’ll be updating this as I go along so if you’re wondering about something you don’t see lmk and I’ll add it.

ETA: I cannot include Amazon links, so I’ll just add the titles for those and you’ll have to search them on your own.

Fashion:

Pastel sweater with tinsel and roses. Thrifted from DePop, brand is Worthington Essentials.

Colorful pants. Thrifted from DePop, no brand tags.

Plaid shirt and shorts set. Thrifted from DePop, tags have been cut out.

Lime green shorts. Thrifted from DePop, no brand tags.

Purple shorts. Thrifted from DePop, no brand tags.

“Pac Man” vintage sweater. Thrifted from DePop, no brand tags. Kind of looks hand made on the inside.

Half and half purple sweater. Thrifted from DePop, 80′s JC Penny.

Custom Worm on a String scarf. Got on DePop, made by ediblewishez.

Blue polkadot peter pan collar. Got on DePop, made by bluebearboutique.

Purple Dress. Thrifted from DePop, no brand tags.

Pink skirt with blue swirls. Thrifted from DePop, brand is Barbara Gerwit.

Tye-Dye dress. Thrifted from DePop, brand is Dharma Trading Co.

Blue and Yellow polar fleece. Thrifted from DePop, brand is Lucy and Yak.

Pink skirt. From loriann37 on Etsy. Mine was custom measured for me, so yours won’t be exactly the same! :3

Carpet vest. Thrifted from Etsy, from StaceyCarlisleVntg.

Accessories:

Non-Binary planet necklace. I bought this pair of earrings from NicoleBrennanDraws and made two necklaces from them.

Fuck the Cis-Tem trans pride flag earrings. From NicoleBrennanDraws and on Etsy.

Copper Dragon horns. From AliCosplayPropsShop on Etsy.

String net necklace for crystal. From TheCrystalLighthouse on Etsy.

Rainbow skirt hikes. Custom made by Froggoto on Etsy.

Cat head keychain. From ONYXnSAGEon Etsy.

3D masks. From  ebsHandCreations on Etsy.

Bat mask. Good as an accessory, not good as protection. From LlunaRoja on Etsy.

Elf ears. “ Gejoy 5 Pairs Latex Elf Ear Pixie Dress Up Costume Fairy Ears Soft Pointed Ears Cosplay Halloween Anime Party Vampire Ears, Masquerade Accessories (Fresh Color)”

Striped socks. “ 12 Pairs Women Knee High Socks”

Leaf knife. “ SKYVAN Mini Pocket Knife, 2 Piece Green and Yellow Creative Leaf Shape Folding Knives Stainless Steel Folding Keychain Knife EDC Outdoor Camping Knife”

Rainbow petticoat. “ MisShow Womens Rainbow Tutu Skirt Layered Tulle Skirt Girls Colorful Halloween Costumes Tutu”

Studio Ghibli socks. “ OKIE OKIE Womens Casual Cute Cat Socks - Animal Dog Owl Print Crew Novelty Fun Funny Lover”

Hats:

JiiJi hat, from Hot Topic.

See Also:

Fashion - You are here.

Computer Desk Setup.

Home Decor.

Craft Supplies.

Art supplies.

Self care.

Makeup.

Organization.

[idledreams4]

i messed up

I named a bunch of the betta fish at work and now I'm sad whenever one of the ones I've named gets taken home

Like I'm happy because the conditions in the pet store are terrible.

But only my favorites have names

The prettiest ones

They're my babies :(

Today two of them got taken home: Penny, who got his name because he looks like oxidizing copper, and Gabriel. We have three white bettas so I named them after the three archangels. Gabriel had a slightly pink hue, Michael had a slightly blue hue, and Lucifer had a slightly yellow hue. But they were all white.

My absolute favorite who I hope gets a home but I'm also going to be crying when he gets adopted is Aurora. He's light pink and blue, and it reminded me of sleeping beauty so I named him aurora.

My second favorite is Andromeda. He's mostly black, but with red and royal blue on his fins. It looks a bit like a galaxy, hence the name. I was thinking about using Milky Way but I liked Andromeda better

The third is Firecracker: he's red and blue and it reminded me of Firecracker's costume in The Boys

Oil Spill is really unique. He looks kinda grey/brown but in the light you can see a whole rainbow of colours and he's super pretty

X-Ray is all black but his fins are tipped with a bright blue and he has a little of the same blue on his body

Sal is a bright salmon color

December and Holly are both silver with red fins, but Holly has a little more red on his body

Crowley, who also was adopted, was black and red

there's one that's pink and royal blue with red tipped fins. I haven't thought of a name for him yet, but he's really pretty

[novemberthewriter]

a certain standard of care [1k wds]

genre: horror (comedy, surreal, gross-out)

[tw: gore, bodily functions]

--

The agency has a core rule:

-Don’t call HQ and don’t leave your assignment unless you are 100% sure something deadly will happen to you and your client.

Breaking this rule means termination.

We keep a certain standard of care here, HQ tells you, and you are careful to take no-fuss assignments – eliminate any wacky possibilities that necessitate calls to some supervisor whose job is to not answer you.

However, you can’t predict everything.

Your assignment today is Murray.

He and his roommate Mark, both aged 82, stay in the first building of a tiny apartment complex where all the buildings are two-level and stand in a circle around a central gravel courtyard. You’re only meant to be a few hours, a stopgap after the last caregiver called off ill.

Murray is bald, pale-pink, and heavy-set. Sharp blue eyes and a mischievous mouth. Mark is tall and willowy like a reed. Finely drawn face, thick gray coif, deep dark eyes, solid hands. There’s hidden strength there. Mark reminds you of an undertaker, but don’t they haul bodies? And if he could do that, surely he could help Murray himself.

Mark bids you adieu to run errands and you’re left with Murray in his wheelchair adjacent to the recliner a foot in front of the big tube TV. He tells you to call him Mo. Your first task with him is to readjust his broken leg where it’s propped up on a stack of cushions, and to redress the bariatric surgery wound in his side. The leg is nothing but the wound is so raw. A salt-copper smell as it gapes at you like a maw about to vomit blood and tissue. Mo barely hisses, though, so you breathe through your mouth and do what you gotta do, and now you just have to keep him company and help him use the bathroom as needed.  

When Mo’s not looking at the game blaring on the screen he’s looking at you with a laser focus, and you’ve worked with old people enough to understand the value they place on Respect and Propriety, so you can’t exactly deny him that eye contact he wants.

For the most part, you can only really use your peripherals to monitor what’s going on outside the apartment.

You’re on the first floor.

As Mo babbles about everything under the sun, it starts to bloody rain outside the window behind him.

Trick of the light, you think, but no, the downpour increases, the liquid gets denser, and is it acid rain? The window is steaming up. The baseball game blares on. Mo gabs away as the courtyard is filling up with boiling bloody water. The level rises. Parked cars drift off. Trees drown. The world and sky take on a lurid pink that bathes both of you in the same tint, through the window, inside by the tube TV.

There’s dead seagull flotsam floating past the window, like some kind of gory aquarium.

(You think of one of the lone items in your tiny fridge: a cup of cherry Jell-O.)       

Though there are dead things outside, you cannot legally say, with 100% certainty, that something deadly will happen to you and your client.

The gore level has risen above the top of the picture window when Mo needs to piss.

You help him wheel away from the scarlet pandemonium further into the home, over shag carpet and tight corners, into the cramped bathroom, and stand by the shut door with your eyes closed (he’d requested privacy once you’d gotten him stable on the toilet). Hearing him do his business and hearing the insistent pressure from the boiling blood rain build up outside. The rushing like the ocean and your own blood pumping in a seashell as the room grows hot and foggy and the penny-stink makes you sick. You give no indication of the existence of the doom and your awareness of it. Mo pissing oblivious.

Toilet flush and your eyes pop open at that rush of water through the walls. Is that just the pipes? The time it takes for toilet flushes to – resolve? – passes, and you’re helping Mo pull up his pants as you hear water continue to rush and gush right outside the door, crash like a bilge banging against a dock. Let Me In!

Mo in his chair all clean and looking at you with those beady eyes. 

You can’t SAY anything – the other core rule of the agency is: 

-Under no circumstances are you to facilitate the distress of your client.

Surely talking about impossible apocalyptic things outside would count as breaking that rule.

You need this money so bad. You’d hate to survive this only to be broke from job loss and lawsuits galore. But you can’t be certain what is happening is happening.  

Moment of truth. Mo looks Expectant. Maybe he thinks you zoned out. You can’t stay in the toilet forever.

You turn away to grip the handle.

Twist.

Pull.

RUSH —

Empty open doorway.

You try not to be too numb as you wheel Mo back to his place in front of the tube.

And then Mark comes home and your time is up. 

He asks you how it went and you just look at him unblinkingly, give all generic answers, trying to stay grounded, you’ll lose it if you look too hard at the perfectly normal sunset view in your peripherals.

 You keep your eyes on your feet as you walk to your car in the yard, still there, not floated away, maybe a bit damp-looking but you’ll chalk that up to your tear-blurred vision.

You can still hear the creaky old men voices carry from the cracked-open apartment door:

Everything went ok? Mark asks.

Yeah, yeah, of course, Mo says. Talked. Watched the game. She helped me put on a bandage. I took a piss. You finish dumping all of my wound drain fluid?

A sound of assent. The storm drain stopped up a bit, Mark replies, but I got it.

A happy noise from Mo. How lucky am I to be so well-cared for!

[fireyfobbitmedicine]

ideas for Rainbow/Shadow High dolls-

copper girl named Penny Copperfield

3D themed boy named Trey D'Cruz

glow in the dark girl named Lumina Darko

negative rainbow girl named Nica Tiv

shocking pink doll named Mason Schiaparelli

black and red themed doll named Louie Boutin

candy corn themed girl named Candace Corns

caramel girl named Carmela Salt

chocolate girl named Chaka Lotte

[streets-of-stellarosa]

Othyrian Dollar

The Othyrian dollar has been the official currency of Othyria since 776 Third Kindling, when it replaced the Othyrian lira. As of 929 Third Kindling, the median wage for an entry-level manufacturing job in Stellarosa is 38 cents an hour.

Othyrian coins are minted in a variety of sizes and composed of various materials. However, barring older coins still in circulation, and promotional coins minted as collectors items, larger coins are consistently worth more than smaller coins. Each coin prominently denotes its value (in cents) on one side, and the royal crest on the reverse. The coins widely in circulation, along with the most common name for each, are:

Millie-- A coin worth one tenth of a cent. Copper alloy, 14 mm diameter.

Quincy-- A coin worth half a cent. Copper alloy, 15.5 mm diameter.

Penny-- A coin worth one cent. Copper alloy, 18 mm diameter.

Nickel-- A coin worth five cents. Nickel alloy, 19 mm diameter.

Dime-- A coin worth ten cents. Nickel alloy, 22 mm diameter.

Quarter-- A coin worth twenty five cents. Nickel alloy, 24 mm diameter.

Half Dollar-- A coin worth fifty cents. Aluminum alloy, 30 mm diameter.

Ruby Dollar-- A coin worth one hundred cents. Aluminum alloy, 38 mm diameter.

Despite the name, Othyrian paper money is printed on a blend of linen and cotton. Denominations are of uniform size, 63 mm by 158 mm, and prominently display their value (in dollars) on each corner of the front side, accompanied by an aritistic rendition of a famous landmark or major historical figure. The reverse side displays the royal crest and the value of the bill written out. Higher denominations are manufactured with illusions embedded in the bills.

Dollar Bill-- Green. Depicts the skyline of diMeraldi, the Othyrian capital.

Five Dollar Bill-- Blue. Depicts Anton Rigarda, first president of the National Assembly.

Ten Dollar Bill-- Violet. Depicts Lucien Fiora, first president of the Royal Senate.

Twenty Dollar Bill-- Pink. Depicts the Cartaccio mountains; embedded illusions cause the sun and moon to rise and set.

Fifty Dollar Bill-- Gold. Depicts the view of Verdunna Bay from the pier; embedded illusions cause waves on the water.

Hundred Dollar Bill-- White. Depicts Queen Justinia Pulcheria diOthyr; embedded illusions cause her wings to flap.