The Time Before - The Early Days

My heeeaarrtttt <3

eddie’s love letter to reader after leaving her in chicago where he’d followed her after meeting for the first time. (i was in my feels despite not even being in love myself)

masterlist or series tag #enam3ls rockstar eddie

Dear sweetheart,

I’m considering hijacking my own plane and making them turn back to Chicago, back to you. My lips left your skin an hour ago and already they’re itching to be reunited.

Ready to commit felonies in order to feel yours once more. The guys have ditched me, they’re sitting further up the place. Apparently I talk too much as is, now I’m worse than ever and the only topic on my tongue is you. I can’t blame them, I wonder how I’ll ever shut up about you.

The flight attendant brought her little trolley round and all she got from me was a lecture about how you only mix your drinks with lemonade, never soda. I told her my girl has a sweet tooth. I suppose I don’t know for sure if you’re my girl yet. Not even officially my girl and you’ve got me hopping states and writing love letters.

You’ve bewitched me, babe. Appeared out of thin air on a dark stormy night in a small town like Hawkins? It all makes sense. I knew you had to be other worldly. You hexed me that night, turned me into a lovesick teenager. I hope the spell is irreversible if it means I get to be yours.

Shit, this could all be nonsense, I don’t know. I’m so god damn tired. You kept me awake. I’ve not even got my mind in the gutter. Just mean, how could I possibly sleep when I got to have you to myself? There’s only 24 hours in the day and you’ve existed for nearly 24 years. Hard to hear all your stories in that time. I want to hear them all. It feels cruel the universe robbed me of 24 years of you. Think I could listen to you til the oceans ran dry and I wouldn’t get bored.

I took my jacket off once I was seated to get comfy but then I realised it smelt like you. Had this thing since I was 16 and it’s only ever smelt like smoke and cheap beer. You wear it for a weekend and it smells like you. You you you. That pretty perfume and that sweetness natural to your skin. It’s soaked into the leather. Under the fibres. I think you’ve done that to me as well. Seeped under my skin. Running through my system.

Already owe Dustin and Steve my life in ways you don’t even know. I owe them it all once over for introducing you.

You were right when you said this wasn’t normal. People don’t just feel this way with someone they’ve known for a couple of hours. I think my heart was yours from that moment in the Hideout. It’s still with you now in Chicago. I don’t want it back. Keep it in the back pocket of those tight little jeans you wore yesterday. If you gave me yours, it’d be the most precious think I owned.

When you get back home to New York and read this, call me. I’ll be on your doorstep in seconds if I’m not already camped out there. I should’ve stayed in bed with you in that fancy ass hotel in Chicago.

Call me and I’ll crawl back into your sheets and promise to never leave again.

Yours if you wish,

Eddie.

don’t worry i know it’s been a while but i could never forget about my lil star crossed lovers

my taglist angels: @whoahoney @lukewearingbeanies @esme-viridian @elysian-chaos s @munsonology @mseddiemunson @kreepja @midnightsgetawaycar

“The gang want the traumas of that world to die with them.”

UGGHH on the hecking floor

in rockstar!eddie-verse I know the CIA & shit was heavily involved in the coverup of hawkins & eddie’s past there but do you think eddie would ever open up to reader about everything that went down later in their relationship 👀

maybe it’s always been this guessing game between them about the scars on eddie’s torso where he always teasingly replies with an off the wall answer in which she always rolls her eyes in response to while waving him off

good question! i think i've maybe mentioned it and hinted at it throughout the fics but yes reader 100% knows!

**an added note: honestly i hope this doesn't spoil it but probably more than anything i'll ever write, reader's personality is v much shamelessly based on me so more or less her approach is my approach sorry

Y/N never asks about Eddie's scars because just looking at them she instinctively knows this isn't from a standard accident. As she gets to know the gang more and more, it's undeniable there is something huge that bonds them beyond friendship and she recognises not too dissimilar scars on Steve. By the time they move in together November 89, they've been together ten months and without having to discuss it particularly, they know they're going to spend the rest of their lives together. Eddie explains it all to her by December with the gangs permission.

Eddie can live with the scars since meeting y/n before she even knew their meaning she would delicately kiss them every night. Nowadays they've faded well and are mostly covered by tattoos. The biggest across his chest has yours and your daughters names covering it.

Their kids don't know and unless something happens again with the Upside Down, they'll never know. The gang want the traumas of that world to die with them. Never wanting anyone to continue to be haunted by what they know.

My heart is the Emerson fam <333

if ur requests are open rn will you write something abt gareth’s family and the reader? it can be like meeting them once you’ve started dating or later on or anything. loved ur last fic !! thank u !!!!

i want you to meet my family.

gareth emerson x gn!reader

word count: 1,487

warnings: swearing, reader is anxious and a bit shy, meet-the-family jitters, tooth-rotting fluff, gare being sweet and lovey

a/n: hi!! thank you for your request my sweet!! i’m so happy that you liked my last fic! means the world. i kind of went for a shy and anxious reader, so i hope that’s okay!! for context, i’ve given him: mom, stepdad and two younger sisters. i tried to leave them unnamed so that you can call them whatever you’d like! i hope this turned out like you wanted! <333

————

“I want you to meet my family.”

You practically choked on the hot chocolate he’d fixed you. That should’ve been your first clue anyhow. He was buttering you up.

Coughing, Gareth’s hand rubbed and patted your back, the other taking the mug from you and setting it down before you spilled.

His words caught you off guard—god forbid you sit with your boyfriend and not expect anything to happen. “You okay?”

“Yeah, Gare, I’m fine.” You weren’t fine. The waver in your voice gave you away.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to meet Gareth’s family, because you really, really did—what with all he’d told you—and you had this urge to get to know that part of him too. You found it comforting that he wanted you to meet them.

You were just nervous. You weren’t good with new people, and these were more than just people. They were Gareth’s people.

But meeting them only made sense, especially when you could feel yourself falling more and more for him every minute.

The both of you hadn’t been together officially for too long, and had definitely been relishing in the fact that it was just the two of you and there wasn’t any pressure. This, however, was pressure. Lots of it.

“Can you look at me, pretty please?” You shifted, the two of you now sitting cross legged and facing each other on the couch. He held out his hands, which you dramatically slapped, eliciting an ever more dramatic hiss from him, before he clasped your fingers in his.

You focused on the silver ring resting on his middle finger while he spoke to you. “You know I would never want you to do anything that would make you uncomfortable. But I-I want you to meet my family, because you’re my family too.”

His kind words were flustering you, so you continued to fidget with his ring and started chewing on your bottom lip, biting down in hopes that the sting of tears would go away.

“It doesn’t have to be anything crazy. I’ll bring you home like usual, there will just be other people there. I don’t want you to worry about whether they’ll like you, even though I know you’re going to, but—they wanna meet you too, sweetheart. You’re my whole world, you gotta know that.”

You did. Lifting your head, you met his gaze. His nose scrunched in greeting. You leaned in to kiss it. “Okay. I trust you, Gareth.”

————

“Breathe. Here, with me, okay?” Gareth stood with you in the driveway, holding onto you and trying to soothe your nerves.

You knew there was nothing to be scared of. You’d heard nothing but good things about them, about how much they meant to Gareth.

But you couldn’t help that your heart was beating so fast it hurt and your hands were shaking and you felt a little dizzy. There was so much going on in your head—always—and what if they could tell you were a mess? Maybe they’d think you weren’t right for their boy.

Stop, you told yourself. Breathe. Gareth’s gentle hand on your collarbones brought you back. “Ready?”

“Yeah. Will you hold my hand? Please? Please don’t leave me.” He held back a wince at seeing you this way.

“I’m never gonna leave you, my sweet.”

Gareth led you up the few steps to the door and inside, just like any other time you’d been over. Your stomach sunk when you heard voices coming from the kitchen. As if he was reading your thoughts, Gareth turned around and kissed your cheek. “It’s okay. You’re okay. I’m right here.”

You nodded, afraid your voice would fail you, and he took that as his queue to head off.

Entering the kitchen, you found his stepdad and youngest sister working on a puzzle, both settled at the table. His mother was preparing cookie dough, his other sister sat on the counter beside her, presumably licking cinnamon off of her fingers. From what you could smell, they were snickerdoodles. Those were your favorite.

Gareth tugged you into him, and you hid a little against his side. “Hey, guys,” his voice cut off all other noise in the kitchen, four heads snapping up at once.

Gareth’s mom smiled brilliantly at the sight of you, and she hurried to wipe her hands against the little waist apron she was wearing before tugging it off.

“Hi!” She exclaimed.

The youngest of his sisters leapt from her place on the counter, sprinting to her brother just after his mom made it to him. His mother kissed his cheek, giving him knowing and thrilled eyes. Gareth groaned exaggeratedly as a little body smacked into his legs, “Hi, bubba!”

“Hi, squirt.” He ruffled her hair and you watched in awe, your attention shifting as his mom turned to face you instead.

You let go of Gareth’s hand, trying to be brave because she looked so kind. He took that as a signal to let you. An I’m okay gesture.

This woman was not scary. Her eyes were that same sweet blue as her son’s, her curls just as unruly, though tied up at the base of her neck.

“Hello, my love! It’s so nice to meet you! Can I hug you? Would that be okay?” She raised her hands a little, hopeful.

“Sure you can,” you responded, smiling genuinely. My love, she’d called you. You were suddenly overwhelmed with how nice it felt to be welcomed and cared for so instantaneously.

Gareth’s mother pulled you in for a hug, warm and grateful, swaying you gently in her arms. She pulled back, still smiling, eyes shining with it. Turning her head, she checked that Gareth wasn’t looking—he wasn’t, head bent to look at the puzzle on the table. “You know he never shuts up about you?

“Really?” You grinned at her, feeling your cheeks heat up, but delighted nonetheless.

“Really!” The sound of your joint giggles made Gareth turn around, his stepdad and sisters following his return to you.

“I don’t like the sounds of this.” He said it with a smile anyhow.

“Hey, kiddo.” Gareth’s stepdad found you, and gave you a short, but kind hug. He smelled faintly of cigarettes, yet it was comforting. You caught a glimpse of a tattoo sleeve under the edge of his sweater, and hoped you’d remember to ask about it later.

You hadn’t expected this glasses-clad, teddy-bear-looking man to have tattoos. “It’s true, by the way, he really doesn’t shut up about you.”

Gareth ran a hand down his face and you laughed softly, albeit slightly worried about would he could’ve said.

Both of his sisters approached you at once, the younger with messily braided pigtails, the older with a head full of crazier and more tightly coiled curls than both Gareth and his mother combined.

“You’re very pretty,” the younger one said, holding her arms out for a hug. You obliged her. “He said you were pretty. You are.”

“Thank you. So are you.” She smiled gratefully and looked up at her older sister expectantly.

The latter grinned just as kindly as all of the rest of them, holding out her hand, hoping you’d trust her and take it. “Are you any good at puzzles? Gareth sucks.”

“Hey! I do not.” You chuckled at their banter.

“He does,” she told you, attempting to whisper, before settling on the bench and doling you out some pieces.

The rest of the day went perfectly fine. You’d never felt more at home than you did with Gareth’s family. They welcomed you and loved you immediately and wanted to get to know the person who was making their boy so happy.

————

Your car was in the driveway when Gareth pulled up. He wasn’t sure why—he hadn’t asked you over today—not that he was totally upset by it.

He made his way down the hall to the kitchen where your familiar voice rang out.

You looked up at his entrance.

“Hi?” He questioned, tossing his keys on the counter.

He found both of his sisters and you bent over the kitchen table, spreading puzzle glue on yet another puzzle that you’d finished together.

“I know. They called with an invitation and a puzzle completion notice.” You turned to the sister on your left. “Here. If you move around a bit, the light catches and you can check for any spots missing glue. Sound good?” She nodded enthusiastically and you moved away.

Gareth pulled you in for a hug, mumbling a “Sorry,” under his breath.

“‘S okay, really. Also, apparently I’m going to a ballet recital tonight.” Gareth tossed his head back, laughing brilliantly at your situation.

He’d told you they’d love you, and they did. He just thought it was funny that now you had to go through all the things that he did.

But you didn’t mind. Not really. Not when it was your family too.

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

Mr. Linden's Library

short story i wrote for an english class that i was told was not good. anyways, figured it might reach the right people on here. enjoy!

word count: 801

~~~

It was dreadfully cold at Three o’clock on the morning of January Third when Mr. Linden woke, hearing a loud crash. Drenched in sweat, he sat up in bed and grasped the comforter next to him but, alas, clutched only onto air. “Clara!” he called. He got out of bed and quickly dressed in his bed jacket. Before he left his chambers, he took his lantern, making off with haste into the hallway and down the two flights of stairs that led to the basement.

“Clara!” He called into the darkness of the floor below. “Clara?” But no reply was made. He slowly illuminated it with his lantern, casting a soft glow about the room. He produced a set of keys from his pocket and made his way over to a small door. In his haste, it took him many failed attempts to unlock and open the door before he let himself in.

“Clara!” He called once more into darkness. He finally opened the door, pushing the lantern through. The light produced from it danced over the many bookshelves that covered the room’s walls, some books with shiny title fonts reflecting the dim glow.

This room, which he referred to as his study, was filled with shelves upon shelves of books, each stocked full and on the verge of overflowing. Every wall was hidden by a massive, looming bookcase except for the north wall, which housed his carved oak desk. Placed meticulously behind the desk was a brown leather swiveling chair that was always perfectly spotless and polished. In the far corner of the room lived an ugly green cloth armchair, which had perfected the art of both becoming an eyesore and collecting dust. He never used it; he could never even remember the last time he had sat in it. He only sat at his desk, often in a very official manner, looking over papers, contracts, and the like. He did not have time to read his books, nor did he want to.

Now, as he rushed into the room, he squinted, searching for any sign of human life. He walked along every wall, scanning the bookshelves for anything that looked amiss, until he reached the southern wall. He checked the shelf and noticed that one of his books was missing. To his horror, only a space remained where the book had once been placed. He had not taken the book out yesterday, and had he; it would have been returned to its rightful place on the shelf. He had learned too well what would happen when you left a book out all night.

He was terrified. Now frantic in his alarm, he turned round and round in the center of the room, calling out desperately, “Clara! Clara!” as his eyes grew large with fear.

He finally gathered himself enough to stumble to a doorway in between two bookcases on the east wall. Fumbling for the doorknob, he realized with great trepidation that it had already been opened. “Clara!” He wailed. He yanked the door open, pulling himself through it before he could bear to look around.

Behind this door was the other half of his study, which always remained locked. Inside was a wooden worktable pushed against one wall covered in beakers, baubles, and other scientific ornaments. Two large bookcases flanked either end of the table, and a bench in front. Now, however, the room was all but ripped to shreds. The bookcases had been smashed; their contents spilled over the floor. The worktable was flipped onto its side, all the embellishments broken on the floor, and strange liquids drained out of them.

The only thing undisturbed in the middle of the room was the bench, now pushed away from the table. Across the bench lay a young woman, seeming to sleep in a vision of picturesque womanhood, with a book settled upon her lap.

Upon seeing her, Mr. Linden walked over to the bench and sank to his knees, grasping the young woman’s hand. “Clara! Clara. I knew this was what would become of my horrible habit, but I have prayed that it would be me that they would take. Not you. Never you. Oh, Clara, what have I done?” He howled as sobs racked his figure.

After a moment, he removed the book from her lap, only to reveal a mass of spiders dripping from the book’s pages. Without a moment of hesitation, he placed the book upon his chest, laid down on the floor, the woman’s hand still held within his own, and declared, “If they demand one of us, I will give them both.”

Within the hour, he stopped breathing, the venom of the spiders plaguing his bloodstream, with the hope of being reunited with his sweet Clara once more, if not on this earth.

Oh my gosh my little gay heart <3

rockstar eddie having a lesbian daughter just makes so much sense 🥹 like yeah he really would!

RIGHT!!! Its just meant to be!!! Someone sent a request for her coming out story and I'll do that in full eventually!

Eddie loves it when Sloane comes out as a lesbian, he calls her his hero, he thinks she's the bravest person on earth. He's extra protective of her, she is his first born and can't deny he's thrilled he'll never have to deal with shitty boyfriends leering at her. Although he's bisexual, Eddie wants to make sure he can be there in every way when Sloane needs advice so is quick to approach Robin. They go for lunch where Robin can teach him a course in Sapphic 101. He wants to make sure he can still provide support and advice in all the ways he could if his daughter was dating men. Robin tells him all about safe sex, the best lesbian bars and places to find support like books and communities. He absorbs it all.

Sloane has always been outgoing and fearless, she isn't shy about her sexuality so Eddie is so shamelessly open in supporting her. A lesbian flag sticker is quick to appear on his guitar. When she's older and coming in from nights out, Eddie loves staying up with her to hear all the latest gossip from the girls. Who is sleeping with whose ex, whose got together? Eddie can't deny it, he loves the drama.

All I want for Christmas is Matt Dillon oiled up in my bed 😔

i love wearing jeans. i feel so beautiful. like bruce springsteen

go easy on your fanfic writers.

they’re writing for free. they’re unpublished, untrained, unprofessional. they’re writing between real jobs, having families, kids.

go easy on your fanfic writers.

they’re working to a standard that paid writers rarely are held to. they’re creating fully fleshed out characters on personality alone. they’re doing their best to avoid using descriptions when writing about a person, one thing they were always told to do, the thing they always read about.

they’re trying to ignore their own experiences, their own lives to give you stories about a person without size, colour, weight, height, hair length, eye colour.

go easy on your fanfic writers.

they’re putting their heart into their works just to post it online and hope it’s received well. they’re writing thousands of words, they’re writing chapters and books. they’re nervous.

they’re worried about being called things they aren’t, they’re worried about coming under fire for something they’re not maliciously trying to do. they’re worried about someone accusing them of stealing, of plagiarising, of an anonymous grey box calling them awful things.

they’re trying their best.

this isn’t just self serving. this isn’t just a cathartic release for myself. I’ve spoken to dozens of writers in this fandom who are constantly and consistently getting hate. they’re all talented people doing this for free. for you to read. be kinder or there’s not going to be any writers left.