#das all for today folks | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

punk-in-docs · 11 months

Text

🕷️ Girlfriend is Better 🕷️

Eddie Munson x reader

10.9k words

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

Eddie can feel their eyes on him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Got new pills from Rick or something?”

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

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

He’s finally cracked. I’m calling it.

He didn’t have far to go.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then some warm lips mould to his.

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

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

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

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

“Morning.” You beam finally.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And candy. Pizza rolls are good too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Parking lot after school?” He counter offers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You and the freak. Just like Jonny said.

No fucking way.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The brutal snap of a twig makes him peer around.

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

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

Crazy how differently they wear their allegiances.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This feels exactly like that. Some things never change.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He knows the feeling only all too well.

You clatter into the bathroom after your last class.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Saw me…” you check.

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

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

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

Your venom stops her words dead.

“Don’t you fucking dare.” You bite.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You put your back to her and grab your books.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s hurt.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s really a terrible liar.

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

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

His face falls.

“Hey, hey…” He says softly.

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

Desperate for you not to to this.

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

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

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

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

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

“Pencils-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hey, look who it is. It’s the freaks.

Closed practice, morons.

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

“Hey. You dumb fuck stain.”

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

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

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

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

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

He flicks his eyes across and landing on Eddie.

“Munson. How’s them ribs.” He sneers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He turns to guffaw laughter and sneer with his friends.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shown the freak who’s in charge.

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

You swing your fist straight into Jonnys face.

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

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

Try explaining that one to mommy and daddy dearest.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You come back and get to work cleaning him up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stuck like glue.” You infer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You smile.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Eddie, you’re free tonight right?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“O h.”

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

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

T A G S darlings

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

@hazzaismyreligion @harrys-titties @anaisweird @cerinthussulpicia @cinnamoncunt @thincrusttheworks @manicpixiedreamcurl @therosietoesy @fanficappreciationblog @thicksexxualtension @tvserie-s-world @sharp-and-swift @dadsbongos

@edsforehead @chcolateeyelver @seven-glass-kids @forever-is-not-for-everyone @quinnsmunson @bkish @wyverntatty @latenighttalkingwithgrapejuice @churchmuffins @chickpeadumpsterfire @choke-me-eddie @prozacandnicotine @xeddiesbattattsx @s-u-t @alyssaaaaa-r @wayward-rose @usedtobecooler

327 notes · View notes

carlplsrailme · 2 years

Text

𝐩𝐮𝐬𝐬�� 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐛 | 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐥 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬

summary: as Carl and Ron battle out over Y/n's attention, she realizes she felt something never before for one of them

carl grimes x fem!reader

cw: jealousy, petty boys, breaking into readers home, fluff & smut, fingering, pussy eating, breast play, virginity loss, nice dom!carl, pet names (baby, doll), a bit of dacryphilia, sex (no condom).

word count: 2k

request (1) : ahhh i absolutely LOVE your work ohmygod😭 could you maybe write a oneshot where the reader is a newcomer in alexandria and catches carl’s eye but ron also develops a crush on them and the boys kinda just battle for the reader’s attention 😩 and my boy carl wins obviously 💪with maybe some smut too

request (2) : hey i was wondering if you could write something like carl fingering the reader but it’s not enough and she wants more but carl doesn’t wanna hurt her because he’s really big so she tells him ‘please i promise it won’t hurt i can take it’ and he ends up giving in but when she’s whining and tearing up he mocks her for it then just goes harder saying ‘is this what you wanted’ with a lot of degrading and some praise at the end? sorry if it’s too much :)

you suck the inside of your cheek as you started to be dragged by Ron, sticky summer heat on your open legs as he takes you to his table to eat lunch...tho you would much rather stick by yourself, the urge to please these new folks consumed you -you were their guest, after all.

so you bit your tongue and wore a smile, slightly widening your eyes when his voice raises in excitement as he is in deep with a story you know nothing about, mimicking his features as you're too caught up in your thoughts to know whats actually happening

you're new to Alexandria, wandering out by yourself when Carl found you -the knife in your hand was about to be in his throat when you first spotted him, hiding behind boxes as his eyes landed on yours, in shock you froze how did he see you? but Carl was a lot more observant than you thought

which leads to now, where he uses his observant skills for pure evil

"Hey," he says casually, strolling over as you almost immediately catch how Ron's face drops

"Hey" you say, quickly smiling at him as Rons bitterly states"Hi"

"So, Y/n, we still on for today?" Fuck. why did he have to mention we have plans today?

"Oh..uh, yeah" you answer, eyes slowly shifting to the side to see a very displeased Ron

"Cool. see you then" he smiled proudly, looking at Ron for what you can only assume to be for a reaction -which he totally gave him- and walked away

"What's happening today?" He asked, trying to sound relaxed but irritation lacing each word

"Oh, it's just...um, me and carl are just gonna hang out" you quickly mumble, messing with your food as the atmosphere became even more uncomfortable

"Oh that sucks, I was hoping to spend the day with you" he leaves open-ended, half expecting and half hoping for you to move your plans with Carl and replace it with his

"maybe tomorrow" you puckered your lips before standing up with a smeared plate in hand, mumbling how you'll see him later as you sped walked away from that table

"why do you love pissing him off?" you questioned as you stepped over fallen tree branches and pointy twigs, Carl's hand gently strolling you away to a place you know nothing about

"I don't" he said almost planned, thank goodness you couldn't see the smirk on his face, you were about to answer right back but the halt of his footsteps caught up to you

"Ta-da!" he announces proudly, spinning to you with a nervous smile, hoping you'd like the creation he built just for you two

your eyes laned on a fallen trunk that was wiped clean from any soggy rain and unexpecting plants, you felt your lips tug into a smile as you notice an open locker tucked full of comics and forgotten sodas piled up on the blanket laid out for comfort

"wow...Carl, you made this?" You say in half disbelief, why would he make this...for you?

"yeah, for us- I mean anyone but like...yeah" he stumbles on his words as he dips his head down, hoping you wouldn't catch the blush on his cheeks for admitting that yes, this was made special for the both of you

"t-the sodas are warm, sorry, but um- the comics are there if you wanna read them...I didn't know what you'd like so sorry if they're boring-" he got cut off by your hand hitting his hat up from behind, blinding him for a couple of seconds as his shoulders tensed from the sudden attack, you laugh and mumble "you're such a dork" and take a seat at the fallen tree, grabbing one of the sodas and cracking it open as Carl quickly sits next to you, whispering "'m not" while he grabs a comic

that night you laid in your bed with a smile stuck on your lips, hanging out with Carl made it seem like the world didn't go to shit. he made you so unbelievably happy and you just couldn't help but prayed he felt the same. but there was any other feeling deep in you that you couldn't quite read, you weren't sure how you felt, all you knew is that you wanted to stay with Carl and stay reading comics and drinking warm sodas together

"no, because...what the fuck"

the boys look at you, irritation leaving their eyes and their features becoming fearful as they see your presence

you heard a struggle break out from downstairs, you raced down -knife in hand- to see Carl and Ron fighting with some burning eggs on the stove

and now they are sitting in front of you, messing with their fingertips with their heads low, you're sitting in front of them with crossed arms and a scowl on your face

"so, what the fuck happened"

"Carl was acting weird so I followed him, he came in through your front door and-" "BULLSHIT!" Carl shouted, turning to him with pure confusion and rage hyping up his veins

"Let him finish" you announce, exhausted from being abruptly woken up at 6 am

though, you weren't so tired that you missed how Ron smirked at what he thought was you defending him. you only stopped Carl because you wanted to hear this dumbass story he is making up.

"Well, Uhm, He went into your house and then started making you breakfast, I startled him and he freaked out, I was confused why he was sneaking around but then it hit me that he wasn't supposed to be there, so I started fighting him," He said in an innocent tone, bringing his low head up to meet your sharp eyes which he'd assume would soften from his story

you zoned out halfway through, locking eyes with a clock that screamed 8 in the fucking morning.

"Can I say my part now? you know, the truth?" Carl asked, slightly laughing at this bullshit

"no"

"what?" Carl asked quickly, the hope that he had for you that you'd know him well enough to where he wouldn't do something like this started to slip

"no. but I'll tell mine" you uncrossed your legs as you wore a smile, explaining to the boys that a painting in your room fell off the wall at 6 am, and how you couldn't seem to fall back asleep -especially at a time like that

so when you heard a shout from outside, roughly 7:30, you went to check it out, seeing from your window Carl chasing after Ron as he sneaks into your house, you ran to grab a knife and to sprit downstairs but when you heard Carl defending you and Ron just talking shit about how he's gonna get with you, you decided to listen in, then sprint downstairs with a knife tight in your grip.

Carl wore a smile with slightly pink cheeks as he watched you kick Ron out, calling him a jackass and a lot more vulgar things he'd honestly expect from you when you're pissed off

and when he was gone you sat back down with him, your sour features turning sweet when you saw him

"So, why'd you follow him?" you asked, half joking half curious, as you both break into laughter

"You see a guy walking into a girl's house with his toes, you follow him. simple as that."

well, it wasn't as simple as that. as it's 11 pm at your window is being abused by pebbles. you helped the one-eyed boy in as he sat across from you on your bed

"Sorry If I woke you-" "you didn't."

"Uhm so about earlier..." he looked away with blush stuck on his cheeks, stuttering to speak as he takes a deep breath to control himself

"s-so, I have a crush on you- I think- no, I know"

your eyes widen at the confession, feeling your heart skip and your lips twitch into a smile

"Uhm, it's ok if you don't feel the same- it's just it's been eating me up, so it's uh, sorr-" you cut him off with your lips smashing into his, kissing him deeply as you confess your shared feelings to him

he giggles like a little boy as he laid you down on the bed, hands finding your waist as your lips never separated, he added his tongue which made you moan on accident, his tongue lapped on yours as it twisted and twirled in your mouth, he grabbed your hands and trapped them above your head as you felt this hard jab in your thigh

"s-shit I'm sorry" he confesses, you're confused for a moment before looking down to see his hard-on, you smile and kiss him again, "It's okay" you mumbled on his lips as your hand carried down to his pants, rubbing his dick slowly as he moaned to you

"Carl, c-can we?" you asked, hinting at the word as embarrassment showers over you

"y-yes, if you are ok with it," he said like you didn't just ask, his shaky fingertips unbutton your shorts, pulling them down to see your pretty little clothed cunt, he groaned at the sight, placing his thumb right at the hood of your clit applying more pressure as you squirmed and whined

you hurried to remove your shirt and bra, being left in your panties as he was left in his boxers, he move down to be face to face with the outlined portion of your cunt, kissing and sucking at your thighs before pulling your panties down, a string of wetness connected to the material as you look away in embarrassment and he simply chuckles

"aw, don't look away baby" he coos, you look down to see him between your thighs, flashing you a pure smile before dipping down to your drooling pussy, licking a sharp line up your slit and watching as you moaned out his name

he went back in, basically making out with your pussy as he moves up to your clit, pressing his tongue on your clit as he applies more pressure, you squirm in his hold as he ruthlessly and repeatedly flicks his tongue against your clit

he reached a hand up to mess with your breasts, squeezing enough to make you moan but never too hard as he rolled his thumb over your nipple and rolled his tongue over your clit

"f-fuck Carl, p-please don't stop!"

with his other hand, he enters your hole with one finger, slowly as you scream his name

he kissed your clit as he moved up to watch your tight little hole struggle to fit one of his fingers

"mm, baby, how are we gonna do this?" he asked, slightly laughing as your hole clenched and unclenched around him. if just his finger getting sucked in deeper was too much, what was his cock gonna do to you?

"w-we can! It'll work, m'promise" you say dizzy headed his finger stretches you out

"It's gonna hurt baby, and that's the last thing I wanna do"

he entered another finger in, you how were screaming as you never felt like this before, Carl chuckled as he saw your eyes glimmer and flash with tears brimming in pleasure

he watched mockingly as he made a V with his fingers, loving the way your little hole tried to close in on em

"I don't know if it'll fit baby, you're tight as ever"

"please! I promise it won't hurt! I-I can take it!" you beg, his fingers are new and amazing but it just isn't enough

he curled his fingers up, and you cried out his name, cum flashing down his fingers as you assume that's his answer

"P-Please just fuck me!" but he didn't respond, no, instead he removes his fingers and rubs them all over your pussy folds, you wore a confused but curious face as Carl looked back up to you,

"what? there's no way it's gonna fit without some sorta lube. " he watched as you smile at him, excited as he moves his boxers down and suddenly you're fearful as ever

he moves his cum soaked fingers over his cock as he jerks it to harden it up even more -like the poor boy wasn't throbbing before-

he moved his tip to your entrance, looking back up to you as he grabbed one of your hands and reassured you if it hurts he'll stop, you nodded and he moved in

you suddenly let out a yelp as his cock moved in, burning and pulling of your walls being stretched was almost unbearable, but you knew that with the pain there will be pleasure

"I- Is the h-head in now?" you whined, he stumbled a confused glance as he confessed that not even the tip was in and you realized you never felt more embarrassed in your life

"don't worry baby It'll be in soon," he said while laughing, you cross your arms and looked away with a pout on your lips too cute not to kiss off, after kisses and complements he was back to the task at hand

your teeth sunk deeper into your lip as you licked the blood that seeped out, fuck, it hurt. it felt like everything was on fire but with Carl in your ear, mumbling "it's okay" and "aww, you're doing so good" it was enough for you to quite literally bite your tongue until it was fully in

Carl was a dream with letting you adjust, he wasn't impatient or pushy, letting you take your time until you were ready.

but when gave him the okay...that Carl was gone.

his cock was relentless, jamming in and out of your tight hole as you whine and pleaded for him to slow down -but deep down you didn't want him to, and he knew it with the way your pussy tightened around him-

his hand landed on your lower abdomen and felt where in dick landed, mumbling "fuck, I'm so deep baby, you feel that?"

"C-Carl please, I-"

"'I-' what? isn't this what you wanted baby? what happened to "P-Please just fuck me"?" he mocked, you never felt more embarrassed in your life, and it didn't help that the way he mocked you was so fucking hot

he rammed his cock deeper, tip hitting your cervix repeatedly as his grith made you dizzy

"fuck, doesn't it feel good baby? enough whining can get you what you want, huh?" but you couldn't respond, how could you? with your pupils spinning and his hard cock mercilessly forced into your needy pussy

"answer me, doll"

"y-yes! it please it feels so good!"

his balls smacked against your ass as he continued on at an unruly pace, you fall into a trance of knowing nothing except him and his cock, pretty veins being shown as he removes himself to just the tip and rammed it back into the warm home of your cunt

"do you think Ron's this good, baby?"

"n-no!" he somehow made himself deeper as he asked you again, you moaned louder, "N-NO!" as he kissed you, "that's what I thought"

"C-Carl, I think 'm gonna c-cum" you whispered on his lips, he kissed you once more as he confessed that he was close as well. you moaned as he sped up once more, placing his thumb on your clit as he rubbed the red swollen bud as he taunted you

"cum baby, wanna see your cream dripping down my cock" his deep voice hissed, he threw his head back as his throat bobbed, brown baby hairs had sweat dripping off them as they stuck onto his face for dear life

"f-fuck! I'm cumming!" you moaned as you came down his cock, he groaned as he held your hand harder and shot his cum deep into your pussy.

he placed himself lovingly on top of you as he kissed your abused lips, he moved your connected hands on your chest as he whispered,

"you did so good baby"

you could only nod as you were completely fucked out, he chucked and kissed you again as he got up to get a warm washcloth

he cleaned you up and cuddled with you, your face digging into his shoulder as he rubbed your back, "I love you" he mumbled, he was nervous but knew that this is how he felt, but he couldn't feel any happier when you whispered back,

"I love you too"

an: ahhh hi guys! thank you so much for 90 followers! sorry this took so long hehe!! I decided to mix 2 request so I hope you guys don't mind! I really liked this one actually, thank you guys so much for reading & sending stuff in!! lysm, mwah <3

1K notes · View notes

kanmom51 · 10 months

Text

JK Incheon airport 12 July 2023

Our sweetheart Kookie left for NY.

Can anyone be ANY more adorable than this man?????

Can they?

Be any more adorable?

I just adore him.

And another angle.

*Side note: Those pants seem to be a little big on him. Kind of like given to him to walk through the airport without proper fitting, long tracksuit even though it's summer and hot. Do we smell an ambassadorship in the air?

He's happy. He's hyped.

Black N' White as usual with great pics.

And yeah, how can I post about JK at the airport today without talking about...ta da da... THE RING?

It's a little hard to see the details on that ring in this pic.

Let's find a better one.

A little better, but not good enough yet.

Soooo much better.

Side tracked for a second here, but that JM looks darker again. Just saying.

Do we have an even better pic?

And I mean, not an edited one like this one:

Look, I know people (cult) are talking about this ring being the Chanel Wooga squad ring. They want it to be that ring so so bad they literally edited it onto JK's finger.

I personally do not think it's that ring.

Let's start with:

If you have to edit the ring onto JK's finger then it probably ain't the ring you want it to be.

The grooving on the ring just doesn't look the same to me.

Also, Wooga, they wear the ring on their index finger, friendship and stuff.

JK has the ring on his pinky. And it's not like this is an index ring, it's smaller. You know, like the kind that would fit a certain someone that has cute smol (yes I know that's not how you write small, it's just cute) handsies.

Also, exact fit. Definitley not an index finger ring just moved to the pinky.

Remember this?

Oh, and there is this too:

Another option:

Option 3?

Although the grooves on the ring look more like the first JM ring option (the ring from the Samsung ad) than the second option or the third.

In any case, I guess Jenni saw the talk, cause girl, she fought right back.

Oopsy to all the cult fuckers. Cos play you say? Well folks, fuck off into your dream land, cause Jenni is on the block...

Oh, and also posting this:

Done and dusted.

Omg, and this is so cute, lol.

youtube

A few more hours to the teaser...

See you on the other side.

#Jungkook #JK #JK Seven #Jikook #Kookmin #Minkook #Jimin #JM #JK airoport #JK NY #Youtube

150 notes · View notes

mybeingthere · 5 months

Text

Tom Seidmann Freud (1892-1930)

Tom Seidmann Freud, nee Martha Freud, a children's book illustrator and author celebrated for her deceptively simple yet modern style. An eccentric niece of Sigmund Freud, she was born in Vienna in 1892 and moved with her family nine years later to Berlin. She was an artistically gifted child, at fifteen changed her name to Tom (allegedly to avoid sexism she might encounter as a female artist). She eventually studied art, first in London and then in Berlin and in Munich, where she focused on Art Nouveau illustration.

From 1914 to her death at thirty-eight in 1930, she published nearly a dozen books of her own and contributed illustrations to others. Today, nearly one hundred years late, her artwork looks surprisingly contemporary with its simple, folk art aesthetic and fantastical story lines about rabbit words, talking fish, and magic boats. Her illustrations are childish but not babyish, and surreal while also being thoughtful and narrative.

Strikingly fresh in its day, Seidmann-Freud's work was an example of how seriously people took children's literature as an art form. While Seidmann-Freud wrote, and illustrated her own stories, she also illustrated classical fairy tales, such as those by Brothers Rimm and Hanns Christian Andersen, in her Ten Tales for Children. She released her most well-known children's book, Die Fishreise (The Fish's Journey), in 1923.

Seidmann-Freud created her illustrations using the ancient pochoir technique that was experiencing a revival. She drew the figures, foreground, and background with ink and then overlaid watercolors using stencils. Seidmann-Freud experimented with several different kinds of children's books, including ABC books, songbooks, game books, and movable books such as Das Wunderhaus (The House of Wonders, 1927) and Das Zauberboot (The Magic Boat, 1929), subtitled "a book to Turn and Move." She also produced a series of counting books known for their typographical innovation, one of which was chosen for the Museum of Modern art's 2012 exhibition Century of the child: Growing by Design, 19000-2000, in New York.

In the early 1920s, she and her husband, writer and journalist Jakob Seidmann, founded publishing house Perergrin Verlag in Berlin. It was named after the main character in The Fish's Journey, who seeks to overcome his outsider status by escaping to a dreamlike utopia. Tragically, the demise of their publishing venture in the wake of 1929 global financial collapse led to her husband's suicide, and in 1930, to her own. (Their seven-year-old daughter, Angela, went to live with Tom's sister, the actress Lily Freud, and her husband in Hamburg, before they all moved to Prague in 1939. Angela, (Aviva) emigrated to Israel just before the outbreak if Word War II).

Seidmann-Freud died the same year that the liberal democracy in Germany, the Weimar Republic, started its frenzied downward descent. Until Hitler took dictatorial control in 1933, her work continued to receive accolades from her peers, including the legendary literary critic and philosopher Walter Benjamin. Because she was Jewish, however, by 1933 her books began to disappear.

Despite the Nazis destruction of "suspect" literature, and her untimely death, copies of her innovative children's books have survived as an important part of the history of avant-garde book-making in twentieth century Europe.

62 notes · View notes

fourtharbiter · 7 months

Text

October 5th, 2013.

Ten years ago today, the first formal Grindstone event happened on the Balmung server in Final Fantasy XIV. The game had only relaunched as A Realm Reborn a month and change earlier, but already the roleplaying community was coming together to establish, well, a community.

Originally started by the Eorzea Free Trade Company as a more low-key place for roleplay, there were only two rules if you wanted to participate: No killing, no magic. At the time, the community at large didn't really have a ton of lore to go on; Everything was new and exciting and not everybody had the means to level everything all at once. The ceiling for what people wanted to express in the play space was so high you couldn't really see it from the ground, and that's exactly where the Grindstone was designed to exist.

Let the High Mages have their omnipotence and unimaginable power. We just wanted to fight.

...I say "we" as if I was there from the beginning. I wasn't. I only heard about it some time later, and to demonstrate how immature I was as a roleplayer at the time, I thought the idea was kind of absurd on its face. Rolling dice to see if you succeed? That's entirely random! It's unfair! That means... GASP! I might LOSE to someone I feel I shouldn't! It's a mentality that I (and many others who got a better grasp of what the point of the event was) would grow out of. It wasn't about winning. It was about the writing.

Within the first year there was the expected churn of organizing and hosting an event; Volatility between players and factions, the fact that a weekly schedule in primetime meant your Saturdays were locked down if you wanted to stay consistent, real life getting involved and forcing absences or changes. Sigyn Shieldbreaker gave way to Sindl Arahan. Sindl gave way to a loose coalition of people familiar with the rules. For a brief period of time, the future of the event was uncertain. That's when I figured "Hell, I can do this."

Ta-da.

I have a lot of extremely fond memories at the Grindstone. I've got a lot of not-so-fond memories, too. More than that, so do a laundry list of other people. The Grindstone means a lot to me, but the fact that it also means so much to other people is really what makes me proud of what the event has achieved over the years. Strangers met and became friends. Sometimes more than that (I would still like an invite to the wedding when it happens). Stories were etched, characters were developed. People who had no idea what roleplaying was about walked by, saw a crowd and hung out. Every night was anyone's night, and everyone has a story to tell.

A fishing rod. A frying pan. Arrows tipped with paint. Someone fighting with hair brushes. Impossible come-from-behind victories. That time someone fighting for the first time winning the whole show. The several dozen times that happened, in fact. The time that one guy wrote "attaks with all his mite" and nearly won the night. That hand that got cut off. That lady who emoted giving birth on the sidelines. That kid who kept trying to fight. "FOOOOOORE!"

If you attended the Grindstone at any point of the years, at least one of those probably just touched a memory. That's the thing I keep thinking about as we're on the cusp of this event turning ten years old. Ten! The Grindstone's seen three US presidents, five English Prime Ministers, outlasted the Confederacy by twofold! Children who were not yet conceived when the first fights happened are now old enough for you to talk to and have a conversation with.

The list of names involved both in front of the curtain and behind it is entirely too long to name, or even recall. At least for me. I'm incredibly proud that folks have volunteered their time and their nights and their energy and efforts to make sure the Grindstone exists and will continue to do so. I'm happy that so many people, even if they only showed up once and didn't really like it, at least got to experience it. They got to take something away from it. The Grindstone got dropped into the middle of an extremely large lake and boy did we make some ripples.

Today is October 5th. It's not a date many people could recall many details about, but for me it's always going to be special, even if I wasn't actually there the first night. I hope that everyone who got to experience the Grindstone in their own way feels that way, too. That sometime when the air is just right and someone notices it's a Saturday night, that they can just know that the Grindstone is happening in the same place it always has been.

Everyone night is anyone's night. This coming Saturday, it's everyone's night.

#grindstone #balmung #ffxiv

66 notes · View notes

soldier-poet-king · 30 days

Text

Will my suffering never cease

- went to good Friday evening service even tho it's not a day of obligation, didn't go yesterday evening to Maundy Thursday for a variety of reasons

- priest manages to fit homophobia and transphobia into his sermon. Not even gay marriage. Just unions, that let ppl share taxes and have hospital visiting rights. And big bad scary surgery. Like. Completely unrelated to the matter at hand. Says SO LITTLE abt the Passion, managed to talk for 10 minutes without really saying ANYTHING. Takes Pilate's 'what is truth' and instead of engaging in the long philosophical and theological discussion around that question, decides to use it as a rallying cry against wokeism and a godless progressive society.

- my two ex best friends were there. Ran into them. + One's husband, who I introduced her to a decade ago. Like I'm mostly over that, no longer shitty and resentful, fully know that it was partially my fault and born from my own terribleness at 19 and undiagnosed untreated mental illness. Still uhhh hurts tho??? As a reminder?

- music bad. Ok I'm petty. I'll give the trads (1) point. I don't like guitar mass. I will NOT agree with the trads in assigning moral weight to my aesthetic preference. It's simply a preference, which does not make any musical form inherently superior to the others. But the triduum really lends itself to Latin hymns and chants, in my heart. My other fave church music is traditional Black spirituals. I would greatly prefer either. But just. If it sounds like an acoustic version of a pop love song. I just. I can't. I KNOW I'm the weird about Jesus romantically girlie. But I am not vibin with this folks

Literally would have simply Walked Out. Hit da bricks during the homily. But was with my family so 1) cannot out myself 2) did not have house keys on me, so I was suck regardless

Anyway I said I wasn't going to do fun things today but I'm so upset and cranky and I did chores all day, I am going to catch up on dungeon meshi. Marcille is my best favourite cringefail girl I'm obsessed with her and surely the wlw neurotic fussy mage who loves her friends will not betray me like this

#the duality of fran #faith tag #also like #.highly unlikely that i was the only closeted queer person there #and obvs extra full of the triduum a lot of non regulars attending #so GLAD that they decided to make it such a lovely and welcoming environment for THE BIGGEST MOST SIGNIFICANT WEEKEND IN THE FAITH.#surely this will encourage people and make them feel welcome and loved and cared for #yes yes there's that flannery oconnor bit abt not judging priests harshly #but also. its one thing to have a bad homily #not discussing the philosophy of pilates question is fine. i get most ppl are not versed in greco roman thought #but the absolute just. whining reactionary social conservatism #ON GOOD FRIDAY???#even going as far as to be like 'those few of us who keep the faith'#okay sir. this isnt some uwu im so special and faithful unlike all those abomination degenerate queers #gonna get gay married for tax purposes/green card out of spite #(green card both ways i can get u cad citizenship lmao)#remove my reproductive system. idgaf. uterus free to a good home. all it does is give me health problems anyway #tho that last one is less dysphoria and more just. it's a fuckin pain in my ass medically speaking #also the triduum is THEE celebration for the gay chrisitans. its john the beloved. its judas. its projecting for us ok

26 notes · View notes

dearlymrme · 1 year

Text

Te lo meriti! (CopiaxReader)

Summary: A birthday present for my dearest @nocturnal-birb I did my best and hope you like it. This also goes out to all you folks who feel this way and need a Papa’s support and reassurance.

Copia x Reader || Papa Emeritus iv x Reader || Fluff || Comfort Fic || Established Relationship || Poorly Translated Italian || WC: 1716

You stand before Copia’s door with a manilla folder in hand full of official documents for him to sign off on. There’s a few about his next sermon, some to do with the next tour, and notices from the clergy.

You gently rapped your knuckles against his door, loud enough to get his attention while your other hand brushes invisible dust off your habit and straightens the small amount of wrinkles. You wish you had more time to tidy up. Your hair was being very uncooperative today and you had been in such a rush this morning that you had forgone makeup.

You hoped he wouldn’t mind that you didn’t look your best. However, knowing Copia, it’s not because of your makeup that he’s always staring at your face with his dopey lovesick eyes. You smile at imagining him getting distracted again in the midst of paperwork coercing you that neither of you get any work done.

“One minute!” You frown in concern at the sharpness of his voice, even behind the door. He sounds panicked.

“Papa?” You worry and jump when you hear a loud thump and yelp followed by cursing.

“Merda! Ti userò come legna da ardere!” It’s a hard thing to try and hold back a snicker when you hear him muttering curses at the furniture and wonder just what has him so unsettled that he’s bumping into things. You clearly caught him in the middle of something. You wait, expecting him to open the door but there is more shuffling from the other side before it goes quiet and then he clears his throat.

“Come in.”

You grab the handle and open the door, raising a brow at the dark room. The fireplace is out. The lights are off. The shades are drawn. The only light in the room is that from the now opened doorway, illuminating your Papa’s desk but even it is darkened by your own shadow. You tip your head curiously and reach for the light switch as you step into the room and close the door behind you.

For a split second the whole room was pitch black before you flip the switch and the lights came on, revealing…Just the office, but there are multicolored paper streamers hanging from the ceiling and not much else has changed besides the fact that on the coffee table to the side is a cake with candles and two glasses. It’s small but still just enough to make your stomach drop and the implications.

“Cazzo!” You're startled to set your gaze on the man right beside you. Copia, the most powerful figure in the church, your lover, was standing in such a position that he had to have been hiding in the shadow of the door when you opened it.

In his hand is a colorful cardboard cylinder, which he fumbles with awkwardly.

“Wait! Shit. I had this all planned out and-” He curses and you lift a hand to stop him.

“Copia.”

“AHA!”

And then there is a loud pop and glitter goes flying everywhere. You momentarily transfixed on the shimmering flakes as they catch the light and gracefully fall to the floor. The smell of the explosive breaks you out of your stupor and you glance back to Copia’s smiling and expecting face.

You open your mouth but no words come out and he misinterprets this as a good sign.

“It’s good, si? Took your breath away?” He grins and shakes his hands jazz-like to gesture at the cake and candles and streamers.

“I wondered why you never took your birthday off. You never even mentioned it, I had to look it up. Surprise!” He happily cheered. You bite your lip and take a unsteady breath as you walk over and drop the folder on his desk before turning and looking back at the door.

The brief idea of running away crosses your mind and then you look back to the small preparations he made for this and then at him who stands eager for your reaction, you flush with humiliation.

You lick your lip before crossing your arms over yourself and that causes him to drop his expecting smile. He tentatively approaches and begins to worry with his hands.

“Mia cuore, what is wrong? Don’t you like it?” He asked and you shake your head, looking down at the floor and rub at your arms with nervous energy

“It’s not that. It’s very nice Papa-” He flinches at the title because this is meant to be a moment between you, a happy moment, and when you are being happy together you use his name. You are not happy. You wince at your mistake, so clearly giving away your down mood that only goes further down. He worked hard on this, he wants to see you happy, you should be happy he went through all this effort.

“Copia.” You correct but the damage is done and he looks at you with worry and even a bit of hurt in his eyes. You lick your lips again as you try to figure out a way to explain it.

“Did I do something wrong?” He asked and you quickly shook your head.

“No, you didn’t do anything wrong. I’m the problem. I don’t-” You gesture and swallow the knot forming in your throat. Your voice goes tight and what you say ends up a mutter in your shame.

“Say that again?” And you take a deep breath, dropping your arms and curling your fingers into fists at your side.

“You didn’t have to do this for me.”

“Of course I did. Today is a special day.” You shake your head and deny.

“No, you shouldn’t have…I…I’m not worth it.” You say, gesturing to the decorations, meager as they may be, he went and took time out of his busy schedule to put this together.

“You probably had so many other things you could have been doing.” You huff a pathetic attempt at a laugh to try and lighten your own mood but fail. “

Hell, I came to deliver you more paperwork. This is a busy time of the year for you, you know.” You clear your throat and then start to babble as you try to distract from the fact that you feel like absolute shit. Because he went through all this effort and you can’t even muster a smile at him.

You didn’t deserve it. You didn’t deserve him.

“You’ve got the new tour to worry about. Assignments from the clergy. The sermons for next week. Meetings with officials from the Norwegian abbey in a month and-” You gesture to yourself.

“I’m like…You shouldn’t have taken time to…You got other things you could be doing than waste throwing me a party.” You snicker wetly and shake your head, “We need to work on getting your priorities in the right order.”

Copia gives a shocked gasp and you can’t even muster the courage to look at him, focused on the floor and the glitter that litters the carpet and will most certainly be a pain for the cleaners.

“Sorry, I’m gonna-” You make a move to leave and are halted as he snatched up one of your hands.

“Cara mia.” He says adoringly, sympathetically, concerned. You bite your lip and sniffle as it starts to strike at your heart. You still cannot meet his eyes, ashamed of the emotion that litters his voice that he’s wasting on you.

“Look at me?” He suggests in a gentle tone and when you still refuse he gently cups you by the chin with his thumb and guides your head up. Your eyes remain on the floor and your cheeks burn. “Amore, please.”

That breaks you and you finally look at him and wince when you see heartbreak in his eyes. It makes you feel one hundred percent worse.

“La mia amica del cuore. You listen carefully.” You nod as a tear streaks down your cheek.

“My priorities are in order.” He explains.

“Getting you to smile, to be happy, to blush and to laugh?” He smiles at you and moves his hand from your chin to wipe away your tears.

“That is one of my highest priorities.”

It absolutely strangles your heart that such a sweet man can say such sweet things to you, of all people, he says these things to you. And the way he looks at you with such a soft expression and concern on his face as he brings your hand to his lips and presses gentle kisses to your knuckles.

It makes you choke and flush embarrassedly.

“I think this is a momentous day, you know.” You sniff and don’t resist when he pulls you close before wrapping his arms around you, thumbing your shoulder gently and pressing a hard kiss to the top of your head. “This is the day you were born, mia cuore. And if you hadn't been born I would have never met you.”

“I don’t know who has told you or led you to believe that you're not worth celebrating but I have some harsh words for them.” He clicks his tongue. “Who? Who has told you that you are not worth it?” He asks you and you shrug, neglecting to answer but he picks up the silent clue too well.

“Oh, well then I have some harsh words for you.”

He places another kiss on your head and hits you with what he deems are cold hard facts.

“You are worth it.” He kisses your forehead.

“You do deserve it.” And he tips your head up once more to claim your lips with his own.

“I love you, mia amore.”

“And I will throw as many birthday parties as it takes before you start believing it. I will not rest until I get these tears of sadness to turn into tears of joy.” He promises before claiming your lips again in a sweet peck.

You sniff before wrapping your arms around his chest and nuzzling your face into his shoulder. A tremble runs through you as he glides his fingers through your hair and strokes your arm.

It’s spoken like a promise. It’s kept like a vow.

“As many hugs. As many kisses. As many parties. As many presents. As many as it takes before you see yourself as worthy of it as I do. Anything and everything, my heart.”

#copia #copia x reader #cardinal copia #cardinal copia x reader #papa emeritus #papa emeritus iv #papa emeritus iv x reader #ghost band #ghost the band #the band ghost #reader insert #dee writes #comfort fic #@nocturnal-birb

188 notes · View notes

romandaandromeda · 3 months

Text

How Azumanga Daioh tells the difference between the "Old Web" and "Modern Internet"

a content warning for mentions of rape, pedophilia, and ableism (well, better safe than sorry!)

i had an entire thing written before this, but i decided to scrap it for when spacehey comes back online

so, the old web. we know what it is, we know how we see it, geocities, crunchy gifs, flashes and whatever. but have you ever seen the difference between its societies scattered across websites whether it be an imageboard, geocity, or forum against our discorded societies on major social media platforms?

a while back, i had begun watching azumanga daioh as a result of a sudden reinterest in the anime in this decade. this reminded me of how prevalent anime was on the internet as a whole 2 decades ago (and more or less, azumanga's iron grip on anons and lurkers alike), which led me to searching for how different this era was with memes.

memes, or a fad, wasn't very accessible as they are today, while some could be laughed at as an outsider (think awesome face, shoop da whoop, nyan cat, impact font memes), memes outside of the public conscious were mostly inside jokes spawned from forums like something awful or imageboards like 2chan or 4chan.

out of those many, azumanga was one of the more popular ones. think about it, funny teenagers do funny things and combine that with a major love from anime communities, you get things like these:

now what i've noticed about these memes from pre-2010 is their inside joke nature. ask the modern user what a sticky is or why they think osaka is pretending to be a nazi, they wouldn't know or be a bit offput. plus using kaorin's little lesbian crushing on sakaki to project their straight love for sakaki would probably be looked down upon now but that was just normal. if you couldn't handle it then it was either hit the road or deal with it.

you can probably guess that kimura was probably the most relatable character ever in those days, don't even get me started on the normalization of pedophile/rape jokes back then.

now that's fun and all, but how about nowadays? we no longer have a scattered culture, everyone is using one single site for entertainment and posting, and all of the forums and imageboards have been designated a hazard zone as their users have mutated into despicable folks that have been shunned away to the point where they seem more depraved than their past. AKA, they no longer care for relating over a character or talking about a show, they'd rather argue about their nitpicks of a specific character or show and just skulk on what used to be a thriving community. well, nowadays it seems you don't need to be part of a specific community anymore, just see a meme and laugh without any context. with azumanga's revival in interest, this has sort of spawned what i like to call "azumanga autism memes" (TO CLARIFY: I AM AUTISTIC, FEEL FREE TO MAKE UP YOUR OWN NAME IF MINE DOESN'T SOUND RIGHT!). as they've mostly just become the most nonsensical and silly images ever, you practically don't need to watch the show to understand because its so disconnected from the source material it's like a cup of coffee, just pick it up and have a taste.

some examples:

notice anything? suddenly, osaka takes the center stage! with exception to the one chiyo image, osaka has become the face of azumanga as the modern internet knows it. compare that to how every character had about the same love through different edits in the old web, and it seems that most people would think that osaka is the main character of azumanga instead of the multiple characters' stories spread through the series. this has seemed to piss off many a gatekeeper, who are mad that this series is only gaining interest because of one character and her vague memes. to which i believe gatekeeping such a building block of the internet like azumanga is like trying to defend an unstable shack, it's useless.

so, what can we tell from the differences between ye olde and the new? to cut to the chase, the old web's fad culture was built from inside jokes outside of the "webcore/y2k-integrated" memes used for aesthetics. and nowadays people have publicized memes to a point where context is thrown from the picture and anyone can enjoy a meme instead of enjoying its source.

which is better? i can't tell you, you don't see much enjoyability and genuine appreciation in editing in today's memes than you did with old fads (you have to make people laugh, lest you be banished to the "reddit" label hell) but the normalization of taboo topics like racism, rape, and ableism should definitely be left behind in the old. it's just personal preference, really.

that's the end of this post, please enjoy kasuga.swf:

#romanda says stuff #rant #azumanga daioh #i think i sound smart #meme culture #ramblings #rambles

26 notes · View notes

trikis-turntables · 3 months

Text

Happy Lunar New Year! It's the Year of the Dragon!!

I've seen the new Dislyte banner and it just reminded me about some fun thing about how we talk about Lunar New Year and some things surrounding it.

So as a primer, the Lunar New Year is based on the Harvest Calendar 农历 (Nong Li) as opposed to the Gregorian calendar that we use in most of the world today. The Nong Li Calender follows the cycles of the moon, hence the reason it's known as the Lunar Calendar in english and other western languages.

So when we mention Spring Festival 春节 Chun Jie it encapsulates the entirety of the first 7 or 15 days of the Lunar New Year (16, if we count New Years Eve). All 15 days are significant and depending on how big or how close your family is, there's slightly differing tradition.

New Year's Eve - 除夕 Chu Xi - Everyone arrives home and we have a big reunion dinner with our immediate family.

New Year's Day - 大年初一 Da Nian Chu Yi - Officially Chinese New Year, we'll go around visiting our eldest relatives to wish them a happy new year bai nian. Families tend to congregate at the home of the eldest living relative (great-grandparents' homes, grandparents' homes, eldest uncles homes) Wearing red, Firecrackers, Dragon Dances and Lion dances are all common parts of the celebration! By legend it is used to scare away the evil monster Nian who used to eat people!

youtube

(Lion Dancers will go up to people's homes and businesses as a troupe to usher in the new year! It's also a highly acrobatic sport with its own institutions, definitely check it out!)

Seventh day of New Year - 人日 Ren Ri - Day of Humans - we consider it the day where the first humans were created by Nuwa, so it's everyone's birthday! Festivities for most households tend to end on this day or on the eighth of New Years.

Fifteenth day of New Year - 元宵节 Yuan Xiao Jie - Lantern Festival marks the official end of the New Years/Spring Festival. In Hokkien we call it Chap Goh Mei 初十五 (literally 15th [of the new year])

You can read about the other days of Lunar New Year here: https://www.nypl.org/blog/2021/02/11/15-days-lunar-new-year !

Furthermore in my home city of Johor Bahru we have a special procession on the 21st of the new year's called the Chingay Parade.

So how should I wish people who celebrate Lunar New Year?

Happy Lunar New Year! is good (abbreviating to Happy LNY! is cool too) this is for consideration of for example Koreans, Vietnamese, Hmong, and other diasporic Chinese Lunar New Year celebrators!

In my country of Malaysia, Happy Chinese New Year is the norm because most people that celebrate Lunar New Year happen to be ethnically chinese.

恭喜發財 (Gōng xǐ fā cái) - Wish you wealth and prosperity

身體健康 (Shēn tǐ jiàn kāng) - Wishing you good health

萬事如意 (Wàn shì rú yì) - May everything go well for you

Bonus:

What are Red Packets and how do I get one? (lol) 🧧

It's also generally alright to go visit or 拜年 bai nian with your neighbours that celebrate Lunar New Year during this period of time, remember to bring a pair of mandarin oranges with you! (Remember to always bring mandarin oranges in pairs as it's seen as good luck.) You might want to contact them ahead to see if they're around XD Unmarried folks can get a red packet from the hosting family for wishing them a happy new year. It's kind of like trick-or-treating lol.

新年快乐！！

#dislyte #evi tt writing #chinese new year #lunar new year #Youtube

15 notes · View notes

stargirlstudio · 1 year

Text

Citrine and Sapphire [Part 1]

☆ Aemond Targaryen x Princess of Leng!Reader

☆ Physical attributes canon to Lengii people (golden eyes, black hair, skin tone is implied to be darker than pale - but non specified)

☆ 1st/3rd POV, she/her pronoun usage, no y/n

☆ WC: 3k

☆ Summary: A princess from the Isle of Leng sets off on a journey to Westeros in search of adventure and knowledge, but other players are out for their own agenda. Aemond Targaryen, the shy boy who eventually becomes her friend and greatest ally, is more similar to her than she thinks.

☆ Guide:

[ ] - Lengii language

{ } - YiTish language

Part 2 ⇨

If the princess had known the journey to Westeros would be this long and arduous, she would have planted myself in the sands of the docks and never left. Traversing through the rich provinces of YiTi was fun, familiar even.

The sea journey provided a temporary solace from the bustle of the people on land but soon gave me the worst temperament. She woke up and went to sleep with a pit in her stomach — She was not a mariner. There can only be so much gruel and dried shrimp she can eat. A servant in the back of the ship expelled what seemed to be this morning’s meal — rice porridge and salted egg. Rice porridge, while a commoner’s dish, used to be her favorite meal to wake up to. Leng’s thousand suns, as they say, sweltering outside while they get to eat the soft meal with leaves fanning their back. Roasted and dried YiTish salmon and fermented vegetables on the side. She despised the smell bile produces, mixed with the saltiness of the dark sea. The water would mist into her mouth, and sometimes if she closed my eyes, she could taste the salty radish.

Many times she prayed to the Old Ones when large waves drowned the deck. The YiTish sailor screamed what she assumed to be a word a princess should not repeat at his fellow sea folk. Leng servants rushed underground, wet with their fabrics clinging to their skin. Today is the day of her birth, but no one knew that except her handmaidens. If she were home, she would eat all the sweets she wanted. Roast pig and quail would be on the table. Though, not too fond of quail, but she would do anything to take a bite.

Her fathers would be playing with her, and her mother would be dancing. The princess’s brothers would be chasing her sister around. [“I want to go home!”] She cried. The older handmaidens wiped her tears and told her to sleep. A man with dark hair and a prominent brow ridge ran past the window. [“The window is going to break!”] She panicked and cried. Snot ran down her nose and chin. Her chest hurt from the wailing. She should be brave, but the young girl not stop herself. The screaming from below and above only made it worse. The maidens, wide-eyed and frightened, take a step back. The only one who does not is the oldest maiden - with her graying, straight hair. Deep wrinkles in the fat of her face and eye bags protruding further than her own eyes.

[“Whoever let the princess course on waters should be fed to the hogs,”] One of the newer handmaidens spoke.

The older handmaiden spoke softly, {“Would you like the sleep milk?”} The princess continued to sob, not paying attention to her question. She sighed and walked over to the chest. A blood-curdling scream came from outside, and she battled to drown out the others. The older handmaiden sat next to her and tapped on her lips. She opened her mouth before the cool white liquid droplets melted on her tongue.

Sleep milk was the only thing that could calm her down. After her fall…She used it to temper her dreams. The medicinal women have told her that when she fell off the cliff years ago, it must have caused terrible dreams. The milk helps her fall into a deep sleep when she panics. She doesn’t know how long she can be like this, but her mind sullies those thoughts as she falls asleep.

Three weeks later, flies buzzed beneath the deck - a rotten stench coming in waves as the latch opened and closed. I stare at the open latch, nothing to be seen but darkness. Two men carried a servant, her skin was gray, and her body was stiff. The whites of her eyes yellowed, and a green liquid fell from them, staining her face. A trail of the same color liquid trailed from her ears, sticking her hair to her face.

“Do not look at them, Princess,” Xhoha said as he turned my seat around. “You do not need to see that,” Xhoha was my advisor. My mother insisted I needed someone fluent in Westerosi and familiar with their culture. Xhoha was from the Free Cities but traveled around. He will not tell me what he did before he came to Leng.

[“Will we have Westerosi lessons again?”] I asked.

Xhoha sighed, “Remember, it is called Common Tongue. We will have more lessons than usual to prepare. Food poisoning swept through the ship. We are docking at Qarth. We were lucky to even make it this far from Leng,”

[“Did you say you were from Qarth?”] I asked. He chuckled, plastering a grin.

“If this is another attempt at you trying to get details of my life, I guess I’ll give you some satisfaction. No, I’m from Pentos. The closest Free City to Westeros,” He mused. [“Let us start speaking in Common Tongue,”]

I nodded. Common Tongue has made no sense to me. I struggle with every word; Xhoha remarked that I sound Dornish when I speak Common Tongue. He is highly insistent that I should try my best to adopt the dialect spoken in King’s Landing. He pulled out a Westeros map and tried his hardest to teach me about each city and its notable people, but every detail mixed with another. I have only held onto the reliance of Westerosi people from the texts given to me by monks.

The most extensive text is on Corlys Velaryon, who is still alive. I traced the indented lettering on the book, The Snake of the Seas, by Monk Hattenu. A young man with hair of alabaster set his feet upon the Leng sands. With a YiTish translator by his side, he negotiated agreements. For resources, he would offer a favor — of any kind so long as it was reasonable. In the personal texts saved by the monks, in my aunt’s diary, it seemed that she was…smitten with him.

The priestess aboard the boat had come to interrupt my lessons, “Pardon me, your majesty, it is time for you to pray,” She said. I nodded and hopped off my chair.

“We will continue after you are done,” He said. I followed her to the back of the boat, weaving my way around the men carrying bodies. The stench was foul. The priestess and I sat on our knees, facing eastward to home. I followed her movements as I picked up the reserved sand creating an arch around me.

“Princess, who shall we pray to today?” The Priestess asked. “I suggest Ah’Vannika for the health of those on board. Or Ah’Jan for safe travels,” She suggested. The Old Ones are the gods I pray to in Leng. It is believed they live beneath us. There is no gender assignment to the gods we revere, as they come in many forms. Ah’Vannika - the god of health, may come to someone as a hummingbird. A woman cloaked in white or an old man with a gray eye. In a coastal Lengii city, the people wear white and silver to honor Ah’Vannika. I have my doubts about the Old Ones. Some have claimed to see the form of a god, but who’s to say their form isn’t just some regular person? Or maybe someone is lying?

“I think Ah’Jan has heard enough prayers for our safe travels,” I said meekly. “Let us pray to Ah’Kasaya, for good weather?” The Priestess nodded. “And Ah’Vannika for good health,”

That night, I tossed and turned in my bed. I was watching the sea mist rain against the window. I closed my eyes, covering my ears to drown out the crashing waves. My mind blanks, and suddenly, I’m falling to my death, the cold and dark waters engulfing me. A hand grabs my ankle and pulls me deeper until I wake up screaming again.

Aemond’s POV

Aemond stood with his family on the day of the Princess’s arrival. The young prince felt nervous, he knew of the delays but now that the guest us finally here he did not know what to do.

“More than half of her servants, unfortunately, passed away from this illness,” Viserys continued. “The Maesters suspect that perhaps they are not used to the known world, succumbing easily to such illnesses,” The room had fallen silent. Aemond’s mother, Alicent, silently moved the food around. “Horrible really, the letter spoke of yellowed eyes and fluids coming out of every orifice. Awful…,”

“The princess may not come at all if she also falls ill,” Aegon jokes.

“The God-Empress of the Isle of Leng has been kind enough to extend her hand. The isolationist Leng has made a pact with House Velaryon for Corlys Velaryon’s kindness during his Nine Voyages,” The stout man says. A cheer erupts amongst the crowd - much to the man’s annoyance. He continues, “God-Empress Citra welcomes you to a ceremonial performance and for you all to welcome her daughter, second to the throne, the princess,”

Performers with white face paint and bold makeup came fluttering in. Their flowing gowns and tilting hands excited the guests. The music, a solemn fanfare, transitioned to string-dominated and hopeful melodies. Gasps came from all sides of the room. Aemond glanced at his older brother, his smile curving upwards. One of the performers supplanted themselves before the family. A cloth held up by their fingers blocked their faces. The performer, with their red dipped fingertips, danced the fabric in front of them before dropping and making a funny face. They watched as the performers circled the other people, interacting with them and causing them to laugh until they disappeared into the entrance.

Numerous performers, YiTish and Lengii, came back into the hall and out. Some animals that had survived the journey were also shown off to King Viserys. A striped stallion and a baby spotted back ape, like the ones in the books the Maester had him read, were also shown. The ape had started causing some trouble, but it was quickly forgotten amongst the existing performances. Halaena, who usually had her head turned away, was entranced by the spider performer, which seemed to be two women holding a rattan-crafted spider body. She giggled at their slow movements and their jolts.

The dancers all began to leave in two lines which tall guards quickly replaced. They formed into two lines blocking the guests - creating a direct pathway to the family. The music slowed, and the musicians bowed their heads slightly. Aemond squinted to see four girls walk in. He focused on the one in the front, who could not be older than him. The three other girls mimicked the same head bow as the musicians and the guards, while the youngest girl held her head high—her crown, with peaks no longer than her face, accompanied by weaved flowers in her dark hair. Her golden eyes match the crown on her head. Deep red fabric draped around her.

“I’m surprised. I think we all thought she would be old,” He paused, lowering his head closer to Aemond’s ear. “The seafarers get younger and younger,” Aemond ignored his brother, watching the princess and the rest of her subjects follow suit with gifts in hand. He heard his mother gasp. Some performers held silks; others held more jewels and what seemed to be spices. Items to be most prized.

Lord Corlys had acquired his great wealth during his Nine Voyages. One of the places he had sailed was to the Isle of Leng. At a meeting with the small council, he announced the letter from the Empress of Leng.

“To Lord Corlys Velaryon, The Revered Mariner, Friend of the Crown,” He repeated once at a dinner. “When you came to visit our lands, you made a promise to my mother, the late God-Empress Kanitara of Leng, that you would extend a favor and your support in exchange for our resources,” He paused. “My daughter, a fourth born, second in line, wishes to explore beyond Leng. She heard many stories of your adventures and wished to visit Driftmark and the rest of Westeros. There is no crown for her here, as she is not my eldest daughter. I fear that she may find more success beyond these gates. I wish to send her to you, where she will be in your care and teaching. If you accept, I will be sure to give you our treasured valuables,”

The princess bowed, taking two hands to touch her forehead and bringing them toward the family—a greeting reserved for other royals. A translator came right beside her. “Princess of the Isle of Leng, second daughter to God-Empress Citra and Lengii Emperor Consort Kiet, commander of the armies,” Aemond noticed some guests wincing at the idea of an emperor consort. “Offers her extended gratitude for inviting her to your kingdom. She offers great gifts and valuables to House Targaryen and House Velaryon,”

The translator droned on, but Aemond looked at the young princess. Her hands scratched at her thighs with her head bowed.

The celebration of the Princess’ arrival at King’s Landing was filled with more festivities. It was a week-long celebration. Performers, both Lengii and YiTish, put on their theatrical shows. Dancers in face paint and shadow theater performers entertained the nobility of Westeros. Aemond stood by, watching the Ladies secretly ogle at the Leng men. Their arms were bare and muscular, their hands hovering over their eyes to shield themselves from the sun. Aemond and his siblings sat next to their mother, while the princess and her advisor sat next to his father.

“The Princess wanted to apologize for her delay. It was a dangerous journey to Westeros,” The advisor said. He was not from Leng, at least by appearance. The man had pale skin, with freckles marking almost every inch of his skin, with shoulder-length brown hair. His long mustache wiggled with every movement of his mouth. He sounded like the traders from Pentos.

King Viserys laughed, “You need not worry. You have brought our family gifts, and most importantly you are intact,” He gestured to his family. “We welcome you,” The Princess smiled.

“Thank you, your grace,” She spoke in Common Tongue. “You have such beautiful children,” She said, lingering her gaze on Aemond, who looked away abruptly, shying his eyepatch.

“Thank you, dear Princess,” Alicent said. She gestured for the princess to come over, reaching out to hold her hand. “I did not get to see your face earlier. Such a beautiful girl,” His mother admired, the jingling of her bracelets filling the silence from the children. Aemond finally turned his head, having avoided eye contact with the princess. She stood still, a smile plastered on her face. Soft pink fabrics draped around her body, creating a loose fitting silhouette. The extra fabric draped over her shoulders, lined with small beaded floral embroidery. Local flowers had been weft into her hair along with gold pins. The princess had a strong, pleasant scent. All of the people of Leng do. The perfumes and oils saturated their skin, adding a glow.

“And you are a beautiful Queen,” She said back; Alicent had squeezed her hand. The King had announced the tourney would be taking place soon, with the family being dismissed first. Alicent held Helaena and the Princess's hand as Aegon and Aemond trailed behind. The Princess turned her head to look at Aemond, who looked away again. She turned her head forward and moved her fingers anxiously.

For the next few days, Aemond sat near the Princess. First, watching her wince at the tourney, sitting next to her at feasts, walking near her around the grounds with Helaena. The Princess does not have a name.

“The Princess has a name, but in her culture, it is forbidden to use the name with strangers,” Her advisor explained. “A shortened name is often used with their people,”

“Then how shall we address her?” A Lady asked Xhoha.

Another Lady interjected, “Lady Leng seems proper!”

There had been times when the princess had tried to speak with Aemond.

“What are you holding?” “How are you?” What are you doing?” but she was met with a hmm or a few words. Eventually, she didn’t talk to him at all. Aemond didn’t mean to ignore her, but he felt…anxious around her. Perhaps it was because she was a stranger. Everyone was focused on her; the Princess’s arrival was important enough to garner a week-long celebration. He dug his fingers into his palm, watching her from a distance as she was invited to dance with a young lord.

“Lady Leng,” The cropped haired boy asked. “May I show you how to dance?” The Princess accepted his offer. She giggled, accidentally stepping on his toes. Aemond walked away, only hearing fragments of apologies.

—

☆ A/N: A long overdue part 1 for my Leng princess fic! If you want to see more and would liked to be tagged, please comment! Also I would love comments about what you enjoyed or any potential plot ideas!

#fanfic #fanfiction #fic: citrine and sapphire #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #Aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen x leng!reader #se asian!reader #asian!reader #hotd fanfic #hotd fanfiction #fem reader #house of the dragon fanfiction #aemond targaryen reader insert #leng #isle of leng #island of leng #fics

200 notes · View notes