#that trailer isn’t even accessible!!!

[transselkie]

I know that 1) show writers do not actually care to explore the realities of disability and 2) Hawkins has become an apocalyptic war zone 3) this is America in the 80s not Canada in the 2020s but I have SO many questions about Max’s future.

Max is a minor. A minor who is now severely disabled, with a single parent who is known to already struggle to provide adequate care. Susan would likely be investigated to see if Max is safe to return to her custody. What would that investigation look like? I don’t know when it would begin. As soon as she’s hospitalized? Once she wakes? I don’t know the procedure for children who have been hospitalized due to later in life injury and not birth condition. Was she allowed to keep custody while the investigation is ongoing? Is Max already a ward of the state? Does her father still have custody rights? Does she have any other immediate family? Who is making her medical decisions?? Did they need to wait on her father’s approval for her surgeries??

If Susan DOESN’T have custody is she being prepped for transfer out of Hawkins to a hospital in California? She should honestly already be in a more specialized hospital, with how small we’re told Hawkins is. And if Susan lost custody, her father has none, and she doesn’t have any other immediate family that means she has already been auctioned to an agency. Is there an agency in Hawkins? Do they have established ILAs or foster families there already? Are any of them set up or approved for medically fragile children? Does Joyce or Hopper or ??? Wayne Munson want to petition for custody? What does the non kinship adoption/fostering look like there? Probably impossible with Hawkins being a biohazardous war-zone.

If an agency has her already what are their policies? The others have all been visiting her in the hospital already. Are they going to continue to be approved for visitation if they have to move her out of the county? Or will the agency pull some bullshit confidentiality claim against any non family?

This is my job you can’t just drop this on me with no answers.

[steddiealltheway]

When Eddie gets excited, he gets a bit overwhelmed. At least, that’s what Steve has noticed, with the way Eddie has to take a quick running lap, bounce up and down, etc. whenever he gets too happy.

Steve secretly thinks it’s adorable and tries his best to induce these little happy zoomies.

It doesn’t take much. Sometimes it’s just a small compliment such as, “That shirt looks nice on you,” that has Eddie bouncing on his heels and fidgeting with his rings with a smile on his face. Sometimes, Steve tries to notice something new like when Eddie trims his bangs or paints his nails, that makes Eddie flush red and mumble, “Yeah, I did,” before taking a quick walk around Family Video before making his way back to him.

This time, Steve isn’t really trying to get a reaction out of Eddie who is angrily storming around the break room of Family Video after Steve had seen his face upon entering the store and ushered him to the back.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Eddie mutters out, running a hand over his face. Steve sits back quietly, letting Eddie go on a little rant. “He said, we were allowed to have the basement for our campaign. All of it. Then, Ted Wheeler in all his glory suddenly says that we’re too loud, and we can’t do the campaign at their house anymore. I mean… it’s one more session! He could’ve sat in that damn recliner and shut him mouth for one more session! Fuck.”

Eddie groans dramatically and sits on the ground, head in his hands. “I don’t know what to do. It’s summer so we don’t have access to the school. And I can’t risk breaking in and having them take away my well earned diploma. Plus, my trailer is too small, and no one else has the privacy of Mike’s basement. We’re done for!”

Steve shrugs, seeing a clear answer to the problem. “You can do it at my house. My parents are never home, and I can stay in my room for as long as you need.”

Eddie’s head snaps up. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, not really sure why he’s so shocked.

Eddie stands up quickly. “You’re positive you can deal with all the Hellfire members in your house?”

Steve nods. “I’ll even buy you guys pizza if you want.”

“Buy us pizza…” Eddie mumbles under his breath in disbelief. “Steve Harrington, are you granting me permission to use your house for Hellfire Club meaning hours of us yelling maybe even late into the night while we play our nerdy game?”

Steve nods and shrugs again. “Yeah. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Not that big of a deal?” Eddie repeats, once again in disbelief. He slightly smiles. “We’re going to be able to complete the campaign.” He bounces on his heels excitedly. “We’re going to complete the campaign!” He runs up to Steve and hugs him tightly, jumping up and down, successfully jostling a laughing Steve in his arms. “We have a place to complete the campaign!!”

Eddie puts him down and pulls back with a big smiles. “Thank you! Seriously thank you. This means so much I could just-”

Before Steve can react, Eddie is leaning forward and pressing his mouth against his in an enthusiastic kiss.

Eddie pulls back quickly and puts his hands over his mouth in horror. “Oh my gosh. I’m so- fuck. I’m so fucking sorry. I just got uh…”

Steve waves him off as Eddie backs as far away from him as possible. “You just got excited. It’s okay.”

It’s okay as it can be considering that Steve really wants to kiss Eddie again although he’s not sure what that really means. But suddenly the urge to make Eddie happy makes a whole lot of sense.

Shit. Okay. He can work with this.

He glances up at Eddie who looks petrified in fear. “I just got excited…” he whispers out.

Steve slowly makes his way to him and puts his hands on his shoulders. “It’s okay, Eddie. Really. I uh, enjoyed it.”

“You enjoyed it?” Eddie echoes uncertainly.

“Yes. But if it was just an excitement thing, I understand.”

Eddie breathes out, “And what if it was more than an excitement thing?”

Steve takes a step further into Eddie’s space and tilts his head. “Then I’d ask if I could kiss you.”

Eddie swallows harshly and leans forward. “It was definitely more than an excitement thing.”

Steve smiles softly and asks, “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes,” Eddie says, slipping his hands into Steve’s hair as he moves forward again.

This time, Steve knows to respond, moving his lips against Eddie’s gently before tracing his tongue against the seam of his lips, exploring the inside of his mouth when Eddie lets him in.

When Steve reluctantly pulls away from the kiss to check on Eddie, he gets a quick nip to the lip.

Eddie flushes red. “So, I sometimes bite when I’m happy.”

Steve leans in again and whispers against his lips, “Thank god I’m into that.”

And he’s going to make sure to learn all the ways to elicit these responses from Eddie, but first, he’s going to learn all the ways Eddie likes to be kissed.

[im-robins-bitch]

16+ (gn) Dating Eddie Munson is:

Sharing a big bag of chips and Eddie catching your wrist and sucking on your fingers to get off all the crumbs that are stuck to them.

Eddie sneaking up behind you, pushing his icy fingers up your jumper and laughing hysterically when you cringe and shove him away. 

Baking together and both of you shoving your fingers into the mix to taste it when the other isn’t looking. Taking turns to lick the spoon clean. 

Smacking Eddie’s ass every time he bends over. 

Trying to throw food into each other's mouths and then fishing crumbs out of each other's hair. 

Eddie saying ‘Good yawn’ or ‘Good burp’ 

Alternatively, every time you yawn for a long time he’ll stick his fingers in your mouth. 

If he’s too tired to make it to the couch after work, he’ll collapse on his knees in between your legs and face plant into your lap. 

He doesn’t have an ulterior motive, apart from when he does, he just likes to be close to you. He claims you recharge him. 

Fake wrestling

He likes to bend at the waist when he runs towards you like he’s about to tackle you, but instead, he lifts you off the ground and spins you around. 

He’s an embarrassment at the airport if you ever need to go somewhere. Going and Coming back. 

Going he’s a blubbering mess. 

Returning he’s a blubbering mess, plus he’s delivering a monologue like you’re returning from war. You have received a ‘thank you for your service’ before because of his dramatics. 

The first time you fly together, he won’t admit it, but he’s terrified.

Will always pretend you need to hold his hand, rather than him needing to ask for it. 

Wearing an old comfy pair of underwear with a small hole or tear? Eddie finds that hole and digs his finger in to make it bigger and bigger. Likes that it gives him easier access. Will pull you towards him by the hole.

Like’s to have his hand down your pants just for comfort. He won’t even do anything just rest/cup his palm against you. 

If your is hand in or up his boxers? He’s dead. In heaven.

Goes feral when you rake your nails down his thighs or his happy trail. 

Hair-washing nights morph into self-care days, helping with his curls and painting his nails. 

Insists he does your eyeliner if you’re putting any on. Will straddle your thigh like a heathen and pretend he’s not borderline humping it while holding a pencil dangerously close to your eyeball. 

He believes in love boners. 

Wants a cat, but you’re worried about the responsibility so you get fish to get into the habit of feeding something daily. 

You both have names for the racoons that live in the trailer park and will gossip about what you saw them getting up to that day

Air guitar contests

Eddie writing you love letters in detention

Walking Eddie to the bathroom at parties when he gets too drunk. Holding one of his hands, the other wrapped around his waist. 

Sometimes he has literally asked you to hold his dick while he pees because he’s either too drunk to do it himself or thinks it’s funny. 

He’s a little fucking gremlin,

Your little fucking gremlin,

You love it.

masterlist

[uglypastels]

wearing eddie’s hellfire shirt and him just sorta malfunctioning when he sees you >>>

no but you are so right!!

no explicit warnings?? morning after. kissing/making out. swearing.

masterlist // inbox // add yourself to my taglist

‘Baaaaabe’, Eddie groaned as he felt the other side of the bed lose its warmth. You had woken up a few minutes ago and told him you would be back in a second, yet many seconds passed. You still were nowhere to be seen… not that he did see anything as Eddie had his face burrowed deep into his pillow, trying not to wake up properly just yet. ‘Come back to bed; I miss you.’ His voice sounded muffled through the pillow, but it carried through the entire trailer. 

‘I’m coming, I’m coming,’ you couldn’t help but laugh as you jogged back into his bedroom. You were greeted with the sight of Eddie’s bare back, his arms spread wildly, his hair a nest atop his head. Your clothes were splayed all over the room, together with his, as a result of the night before. 

‘Are you there?’ he mumbled, shuffling around, not getting up just yet. ‘Stop staring and just get in here.’ His voice was so gravelly and coarse, having just woken up. 

‘I wasn’t staring,’ you denied the allegation, most definitely doing what you were being accused of as you leaned against the door, with the goofiest smile on your smile. You couldn’t believe that this got to be your morning, and it could become a regular thing, too. 

‘Yeah, yeah, and I’m not— is that my shirt?’ Eddie had finally rolled over and looked over his shoulder at you, and the sight of you standing before the bed immediately made him lose track of any of his thoughts. He rubbed his eyes open quickly. 

‘Oh, uhh, yeah. I couldn’t find my shirt, so I just took yours– I hope that’s alright?’ maybe you should have asked before just taking and putting it on. You were ready to apologise and take it off, but Eddie stepped in: 

‘Yeah, absolutely, sweetheart. Fuck— you look–’ he laughed sheepishly, completely lost for words. 

‘Look what?’ you couldn’t help but tease his rattled expression. Eddie just looked so cute when he was flustered. 

‘Just– ugh, there are no words.’ he grabbed for his chest, pouting dramatically. But you weren’t easily satisfied. 

‘C’mon, try.’ 

‘Will you at least get back in bed if I do?’ he bargained. 

‘I think that depends on what you decide to say next, isn’t it?’ 

‘Oh, you are cruel,’ he glared at you, to which you only responded with a shrug. Eddie laughed to himself. ‘You… are… just the most…oh fuck, please just come here.’ 

‘You’re lucky you’re cute, Munson.’ You rolled your eyes, walking over back to the bed. But even that took too long for Eddie’s liking, and he pulled you in by the arm as soon as he could reach you, making you fall right on top of him. His arms wrapped around you, hugging you tightly, kissing every inch of your skin accessible to him. 

‘All this because of a shirt?’ you asked, giggling, knowing fully well you could get so much worse about him for so much less. He kept kissing you but nodded at your question. 

‘Don’t you ever take it off,’ he said once he pulled away from your collarbone to look you in the eyes. ‘This might honestly be the hottest thing you’ve ever worn.’

‘A bit conceited, considering it's your shirt.’ you booped his nose with your finger, which Eddie tried to catch with his teeth before you pulled back. At this moment, you were sitting in his lap; legs draped over his from each side. 

‘You know what I mean.’ He kissed your neck a second after saying that, and you would have replied with something witty that might have ruined the moment because you would both burst out laughing, but his touch felt too good.

‘Ok, I’m getting a bit cold now; let me get back under.’ Much to Eddie’s protests, you got off his lap and slipped under the blanket. Eddie was, of course, quick to pull you into a tight embrace and made sure you warmed up quickly. Spooning you from behind in the early morning hours, you could fall back to sleep if it weren’t for the feeling that someone kept looking at you. 

‘Stop staring,’ you mumbled, poking him. 

‘Wasn’t.’ He mumbled right back, kissing your shoulder. ‘Logistically impossible from this angle.’ 

the end.

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[lambtotheslaughterr]

Rise : Chapter Ten

A Rafe Cameron Series

[THIS STORY WILL CONTAIN THEMES OF NON-CON/DUB-CON, MENTAL-EMOTIONAL-PHYSICAL ABUSE, ETC. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. 18+. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT]

WC: 2.5k

Dividers provided by @firefly-graphics

CHAPTER NINE | MASTERLIST | CHAPTER ELEVEN

79 days since the world ended

            It’s been roughly a month since you & the others left the lake house behind in wake of Rafe’s invasion. The gas inn Sayyed’s tank got the four of you nearly two hours north before it became low. There was still a can of gas left in the trailer, but it would be necessary to go out & scavenge more to keep his wrangler working. Fortunately, when Sayyed pulled off the main highway, easily maneuvering around abandoned cars, he happened to pull off near a cabin. It could be seen from the road, but only if one was looking hard to see it through the trees. It would be your new home if those even existed anymore.

            The group dynamic between the four of you changed drastically. Though you didn’t feel the need to prove yourself, your warning about Rafe’s plans gave the group enough time to get away, far away. And so Nuha & Sayyed were as warm towards you as Bear had been. You were wary of their change in attitude early on but soon enough thought nothing of it as the four of you lived with one another for the next month.

            On this day, it was especially warm. Sayyed guessed it was mid-July or so, which meant that the summer heat of the south had yet to peak. The days would only get hotter.

            You were down by a pond that was a five minute walk away from the cabin. Bear was out scavenging & you were waiting by the pond for him to return. The sun was just above the trees so he would be back any minute. Unlike the lakehouse, scavenging took longer here. Your cabin was quite literally in the middle of nowhere, despite direct access to a major road. Most scavenging days required a stay overnight in the woods. But scavenging was more essential than ever.

            Food & water was low, dangerously so. What you guys managed to take from the lakehouse only lasted so long, & the garden at the cabin hadn’t yet begun to produce anything. Everyone was on edge, & looking it. Nuha & Sayyed, who were already slim, were skinnier. You could see it in Sayyed’s face: his sunken cheeks, the clothes he wore hanging more loosely off him. And Nuha, you hadn’t realized how bad she had gotten until you two washed together the other week. When she took her top off you could see her ribcage, & her collarbone was especially more prominent than before. You had been losing weight too, but you still looked healthy as could be. You hoped Bear found something significant.

            “_____.” You glanced over your shoulder at the sound of your name. It was Sayyed.

            “It’s Nuha. I’m getting worried about her.” You swallowed nervously at his words. Of course he would notice her state, too.

            “Whatever Bear brings back we’ll give her.” You told him, “She needs it more than us.”

            Sayyed sat beside you, staring into the pond water, “What if it isn’t enough?”

            You knew where his thoughts & concerns were heading. You placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, “Can’t think like that Sayyed. She’s strong. She’ll pull through.”

            “I hope you’re right.” Sayyed replied softly.

            The two of you sat there in silence for some time until you hear the nearby brush moving. A few seconds later, Bear appeared. By looks of it, he was carrying something heavy, but there was a relieved smile on his face. You shot up & took off for him, Sayyed was hot on your heels.

            “Finally brought something good.” Bear shared as Sayyed took the heavy duty bag from him. Sayyed placed it on the ground & unzipped it. Inside was a health-nut’s pantry. Liquid IV’s, sport drinks, multivitamins. The three of you shared wide grins.

            “This is amazing, Bear!” You rejoiced, hugging him.

            Sayyed gathered two bottles of the sport drinks, a handful of the liquid IV’s, & a bottle of multivitamins, “Thanks, Bear. I gotta get these to Nuha.”

            Sayyed took off back towards the cabin, & you helped Bear carry the rest of the stuff back inside.

            “We really needed this, Bear.”

            “Better yet.” He started as you handed him items to place into a cupboard, “There’s more where this came from. Whoever lived there was stocked on nutritional shit. I can go back, but it’d be easier if you came with, ya know, a second pair of hands & all.”

            You nodded in agreement, “Yeah, we’ll go the day after tomorrow.”

            With Bear’s lucky find, your future at the cabin looked hopeful.

            But hope was a silly thing to cling to.

            Nuha plummeted overnight. You woke in a panic when Bear shook you awake. You followed him to the second floor. Inside one of the bedrooms, Sayyed was at Nuha’s bedside, helping her to drink some more water.

            “What’s wrong?” You rushed out as you looked at Nuha. Your heart fell. She looked bad. Her normally shiny skin had turned ashen & was beginning to gray. Her hair was a matted mess on her head & there were beads of sweat dotting her hairline. Her lips were chapped & peeling.

            “Bear…” You glanced at him warily, “Does she…”

            “She doesn’t.” Sayyed cut you off, “It’s not any of those symptoms. She’s dehydrated and malnourished. And this fucking heat isn’t helping.”

            You bit your lip, not wanting to point out to Sayyed how deathly she looked. Her eyes were closed & her breathing was shallow. You were unsure if she was sleeping, or even aware of the conversation happening around her.

            “What else can we do?” Bear questioned, “Everything I got today is gonna help, it just might take some time.”

            “She doesn’t have time.” Sayyed forced out, his voice strained as he placed a damp cloth on her forehead. “I can keep forcing her drink the liquid IV’s & to take the vitamins but…”

            It was too late…

            But was it?

            You glanced from Sayyed to Bear, gesturing to the hallway. Bear frowned at you but followed you out. He closed the door quietly behind him.

            “What is it?”

            “There’s another option.” Your voice shook as you even dared to think about it, “It’d take longer but it’s our best chance. Nuha’s best chance.”

            Bear said nothing, waiting for you to continue.

            You licked your lips, fearful of his reaction to your suggestion, “Adrianna. When we left base, Tobias loaded us up on basic medical care shit. Real IV’s. With hook-ups & everything. Adrianna has all of it.”

            “_____...” Bear lowered his head, knowing exactly where you were heading.

            “Just hear me out.” You stopped him before he could deter you, “We leave tonight. You go back to the health nut’s house, I’ll backtrack. Find them.”

            “Find Rafe?” Bear shook his head, “No, no. That’s a shitty idea.”

            “Not Rafe, Adrianna. We need her. Nuha needs her.”

            “It’d take you days to get back there, _____. Not hours, days.”

            “I know.” You nodded, “But I won’t stop. Not even for a brief water break. I’ll just keep running until I get there.”

            “Look, under other circumstances, I’d support it. But Rafe is unhinged. It’s been a month since we saw them, they could be long gone by now. It’d be a wasted effort.”

            “No.” You shook your head. Rafe wouldn’t leave the lakehouse with all that it had. Everything you guys needed would be there, & he wouldn’t pack everything up just to move again. You felt strongly on the fact that they would still be there. “They’ll be there.”

            “And how do you know that?”

            Because he said I could find him. But you didn’t say anything, “I just know him. And, if it’s me who goes, he may let me take Adrianna.”

            Bear shook his head, leaning against the wall to contemplate your words, “And if he doesn’t? Then we lose you & Nuha.”

            “Just trust me, Bear.”

            “I do. What I’m saying is I don’t trust him.” Bear frowned, “He’s a liar, _____. A murderer. Who knows how far gone he is now.”

            “We have to try.” Your voice cracked as you tried to keep it low, “We have to.”

            Bear stared hard at you, his lips pursed. Then he shook his head, “Okay. We’ll go. You head for them, I’ll go back to the house, see what else I can find.”

            “Thank you, Bear!” You hugged him & he returned it half-heartedly.

            “But we don’t tell Sayyed.”

            What?

            “You & I both know he won’t let you leave if he knows you’re going to Rafe. It’s best we just tell him you’re coming with me to the health nut house.”

            You didn’t want to lie to Sayyed, but Bear was right. Sayyed would never take a risk that involved Rafe.

            “Go get packed. I’ll let him know what we’re doing.”

            Taking Bear’s advice, you leaped down the stairs to head to your bedroom. You quickly changed out of your loose fitting pj’s & into an outfit that would be fit for the couple day hike back tracking. Once you were all changed, you went into the kitchen to stock up on a few water bottles, the little snack foods you all had, & a couple items from a med kit.

            Bear joined you in the kitchen shortly after in a change of clothes & his own gear.

            “Got everything you’re gonna need?”

            “Yeah. I’ll be okay.”

            As you too finished gathering your things together, Bear led the way out. You two walked alongside one another towards the pond where you two would split off.

            “What’d Sayyed say?”

            Bear shrugged, “Not much. He’s scared. But he didn’t argue. Just said to be fast.”

            You nodded, “And what are you going to tell him when you return tomorrow night without me?”

            Bear gave a half-hearted laugh, “Hadn’t thought that far ahead but don’t worry about it. Just get Adrianna back here, without Rafe.” 

            You winced internally. You knew better than to think you could bring Adrianna back & only Adrianna. But Rafe did have a soft spot for you. Hopefully he’d let you two go. Alone.

            “Be safe, Bear.” You turned to him. Bear ruffled the hair at the top of your head, “You, too. And if you’re not back by the time you should be…”

            “Don’t come looking for me.” You told him.

            Bear said nothing but you saw it in his eyes. He wouldn’t. He too wouldn’t risk bringing Rafe to where you all escaped to.

            “We’ll see you soon.”

            “Yeah.”

            Hugging once more, you split off. Bear heading west, & you south.

            A full moon hung over the woods as you stared into the dark depths of them. There was no going back, you reminded yourself. Nuha needed Adrianna. And you wouldn’t stop until you got to her. Rafe be damned.

            Your body was aching, desperate to take a break, but you pushed forward. Time you had little of & there was a lot of backtracking to do. You were glad you have kept track of your movements with a map, sure that you were heading towards the lakehouse. The escape from it by car had been roughly two hours, but on foot, it’d take you over a day. The only time you would stop would be to sleep for a couple hours, then you’d be taking off again.

            But ultimately, the trek was easy, if not tiring & stressful. You didn’t have time to think of a real plan to get Adrianna back. After all, Bear was right. It’d been another month since you had seen everyone & Rafe along with the others could’ve likely grown worse. His soft spot towards you may have hardened indefinitely. And if you appeared, there would be no guarantee to how he would react or treat you. You were taking a major risk. But you told yourself that if you felt deep in your gut that you couldn’t trust him, or them, then you would not be leading them back to where the rest of you were hidden out at. Even if it meant never returning again yourself. But you had to try, for Nuha.

            Your couple hour nap in the woods had been restless, sleep never fully coming for you. But once it began to get just a little brighter out, you decided to finish the rest of the trip as quickly as possible to prevent yourself from overheating in the summer sun. If you were reading the map right, you were within ten miles of the lakehouse. You’d be there by midday. So, you hiked your backpack further up your shoulder & moved quickly.

            When you reached the lake, you took to the woods. Not wanting to approach from the access road. You wanted to get a view of the lakehouse before moving closer, to even see if anyone was still there. As you stayed hidden along the trees by the shore, you slowly came near to the lakehouse. You crouched, peering through the bush to observe. At first, it looked totally abandoned. There was no movement from inside or outside the house. But as you crawled closer, you did spot a truck. Rafe’s truck.

            You swallowed. They had to be here. Rafe wouldn’t leave his truck behind.

            You weren’t one for religious practices, but you took just a moment to pray to a god, any god, to please make sure you’d be okay, that you’d succeed in recruiting Adrianna, & that you would make it back to Nuha in time.

            Just as you were standing up, preparing to step out & make yourself known to anyone who may be nearby, you heard a twig snap directly behind you, making you freeze.

            “Who the fuck are you?”

            You cautiously raised your hands, showing that you were not a danger. But you didn’t dare look behind you.

            The person behind you stepped closer, & you didn’t mistake the feel of the muzzle of a gun getting pressed against your shoulder blade.

            “I said ‘who the fuck are you’?” You didn’t recognize the voice though. This was bad.

            You fluttered your eyes closed, licking your lips, “I’m here to see Adrianna.”

            “Adrianna?” The voice sounded suspicious, “How the fuck do you know Anna?”

            This person was calling her Anna, too?

            “We’re friends.” You replied softly, “At least I hope we are.”

            Slowly, the person behind you circled to your front, & you finally faced with the man who was holding a gun to you.

            You briefly recognized him as one of the men who was with Micah down by the shoreline that one day over a month ago. This was not a friend, not someone you could trust.

            The man was rugged, the bags under his eyes prominent. He looked you from head to toe, clearly untrusting of you. When he finally met your eyes again, he smirked haughtily, “We’ll see about that, won’t we?”

            You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could, the butt of his gun came flying towards you. And the next thing you knew, you were swallowed by darkness.

i apologize in advance for the late update. there has been a lot on my plate in my personal life that i'm still currently dealing with, but i wanted to at least get this filler chapter in. it's a small one & pretty rushed tbh because my head wasn't fully in it, but i hope it is adequate.

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[pedge-stuff]

trailer reunion (pedro pascal x gn/m!reader)

a/n: same vague universe as “marked," as always. this one skews a little more m! and a little less gn!, apologies if that puts anyone off.

thanks, as always, for everything.

summary: 5 weeks is a long, long time.

——————————————————————————

Your leg won’t stop bouncing. It’s not your fault, really— it’s the Edmonton Airport’s, for having such a conveniently located Tim Hortons, right outside the baggage claim. After the 7-hour red eye from JFK, with the connection through Toronto, the coffee was necessary.

The caffeine isn’t entirely to blame, though. If the taxi wouldn’t stop going so fucking slow, maybe you’d settle down. But the traffic is unyielding, so the 20 minute drive to your heartfelt reunion is looking more like 45. Apparently, shutting part of the city down to film a TV show really screws up peoples’ commutes. You’d waited long enough (a month and six days, but who’s counting?), surely an extra half-hour won’t kill you. But in the taxi, the minutes seem to stretch into years.

The filming schedule for The Last of Us has been brutal. From what Pedro has told you, there was apparently a strain to film both the first and second episode back-to-back; something about using the same locations and exterior shots. For him, it has meant a marathon of shooting… the only downside to being the star of the show.

SNL’s new season was in full swing anyways, so you’d had plenty to keep you busy. Spent enough late nights at 30 Rock, after many a panicked call to the dog walker, that you barely had to inhabit his otherwise vacant condo. You talked every night, usually Facetiming before bed, but the distance was wearing on you both.

Now, the only thing in between you and your man is this fucking traffic jam.

Though this wasn’t a surprise visit— you’d booked the flight as soon as you’d realized the SNL hiatus week lined up with The Last of Us breaking to change locations for the next episode— you did have one trick up your sleeve. Or, more accurately, under your mask.

You’d been attempting to grow facial hair well before meeting Pedro, but it had been a sparse and largely unsuccessful endeavor until very recently. Your jawline had filled in between your sideburn and chin, albeit slightly patchy. You’d been hiding it over Facetime, opting for regular calls a bit more and hoping he wouldn’t notice. Not the craziest surprise, but still, your heart thrums at the prospect of finally sharing it with him.

Of course, once you arrive to set, the obstacles multiply.

Some college kid in a neon yellow vest stops you before you’ve even managed to remove your duffle from the trunk of the cab.

“Covid testing is this way, please follow me,” he insists tersely. Self-consciously, you adjust the KN95 strap around your ear.

The kid leads you to a tent, where two people in full white hazmat suits, complete with gloves and face shields, ask your name and instruct you to pull down your mask. (There’s a joke in there somewhere, about infection at a show about infected, but you get the sense it might be inappropriate to fool around here.)

Once swabbed and registered, you move to leave, scanning the exit for anyone who might be able to help you navigate onto set. But you are immediately blocked by a hazmat woman.

“You need to wait for the rapid to clear,” she insists, pointing to a row of folding chairs. “Fifteen minutes.”

Fifteen minutes, after 5 weeks. Just fifteen minutes. You resign yourself to a seat by the door.

It’s 4pm. You were supposed to have arrived during a stop down between shots— timed so that Pedro would be in his trailer, and accessible, when you arrived. It feels like that window is physically, tangibly closing as you watch the second-hand tick slowly. 

 Initially, you’d been hesitant to join him on set at all, but he’d insisted you come meet his “second family.” You’d met several of his colleagues via Facetime, when he’d called you from his trailer. Bella, in particular, you’ve taken a liking to— they pepper you with whispered questions about transitioning and gripes about the gender binary when Pedro has been forced to hand over the phone.

You check your phone. Nothing from Pedro, although his little blue dot looks stationary when you pull up FindMyFriends. The clock ticks. There is a burning sting each time you blink— that third cup of coffee is wearing off, and the 5am wake-up this morning is starting to catch up to you. Really, all you want to do is go back to your partner’s hotel room, said partner in tow, curl up on the king-sized and fall asleep watching some West Wing rerun. (Maybe also shower together, and then some. You can keep yourself awake for that.)

Finally, finally, finally, the hazmat woman returns. “You’re clear,” she announces, handing you a green sticker to adhere on your jacket. You make it through the tent flap, heart in your throat with anticipation— 

But you have no fucking idea where to go.

A sea of white tents lays before you, stations with people doing things of varying levels of importance. A neon slip of paper points you towards set, but that’s not where you’re headed. Finally, past a corralled group of extras in some really disgusting mushroom prosthetics, and a tent full of picked-over lunch offerings, you spot some trailers in the distance.

And apparently, a stranger with a duffle bag walking quickly towards actors’ trailers, yields a quick security intervention.

In their defense, you definitely look like a crazy person. 

“Do you have a clearance list, or anything?” You beg, discretely craning your neck to see over the guard’s neck. The trailers are right there. There are only a few, it shouldn’t take any time at all to find Pedro. He’s within arm’s reach and yet he couldn’t possibly feel further away as the guard talks code into a very official-looking walkie talkie.

“Roger.” He looks down at you. “Listen, you gotta go man. It’s a clearance-only set, and they’ve got strict covid rules, so—”

The green sticker may or may not get shoved in the man’s face. There may or may not be angry tears threatening to ruin your cool.  “I got covid tested! I’m clean, they let me through. They had me on their list. I’m—”

From behind you, a familiar voice cuts you off. “With me, Robbie.”

You whip around.

Jaw? On the floor.

Pedro looks… really fucking old. His hair has been sprayed gray, wily and wind-swept; the beard, too, is much grayer than normal. It’s all part of a dirty-looking, artificially stained, mostly denim-based costume. You file away for later, how attracted you are to seeing him like this. Jesus Christ.

He looks old, but he is here, and he is grinning at you, and he’s here.

“Aw, shit.” The guard talks into the radio again. “86. Sorry about that.”

Easy to ignore him, though, as you’re preoccupied with staring at your man.

Before you can move to pounce on him, close the final four feet of distance between you, a well-manicure hand splays menacingly out at you.

“Don’t even think about it,” Coco warns. “We have fifteen minutes for touch-ups and I do not have time to fix everything.”

Pedro’s nose twitches, frowning at you. You reach down to hold his hand, but it is… apparently also covered in make-up, looking red, nasty and broken.

Sorry, he mouths dejectedly.

The inside of his trailer is familiar, though it looks a little smaller in-person than it appears on Facetime. A mirror and counter, a decently sized couch, a bathroom, a desk in the corner. Pedro settles in the make-up chair, smiling backwards at you in the mirror.

“Drop your stuff,” he insists.

Little touches of your life together pepper the room in a way that grips your heart a little. A framed picture on the desk, which you recognize from last summer; a particularly nice day in Prospect Park with the dogs, captured in a Polaroid snapped candid by a total stranger. You’d declined it, at first, assuming it was a weird fan thing. But they had insisted, leaving the picture behind and walking away. It was too lovely to leave.

The sweatshirt draped over the arm of the sofa is yours— an old NYU hoodie Pedro usually travels with. He claims it’s a ‘security blanket,’ and honestly, he might only be half-joking. A note you’d recently sent in a package (he’d accidentally left his whole box of contacts at home), taped up on the mirror, alongside a photo strip with Sarah from some gala a couple years back.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Pedro says quietly, watching you look around. “Take your mask off, baby, I’m assuming you cleared testing if you made it through the front.”

In your excitement to reunite, you almost forgot the little surprise. His jaw drops, into an awed smile. With the un-fake-injured hand, he reaches up to palm your cheek. Runs a hand up and down your jaw, scratching lightly along the new hair.

You turn enough to plant a kiss on the pulse point of Pedro’s wrist. Capture his hand with yours, against your face, to feel him for the first time in over a month.

“Oh! The oil is working,” Coco has paused, midway through spraying something silvery and chemical-smelling to Pedro’s temples. She had suggested it surreptitiously a few months back, off-handedly, and you’d been religiously using it since. The woman knows her shit.

Pedro continues to thumb at the new scruff, transfixed. His jaw muscle twitches.

“I’ve uh—” He stalls out. “Uh. Sorry. Dinner. Craig—”

You step backwards, pulling your hand down to hold in his lap, instead. He huffs.

“Craig wants to go to dinner tonight, since we’re wrapping in Edmonton. I guess there’s this restaurant he is insisting we have to try, it’s a whole thing. Big group. I didn’t give him an answer, in case you’re tired and wanna just head back to the hotel? But we can go, either way it’s fine, I figured…”

“Pedge,” you interrupt. “It’s all good. I’d be happy to go, it sounds fun.”

He exhales. “Thank god, because it’s like a spouse-thing, Neil and Craig’s wives are here.”

Your eyebrow quirks. “Spouse?”

Just to get a blush out of the man. You’d discussed it, of course, but had yet to make moves. Being marked soothed any sense of urgency— you were committed by flesh and blood, and that was ultimately more binding than a ring or ceremony. But, still.

“Joking, love." Despite the coffee, a yawn sneaks up on you. "I might crash on the couch for a bit, when you go back."

He glances at his phone. "We only have one more shot to get alts on. Neil swears we have a hard-out in an hour. Close your eyes, and I'll be right back."

— — — 

You didn't mean to actually fall asleep. Just lay there on your phone and zone out for a bit. But suddenly, you're waking up, to the feeling of a mouth on your own.

A familiar mouth. Warm, scruffy around the edges, a little pepperminty.

"We're done," Pedro whispers. "Coco says I can fuck up my makeup now."

When you open your eyes, he is hovering above you, grinning like a wolf. He's still in costume, though the denim overshirt is already half-unbuttoned.

"Are you done being gross?"

Sitting up, you find Bella in the doorway. They waste no time flinging themselves at the couch.

"In the flesh!" You both laugh.

"Shorter in person, huh?" Pedro is rewarded by a hearty shove from his costar, as he scrubs a makeup wipe across his face.

Wiping sleep from your eyes, you can tell it's gotten dark outside in the time that you've been asleep. "Craig still insisting on dinner?"

"Mm. It's like fancy Mediterranean, I think."

"Fetaaaaa," Bella pumps the air. "Nice."

The evening stretches out before you— a few more obstacles between you and the hotel bed. But Pedro is here, in the flesh, and he's smiling at you in a way that forms the little crinkles beside his eyes, and you think maybe you can sit through a few hours of fancy dinner and small talk.

You've waited this long, anyways.

[the-soliloquies-of-sadists]

#349

“You look surprised to see us in your home.  C’mon in we have things to discuss.  If you are looking for a place to run, Bubba behind you will make sure you don’t do that.  You should feel free to come into your own home.  Get in.  Bubba close the door….

“You seem too calm for this.  It’s like you expected three strange men to be in your trailer home out here in the middle of nowhere.  Do you know why we are here?  Yeah, you do.  You raped a fourteen-year-old girl, and then due to a technicality got off. 

“We have no idea who this little girl is, nor who her family are.  We don’t even know who the friend of the family is who contacted someone who contacted someone who contacted us.  We were provided your pic, your address, and who in town still cares for you.  Nobody.  We were sent here to make sure you never do it again. 

“Bubba.  Hold him.  You ain’t going anywhere.  Here, this collar will help with that.  Zeke hand me the lock….  And… it’s on.  Bubba let him go. 

“Ok Shithead.  I will give you one second to run, if you can get free then you are free.  One, two,… three. 

“Ha! Ha!  Your one second didn’t even get you to the door before that shock collar knocked you on your ass.  That delivered a punch, hunh?  Keep in mind that was on setting one.  There are five.  Each of us have a remote, and we can up it to any setting we feel like.  A few things about that collar, first it isn’t just an animal collar; it was designed by some very twisted men in Berlin.  There are three terminals, so that at least one will be in touch with your neck.  There are sensors that will monitor if you should want to put a barrier between the contacts and your skin.  There are other sensors in place should you want to cut it off.  Basically, you’re fucked.

“…Well, figuratively fucked.  The literal fucking will happen as soon as you get up….  Get up bitch….  There you go.  Now strip for us.  We want to see what we get to play with.  You heard me.  And take your time.  We are going to enjoy you putting on a show for us. 

“Shirt first.  Look at those pecs!  Nice abs too.  Your chest hair is kinda weird, like it’s all in one spot between you nips.

“What you don’t know about us three is that we prefer men.  I know I am getting a chubby.  How about you guys? 

“Now shoes and socks….  Pants and undies!...  Well lookie there….  You go commando.  More men should do that.  Average dick.  Zeke! Look at those balls.  They are huge! 

“Zeke likes balls….  Bitch, don’t you pull away.  We are going to be doing some nasty stuff to you.  We have every right to access every part of your body.  You don’t have any say in that.  You got that? 

“Now turn around and show us your asshole….  Damn! That’s one bubble butt.  Boys, I think we hit the jackpot with that.  Oh man….  Now show us that hole.  That’s it, bend over and pull your cheeks apart.  Damn!  That’s a virgin hole for sure.  Bitch, you a virgin back there?...  Hot damn!  We get to smash yet another cherry.  Hoo-wee!  Face us and get on your knees…. 

“Guys show him your remotes….  See them Bitch?  That’s so you don’t forget what non-compliance looks like.  Nod if you understand….  Good!

“Now which of us three do you want to rape you first?...  What the fuck?...  Pleading now?  None of us care about you other than being our cumdump pain freak.  So, you have three seconds before you experience shock level two.  Who do you want to take your cherry?  One… Two…

“Me?  Wow.  I haven’t been selected in a long time.  Our victims usually go for Bubba or Zeke, foolishly thinking that the quiet ones aren’t as much of an asshole.  OK bitch, crawl over to me and take my cock out of my pants.

“There you go.  Reach up and feel my bulge.  It’s big hunh?  All three of us are.  Unzip me and take me out.  I too go commando.  Look at my dickhead.  Just think that’s going to be shoved in deep in just about a minute.  Right now, your job is to get as much spit on it as you can.  Throat slime would be better.  That’s the only lube I will use when I smash your cherry.

“If you want a lot of slime on it, try to touch your chin with your tongue.  Like that.  Here let me do this.  Your throat opens up nicely with that.  Choke and gag on this dick!  I can feel the slime coating my cock.  Remember this trick.

“Keep going.  You’ll want to get your hole to relax.  We are going to be using it all day.  All three of us are multiple cummers.  But we are going to do other things too.  My arm will eventually go in your cunt.  Zeke will be destroying your balls.  And Bubba will sit on your face for a deep tongue cleaning.

“We are here until around midnight.  We don’t want to be seen leaving with you secured in our truck.  And when Bubba torches this place, we want to have it burn completely to the ground before the fire department comes out.  Yeah, you are not going back to the shambles of your previous life.  You are going to disappear into the underground where you will be sold into a much different existence.  No one will care that you are gone.

“Guys, there it is; the realization has hit him.  Get him bent over his couch…  Hold him down.  Let him struggle futilely as he grasps the last moment of being a man.

“Bitch, we were paid to rape you and make sure you never do it again.  And if you are wondering how we will prevent you from doing it again, let me just say that Zeke grew up on a farm and he knows how to castrate bulls.  Your balls are the only verification the person who hired us wants.

“Hot damn!  Here it goes.  Scream fucker!  Scream!  Goddamn!  I love smashing virgin cunt!”

[hllfireclb]

Hey there!!! I hope you got the request box open :D. I have an idea for a fluff. Reader is cold and her feet are frozen during winter. So eddie her BFF tries to warm her cold feet while they are watching TV on the sofa the thing is that he tells her that her feet need to be up in the air for blood circulation, but reader complains and decides to rub her feet on under Eddie's sweat. He realizes the position in which are. Eddie in his knees in front of her like in +18 way. He insinuates her which makes her shy out of sudden, eddie likes to meet with her hehe. I leave you out the rest, thank you for reading ❤️

This is so cute!! I am SO sorry that this took so incredibly long omg. I hope I didn‘t misunderstood the kneeling part? Anyway I hope you can enjoy this small fic!

Warm you up | Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Pairing: best friend to lovers Kinda? (Eddie Munson xFem!reader)

Warnings: fluff, mention of drugs, mention of smut so +18 kinda, best friends to lovers trope (hihi)

Word count: 848

English is not my first language, so I apologize for all kinds of mistakes! Feel free to send requests! feedback is always appreciated but please be nice! Don’t like? Don’t read! Enjoy the story

It‘s a cold winter evening in Hawkins, Indiana. One of the coldest you‘ve experienced so far. Normally you don’t have a problem with the cold because you’re all cuddled up in your bedroom, millions of pillows surrounding you together with blankets and your heater turned on until you‘re sweating. Unfortunately that isn’t the place you’re in right now.

Right now you‘re settled on your best friends sofa, in his cold trailer, in the middle of the night. The air is filled with music and the smell of weed coming from the joint that Eddie smoked earlier that evening.

Normally this would be your favorite place to be in, like normally, but right now you regret that the two of you didn’t meet at your place. The temperature is way below zero and it feels like the trailer is freezing from the inside.

"Eddie it‘s too cold! My feet will fall off any minute" You whine out loud as you look up from where you’re lying right now, Eddie in front of you. He looks at you with a raised brow and the, usual smug grin, on his lips "Well that means it won’t smell like cheese in here ever again" he teases but you‘re not having it right now. Normally his stupid jokes would make you all giggly and cause you to blush but right now, you could slap him for any kind of stupid comment.

"Edward." You warn, glaring over to him and he lifts his hands up in the air, showing you that he doesn’t want to start a fight. He never would do that, the fear of losing you because of his cockiness is way too big.

The TV in the background fills the silence which lingers in the air, some horror movie you‘ve rented from FamilyVideo earlier still playing on the screen as you whine again.

Eddie shifts a bit, putting some pressure on his elbows to sit up and look at you "You know…I’ve heard that you should put your feets up if they are cold. For blood circulation, y‘know?".

The only answer he gets from you is another long, high-pitched whine as you shake your head dramatically, causing your best friend to let a soft sigh escape his lips, followed by a chuckle. A sound that makes you shiver all the time. He leans up further to get a better look at you, now resting on his hands as he kind of kneels in front of you. The position he‘s in gives you perfect access to see his tummy and happy trail when suddenly an idea pops up in your mind.

An evil idea.

He‘s about to grab your feet with one hand when you suddenly shove them under the fabric of his sweater, grinning at him when he gasps loudly. He definitely wasn’t prepared for the sudden contact of your cold skin against his burning hot skin.

"Y/n wtf!? Are you crazy!?" He yells out as he tries to shift away from you but when you lock your feet behind his back it‘s impossible for him to move anywhere but closer to you. That’s how he ends up leaning forward so that he’s fully kneeling in between your legs, slightly hovering above you, causing him to hold himself up with one hand.

"That‘s way better! Thank you Ed‘s" you simply give him an innocent smile, acting like he‘s not just a few centimeters away from your lips, acting like you can’t feel his hot breath against your skin and not hearing his heartbeat going a thousand miles per hour. The way your feet keep him in place, doesn’t make it easier for him too. Eddie‘s heart feels like it’s about to explode.

Of course he‘s been close to you before, you’ve cuddled a million of times by now, also shared a few soft kisses on the head of cheek sometimes, but being in between your legs while feeling your cold skin, makes him feel dizzy in so many ways. His body is covered in goosebumps and when tries to look at you properly, he just see‘s a sleepy Y/n beneath him. Eyes closed and hands touching his arm carefully. All the naughty thoughts Eddie had a few seconds ago are definitely gone now.

He‘s looking at you in pure awe. The way you feel so safe and comfortable with him, that you almost fall asleep under him, just because of his body temperature makes him feel special in so many ways. It‘s been almost 3 years and the poor boy still doesn’t know what he did to deserve an angel like you. Someone so amazing and adorable.

"I‘ll warm you up, don’t worry Sweetheart." He whispers against your skin when he slowly tries to get comfortable on top of you. Your hand finds it’s way into the messy curls of his faster than he expected, smiling into your well his shirt when he hears your soft snores above him. Next time you’re cold, he‘s definitely gonna warm you up again, doesn’t matter how ;)

masterlist

[muertawrites]

Tenderness (Eddie Munson x Reader)

(is it weird that i named this after such an upbeat-sounding song? maybe. does it fit eddie’s vibe perfectly? yes. i’d like to think it’s a guilty pleasure song of his. parts one and two, also named after 80s songs i like.) 

(jesus christ that smile <3)

With Wayne Munson’s trailer reduced to nothing but a pile of twisted metal and shattered wood, the only place Eddie had to wait out the rest of his recovery was in your bedroom. 

Convincing your parents to let him stay was a hard sell. Your house didn’t have a spare room, and despite how respectful Eddie had always been - hell, despite you managing to get his murder accusation overturned - they couldn’t bring themselves to trust him. Especially not in your bedroom. With you. At night. With the lights off, the door closed, and a finite amount of inches between you. But, defiant as ever, you’d already sifted through the rubble of his bedroom, salvaged anything you could that meant anything to him (namely his guitar, his dice set, some of his favorite books and cassettes, and a few of the Polaroids he had of you together) and set up shop for him in your room. The day he was discharged, you marched him through the front door with confidence - or, as much confidence as a man on crutches with two black eyes and several hundred stitches in his body could manage - ignoring the knit brows and concerned whispers you were met with. 

“He’s staying,” you told your parents in no uncertain terms. “He isn’t in any kind of shape to be having sex with anyone, since that’s what you’re worried about. And we’re two consenting adults anyway so it’s none of your business.” 

Eddie chuckled as you maneuvered him up the stairs, leaning heavily on you for support. 

“Didn’t think you’d be that kind of nurse,” he teased, flashing you a flirtatious grin. 

You bit your lip as you smiled back, trying to hide just how appealing the idea really was to you. Eddie couldn’t help but lose his breath at the sight of your teeth sinking into the plush, velvety skin. 

“Shut up, Munson,” you bantered. “You didn’t even have any game when you were perfectly healthy.” 

Getting him comfortable on your bed was difficult. He was still incredibly sore, his torso bandaged and his ribs bruised; he moved like a man five times his age, groaning with any pronounced pressure or extended stretch of his limbs. You worked him into a sitting position, helping him out of his jacket and shirt so you had easy access to any dressings that would need to be changed. Once they were folded neatly on the mattress, you knelt before him, coaxing his jeans off his legs, the healing flesh beneath spotted sickening hues of purple and green. If he weren’t in so much pain, he’d have let himself indulge in the pleasurable image of you taking off his pants; instead, he watched you in a dreamy haze, zonked out on whatever meds the hospital pharmacy had provided him. 

After Eddie was leaned up against your headboard, nestled safely within a fortress of pillows and blankets, you presented him with what you managed to rescue from the remnants of his former home. 

“I didn’t find much,” you apologized, watching him run his fingers over the snapped strings of his guitar. “But I brought back what I could. Your porno mags were done for.” 

Eddie laughed, looking up at you with those wide, soulful eyes that made you want to float away into the atmosphere. A snarky retort danced to the tip of his tongue, but fell completely flat on his lips. He couldn’t even joke - he was just so thankful for what you’d done for him. Naturally, however, he couldn’t think of the words to actually come out and say that to you, so he occupied himself with sorting through his cassettes. 

“Oh.” 

He paused when he came to one without a label on the case; just a piece of notebook paper scribbled with the words FOR EMERGENCIES in red ink, his chaotic scrawl taking up as much space as it possibly could. 

“Uh... here.” 

He handed the cassette out to you. You furrowed your brow, hesitantly accepting it. 

“What's this?”

Eddie anxiously cleared his throat.

“It’s, uh... I made it. After Dustin told me music could help.” 

You opened the case, unraveling the crumpled piece of paper within. There was a list written on it, the black scratchings bleeding and hardly legible, but in a sequence you would recognize anywhere. 

They were songs. Your favorite songs. Twelve of them, each close to your heart for a different reason, but all earth-shatteringly personal in their own way. 

You gazed back up at him, blinking away the tears that had started to form in the corners of your eyes. 

“Eddie...” you whispered. Your voice cracked, words faltering and dissipating completely before you could get them out. He blushed, peering at you timidly from under his lashes. 

“I couldn’t let him get you,” he admitted. “The thought of losing you... fucking terrified me. Fuck, that’s why I even got up in the first place. I thought I was as good as dead, but then I thought of you... of leaving you alone with just Steve and those other dipshits to comfort you, of never seeing your face or... or hearing your laugh again. I couldn’t do it. So I got up and just... fucking ran. Ran for my fucking life.” 

He let out a breathy laugh, tears rolling freely down his cheeks. 

“I thought running made me a coward,” he whimpered. “But I ran for you when it would’ve been easier to just lay down let myself die. I ran for you because... because... I couldn’t leave you. Not without saying goodbye.” 

You sniffled, a baffled smile cracking across your features as you wiped at your face, fingers shaking as they dabbed at your tears.

"Eddie Munson," you breathed, "if I didn't know you better, I'd think you were in love with me."

He chuckled, blushing furiously. Both of you kept weeping, the sounds of hiccups and congested breaths filling the silent space around you.

"You know the nurse who discharged me thought we were married?" he told you.

You laughed, reaching out to brush a speck of saltwater from the round of his cheek.

"Really?"

He nodded, grinning.

"Yeah. Told me it was weird they didn't have a spouse listed on my chart. What's worse is I knew immediately she was talking about you."

You couldn't stop smiling. His hand found yours in his lap, taking it within his and kissing it, running his lips absently over your knuckles. His thumb grazed the back of your palm, his rough, calloused skin feeling softer than cotton. You could hold him like that forever.

"I love you," you whispered.

"Oh, thank god," Eddie gasped. He fell forward into you, clunking his forehead against yours, to which you could only laugh. "I didn't know if I should say it, I'm so sorry. I love you so fucking much."

You took his face in your hands and kissed him, your lips slotting together like they'd always been meant for one another, a key into a lock. He tasted of dry blood and weak hospital coffee, sweeter than anything you'd ever savored. His mouth was chapped, his kiss tender. When you pulled apart, he met you with the same gorgeous smile that stole your heart in the first place.

"Kiss me like that every day," you begged. "Promise me."

"Oh, angel," Eddie exhaled. "I would give you my soul if you asked for it."

The mattress you'd set up for yourself in the corner of your bedroom was promptly removed. Seeing how happy, how safe you were sleeping in Eddie's arms, your parents stopped questioning whether or not he should stay.

🌹💀 get your eddie fix 💀🌹

[nanowrimo]

The Art of the Pitch

When submitting your manuscript to an agent, your pitch letter is the first thing they read. But with hundreds of emails pouring into agents’ inboxes every day, how do you get yours to stand out? Author Jeff Herman has some tips:

On any given day, there’s a massive surplus of desperate manuscripts clamoring to fill way too few opportunities. It resembles hordes of famished zombies ripping at the walls and doors where a remnant of agents and editors have found sanctuary. This helps explain why the barriers to your success seem to be unreasonably extreme, not to mention insensitive and discourteous. The harsh process is a form of self-preservation for the gatekeepers. However, access is possible; sometimes you just have to reframe what you’re seeing.

Countless manuscripts that merit publication will spend eternity in the clouds because the authors failed to get agents and editors to read them. From the perspective of the gatekeepers, unsolicited manuscripts are a burden until proven otherwise; they’re an ever-accumulating digital landfill that’s humanly impossible to process and cope with, or even think about. But it’s within every writer’s power to change the math for themselves. 

The following guidance doesn’t promise to be the cure, but it does promise to meaningfully elevate the odds that your manuscript will be requested and read. My advice is the consequence of reading more than one-million pitches covering everything you can imagine.

1. Don’t be boring. Boredom causes attention to shut down. The letter should be as entertaining, compelling, and alluring as the body of work you want to read. Too many writers treat their pitch letters like job applications; imagine having to read hundreds of those a day.  

2. Don’t waste space. Avoid filler. Keep to a single page with short paragraphs (eyes detest densely packed sections). 

3. Use lively and relatable descriptions. Make descriptive lines count with language that transmits visceral and dynamic images. Imagine movie trailers.

4. Get to the point by the second line. Don’t wander into the weeds or try to be a pen pal. 

5. Say exciting things about yourself. For example, “I’m a third-generation serial killer.” Or, “I’m a former President of the United States.” (However, only share things that are true!)

6. Don’t compare your work to bestsellers. It might make you appear arrogant or grandiose. Do a little research to find the titles that best match your work. 

7. Don’t reveal how many years you’ve been trying to get someone to read your pitch, let alone your work. Don’t reveal how many thousands of times you’ve been rejected so far. Don’t expect strangers to care about your aspirations from the goodness of their hearts.  

8. Be softly immodest. Show you're a winner in ways that say it for you. Highlight your accomplishments, don’t hide them. Success tends to gravitate to people who know how to personify a successful image. 

9. Don’t stereotype yourself in ways that could undermine your chances. For instance, there’s no reason to say your age unless it’s germane to the book. (Ageism is frequently an elephant in the room, and unfortunately, publishing isn’t an exception.)

10. Keep trying. Consistently showing up and doing the work regardless of how you feel will get you far. Writing and publishing is a game of long ball that rewards tenacity and resilience. 

Jeff Herman is the author of Jeff Herman’s Guide to Book Publishers, Editors & Literary Agents, 29th Edition and coauthor of the acclaimed Write the Perfect Proposal. He has presented hundreds of workshops about writing and publishing and has been interviewed for dozens of publications and programs. His literary agency has ushered nearly 1,000 books into publication, including many bestsellers. He lives in Stockbridge, MA. His website is www.JeffHerman.com.

Based on the book Jeff Herman’s Guide to Book Publishers, Editors & Literary Agents, 29th Edition. Copyright ©2023 by Jeff Herman. Published by New World Library — www.newworldlibrary.com.

Top photo by Andrew Dunstan on Unsplash.

[thebluestbluewords]

And they were roommates

I’m having fun with the rise of red trailer! This movie is going to be absolutely bonkers and I’m going to have a great time. Also I think Red and Chloe should be in lesbians together.

"Who are you?" 

The girl jerks her head up from her paint. Her lips are red, not like blood, but like the last-season cherry red lip tints that were on trend before the current sheer glitter gloss phase swept in. "I'm your new roommate." 

Chloe stops. She’s— 

She’s misheard something. The girl must mean dorm mate, or neighbor, or else there’s been some sort of mistake. Sure, she’s living in a double room as just one student right now, but that’s because nobody else in her class needs the accessible shower on this floor. Unless this new girl also has a prosthetic? She can’t count that out yet. Maybe there’s just been a communication error. "My what?" 

The girl grins, and yeah, that’s definitely cherry-red lipstick. So last season. "Roommate. You have those here, right?" 

Chloe takes a second to assess the possibility that she’s been hit on the head and this is all a hallucination. Sure, she’s out of her room later than she’s strictly supposed to be, but there’s nobody but this girl around who could have hit her, and she’s been up late studying, not fencing. Her swords aren’t even out of their cases yet. 

The odds that this hot-but-weird girl is just a concussion- induced hallucination are low. Chloe pinches her own arm, subtly. Yeah, ouch. Odds of a hallucination are less than 5%, and dropping further the longer the girl stands here staring.  "Yeah, but this isn't my room. This is a hallway." 

Cherry-red rolls her eyes. Her hair is red too. Same shade, like she bathes in it. "Outside our room." 

"Okay,” Chloe admits, because yes, this girl is in almost the right place, if she really is who she says, and the school really gave her a roommate with no warning. “But this still isn't our room. You can't paint the hallways just because they're outside our room. It's against the rules, and also, it stinks. Can't you open a window before you vandalize school property?" 

"No." 

Maybe the fumes are what’s causing the hallucination. "Fine, then I'll do it." 

Red flinches forward. "No! No. You can't." 

Well, isn’t that something. Little miss trouble doesn’t want the whole school smelling her spray paint stunt yet. "Why not?" 

Chloe’s watching the girl’s face, so she sees the moment of hesitation before Red opens her mouth. "Because it's nighttime. Duh.”

Her mother always says that it’s important to have courage, so Chloe pushes. In the form of rolling her eyes. And popping her hip. She’s going to look like the most annoying, stuck-up princess ever, and then once her maybe-roommate gets angry enough, she’ll show her hand. "So? It's September. It's not too cold out. We're allowed to open the windows for fresh air, and besides, even if we weren't, you don't seem to care too much for the rules."

"I care about one set of rules. Mine." 

Chloe turns to the window, but she keeps the girl in the corner of her eye. "Cool. I care about being able to breathe in here, so I'm opening the window." 

She’s lucky that she catches the flinch. Red is good at keeping a straight face, even with paint cans in each hand and an unknown stranger harassing her about her artistic hallway design choices. 

"Fine,” Red casts her eyes up to the ceiling like she’s annoyed, instead of afraid. Or maybe she really is annoyed, and Chloe is just wildly misreading the situation. “Don't come crying to me when your face gets eaten."

"My—“ don’t think about kissing her. Don’t think about kissing her. Don’t. Throwing herself face-first onto that red smirk is the last thing that Chloe needs to do right now. Even though it would feel good and probably distract the girl from the whole vandalism thing. “My what?" 

Red throws Chloe a look like she knows exactly what she’s been failing not to think about. "Your face. Eaten off. By the toves." 

"Sorry, the what?" 

"The toves,” Red repeats, like Chloe’s the fool for not knowing what a tove is. “They're wonderland creatures, you wouldn't get it anyway. Just don’t worry about it.” The smirk is back. “Go ahead, open up that window. See where it gets you.” 

Wonderland. Red. 

Ohh, this girl is from the Red Queen’s court. The notorious topsy-turvy upside-down land where rules aren’t real, and if they’re not, then they’ve got to be followed anyway. Chloe’s never been allowed to travel to wonderland herself, but she’s got a souvenir snowglobe that her brother brought back for her un-birthday when she was ten, so she likes to think of herself as a little bit of a multicultural expert.   "If they're from wonderland, then why are they here?" 

Red spins one of her paint cans over the back of her hand. She’s not looking at Chloe anymore. Not that Chloe wants to be looked at. She’s cool, and calm, and she’s totally not feeling anything like butterflies in her belly from the way Red’s lips curve up at the corner.  

"My mom."

"This is a boarding school,” Chloe points out, only because it’s weird to have parents at school. Not because she wants Red to look at her again. “Why would your mom be here?" 

"To visit me?" Red’s voice drips with condescension. “Duh?” 

Right. 

Bubbly princess time. 

Chloe smiles, and forces the threat of a giggle into her tone. "That's fair. I deserve that one. Are you going to go inside our room, or just stay out here in the hallway?" 

Red spurts a little heart of paint around her own reflection in the hall mirror. "I don't have a key. Yet." 

"Did Fairy Godmother check you in? Or– Headmaster Uma. She's the one to see about that. She’s really cool, she probably won’t even give you trouble over showing up so late.” 

Another heart. This time it’s over her face. "She's dealing with my mom." 

There’s a message there, and Chloe’s not dumb enough to miss the fact that her new roommate, vandal or not, doesn’t want to talk about it. "Oh. Okay. I guess I can let us both in for tonight." 

Red adds a little lightning bolt from her other can, bisecting the hearts. “Much appreciated, princess. I’ll try not to get paint on your bed.”

[synthville]

the thing is.

raffi isn’t half as strange or off-putting as she could be. given how she processes things and her vices she really should be so much more of an audacious eccentric obsessive schemer (love) and also just the biggest liar to ever do it. meddlesome as hell but it comes back to bite.

she’s got all the connects but also she’s been banned from multiple planets. it’s fine. she didn’t want to go back to any of them anyway. her access was revoked so why does she know so much about seemingly unconnected classified events and titbits. why don’t you. she happened upon that information. as one does. what’s with all the questions. smooth talks her way in and out of stupid situations daily because she can’t leave well enough alone and just has to get answers. she does not get her answers. rabbit holes that spawn labyrinths. whatever the futuristic version of a red string board is. rios breaking into her quarters because it’s been days and she’s replicated an alarming amount of wine but very little food and he hates the EMH but the nosey holo is right this cannot stand. she tries to be present because it was her idea to visit that one spa like planet in the first place but it’s physically impossible for her not to bring up whatever theory it is that’s plaguing her this time around. there’s something just outside her periphery and once she connects the dots she’ll let it go. really. the great pretender. an actual reckoning with her addiction and what’s at the root of it. why constantly numbing herself with various substances didn’t actually work. she can fool everyone but not herself. at least not well. all the fallout with people she loves that now want nothing to do with her (gabe?? hello that thread alone is so much) because of all the times she recklessly dismissed or used them for her own means all the while convincing herself it was about the big picture. being real with herself about the reality of starfleet and why she wants in so badly anyway. greater good huh. her tricked out encrypted tech because why accept bland federation equipment or adhere to legal limits when she can make things that much more fun with a little tweaking. that unassuming little trailer is fortified as fuck. eyescan fingerprint alphasymbolic code physical lock to even get past the front door. and obviously her tech self destructs upon intrusion this isn’t amateur hour. she might be living in a semi utopia but you still not about to catch her slipping. any and all conversations between cybernetist agnes jurati and intelligence officer raffaela musiker. rios needs them to stop making unauthorized changes to la sirena and cut it out with the emergency holo roundtables. everything to do with her and seven but twice the stubborn gay ridiculousness and entwinement. everyone is alive and well and in their rightful timelines. salivating. she’s barely putting in her weird girl hours and already people can’t take it imagine if they just leaned into making her a possessive obsessive little freak (positive!) and wrote/depicted everything with care? the layers. a hyper-competent-women-with-massive-issues-lover’s dream and the nasty bros and bigots who can’t fathom anyone other than a bland white guy as deserving of complexity or relevance would die on the spot amen. id EAT.

[thevideogameshutterbug]

The Murder of Sonic The Hedgehog: Can We Get More of This?

No joke. You might have noticed from my sudden return to activity after a while, but I really, really liked The Murder of Sonic the Hedgehog. Gaming April Fools jokes are quirky and weird by nature - that’s the point. But every once in a while a game developer will release an April Fool’s joke that is so fun and unique in its quirkiness that it takes off and completely captures the audience with its charm. Sometimes these are even on purpose - attempts to test the waters and deliver some fun at the same time, like the trailer for Fighting Ex Layer. Sometimes it’s probably not, but... maybe it could be. I think that’s what The Murder of Sonic the Hedgehog could be.

I‘ve been a Sonic fan for a very, very long time. I’ve loved most games in the series for the whole length of that time. There are few Sonic games I could say I outright dislike, tbh. But something I’ve long felt the Sonic series could’ve benefited from way back when was a stronger spinoff game. I think people give spinoffs a bad rap just on principle. “Why make disposable spinoffs when we can focus on making mainline games?”, people say (Sonic fans are also a bit unreasonably petrified of alternate gameplay styles). But I think that’s the missing the point. Spinoffs are a major part of what gives game series their identity - especially family focused series like Sonic. Not just because they give accessibility to a wider range of gamers, but because they make a buffer zone. Main line games take a long time. You have to wait years to see it, and if it has problems... well... that’s the reputation of the series for the next few years until the next game comes around. Spinoffs, however, mean that there’s always something involving the character out there to keep people interested. I means that if even if one game isn’t so good, there’s always others out there delivering quality. It gives the series something to look at at all times, and that gives it longevity. So why think about Sonic, a series about super speed and hi-momentum platforming, and make a visual novel spinoff? Visual novels are slow by nature, static images and careful deduction. Well... you make it for exactly the reasons everyone loved Murder.

People like these characters. People really like these characters. They’re fun. They’re all unique from each other. And they bounce off each other so well. But Sonic fans rarely get the chance to really experience the characters. Sonic’s long had a problem of loads of characters without quite knowing what to do with them. Characters like Rouge, a jewel thief primarily used for spy parodies, just plain isn’t going to be in most Sonic games - the games don’t have those kinds of plots often.

But that’s where a visual novel shines. Visual novels are all about going from scene to scene interacting with large swaths of characters, quirky conversations and unexpected character and plot developments. It’s not just that you can use tons of characters, but that you can give them center stage far more freely than you can in a platformer or a more action-focused plot. Sonic has been absolutely killing it this past year with adaptations and projects that were all about exploring the characters and what makes them fun, and Murder’s just the latest example. All the characters get segments to themselves to show off, tell jokes, and be fun - it’s silly and cartoony, charming with lots of character moments and eccentric turns, and it’s perfect for Sonic. So I really want to see more of this sort of thing!

We could get more parodies like this - hey, if Detective Pikachu can be a thing, why not more Detective Tails? Or we could get more involved stories. Something more Adventure-esque, or something more Saturday Morning Cartoon-y like Colors. Or a mixture of both! Character focused, or whole cast all at once just like this. Another everyman as the focus character, or one of the cast - Tails actually makes a very good protagonist for this sort of thing. The sky is the limit, here. Even this little April Fools joke gave us a surprising amount of worldbuilding and fun ideas I hope get revisited someday. Plus, it has to be said that visual novels take an entirely different creative process than platform games, and this game indeed was made by a third party, so the crowd nervous that any spinoff could take away from the development of the main titles doesn’t really have much to worry about: in the end, these would be made by different teams. It’s just a good idea all around. So I really hope this doesn’t get abandoned. Give us the continued spinoff visual novel / point and click adventures of Sonic and friends. I imagine any future ones wouldn’t still be free, but sure I’ll pay for it. Why not? I mean, you’ve got a perfect premise right here:

Eggman Industries’ Famous Eggscape Rooms! They’ll scramble your brains. And maybe your lifespan.

[pxnsneverland]

Don’t Be Cruel | austin!elvis x oc (part 2)

plot summary: Angel Casteel is a small town girl who lucked into working as a makeup artist at a film studio. Unfortunately, her confidence in herself wavers as she is assigned to work with Elvis on his latest motion picture. Overcome by his star power at first, she slowly starts to realize there is a man behind the fame, a man she understands. But as they grow closer, the world grows more turbulent, especially Elvis's world. Will this Angel be able to save Elvis from himself and the people around him? Or will getting mixed up in his word prove to be her downfall as well?

Part 1

pairings: austin!elvis x oc

word count: 2171

warnings/notes: N/A

Chapter 2

              The dimly lit trailer sat in silence, its walls echoing with emptiness. Time seemed to stretch on endlessly, as hours ticked by with agonizing slowness. And then the door creaked open. My breath caught in my throat, my eyes widening with hope. But to my surprise, it wasn't the face I had been yearning for. There stood a woman of remarkable poise and authority. Her name was Mrs. Davis, the esteemed director of the makeup department. With her keen eye for detail and unwavering dedication to her craft, she commanded the respect and admiration of all who crossed her path. I couldn't help but question if I had already made a mistake. However, her gaze betrayed no signs of anger or distress. In fact, a smile adorned her features.

              “Angel, good to see you again, my dear,” she greeted.

              “You too, Mrs. Davis. I sure was shocked when you assigned me to this picture. Elvis Presley is…”

              “Yes I know. But to be perfectly honest, there isn’t much buzz for Elvis’s movies anymore. I figured if anyone could help him look his best in this picture and get his career going again, it would be a young, vibrant, and promising artist like yourself.”

              I felt awful for Elvis, but I appreciated Mrs. Davis' faith in me. It was the kind of confidence I didn't have in myself. “Thank you. I figured I would be gettin’ to work now, but I haven’t seen Elvis walk near here at all.”

              Mrs. Davis delicately placed her hand upon her chest, a gesture that reflected her surprise and amusement. A soft, melodious laughter escaped her lips. “Oh, dear, I buried the lead. What I came in here to tell you is that Elvis is ready for his makeup. But he would like you to come to his private trailer.”

              “P-Private trailer?” Whispers echoed through the bustling studio, carrying tales of an unspoken rule that managed the inner sanctum of Elvis Presley's world. It was said that only those fortunate enough to be part of his exclusive inner circle were granted access to his personal trailer. Beyond its closed doors lay a world veiled in mystery, a realm that remained off-limits to the prying eyes of outsiders. The murmurs spoke of a vehicle meticulously crafted to cater to his every whim, boasting even the presence of a cozy bed nestled within its abundant confines. “Why?”

              Mrs. Davis stood before the vanity mirror. With a nonchalant shrug, she adjusted a few strands of her hair, ensuring that every strand fell perfectly into place. The soft glow of the vanity lights accentuated her features, casting a gentle radiance upon her face. “I don’t know. That man is full of mysteries I don’t even think he knows about.” With a graceful flick of her wrist, she reapplied her lipstick, the vibrant shade gliding smoothly across her lips. Puckering them slightly, she admired her reflection in the mirror before turning her attention towards me. “Either way, it doesn’t matter. We must make the actors happy or none of us have jobs. Now go on before that boy holds up filming any longer.” With a dismissive wave of her hand, she shooed me away from the cramped trailer.

              As I stood outside, my gaze fixed upon Elvis's trailer, a vivid blue structure that stood out amidst the surroundings. It possessed a charm of its own, with a quaint little lawn arranged just outside its walls. It occupied a solitary spot, devoid of any neighboring trailers that might invade its space. With each deliberate step, I made my way towards the trailer. The rhythmic thumping in my chest echoed in my ears, a wild symphony of nerves and anticipation. I yearned to quiet the tumultuous beating, to regain control over my racing heart. The air hung heavy with a mix of anxiety and determination as I approached the entrance. With a trembling hand, I reached out and gently rapped my knuckles against the door of the trailer. A voice emerged from inside, “It’s open.”

              With a gentle push, I stepped into the living area, allowing the door to swing shut behind me. Whispers had reached my ears, painting vivid pictures of the lavishness that lay within these walls. The rumors, it turned out, were not mere figments of imagination or idle gossip. They were, in fact, a reflection of reality. The interior of Elvis's trailer was a sight to behold, a testament to his larger-than-life persona. Every nook and cranny exuded an air of grandeur, as if the very essence of his stardom had been infused into the very fabric of the space. Every inch of the space was adorned with the rich, luxurious fabric of red velvet. From the walls to the furniture, it seemed as though a wave of crimson had swept through, leaving behind a lavish tapestry that enveloped the entire room.  The room was dimly lit, with the only source of light being the faint glow that seeped through the black satin curtains adorning the windows. The same luxurious fabric cascaded down from the ceiling, enveloping the bunk bed in an elegant embrace. The mirrors stood proudly; their frames adorned with intricate designs of shimmering gold. My eyes moved to the exquisite table that stood before me. Crafted from rich mahogany, it exuded an air of elegance and sophistication. As I approached the table, I noticed a small bar discreetly tucked away behind it. The shelves were lined with an impressive array of liquor bottles, each one more luxurious than the last. Nestled in the farthest part of the trailer, a grand bed commanded attention, its presence dominating the entire expanse of the space. It was adorned with a vibrant red comforter. The contrasting black sheets, neatly tucked beneath the comforter, created a striking visual contrast. Elvis sat upon the edge of the bed. A smile slowly spread across his face, illuminating his features with a radiant glow.

              “Angel.” My name rolled off his tongue, like sweet honey dripping from his lips. “I’m glad they sent for ya like I asked. That Davis woman was goin’ on and on about how production crew can’t come into private trailers.”

              “She was probably just tryin’ to do her job. Mrs. Davis is a nice woman.”

              A subtle shrug escaped his broad shoulders, a gesture that seemed to betray his disbelief in my words. With a gentle sigh, he rested his hand on his thigh, feeling the fabric of his trousers beneath his fingertips. His fingers brushed lightly over his lips, a gesture both contemplative and tender. A soft chuckle escaped his lips. “Why are you just standin’ there? Come over here.”

              With cautious steps, I ventured towards the rear of the trailer. Each movement was calculated as if I were treading upon fragile glass, fearing that even the slightest misstep could result in the shattering of something valuable and irreplaceable. I came to a halt as I found myself standing mere inches away from him. I clutched my make-up case tightly, grasping it in both of my hands. “Are ya ready? Mrs. Davis said you were already late filmin’.”

              Elvis, with his piercing gaze, fixed his eyes upon me, as if time itself had come to a standstill. Our eyes remained steadfast, unyielding. His unwavering gaze bore into mine, refusing to be swayed by any distraction. And I, too, held my ground, determined not to let my gaze falter in the face of his unwavering intensity. There was no denying it - he was unquestionably handsome. Before long, he broke the silence, “Why are you sacred of me?”

              The suddenness of the question caught me off guard. My mind momentarily faltered, struggling to process the unexpected question that had been posed before me. I wasn't afraid of him. There was something about him that stirred an unsettling feeling within me. It was as if every aspect of his being had the power to send shivers down my spine. The way he smiled at me, when he spoke my name, his voice carried a certain charm that both intrigued and unnerved me. It was as if he knew something about me that I wasn't even aware of, and that knowledge alone was enough to make my heart race and my palms grow clammy. “I’m not scared of you.”

              “When you saw me before, you looked like you had seen a ghost. Right now, you look the same.” With a gentle sigh, he brought his hands together, intertwining his fingers as if in prayer. “Now I don’t know what you heard about me, but most of what the press says ain’t true.” A heavy sigh escaped his lips, carrying with it a weight of insecurity. In that moment, his once assured demeanor seemed to fade away, revealing a vulnerability that resembled that of a young boy lost in his daydreams of a better life. “God damn reporters say whatever they want and people will believe it. I’m not Elvis Presley. Well, I am, but I ain’t the Elvis Presley they say I am, bigger than the world, untouchable. Most of the time I don’t even really know what I’m doin’, actin’ like somethin’ I ain’t.”

              I carefully placed my make-up box on the soft surface of the bed right beside Elvis.  I searched through the contents finding my eyeliner. With a tender touch, I delicately clasped his chin, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath my fingertips. He accepted, granting me permission to guide his head upward, revealing the fragility in his eyes. “Close your eyes,” I whispered softly, my voice barely audible in the hushed room. He obediently followed my instructions. With a steady hand, I began lining his eyes, my focus unwavering. Each stroke of the pencil was executed with precision, as I strived to achieve perfection. As my fingers brushed against his skin, a subtle change rippled through his body. The tension that had once gripped him began to melt away, replaced by a gentle ease that radiated from his core. As the words flowed from Elvis's lips, I found myself captivated by his story. It was in that moment that a realization washed over me like a gentle wave on a tranquil shore - we were not so different, he and I. He, a man of humble country origins, possessed a heart filled with aspirations for a life grander and more fulfilling than the one he knew. And by a stroke of fortune, he stumbled upon the opportunity that would change his fate forever. It was evident that he, too, was bewildered by the circumstances that had brought him here. “I grew up in a one-horse town in Alabama, workin’ as a waitress in the one of the two restaurants the town had. I always wanted somethin’ better, somethin’ different. So instead of savin’ up money to go to college, I saved up money to move to California. My parents thought I was crazy; my friends didn’t really believe in me either. Open your eyes.” I carefully applied the bottom liner. “But I did it anyway bustin’ my butt in a salon where I only made enough to cover rent in a not so safe part of Los Angeles. Mrs. Davis came in one day and suddenly I’m here workin’ with people I’ve only seen on TV or on the silver screen, knowin’ I’m not as trained as the other artists they’ve worked with. Most of the time, I don’t know what I’m doin’ either.”

              Elvis seized my wrist, putting an end to my actions. He gazed up at me with puppy eyes, eyes that ached for understanding. “I’ve never told anyone that before, not even people closest to me.”

              I smiled warmly. “I’m glad you told me. I was startin’ to think I was all alone out here.”

              “Me too.” His lips curled into a warm smile as he met my gaze, his eyes sparkling with affection. With a gentle motion, he traced his fingers down up wrist, intertwining them with mine.

              For the first time that day, his touch did not make me apprehensive, nor did his grin make me nervous. He reminded me a lot of the lads back home, with their southern charm and enormous goals yearning for anything to give them meaning. But most of them had no idea how lonely their search was. Elvis got it just as well as I did. “Now let’s get your makeup done before Mrs. Davis starts bangin’ on that door.”

              He refused to let go of my hand. “Will you come back here tomorrow too?”

              I nodded. “As long as you want me to do your makeup in here, I will.”

              That appeared to appease him, and he eased his hand out of mine, allowing me to resume my task. That's how I spent the following hour, putting on his makeup and talking to get to know the real Elvis.

Stay tuned for part 3!! Click HERE to view!

[littlewomenpodcast]

Laura Dern Is The Worst Marmee (Little Women 2019 Roast)

Christina: There is not even a half-pass line like ”Oh well I am taking Amy with me to Europe because Amy and I get along better than you and I ever did. It is true. That is something that at some point someone says in the book, whether it was Aunt March or Jo, they say we wouldn’t have gotten along better. There is not even that kind of..yeah it is just very abrupt. ”Amy is going with me and it sucks to be you, Jo”. Amy really did not again, gain any sympathy from me, when she was there like ”Why is nobody being happy for me”? The film is so confusing for me. I like Laura Dern. I think in general she is a wonderful actress but all I can say is that Marmee in this one is like a soccer mom. ”I am not like a regular mom. I am a cool mom”. When Laurie first comes and meets Marmee. He says ”Oh hello Mrs March” She is like ”Oh just call me Marmee. Everybody does”. ”What?” ”No!”. The one moment that really gets me regards on how Marmee reacts to something. In the trailer, we see the girls messing around in their own home and Marmee says to Laurie ”My girls can be a bit of a handful”. Okay, let's say that at home they can be wild little animals. Then what happens in the movie is after Amy hurts her hand and she is babbling to Laurie and whatever is weird. She and the sisters, The Marches, and Marmee are obviously there too. Go inside the Lawrence house and they are all jumping all over the place, screaming. They are acting like banshees. I don’t care if it was back then or today. No good parent would just allow their kid to just go nuts. Jo is over cushions, and they put their hands on everything without acting respectfully. Marmee is just like ”Oh yeah, this is just how my girls are” and I am like, if I had acted that way in a stranger’s house, I probably would have had a whipping. I would have probably been grounded. No tv for a week, or something like that. I got a second-hand embarrassment from just seeing that. How do you…especially in that time period? how do you sit there and just go” Oh yeah, this is totally fine”? Marmee would have never allowed it because she still wants them to act like respectable people. Obviously not to dampen their spirits or to take away anything. Act like adults? act like human beings! That moment.

Niina: I had so many problems with that film. We talked earlier about Uncle March, but you know how in this movie Aunt March is supposed to be a spinster but then, this really bothers me, if she is a spinster, why is she constantly trying to marry off these girls? According to Gerwig, she is supposed to be this model for an independent woman for Jo, but then she constantly wants the girls to marry rich. Isn’t that contradicting?

Christina: It is! The other thing too is, that it makes Aunt March seem even meaner because if she is not ever married and she is rich. I am thinking of that moment when Aunt March is like ”Oh you need to marry rich” and Jo is like ”You are not married” and she is like ” That is because I’m rich”. It makes Aunt March seem even meaner because if she is rich by whatever means it is, why isn’t she helping the family? Versus her being married into it? You know what I mean? it just kinda seems like. I presume… I don’t really know much about the economics of the marriage. What it was back then. I feel like marrying into money, even if you are a widow, you still have very limited access to your husband’s money. Whereas in this it seems like ”Oh yeah I got the money on my own but I can’t give you the money for whatever reason, because I am a Scrooge McDuck type of person. That is what it felt like to me. They were clearly suffering financially and she was just not helping in any way. It made Aunt March a lot colder than I think she should have been.

Niina: Yeah, that doesn’t make any sense to me, because if she is this rich spinster, why does she want everyone to get married? All the listeners who don’t know, Aunt March in the book, had a husband whom she loved millionaire. She is not happy in very much and they had a daughter who died and that made her a very grungy lady. Even though she is a book, because of that.

[ladypeonies]

Mileapo's Mansuang is here.

The trailer is here leaving us with more questions. Khem (Apo) agreed to a mission in Mansuang to gain status and a title because he doesn’t want to be controlled by others.

In a world with a class/caste system, I get that. It’s one of his motives. He probably has other secrets, a deeper reason as to why he wants that change for him or perhaps others? But the question is what is he willing to sacrifice to get there, to leave the mud for gold?

Khem (Apo) wants to play the part, working day and night to be a better dancer, the lead actor. Why? For more access? To gain answers as to where is that document? His character is probably going to evolve a lot, from clumsy newcomer to a strong position in Mansuang. The best position being the main dancer/lead actor probably. But mentally will he be strong? I hope so. We see him cry. Hopefully, he hides his tears and doesn’t show weakness. And if he gets that document, what choice will he make? I’m rooting for him.

What about Chat (Mile)? We don’t learn much about him. I’m curious as to why Khem trusts him? What does he do to gain the trust of a man on a mission? Why isn’t Khem more careful? Chat wants the document, because the one who gets it, control Siam. And everyone wants that power even foreign countries.  

I don’t see a happy ending, is Khem ambition, a dream for a better life be his downfall? By wanting to be free, he may be trapped in Mansuang forever even when he leaves it. Khem and Chat? Who will feel the most betrayed? Perhaps they will team up.

It’s all a matter of what one gains and what one loses.

The end, I imagine, Chat gets the power, becomes the king and Khem becomes his dancer at his court. Chat gains power but loses love because the betrayal was too much for Khem to keep loving him (if it’s a romance between the two).

Khem leaves the mud but ends in a golden cell with a man he doesn’t trust anymore. Because no one is completely free in court, not even the king. And Mansuang forever stay with them as the place they gained so much and lost as well.

Everything is possible. I say and one dies to save the other end of the movie.

I’m waiting to be transported to Siam, feel it, through the costumes and decors, to be surprised, shocked, and cry, of course. Yes, this will end in tears, how else could such a story end?

Well, let’s wait and see.