Here is a little tale I had to write for school. It tells the story of a young boy travelling with a little goat accused of bringing destruction and misery.
I hope you will like it as much as I loved to write it.
Big thanks to my amazing friend @garden-of-the-snake-king for helping me & bringing your poetic words for the english translation.
The best ship dynamic is actually just. "I love you and it terrifies me. I'm terrified how much I need you and how much I want you to need me. I'm terrified I'm no good for you and I'm going to hurt you and ruin you and I'm terrified of how I feel when you're around me but I can't bear to push you away completely because I'm terrified to be without you so now we're stuck in limbo and that's terrifying too. I'm terrified that if I lost you now it'd destroy me and I'm terrified that it's too late to do anything about it. I love you. And it's terrifying."
in which Eddie's love languages are quality time and acts of service - and you're a commitmentphobe
something small that came to mind the other day (I definitely do not do the annoying thing of never doing the things I commit to, no, definitely not). it's a lil bit christmassy so sorry about that lol. college!au, gn!reader, etc etc. fluff. 1.4k.
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so you do this thing which you are convinced pisses all your friends off, where you declare that you're going to do something - wash the dishes, finally fold your laundry, finish a book, braid your hair, go to the gym, bake something - and then never do it. it happens far too often and you are so sure it drives them mad, Nance and Robin surely rolling their eyes at one another when you once again flop down on the couch and resolve that today will be the day that you repot the plants in your dorm room.
and it does. they're your friends, but friends can be irritating despite how much we love them regardless, and it's maybe one of your bigger flaws.
they groan about it between themselves sometimes, the same way you do with Robin when Nancy ditches girls night to finish another piece for your college newspaper, or the way you do with Steve when you catch Robin in another conversation with the cute girl behind the counter at the campus café who she still hasn't asked out. every single time, she joins the two of you with that look on her face that says, not this time, folks, sorry.
they often brush off your declarations of intent, humming without paying much interest, and you know it, of course. you also know they're your friends, so it's their job to put up with this.
but then there's Eddie. Eddie is a new friend, as of the months before summer break, though his presence at nights out or evenings in with the whole gang is so concrete he may as well have been here the whole time.
Eddie is also incredibly pretty. he throws you off guard often with his throwaway compliments ("you look great tonight, sugar") and those hands he fails to keep to himself. they land on the small of your back sometimes when you're leaving the bar. other times his knee nudges yours when you're sat beside each other during movie night. and, worst of all, sometimes his fingers brush yours as you walk, and it takes everything in you not to grab hold and never let go.
one evening, you've come home from class and changed into pyjamas and you're padding sullenly through the apartment you share with Nancy and Robin. like clockwork, you throw yourself onto the empty couch and say: "tomorrow I'm gonna go on a long walk."
"right," you hear Robin mutter from where she's sat on the other couch, her eyes trained on the complicated looking crochet project in her lap. Nancy's out but Steve and Eddie are sat at your dinner table - they may as well live here, you sometimes think - working on assignments.
"I'll come with you," Eddie says.
it surprises you; normally the only acknowledgement of these whims you ever get are the uninterested noises from Robin or Nancy.
"you will?" you return, turning your head to look away from the ceiling and over at Eddie.
"sure," he says, still looking at the assignment on the table in front of him. he's holding his forehead, pinching it in concentration. he looks pretty in the ebbing sunlight, as usual.
"sweet," you mutter back.
and he does. he sticks to his word, turning up sometime mid-morning the next day with a thick coat on and two coffees in takeaway cups. you wander with him around the park near campus and try your hardest to keep your expectations low.
he's a friend. it's not a date.
the following week you're back on the couch, watching a rerun of Golden Girls, and you let your eyes wander around the room, paying little attention to the television. you stare up at the plants hanging from the top of the cabinet by the door, and the ones on the windowsill.
"I'm gonna do it," you say. "I'm gonna repot them."
"mm-hmm."
Nancy's at the dinner table, scribbling away on various pieces of paper. she gives you the usual hum of okay, sure, yeah without looking up at you.
"need a hand?" Eddie asks. he's on the other couch, halfway through a joint.
you turn over onto your side to look at him.
"yeah, okay. wanna go to the garden centre?"
"only if we can look at the fish."
"obviously."
this cycle continues. every few days, your dramatic commitment to a new thing will go unnoticed by your seasoned friends, but Eddie won't let whatever it is go. when you tell them you're going to go to the beach, for some fresh air, he offers to drive you there. when you declare that you're going to bake them some bread, and finally learn how to kneed, he brings you bread flour and promises he'll bake weed brownies with you one day. and when you decide that today is the day that you'll take your resumé to the cafe round the corner, he looks it over with you and walks you over. I could do with a coffee, he tells you.
you get the job, starting a week later. you're working 3 shifts a week between classes and sometimes closings shifts roll into the evenings, when you'd usually be doing nothing in your little living room with your friends. on these nights, when it's dark before you finish, Eddie is always stood beside the back door as you leave. the first time it happened he said he'd been on his way home from class and had spotted you cleaning up inside so thought he'd wait for you, but then it happened two days later, when you know he doesn't have any afternoon classes. and so after every late shift you emerge from the back door to find him smudging out a cigarette with his shoe, and he looks up at you and smiles, and you walk with him two blocks back to your apartment.
after a month or two, you're on another close. it's December and you're on your last shift before you hitch a ride back to Hawkins.
"he's out there again," your boss mutters as he comes in from emptying the trash.
"hmm?"
"your boyfriend. does he have to smoke out there?"
you feel yourself warm, the bloom of embarrassment and something more under your skin.
"he's not my boyfriend. I'll ask him to stop smoking, though."
"some friend you got then, walkin' you home every night."
you don't respond, bottom lip between your teeth to hide your smile. you speed through everything else on the list and grab your jacket and bag when your boss waves you off with a half-hearted happy holidays, and skip a little too quick out the fire door behind the kitchen.
sure enough, here he is, though tonight feels different. you quickly spot him smudging the cigarette out, but as your eyes drift back up they land on something colourful in his hand.
he looks up when he hears the door but he doesn't smile like usual; instead it's small, laced with apprehension. but it blossoms when you grin at him, so wide your eyes nearly close.
"good shift?" he asks.
"hm, it was okay. what've you got?"
you step closer and look down to see that it's a pretty bunch of flowers.
"uh, I... if I don't do this now, I owe Steve fifty bucks."
you look up at him, confused. "what?"
"wanna go get dinner?"
the bliss that swells inside your chest feels like enough to lift you off your feet. you grin again, and he smiles back.
"Eddie Munson, are you taking me on a date?"
he looks down at his feet, bashfully kicking the stub of his cigarette with one shoe.
"I mean, I thought the walks home and everythin' were obvious enough, but..."
you giggle at him, thinking about all the evenings he'd drop you home without more than a hug goodbye, leaving you kicking yourself for thinking this could be anything more than good friends.
"my fault," you say. "wanted to say something, but I'm not good at committing to stuff."
"nah," he says, looking up at you again. "you just needed a hand gettin' it done."
lifting the flowers, he holds them out for you to take. as you do, he takes your bag and, before you can protest, slings it over his own shoulder. they're pretty, deep reds and purples.
"these are beautiful, Eddie."
he smiles back at you and brings his hand to the small of your back, as always, as you leave.
walking down the street, past closed-up shops in the cold, your hands brush his as he gets closer and closer. you seize the opportunity, finally committing to something, and wind your fingers between his.
I like stories where a normal human child is being raised by a sinister supernatural being who is totally malevolent except when it comes to their kid. Those are so much better than the “kids are scary” changeling type horror movies.
Like a perfectly well-adjusted well-mannered friendly child that is like “This is my dad, Surazal. He comes out of the mirrors in dark rooms. He makes really good blood pudding but he’s bad at playing catch. Most people can’t see his corporal form but I can because he says I have special eyes.”
“Mom says that you can stay over but you have to promise not to leave my room between midnight and 1 am. You can play Mario Cart with me! But you have to knock on every closed door in the house before entering just because dad might be in there and if you look upon his visage without drinking the holy fruit juice, you might go crazy or something. Also dad is really excited I have a new friend and he’s going to to make hardtack and mystery stew for us! You’ll love it!”
In high school the kid gets a friend that is an amateur demonologist who initially befriends them in hopes of exorcizing their house but ends up becoming buddies with Surazal too because they crave parental affection.
Surazal stands at the end of the vast dark hallway and says “You Too Have Special Eyes, Little One. You Can See Me Without Being Taken By The Madness. Within You, I Sense Great Turmoil And Sadness. In My Younger Years, I Would Have Exploited The Sadness As Weakness In Your Very Soul. I Would Have Worn Your Skin Like A Mask And Run Through The Village Streets, Supping Blood From Every Man I Encountered. But Now I Have No Use For Woe. Perhaps You Would Like To Watch Beetlejuice In The Family Room With My Daughter While I Prepare Cupcakes. I Am Sensing You Have A Fondness for Red Velvet.”
I see “Eddie fake fucking you whenever you bend over” and I raise you- taking revenge on Eddie by starting to fake fuck him whenever he bends over, fully grabbing his hips and slamming into him, fake moaning, and he goes all quiet and you think it’s because he’s just done with your bullshit, but really he’s sweating bullets trying not to pop a boner because he’s just realised he wants you to peg him like
The trailer is dark, the park quiet as snow when you finally manage to drag yourself from the warmth of the blankets and the smell of Eddie that they encase you in. He'd slipped out of them 10 minutes earlier -- a kiss on the crown of your head and a sleepy mumble in your ear as he carefully extracted himself from your embrace. You'd been too close to sleep to hear what he'd told you in that low voice; you felt it in vibrations from where you were pressed to his chest more than you had heard it. So you went searching.
Padding down the hall in a pair of thick socks, boxers, and a sweatshirt (all belonging to Eddie), you navigate toward the soft, orange light diffusing across the linoleum beyond the wooden arch that cut off the bedroom and bathroom from the rest of the trailer. You could hear a slight scrape of plastic against metal and the baritone hum that came from your boyfriend, the sweetest siren's call that would guide you through even the darkest nights.
Eddie stands in the kitchen with his bare back to you. The light from above the stove, the only light in the entire place, filters out around him in a golden glow. His hair is down and messy from sleep, shoulders rising and falling in easy breaths, black sweatpants hung low on his hips, the feathery wings of black ink that span across his shoulder blades shifting as his arms adjust whatever he has on the burner.
He is always pretty, unfairly so, but there is something so absolutely striking about him like this. At night he's softer, calmer, warmer -- less sharp grins and more loving smiles, less restless adjusting and more relaxed lounging. His doe eyes are still big and brown as ever, but they blink slower, simmer deeper. And while you love both sides of Eddie, you treasure this one. The one only you get to see, the gentle side of him that rises with the moon and lives within the familiar walls of your home and within your arms. You so often find yourself thanking the universe for giving you this, giving you him. This is definitely one of those moments.
After taking several peaceful seconds to appreciate the view, you travel silently forward, unable to resist the urge to feel his skin on yours again. He jumps a bit in surprise when your cold fingers skate past his narrow waist, his body relaxing again by the time you wrap both arms around him and mold yourself to the planes of his back.
"What are you doing out of bed, sweet girl?" The softly spoken question comes out almost scolding, but the timber of his voice bleeds out warmth and comfort, a smile evident despite you being unable to see his face.
Lips pressed to his bare skin, eyes falling closed, you answer honestly and with a little bit of embarrassment. "Missed you, didn't know where you went."
His torso rumbles in a quiet laugh, his back widening against your chest as he intakes air. "I told you before I left."
"Didn't hear you, was too sleepy." He lets out an understanding hum as his non-dominant arm drapes across your own, his palm warm even through the thick fabric of your sweatshirt. "What're you making?"
"Had a craving for a grilled cheese. You want one?"
"Mmmmmmm, I do love cheese," you murmur, delighting as his skin erupts in goosebumps when you hum against him.
"And I do love you, sweet girl. So I think we might be able to work something out."
thank you all for 1000 notes on my silly little blurb i wrote while half asleep. Late night, stove light, grilled cheese, domesticity is my bread and butter.
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