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anjelicawrites · 3 months ago

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Another blurb that ran away from me and developed on its own. John Price x reader. SFW but 18 + only please!

If this was an 80's movie, this would be the moment when the record scratches into a halt, and you'd say something like "Yeah, that's me! And if you're wondering how I got here...", meaning hovering near your front door where Captain John Price is shirtless, eating a bowl of muesli with the most believable case of bed hair, as your ex is trying to win a stare contest against him, well, it's all your ex's fault, to be honest.

The asshole, meaning your ex, had decided to ditch you, after a five years relationship, when you two were talking about getting married, for a colleague, who had fucked him for a while and then moved on to someone else. The asshole, your ex, had then tried to start things back with you, right when you were out of the mourning period and did not want to try again: he's lost his chance and you're nobody's bloody rebound, right? No, it seemed, since he kept sending you gifts and flowers you promptly threw in the trash, kept calling you multiple times every day, even managing to get a hold of your new phone number, changing his whenever you tried to block him. He had even started to pop by your house, every Saturday morning, to rope you into these long conversation, which ended with him either telling you to rethink your decision, or that he will wear you down until you'll forfeit your silly ideas.

Suffice to say that your nerves were frayed, you had been stress baking for the better part of two months, bringing the excess of it you couldn't share with your neighbors to the base, counting on the personnel there to demolish the daily equivalent of the production of a small bakery.

You didn't think anyone would notice how anxious and tired you have been, how easily a noise would startle you or that you were constantly near tears because of every small mistake you did at work; for the most part you were right, no one took notice, no one but Captain Price.

Being the person who is at the end of the chain of organization and storage of all the reports written in the base, means him and his men interact with you constantly, mostly because they're late with their paperwork and you're tired of waiting. You're the one who keeps order in the chaos with a level of patience and over fixation Price has only seen in people ready for martyrdom, or serial killers. He likes you, genuinely, for the glimpses of personality that you let out at work, hell! Even when you have to pop by his office to remind him of the reports you're still missing, you're never an asshole, just someone who knows he's overworked, who understands it, but who is in no better waters than he is, so please, can he help you out at the best of his abilities? Absolutely, ma'am, and not only when paperwork is almost swallowing the two of you, you just need to give him a chance!

You never meant to share your issues with him, the guy is a colleague and you aren't even military bloody hell! But that fateful Friday afternoon you were truly at the end of your rope, desperate for a solution that seemed to elude you (despite everything you didn't want to go the police) and he was there, up on the roof where everyone goes to have smoke in peace, his eyes so soft and understanding that you had opened the floodgates, told him everything because you needed a sympathetic ear (you didn't cry, even though you almost did when he had put his big hand on your shoulder to comfort you).

He had listened, intently, unlit cigar forgot in the pocket of his military issued shirt. He had mulled over everything while you were busy blowing your nose and his lips had curved in a smile that spelled trouble.

"It's a bit cheeky." You had responded to his plan. "And I can't ask you to do that."

He had finally lit his cigar and stared at you with eyes so full of mischief you had felt warmth flood your whole body.

"You're not asking, love, I'm offering."

You had rummaged into your purse to find your own cigarettes, and to take a breather from his blue eyes boring into yours.

"Do you really think it would work?" "Muppets like him hold more respect for another man's words than they do to anything else."

And they probably don't want to mess with someone who is in the military, you think.

"What if he doesn't pop by tomorrow?" "Has he, ever?" "Nope."

Anxiety sank her claws into you again: not another Saturday morning lost listening to your ex's whines and bitching!

"Let's do this!" You quipped, before you could change your mind.

Price arrives at the brink of dawn, strangely chipper for someone who must have had just a handful of hours of sleep. He makes sure to park his car where it can be easily spotted and to give you one old T-shirt of his for "realism" (the theater kid in him is having a field day, the early Internet days troll is elated: he doesn't get to be this petty at work as much as he likes).

You are still half asleep, this must be why you keep stealing glances at him as your brain keeps telling you how handsome he is in civilian clothes, and without a hat, how big his shoulders are now that he's sitting on the tiny chairs in your kitchen, drinking tea from one of your cat themed mugs.

"You hair needs to be a bit more tousled." You say, when you hear your ex's unmistakable ring at the door.

Without thinking you push your hands in his short strands and just scruff everything up, until he looks like he's fresh out of bed.

"It's showtime." He winks at you.

You try not to stop breathing when he removes his hoodie and shirt: Jesus Christ the man is packed and clothes don't make him justice! You have to force yourself from staring at the dark hairs on his chest, and the dog tags glinting in the morning sun.

Leisurely he grabs the bowl he's filled with yogurt and muesli, his naked feet slap on the tiled floor; you can't see his face, he's already sporting the most bored, uninterested expression he can muster.

From the kitchen you can hear your ex's indignant "Who are you?", followed by Price's "Who are you, mate.": how does he know that your ex hates when he's getting a question for an answer?

"You're in my partner's house!"

You can picture the way his cheeks must be turning red with anger, what you can't imagine is the long, bored, stare that Prices gives him, scanning him head to toe, only to get back to his breakfast, because the other man is not a threat.

"So, you're the loser who's sniffing around what's mine when I'm away, defending this Country."

You cringe: it's a bit too macho and chauvinistic for your tastes, but there's a message that needs to be send.

"What's yours? What's yours?" Your ex screams. "We've been together for five years!"

There's a bit of silence, broken only by Price's munching on the muesli.

"You forgot about that when you decided to go fuck that other bird, didn't you?

This is your moment. On a whim you remove your jogger pants before you join John, who is still leaning against the door frame: you're going off scrip a little, but it shouldn't be an issue.

"John? What's the racket?"

Your hair is already a mess, thanks to the ungodly hour your alarm clock had awoken you, add your naked legs and the sleepy way you're rubbing your eyes, you look like someone who has been fucked into the bed and is still trying to collect their bearings.

"Nothing, love, go back to sleep."

Your ex is fuming when he sees you slide under John's arm, who hugs you closer to his big body and kisses the top of your head.

"What's this?" Your ex screams in your face. "This is John, the man who has been making me happy ever since you left me."

Your ex is gasping, you're enjoying the way he's not finding his words.

"You didn't tell me!" "I didn't have to, it's none of your business who is fucking me so good I don't have to fake an orgasm or two to inflate his pride. You should have listened to me when I told you I'm not interested anymore."

Around your shoulder John's arm tenses when you ex lifts his hand, as if he wants to slap you.

"You're nothing but a cheap whore." "Who will not fuck you for all the money in the world." You hiss.

Calmly, John pushes you behind him and stands in his full height in front of your ex.

"Listen, muppet, I'm letting you go easy this time because I don't want to cause a scene. You call my partner a whore, you keep harassing them, and you'll have to eat through a tube for months."

The sheer malice, the threat that's lacing John's words sends a shiver down your spine: he's not playing around for the sake of this whole scene, he will hurt your ex if he keeps popping back in your life. You know you shouldn't like this, but you're so done with him stalking you that a part of you is preening.

John stands tall in front of you, arms crossed despite the bowl; you can't see the way his whole face turns dark when a joyless smile graces his lips, you notice the slight hip trust he does, as if he's challenging your ex to come at him. He doesn't pull away from the doorway until your ex slams the door of his car and races away as if the Devil is on his tail.

When he turns around all that malice is gone, back is the man who had consoled you on the rooftop, who is ten times more handsome when he looks like he's just rolled out of bed.

"This was funnier than I thought it would be!" You say.

You don't know when your laughing turns into hysterical sobs, all you can feel is John's warmth when he hugs you tight, his hands caressing your back with soothing, gentle motions, the rumble of his voice as he repeats sweet nothings until you stop, still enveloped in his safe embrace.

You know you shouldn't, because this man has helped you in this strange way, but you don't want this hug to end, or to him to go back to his home. You want to stay locked in his arms for the whole weekend and it's not because you have been ready to move on from your past relationship.

"I ought to feed you a proper breakfast, it's the least I could do!"

He doesn't stop hugging you, yet it doesn't feel awkward, as it should, you two are two strangers, basically!

"You don't have to, love, it was my pleasure."

Price would have been lying if he were to say that he hadn't noticed you, back when you started at the base: this cute thing with a spine of steel who had slapped ridiculous stickers on the work laptop and who had, somehow, trained his scary lieutenant into finishing his paperwork in time, if not with a smile under his mask, at least with some energy. He had never made a move because he knew you were taken, he didn't want to be a willing wedge in your, seemingly, happy relationship. Knowing what a muppet your ex is, he would have followed his instinct and courted you away from that imbecile. Now that you're still in his arms he wonders if you'd let him take you out on a nice date to show you what a real man looks, and acts, like.

"No, no, please! Let me!"

You're still pantless when you start dishing out containers of baked food: biscuits, half of a Sachertorte and too many muffins that he cares to count.

"I'd spare you Lieutenant Riley's cookies, they're basically sugar and I need them for his next batch of reports."

John leans against the kitchen door frame, arms crossed against his naked chest.

"Don't tell me that's how you trained Simon into finishing his paperwork in time."

You turn around, a whole plate of waffles and pancakes in your hands.

"Sorry?" You don't look at him. "I didn't mean to."

You look so earnest and embarrassed that John can't help but laugh: no one will ever be able to waterboard this information out of him.

"Let me treat you to a nice breakfast out. It's the least I can do after you have been feeding me and my men for years."

Only now you seem to clock on the fact that you two are way too undressed than what is proper.

"John, you already did so much!" "Don't let my tone fool you. It's only a tactic to discover how you managed to bend Simon's stiff neck."

You both know he's lying or that this is not his real endgame, the only question here is: do you want to play along and see where all of this will lead you?

You set the plate on the overcrowded table and take a big breathe: why shouldn't you? You'd beat yourself up for the rest of your life if you'd let a nice specimen as captain John Price slip from your fingers!

#john price x reader #john price x y/n #john price #cod x reader #cod fanfic #call of duty fanfic

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alera21 · 2 months ago

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saw your post about half-disassembled computers, so here's the minimum bootable configuration for my old laptop.

her fan is held onto her cpu heatsink with electrical tape, and with her chassis shucked there wasn't a place to screw in the m.2 storage. i held it down for her until deciding on a permanent solution (not pictured) with more electrical tape.

the daughter board off to the left is where her power button is, and the one behind her in the photo is where she plugs into the wall.

ive been thinking about turning her into a cyberdeck because her cpu is pretty damn efficient for a decent amd64 w/ internal graphics (15W TDP), but i haven't gotten around to that so she hangs out under my bed.

So fucking precious! Small, delicate, naked, a beautiful piece (even if I know that laptop boards are almost always some nonstandard piece that doesn't like to function on its own and blegh, I wish parts would be more standardized, but still good). Clothing removed, parts stripped down to within an inch of he life. Beautiful.

Also reminded me that comp sci people are freaks and it is daughter boards and not, like, dottir boards or something, why'd they need to fill my laptop with incestuous terms? Not that I'm complaining.

Fucking beautiful. A lot of things have black pcbs at this point, and it can give a sleek look, but there's just somethong so nice about the green pcb. It's just so Computer, I'm never going do leave the green pcb.

God she looks so... Scrumptious though! And impressive being that power efficient too (I love laptops for their low power draw, if I just need to run one small server or a single program 24/7 I put it on a laptop because of the low power draw). Can I eat one of her ram sticks? She doesn't need both right? Tear it out of her while she's running even? She's already been stripped of so much, she could take it.

Give her a home in a proper housing sometime, preferably with clear plastic though so I can still stare at her bare board

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phylliecheesesteak · 1 month ago

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Octonauts AU-All together now!

Basically this is an AU where all of the octonauts and octo-agents live together in the Reef Base H.Q. The Reef Base H.Q. was shown in episode 21 of season 4-Octonauts: Above and Beyond.

Pt. 1-Quartering

Everyone is split into 6 quartering rooms known as bunkers. The bunkers include four beds and a ten by twelve space between each bed, and each space is separated by a thin, sliding wall. These walls are thin, but insulate about as well as the average wall, because on the RBHQ, the normal walls are about 10 inches thick. In between the walls is about a 3 foot gap for space and ability to leave the bunker, as it makes a hallway in the middle. Each bunker has two bathrooms including showers and toilets, a storage closet, a name, and houses about 4 people. The walls have replaceable tiles, meaning the resident can choose any color wall tiles they want for their corner. The floors are hardwood. Any differences are stated in the bunker's description, and all bunkers are listed below.

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The Captains' Bunker

Includes:

Capt. Barnacles

C/M Kwazii

2/O Tweak

2/O Dashi

This bunker is designed differently than the others. It's split into two parts-the lower deck, on the same level as all other bunkers, and the upper deck, separated by three stairs. On the lower deck, Tweak sleeps on the left side and Dashi sleeps on the right. On the upper deck, Capt. Barnacles takes the left side and Kwazii takes the right. Barnacles and Kwazii get the upper deck because they have the official titles of Captain (Capt) and First Mate (C/M). Tweak and Dashi have the official titles of Engineer and IT Officer respectively, but they both have the title of Second Mate (2/O), hence why they are in the Captains' Bunker. The bathrooms are more spacious in this bunker.

The Seniors' Bunker

Includes:

Prof. Natquik

Prof. Inkling

RGR Marsh

Pir. Calico Jack

The Seniors' Bunker is missing one bed, and that's because Inkling doesn't sleep in a bed-he prefers a chair. Inkling is in the bottom left corner, Natquik is in the top left corner, Calico Jack is in the top right corner, and Marsh is in the bottom right corner. It's miserable, because since Calico's been alone on conquests for so many years, he's forgotten he snores really fucking loudly. And all three others in the room have sensitive hearing. Exhibit A: Calico Jack: *Peacefully snoring*

Prof. Natquik: "..I'm going to shove a shoe down his throat."

Ranger Marsh: "Please do.."

Prof. Inkling: "Perhaps investing in earplugs would be a better solution?"

Prof. Natquik: “I can’t wear earplugs! I need to hear any possible noise around me."

Prof. Inkling: "You're almost more paranoid than our favorite snorer over there." He points to Calico Jack, who is still blissfully unaware that the people next to him are about to give him a DIY lobotomy.

The Vegimals' Bunker

Includes:

Tunip

Grouber

Barrot

Codish

Halibeet

Sharchini

Tominnow

Pikato

The Vegimals' Bunker does not have slide out walls. They all worked together with Shellington to decorate the walls with a pastel rainbow scheme. This bunker has 8 small beds, and they have two extra bathrooms because they have double the residents. Tunip has caught his siblings multiple times in their shenanigans in the middle of the night, but can’t really stop them all.

The Juniors' Bunker

Includes:

Bud

Koshi

Pinto

Periwinkle

Bud is basically the babysitter for Periwinkle, because Periwinkle is a baby and Bud is the most responsible one in the room, being the oldest. There are two beds in the storage closet of this room for when Ursa and Olson come to the RBHQ. Occasionally, older members come in to take care of/hang out with younger members.

Unnamed Bunkers

these are the two bunkers I couldn’t decide on names for. Help me out guys :(

Bunker 1

Peso

Shellington

Paani

Tracker

Bunker 2

Pearl

Min

Ryla

Selva

I really like this idea, so add onto it freely! Make headcanons, draw comics, have fun!

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copperbadge · 1 year ago

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Well it is definitely being a real fifth of Wednesday.

The HVAC started leaking again and as I told the company when I called, "The trickle has become a flood" -- my bathroom rug and the pad underneath it were soaked by the time I found out, and essentially I can't run the A/C for more than about half an hour without the leak starting up again (it's condensate that's somehow not draining properly).

There are actually three leaks -- two of which are physical faults. The drainage pipe is cracked where it connects to the unit, so it's dripping, which is not actually a huge issue because I can just put a pan under it, but it will need to have the part changed out.

The real problem is the other two leaks -- one from just above the filter rack, one from a gap in the weld below the filter rack. Those are an issue because you can't "catch" the water, it's running down the housing and onto the floor.

I did manage to rig up a solution until the tech can come out -- it turns out using packing tape to secure a sheet of plastic (cut up trash bag) to the housing actually works really well to channel the water off the housing and into the pan. (See the vertical seam in the metal next to the "HOT" label? Water's coming out the bottom of that, as well as out of the interior of the unit into the gap just above the HOT label.)

So at least the water's now going mostly into a pan and not onto the floor, and I don't have to change out towels every few hours, since I only have three towels to start with and no in-unit dryer.

The bathroom reeks right now, which I think is mainly down to the bathroom rug being draped over a chair in the shower with a fan going on it to dry it out. But at least most of the condo doesn't smell, and I can run the A/C without flooding the bathroom, so, small victories.

Dearborn has been watching from her favorite perch, on a sweater storage bag in the hall closet, and is Very Unimpressed.

#a real fifth of wednesday situation we got here #sam owns a home

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windvexer · 2 months ago

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Hey Chicken!

I have a room in my house, my home office and art studio, that I just can't stand to be in for very long. It always feels small and dark, no matter how much space I clear or how many lamps I hang from the ceiling. I've tried cleaning, cleansing, some spell I did years ago with a black candle and a white candle that I don't clearly remember. It's become a storage room instead of a place of creativity and productivity. No other room in the house feels this way.

The house was once my neighbor's (yes I moved next door) and they were the first occupants since it was built, and as far as I know nothing bad happened in that room.

I'm hoping for some insight as to what might be happening here. Is it an issue of stronger cleansing or banishing or something else entirely? I would like to be able to use that room again.

Howdy! Sorry for the delay. I didn't have a lot of great ideas so I went to The Counsel (*chat group) and they didn't have a ton of ideas either, outside of course of checking to make sure there's not a secret mold or invisible gasses problem in that particular room.

My only idea is spirit working and acts of reclamation.

So I believe an act of the Witch is to define reality and define boundaries; this constitutes part of the fateweaving inherent to Witchcraft.

We expect that when we take possession of a property and become caretakers of the home that the house and the rooms in it follow on expected tracks of fate and 'becomes ours,' but through acts of magic we can take control of this process and perform it intentionally.

Therefore a solution to your problem may be to perform a ritual or magical act of reclamation on this room, to basically redefine this space as being under your protection and support, to be yours.

Before you do this I highly recommend a general offering ritual to ensure that the reason for this problem is not that a spirit is in this area, irritated or put out by your intrusion on its space, or otherwise upset at you for some unknown infraction.

Perform a general offering ritual within this space or outside the door if that seems best, requesting that any spirit within or associated with the room take your peace offering and depart or restore the room to its natural state. You can also basically give offering to the room itself, which IMO sort of amounts to a rejuvenation spell.

Give it a few days and see if this helps. Then, if all seems appropriate, perform an act of magic to consecrate the room and dedicate it to yourself.

#answered

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germanpostwarmodern · 8 months ago

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Asked about the high points of architecture in the former GDR many will probably name the demolished Palast der Republik in Berlin or maybe Ulrich Müther's delicate shell constructions. A smaller but no less exciting example is the so-called Glashaus (1974-78) located in the Volkspark in Jena, a highly unusual building in which architect Friedhelm Schubring channeled influences from Richard Neutra and Mies van der Rohe. At this point one might wonder how a building with such obvious references to western architecture could be realized under the GDR’s tight architectural doctrines. The answer to this anomaly in the GDR’s architectural history is the fact that it was deemed insignificant: a small building designed as part of the Volkspark’s redevelopment to house different functions didn’t bring the architectural ideologists on the scene. The only struggles Schubring had to wage were with some of the craftsmen who at first opposed some of the architect’s detail solutions, especially with regard to the large windows and their adhesive joints. Ultimately Schubring’s insistence paid off: the Glashaus due to its Neutra-esque Spider Legs and the Miesian wall slabs stands as a unique example of architecture in the GDR beyond all doctrines.

In time for the 50th anniversary of the architect’s planning application the sponsoring association „Glashaus im Paradies e.V.“ recently published the small catalogue „Das Glashaus - Zeitlos modern“ in an edition of 200 copies. The catalogue contains a retrospective of the association’s manifold activities and exhibitions that took place in the Glashaus but also a comprehensive overview of the building’s history. The latter actually is rather sad since it was never properly used and in later years became a storage space for Jena’s city administration. Fortunately „Glashaus im Paradies e.V.“ in 2005 attended to the Glashaus, initiated its authentic renovation and finally used it for a multitude of cultural events and exhibitions.

The building’s outstanding architecture also appears in the numerous drawings and photographs included in the catalogue. They are supplemented with quotes by the architect and an insightful essay by conservator Heribert Sutter who discusses the history and constructive details of the Glashaus and why it is so special. Simply a great read!

#friedhelm schubring #architecture #germany #gdr #ddr #architecture book #monograph #book

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solacescastleglow · 5 months ago

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How to Make an EDC that Actually Works for You

So often, I look at people's EDCs (everyday carries) and think 'OK, but there's no way you're gonna use all of that'. Because, to be honest, I wouldn't use 3/4 of the stuff that's in these videos. But I do prefer to go out knowing I won't need need anything I don't have, so there's a happy medium. Here's how I worked out mine, and how you can too!

1. Data collection

First, go out with only what you absolutely need (clothes, shoes) and a pen and paper. If it would be dangerous or impossibly impractical for you to go without something, that's a need and will definitely be in your EDC. Note that something that feels necessary and something that is necessary are two separate things. Anyway, every time you need something or use any extras you've taken with you, write down the need (i.e. instead of 'phone' write 'entertainment'/ 'communication', instead of 'taser'/'knife' write 'safety'). If it's already on your list, write it again. Do this for a week, going about things the way you always do.

2. Data analysis

Look at your list. The things you wrote down the most often are the things you really need to prioritise in terms of quality and convenience. Highlight or put a circle around those. Then, for each need, list out all the different ways to meet that need, and the pros and cons of each. For example:

ENTERTAINMENT (EARS) • phone - pros: has lots of other uses, spotify / cons: distracting, yet another screen (ick), uses up data • walkman - pros: not as distracting, old timey charm, no internet or data usage / cons: requires cassettes, can only play one at a time • mp3 player - pros: not as distracting, can put anything on there, no internet or data usage / cons: i have to put songs on beforehand

In this instance, an MP3 player seems like the best option for me. Your list might be different. Do this for every need you had. Make sure everything you list out is something you either already have or can get easily, and that every option is legal where you live.

3. Data analysis pt. 2

You should have a bunch of lists now. Are there any that can be combined? Let's say I have a need for music and communication and the internet. That MP3 player's not looking as good as the phone right now, is it? But just because it can be combined, doesn't mean it should be. If I really wanted to save on data and the Spotify subscription, I could have a phone with the internet and the MP3 player. I can't make that kind of decision for you, just go based on what feels right.

4. Filling in the gaps

Now, I want you to think of scenarios that you have found yourself in at least 3 times, but not during your data collection week. Maybe you've unexpectedly gotten your period, or someone threatened you in some way, or you got someone's number and had no way to write it down. Think of solutions for those things too. Again: legal, practical, acquirable solutions.

5. Assembly

This is the fun part: time to get your EDC together! You can have multiple depending on the situation, but your core EDC should remain the same. This is made up of the solutions to your highlighted or circled needs, plus anything that's small enough that it's worth taking with you.

My circled problems: recording information and ideas, telling the time, entertainment (ears), entertainment (eyes/brain), payment, proof of identity, physical support, vision, getting into the house, hydration, cooling down, COVID safety, extra storage, peace of mind

My core EDC: notebook and pen/cil, watch, MP3 player and in-ear headphones, small book or e reader, wallet, forearm crutch, glasses, keys, small water bottle, hand fan, mask, hand sanitiser, a foldable shopping bag, small emergency kit*, a keychain torch (with a strobe setting for self defence)

If you've noticed that I didn't mention my phone, that's because my SIM card is broken so it's useless outside of playing downloaded music. It's also just nice, you know? I only bring it if I'm going somewhere further away than I usually go, and when it's fixed I'll probably still do that.

*lip balm, liquid IV and a werther's original, 3 each of the meds I need need, a bit of money, a band aid, 2 pimple patches.

6. Storage

Every outfit (including bags) you wear outside the house should be able to hold, at the very least, your core EDC and anything else you need for that particular outing. Since I carry a lot in my pockets, I store everything in a set place when I'm at home so I don't lose things. I keep them in my bedroom, where I get dressed, but you can put them by the front door if you live alone. If you use the same bag every time, don't bother.

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You might do all of that just to realise you don't actually need to change anything about what you carry. If so, sorry! But if not, you'll either get stuck in bad situations way less often or have more space for what actually matters. Happy travelling!

#self improvement #edc #everyday carry #what's in my bag #op

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mariaofdoranelle · 1 year ago

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The Toilet Theft

Written for @throneofglassmicrofics, prompt ‘Thief’

HAPPY SUPER LATE BIRTHDAY FOR AELIN!

Sorry about the delay for this one!

Words: 816

Warnings: unforgivable crimes (a small theft)

For Aelin’s birthday, the last thing she expected was to wake up to an empty bed.

Empty bed, empty shower, empty kitchen—an empty apartment overall, Aelin noticed as she looked for him. Not her ideal birthday morning, but Rowan must’ve had a good reason to leave her stranded like this.

He did leave some special breakfast with a cute note, so that’s what she focused on when her boss called.

“Salvaterre,” she greeted. “Do you miss me already?”

Just a joke to tease her grumpy superior, but work only started in 40 minutes.

“Galathynius.” A sigh that came from deep within his bones. “Can you explain why there’s a pharaonic toilet paper pyramid sitting on your desk?”

403 days before

The only bad thing about celebrating new jobs after being penniless is that sometimes you forget to schedule it for after pay day—which was exactly what Aelin did when she arranged drinks with Lysandra at a fancy bar in an hour.

But there’s a solution for every problem, Aelin realized as she ate dinner—free cookies from the break room. It was a lot more than the socially acceptable amount so it could constitute as ‘dinner’, but the jar would be refilled in the morning, and no one was there to see her rude misuse of that office perk. At this hour, the closest people to her were her new bosshole and Hot IT Guy, in a late meeting two doors down.

Back to her issue, Aelin opened the groceries list on the phone and decided what she could buy after her pay day and what she would get from her parents’ house soon. After all rearrangements were made, there was only one urgent thing left.

Toilet paper.

The only inescapable item she couldn’t wait until groceries at her parents’ or pay day.

Her eyes immediately slid to the toilet adjoined to the break room. At this late hour. When maintenance would be back in the morning.

No one has to know.

Before giving herself time to give up, Aelin locked herself in the bathroom and opened the little storage cabinet under the sink. The two rolls of toilet paper she picked barely fit inside her work tote bag, but her coat did a great job of covering the stuffed purse, since closing the zipper wasn’t an option anymore.

She unlocked the door, ready to leave, and noticed that Hot IT Guy was now in the break room, holding a dark green mug.

“Long day, huh?” He said, without his usual scowl for what might be the first time since Aelin first saw him.

A polite smile. “Sure.” Aelin readjusted her overstuffed bag so it wouldn’t be too visible to him. “Have a nice evening.”

“I—“ He interrupted her walk out of the break room. Swallowed. Put his mug down. “May I walk you to your car?”

Oh, for Mala’s sake.

356 days per year, and the hottest guy in the office decided to hit on Aelin the day she was committing theft.

“Of course,” she answered with a smile, because if anyone could pull off stealing and flirting at the same time, it was her.

With one arm slung over her purse as a safety measure, they made small talk in their way out of the office, and Rowan, as she had just found out, only got more attractive as he spoke, as rare feat for guys on their twenties.

A few steps into the open parking lot, Aelin was met with a chill breeze that made her entire body shiver, which didn’t go unnoticed by oh-so-attentive Rowan.

“It’s supposed to be spring by now, I’ll never get Orynth’s crazy weather.” A huff. “You should put your coat on.”

Aelin plastered on a too-fake smile. “No need, thanks.”

“No, I insist—“

When Rowan tugged on the coat on the top of her purse, both of them froze as one single roll of toilet paper broke loose, rolling down the floor and leaving a white trail on its path to freedom.

Present time

The staring part wasn’t exactly embarrassing for Aelin, but she understood her boss—it really was a disturbance, a three-dimensional, pharaonic kind of toilet paper pyramid taking over the entirety of her cubicle’s desk.

The pyramid was as wide as it was tall, and Aelin realized that someone really tall must’ve made that birthday surprise for her. Someone tall, who got up distinctively early to prepare this stunt, and who also knew both about her toilet paper incident and her birthday today.

Honestly, the Happy birthday —B card by the pyramid was an insult to her intelligence. That fucking Buzzard.

Aelin walked past several cubicles until she found Rowan’s desk, then silently crossed her arms before him, her questioning expression enough to prompt him.

Rowan put his dark green mug down and gave her a smile warm enough to shock their coworkers.

“Happy birthday, Fireheart.”

You can get notified when I update by either turning notifications on for @mariaofdoranelle-fics or entering my (sometimes glitchy) tag list!!

TAG LIST

I couldn’t tag the people in bold, sorry!

@aelinchocolatelover

@autumnbabylon

@bookcide

@booksandteaonarainydayislife

@cookiemonsterwholovesbooks

@courtofjurdan

@dreamer-133

@elentiyawhitethorn

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#rowaelin #rowan whitethorn #aelin galathynius #throne of glass #rowaelin fanfiction #rowan x aelin #aelin x rowan #rowaelin fanfic #throne of glass fanfic #throne of glass microfics

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stereopticons · 3 months ago

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On This Day in Schitt's Creek: March 31

2018

I Hang on Every Word You Say [david/patrick, T, 2,730] by undersail2013

They should have had this conversation four months ago. (Post-4x09, "The Gesture")

2019

Comfort Food [david/patrick, M, 8,593] by bigficenergy

David's shame-based eating habits and the actual love of food that they cover up tend to go unnoticed. Patrick notices.

Temporary Love [david/patrick, T, 910] by @thefirstmrshummel

Just a short bit of smooshy fluff with feelings, inspired by Ben Platt’s song Temporary Love. Buy it and drown in the David/Patrick OTP feels, y’all. Actually, buy the whole album (Sing To Me Instead) because it’s brilliant.

2020

a phone call away [clint/marcy, G, 2,938] by @hullomoon

It's hard to read between the lines when you don't know to look there. or Patrick's calls between his parents while he's in Schitt's Creek.

'Cause We Belong Together [david/patrick, G, 1,973] by TheMaura

David and Patrick try and make everything ok. Maybe they should have talked to each other first. Ficlet Coda to The Pitch.

got a bad desire [david/patrick, E, 7,821] by @rockinhamburger

Privately, Patrick has long suspected that the people around him and the people in every movie and TV show about sex were exaggerating when they couldn’t seem to get enough of it, sometimes couldn’t even stay faithful to partners over it. He couldn’t relate at all to his friends and classmates when they began talking about sex endlessly, and he’d had none of the curiosity about girls that they did...The fuss is starting to make sense. His desire for David is so strong it feels like an actual entity. Or, Patrick's journey of abandoning himself to uncontrolled desire.

pastimes [david/patrick, NR, 1,373] by @maxbegone

It's after hours at Rose Apothecary. There's a bottle of wine, some untold stories, and Stevie never helps.

2021

At The Beginning With You [david/patrick, E, 45,596] by @fishyspots

There’s still a lot more that Patrick wants for them, is what it’s about. A bigger house, because Stevie’s whispered teasing about how their cottage is really too small for the rest of their lives and the way David elbows her to shut her up itches at the back of his brain on a weekly basis and whenever David texts him a creative storage solution. He wants David to always say our store like he’s proud of it. He needs more nights curled up on the couch with David, feeding each other bites of whatever David’s baked because now that they have a kitchen, David’s made his feelings on Patrick’s limited cooking repertoire very clear and taken over the lion’s share of their dinners. More nights telling each other stories about their days, present or past, as the sun sets through the big window on the west wall. Things will calm down after the third store opens. Then they’ll work more on reestablishing themselves as a unit in town and Twyla’s consternation over making both of their drinks before she realizes David isn’t with him will be a thing of the past. It’ll take a while, but they’ll get there. Or, marriage is a verb. David and Patrick work on it, three years in.

Gonna Be Friends [david/patrick, T, 659] by everfuckmore

A series of moments between Patrick and Stevie, sometimes involving other characters.Currently rated T, but rating may change.

I like you very much, just as you are [david/patrick, T, 17,958] by @sweatersinthesummer

A Bridget Jones's Diary AU. What more is there to be said? **You don't have to have read the book or watched the movie for this to make sense.** (Sometimes I forget that not everyone is middle aged and therefore familiar with pop culture from the late 90s/early 2000s.)

in paper rings, in picture frames [david/patrick, T, 17,498, CW: noncon/dubcon, self-harm] by lucianowriter

PLEASE READ TAGS! David and Patrick used to be college roommates. Then Patrick misses his chance to admit how he feels. The two fall out of touch for three years until a major trauma brings David back into Patrick's orbit. Patrick doesn't think he can properly help, but David's shaky trust says otherwise.

Indonesia [gen, G, 300] by Rosey_Peach

It Ain't Cheatin' [If it's Not Against the Rules] [david/patrick, T, 9,079] by BeneficialAddition

David sees some things and comes to the logical (albeit incorrect) conclusion. Patrick is just trying to explore his queerness.

Kidnapped [david/patrick, T, 977] by @rmd-writes

Of course David was texting Patrick when he found out that Stevie had effectively dragged him along to play chaperone on her weekend away with Emir and of course he was texting him during karaoke with Tammy

like coming undone [david/patrick, E, 5,937] by LFTPD

In which Patrick has Big Dick Energy, he just doesn't have a big dick.

March 2021 Twylexis Drabbles: New Beginnings [alexis/twyla, E, 3,112] by TwylasCafeTropical

31 drabbles to spotlight Twylexis from the lens of "new beginnings," written by an assortment of Twylexis authors! These drabbles are all stand-alone, and are not necessarily intended to be continuations of each other. We'll add tags and adjust the rating as needed, and we'll also link each drabble's author and specific rating at the top of each chapter. Hope you enjoy them!

We do talk shit [david & ronnie, G, 163] by @steviestoospooky

Ronnie and David talk shit (and are kinda sweet)

2022

Everything was made of glass (as fragile as a sigh) [david/patrick, M, 13,653] by felttip

An AU in which: David Rose is a fashion designer. Patrick Brewer is a musician. Their paths cross in the most unlikely of ways and both learn that maybe every thought about themselves is all wrong.

In Hindsight [david/patrick, G, 716] by loverosecreek

Having broken off his engagement, Patrick is leaving town and needs a place to stay. High school friend David offers for him to come stay with him and his family in Schitt's Creek. Love and shenanigans ensue.

what a way to make a livin' [david/patrick, T, 3,621] by @stereopticons

David gets a job as an art columnist for a local magazine but has to share a desk with the sports writer. They communicate primarily via sticky note. Teasing and flirting ensues.

You'll be handsome and you'll be beautiful (You'll be happy) [stevie & david, T, 1,149] by lesbiantism

When Stevie was a child, she would cry and throw a fit when her mother tried to put a bow on her or put her in a dress. The first sign of the “tomboy” phase she’d never grow out of. Or Stevie is transmasc, and this is their journey to figuring that out

2023

Father's Day [stevie & johnny, G, 733] by @fictasticvoyage

Stevie finds a way to let Johnny know how she feels about their relationship.

let my love fix you up [david/patrick, T, 1,675] by @stereopticons

Getting downstairs takes quite a bit longer—and somewhat more clinging to the banister and silently cursing—than usual, but he manages. When he rounds the corner, he smiles at the sight of David in his favorite armchair, wearing the glasses he swears he doesn’t need and intently focused on something in his lap. It’s hard to tell from this angle, but it looks like he’s sewing something. Patrick leans against the wall and just watches for a moment. He’s always loved watching David work, the way his long, graceful fingers work with such precision, the way his brow furrows, the way he gets so absorbed in the task that not even an appearance by Mariah herself could distract him. After Patrick is injured while hiking, David takes care of him.

2024

a long winter of indifference [david/patrick, T, 1,728] by @stereopticons

The resulting infinitesimal shift in their marriage grew and swelled with each little stressor—the anemic sales throughout December putting a strain on their savings, the damage the cottage sustained in an early January snowstorm, all the little swipes and jabs they’ve taken at each other in the intervening months—and now David is staring at the rigid line of his husband’s back, afraid that something’s been irreparably damaged.

March With Me [david/patrick, T, 16,148] by @tyfinn

Daily flash fics for the month of March.

Stats:

No fanworks for 2017 2018: 1 fic/2,730 words 2019: 2 fics/9,503 words 2020: 4 fics/14,105 words 2021: 10 fics/101,279 words 2022: 4 fics/19,139 words 2023: 2 fics/2,408 words 2024: 2 fics/17,186 words Total: 25 fics/167,040 words

#on this day in sc #schitt's screek #sc fanfic #sc fanworks #david rose #patrick brewer #david x patrick #patrick x david #alexis rose #twyla sands #johnny rose #stevie budd #ronnie lee #ted mullens

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dertaglichedan · 4 months ago

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WA storage unit tax could raise nearly $500M by 2035 — if it holds up in court

(The Center Square) – State lawmakers are scrambling for cash to fill the state’s budget shortfall, and one solution could involve redefining storage units as retail sales to impose additional taxes on renters and owners.

The Evergreen State isn’t in a deficit yet since the $10 billion to $16 billion shortfall is due to upcoming spending over the next four years. However, the Office of Program Research, made up of nonpartisan staff for the Washington State House of Representatives, has estimated a budget shortfall of $6.7 billion for the 2027-2029 biennium.

Balancing the budget is a priority for many this session, but unless lawmakers plan to cut spending, they’ll have to raise or create new taxes.

State lawmakers proposed numerous bills to fill the void, including House Bill 1907, which would levy a sales tax and a business and occupation, or B&O, tax on rental storage units. The facilities are exempt from both, but the Legislature wants to reclassify them as taxable to generate more revenue.

“There are 46 million square feet of storage space in Washington state,” Rep. Strom Peterson, D-Edmonds, told the House Finance Committee Tuesday. “Closing this tax loophole and bringing in some of those funds to help with our housing crisis is something that makes sense.”

If approved, HB 1907 could generate $16.2 million in 2026 and more than $489 million through 2035. Committee staff said that money would support affordable housing and “the establishment and preservation of cooperatively owned manufactured home communities.”

The Association of Washington Cities, or AWC, and a few housing providers testified in support of HB 1907. The AWC represents nearly all of Washington’s 281 towns and cities, including their interests, which include increasing tax revenues and local housing supplies.

In contrast, several people testified in opposition to HB 1907 on behalf of the Washington State Self Storage Association and individual facilities. If approved, the bill would require the facilities to pay the B&O tax, which cuts into their profits, and renters to pay the extra sales tax.

Those in opposition argued that self-storage units provide a valuable service to low-income residents who lack the space at home or one altogether. Additional taxes would make renting even more expensive for some renters while digging into small “mom-and-pop” shops around the state.

***This State.. Instead of cutting spending, they continue to look for "Loop Holes" to tax us more. Sadly they are more worried about maintaining The Addiction-Industrial Complex, then all the actual taxpayers who are just trying to get by.

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geniusboyy · 6 months ago

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Covenants and other Provisions

Chapter 29

Testaments

WARNING: Explicit Content Ahead

In the quiet hours of the night, Ford moved like a shadow through the house. His arm was in a make-shift sling now, stiff and awkward against his side, but he paid it little mind. Fiddleford’s door was shut, and Ford hesitated as he passed it, listening for any sign of stirring.

But none came.

He moved again, slowly, meticulously, each spot where the floorboards creaked committed to memory. He quietly turned into the kitchen, illuminated only by the light of the waxing moon. He listened for another moment, glancing over his shoulder for good measure, then crossed into the stairway.

The lab was bathed in the pale glow of standby lights, machines blinking softly in the corners. Ford slid between two hulking pieces of equipment, their surfaces cool and smooth as his shoulder brushed past. He moved toward the far corner, where a small, half-empty storage room sat largely forgotten.

This room was a relic of earlier days—of experiments half-started and abandoned. Shelves sagged under the weight of unused supplies, their labels faded, their edges coated in a thin layer of dust. Ford methodically cleared the space, his movements mechanical, yet slow, careful to not pull the stitches freshly woven into his skin, but by the time the room was cleared, the faint ache in his arm had turned into a sharp, rhythmic throb. But he ignored it.

He laid a rug in the center of the floor, smoothing its fibers with his good hand before turning to the equipment he’d prepared earlier. Beside him, a black, viscous solution sat on the floor in a glass beaker—an experimental dye compound he’d created for better imagining. The glass stirring rod already dipped and sitting in the fluid clinked at the edge as he lifted it.

He was crouched low, his knees creaking softly as he settled onto his haunches. He grabbed the rod steady in his good hand, pulling it out of the solution. The black substance stuck to the glass, clinging to the bulbous end of the rod, thick and opaque.

He pressed the loaded tip into the fibers of the rug, applying just enough pressure to mark it. Slowly, deliberately, he began to turn on his heel, his body pivoting in a deliberate rotation. As he spun, the circle formed around him, standing out starkly against the worn fabric. When it was complete, he paused, staring at the closed shape, its perfection sending a strange thrill through him. He set the rod down and picked up a smaller instrument—one of Fiddleford’s precision brushes, used for fine soldering work.

He knelt at the edge of the circle, the journal open at his feet, its pages illuminated by the soft glow of a flashlight. The glyphs in his journal stared back at him, their forms jagged yet balanced, like fractals carved by the universe itself. Ford traced one with his eyes, his fingers hovering above the page for just a moment, before dipping the brush into the dye and pressing it into the rug.

One by one, he copied them, painting each one equidistant from the last. When the glyphs were done, he connected each point to all the others with a steady hand, the black lines converging into the intricate geometry of a pentadecagram.

Ford sat back on his heels, his chest rising and falling with quiet exertion. The symbols sprawled before him felt alive, its black lines stark against the rough texture of the rug. He glanced once more at the journal, then back at his creation, his pulse thrumming in his ears.

Ford moved to the walls next. He dipped the slender glass rod into the beaker, the black substance clinging to its tip in heavy droplets. The weight of it felt significant in his hand, almost ceremonial, as though the tool itself understood the gravity of what it was being used for.

Starting at one corner, he pressed the rod against the wall, dragging it steadily to the other side, leaving a stark, unbroken black line in its wake. It was sharp, its edges clean despite the uneven texture of the wall. Ford’s hand never wavered, his focus honed to a single point.

At the end of the first line, he angled upward, the rod gliding smoothly as he drew the second stroke. He connected the line to another angle, forming the sharp peak of a triangle, before dragging the line back down to meet the opposite end of the first.

At the center of the triangle, Ford pressed the rod into the wall, drawing an oblong shape, its curves just brushing the three sides that enclosed it. He worked with the meticulous care of an artist restoring a masterpiece, each line deliberate, each curve intentional. Finally, he made a single stroke down the center of the oblong shape, bisecting it cleanly.

He repeated the process on the next wall, then the next, the dark symbols spreading like veins across the room. The same shapes, the same precision, until they surround him from all three walls and the back of the door, the black lines stark against the grainy surface.

Ford returned to the circle at the center of the rug, the flashlight’s beam casting a harsh light over the journal in front of him. He sank down cross-legged, his injured arm resting awkwardly against his side, the sling feeling more like a restraint than a support.

The journal lay open on the floor, the glyphs staring up at him—begging to be spoken. Ford’s eyes roved over the pages as he silently translated the markings. He knew them by heart, had etched them into his memory long before this night—but he studied anyway.

He squeezed his eyes shut and the words rose in his throat like smoke, dense and acrid, clinging to his vocal cords as he began to recite them. His voice was low at first, barely a mumble, but it carried a weight that seemed to ripple through the air.

The first syllables came easily, the rhythm familiar, almost instinctive. But as he continued, his body began to tremble. His shoulders twitched with each syllable, his breath catching on the edges of the words as they poured from his mouth. And then it hit hard, midway through the incantation.

Ford’s head jerked, his throat constricting suddenly. His jaw had locked, leaving his mouth open, the chant stuck in his throat. His head trembled, his face turning red as he choked on it. A wave of sensation crashed through him, racing down his spine and radiating outward, static crackling through his veins, pushing against every nerve.

The pressure built, and he forced himself to breathe—a sharp, desperate gasp, before driving the words out. His voice strained, the syllables dragging across his throat like barbed wire. His eyelids trembled as they rolled back entirely.

The final syllable left his lips like an exhale, and with it, Ford’s body went limp, his head hitting the wall behind him with a dull thud.

The transition was violent and disorienting—one moment, he was falling backward, his body slamming toward the unforgiving wall of the storage room; the next, he was face-down in cold, shifting sand, the tide creeping insistently over his prone form. The chill of the water bit at his skin, its weight rising swiftly from his ankles to his chin, until it spilled into his mouth—the sharp taste of brine jarring him to full awareness. He coughed and spluttered, pushing himself up on trembling arms.

The world around him was new yet familiar. The sky above stretched endlessly, veiled in a stark overcast that blurred into the mist-laden horizon, where sea and sky seemed to dissolve into one another. The low, rhythmic roar of waves filled his ears as he pulled himself to a seated position. His clothes were soaked and clinging to him, heavy with water. The wind teased through his hair, plastering errant strands against his forehead. He reached up, brushing them aside before his hand instinctively moved to his arm.

The sling was gone, and with it, the dull, ceaseless throb that had shadowed every movement. Yet, when he peeled back the waterlogged fabric of his sleeve, the stitches remained—dark and jagged against his skin. Even here, in this place that seemed untouched by time or consequence, the wound lingered—a quiet, undeniable testament to the price he had paid to return.

Shaking the sand from his hands, Ford glanced down and spotted his glasses, half-buried near where the tide had receded. He plucked them from the grit and wiped them on the edge of his shirt, only to find his efforts futile as droplets smeared the lenses. With a sigh, he slipped them on, squinting to adjust to the hazy clarity they offered. That’s when he saw him.

Bill sat a few yards away in the shallows, his legs folded beneath him as the tide swirled gently around him. His head was bowed, long white hair hanging wet and dark over his face. His hands hovered before him, his fingers splayed as though he were discovering them for the first time. He turned them over slowly, studying the lines of his palms with an almost unnerving focus.

“Bill.” Ford’s voice cracked, hoarse from the salt, but urgent as he staggered to his feet. The cool water splashing around his ankles as he stepped through it.

At the sound of his name, Bill’s head jerked up. His eyes locked on Ford, wide and searching for a split second, as though he weren’t sure what he was seeing. Relief flared briefly in Ford’s chest—But then something shifted. Recognition dawned in Bill’s expression, and with it, a searing intensity that hardened his features. His brows drew together sharply, and his mouth set in a thin, furious line.

“You,” Bill spat, his voice low and venomous as he stood, moving toward Ford. The sharpness in his tone sliced through the ambient lull of the tide. The water surged around his feet, churning with the force of his movements.

Ford barely had time to react before Bill shoved him—hard. The impact sent him stumbling backward, his heels digging into the wet sand as he fought for balance.

“Stupid,” Bill snarled, striking Ford’s chest with the flat of his palm.

“Bill—” Ford tried, his words falling uselessly.

“Stubborn,” Bill hit him again, the force stronger this time.

“Bill, I—”

“Asshole!” Bill shoved him with both hands now, the strength behind it was enough to send Ford stumbling again. “I told you to turn back!”

Ford gritted his teeth as he caught his balance, but Bill didn’t relent. Ford surged forward, his feet digging into the soft ground beneath the tide when his hands caught Bill’s, halting his next strike. The grip was firm but steady, holding Bill in place as he strained against him.

“I know,” Ford’s voice rose over the ocean’s din, commanding but tempered. He tightened his hold when Bill jerked, trying to wrench free. “I know, I’m sorry,” he said, softer this time, though urgency bled into every word.

Bill froze for a moment, his breathing shallow and fast, silken strands of hair plastered to his cheeks by the sea spray. Water streamed down his arms, dripping from his fingers where Ford held them.

Ford inhaled deeply. “I should’ve listened,” he admitted, his voice quiet but firm. “I didn’t know that would happen.”

But Bill wouldn’t be steadied. He yanked his wrists free with a sharp breath, stepping back as though Ford’s touch had burned him.

“I was alone,” Bill hissed. The water surged, licking at Ford’s shins now, as though echoing the blow. The statement landed hard, exactly where Ford had feared it would.

“I—I had no body.” Bill went on, his hands twitching at his sides before one shot up to clutch his temple, nails raking into his skin as though desperate to dislodge something unseen. “But it was still so…cold.” He broke off, his breath stuttering in his chest, and for a moment, he stood completely still, as if the weight of the words was too much to bear.

Bill’s breaths came in uneven, staccato bursts, “I’d almost forgotten what that place was like,” he said, his voice going brittle.

Ford stepped forward, cautious but insistent, his voice calm despite the ache building in him. “What place?” he asked, “Where did you go?”

Bill turned sharply, his face twisting with resentment—or maybe grief. “The same place I’ve always been,” he said. His eyes narrowed on Ford’s. “For billions of years.”

The tide continued to rise and fall between them, a steady rhythm that seemed to mock the chaos roiling in Bill’s voice. “Do you have any idea what that’s like?”

“Bill, it hasn’t even been a full day,” Ford said gently, reaching for him and finding his shoulders, firm but careful.

But Bill turned out of Ford’s grasp, slapping his hands away. “Time has no meaning there,” he spat, “An instant, an eternity—it’s all the same,”

He huffed, running a hand through his hair, slicking it back from where it clung to his skin. The gesture betrayed his unraveling composure.

“And now—” His voice cracked again, rough and biting as the rising tide seemed to press harder against their legs. “Now I can feel it. I can really feel it, and it’s—” He stopped, his words catching as though they’d lodged in his throat.

Ford took a careful step closer, his hand halfway extended. “Bill…”

Bill pointed his finger as if he were unsheathing a blade, the gesture almost shaking with restrained fury, stopping Ford in his tracks. “You did this to me,” he snapped, his lip curling as he spoke. “You’ve infected me with this… condition.”

Bill let out a harsh exhale, turning abruptly, his bare feet splashing against the shallow tide as he strode toward the shore. Ford followed at a careful distance.

“These chemicals,” Bill muttered, his voice sharp and uneven. “Bursting and mixing in my head all the time—” His hands flew up, erratic and frantic, slicing through the air before they landed on his temples, pressing in, as if he could silence the cacophony inside. “I can’t shut it off!”

Ford quickened his pace, closing the gap between them. “Bill,” he said, his tone low and steady, a deliberate contrast to the storm raging in front of him. “Listen to me. It’s okay. It’s not going to happen again—I promise.”

But the words, spoken so carefully, only seemed to ignite something in Bill. His body jerked, and he spun around, his fists trembling as they rose to strike again, his teeth bared in frustration, “Don’t make promises you can’t keep!”

Ford didn’t flinch. He stepped closer, catching Bill’s wrists again, his grip firm. The tension in Bill’s body burned, sharp and thrumming beneath Ford’s fingers. But Ford didn’t waver.

“Bill,” he said, his voice a steady anchor against the chaos.

At first, Bill struggled, jerking against the hold, but Ford held his ground, and slowly, the tension began to unravel. Bill’s shoulders sank, his breaths evening out, though his wrists still trembled in Ford’s hands.

For a long moment, they simply stood there, their breathing the only sound between the crash of waves.

“I didn’t think you were coming back.”

“Of course I came back,” Ford’s thumbs loosened slightly, “We’re partners.”

Bill shook his head, “None of the others…” He stopped himself for a moment, “By now, they’d all—”

“Hey,” Ford interrupted, his tone soft but commanding. He released Bill’s wrists, his hands moving to grasp his shoulders instead. “I don’t care about before,” Ford said, his gaze holding Bill’s. “And neither should you.”

Ford swept a few loose strands of hair from Bill’s face, smoothing them back, his fingers lingering for a moment at the nape of his neck. “No matter what, I’ll find you,” Ford said, “Every time.

Bill stared at him, his eye searching, desperate, like he was trying to find cracks in Ford’s resolve. “What if—”

“Every time,” Ford repeated, his voice firmer, leaving no room for doubt. His thumb brushed along the edge of Bill’s cheekbone, a steadying gesture, before he leaned in. Slowly, deliberately, he tipped Bill’s face upward, and their lips met.

Ford’s fingers slid into Bill’s hair, holding him steady. The motion wasn’t urgent, but it wasn’t careful, either. Bill let out a faint, almost inaudible sound, his hand sliding down from Ford’s chest to trace the lines of his body. His fingertips brushed the slope of Ford’s arm, following the fabric of his shirt until—

Bill froze. Beneath his palm, uneven ridges met his touch. He pulled back sharply, his attention darted to Ford’s arm. His fingers curled around Ford’s wrist, yanking his sleeve up to reveal the jagged line of sutures carved into his skin. His lips parted, the question forming before he even realized it.

“What happened?”

Ford’s expression flickered, just for a moment—a brief flash of something impenetrable—before it was gone, replaced by a small, wry smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Collateral damage,” he said simply, his voice low but unshaken. His hand moved deliberately to Bill’s face, fingers brushing his cheek. “I’m okay. There were… more important matters to deal with.”

Bill’s gaze lingered on the wound, his mouth curling slightly in frustration. “You’re too reckless.”

Ford’s thumb brushed over Bill’s lower lip, his eyes drawn to the small, subtle motion. “And I’d do it again,” Ford replied, his tone softer now, “A hundred times over if it meant getting back to you.”

Bill started to speak, but Ford was faster. He tilted Bill’s head, leaning forward. His lips grazed the curve of Bill’s neck, soft yet possessive, leaving a whisper of heat where they lingered.

The sound that escaped Bill was somewhere between a scoff and a sigh, rough and involuntary, like he was fighting against it and failing. He didn’t move away. If anything, he leaned into the touch, the pretense of indifference unraveling by degrees, his body betraying him in the subtle forward tilt of his shoulders.

Ford’s lips moved higher, brushing just under Bill’s jaw, the warmth of his breath coaxing goosebumps across his damp skin. One of his hands trailed down the length of Bill’s neck, his fingertips barely skimming the water-slicked curve.

The fabric clinging to Bill’s shoulders was soaked and heavy, but Ford eased it aside with deliberate slowness. The shirt peeled away, revealing the pale expanse of skin beneath, smooth and silken to the touch. Bill let out a huff, low and pacified, tilting his head just slightly, exposing more of his neck to Ford’s attention.

“Being away from you…” Ford’s voice, gentle and husky, was barely more than a whisper against Bill’s ear, but it cut through the air with an aching clarity. Bill’s spine arched ever so slightly—a reaction Ford savored. “It’s its own kind of agony, my muse.”

His lips pressed against the dip at the side of Bill’s face, lingering for a moment before grazing to the side, tracing the sharp line until his teeth caught the tender edge of Bill’s earlobe. The reaction was instant, electric—Bill let out a light gasp as Ford’s hands begin sliding lower, tracing the delicate curves of Bill’s chest.

“I am tormented by this, you know,” Ford continued, his fingers roaming over Bill’s bare skin, interrupted only by the occasional hitch of his breath. “You should have never allowed it.”

Ford’s hands continued their descent. His palms brushed the curve of Bill’s waist, his fingertips grazing the soft planes of his body that tightened under his touch.

Ford’s fingertips ghosted down Bill’s spine, light and deliberate, sending a wave of shivers through him. “The others,” Ford rasped. “Did they ever… touch you like this?”

“No,” Bill replied quickly, the words catching his breath on the way out, “…only you.”

Ford’s fingers curled into the fabric still tucked into Bill’s waistband, slowly pulling it loose. “Did they ever… need you—“ He pressed Bill closer to him, their bodies aligning as his hands worked to remove the shirt, exposing the skin he’d been aching to touch. “…the way I do?”

Bill’s body trembled as he chewed on his bottom lip, trying to steady himself. “No,” he answered, the word quiet but certain. His breath broke into a soft gasp as the last of the fabric was pulled free from his body, discarded carelessly to the side.

Ford sank down slowly, his lips trailing down Bill’s body, He followed the natural contours, the gentle slope of his chest, the subtle dip of his stomach, the sharp jut of his hips. Each kiss lingered longer than the one before, savoring every inch, every gasp Bill gave in response—until Ford settled, kneeling in front of him.

Ford pulled Bill’s hips forward, his lips parting, mouthing the outline of Bill’s hardening cock through the fabric of his pants, tasting the heat of him through the layer. They locked eyes as Bill’s fingers threaded through Ford’s hair, tugging him in closer, and Ford leaned into the sensation, letting the pull guide him. Bill did it again, a slow stroke, and Ford’s eyes darkened, a low groan escaping him.

For a while, that was their rhythm—Ford’s tongue tracing, his lips pressing against the building heat, moaning gently over the soaked fabric while Bill’s fingers stroked through his hair.

“Such a wrathful god…” Ford’s voice was raw as his hands found the edges of Bill’s waistband, eager to prove his devotion.

Bill tilted his hips forward, desperately trying to remain some level of composure, his only response another brush of his hand over Ford’s head.

Ford moved with a liturgical deliberation, his fingertips hooked around the waistband, his eyes tracing up the length of Bill’s body—filled with longing. “Mercy.” he whispered, carefully pulling downward, a gentle, steady drag against damp skin—and Bill unfurled for him, a soft, yielding moan escaping his lips at the release of pressure, his fingers curling against Ford's scalp.

Ford did not avert his gaze—his eyes locked on Bill's face, watching as each sensation washed over him, how every touch echoed in his expression. He raised his own fingers to his mouth—an unhurried ritual. His lips parted, the tip of his tongue grazing the pads as he pressed a bead of spit against his fingertips, anointing them, before wrapping all six around Bill's cock, feeling the pulse of him beneath his grip.

His lips brushed against the tip, a whisper of a touch, while slick fingers moved at a torturous pace. Bill's breath quickened, each exhalation a sharp, shallow gasp. His head tilted back, his hips rolling forward in time with Ford's hand.

Ford emitted a low groan, a primal sound that vibrated through Bill. “Watch me, my muse,” he whispered, his lips parting around the tip. He bobbed his head, each descent taking Bill deeper into the hot, wet haven of his mouth, his cheeks hollowing with the suction. His face went flushed when their gazes met again.

Bill's jaw hung slack, his mouth open, his eyes glazed and unfocused. A gentle moan escaped him, a testament to Ford's efforts. He gritted his teeth, his hands finding a better hold on Ford's hair, anchoring himself as he bucked his hips forward, a sudden, sharp movement that sent him deeper into Ford's mouth.

Ford gagged, a harsh, choking sound, but he didn't waver. If anything, it only spurred him on. He pulled back, his tongue tracing a slow, deliberate path from the base to the tip, earning another shudder, another few strokes of fingers through his hair. He teased with his tongue, the tip circling the sensitive underside, tracing the veins, exploring every inch of him.

He pressed a kiss against the head, a thick web of saliva sticking to his lips. His eyes flicked upwards, meeting Bill's once more, and in that gaze, Bill saw his own desire reflected back at him, amplified, magnified. It was a dizzying rush, to be the sole focus of this sort of unwavering attention.

Ford's hands moved to Bill's hips, his fingers digging into the flesh there, holding him steady, controlling the pace. “Forgive me, my muse” he breathed, “I’m only a man.” His mouth sank down onto Bill again, his head moving with a steady, relentless rhythm. Each descent making Bill groan, each ascent leaving him gasping.

Ford's hands moved. His long fingers splayed wide, his grip encompassing almost the entirety of Bill's slender frame, groping him, his fingertips pressing into the firm muscle of his ass. Ford groaned, a deep, guttural sound that resonated through Bill, as he took him deeper still, the tip of his length hitting the back of his throat.

The sound of Ford's slight choking, the way his throat constricted around Bill, sent jolts of pleasure coursing through him, a perverse thrill that only heightened his arousal. Each constriction was a testament to Ford's dedication, his willingness to push himself to the brink to please his muse.

"Fuck, you’re good at that," he breathed, his fingers carding through Ford’s hair—a gentle, soothing touch that belied the storm of sensation raging within him.

Ford's grip on his ass tightened, using his hold to guide Bill's movements, quickening the pace. Bill's head fell back, his eyes fluttering closed as he gave himself over to the feeling of Ford's mouth on him, the sound of his choked groans, the firm grip his large hands had on his body.

Ford, with a sudden and deliberate motion, pulled his head back, his lips releasing Bill with a wet sound. His fingers pushed against Bill's hips, guiding him with a firmness that brooked no argument—turning him, maneuvering him until he was facing away.

With a gentle but insistent pressure, Ford leaned back against the cool sand, pulling Bill down with him. Bill yielded, his body pliant and willing, allowing Ford to guide him until he straddled Ford's face, his knees sinking into the sand on either side of his head—his body open and vulnerable.

Ford wasted no time. His hands spread Bill further, his thumbs pressing into the soft flesh of his ass, exposing him, baring him to his gaze, to his touch, to his mouth. A low sound left him as he leaned in, his tongue tracing a slow, deliberate path over him—a hot, wet caress that made his legs tremble.

Bill's back arched, a sharp, sudden movement, a silent cry of ecstasy. He pressed his weight back against Ford's face, a wanton, needy gesture, seeking more of that exquisite sensation. Ford obliged, his tongue working in earnest now, lapping at him, circling him.

Ford's hands held Bill steady as he feasted on him, teasing in a way that had Bill’s body shaking with the intensity of it. Bill's hands found their way to his own cock, wrapping around himself, stroking in time with the movements of Ford's tongue.

"No," Ford muttered, the words vibrating against Bill's skin. He reached around, his fingers gripping Bill's wrist, pulling his hand away gently but firmly. “Let me.” He replaced it with his own, his long fingers encircling Bill again, stroking him with a slow, deliberate rhythm.

His tongue pressed against Bill's entrance, a hot, wet, insistent pressure, seeking entry. Bill yielded to him, his body opening, allowing Ford to slip inside, to taste him, to know him in this most intimate way.

“Fuck,” Bill groaned, a deep, guttural sound that resonated through his chest, a sound of surrender, of capitulation. His hands found their way to Ford's thighs, his fingers digging into them, holding on tight as Ford's tongue delved deeper, his mouth working with his hand.

Bill's head fell forward. He was lost, adrift in a sea of sensation, Ford his only anchor, his only lifeline. And Ford, steadfast and unyielding, guided him through it, his touch sure and confident, his mouth hot and hungry, filled with a fierce, unwavering devotion. "Fuck," Bill repeated, “Don’t stop, Six—”

Ford, ever attuned to Bill’s needs, increased the pace, his hand stroking faster. He was relentless, his every touch, his every movement designed to drive Bill higher, to push him closer to the edge.

Bill, driven by a hunger that matched Ford's own, reached out, his hand finding the throbbing bulge before him, gently caressing it over the soaked fabric of Ford's pants. Ford moaned against him, the sound a low vibration that sent shivers coursing through him, drawing him back, pressing him more firmly against Ford's tongue, which, in turn, made Ford’s cock twitch under his hand—a feedback loop of desire, each sensation amplifying the next.

With a sudden, urgent motion, Bill pulled open the front of Ford's pants, releasing him. The sight of it sent a surge of hunger through Bill, a ravenous need that demanded satisfaction. His hand gripped Ford at the base, his mouth descending on him, taking him deep into his throat.

A sharp groan escaped Ford as Bill began to work him over, his spit and pre-cum soaked hand squeezing around Bill's cock. The sound, the feel, the taste of Bill, it was all too much, too intense.

Ford shifted his head, his teeth finding the soft flesh of Bill's ass, biting down, a sharp, sudden pain that sent a jolt of pleasure coursing through him, his back arching further. Ford’s free hand smacked the other side, a sharp, stinging slap that left a reddened imprint on the flesh. “You taste so fucking good.” Ford growled, kissing the mark he’d left before spreading him open again, spitting on his quivering hole, watching it flex every time his hand slid and twisted over Bill’s cock.

Ford, consumed by that desperate, insatiable hunger, grasped Bill’s hips with both hands, using his hold to press Bill more firmly against his face. He wanted more of him, all of him—his taste, his scent, his heat.

The waves crashed more frequently now, but the only thing Ford could hear were the sounds of them—the slick, wet noises of their mouths and hands, the sharp slaps of flesh, the ragged moans of their shared pleasure.

The tide crept in, the cool water starting at Ford's heels before sweeping across his back, mirroring the swell of their desire. Ford could no longer contain the moans escaping him—the sensation of Bill's mouth, the taste of him, the essence dripping down his chin. He pulled his head back, breathless. "Sit up," he said, his voice a hushed command.

Bill's body moved with a fluid grace, his muscles taut as he pushed himself up. Ford’s hands guided him forward, shifting him, his body poised and ready as Ford slid out from underneath him. Rising to his knees, Ford wrapped his arm around Bill's waist, pulling him back into his lap. Bill gasped, a soft, sensual sound as Ford pressed against him—back to chest, ass to hips, thighs to thighs.

Bill's head rested against Ford's shoulder, his eyes closed, his breath coming in soft, shallow gasps as Ford guided himself, pressing the hot, pulsing head of his cock against Bill's soaking entrance. He ground against him in a slow, teasing motion.

His mouth found Bill's ear, his teeth nipping at the edge. He chewed on it, a gentle, insistent pressure, his breath hot and heavy against Bill's skin. "Have I earned it, my muse?" he murmured.

Bill's body trembled, his hips rolling, pressing back against Ford, seeking more of that exquisite sensation, more of that friction. “Stop playing coy, Sixer, you’re driving me crazy,” He growled, his body taut as a bowstring.

Ford felt Bill yielding, opening for him. With a slow, steady pressure, he accepted the invitation, drawn into the sensation of him—hot and tight and slick. It drew a groan from deep within Ford’s chest. He moved in a languid rhythm, feeling Bill's body stretching, accommodating him, drawing him in, holding him tight—Bill's breath hitched, a sharp, sudden inhale, his body trembling as Ford filled him, connecting them to one another.

"Like this, my muse?" Ford murmured, "Is this how you want me?" He punctuated each word with a slow, deliberate thrust.

“Yes, Ford.” Bill moaned. “Just like that.”

Ford's fingertips danced up and down Bill's body, tracing the lines on either side of his abdomen as if they were roads on a map—one only he could read. Bill's back was arched, his shoulders firm against Ford's chest, their bodies moving in a rhythm as old as the tides that swept around them.

The waves slightly rolled in higher now, each flow surging faster, reaching further, washing against their joined bodies with a quiet urgency. The tide pulled back, only to return again, each wave more insistent than the last. Unpredictable, yet inevitable—as they were.

Ford’s mouth explored Bill's neck, tasting every inch of skin he could reach, his hands roaming over Bill's body, paying homage to each curve, each dip, every crest and slope, marveling at the movement of muscle beneath skin—the topography of his greatest desire. Ford inhaled him, the small beads of sweat along Bill’s hairline pooling against his tongue as he dragged it across his skin, shuddering at the taste.

Bill was there, lost in the moment, his eyes fluttering, his mouth hanging open as little gasps escaped with each thrust. Ford watched him, taking in every feature, every small expression that flitted across his face. "Let me hear it, my muse," he whispered, his hands running over Bill's nipples, pinching and rolling them between his fingers. "Tell me how good I am at serving you."

Bill's gasps grew louder, his eyes rolling back as he surrendered to Ford. “Fuck, Sixer…” he whined, his head falling onto Ford's shoulder, his body yielding.

Ford's voice was a low rumble of encouragement, "That's it,” His hand slid lower, his fingers wrapping around Bill's cock, stroking in time with his thrusts. His other arm braced Bill's chest, holding him steady, holding him close, “Tell me.”

Bill's voice was a plea, a demand, a desperate cry. "Harder,"

Ford did as he was told, his hips moving with a renewed vigor, the water splashing at the motion each time it swelled.

He looked down over Bill's shoulder, watching the point where their bodies joined, where he disappeared into him, where they became one—and the sight sent a surge of lust through him.

"Show me how good I am, my muse," he breathed with a trembling voice, his hand working Bill's cock faster, his voice a litany of devotion, his eyes locked onto the sight beneath him.

Bill's hand reached back, his fingers threading through Ford's damp hair. "Oh, Ford..." he whined, his voice a plaintive cry. Ford watched his face, the sight of his flushed skin, the way his chest heaved with each breath, each thrust.

"Show me, my sun," Ford whispered, his mouth pressing against Bill's neck, his teeth nipping at his flesh.

Bill's moans grew louder, his body trembling as he grabbed onto Ford's wrists, his grip tight, his need urgent. "Show me, my stars..." Ford begged.

“…F-Ford,"

"I adore you..."

“Oh—Stanford,”

"I need you."

Ford felt it, the moment Bill tightened around him, when his cock twitched in his hand. That was all it took. In that same moment, he buried himself deep inside, pushing Bill over the edge—and Bill dragged Ford down with him.

Their foreheads pressed together, their grips on one another tightening, desperate cries mingling between them. Ford stroked Bill through it, feeling his release, the evidence of his satisfaction, burst from him—the motion of Ford’s hand flinging white streaks over Bill’s body. His own hips rocked in powerful arcs, matching the tempo of Bill’s convulsions—grinding into him, filling him, completing him.

Ford's fingers curled into Bill's soaked skin, holding him as much as he was depending on him, crashing their open mouths together as the climax flowed through their bodies, moaning against each other’s tongues.

The tides surged, its waves pouring over them, swallowing their bodies as their hands maintained their hold on each other, their mouths close, breathing together. The saltwater swept across their bodies, carrying away the remnants of their desperation—cleansing them, as if the sea itself sought the testaments of their passion.

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[Read Entire Work Here]

#gay people can never just say i love you #they gotta perform a summoning ritual #then bang over a baptism metaphor #while declaring their undying affections #like shut up #also #ford munch pines over here #no table manners this guy #stanford pines #billford #bill cipher #gravity falls #covenants and other provisions #ford pines #billford fanfic #my writing #fiddleford mcgucket

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dakotalun · 2 years ago

Text

The Cabin | Eddie Munson

pairing: Eddie Munson X Fem Reader

summary: The older kids decide to take the weekend off and head down to Steve's parent's cabin.

warnings: none for this chapter, just some mutual pining

word count: 2k

a/n: Been thinking of this idea for years now and finally decided to put it down on paper, or screen ig.

*******NOT MY GIF, CREDIT TO OWNERS*******

Eddie’s POV

Steve has been planning this trip for weeks. I mean, I like the guy and all but he can go a little overboard with things. He has been trying to get us all to come down to his family’s lake house for what feels like forever. Just the older kids, Steve, Nancy, Robin, Jonathan, Y/N and I. He says it’ll be a weekend of games, drinking and fun. Which translated to normal language means, raiding his parents liquor cabinet, smoking some blunts and playing kiddie games like truth or dare, and never have I ever. Not that I mind, I’m just happy to be invited, even if I do have to do a shit ton of manual labor beforehand.

“Come on Eddie, it’s only gonna take a few hours,” Steve pleads with me over the phone.

“Dude exactly, a few hours. Do you know what I could be doing in those ‘few hours’?” I’m walking around the trailer trying to not explode my head off as Steve whines at me.

“I don’t know, you’d probably get high and sleep, or some shit. Just come on! I really need your van.”

“Nope, not happening,” I plop down on the couch and open my tin lunchobox, ready to roll a joint, “I mean why do you need my van anyways, isn’t your car fine?”

Steve sighs over the phone, “Yes but it’s too small. I need help moving some stuff from my family’s storage locker to the lake house. You know that place you’ll be staying in for the next week!”

I finally get done rolling my joint and scour my tin for a lighter, if I’m gonna help Harrington with this I’ll be needing it, “Ugh fine, just let me get some shit first. I’ll be at yours in 20.”

“Fucking- thank you!” Before I can even say a snarky remark he hangs up.

I groan and throw my head back. I am so gonna regret this later.

---

A few days later I’m with Steve at his house, getting the stuff for the trip finalized. We planned that since my van is bigger than Steve’s tiny ass BMW, I’d be taking all the bags and shit with one passenger and he’d take the other 3 and all the food.

“So I’ll take Nancy, Robin and Y/n. You take Jonathan,” Steve says throwing a bag of chips into a bag.

“Oh hell no. Why do you get all the girls?” “Um maybe because then they’d have to deal with you for 2 hours,” I pick up a pack of marshmallows and throw them at him, “Hey! Fine, take Y/n I don’t care just stop throwing my shit.”

“Thank you,” I walk over to him and sling an arm over his shoulder, “That wasn’t so hard was it big boy?” He pushes me off and I stumble back as the doorbell rings.

“I’ll get it, you finish packing the food.” I straighten my back and put my hand to my forehead like a soldier, “Aye aye Captain!” and solute him as he leaves the kitchen.

I hear him open the front door and the voices of Nancy and Robin. The three of them come back into the kitchen laughing at something Robin had said.

“Sup ladies.”

“Hey Eddie,” They say in unison before turning their attention back to Steve. Before I met them I would’ve thought that they didn’t like me or that they only pretended to be my friend out of pity, now that I know them, I know that that’s not the case, they simply wanted to finish their conversation with Steve first.

“Hey hey!” The loud bang of the front door wakes me out of my daydream as Jonathan waltz’s into the room. Nancy gives him a quick kiss while he wraps his hand around her waist.

“So we all reday to go? I can’t wait to go skinny dipping,” He gives Nancy a smirk and wink before he bursts out loud at his own stupidity.

“Yeah pretty much. I just gotta get y’all’s shit into my van and pick Y/n up and we’ll be good.”

“Great. I’ll help load the rest of the stuff into the cars,” Steve heads out of the house with Robin and Nancy’s bags, “Hey Nance and Rob could you put those last few food bags in my trunk please?” Steve yells halfway out of the door.

They both agree in unison before grabbing the bags and heading outside. I sit there for a minute just thinking about what this weekend might intell, firstly I have to spend 4 hours in my van with the girl I have a crush on and secondly, I have a whole week of being with her, and my other friends but this is the longest we’ve hangout together and it’s not like I can just hop in my van and drive away when I do something stupid. I shake my head and join my friends outside, shutting the front door on my way out.

---

I pull up to Y/n’s house not even 5 minutes after calling her that I’m on the way. I see her parent’s cars in the driveway and pull up behind them. I jump out my van and rush to her door, maybe a little too eager to see her. I knock 3 times before the door is swinging open and I’m greeted with the big, bright smile that I like so much.

“Hey Eds! You got here quick, let me just grab my bags real quick, stay there,” She turns and her scent wafts in my face a little, she smells like vanilla and flowers. I wonder what she uses, vanilla shampoo and floral perfume? Maybe it’s in both, vanilla and flowers in body wash, shampoo, and perfume?! God what I would give to find out.

***

Y/N’s POV

I leave the door open as I run into the living room to grab my bags. I try my best to conceal the blush rushing to my cheeks upon seeing Eddie. I've never seen him in a muscle tee before, and if I’m being honest he looks hot as hell.

I quickly say goodbye to my parents and head back to the foyer, I don’t wanna waste another second here. I close the front door behind me and I feel a hand on my duffel bag as I turn back towards Eddie.

“I’m just gonna put these with the others in the back, go ahead and get comfy in the car,” He walks off towards the van, unlocking the doors for me to hop in.

“Actually,” I grab my small backpack from him, “I’m gonna keep this one with me.”

“Alright,” He walks off towards the back of his van.

Once I get in the car I set my bag down at my feet, opening it to get out my blanket and book. Eddie rounds the corner of the car and hops in along side me, buckling his seatbelt before starting the engine.

“Did you really bring a blanket?” He give you a small smile at the thought that I’d be prepared with a blanket for this ride.

“Yes I did. It was my grandpa’s so I bring it with me on trips. Don’t judge me.” I scowl at him but then flash him a little smile back.

Eddie’s heart warms at the thought of me being so close to my grandparents that I keep their things even after they are gone, “Hey no judgement here,” He holds his hands up in mock surrender, “if I had stuff from my grandparents I’m sure I’d keep it too.”

I laugh a little and Eddie pulls out of my driveway beginning the long journey to Steve’s lake house.

---

Roughly half an hour into the drive I start to get a little bored and hungry so I riffle around in my bag to find the cheez-its and book I packed. Upon finding them you pull your feet up on the chair and begin reading and eating your snacks.

You’ve always loved road trips, especially in the summer, the way you can just let the windows down the warm air blowing in your hair cooling you down while also keeping you at a nice temperature. This was no different, other than it was with Eddie, not your parents. It felt good to be with Eddie listening to his music as it plays over the speakers and hearing his rings knock against the steering wheel as he taps along to the beat of the song.

You feel relaxed, and happy. A feeling you haven’t really felt much recently. School had become really stressful with all the college applications and decisions to be made. And then getting ready for all the AP exams you’d be taking in late April, then the actual finals for your classes, it was all just so stressful. So when Steve and Robin approached you about spending spring break away from the gloomy town of Hawkins, who were you to deny them.

You’re reading your book and can’t focus well because you feel eyes on you. You look up from your book and over at Eddie, who is just glancing back from the road to you with a questioning look on his face.

“What?” You ask turning your body towards him a little.

“Nothing,” He looks away, focusing solely on the road again.

“You wouldn’t be staring if it was nothing. So what is it?”

“I just dont get how you can read in a moving car? Like doesn’t it make you nauseous?”

“Uh no I guess not. I didn’t realize that this was a weird thing to do? Can you not read in a car?” You’re genuinely asking, wondering if you’re weird or not for being able to do this.

“Hell no, I get sick just being in the passengers seat,” He laughs a little at the weird way his body works, “I don’t know I guess it something about focusing on the road helps calm me,” He looks over at you for a second, taking in your position. Feet tucked under you, blanket thrown over your legs hanging low, book resting face down on your knee and cheez-its between your arm and the door. He has to admit you look cute like this, “I’ve just never met anyone who can read in a car. It’s pretty cool.”

“Thanks, I guess.” You smile at each other before Eddie resumes his focus on the road and you on your book.

Before you know it you’re passed out in the seat while your book dangles off the endle of the seat. Eddie notices that he needs more gas so as soon as he can he gets off the highway and heads to a station to fill up. While getting gas he notices how peaceful you look sleeping in his van, sure you may be laying a weird position but you look calm. Eddie gets back in the van but before pulling out of the gas station he takes your book, places in your bookmark and sets in down near your bag. He knows how much you’d hate if anything happened to it while you slept.

3 and a half long hours later you guys finally make it to the lake house, but you can’t see Steve’s car there. Eddie hops out of the van to give him a call quickly.

“Hey,” Eddie says through the speaker.

“Hey- No we are not stopping again! Get it together we aren’t that fucking far! Hey dude sorry I know we’re late but someone keeps insisting on us stopping for bathroom and snack breaks,” Eddie can hear the disdain in his buddy’s voice knowing exactly who the someone is.

“It’s no problem dude, just remind me what the code to get in is again, we can start getting everything set up while you get here.”

“Thanks dude. The code is 3957, just make sure to turn on the water and power too.”

“Sure thing, see you soon.”

“Bye- Rob I told yo-” And then the line goes dead. Eddie laughs a little to himself before putting his phone back in his pocket and heading to your side of the car.

#eddie stranger things #munson #eddie munson #eddie my love #eddie my beloved #female reader #oneshot #smut #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x you #stranger things #stranger things 4 #st4 #stranger things season 4 #eddie x reader

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