#wilde pollock

[duusheen]

Goodbye, Wilde Pollock.

Globetrotter, husband, dad and grandpa✨

[aleppothemushroom]

This meme made Reddit really angry

[m-aremagnum]

Little Arrow de Wilde asleep at the Met Museum by her mother, Autumn de Wilde

[harmonictechnicality]

Eddie’s Memory Log: Day 2-5

part 1 here | part 3 here | part 4 here | part 5 here | part 6 here

(ao3 link here)

There’s chewed up bits of food splattered violently all over the hospital lunch tray.

“Are you trying to feed me or torture me, Harrington?” Eddie wipes his mouth with the back of his arm.

Eddie still remembers Steve’s name.

“Kung Pao Chicken.” Steve over enunciates each syllable. 

“My memory is fucked - not my speech, asshole.” 

“Your attitude is fucked worse than your memory is.” Steve grumbles. “You asked for this yesterday, remember?”

Eddie chooses not to answer verbally and instead, shoves the tray away from his bedside.

Eddie doesn’t remember asking for Kung Pao Chicken yesterday. If that weren’t already obvious.

He dramatically chugs down a styrofoam cup of water. “Seriously, my tongue feels like it’s been assaulted.”

Nah, his fucking behavior today is all very reminiscent of that Shakespeare play - Steve only read the cliff notes for it during his junior year English class. Taming of the Shrew? Take a wild fucking guess who is the shrew right now…

Steve spoons a bite of his food into his mouth without throwing a tantrum. “Maybe your taste buds changed.”

“Maybe you’re wasting your time.” Eddie snaps back. “Maybe you should leave.”

Steve is  not in the mood for this. Not today. Robin is still borrowing his car and he didn’t get a window seat on the bus, so his Patience has clocked out early. Not even in the goddamn building anymore.

“Fine.” He gets up, packing up his meal that he can’t even enjoy. Look, Steve’s not asking for a candlelit dinner by any means. But changing the weather forecast - dramatically pouring food out of his mouth in that way? Munson is a goddamn piece of work (Pollocks probably, considering the mess).

That reminds him:

Eddie remembers how to be dramatic. Theatrics must be in his bloodstream or some shit.

“Are you leaving or what?” Eddie is flipping through the tv channels, not even looking at Steve.

“I swear on your stupid little board game, you better be an angel tomorrow.” Steve scolds, gathering all of his things underneath his arm.

“What was that?”

“You heard me.” Steve points a finger at him. “Your memory is fucked, not your ears.”

“Your tongue is fucked for having such shitty taste in food.”

“Nice comeback.”

“And you shouldn’t come back at all.” Eddie hits an imaginary cymbal at the end of his lame joke. At least there’s humor in his damaged mind. Too bad it’s at Steve’s expense.

Eddie remembers how to tell jokes again. Mean jokes. (tbd on the rest of his humor though)

Steve isn’t planning on saying goodbye, but he remembers the kids. They’ll whine him into an early grave if he doesn’t return to Hawkins with a little more insight on Eddie’s memory levels. So he decides to ask one more question before leaving:

“Hey. Munson.”

Eddie flips the volume down on the tv, and looks at Steve. “What now?”

Still remembers his own last name.

“When’s your birthday?” Steve asks again. He already asked this yesterday, but it’s worth a shot.

Eddie looks out the window, closes his eyes for a few seconds. For the first time today, his expression goes serene. All the frustration lines on his face relax. Ease up. 

He opens his eyes and answers calmly.

“January 10th.”

Interesting.

Eddie knows his birthday.

Memory log: Day 3

Steve should consider a career as a psychic or some shit. Maybe he absorbed all of Eddie’s memory skills unintentionally or maybe his little DnD threat was worth the added bitchiness. Whatever it is, Eddie is actually tolerable today.

“That’s the least vomit-inducing shade of yellow you’ve ever worn, Harrington.” Which isn’t exactly a ‘hello, it’s nice to see you,’ but Steve will take it because - 

Eddie still remembers Steve’s name.

“So you remember me wearing yellow?” Steve clicks his pen excessively. “Seems pretty advanced.”

Eddie turns the tv off today. Woah. “Last week, yeah. Wanted to join PETA just so I’d have a good excuse to throw fake blood all over it.”

Okay yeah, still mean - but also, his memory isn’t so shabby either:

Eddie remembers Steve’s yellow sweater he wore last Tuesday!? That seems impressive.

Eddie knows who the fuck PETA is (Steve makes a mental note to tell Robin about that one cause holy shit)

Eddie is making snort-worthy jokes today. (Are they still at Steve’s expense? Hell yeah, but who the fuck cares? There’s goddamn chunks of memory in his cynical comedy.)

Steve stays for the entirety of visiting hours. Eddie doesn’t ask him to leave - not once. They mock shitty soap operas on tv and theorize that all of the actors are actually rejected pornstars.

Steve likes This Eddie.

Steve hopes this version of Eddie is still here tomorrow.

“Did you think I’d forget?” Eddie asks slyly while Steve heads for the door.

“Forget what?” Steve isn’t following at all. 

“The Chinese takeout.” Eddie says sort of irritated. “Kung Pao Chicken, remember?”

Oh. Steve does remember. Eddie does not.

Eddie doesn’t remember redecorating the hospital bed with his chewed up food.

His face suddenly drops at Steve’s change in posture. “What?”

“I did bring it.” Steve hates this. “Yesterday.”

“Oh.”

“Do you remember yesterday at all?”

Eddie whispers into his palm. “I remember you.”

“Right.” Steve’s chest gets tighter at his answer though.

While it’s encouraging that Eddie knows who Steve is everyday, and is comfortable dragging his style through the mud (or fake blood) - this puts such a damper on their good day. Steve can already see Eddie reaching for the tissue box, ready to soak his disappointment into off-brand snot rags. He can’t let the day end like this. No fucking way.

“Hey.” Steve knocks his knuckles over the wall, grabbing Eddie’s attention. “We’ll try again tomorrow, yeah?”

Eddie bunches up the unused tissue in his hand. “Whatever.”

“Take a good look at this non-vomit-inducing sweater.” Steve teases gently. “Don’t forget it.” He does a goofy twirl, and wiggles his ass while he turns around just to see if Eddie will laugh.

He doesn’t, but it seems like he’s trying incredibly hard not to. Always a good sign that ass-shaking is still humorous even after inter-dimensional brain trauma.

“Never said it was non-vomit-inducing.” Eddie retorts after fighting back his amusement. “I said it was the least vomit-inducing.”

“Ugh.” Steve rolls his eyes, gives Eddie a small wave as he heads out the door.

He can still hear Eddie trying to get the last word as he leaves:

“Maybe you’re the one that needs a brain scan, Harrington!”

At least it was a better day.

Memory Log: Day 4

Well so much for the Better Day. Somehow, Eddie’s attitude is now reaching Mister fucking Hyde levels today. He’s the bad dude, right? The Jekyll guy is a doctor, which must make him the chill one… ya know, medicine and shit. And seriously, doesn’t Eddie need to be on some more medications anyways? If Steve were smarter, he’d write the fucking prescription himself.

Whatever, Eddie is Hyde and that Shakespearean shrew lady all chopped up and tossed together today. He’s slinging insults like softballs and snarling his bruised upper lip every time Steve utters a single sentence. Steve is reconsidering his comment about not taking money from sophomores, cause this is bullshit.

“What sexually transmitted disease brings you to the hospital today, Harrington?” Eddie asks rhetorically. And annoyingly.

He remembers he strongly dislikes Steve Harrington, that’s for damn sure.

But… he still remembers Steve’s name so that’s a plus.

And wait -

“Hold on. Did you just make a Steve is a Hometown Slut joke?” Steve is way too excited about the prospects of Eddie remembering his promiscuous past.

Eddie tilts his head to the side. “Hometown Slut would be a good band name, actually.”

“Focus, Munson.” 

“Uh, I guess?” Eddie reaches for his pudding cup. Huh. Maybe he’s sick of jello. “Why are you about to piss your pants over that?”

Steve flips to the first day of notes when Eddie didn’t remember jackshit about Steve in high school. He looks back up at Eddie. “Because that means you remember at least something about high school.”

Eddie shrugs. “I failed a lot of shit. It’s probably because there’s just way too much high school to remember. Something was bound to stick.”

Eddie remembers flunking Senior year.

And even though Eddie is living up to his satanic stereotype with his behavior today, Steve is beyond excited that memories are coming back. He just has to ask one more thing before leaving:

“Do you remember what color sweater I wore yesterday?”

Eddie examines Steve for a very long time. Hoping to spark the correct answer, Steve twirls again. Wiggles his ass. Gives a big, goofy smile.

“You’re weird.” Eddie looks away. Looks down.

Steve exhales loudly.

Eddie doesn’t remember Steve's least vomit-inducing yellow sweater.

Memory Log: Day 5

After Dustin analyzes Steve’s daily entries, they hypothesize that Eddie is struggling the most with short term memories (since he never quite remembers one day prior to the current day). It appears that some of his long term memories are gradually returning, so perhaps a little coaxing will speed those along.

“Well well well, if it isn’t -”

“Catch, Hyde!” Steve tosses a crushed velvety bag into Eddie’s lap.

Eddie pokes at the bag. “Hyde?”

“It’s either Hyde or Katherina.” Steve finally asked Robin the name of that bitchy character from the Taming of the Shrew. “But if you’re gonna play nice today, I’ll just call you Eddie.”

That solicits an audible gasp from him.

He must remember that Steve never calls him by his first name.

“Your references and gifts confuse me.”

“Maybe if you just open the bag, it‘ll un-confuse your sloshy brain.”

He dumps the jangly items onto his side table. 

It’s slow - the smile that forms over Eddie’s face. It’s the first time Steve has seen Eddie smile with teeth since that night in the Upside Down. One of his teeth on the bottom row is chipped, but it doesn’t even matter. He’s smiling wide enough to show all of his teeth and that’s the fucking win for today. Everything else is just a bonus. Sprinkles and candles and confetti and party hats.

After so much loss, they needed this win.

“So?” Steve wants words now. Needs smiles and words combined. “See something you like?”

“My dice collection.” Eddie says it like the lyrics to a hymn. As if these geometric blobs are his religion and he’s praising their existence at the altar of his hospital tray.

“Do you remember what kind of dice?” Steve had Dustin give him some key definitions on this fantasy shit. Not for his knowledge, of course - for Eddie. Duh.

“D20s.” He answers fast.

Steve nods, walks over and tries to pick one up. Eddie slaps his hand away quickly. “Get your Grease Lightning fingers away from my children.”

Okay. Well.

Eddie remembers his dice/children (and what they’re called)

Eddie remembers Grease? (Of all the movies Steve thought this guy would reference… Grease? Is it the leather? Hm.)

“Do you…” Steve is nervous for this question because he desperately wants Eddie to get this right. “Do you remember the name of the game you play with these?”

For a second, Eddie’s face drops the same way it did yesterday when he couldn’t remember the color of Steve’s sweater. But the dropped corners of his lips begin to twist into a devilish smirk.

“My dearest Stevie boy,” Eddie’s voice is dripping in that poisonous tree sap kind of way. “Dungeons and Dragons isn’t just a game. It’s a fucking worldwide phenomenon.”

Holy shit. Within those three sentences, Eddie almost sounded like Name Brand Eddie Munson again. The tone he always used with the meatheads at Hawkins High - that tone is back. The eyebrows that inch along his forehead like witchy caterpillars - those eyebrows are back. It’s just three sentences, sure. But it was Eddie rising from his gurney of a grave in many other ways.

Eddie remembers how to use his snarky tone of voice.

Eddie remembers how to make his eyebrows dance around on his face.

Eddie remembers *Dungeons and Dragons*

Steve is so excited, he doesn’t know what to do with his hands? What do hands normally do when they’re excited? Clap? Stay at his side? Flap around? Fuck, he has no goddamn clue, so he just decides to give Eddie a thumbs-up with one hand and ruffle his knotted hair with the other hand. 

Multitask the shit out of his excitement.

Eddie laughs along with him now, still admiring his collection. Not even bothering to stop Steve from his hair ruffling thingy. Huh… why is Steve still ruffling Eddie’s hair in the first place?

Okay. He finally stops himself. Has to pull his own wrist away but he stops.

“Guessing it was good day, Munson?” Steve wonders curiously, still watching Eddie roll the dice around in his palm.

Eddie nods. Multiple times. “Good day, Harrington. Good day.”

A prickly sensation hits Steve as Eddie says good day. A sensation that suggests to Steve that he wants Eddie to have more than just Good Days. Steve wants Eddie to have Great Days. Steve wants to give Eddie great days and present them to him in tiny velvet bags.

That’s definitely a turnpike of a thought.

He did this on purpose too. Dustin is coming on Sunday, which means Eddie will remember this moment. He’ll remember the dice and the Good Day. That’s part of Steve’s plan apparently. He’s making plans like that now. Strange.

“It’s funny.” Steve is pondering over his own discoveries, but also Eddie’s faulty memory patterns.

“What is?”

“You have the hardest time remembering the events from the day before…” Steve pauses to reflect. “But you always remember me.”

Eddie drops the dice out of his hands. He doesn’t look at Steve though, he just freezes up. His bangs have grown out quite a bit, but Steve thinks that Eddie’s face is redder than it was just a second ago.

Eddie remembers how to blush.

And Steve is going to milk that reaction completely. “You always remember that I’ll be here the next day. Isn’t that funny?”

Eddie kind of choke-answers him. “Funny sure yeah ha ha.”

Eddie remembers how to feel flustered as all fuck.

“Well,” Steve lifts up - still as smug and devious as ever. “I’ll let you have some alone time to catch up with your children. I’m sure you have lots of adventures to plan together.”

“Right.” Eddie finally sweeps his bangs back, watching Steve head for the door. “Does that mean I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“God willing.” Steve is sort of itching to ruffle Eddie’s hair again, but he doesn’t. “I’ll see ya tomorrow.”

Eddie waves and starts cleaning up his collection, swiping them back into their bag.

“Yellow.” Eddie mumbles very quietly. Almost inaudible.

Steve stops. “What?”

“Your sweater.” Eddie explains anxiously. “The tacky burnable one. It was yellow.”

Eddie remembers Steve's sweater again.

And Steve couldn’t be happier about that. Now he’s the one smiling with all of his teeth. The bonus type of smile on a day full of wins.

“It sure was, Eds.”

[dailyrothko]

it seems that the appeal of Rothko's paintings has endured, over the decades. But what, in your opinion, is the exact appeal of these blocks and rectangles?

I get this question a lot and I'm divided on how many people are asking it sincerely, but I will assume your question is genuine.

I think the question really is, what the appeal is of any art?

This art is not blocks and rectangles. Art can be reduced to shapes and colors and I think it's fine if you don't like this particular version of it but if one was being that reductive, we could call a huge amount of 20th century art squiggles or circles or planes. Art is, very often, shapes.

What's the appeal of any art? Is it that someone paints a lion that looks just like a lion? If that's the case than the person with the most realistic lion is the best artist. Most of our favorite art historically seems not to be hyperrealism but i have known people obsessed with this criteria.

If we take a different approach, we could point to things people like about Rothko like how the colors seem to float, the layers that are translucent with one color peering out from another, the way the image seems to draw you in but if you don't feel that in front of one (not a reproductions) than it just doesn't do it for you.

There was a popular blog on tumblr that just posted Pantone color swatches. People seemed to love it and I don't think it's some kind of irony at work, Yves Klein based a career, in part, on this idea of color as communicator. Rothko did too as have many artists. Morris Louis, Pollock, Franz Kline, De Kooning, Diebenkorn, Frankenthaler, Hartigan...What's the appeal of shapes and colors?

I adore the art of Bill Traylor, but what's the appeal of a single color, primitive image of a horse or dog? I feel his paintings have a lot of life and energy to them but according to a lot of people it's the way a child draws. It IS amazing to look at an Albrecht Durer. The impact of his technical ability is nearly psychedelic. But, I spend much more time with Munch paintings for his emotion and sense of color even though comparatively he's a less skilled artist. But then we would have to come back to what skill is in terms of art. And I think many people would say it's the ability of the art to communicate. What's so cool about art in general is the huge variety of styles and approaches. They all can communicate emotion which, you know, is pretty wild.

So, I am not trying to be dismissive but I feel that you bring yourself to art and part of the experience is very simply what it means to you. On this level we can say millions of people have found something in Rothko that they come back to. That's a factual historical context, but what makes art good to most is not it's popularity but how it makes them feel. For many people, Rothko is full of feelings.

[storiesbyrhi]

Our Patron Saint of the Arts

Eddie Munson x Reader More Eddie fics here

6705 words

Warnings: Mentions of parental abuse; drug use; no beta

Synopsis: When you find a Motorhead patch in the hallway of Hawkins High, you know who it belongs to. Idiots in love. Eddie in a dress. Reader is a crafty artist. Wayne Munson. No Vecna; everything is peachy.

The patch looked new, but it had been trampled on just a little in the hallways of Hawkins High. It was clear who it belonged to, but you were unsure how to return it to him. He was a bit preoccupied.

You watched him jump up onto cafeteria tables, yelling at people and making faces at Jason Carver, generally living up to his reputation as a menace to society.

“What’s that?” your friend asked from beside you.

“Found it on the ground,” you told them, tucking it away in your pocket, already having memorised the details. The holes made from a poor attempt to sew it onto a denim vest. The Sharpie marking on the back; the price of it when it was bought.

It wasn’t until were outside during Art class one afternoon collecting flowers and leaves to press that you saw your opportunity. Eddie Munson was crossing the field and disappearing into the woods.

You found him sitting at the table someone had dragged out there years ago, his jacket off and his face buried in a task. Eddie’s metal lunchbox was sitting open next to him but it was hard to see what he was actually doing.

As you approached, the fallen leaves crunching under your feet, Eddie turned to see who was there. He didn’t look startled or surprised.

“Hi,” he said after he realised you weren’t going to speak first.

“Hi,” you replied moving to stand at the end of the table.

Eddie looked up at you, his expression neutral at first. When you failed to speak again, his mouth curved into a grin and you were struck with how pretty you actually thought he was.

You knew you appreciated Eddie, aesthetically speaking. You were an arts and craft type of girl, with a deep love of galleries and colours and textures and creation. Of course, then, your eyes often followed Eddie anytime he was within your proximity.

Eddie was a Pollock in a room of Rothkos.

But you didn’t realise you thought he was pretty. His big brown doe-eyes. The softness of his curls. His smile, kind but wild.

“How may I be of assistance, our patron saint of the arts?” Eddie asked.

What…

“You dropped this,” you said quickly, fishing the Motorhead patch from your pocket. You’d carried it around for a whole week since finding it.

“Oh shit. I thought I’d never see it again. Thanks.”

When he took the patch from you, there was no reason to continue standing there, studying his face. (You wondered how easy it would be to sketch it out later that night without a photo reference.) Yet, you blurted out, “You didn’t stitch it on very well.”

Eddie’s smile didn’t drop, but his eyebrows raised a little. “Do it for me then?” he asked, turning to his leather jacket, stripping the denim vest from it handing it to you.

It was in your hands before you could think or say anything.

“It was here,” he said, pointing.

“I don’t have my sewing kit,” you told him.

“But you do have one… I’ve seen you around, you know.” Eddie waited for any sort of reaction, but you had a good poker face, which only made him more determined to get something out of you. “You made those awesome posters for the middle school talent show. And you had that freaky skeleton thing in the art show,”

“You went to the art show?”

“Some of my best clients are artists,” he said with a smile. “And you made those amazing brownies for the bake sale,” Eddie added.

No – he hadn’t gone to the bake sale. It was raising money for the basketball team’s trip. However, Lucas Sinclair had gone, then made the mistake of bringing his haul to Hellfire later that night. Eddie remembered asking about the brownies specifically. They had given him ideas for his, uh, small business.

You were on fucking fire.

This wasn’t what you thought was going to happen.

You thought you were going to go return a lost item to someone you vaguely knew through school. You did not think you were going to end up all tongue-tied and dumb in front of someone that you apparently thought was really, really pretty. You did not think you would be thinking about him knowing you, noticing you, seeing your art.

What the fuck.

You needed to leave.

“What do you want me to do with this?” you said, trying to give Eddie his vest.

He pushed it back at you. “Sew the patch on. I’ll make it worth your while.”

Nooooooo. He didn’t just say that. And no. He didn’t see those thoughts flash across your face.

“Fine. Yeah. Whatever,” you replied, turning and quickly walking away. Too quickly. Quickly enough that Eddie laughed before calling out a casual ‘bye’ after you, followed by your name.

“Jesus Christ,” you mumbled to yourself, crossing the field, Eddie’s vest in your arms. You hugged it tight to your body. When you got back to the art rooms, you shoved it in your bag before anyone could see.

He was pleased with himself, pleased with how his afternoon was panning out.

Eddie was the type of guy to admire from afar. He was confident, sure, and definitely a flirt, but there was some part of his head that kept him from walking up to a girl and asking her out.

He tried not to linger in self-reflective thoughts. Existentialism dragged him down. Eddie knew, though, that he would always be hurt by his parents’ abandonment. He’d always have a chip on his shoulder about being the town freak.

Life ran smoother when he approached people with caution. He’d never admit it, but Eddie was too fragile to handle an embarrassing public rejection. So, he admired from afar and waited for opportunities to come to him. Just like you had.

…

Eddie’s vest felt like a lead balloon in your bag. It was loud too, a presence you couldn’t stop thinking about from art class to the end of day bell, and all the way home. Through homework and dinner and well into the night. Finally, as you pulled it out and had it out on your work table, silence.

No thoughts. Just Eddie Munson’s vest in your bedroom.

Don’t do it. Don’t be weird. But you did it anyway. As soon as it got close to your face, you could make out the tell-tale scent of weed. Then, something smoky. Real smoke. Like he’d worn it to too many bonfires and never washed it. And denim. That was it. No more complex. Not really good or bad.

You quickly stitched the Motorhead patch into place, not making a particular effort for it to look perfect, but by virtue of your skills, it was.

As you went to put the vest back in your bag, you hesitated. Sucking in your bottom lip, you considered, then hung it on the back of your work chair.

From your bed you could see it, somehow feel it...

Don’t do it. Don’t be weird. But you did it anyway.

…

Not wanting to have the vest in your possession any longer than necessary, you waited almost all lunch the next day for Eddie to show up. When there were only five minutes until the next period, you farewelled your friends and walked over to the table he usually sat at.

When you arrived, standing awkwardly near the empty chair Eddie usually occupied, you went to speak.

“He’s not here,” one of the guys at the table said.

“What?” you asked stupidly.

“Eddie. Said he had business. Told us to tell you he’s in the parking lot,” the guy said, entirely uninterested in being Eddie’s messenger.

“Thanks,” you squeaked out, quickly leaving the cafeteria and making a beeline for the far corner of the student lot.

Eddie’s white van had music coming from it, and as you approached you reminded yourself to absolutely not ask how he knew you’d go looking for him.

It was, however, the first thing you said as you walked around the back of the van and found Eddie sitting with the doors open, smoking a cigarette and writing in what looked like a journal.

Eddie laughed when you spoke.

“I didn’t tell them to say that,” Eddie clarified. Your cheeks grew hot. “I told them I wouldn’t make it to lunch. And, if anybody needed me, they knew where to find me,”

“Oh. Okay. He didn’t have to word it like that,”

“Guess it looked like you needed me,” Eddie replied, not breaking eye contact. He was holding back a smile.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“Here.” You pulled his vest out of your bag and threw it at him. He began to inspect your work, running his fingertips over the patch. “You’re welcome.” And you were off again.

Eddie stood quickly. “Wait. I’m sorry, alright? I’m just… Whatever. Here. This is for you,” he said, turning to rifle through a bag.

He handed you a book. It was old. Antique old. It didn’t have writing on its hard, fabric-bound cover, but its title page announced it was an exploration into the science fiction genre.

As you flipped through the pages, Eddie spoke. “I got it a while back, thought it would like, give me some ideas for a campaign or something. It’s a bit too… dry, for my taste.”

You looked up at him confused as he continued.

“Leans into the academic, you know? But it’s got all these pictures,” he said, reaching out to skip you ahead in the book. “Thought they were pretty cool. And you’re an artist. Thought you could use them. Or maybe you’d just like a weird old book.”

Eddie was right. The book was beautiful. It was strange and the illustrations were wonderfully detailed.

“I love it,” you told him, being genuine.

He smiled then. Not an ‘I’m fucking with you’ smile. Not an ‘I’m hiding some pain behind this joke’ smile. Just a proper, warm-hearted, Eddie Munson smile.

“I told you I’d make it worth your while. Maybe next patch I get, we can do business again?” he asked.

You nodded, your heart pounding hard against your ribcage.

And that’s how your tentative friendship with Eddie began. He would bring you his vest and a patch and the next day he’d have some whimsical thing to give you. The skull of a small animal, “For art reference, you know?” A mixtape he’d made, our patron saint of the arts written across it. A box of black plastic tape from inside VHS cassettes.

“What the fuck am I going to do with this?” you had asked, laughing.

“Art,” he answered, like it obvious.

The trades went down mostly across the field at the table Eddie referred to as his office. Sometimes, next to his van. Each time you visited you’d get closer and closer to sitting down in the back with him.

Not often would you be around people, but the more it went on, the less other people mattered to you at all. Eddie seemed surprised when you leaned against his locker between periods.

He’d started a second vest since his first one was pretty much covered. You handed it over, the Black Sabbath patch perfectly placed.

“Fuck! I forgot,” he said. You tried not to feel a little let down that he’d forgotten it was trade day. “I had it out on the counter ready to go and everything.”

Oh. Never mind then.

“It’s okay. Next time,”

“No. It’s a good one. What are you doing later? I’ll bring it to you,”

“Nothing,” you answered, trying to not hesitate but also not answer too quickly. “It’s Friday, so my family goes over to my aunt’s for dinner,”

“But not you?”

“Nope,” was all you offered in return. Truthfully, you’d had a fight the year before when your aunt had told your mother that your art was sinful. You hadn’t been to Friday dinners since. It worked out well for everyone.

“You mean to tell me, this whole time, my patron saint of the arts has been home alone every Friday night?”

“I have friends, Eddie. I do things other than stitch stupid patches to your clothes,”

“Ouch,” Eddie replied, loving when you were a bit mean. “Firstly, they’re not stupid. Secondly, circling back. You’re free?”

…

“What if he, like, is a cult leader? What if he's going to try to sacrifice you to Satan tonight?” your friend joked, their laugh echoing down the line.

You’d called them for advice. It was a simple question. Should you stay in the clothes he’d seen you in that day or should you change?

“Honestly, it would be a cool way to go, I guess,” you replied. “But seriously. If I change, does that say something?”

“Say something? Like what?”

Like you were trying to impress him. Because you weren’t. Definitely not. Nope. Capital N and O. You almost wanted to prove the point so badly you considered wearing pajama pants and a t-shirt, but just couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

Ultimately, you ran out of time and stayed in the outfit you’d worn to school.

Eddie, however, had changed. When you opened the door to his tuned knocking, it was the first thing you noticed.

Gone were the ripped-up blue Levi’s he’d been wearing. No Hellfire Club shirt. Instead, Eddie was wearing black jeans that tucked into his Reeboks neatly. His Goonies t-shirt was clean, and the red plaid button-up shirt looked soft. His newest vest was over that, finishing off a look that was a little too organised.

The cherry on top though, was that he had definitely just showered and washed his hair. The curls were at their most fluffy.

It was perfect; you had something you could immediately shred him for.

“Didn’t realise we were meeting the Queen,” you quipped. Eddie rolled his eyes. “Is that a new shirt?”

“Yeah, alright, alright,” Eddie replied, pushing you by the shoulders back into the house. “Just let me in.”

You were still sniggering at him when he came inside, looking around. He was happy to see your house wasn’t cookie cutter pristine.

“Can I see your room?” he asked then, no pretence.

Eddie was fascinated. He’d only dreamed the inside of your room would be this… weird. You had room for art and sleep but hardly anything else. Every surface of your room was covered with art supplies, books, cassettes, and the most eclectic collection of objects Eddie had seen.

Each time he spied something he’d given you, his pulse increased just a little. Enough that it was giving him confidence.

You sat on your bed, happy to let Eddie look around. Maybe he’d ask about some of the treasures, maybe not. Whatever. With The Head on the Door vinyl spinning, you felt at ease, pulling one of your latest D.I.Y. hobbies out to distract yourself with.

When the record ran its course, Eddie flipped it to Side B, kicked his shoes off, and joined you on your bed.

“What are you making?”

“Bracelet,” you answered.

Eddie watched you thread pastel pinks and purples onto elastic string. You were about to ask what he wanted to do, then you saw his expression. He wasn’t bored. He was focused on your hands, watching.

“So…” you said. Eddie’s eyes flicked to you. “Where’s my payment?”

For a second Eddie looked confused, then he caught up, then he looked embarrassed. “Fuck. Left it in the van. I’ll be back.”

Eddie had forgotten it because he was nervous as fuck when he pulled up to your house. Obviously, though, he didn’t tell you that.

Upon his return, you were tying a knot in the bracelet and moving your supplies away. He sat back down and handed you the bag. It was a gift bag. You raised an eyebrow at him and he just shrugged.

Inside was a denim vest. New. Your size. Arms already cut off haphazardly.

“I figured, you’ve got so good at sewing patches, you might wanna do your own. You know. If you see any around you like. And, um, I got this one for you.”

He pulled a patch from his pocket. The Doors. God, you loved Jim Morrison.

You didn’t know what to say. It was the most thoughtful thing anyone had ever done for you. Eddie had thought of you, a lot. Enough that he went out and found you a denim jacket to cut into a vest. He looked for a patch for a band you liked. He bought a goddamn gift bag.

Eddie was waiting, holding his breath almost. This was it. Whatever your reaction, it would make or break it for him.

The tears had welled up in your eyes before you could chastise yourself for making it weird.

“Did I do good?” he asked full of sincerity.

“Eddie,” you started but didn’t really have the words. You launched yourself across the small space between you and him, letting him catch you in a hug.

It’s the first time he had really touched you. And it wasn’t just touching. Holding. He was holding you.

It felt like trauma when you pulled away, falling back on your butt in your cross-legged position. He didn’t know what to say when you pulled your beads and strings back over and started on another bracelet.

Eddie watched you pick out specific beads. Black and different shades of red. Letters. Hellfire?

“What are you making?” he asked.

“I’ll make you a Hellfire bracelet,” you said, not taking your eyes off the task.

“I’ll make you something then.”

Later, Eddie held his hand out to you when you announced you were done. As you slid the bracelet on and let him look at it careful, you felt another wave of pure adoration wash over you.

“I’m not done with mine,” he told you.

“That’s alright. I’ll order pizza,” you replied, rolling off the bed and looking under stacks of old magazines and pretty paper for your bedroom’s phone.

While Eddie beaded, accidentally dropping all the beads off his string multiple times, you moved over to your desk.

You both worked, happy just to be in each other’s company.

“Alright. Can’t promise the integrity of this, but it’s the thought that counts,” Eddie said, a break for dinner and couple of records later.

You had returned to the bed and started on another beaded project when he announced he was finished. When you held your hand out, he took it and placed a kiss on the top. Then, he carefully placed his craft project around your wrist.

“It took me all fucking night to find those letters,” Eddie explained, tying a knot in the string that meant you’d not be able to remove the bracelet without breaking it. Fine by you.

Of course, the bracelet read patron saint of the arts. Between each alphabetic bead were random colourful ones. It was like he had a homing beacon for the one-offs and odd-one-outs in your extensive bead collection.

“I love it,” you told him.

He beamed. “What’s that?” he asked, turning his attention to what you were doing.

“It’s for you. Get me one of your shoes,” you told him.

Eddie’s confused expression was cute and you liked that he didn’t question everything. He reached down and picked up one of his Reeboks, handing it to you.

“I don’t know if you want that on your bed,” he said with a frown.

You used your jewellery plyers to attach small clasps to each end of the wire of beads. One end was clipped to the top left eyelet, then you clipped the other to the top right side, letting the beads fall along the back.

“Shoe charm,” you said.

It was a line of rainbow coloured alphabet beads, spelling out Corroded Coffin. It really gave his old shoes an extra layer of personality. Eddie thought it was strange as hell.

“Never thought I’d see Corroded Coffin written in rainbow colours,” Eddie marvelled through his toothy smile.

Eddie pulled on the shoe, then his other. He stood and spun on the spot, stuck his feet out like he was… modelling? Maybe? You laughed.

“Beautiful,” you told him.

Eddie looked at you, dramatically fell to his knees, and shuffled over to kneel next to you. You moved to the edge of the bed, laid down so you were face to face with him.

“You’re beautiful,” he told you.

“So cheesy,” you whispered back.

Eddie shrugged, rested his head on your bed, his face inches away from yours.

He knew you’d kiss him back. You’d invited him into your room, made him things, and laughed at all his dumb jokes. Still, he was nervous.

The record finished, the crackling audible for the first time that night. Everything felt so still.

Eddie leaned over, waited for you to lean into him. When you did, he kissed you. Despite what he knew, he still felt a little shock when you kissed him back.

…

After that, there was no stopping Eddie. His affection was endless. There were notes hidden in your school locker. Your favourite drink in his trailer’s fridge. Constant gifting of anything bizarre he could get his hands on, and he couldn’t walk into a store without buying something for you too.

It was that, his sudden increased spending, that had him in the kitchen of the trailer on a Friday night, wearing one of your homemade floral aprons.

“Absolutely not,” Eddie said, grabbing the Polaroid camera from your hands before you had the chance to take a photo.

“What?! Next time someone says you worship Satan, I’ll whip it out, show them you’re actually just a domesticated big soft teddy bear,” you argued, jumping and circling him, trying to get the camera back.

“That rumour is the only thing that gets people coming to see us at The Hideout. Can’t let you ruin it, babe,”

“What about if we make a trade. That’s what we do, right?” you asked, standing in front of him. You could see you’d piqued his interest. “Let me take a photo of you now. You can take one of me later,”

“Later? What’s later?” Eddie replied, his pupils blown out at the thought of what it could be. You just shrugged, smiled sweetly. “Deal.”

The photo was perfectly ridiculous. Eddie said if you were going to do it, you may as well go big or go home. You watched as he stripped down to underwear, then put the floral apron back on. He picked up the mixing bowl you had set out on the bench, and the wooden spoon. The pose was theatrical. His expression was manic. And you were in love.

“Are you gonna put your clothes back on?” you asked him as you shook the Polaroid.

“Do you want me to?”

“I don’t care,” you answered honestly.

Eddie smiled, happy with that.

“So, why are we making brownies?” you asked him, turning your attention to the bench of ingredients and tools.

“Well,” he said, pulling a large tin out of a cupboard. Inside was weed. “Since I have this drop dead gorgeous girlfriend now, I gotta make sure the cash is flowing. You know. Just in case I wanna buy her roses, or take her out for dinner,”

“You have never bought me roses,” you interrupted.

“Who says I’m talking about you?” Eddie countered, waiting for your sulky pouty face. On cue, there it was. He laughed and pulled you into a kiss. “Next to expand the business. Since Rick got put in the slammer, there’s a gap in the market,”

“For?”

“Space cake. Hash brownie. An edible good time,” Eddie told you, the different terms rolling off his tongue in different voices.

You were interested to learn the weed couldn’t just be put into the brownie batter. Amused, you watched Eddie fuss over his perfect THC butter. The whole trailer very quickly smelt so strongly of dope that it was definitely going to linger.

“What’s Wayne gonna say when he gets home?” you asked, lighting some incense and putting it on the small coffee table.

“Probably ‘where’s mine?’” Eddie replied.

Eddie was a good student, despite what any of his teachers would say. He listened intently, took your anecdotal advice, and learnt how to make brownies. You watched as he took notes in his book, which he said wasn’t a journal but definitely was.

At the end of the process, the batch was complete.

“We let them cool, then we can cut them up. How are you gonna package your product?”

Eddie measured, cut, and wrapped each brownie in cling wrap then put two per plastic zip lock bag. You sat on the lounge side of the kitchen bench, drawing on sticker paper that you had in your bag because you carried art supplies like Eddie did his light and lockpick.

Moons, stars, and colourful planets. Space cakes with cute labels. How could any stoner refuse?

…

“Babe?! Babe! What the fuck is this?”

There was genuine panic in Eddie’s voice, very different from the one he used only moments before when he greeted you.

He had returned from a quick business transaction to find you waiting for him in the trailer. You weren’t missing him though; Wayne was sitting on the couch watching television while you were parked in front of the coffee table, doing something crafty.

Eddie loved that you and Wayne had become friends. Family, almost. Wayne would call you his daughter-in-law and you’d spoil him with his favourite cookies. The hand painted mug you gave him for Father’s Day took pride of place in his collection.

When Eddie returned, saw your set up, he offered a simple greeting to the room and went to change. That’s when-

“BABE?!”

You bit back a laugh.

“Told ya,” Wayne said from behind you.

Eddie appeared, holding his box of cassettes.

“Surprise,” you said, smiling up at him.

There was a very nervous grin on his face and he was studying your expression, trying to work out if there was a punchline he’d missed.

“You know I love your art. Loved it when you painted my wall. Loved it painted the van. But, ah, did you do this to all my tapes?”

Eddie’s cassettes were painted in bright colours. Flowers and hearts. Clouds and rainbows. Whatever music they held was no longer clear, the original labels ripped off and discarded entirely.

“Do you love them?” you asked, standing up.

Eddie’s head tilted to the side a little. He spotted the sparkle of a challenge in your eye.

“Yes. I love them. I love you,” he said.

You made a small happy squeaking sound and sat back on the floor, returning to your project. As Eddie walked back to his room you looked over at Wayne, who was sporting a signature Munson shit eating grin.

“Ed?!” you called after your boyfriend. “Check the bottom drawer on the left!”

A pause. The sound of him searching. “Jesus H. Christ. You nearly gave me a heart attack!” Eddie had opened the drawer to find his beloved tape collection. You’d only painted the ones that were copies or mixtapes.

Eddie reappeared, moving quickly, and you were screaming before he’d even pounced, tackling you from your spot on the floor to being laid out, at the mercy of his tickle attack.

“Alright kids, get a room,” Wayne mumbled.

…

Eddie followed you up and down the aisles like a freshly imprinted duckling.

“You don’t have to be here,” you reminded him. You weren’t the clingy type, still happy to have your own things and spend time with your friends or alone.

Eddie, however, was the opposite. You were invited to Hellfire and band practice and even deals. “Yeah, I’d love to spend an afternoon driving around in the van while you sell ketamine to fifteen-year-olds,” you’d replied to the offer with a snort.

“Hey! I’ve got principles; K is strictly a sixteen and over drug!”

You didn’t mind Eddie’s nature. It made you feel wanted and adored. The only times you’d maybe wish for a little more independence on his part is when you were op shop hopping.

Eddie would follow you through each store, sometimes making his way over to where weird knick-knacks sat on dusty shelves, but mostly just acting as a shadow.

“I wanna be here. I’m helping,” Eddie said.

“Helping?” You laughed. “Actually. You could. Go over to the guys’ section. I’m looking for any cool t-shirt that’s my size, but maybe a little bit bigger.”

Eddie stood to attention, saluted, kissed you on the cheek, and went off to fulfill his boyfriend duties.

When he returned to you a little later, he presented an armful of options, each with explanation for why he thought it met the requirement of ‘cool.’

“First up, we have a promotional shirt for the Stephen King adaptation film Cujo,” Eddie started, holding up the black shirt featuring the terrifying evil dog.

“Too scary. Pass,” you said, shaking your head.

“Too scary,” Eddie repeated, mumbling under his breath. “Fuck. Alright. This will please her majesty. The tastiest beverage in all the land. Dr Pepper M.D.”

The deep red t-shirt was the perfect size for your project. And, you did love Dr Pepper. You rewarded Eddie with a quick kiss.

“But wait! There’s more!”

A hideous yellow thing sporting the artwork for Men In Hat’s The Safety Dance. “That, uh, makes me wanna die a little,” you told Eddie.

He nodded. “Me too. I’m getting it for Wayne,”

“He’ll hate it,”

“I know. I just want to see his face.”

The last piece in Eddie’s collection was too big, but you could make it work and it would be totally worth it. Tie-died blues and purples sat behind a ginger cat riding a skateboard.

“You left the best to last I see,”

“Gotta finish on a high note.”

Back at your place, you hijacked your mother’s sewing room and set up. Eddie laid on the floor, scribbling secret lyrics or whatever into his journal (“It’s not a journal!”).

Once you had figured out a workable pattern, the cutting and sewing were easy. You liked the white noise of the sewing machine and having human puppy dog Eddie Munson at your feet always acted like serotonin in your system.

The t-shirts became dresses. You cut the sleeves off, replacing them with frills of contrasting fabric. The bottom hems were moved to sit around your waist, and skirts to match the sleeves added more ruffles.

You changed into your new Dr Pepper dress in your bedroom, returning to the sewing room to show Eddie; he beamed at you.

“She’s hot and she’s talented,” he said with a grin, reaching up to touch the ruffles.

“Think you can get me a Corroded Coffin shirt? I can make a dress to wear to the shows,”

“I don’t know if The Hideout can handle the fashion of it all,” Eddie replied, standing and pulling you into a hug.

“Or I could make you one,” you suggested, kissing his neck and nuzzling against him.

“I’ve already got my eye on this one,” he revealed, letting you go and reaching over for the skateboard cat dress.

Eddie pulled his Dio shirt off, then the dress over his head. He did an unhinged interpretation of a pirouette.

“Wait, you’ve gotta take your jeans off. Commit to the bit, Munson,” you instructed, laughing but also feeling heat begin to pool in your belly.

Once his jeans were peeled away and he was standing in front of you in a dress that matched yours, you paused, taking it in.

Eddie went quiet too, watching you watch him. He was reading your eyes and the way your lips were beginning to turn up at the sides.

“Did… we… just discover… something?” he asked, choosing his words carefully. His tone was measured, soft.

You bit your bottom lip.

“Oh, Jesus!” a voice shrieked from behind you. Turning, you watched your mum push the door open wider. “I don’t even wanna know… Edward, are you staying for dinner?”

“Uh, sure. Yes. Thank you. Ma’am,” Eddie said, adding too many unnecessary words to his nervous acceptance. “Thanks. For your hospitality.”

Your mum just shook her head and left the room.

“I love that she calls you Edward. Feels illegal,”

“Think she’s gonna tell anybody ‘bout this?” he asked, stepping close to you, pulling you back into him.

“Nah. She represses anything weird she can’t explain,”

“Too bad. This would do amazingly in the Hawkins rumour mill… Anyway… Don’t think I’m gonna forgot that little reaction.”

You smiled up at him, kissed his neck, his throat. “Good.”

…

“Can I borrow these?” you asked.

Eddie looked over at you from where he was sitting stretched out on his bed, leaning back against the wall, playing his acoustic guitar.

You’d been listening to him all afternoon. Sometimes there would be melodies you recognised, sometimes not. Even metal sounded sweet filtered through lazy, slow, notes void of electricity and distortion.

 “Show me.”

Holding up the small tobacco tin you found, you showed Eddie the collection of picks. They weren’t the ones he used to play. They were collectors’ items, caught in the air at shows or bought from record stores in the city.

“Borrow or keep?”

“Borrow,” you confirmed, which Eddie knew was code for ‘I’m gonna do some sort of craft project with these but I promise it will be good.’

A couple weeks later it was your one-year anniversary. 1986 was over; you’d graduated, pulling Eddie along with you. There were too many possible futures ahead of you both, but it was easy to forget about the world beyond you and Eddie.

A midnight picnic was set up overlooking Lover’s Lake. Eddie basked in your praise, knowing he did good. There were blankets and all your favourite snacks.

“You made sandwiches?!” you squealed.

“Uh-huh. Cut the crusts off and everything.”

After cucumber and cheese and Dr Pepper and Peanut Butter Cups, you tangled yourselves up, listening to the trees move in the warm breeze.

Eddie started at the tips of your fingers, kissing lines down your palms, wrists, and arms. He kissed over paint that hadn’t washed off your skin and scars from craft knives and sewing pins. He kissed down over your ribcage and soft belly.

“I’m in love with you,” he whispered into your body.

“I know,”

“Don’t think you do. But I can prove it.”

You looked at him, thinking it was another cheesy line before he disappeared between your legs. Cheesy lines then sex was a signature Eddie Munson move. Instead, though, he stood and went back to the van.

Rolling onto your stomach, you watched him get into the back, then return quickly with a rectangular shaped gift.

“Wait. Let me get mine!” You fished your small box from your bag.

Sitting opposite each other, you gifted first. The bracelet you’d crafted made a gentle tinkling sound as the metal and picks moved.

“Is it too, I don’t know, girly?” you asked, watching how it sat on his wrist.

Eddie cocked an eyebrow. Yeah, you knew; it was stupid to ask when the two of you had been fucking around with gender for a while.

“I love it, babe. You’re a little crafty goblin and I love you,” he reassured, leaning over to kiss the tip of your nose.

You pushed him away. “Goblin?!”

“Yeah. I love goblins. Alright, my turn,” he continued, handing you your gift and not letting you dwell on the name-calling. “I was looking for inspiration, and I found some old photos. Did you know we actually met in elementary school?”

“What? We did?”

As you unwrapped the gift, Eddie told his story.

“Yeah. Never mentioned it, ‘cause I figured you’d forgotten. Don’t worry. My ego isn’t harmed. Wasn’t much of me to remember then. But I’ve always remembered you.”

His gift to you was a framed collage. At the centre was a photo of yourself you’d never seen. You were standing, small and proud, with a tree sapling in your hand. Next to you was a hole in the ground, then Eddie holding a spade. His small, maybe ten-year-old face wasn’t as smiley as yours, but he didn’t seem too disgruntled.

“They did this thing where a few kids from each grade got together to go plant trees or pick up trash. The older kids were meant to help the little ones. I was your buddy. And, we made it into the yearbook.”

Studying the photo, you willed your brain to access the memory of that day. Nothing. You couldn’t even remember having yearbooks from elementary school.

Surrounding the photo in the frame were Polaroids of you and Eddie, tickets to movies and shows you’d been to, and other mementos of your time together. It was the old photo though, that your attention kept ripping back to.

At first, you thought the love heart drawn around you was part of Eddie’s collaging project, but looking closer, it seemed faded, and it wasn’t the type of heart you recognised from his locker letters.

“I went home that day and told Wayne about you. He teased me. Said I was too young to have a girlfriend. Then when I told him you were a couple years below me, he teased me more. But I knew I loved ya then. I was fucking ecstatic when we got the yearbook and that photo was in it. I drew those dumb hearts all over the page.”

Eddie was rambling because you still hadn’t said anything. He’d spent a good couple of hours making the collage, continually asking Wayne if it was any good. “Is she gonna think this is creepy?” Eddie had asked his uncle, terrified that you wouldn’t understand what he was trying to tell you.

“When I found that again… I thought… I don’t know. That I’ve loved you my whole life. Or whatever.”

That he’d loved you his whole life.

Tears began to stream down your face, you dropped the frame to the side and threw yourself into his arms. Eddie laughed and breathed out loudly. Sweet relief.

There were so many things you wanted to say. You wanted to tell him you loved him and that you were sorry for not remembering and that he was wonderful and so, so good. Instead –

“Why the fuck didn’t you talk to me sooner?!”

Eddie laughed again, a cackling sound of disbelief.

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because I’m the town freak and you’re walking around here like a goddamn saint,”

“I’m not-” you tried, but couldn’t fathom a version of events where you weren’t going to love him back. “I’m-”

“A funny little goblin that hoards shiny things and makes weird shit? Yeah. I know that now,” Eddie finished for you. “I love you. That’s… That’s the point. Of all this. I’m so fucking in love with you.”

You kissed him like your life depended on it. Like it could make up for not remembering and not being brave enough to talk to him sooner and for ever thinking you’d just sew the one patch on and be done with him.

“I love you too,” you told him, half into his mouth as he nodded and tried to reattach himself to you.

He knew. Eddie knew you loved him, and he was quite pleased with himself. He was pleased with how his anniversary midnight picnic was panning out.

Eddie was the type of guy to admire from afar. And he did. For years. He was confident, sure, and definitely a flirt, and now that part of his head that kept him from walking up to you and asking you out every goddamn day… Well, it was silenced.

If he lingered in self-reflective thoughts, you were there too. Existentialism didn’t have much of a chance to drag him down when he was wearing dresses you’d made and was gifted things his mind couldn’t dream up. He might have been the town freak, but he was yours too, and you loved him for it.

End note: I’m a crafty, arty bitch so this was so self-serving. T-shirt turned cute as fuck dress inspired by My Poor Purse.

Here's some images I used as inspo for this fic:

[strangeswift]

ficlet for my dear @mayahawkins “cali crew stop at a motel and there was only one bed (has this been done a million times? yes, but go wild with it, make it ridiculous)”

The motel lobby was small and dingy, with moth bitten floral curtains draped over the windows and glass vases with bouquets of plastic flowers covered in a thick layer of dust. In fact, Will was a little concerned about breathing in all the dust, but he figured he survived seven days breathing toxic Upside Down air, so he could probably handle a little dust.

Jonathan rang the bell at the check in desk, the metal tarnished from years of use. A short woman with dark gray hair and leathery skin appeared from a back room and looked the four of them up and down.

Will figured they had to be quite a sight. Argyle was still high as hell, the whites of his eyes almost completely red and a dopey grin on his face. Jonathan wasn’t much better, though Will knew some of that was from exhaustion more than it was from weed, since Jonathan hadn’t smoked as much or as recently as Argyle. Mike’s hair was sticking up on one side where he’d dozed off leaning against the window of the van, and he looked incredibly pissed off. He wasn’t particularly happy about Jonathan making the decision to stop for the night. Will was sure he looked a mess as well, and he was even more sure that the four of them smelled absolutely rank. 

The woman put her hands on her hips. “Can I help you boys?” she asked in a gravelly voice.

“Yes,” Jonathan said confidently, “We need a room. Two rooms, if you have them.”

“We only got one,” the woman rasped.

“That’s fine,” Jonathan said, glancing at Will with what may have been a look of sympathy, “We can double up."

“No, sugar, we’ve only got one single. It’s a king,” she said.

“You’ve only got one bed in this whole place?” Mike interjected, less patient than Jonathan had been, but to be fair Mike had less weed in his system. None, to be exact.

The woman narrowed her eyes at Mike. “That’s what I said, isn’t it?”

“Okay,” Jonathan said before Mike could get into an argument with an elderly motel clerk, “We’ll take it if it’s all you have.”

Jonathan paid for the room and took the key, which was attached to a red plastic keychain with the number one in chipped white paint. Room one was at the end of the hallway, which Mike commented made no sense, and while Will agreed he didn’t see why Mike was so peeved about it.

The room was extraordinarily small. The king sized bed stretched almost from wall to wall on either side, you almost had to turn sideways to walk along the sides of the bed. There was a stretch of floor along the foot of the bed, some of which was covered by a small writing desk. The carpet was… well, it was disgusting. There were so many stains it looked like a Jackson Pollock original if Jackson Pollock worked solely with browns and yellows. It was impossible to tell what color the carpet had originally been, but Will hoped tan, because that’s what it was now.

“I don’t know if I want to sleep on that floor even with a blanket over it,” Will said, “I don’t want anything to like… seep through.”

Mike grimaced. “That’s fucking disgusting. You think the bathroom’s this gross? I’d rather sleep in a bathtub.”

Will followed as Mike swung the bathroom door open and flicked the light on. The light made a rattling sound as it flickered to life, and even when it did it was incredibly dim. 

"This room is like something out of a goddamn horror movie," Mike said.

Will watched a spider run from the wall into a small vent on the floor and shuddered. Mike drew back the shower curtain in a swift motion.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Will said as Mike groaned. The ceramic tub was streaked with rust stains and a layer of green grime sat on the bottom.

“So much for sleeping in there,” Mike grumbled.

"Not like you'd fit anyway," Will added.

They exited the bathroom to find Argyle already passed out on one side of the bed and Jonathan sitting at the small desk with his head in his hands.

“Seriously, he just decided he gets the bed?” Mike asked, nudging Argyle’s leg not particularly gently, though Argyle didn’t stir.

“Well, I think we’re gonna have to share,” Jonathan said reluctantly.

“All of us?” Will asked, affronted.

“Well, yeah,” Jonathan said with a shrug, “It’s a big bed.”

“Not big enough for four!” Mike said.

“Okay, well you do whatever you want, Mike. I’m fucking tired,” Jonathan said, climbing into the bed on top of the duvet and settling in close to Argyle, leaving room on the other side of him.

Mike scoffed. “This is insane.”

Will frowned. “Yeah. It is,” he paused, “But I need sleep.”

Will ignored Mike’s disbelief as he got in bed next to his brother, leaving a very small space that Mike could squeeze into if he wanted.

Mike shook his head. “This is crazy,” he said, sitting in the small wooden desk chair, “I’ll just fucking sleep here.”

“Suit yourself,” Jonathan mumbled, “Can you hit the lights?”

Mike huffed and got up to flick the lights off. Once he did, the room was illuminated only by the moonlight coming through the window. Mike didn’t wait for his eyes to adjust and stumbled a little walking back to the chair.

“Shit,” he hissed, and slumped back into the chair, leaning his upper body on the desk and trying to get comfortable.

After fifteen minutes or so of silence, save for the cheap AC periodically kicking on with a rattling sound, Will was actually starting to drift off. That was until he felt someone standing above him and jolted awake.

“Mike?” he whispered.

“Yeah,” Mike said at full volume, “Uh, can you scoot over?”

Will was on his back, and he wiggled slightly closer to his brother, who was on his side with his back turned to him. “Sorry, that’s as far as I can go.”

Mike nodded and crawled into the bed, also lying on his back, his shoulder pressed snugly against Will’s. It was a little pathetic, how Will’s pulse picked up at that.

“Is your brother spooning Argyle?” Mike asked after a moment.

“This is what it looks like to be secure in your manhood, little dude,” Argyle answered serenely.

“I thought you were asleep,” Mike said.

“Well it’s a little hard to stay asleep when you won’t stop talking,” Jonathan piped up.

“It’s a little hard to sleep in a dingy motel bed with three other guys!” Mike retorted.

“Shhh,” Argyle said, “Just snuggle up to baby Byers and let the Sandman sprinkle his magical sleepy sand, my guy.”

Will was grateful that it was too dark for anyone to see the way his face went bright red at that.

“What?” Mike squeaked, “I’m not gonna cuddle up to Will, that’s–”

“Mike,” Jonathan interjected harshly, “Please shut up. Some of us are trying to sleep.”

Mike huffed. Will guessed that Jonathan’s clipped tone wasn’t just because he was annoyed about being kept awake, and he didn’t know whether to feel thankful or pathetic.

Suddenly, something occurred to Will.

“Hey, Jonathan?” Will asked.

“Yeah, buddy?” Jonathan answered.

“Why don’t two of us just sleep in the van?”

There was a moment of silence before Jonathan burst out laughing. “That’s a good fucking question.”

Mike sat up immediately, “Will and I will go,” he said quickly.

Will felt his face heat up again, which was so fucking stupid, because obviously Mike would want to sleep with him over Jonathan or Argyle.

“Sure, fine,” Jonathan said, “Keys are on the desk.”

They made Argyle and Jonathan relinquish the duvet from the bed and Will followed Mike out to the parking lot. They spread the blanket out on the floor of the van, and Mike climbed in first with Will following.

Will slid the door shut, and Mike was already getting settled.

“Tired as shit,” Mike muttered, turning his back to Will.

“Yeah,” Will agreed quietly. He didn’t lie down immediately. 

“You okay?” Mike asked, though he wasn’t facing him.

“Fine,” Will said, and laid down to prevent any further questions. There was more room to spread out in the van than there had been in the crowded bed, so he and Mike weren’t touching like they had been before. Will mourned the loss of Mike’s arm pressed solidly against his.

“You sure?” Mike asked through a yawn.

“I’m sure,” Will responded.

Unexpectedly, Mike flipped over to face Will. Will’s breath hitched.

“Sorry if I was weird,” Mike murmured. 

“What?” Will asked.

“When Argyle was talking about us… cuddling or whatever. Sorry if I seemed weird, or like… defensive.”

“I didn’t think you were defensive,” Will said, “I thought you were grossed out.”

Mike huffed a laugh. “I wasn’t grossed out. Not by you.”

“Oh,” Will said.

“Can I–” Mike started to ask but cut himself off.

“Yeah,” Will answered without thinking. His cheeks tinged pink once he realized how eagerly he’d agreed to something Mike hadn’t even asked.

“You’re sure?” Mike asked.

Will nodded, still not knowing exactly what to expect.

Mike inched closer, until they were pressed together like they’d been on the bed. Will held his breath. What was Mike doing? And why?

“I think,” Mike said, "I might sleep better this way.”

“Okay,” Will responded quietly, not trusting his voice at anything above a whisper.

It didn’t take long for Mike’s presence and his warmth to lull Will to sleep, not to mention how ridiculously exhausted they both were. Now wasn't the time to question things or to have a crisis about the feeling of Mike's skin on his.

Next thing Will knew, the van door was being slid open and sunlight was pouring into the van. He cracked his eyes open and squinted up at Jonathan and Argyle, standing above him outside the door. The next thing he registered was arms wrapped firmly around him, soft breaths on his neck, and hair tickling his jaw. Before he could even start to process that, Mike jolted awake and rolled off of Will with wide eyes, staring at Jonathan and Argyle.

Jonathan’s expression was unreadable, but Argyle shot Mike a thumbs up.

Mike’s face was bright red as he met Will’s eyes. Will gave him a reassuring smile, hoping that wasn’t too incriminating. Maybe he was supposed to act repulsed, or laugh it off and punch Mike’s shoulder. He wasn’t sure, but he did know that he didn’t want Mike to feel embarrassed.

To Will’s surprise, Mike smiled back. “How did you sleep?” he asked Will.

“Really well, actually,” Will answered honestly.

“Yeah, me too,” Mike said, the soft smile not leaving his face.

“Cool,” Will said.

“Cool, Mike repeated.

Will wasn’t really sure what to make of it. He tried not to overthink. He and Mike were okay, and that was all that mattered.

[jinx-on-mars-19xx]

Cursed or Not

Not Natural ✨ The Devil's Trap ✨ Holy Water ✨ The Demon's Altar ✨ Midnight Meeting ✨ The Hunter's Trap ✨ Sharp Secrets and Bloody Blades ✨ A Hunter's Beast Tamed ✨ No Chick Flick Moments ✨ Witches, Bitches, and Beasts

Dom x Colson (Yungblud x Machine Gun Kelly)

Warnings: SPN inspired, ABO dynamics (knots, slick, heats), demon Kells, hunter Dom, stripping, magic, desperation, panty gagging, cunnilingus, rough sex, aggressive sex (seriously guys- ouch!), spanking, bruising, biting, insults, threats, Kells is FILTHY, naughty boys, I can not stress enough this is pure smut with a tad fluff if you squint, body worship, so much teasing, heavy d/s undertones, rough hand job, nipple play, unnatural speed, terrible Pollock reference, nervous boys, boys not so secretly in love ⚰️ rating: explicit af

One snap and Dom's shirt was gone. The cool air hit his overheated skin and he whimpered. He was almost tempted to crawl away as the other man came closer, stalking up the bed like some jungle cat. A second snap and his shoes and socks vanished. A tap to his ankle and his pants were gone. Kells pushed up on his knees and toed off his own Converse, his palms rubbing down his inked chest before he played with the button of his black pants. The Hunter's breath was coming faster and faster and the thin cloth between his legs was so drenched in slick he thought they might be ruined.

"Gonna dirty dance for me?" He tried to joke but he almost wanted to beg the universe that he wouldn't. He'd basically just realized he truly had ovaries and if Keliphos moved like that just for him he was positive they'd explode.

Kells bit the inside of his cheek not to cackle at his omega's thoughts but it was a hard one to swallow and then it hit him he was trying not to hide anything anymore. "I promise if that happens I'll heal you."

"I bloody well knew it!" Dom huffed, but he wanted to reward his lover for his honesty. Instead of waiting for Kells to magic his boxers away he pushed them down himself, wriggling free of them before he tossed them at his face. Kells growled low, catching the fabric between his teeth and sucking at the mess. He got so distracted by the perfect flavor of his boy that he jumped when Dom started helping him out of his jeans. The human was fast and fumbling but the eagerness drove the devil wild.

"Yeah yeah." He slurred around his mouthful and Dom huffed before tugging his boxers free.

"If you want a taste you can 'ave one, but get naked for me?" He barely got the words out before fingers were gripping his thighs and tugging until he fell flat on the bed. A soft 'oof' escaped him as his spine hit the mattress but he felt enraptured as he watched his man finish undressing. The monster's dick was so red and it looked achingly hard as it hung heavy between his lithe strong legs. The beast was coming for him again but something inside him had him rolling over and pulling his legs up under his belly until his ass was up in the air.

"Oh holy fucking shit fuck- what are you doing?" Kells growled so low his throat hurt. Maybe it wasn't completely healed from before. He dropped himself closer to the bed until he was eye level with his boy's beautiful pink drenched holes. "Do you even know?" He wondered, inching closer. Dom's scent was so fucking thick he was surprised there weren't visible whisps of it drawing him in like some old cartoon. It certainly felt like it was grabbing him by the balls. Dom's thighs spread open until his cockhead was kissing the mattress. He was so hard his foreskin was rolled back and he was leaking a puddle of precum on the ratty sheets. Snap- the fabric underneath them was soft. Egyptian cotton. Black. Of course. "I want to see the stains you leave."

"Oh fuck-" The boy groaned, resting his cheek against the pillow under him and biting it gently. "Keliphos, please?" A hand came down on his ass so hard he cried out, his hips rolling as if he were already getting fucked.

Kells choked on nothing at the sound of his name on his bitch's pillow perfect lips. It didn't sound like the curse it was coming from him. It was supposed to mean a hollow and empty shell but from Dom it sounded like he was something special to be filled with love. Or… whatever the human wanted to put into him. He crawled closer, fitting himself between Dom's long slender feet and he pressed a kiss to his bright red cheek. When his lover shivered he scraped his teeth over the pulsing skin and let his mouth search out his elixir of life dripping between quivering folds. He flattened his tongue and swiped slowly from balls to tailbone and the boy melted into the bed like liquid gold. He was certainly precious.

"Wha' am I doing?" Dom asked. He couldn't help but be curious even when his brain was melting out of his skull. His fingers gripped at the sheet and twisted, he was trying not to reach back and drag the wanker up and inside him. It didn't go very well when he tried to help before. "Don't make me- like- like 'is yet please? You too close." He whimpered softly. He didn't want to admit it out loud but he knew the devil was listening. He wasn't used to all of this yet and he knew he'd be embarrassed to orgasm directly in his face.

"Shut the fuck up. You kidding me? I'd love to make you squirt for me. Shower me in it. Fucking drown me in it babe. Wanna feel you go wild."

"Kells oh me God no, fuck- Tha' word?" The boy full body flushed and giggled nervously against the pillow. The beast could feel the truth in his body though, his pussy dripped honesty like honey for what turned him on. Got him hot and desperate and aching.

"Such a good bitch presenting for me. I get it, you'd rather squirt on my dick, yeah?" His voice was barely more than a rasp, his cock in question was pounding. They both knew he was giving Dom an out but at the same time he wasn't sure he could wait that long to hollow out his space inside him again.

"Presents?"

Kells snorted and unglamorously choked on his boy's slick but Dom was so worked up he didn't care. His fingers groped rough at the human's thighs and he shoved his tongue as deeply inside his core as he could before pulling back. "No but… if you want. Presenting-" He reiterated as he crawled up over his omega and pressed himself chest to spine. He tangled one hand in Dom's hair and tugged gently. "-is how you're sticking that pretty ass and tight little cunt out for me like a special treat. The way you're curled up and offering me all the power." He purred, licking a stripe across the kid's shoulder, up his neck, and over his jaw. Dom shuddered and whined so sweet, grinding his ass back. He was definitely searching out Keliphos but the demon took a moment to breathe him in.

"Please?" Dom was trying, he wanted to open up to things he hadn't been able to do before. He had trouble begging, he found it impossible to give up his power or be sweet, this was all new for him but Kells had lowered his walls for him so it was only fair. "Wanna-" He slurred, hiding his face against the pillow though he knew his cheeks were as pink as his ass when he whimpered out- "Wanna squirt on ya cock."

The noise that left the demon's chest was primal but that was probably the kid's point. "Yeah you do." His voice was gravel but he got it almost working as he curled a palm around his dick and started pressing inside his lover. His crown caught against the Hunter's hole when he thrust too soon and slipped up, grinding against Dom's ass hard enough he almost dipped inside. They both froze, shuddering together, but the kid wiggled as if he wasn't sure whether to buck back or pull away. "Fuck- soon but not yet." The devil tried to soothe as he angled his dick down.

Dom nodded fast, a puddle of drool, sweat, and probably even tears wiping across his face. "Wha'ever ya say. Need yas!" He whined, trying to abandon all reticence. There was a heat in his belly and a need burning through his veins that couldn't be quenched until he felt full again. He just knew it.

Keliphos groaned, he could already feel his omega's thoughts quieting and he couldn't wait to feel him blissed out again. He gripped the base of his cock tighter and stroked up until he was teasing the head of himself through his lover's folds. With every tease the boy tried to slur out a beg but he kept playing. Maybe he was scared to lose parts of himself inside the first true warmth he ever felt welcomed inside. Especially after tearing himself open for the kid. "So fucking wet-" His voice dropped somehow lower and his partner answered by trying to fuck back. "Bad boys don't get treats."

"Bad demons get surprise 'oly water blowjobs. Fuck me already." Dom didn't mean to get bratty but it was hard not to. He wasn't used to giving up his control.

"Mmm, kinky bitch. See that's where you seem confused…" He trailed off, holding himself tight to feed just the tip of himself inside the boy before he pulled back out. He relished every broken noise his punk cried. "I'm into that shit."

Dom would have rolled his eyes but he was too lost already. His skull felt like cotton and his brain a sparkling soft mess. He wanted to say he'd file that away for future reference but instead he just mumbled another beg and tried to bounce on his beast's dick. A thought struck him and he knew it was a gamble but if it worked it would be so bloody worth it.

Kells felt his boy working up to something, his jelly-like mind was circling one word but he knew he wouldn't say it. All of this was far too new. Instead of waiting to see what might slip out of his mouth he went back to his game, pushing in until his mushroom tip caught and just to make his bitch blush he circled himself until they squelched.

"Keliphos!" The Hunter flushed even hotter, his palm slapping down on the bed. He could hear the creature chuckle and it caressed over his skin like silk.

"Just wait until I-" He growled low, pulling himself free of Dom's core but he kept the head of himself pressed hard against the kid's skin as he traced precum up over his asshole. "-fuck all of you sloppy open. You'll make such pretty noises for me." He vowed but he didn't know how much more he could tease before he broke too. The omega felt too good not to be buried deep. Always.

Dom waited until his devil was back against his pussy before he uttered one simple word- "Alpha?"

The nephalem's hips jerked rough, his cock breaching the boy's core and hitting home in one quick thrust. The vise-like squeeze was so intense he cursed from the pressure. Dom cried out, his body convulsing like a stripped live wire. The pain was overwhelming but in the most delicious way. He could feel his inner walls pulsing, his guts trying to fit the monster inside. He was quite sure his insides were bruised up. It shouldn't be so hot but the thought of being marked up from the inside out by his devil was intoxicating.

"Dangerous game." Kells snarled, setting his teeth against the kid's pale freckled shoulder. "So fucking human. Can feel your heart in your cunt." He slurred against hot skin and Dom whimpered below him.

"Alpha please?" He wasn't ready for the slap against his hips or the monster strength grip that followed. He tried to take a breath but he couldn't prepare for the way the devil's rock hard cock felt when he slid back and pounded him deep. Nails dug into his skin, blood dripped softly down his trembling thighs to get lost in the black sheets. They bathed in crimson already- Kells wanted to turn the darkness white.

"Say it-" The nephalem grunted between stuttered rough thrusts. Maybe neither of them were ready but fuck- it felt amazing. Perhaps he was an angel because he was certain he was seeing heaven. He sat up enough he could kneel behind the boy and watch where they were joined. The sight of his straining red shaft being swallowed by shiny sweet pink had him shaking. The Hunter's pussy matched his mouth and he couldn't wait to see himself there too.

Dom felt his ass jiggle with every sharp snap of his lover's hips. He knew he was drenched wet and leaking fresh with every move. He felt both wild and calmer than he'd ever been. He felt something he never had before- safe. "Alpha?" He wasn't used to following orders but that was a favor he could grant. Every time he whined it he could feel the devil's dick jerk inside him. The beast was close already and Dom wanted every drop of his spend.

Kells slid his hand under the boy, his fingers teasing against Dom's cock and balls. He wasn't gentle, he couldn't be, but he was closer than he wanted to be and he needed his lover on the same edge. "Again." He demanded, his voice as deep as his shaft. He could already feel his knot threatening to pop, half full and forcing its way inside.

Dom clawed at the sheets, he was overstimulated to the point of too much- just there. It wasn't pain but it was dancing close. He was surprised how much he trusted his man to take him there and keep him safe. "A-al-alphaaa-" He whined long and loud.

Every time the punk called him that it pushed him even closer. He could feel his lover's mind quiet in the rush of hormones drowning them both. It wasn't like either of them could hear themselves think over the noises their bodies made echoing off the walls. "A-a- fuck!" Kells cursed when he tried to ask for it again but he couldn't get anything out besides that. Curses were easy, praise was hard.

Dom felt the devil's palm slide back up his body. His cock fell sloppy wet against the sheet to mess it more. He felt filthy as his partner flattened his hand against his chest and pulled him up until he was sitting in his lap, impaled somehow deeper. He tried to find traction against the mattress to help but Keliphos gripped under his thighs and lifted him like he was nothing. He moved so fast the room became a blur around them and he couldn't tell one thrust from another. His voice wouldn't work past his grunts and cries so instead he thought the title as loudly as he could and he turned his face up to his monster and mouthed wet kisses along his skin.

Kells felt the bite on in his neck and he jerked hard, slamming the boy on his cock. He felt himself filling fuller by the second, his balls tight, his need right on the brink. He stared over Dom's shoulder and watched his dick bounce, droplets of precum making the bed a Jackson Pollock of pleasure. The human panted and suckled loudly in his ear but he finally pushed one more word out. "Cum."

The omega's soul felt the command and he had to unlatch to scream. His rapture rushed through him like a shotgun blast- hard, fast, and incredibly messy. He knew he was doing exactly as his man wanted, his pussy clenching tight as he flooded the bed. He tried to hold on but they were covered in sweat and he couldn't find a spot to grip. The demon kept him off kilter, completely owned.

Kells watched rapt as the human came alive and their minds were so entangled he felt the rush of hormones as if they were his own. Cumming always felt good but it was different for a human and his own mind got lost inside the boy's. Distantly he felt his knot catch, locking him inside his bitch as his tip twitched the first load inside his womb. He could barely focus as his thoughts were drowned out by chemicals he'd never felt before.

They moved through their pleasure, the push-pull-grind of their bodies following their desire but everything inside felt bright. Light. They were locked together in more ways than one and if Dom listened he was almost positive the devil was crying.

They fell forward, Kells driving himself deeper as he wrapped the kid tight in his hold. Their hips rolled, wringing out every drop they could spill together until Dom's belly was swollen with it. The human turned his face, panting and gasping for breath but they held each other through it. Both were thankful they couldn't really speak, oxytocin might have them whispering sweet nothings that meant everything.

Keliphos wasn't sure how long they laid like that but eventually he turned them on their sides to let the boy breathe. Sweat and cum was drying on their skin and sticking them together. He was slowly coming down from the rush but something felt altered inside him. He couldn't feel emotions like people could but now he couldn't make them go away.

"You good Kells?" Dom sighed, keeping his head down. He pulled his lover's hand up to play softly with his fingers though. It was a way to let him know he was there without overwhelming him he hoped.

"I don't know." It was muffled and almost childlike, whispered against wet freckled skin and it made the Hunter's heart skip a beat.

"Tha's alright. I dunno neiver."

The devil cleared his throat and tried to shake it off. There were cobwebs of emotion stuck on the walls of his mind though and he couldn't help but ask- "Are we okay?"

"Wha' ya mean?" The boy asked softly, looking over his shoulder to try and make eye contact.

Keliphos tightened his hold around the kid's chest, his fingers absent-mindedly teasing over his petal pink nipples. He tried to let the subtle clench around his cock from his play distract him, his omega was sensitive and beautifully reactive. "All I said. That I'm not… I'm not made right." He shrugged.

Dom took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh, he wanted to pull off and turn around but there was no possible way. His alpha's knot was keeping him plugged full but even a mild tug would hurt them both. "I'd raver 'ave you Keliphos. Cursed or not. It ain't like tha' was summat I ever fhought about." He lied. He was sure the beast knew he was but the first part was true and he hoped that was enough. "Besides, 'unters don't need families. I jus' need you."

The nephalem felt the ache in his chest lessen and he nodded as he held the boy closer. They weren't cuddling- of course not. They just had to lay that way because of his knot. Part of him hated that he'd gone so soft after such an intense fuck but his lover didn't seem upset. "You never know. It works for some of them." He hummed, it wasn't like he thought the kid would always want to be with him. Forever was different for a devil, he didn't want to try and tie his lover down more than his dick was. He just needed to make the voice in his head shut up that really wanted to keep him and join them forever. It was fine. It was just the fuzzy chemicals.

Author's Note/Tags: @iamnotanearthlingmotherfucker @hollywoodxwhore @jaxbreaker @fenoy7 @cole-way-iero28 🖤

Another post too soon, maybe I can let myself rest tomorrow. I hope you enjoyed it and it was worth the smutty cliffhanger yesterday! How is Kells feeling Dom's chemicals? Why is he so scared of being with him even after opening up? What will they do next? Keep reading to find out! 🖤⚰️

[duusheen]

of course Simon chose to go down the aisle with Leif 🤧💖✨

[docgold13]

Profiles in Villainy

Doctor Eggman

Ivo Robotnik, better known by the alias of ‘Doctor Eggman,’ is an evil scientist and the arch-nemesis of Sonic the Hedgehog.  A self-proclaimed genius and diabolical inventor, the doctor constantly hatches plots to establish his ‘Eggman Empire’ all across the earth and build his own utopia of ‘Eggmanland.’

It is possible that Eggman had once been a kindly scientist named Ovi Kintobor who became twisted and evil following a laboratory accident.  From there on out, he dedicated himself to use his vast intellect to fulfill his egomaniacal ideals.  

Despite the villain’s brilliance, Sonic and his friends have always found means to dash Eggman’s dastardly machinations. Never discouraged by such setbacks, Eggman has returned time and again with a seemingly endless supply of wild schemes to make his dreams of world conquest become a reality.

Dr. Eggman first appeared in the 1991 video game, Sonic The Hedgehog and would later appear in the 1993 animated series of the same name.  Actors Masaharu Satō, Chikao Ōtsuka and Kotaro Nakamura have voiced the villain in the Japanese language versions; with actors Deem Bristow and Mike Pollock voicing the character in the English language versions.  Dr. Eggman’s first animated appearance was in the debut episode of the Sonic The Hedgehog cartoon airing on September 18th, 1993.

[solarsonicsoda]

Rating 500+ Theme Tunes - #5: Ultimate Muscle

Wrestling and anime is such a beautiful tag team to be seen so rarely. Ultimate Muscle is the localised name for Kinnikuman: Second Generation, which is actually a sequel to the original Kinnukuman. The original never reached the West outside of some weird M.U.S.C.L.E. toys, but this sequel was localised for the FoxBox block, a.k.a 4Kids, as well as airing on Kix and other channels internationally. It follows Kid Muscle and other superhero wrestlers continuing the legacy of their famous parents.

For the number one wrestling fan you know, I actually didn't watch that much Ultimate Muscle. However, that was still a good deal, and was not for a lack of trying. This show aired on Kix over here in the UK, which I would often watch whenever there was nothing on its sister channel Pop. This show's airing schedule there never really lined up for me, and I would often miss it as a result.

At the same time, I thought this show was real cool! I really like the way it looks today, and I always enjoyed the outlandish takes on the world of wrestling! So many of Kid Muscle's moves are super cool to be honest with you. I would absolutely love to watch through this one today, even if some of the humour and tone are not exactly aimed at me. I just love a cool wrestling story!

Looks like there's been enough talk. It's TIME for the THEME SONG RANKING!

Ultimate Muscle Theme Tune

This theme song is absolutely ridiculous. Giant brassy notes, endless rhymes, "Strength and speed and... flatulence?". Absolutely no notes. I think it's super super goofy, but I gotta be honest with you: I love it and it works. Say what you will about it as a dub, but this song fits that dub to a tee as far as I remember. It's a really catchy tune too, I'm always singing it to myself with all the different voices they incorporate, all four of them. Mike Pollock as Meat, you will always be famous. It's a truly wild song, but I think you simply have to love it. You can't make SIX consecutive rhymes without being somewhat beloved.

This one might be controversial, but I actually think this is getting an A! I promise there's some themes I dislike...

Stay tuned for more and be sure to send in any suggestions for other shows you'd like to see done (after the 500 already in the pipeline that is). Check out the intro to this series here, and it's tier list time.

[blackleatherjacketz]

Forbidden Fruit: Final Chapter

Jack Russell x Female Reader

Summary: Jack saves you from a vicious vampire attack, and you may be more connected than you think.

This Chapter: One of Jack's friends gets you to safety while he and Alistair battle it out.

Warnings: Mature Content, Blood, Gore, Violence, Vampires, Werewolves, Transformations, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Memory Recall, Coffee, Carnitas and *Moon Knight*

Word Count: 2.4k+

Read the rest of the story HERE!

“I was a little busy up there, Lassie, cut me some slack,” the man dressed all in white grumbles as he enters the room at full speed, his chest heaving from exertion. Covered in the blood of Alistair’s bodyguards, he flings a golden boomerang at the chains that hold Jack captive, freeing him from his vulnerable state before catching his weapon as it returns to him in one fluid motion. He runs over to you before Alistair has a chance to latch onto you again, guarding you from him as Jack begins his transformation into the monster that he warned you about.

Coarse, dark hair sprouts up from your boyfriend’s skin as his teeth grow long and sharp inside his mouth. A deep, guttural growl brews within his chest as it expands far beyond the confines of his shirt, his fingernails curving into razor sharp claws as he advances on your undead captor. He stares him down; that reasonable, pleading version of himself gone with the wind as he matches Alistair's movements, blocking every attempt he makes at escape until he corners him on the far side of the room. You catch yourself holding your breath as you watch this savage stalemate turn into a vicious attack as Jack leaps into the air and onto Alistair’s back, tearing into his flesh.

Holy shit, he actually IS a werewolf. Everything he said was true!

“I’m Marc,” the man whispers his introduction to distract you from the horrors as he takes his cape off to cover you up, wrapping it snugly around your shoulders. “I’m a friend of Jack’s, okay?”

“Okay,” you nod, glancing back at the two wild animals fighting to the death as streams of blood splatter across the walls like a Jackson Pollock painting.

“Don’t you worry about him, alright now, love?” Marc’s voice seems to change all of the sudden, his tone and cadence shifting into a slightly British accent. “He’ll be fine,” he reassures you, helping you up to your feet. “You just keep your eyes on me and we’ll be right as rain, yeah?”

Feral growls and high-pitched screams fill the air as you struggle to hold Marc’s cape around your shoulders, sneaking a peek back at the gruesome battle that Jack seems to be winning so far. This man keeps trying to coax you away from the grisly carnage as you remain frozen in some surreal hope that this will all go away if you only just stand still long enough. Unable to aid Jack in any tangible way, you can’t help but wonder what might happen if you choose to look away, what further terrors could possibly transpire if you aren’t physically there to witness this ghastly attack on your former captor.

“Right then, off we go.” Marc’s timid nature dissolves into resolution as he finally takes your free hand and guides you out of the room, taking care to continually keep you covered. He squeezes your fingers as you follow him through the broken doorway, the splintered wood and scratched-off paint a blatant reminder that this place isn’t safe for you anymore. It never was.

You haven’t been safe for weeks.

“No need to look at any of those bad guys on the floor. Eyes forward from here on out, yeah?” He winces as he walks backward into one of the lifeless figures, stepping cautiously around it before clearing a path down the hall. “Damnit, Marc.”

Ignoring whatever internal battle he’s having with himself, you choose to walk with him through the entryway, doing your best to navigate around the alarming amount of bullet-ridden bodies that litter the corridor. You keep your eyes on his sweaty black curls in an attempt to distract yourself from this morbid new reality, stepping over limp limbs and pools of blood before shifting your focus onto the intricate pattern of his lapel. You try to ignore the squishy feeling of the viscous fluid as it surrounds your bare feet, still warm as it oozes out of their bodies. You do your best to pretend it isn’t collecting around your heels and seeping between your toes as you walk by them, leaving a messy pattern of scarlet footprints down the hall.

“Wow, that was really scary!” Marc laughs nervously, his tone difficult to pin down as he unclasps his gloved fingers from yours to push the button for the ground floor. “I mean, not that scary,” he corrects himself quickly, squaring up his shoulders to seem bigger in front of you as the doors shut.

Is this guy being serious right now?

“I’ve seen stuff like that loads of times before, definitely seen way worse things than a vampire and a werewolf fighting to the death over a beautiful woman.” He forces another smile, shaking his head of a stray thought as the elevator begins to ascend. “Not that you should be scared.” He points to his chest. “I’m not scared, because that wouldn’t make any sense, now would it?”

This is the man Jack trusts to get you to safety? This floppy-haired timid gentleman who looks more afraid of his own shadow than a five year old boy? He can’t possibly be the same man who brutally took out all those guards on his way down to rescue you both… could he?

The ding of the elevator saves you the burden of thinking any more on the question, the entrance in the back of the building a welcome sight as the smell of aged wood balances out the stale stench of blood and carbon. As the two of you silently make your way through the deserted kitchen, you walk past empty shelves and rusted ovens before pushing through the swinging doors. More bodies lay scattered across the tables and chairs of the dining section as you follow his advice by ignoring them until you’re finally out of the abandoned building, free of any guise of shelter.

“Right, we’re over here,” Marc points to a rusted yellow taxi cab parked just in front of the SUV that brought you here, its black metal body now riddled with bullets.

“You called a cab?” You ask, trying to make up for the prolonged silence you kept in the elevator.

“No, but Jake drives a taxi,” he nods casually in its direction before circling around to the passenger side of the vehicle. “I can’t drive.”

“You can’t drive?!” You ask, peering into the driver’s seat to check for someone who might be waiting to make a quick escape. Maybe the street lamp is reflecting oddly off the dingy glass of the car window, maybe your contacts had fallen out in the midst of all the uproar, or maybe all this trauma has finally manifested its way into saving you the turmoil of seeing anymore by blurring your vision. “Who’s Jake?”

You turn to face him for an answer and watch in awe as the white fabric of his costume seems to melt away before your very eyes. Thread by thread, it disappears one section at a time to slowly reveal a black t-shirt and dark jeans underneath, no longer stained with blood. All of the sudden you’re beginning to wonder exactly what Alistair had put into your food and wine earlier.

“You know what? Never mind.” You decide to shelf your disbelief for the moment as he walks over to open the trunk, digging around handguns and knives until he uncovers a large duffel bag full of similar contents. Multiple passports, books on ancient Egypt and the occult are all pushed aside until he finds a white t-shirt with a smiley face on it that says ‘Have a Nike Day’.

“This should fit you,” he says in a more gruff American accent, tossing it your way.

“Thanks, I guess.” You take it without question, hoping to eventually get some kind of explanation for his quick shift in behavior as you turn away from him for a bit of privacy.

You drop his cape to the ground as you watch it disappear like the rest of his costume, blinking about a dozen times in an effort to make sure you didn’t imagine that, too. You shrug and pull the shirt on over your head, pushing your arms through the sleeves as it clings to your body before a sudden sense of relief washes over you. That looming feeling of woe and trepidation that followed you up the elevator and out into the parking lot has been suddenly lifted from your conscience, alerting you on some visceral level that Alistair is finally gone. Before you have time to turn around to tell Marc, you find yourself being inundated with memories of the life you once had with Jack before all of this.

You can see Jack in the hospital bed, eyes focused solely on you as you listen to his lungs and take his pulse, the increase in his heart rate explained only by the blush in his cheeks. You remember feeling a certain way every time you went into his room, a rush of excitement taking over whenever you touched him or got close enough to smell the cologne that barely lingered on his skin.

You can taste all the coffee dates that he’d described to you earlier, that hint of hazelnut in your creamer blending together into a montage of late nights and early mornings in the hospital cafeteria and local diner. You’d take turns telling each other about your day, his pupils dilating a little bit more with each date as you slowly fell in love with the way his lips curled around his teeth when he smiled. You could never really tell how tired he was when the sun began to rise, but he always stayed up late enough to walk you back to your car, making sure that you were safe before he left your side.

He was patient, kind and gentle; taking great care to listen to every word that left your lips, carrying himself in such a way that made you feel both seen and heard without even an ounce of room left for doubt. That was new for you, a love so soft that allowed you to see the world in a rose-tinted haze instead of your usual sharp and grainy gray.

Your first kiss is in his car after you allow him to take you to dinner, the song “Rhiannon” by Fleetwood Mac playing on the staticky radio as you finally take the plunge to connect. His lips are soft as you lean into him, kissing you back as he holds your face with both hands, gently stroking your cheeks with his thumbs before you kiss him again.

You can see him dancing toward you now in the kitchen as carnitas simmer on your old gas stove, offering chopped veggies for you to sample from his fingers as he serenades you along the way. His voice mimics the notes of the artist’s on the recording, somehow even better than you imagined, although you realized that everything was better with him around. Music was richer, aromas more pleasant, the food more delicious and the caresses around your hips more electric. How could you have possibly forgotten all of this?

The flavor of the pork belly soon dissipates as you’re transported into your bedroom, your senses now flooded with the salt of his skin as it collides with yours. You can actually feel him against you, just as sure as you could taste the coffee and the meat from before, every kiss he plants onto your lips and neck increasing your heart rate. You’re now breathing in his smoky scent as he makes love to you unlike anyone else ever has before, giving every part of your body its due amount of attention, savoring your scent and flavor before moving on to the next erogenous zone. You look into his eyes as if you’re actually there in the moment, not reliving your past in some random parking lot next to a taxi cab. You can feel each strand of his hair part between your fingers, his breath hot on your shoulder as he loses himself inside you completely.

You don’t want this moment to end, but the next thing you know he’s bringing you water and playing with your hair as you watch Svengoolie together; the episodes of The Phantom of the Opera, The Mummy and Dracula all blurring together until you get to The Wolfman. You watch his demeanor change as the werewolf graces your television screen, fear quaking in his voice as he takes the chance to divulge the very worst parts of himself to you. His eyes dart around the room as he begins to explain the inner workings of his lycanthropy, your hand on his reassuring the both of you that none of that really matters, as long as he’s honest with you.

All of it was true, every last word of it. Every sense of longing you had toward him since you ‘first’ laid eyes on him finally makes sense as your brain fills in the gaps of your missing memories like patchwork over torn cloth. He had been a part of you, and you to him.

“Hey,” Marc interrupts your visions by grabbing one of your shoulders and shaking you back to reality. “Wake up, princess. He’s back.”

“Princess?” You want to argue with him for pulling you out of your fantasy, but save your breath once you see Jack limping out of the abandoned restaurant, his shirt completely gone and his pants barely hanging on by a thread. A mixture of what could only be Alistair’s blood and ash covers his face and torso like some carnal war paint as he makes his way toward you both.

“He’s gone,” Jack mutters, glancing at Marc before pausing to smile in your direction. “We can go now.”

You run across the jagged parking lot despite your bare feet, ignoring all the pebbles that dig into your skin until you finally reach him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders in a desperate embrace. “I remember,” you whisper into his cheek, solidifying all your memories into the present moment as you kiss him. “I remember all of it.”

“Yeah?” He kisses you back, holding onto you with weary arms as he looks you over with pure adoration. That smile that you love so much spreads across his lips, wrinkling the skin around his eyes as he kisses your forehead with a relieved sigh. “Gracias a Dios.”

“Don’t thank God, thank me.” Marc interrupts with a sarcastic tone, throwing his duffel bag at Jack before it falls to the ground at his feet. “Put some clothes on so we can get some pancakes, already.”

[pwlanier]

Romain Dorez, an artist from Amiens born in 1989, is a great enthusiast of geek universes and pop culture. His creations, he wanted them to carry a double reading necessary for their understanding. The iconic characters of pop culture that he paints may have, under their naive faces and large wide eyes, other facets to reveal to you. Tributes to the greatest artists or standard-bearers of a nascent revolt, they are as many mirrors, more or less distorting, of our current society. Pop art influences his plastic language; we find in him the controlled or more wild coulures of a Pollock or a Basquiat, some emblematic symbols of Keith Haring's work and then, as an obvious gateway, the vocabulary of street art, the clean features of Monsieur Le Chat and Speedy Graphito or the paint trails of C215.https://dorezromain.

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THE DANCE AWARDS LAS VEGAS RESULTS 2023

PEEWEE SOLOS:

1st Sylvie Win Szyndlar - CLUB JP!

2nd Aspen Brandt - CLUB JP!

3rd Hallee Anderson - LARKIN JP!

3rd Karsyn Brewer - CLUB JP!

3rd Abbey Scott - CLUB JP!

4th Goldie Nielsen - CLUB JP!

5th Matinly Conrad - LARKIN JP!

5th Jade Glyzinski - LARKIN JP!

5th Brody Schaffer - DANCEOLOGY JP!

6th Remington Frye - CSPAS JP!

6th Emma Kleve - CLUB JP!

7th Eastyn Rose - CLUB JP!

7th Charlotte Tracy - LARKIN JP!

7th Maddie Kulenkamp - LARKIN JP!

8th Georgia Hosack - EXPRESSENZ JP!

8th Stella Ames - LARKIN JP!

8th Jayda Cook - CSPAS JP!

9th Ava Fraser - LARKIN JP!

9th Penny Harris - DANCEOLOGY JP!

9th Sloan Ozuna - CSPAS JP!

9th Emersyn Varker - CLUB JP!

9th Hazel Ecklin - LARKIN JP!

9th Mabel Wilde - CSPAS JP!

10th Hazel Silverman - CLUB

10th Norah Hurley - ELITE FEET

10th Isla Rose Parcell - CSPAS

10th Olive Pollock - BOBBIE’S