#excessive flirting

[hellcheerficdatabase]

Nativity In Black

Author: @peachpieatmidnight

Rating/Warning: Explicit, referenced sexual ab*se, ED, child ab*se, toxic relationships, self harm

Chapter Count: 8/?

Description:

Eddie Munson moves to Hawkins the summer before Chrissy’s senior year. He breezes into her life, a radiant ball of chaotic energy and heavy metal music that excites parts of her that Chrissy thought long dead. He’s got a smile made of sunshine and Lord of the Rings quotes on the tip of his tongue and he makes her question everything she thought to be true.

Chrissy Cunningham is not his type—all sweet, bubbly cheerleader. Yet, from the moment he meets her—dolled up in a Scoops Ahoy sailor uniform—she’s all he can think about. It doesn’t take long for him to see the cracks in her carefully built facade, to recognize the darkness that seeps from each cleave. She’s all he wants, but does he deserve her?

A friends to enemies to best friends to lovers story with a HEA.

Tags: Alternate Universe- no vecna, enemies to friends to lovers, angst, HELLA ANGST, a lot to go through, grow through, hurt/comfort, healing, falling in love, excessive flirting, smut, they dirty, this is so good tho man, alternating POV, multiple chapters, status: WIP

[spirkbitch]

What’s your least favorite TOS episode?

(i made a post once asking people to tag their favorite and least favorite, i got these from there)

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

really wish my one friend would quit flirting with me. and trying to goad me into hanging out more. and assigning us fictional characters that are oh-so-coincidently either couples or with romantic tension. and then interrupting our gameplay to ask me repeatedly if I think they’re “like us” (which they rarely are…). and matching my icon on discord without asking (again, usually by insinuating a couple connection). and giving me random things I do not want and did not ask to receive (and then forcing me to take them???).

[qtubbo]

As someone who watches a lot of Morning Crew content, what is the wildest fanon take or statement you’ve seen? Like something that deeply confused you.

Or, what is the most common incorrect fanon information you’ve seen? Like a fact or interpretation of something that many believe, even though it has zero supporting evidence.

Your post about fanon just made me very curious about the Morning Crew side of fandom.

- Sharp!

hrmmm probably for wildest fanon one I’ve seen would be that Pac gives gifts and is more emotional aware for Tubbo due to parental instinct, strange takes out there in the wild. Most common misconception is that Pac takes the leaps in relationships, which comes from Pac pushing the most after a limitation is removed, but it’s normally either Tubbo or Fit that sets a new line. People do seem to think since Pac’s a flirt he’s the most confident at it, though I also don’t people realize how much Fit and Tubbo flirt with people.

[sparksly-mage-of-light]

So...we traded in Sokka unlearning misogyny and humbling himself for Suki spending the majority of her screentime making goo-goo eyes at him. How progressive.

[foileadeux]

[slowly pushing palewatcher and False King closer to each other]

woe! palewatcher be upon ye

[blushinggray]

playboy sero saga cont...

part 2/? (part 1 here)

sero hanta x fem!reader

the aftermath of that night you spent drinking from sero's mouth instead of a cup...

cw // more flirting, implied sexual content

Just to be clear, you did not think about him when you eventually went to bed and got yourself off that night after you left Kaminari's house. You were a little on edge even after your shower and still coming down from your tipsy high, so you were naturally a little friskier than usual. It's totally normal.

But for the sake of your own pride and dignity, you will not confess to your own prosecuting conscience that thoughts of Sero "fuckboy" Hanta's arms or hands or mouth or height or smile or anything of his led you to your orgasm that night. Because they didn't! You swear they didn't.

It was just some generic, practically faceless, hot bodied guy you imagined to get things going. Probably some actor from a movie you watched recently or something. If he also happens to have a similar build, or hair color, or charming personality, or smile as some other guy you happened to make out with earlier that night, then it's just a coincidence.

So no, you did not fucking fantasize about Sero and how strong his hands were on your face or how easily his body slotted against yours despite your clear height difference or how sweet his mouth tasted right before you went to sleep.

...

..

.

You did, however, wake up from a dream where those hands were holding onto your waist to keep you in place for him to fuck into you. And you did get yourself off the next morning while those thought clouds were clearing up...

But it's nothing you can't bounce back from! After you get up, you go about your day as usual, putting on as much background noise as possible to keep your thoughts away from him and what you almost did with him last night.

Ashido doesn’t let you get away with it for long, however, because she calls you later in the afternoon to get all the contextual details of what she walked in on the night before. You don’t know whether it’s because she’s been friends with Sero for a while, but she (and Hagakure, who’s with her on the other end of the line) seems pretty eager to get you to change your mind about him.

“Mina, stop!” You eventually have to say, “Look, I have nothing against him or anything. It’s just… I don’t see this turning out well for me, okay? I’ve dated guys like him before — and don’t get me wrong, they’re great, they treat me well and all that. But at the end of the day, it’s not gonna turn into anything serious, and I don’t wanna be caught up in my feelings for a guy who’s probably just trying to have some fun.”

There’s silence from their end for a bit, before Hagakure asks first, “Is that what you think is gonna happen with Sero?”

You’re silent this time for a moment before Ashido says with a small sigh, “Well, it’s not like it’s unwarranted. We’re his friends and even we can’t defend him on that front.”

Hagakure hums in what sounds like confusion but also acknowledgement, like this isn’t where they had planned the conversation to be going. But you’re internally relieved that you didn’t let it go too far last night.

“But!” She continues, “What we can say is that he’s a genuinely good guy. You can trust us on that!”

“Yes, totally! One of the most reliable guys we know!” Hagakure agrees.

“And we’re pretty sure he’s into you. Like, in a more than just a casual, party hookup kinda way.”

The way your heart flips when you hear that that cute, overly playful, yet admittedly cool playboy might be ‘into’ you is downright pathetic. You can already feel your grave getting deeper.

But you try to play it off for a while longer, “Okay… and how exactly is that better?”

“Well… that, we can’t really say. But he was clearly bummed when you left last night.”

“As anyone would be if they suddenly got blueballed…” you point out.

“I heard from Ojiro that Sero originally wasn’t even gonna come last night, but he changed his mind when he heard that your usual group was gonna be there!” Hagakure mentions.

Well, even if that was true, that doesn’t necessarily mean that he came specifically for you… But…

“Look, guys, I don’t know what you’re hoping will come out of this, but just let me figure this out on my own, okay?”

It takes a bit of back and forth, but eventually the topic is put aside, and you end the call a while later after agreeing to grab lunch tomorrow.

You’re expecting to have to fight off the topic of Sero once more when you arrive at the diner the next day, but it turns out it might be much, much harder than that once that tall, dark-haired, smiling charmer slides right into the booth seat across from you.

“Hey,” he greets you with his usual ease, “Fancy seeing you here.”

You’re frozen for a second as you just stare at the very guy you have been trying to avoid both physically and mentally for the past two days. After darting your eyes around the diner to see no one else you recognize, you find your voice again to say, “I’m… waiting for Mina.”

“What a coincidence. So am I.” He leans back against the booth seat, and somehow he’s tall enough to comfortably lay his arm out over the top of the booth behind him. Fuck.

Pulling out his phone, he taps on it to show you his texts with her that are indeed inviting him out to grab lunch at this very same diner without any other pretense.

Oh, Ashido… You little…

“And I have a feeling,” he says, still completely at ease as he takes his phone back, “that we’re gonna get a message soon that she suddenly can’t make it.”

“Don’t even jinx me like that…” you close your eyes with a groan, only to hear your phone vibrate on the table just a few seconds later.

Despite your prayers, Sero turns out to have the gift of prophecy, because there it is; Ashido’s sudden cancellation and apology text.

Sero’s phone dings just seconds later, and he chuckles with an amused, “Ah, there it is.”

You suck in a deep breath through your nose and exhale it as slowly as you can before you start typing back a response:

To: Ashido Mina You meddlesome little CUNT i am CANCELLING our friendship 🔪

After hitting ‘send,’ you grab your things and announce, “I’m leaving.”

“Aww, already?” Sero asks with the same easy smile that hasn’t left his face since he got here, “You don’t wanna join me on this blind date that we were suddenly forced into?”

“Call me crazy.” You shrug with a blameless look as you leave the booth. You mumble a quick apology to the waiter before stepping out of the diner and letting out a deep sigh. Maybe now you’ll be able to think without his confidence and wit and face to distract you.

Except—

“Hey, wait up.” His voice follows behind you as a hand catches your shoulder. A long, slender, yet strong hand that you’re suddenly getting flashback sensations of on your hips and jaw and hair.

“What?”

“You know, there’s actually a Thai place right around the corner from here that’s really good.” He removes his hand to point a thumb down the street, “If you don’t have lunch plans anymore, you wanna join me instead?”

Oh, he’s good… Just rolling with the punches and inviting you out on his own terms instead of Ashido’s… Too good…

You want to refuse, but you really are kind of hungry since you slept through breakfast today, thinking that you’d eat your fill when you met Ashido. And you’re not so proud that you’d run away from a perfect lunch opportunity when you need to eat.

So with a defeated sigh, you gesture for him to start walking, “Lead the way.”

Somehow, in that moment, his smile grows wider. And it looks a little different than usual. It's not like that smile that looks like he’s trying to charm the pants (and/or panties) off of you. You can’t exactly pinpoint how it’s different, but it just… feels like it.

The Thai restaurant is a small mom-and-pop shop with a lot of oriental decor on the walls. Not all of it looks necessarily Thai, but somehow it all still feels kind of tied together.

You order what Sero recommends you, since he’s been here before and seems to have a familiar relationship with the shop owners. But once your orders are in and you’re left to awkwardly sip at your lemon water, it dawns on you that you have no idea what to talk to him about.

You’re rattling your brain for literally any topic on the planet, but he pins you with the exact one you had been both expecting and avoiding with your life.

“So, how’ve you been since the kickback on Friday? I’ve been meaning to get ahold of you.”

“Fine? I guess.” You try not to cough on your water as you set it down, “Nothing I couldn’t get over after a day.”

Except the images my brain conjured up of your hands all over me.

“Oh yeah?” He says, that playful smile returning, “Was I that forgettable? Guess I’m gonna have to do better.”

You have half a mind to either play dumb or play along, but in the end, you know you’ll be playing right into his hands either way. So maybe it’s better that you don’t play at all.

Bringing a hand up to rub at part of your face, you sigh, “Look, I’m sorry about that. Please just forget that that ever happened.”

“Why?” He asks without missing a beat, “I’ve been kinda hoping that would happen sooner or later. Though I gotta say I didn’t expect it to turn out the way it did.”

“Yeah, well that’s as far as it goes for us.” You shut it down as quickly as you can, “I definitely don’t have any plans to do that again with you.”

“Really? None at all?” he hums, still looking way too amused for your comfort.

“None at all.” You repeat, “Nothing personal.”

“That’s a shame.” He says, leaning back like he’s all too used to this initial response. Which you’re sure he is, and has managed to change plenty of people’s minds before… “I was really hoping to get to know you better.”

“You can’t get to know someone without making out with them?” The cheeky response is out of your mouth before you can stop it.

He laughs at that, which suddenly makes you feel a little warmer around the ears. Not good, not good.

“Well, it’s not usually as fun, I’ll tell you that.” He chuckles as he sits up in his chair, leaning forward a little more, “But if you’d prefer it that way, then I don’t mind.”

“I wasn’t planning on hanging out with you either way, to be honest.” You say.

“I’m sure. But you’re here with me right now, aren’t you?” He brings up, which you can’t argue against. “Plans can change. It’s not so bad, is it?”

Before you can answer, your food comes out and it smells incredible enough to distract you from making a snappy comeback. You thank the older woman who serves it to you, and Sero gives her a flirty compliment in thanks as well, which she laughs at and playfully tuts him for.

“Always the sweet talker, you are, Hanta. Eat up, you two.” She returns to the kitchen after patting Sero’s shoulder.

After digging into your first bite, your eyes fall closed as you let out a small groan, “Oh my god…”

“What do you think?”

“It’s so good…” you only say after shoveling several more bites into your mouth.

“Right?” Sero smiles wider.

After you’ve demolished about half of your food, you finally start to slow down to a healthier pace. Enough for you to notice a camera snapping sound coming from across the table. Sure enough, you look up and see that Sero is smiling down at his phone that’s suspiciously angled towards you.

“What the heck was that?” You demand, putting your fork down, “Did you just take a photo of me?”

“I couldn’t help it. You just look so cute stuffing your cheeks with something so delicious.” He chuckles as he turns his phone around to show you the picture he took.

Admittedly, it’s not… totally unflattering. You certainly look like a glutton with the way you're chomping down on more noodles than you can fit into your mouth... But in a way, it could be considered cute, you suppose.

But even so, you’d rather not have photos of yourself saved into Sero’s phone, so you reach for it — only for him to pull it away with another teasing smile on his face.

“Delete it.” You say.

“Why? It’s so cute. I’ll send it to you if you want.”

“I don’t need it. Just get rid of it.”

“Fine, fine.” He says, tapping on his phone before making a dramatic pause, “After I send it to someone.”

“Stop! Oh my god.” You jump from your seat to reach across the table for his phone, which he reels back to avoid just in time.

You keep grabbing at it for a few seconds, looking more and more idiotic the longer it goes on. But eventually he relents and shows you his camera roll that no longer has your face among his photos. So you sink back into your seat with a groan.

You’re not really in the mood to eat anymore, but you can’t just let your plate go unfinished. Though in the chaos of all of that ridiculous photo chasing, your fork must have fallen off of the table, since you find it on the ground after a few seconds of searching.

“I could always birdfeed you the rest if they don't have one.” He offers after you ask the owners for a new fork.

You can’t stop your eyes from rolling. Where does he get the gall to say shit like that at every opportunity he can find?

“Yeah, yeah. I know your game.” You say, picking up your water to both take a drink and hide your face in case you’re making some weird expression, “You and your aphrodisiac spit.”

A raspberry sound escapes his lips before he starts laughing more wholeheartedly, “My what now?”

The owner saves you from answering as she hands you a clean fork, which you thank her for before returning to your food. Though you’re a little self conscious when she lingers for a bit. At first you think it’s because she’s watching you eat and waiting for your reaction, but then you see her eyeing Sero — who’s still laughing — with an amused but intrigued kind of look. Like she hasn’t seen him act like this before.

She returns to the kitchen as Sero finally calms down enough to finish his own food too. “You always surprise me in some way. I like that about you.”

“You say that now.” You playfully warn him, “You haven’t known me for that long.”

“Well, maybe I’ll get to change that soon.”

The words themselves sound ominous, but the way he says it as he looks at you with such casual interest makes it feel like something to almost look forward to.

Almost.

You do eventually part ways after leaving the restaurant, where Sero paid for both of your meals by pretending to go to the bathroom first. You had hoped to pay him back or at least get rid of your debt today by treating him to a drink or dessert, so you wouldn’t have to worry about making a promise for next time and agonizing over it in your head until then, but he sends you off without pressure for any such promises.

“But hey, if your ‘plans’ ever change, lemme know.” He says after walking you to the station.

A scoffing sounds escapes your mouth before you can stop yourself again, but you quickly turn tail and walk towards the station, “Ya. You’ll be first to know.” You wave without looking back.

“Bye, [Name].” He calls from behind you in a more… soft voice than you were expecting. There isn’t the usual playful charm that he uses on everyone, middle-aged restaurant owners or otherwise. It surprises you enough to pause on your way up the stairs.

So you turn back, leaving him with just one last grace, “Thanks for lunch, Sero.”

It’s only there for a second before you turn away, but there it is again. That strange, slightly different smile. The one whose intention you can’t exactly pinpoint.

Or if it even has any intention behind it at all.

You sigh as you wonder if it’s already too late for you if you’re already thinking this much about it. About him. When you think back and just replay the way he laughed and smiled at you, it makes your body react in a different way than when he grabbed and held you for a kiss. It still makes you warm but… differently.

Though you have yet to commit to the idea that it’s a bad thing.

—

From: Ashido Mina i'm sowwwwyyyy pls forgive me i'm just a lil cupid in training 🥺👉👈 i just thought u guys would be cute together and stuff don't be too mad plsssss 😩🙏🙏🙏

...

OKAY EXCUSE ME???!?!?? [photo] WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS YOU HUNG OUT WITH HIM AFTER ALL??!?!

..

hello?!?!?!? tell me everything!!!!!!!!!!! 😆💕💓🖤💖🤍

.

—

tbc

part 3

[matt-murdick]

whenever someone proposes a crack fic where Obi-Wan did movies (more specifically, Moulin Rouge), I like to imagine that he also did Down With Love because you know Anakin would have a heart attack watching the phone sex scene

[fauvester]

Hey I'm fairly new to your blog and I've been curious where did the name "Iskra" come from? It means "spark" in Polish and I was wondering if you knew

omg it was unintentional!!

I think Iskra came from Ishka Quark'smom plus skrain [dukat] > memorable 2 syllable cardassianesque name

But I love that it has an unintentional second meaning 🥺🥺🥺 it fits her so well, she's a little sparkler! A little firecracker!

[lokiid-on-ao3]

Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy, Ch 1.

So hey I posted this a few days ago while running on 0 sleep and it was.... something. Anyway, I rewrote and expanded it! (if you read the first version no u didn't <3)

Read the first chapter here or on Ao3.

Chapter One: Killer Queen

Summary: You just want one relaxing day working at Greene's Bookstore. Eddie just wants some new strings for his Fender. Looks like neither of you are getting what you want today.

Eddie was having a shit day. First, he had used up the last of his stash without even realising (and his next drop wasn’t until next Wednesday), then he’d managed to snap his D string while practicing some fucking solo for Corroded Coffin, and then the damn guitar shop had been shut when he’d got there. At 2pm. On a Saturday.

What the fuck kind of guitar shop is shut on a Saturday??

Sure, usually he isn’t even awake at 2pm on a Saturday – and if he is, he sure as shit isn’t functional. But he’d promised the Hellfire kids that he’d have tonight’s session planned and ready to go and, though he knew exactly where he wanted to get them to, he sure as shit didn’t have any of it written down. Not to mention needing to plan backup plans B through Z just in case the little shits decided to go off on a frolic of their own instead of the very neatly laid out and obvious plot in front of them. There was really no telling how any given session would go.

What was he doing again?

Right. Music shop closed. What now? His feet just seemed to keep going, despite having no real destination. The chains on his denim jacket clink aesthetically as he saunters down the busy high-street. It’s really too hot to be wearing the jacket, but he’d be damned if he gave it up. Fuck it. Cold six pack from the corner shop and he’d go back home and knuckle down on planning this damn session. He had big plans for this campaign. His last quest before graduating (or getting kicked out).

His swaggered walk is interrupted rather abruptly when a young woman in a light chequered dress suddenly hops from a doorway in front of him. She stops just shy of slamming headfirst into his chest and blushes profusely, a small stack of dime novels clutched to her chest. She manages to eke out an apology while he sweeps his arm out in an exaggerated motion to let her pass. He catches the names Linda Howard and Jude Deveraux on the spine of the books she carries as she scurries away.

Curiosity piqued; he leans forward to see into the mystery doorway. The door itself is painted an emerald green, peeling at the edges, and is held open by a stack of ancient hardback books – he half expects the spines to read in old English. Maybe a ‘Ye Olde Spellebooke’ or ‘A Gide to Beastes Moste Foule’.

… ‘A Textbook of Physics For Students of Science and Engineering.’ Never mind, then.

Looking further into the small room reveals a stoic line of wooden shelves that guard most of the walls of the store – and are nearly bowing under the weight of what must be every book to have ever been written. He’s never seen so many books crammed into one building. Even the librarians at Hawkins Library would be impressed with the ramshackle way this dedicated store owner had tactically arranged a seemingly cosmic number of books onto each shelf.

‘Or deranged,’ Eddie thinks, though he is more tickled than troubled by the idea. What wall space is not covered by the truly obscene number of books is plastered with framed pictures – portraits, landscapes, a taxidermy butterfly or two. There’s a heavy-looking wooden table in the middle of the room, a mountainous skyline of paperbacks and hardcovers adorning its surface.

Fully intrigued by now, he finally steps into the room; the cool air of which is a balm to his warm skin after wandering under the warm spring sun for so long. As he appraises the candlelit parlour, wisps of incense smoke slide languidly through the air, dancing between the arms of a dusty, unlit chandelier that hangs, disregarded, from the ceiling. The room is seemingly kept so cool by an explosion of heavy fabrics of rich colours draped haphazardly from bookshelves and doorways, which shields the wide glass window from the majority of the midday sun.

In the far-right corner of the room sits another table; one that is arguably the clearest surface in the room. The half of the table that juts into the room is miraculously clear of books, and is instead home to an enormous, decorative, antiquated cash register. The kind that makes the classic ka-ching! noise when you pull the comically large lever on the side. (He totally wants to pull the comically large lever on the side.) It is all glossy black paint and brushed gold embellishments. It looks surprisingly well cared for – as if someone has taken the time to repaint and polish this rescued artifact.

Behind this absolutely mammoth register sits a woman, hopefully the one running the store. She is perched on what must be a barstool – it’s the only kind of chair high enough for the girl to be able to see over the top of the cash register – one leg crossed over the other. Her long, forest green skirt hangs in aesthetic swathes from her calf to the legs of the stool. One elbow is braced on her elevated knee, a well-loved paperback in hand, bouncing slightly as she bounces her foot in time to a turntable in the corner. The other arm is braced in front of the register, tapping her nails against the chipped wood.

He clears his throat quietly, and you jump so hard you practically hit the ceiling.

“Jesus-- Christ, I’m so sorry, you scared the hell out of me!” You laugh along with him at your own jumpiness, so absorbed in your book you hadn’t even noticed him walk in. There’s something oddly familiar about him – the way he smiles and his warm laugh. Weird. Usually you can pinpoint customers you’ve met before with no problems

“Don’t worry about it. I’m a scary kinda guy.” He drawls back.

You chuckle again before meeting his eyes and asking the good old customer service question; “How can I help you today, sir?”

You discreetly eye him while he responds – being honest, he looks thoroughly out of place. The guy is probably wearing more metal than fabric – definitely not the kind of clientele you’re used to. You’re more accustomed to older people and the occasional young kid who still has a thirst for mystical tales and thrilling adventures. Those kids were always your favourite customers.

“Just browsing, for now. The girl nearly mowing me down on your doorstep got my attention. Thought I’d see what was so spooky about a bookstore.” His tone is still cheery as he digs his hands into the pockets of his denim jacket and scans his eyes up and down the nearest selection of books, slowly meandering further into the store with great, swinging steps.

“Ah, Tanya. Lovely girl. New to the romance section.” You say with a knowing kind of mirth, shooting a wink in his direction when he glances back to you.

Speaking of; you collect the small stack of dime novels the young lady hadn’t sprung for from the front desk, and busy yourself with slipping them onto one of the few higher shelves that still had space – away from any young kids’ prying eyes.

He grins cheekily to himself, “Yeah, about that. You sell any real books or is it just the uh… smut?”

When he hears your exaggerated gasp of offense, his grin only grows.

You turn to him, fists braced on your hips, always ready to defend your shop and your readers, “I resent that statement, sir! We carry books of all kinds, for all tastes.”

From across the table he spins to face your mock ire, leaning back against the books. He’s still wearing that weirdly familiar grin. All dimpled cheeks and twinkling eyes.

“So, are you looking for something more vanilla, perhaps? Or will the smut do?” Your goading only serves to broaden that boyish grin, it meets his round eyes and—

Oh.

You totally knew this guy. This royal pain in your ass. This motherfucker. With his stupid brown eyes and, honestly, ridiculous band shirts.

“You.”

It’s not a question – it doesn’t need to be. You definitely know him. This dick would beg you for answers in English and science, then – then!! – have the sheer audacity to commandeer whatever classroom, drama studio or back office you had booked for your writing club, just to move his god damn Dungeons and Dragons game in.

He-

He’s totally still wearing the dorky Hellfire shirt.

He… looks puzzled.

“Me? Have we… met?” He squints at you, like it would help him recognise you any better. The book he was reading the blurb of is stacked upon the mess of the table. Instead of the shelf, where it belongs.

Lord help you not commit murder in this bookstore today.

You stare at him blankly, half expecting this to be some joke. Nope? Alright then. You bark out a laugh, then turn back to your shelves and pretend to be busy organising the mess of paperbacks, “Something like that.”

He tucks his hands into the pockets of his skinny jeans (how he has the space to even fit them in there with the way the denim clings to his legs like a second skin – you have no idea) and takes a few slow, meandering steps towards you, “So… I don’t even get a name? A hint maybe?”

“A… hint?” You try not to sound slightly annoyed. You fail. Why are you so hurt that Eddie ‘the freak’ Munson doesn’t recognise you as his casual mortal enemy from school more than two years ago? You just blame it on this book that simply refuses to go in its place.

“Sure. You clearly know who I am – yet I have no idea who you are. A tragedy, if I may say so myself. One that I would very much like to rectify.” He leans one shoulder against the shelf to your right, hands still wedged into his pockets, all charm and wit. When had he gotten so confident? And… is he trying to flirt with you?

Hell no. Hell. No. Absolutely not – not Eddie fucking Munson. The same guy who once nearly choked on a fucking plectrum after carrying it around in the corner of his mouth all day to try and seem all cool and metal in eighth grade. You spent near a goddamn hour with him at the damn nurse’s office and missed a whole class on tectonic plates.

“Clearly not tragic enough for you to remember my damn name the first time around, Munson,” you jab back, though more playfully this time. You really don’t want to hold it against him – it’s not like you were the best of friends! Just… constantly at each other’s throats. “Shouldn’t you be playing knights and monsters somewhere?”

He almost rises to the bait. Almost. It had always been a sure-fire way to derail him – misquote some lore or spout some nonsense about his fantasy game and he’d sit and prattle away at you, spilling facts and anecdotes like a broken faucet. Instead, he watches you walk back to your high stool behind the cash register and leans his elbows on some books stacked precariously high on the centre table. He leans his chin on one hand, continuing to watch you in that infuriating way.

“No... No I’d definitely remember you,” Whatever that’s supposed to mean, you have no idea, “So how do you know me?” he squints, deep in thought for a second, then he seems to get some stupid idea because he has that look in his eye and-

“You been stalking me, pretty girl?”

This time it’s your turn to choke.

You splutter at his joke – you’re not sure which you’re more offended by, the stalking accusation, his use of ‘pretty girl’, or the fact he still can’t remember your damn name. He’s now got that stupid smirk on. That one where he’s pulled off some clown act just for laughs – you saw it often in middle school.

“I- Of course not, Munson,” you roll your eyes and suppress your own smile, “If you aren’t going to buy something, then leave, nerd.”

“Hey now, hey. I’m sorry, was that too far?” He backtracks with no small amount of levity, hands raised in front of him in a gesture of placation. The asshole actually seems genuine about the apology under his glee at having gotten under your skin. Weird. But something you do must jog his memory, because this intense look of realisation suddenly replaces his smirk – you can almost hear the cogs turning in his mind – and he cuts you off before you even get a chance to respond.

“Oh! Oh, shit, it’s you! The uh- the um… the book club girl!”

Great. Cool. Book club girl. Probably worse than him remembering nothing at all.

Is this how the people from Hawkins High remembered you!?

He has one hand pressed to his forehead, the other outstretched, alternating between frantic clicking and pointing as he desperately tries to remember your damn name. It’s almost painful to watch. He struggles for another few seconds, even starting to bounce on his heels amidst all the ‘hmm’s’ and ‘uh’s’. You decide to put him out of his misery, biting your own name out with crossed arms and a raised brow.

He throws both hands up dramatically, “Of course! God! How could I forget. Y’know, I think you single-handedly got me through ninth grade by letting me copy off you in all of Ms Davis’ quizzes.”

You arch a brow at him, “No shit Eddie. I don’t think I ever saw you write anything down. Ever.”

He laughs boisterously, “Yeah! I still don’t.” His laugh simmers down to that ever-present grin, “So hey, what are you doing here? I thought you’d have gone out of state for college the second you graduated.”

You fight off a wince, “Well. Plans change.”

He waits for you to elaborate. You don’t.

“Very cryptic! I like it!” He carries on grinning, unperturbed by your loaded response, “So hey, got any recommendations? I’m thinking fantasy, but nothing too heavy or, y’know, smutty – can’t be blushing like a fair maiden in history class.”

Damn. Damn. Your one weakness. You love giving book recommendations – and he even seems sincere about wanting your opinion – even if he is making a joke out of it.

You consider refusing your help as payback for forgetting your damn name.

… Fuck it. You get up with a sigh and more eye-rolling, for good measure.

“Wasn’t aware that you could even read, Munson.”

He looks positively giddy, even in despite of your snide remark.

“Well, I thought you could teach me Beauty-and-the-Beast-style sometime. Until then at least I can look at the pictures.” He quips back, undeterred. He even throws in a wink at you when you make eye contact with him.

You laugh quick and short, “Didn’t know you’d become a wit either.” Your tone is dry – though there’s no real venom behind it even now. You’re tracing the shelves, looking for a familiar spine.

“You know me, pretty girl. Always full of surprises.”

You shoot him another withering stare before you crouch down to check the lower shelves – you swear that book was around here somewhere - “Use my damn name, Munson.”

“Only when you use mine, pretty girl.” He emphasises. You can see him rocking from his heels to his toes out of the corner of your eye. Oh, he’s enjoying himself far too much.

“Ha! Found it,” you spring back to your feet, dusting your knees off and wielding a small but thick paperback in Eddie’s direction, “The first instalment of one Terry Pratchett’s Discworld Series: The Colour of Magic.”

“Terry… Pratchett?” He takes the book from your hands gently, turning it over after inspecting the front cover.

“Yep. Wrote Strata? Dark Side of the Sun? God, Munson, you been living under a rock!? Fantastic Sci-fi books, if that’s your thing. This one is more fantasy-comic. I think you’ll enjoy it.” He nods slowly while you talk at him, appraising the blurb on the back.

“Okay. I’ll take it.”

If you’re being totally honest, you expected him to put up at least some kind of complaint. Maybe a jab or two at your expense. But no, he’s already rifling through his pockets for his beat-up leather wallet.

“… Really?”

“Yeah. You sold me,” He slaps a crumpled note into your hand, “You read a lot of fantasy, pretty girl?”

You’re still reeling as you round the cash register again; enough, even, to not comment on the ‘pretty girl’ thing, “Yeah- yes, I do. I loved the Silmarillion – actually, all of Tolkien’s work.”

He’s silent for a suspicious amount of time. When you look up, he’s practically vibrating with excitement:

“I fucking love the lord of the rings.”

He might actually explode. You try to stem the flow of the classic Eddie Rant before it can begin, “You read The Hobbit too?”

“Uh? Of course?” He takes the time to look offended by the thought of you even needing to ask – until you pull the lever of the cash machine to get him his change, and the thing lets out a borderline obnoxious ka-CHING!

He giggles like he’s still in middle school before whining – “aw, damn. I wanted to pull the lever.”

“God, you still haven’t grown up, huh,” you chuckle when he shakes his head ‘no’, totally unbothered by the comment, “I’ll let you pull the damn lever next time.”

“You promise!?” He gasps playfully and pumps his fist enthusiastically when you nod at him.

“Fuck yeah. I’ll be back next week to cash in on that promise, pretty girl.”

You groan, “Did you even mean to make that pun?” He’s busy cackling. “You know what? Never mind. See you next week, Eddie.”

“Next week. This book better be damn good,” He jokes as he leaves the store.

Well. That was quite the interruption.

True to his word, a week passes before Eddie shows up in the shop again.

You’re just bagging up a few paperback mystery novels for a lovely lady named Gertrude when he whirls in through the door. He seems better dressed for the weather – his black jeans now have rips in them with a wallet chain hanging from his right hip, and he’s without his typical denim jacket. He’s still wearing the Hellfire club tee though.

You wish Gertrude a lovely day, and he waits all of two seconds before he’s slamming his hands down on your desk.

“You got anymore Pratchett?”

“Well hello, Eddie. It’s nice to see you too! Gosh, isn’t the weather lovely!” You drawl, pointedly.

He waves a hand dismissively, “Yeah, yeah, sure, whatever it’s sunny- look, I need more of that guy. That book was fantastic.” He’s practically tripping over his own words he’s talking so fast.

You can’t help the smile that splits your face, “I fucking knew you’d love it.”

You get up and round the table, and Eddie is quick on your heels, “You’re right! You were right. It was the first time I’ve laughed, hard, at a book. It’s perfect.”

Somehow, though the compliment wasn’t really aimed at you, you preen under his generous adulation. This is exactly why you love giving book recommendations!

“Glad you enjoyed it so much,” you reply through chuckles, already scanning the shelves for your next offering, “Unfortunately it’s still pretty new, so we won’t be seeing book two for a while yet. How do you feel about horror?”

“I read the whole thing in, like, a day. Horror is okay.” He’s bouncing on the balls of his feet, alternating between watching you and looking around the room with wide, excited eyes. Perfect. You knew exactly which book to give him next. You pull it off the shelf and display it to him with a flourish.

“Stephen King?” He reads.

“You read it yet?” God, you hope he hasn’t.

“Nope. This my new assignment?” He grins cheekily back to you.

Score. “Absolutely. It gets pretty heavy, but he’s a fantastic writer.” You sweep back to the cash register, book in hand.

“You think he knows he spelled ‘Cemetery’ wrong?” He jokes while he sidles up opposite you, already digging his battered wallet from the pocket of his jeans.

“It’s part of the plot Munson, you’ll find out why!” You’re already excited to hear his review of Pet Sematary. It had taken you weeks to finish the book – you were so grossed out and on edge that you damn near abandoned reading it altogether. Time to see if he’s as tough as he likes to make out.

“Alright, alright. If you say so,” he shakes his head, handing you a crumpled bill.

You almost forget- “Will you do the honours, sir?” You curtsey dramatically with an open-handed gesture to the lever of the cash register. He smiles broadly.

“Oh hell yeah I will,” He grasps the ball at the end of the lever with a hand adorned with rings, and pushes. Perfectly on cue, the cash register lets out a tinny ka-ching.

He’s giggling the whole time, shoulders shaking and tongue poking out from between his teeth. It’s almost endearing, how enthused he is to just… pull a lever. What a dork.

By the time you have his change picked out and his book bagged up, he’s mostly calmed down. Mostly.

“Actually, I need to pick up another copy of The Colour of Magic – if you have it?” He looks at you questioningly and continues after you nod at him quickly & shoot off to pick up a spare from the back, “Dustin keeps trying to steal my copy is all. The little thief.” He calls through to you while you rummage through the inventory.

You laugh and call back, “Is he even old enough to be reading it? Last I saw him, he was just a kid!”

When you hop back through the doorway with your successful find in hand, he has this surprised look on his face, “You know Henderson?”

“Of course! I mean, we went to the same school for a while. Also his mom is a big fan of my range of smut.” You tease him, and he recoils at the thought of a grown-ass, single woman being a fan of a racy book or two.

“Oh, super didn’t need to know that. Thanks. So much.” His face is still scrunched up and he shakes his head as if to clear the thought away. You weren’t aware it was possible for his hair to get messier.

“What!? She’s been single for years, at least let her read about a fictional lady getting some, Munson.” At this point you’re just revelling in his discomfort. It’s pretty funny to see how he squirms about it.

“Mm. Nope. Don’t need the image. Stop.”

You drop the subject, focussed on reworking his change with the extra book.

“…You read any of those books?” Your head snaps up at the question. He is very preoccupied with a chip at the edge of the table that he’s picking at. Is he honestly trying to figure out whether or not you read borderline porn?

You laugh it off, if only to have something to say, “Wouldn’t you like to know, Munson.”

His cheeks are a little red as he looks up at you with wide, but mirthful, eyes. He opens his mouth to retort but is cut off by the sound of another customer clattering into the shop.

“Hi George!” You wave to welcome the regular in, then pointedly hand Eddie his bag, and change. You think about what to say to Eddie, still watching you even as he takes his belongings. Fuck it. The risk is worth his reaction.

“If I don’t read the books, Eddie, how am I meant to know which to recommend?”

He stares at you. His eyes are wide open, jaw dropped. The longer he stands there, the redder he gets. You can’t help it. You laugh at his shocked expression. What did he honestly expect?

“You know. For purely academic reasons.” You’re still giggling at the look on his face.

“Uh- yeah. Yeah, of course. Just research.” He eventually manages to get the words out, head ducked as he focusses extremely hard on getting his change back into his wallet.

So the tradition began. Every Saturday, at midday, Eddie would come through the door with a critical review of the last week’s read, and you would pick a new novel each time. Over the weeks you begin to get a better read of his character, how he’s always cheerful about something, he likes metal but can’t stomach horror books. He’s dramatic, and ostentatious, and confident, but not pompous. Never arrogant. Always respectful of you and the other customers (he’s an especially big hit with the older ladies, always impressed by his manners and complimentary personality).

How he can dish out any amount of teasing and joking flirts, but absolutely cannot handle it when you needle him back.

You’d even go as far as to say you had become good friends.

You still bullied him about Hellfire though – even if you didn’t mean a word of it.

The first time you miss a day at work, you realise you had forgotten to warn him when you wake up, warm at the thought of getting to see your new friend again – just to realise you wouldn’t be anywhere near Greene’s.

You didn’t realise that you’d enjoyed his visits so much, that you’d be so disappointed even though this Saturday was a huge milestone for you. Still, you feel awful that he’d go to Greene’s just for it to be closed. Oh well. You’ll just have to make it up to him the week after.

The next Saturday, you’re worried he won’t even show up. The clock strikes 3pm. Usually he has broken your damn door down by 1pm. Sometimes earlier. You’re bracing yourself for him to no-show – not that you’d had exactly told him to be here today.

… You also push back the question of exactly why you have to brace yourself for that eventuality.

Instead, you try to focus on reading the small paperback you have cradled in your hands.

You’ve just managed to progress past the one paragraph you’d been reading over and over again for the last hour when-

“And just where the hell were you last week!?”

Eddie opens the door so hard it almost slams against the wall.

“What are you, my mom?” You laugh breathlessly – you were shocked by his entrance. That’s all.

He stands across from you, fists rested on his hips in his best approximation of the ‘disappointed parent’ look. The façade shatters when he eventually breaks into his own laughter, while you recover from your own.

“I’m sorry! I forgot to tell you; I had a meeting out of town last Saturday. But it’s business as usual now! Promise.” You fold your hands in your lap, book forgotten on the desk.

“Sure, sure. I’ll forgive you,” he sniffs, then turns to make his usual track around the shop, inspecting the shelves as he goes for any standout titles, “You got another rec for me pretty girl?”

You almost forgot about that nickname. Your stomach flutters just a little.

“Depends. You gonna start using my actual name, Munson?”

“You first.” He winks at you over the Mount Doom of books on the table.

Rolling your eyes, you reach under the table you’re sat at and slap two new books down.

Eddie gasps, “Two?”

“Yeah. The Lost Tribe and Ghost Hunter. They’re called gamebooks. You read and make decisions, and there’s a bunch of different endings and stuff. I thought you’d like the idea!” He looks at you very intensely for a few seconds, face unreadable. But he says nothing. Just pulls his wallet out – that thing must be on it’s last legs. It’s practically falling apart at this point.

He still hasn’t said anything, “… You want them?” you try.

He just nods. Okay. Sure.

You’re so busy with the old register that you miss the way his eyes go from intense and calculating, to sharp and excited. He smoothly slides his hands onto the weathered wood in front of you, pushing his fingertips towards you, like he’s bracing himself to make a big business deal. Or share an evil plan.

“You know…” he starts suddenly.

You pause, midway through digging his change from the register. That was a very dangerous tone he just picked up. He continues, a sly drawl to his delivery; “D&D is like a fantasy book that you get to be in—"

Oh you know fucking exactly where this is going, “I’m not joining your damn goon squad, Munson.”

“Come on, you’d love it! It’s totally fantasy, you can be whoever and whatever you want, there’s romance, and action, and decisions – and magic!” He’s leaning towards you now, hands still planted on the worktop, voice equal parts enthusiastic and whining, “Plus? You get the performance of a lifetime from yours truly.”

You regard him dubiously, “You tell all the girls you invite to Hellfire that?”

He begins to try and sweeten the deal, “I’ll buy the beer?”

You arch your eyebrow.

“Donuts?”

Your lips begin to quirk.

“Fine. I’ll throw a joint in too. Jeez, you’re really taking me for all I’m worth here.”

You continue your silence. You tell yourself you just want to see how far he’ll go just to get you to join his game.

He tilts his head down, looking up at you through thick lashes. All warm, doey eyes and plush lips—wait what-

 “C’mon, pretty girl. I’m begging here.”

Oh no. You really don’t like the way that look made your stomach drop, like someone pulled that gaudy, patterned rug on the shop floor from right out under your feet.

You consider it hard, “Just one session? And you’ll stop being weird about it?”

He breaks out into the most dazzling smile, “Fuck yeah. You busy tonight?”

...Tonight!?

[aroaceleovaldez]

i got distracted from writing a revived-jason au jasico fic to write the roadtrip au, and now i’ve gotten distracted from writing both to write a different jasico fic. I still haven’t finished the lukeethan fic. I have an entirely different Kronos!Percy au I also want to write. I’m doing great, guys.

[carnivorousyandeere]

Genuinely don’t know how to phrase this, but the erosion of boundaries here on tumblr is very concerning. The shit my friends get in their inboxes… like, you do realize we’re all still people behind these screens and pen names, right? 😭

[neatokeanosocks]

why can't i ship characters in a "enemies" kind of way. What if i'd like to make them hate each other so much they look stupid. Urge to kill oughta be as strong as a romantic relationship, idc these two characters never met in canon. hate wins

[peppermintquartz]

Minific, post-Playroom

Finn, Regal

*

Finn calls two minutes after he gets William Regal's okay, and he begins with: "I thought you'd retired, Sir."

Regal grins and shucks off the jacket. "What can I say, dear boy? I see a promising young thing and I just want to make sure he's trained by the best."

"Like I was."

"That's not jealousy I'm hearing, am I?" Regal teases. He removes his cuff links and sets them in a deep green ceramic tray. "You've long since grown past the need for me."

"Never, Sir," Finn replies loyally, though both Regal and Finn know that it's not true. It's still a comforting lie to hear, nevertheless. "Do you want me to run a check on his background? I know you have your sources, but some of mine have access to younger parties."

William Regal hums to himself. His sources are old school, that much is true, and since his retirement he hasn't been as diligent in keeping up with the gossip on the Grapevine. "That would be wonderful, my dear. Now, do see yourself on a trip my way soon. I'd love for you to meet Yuta. Such a ray of sunshine, he is."

Finn laughs. "I bet he warms you right up, Sir."

"Just basking in his warmth." Regal glances over at his study, where his newest acquisition is kneeling shirtless, hands behind him, waiting for correction on his performance tonight. Licking his lips, Regal murmurs, "I'd love for you and your pet to visit. He'll learn a lot from you two."

"I'll make the travel arrangements after I get more information." Finn's voice turns suggestive. "If you could send a photo or two, I'm sure I can persuade Seth to take an extended weekend break to visit you."

Regal smiles. "As you wish, dear boy. As you wish."

[haarute]

reading posts about people noticing things that you do being its own form of love, and then thinking that the thought of being perceived at all is actually terrifying to me because i cannot imagine a situation where that wouldn't be a criticism of my person. and the realization that this is not supposed to be the case is wild to me lmao.

[orcelito]

When I went to the store yesterday I overheard a girl behind the counter lamenting about how hard it is to flirt with girls bc if u compliment them they just think ur being nice and it's just like. Girl, mood