#i never. it's been years dude. we still talk every so often but i- | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

trashmouth-richie · 1 month

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this comes from @serasvictoria with this ask the prompt words were: pillow, caught, crush

18+ no minors, angst leading to smut, vulgar, eddie talks about his dick and steve’s 😌

2.1k // eddie x fem reader

your ex hears you’ve moved on; is he ready to let you go?

send me a prompt!

“Don’t be a dumbass.”

Ringed hands were folded together, glistening from the makeshift dramatic lighting in Gareth’s basement.

In the summer, Hellfire moved locations from one member's place to another, rotating every Friday to a different place. A new aroma to tickle one’s nostrils upon entering whichever home was the designated spot for the evening, to host Hawkins very own hell bound teens.

Some homes were kept nicer than others, while Eddie’s trailer smelled like stale cigarettes and bong water, the Sinclair’s living room was pristine with updated furniture, smelling of warm vanilla and the smell of dinner still lingering in the air.

Gareth takes another gulp of Mountain Dew, wiping the lime colored beverage from his lips. Belching on the spot.

“Why would I lie about that?”

Eddie shifts in the folding chair leaning forward— the chain from his waist clinking on the metal, “whatever man, don’t fuck with me.”

Gareth grins, hands up in surrender, “listen dude, I’m just telling you what we saw, no need to shoot the messenger.”

What Gareth and Jeff had seen weighed heavy on their minds. They had even contemplated on keeping it secret. The two couldn’t decide if Eddie should know or if it would hurt him— in the end Gareth opened his big mouth and blurted it out, in the most repugnant way imaginable.

The painted tin container used to hold dice was crushed under the weight of Eddie’s fist as he hammered it onto the table.

Jeff shook his head, sucking in a breath between his braced teeth, looking away from the soon to be manic Munson.

Eddie’s temper ran hot when it came to one thing—and one thing only, you.

Raking his fingers through his scalp, he kicks the back of his chair upon standing, ragged breaths in and out, eyes to the ceiling. You still had a hold on him, it had been months—and the only one who seemed to not be able to move on was him.

He chuckled, pinching the inner corner of his eyes and shaking his head, “one of you take over as DM, I gotta go.”

Bounding up the stairs before he could hear any bitching from his two longest standing friends, the carpeted steps squished under his quickened boot steps. Stealing a cookie from an iridescent colored decorative plate on the kitchen counter, Eddie stomped out the front door and to the paved driveway, starting his van with a flick of his wrist, pedal to the floor as he reversed onto the street, running over flower beds in his wake.

—

The daffodil warmth of the sun was high in the sky, a small stitch of wind blew the blades of grass gently, feathering the soft pages of your book every so often.

It was a perfect summer day as you laid out on your driveway, ass parked in a tiny kiddie pool from your youth, blue in color, the flimsy plastic circle was filled with cool water straight from the hose.

A few shots of spiced whiskey danced on your tongue and tangoed with the carbonated bubbles of the mixed in Coke, fizzing with each slurp from your straw, you don’t have a care in the world.

Admiring your freshly painted nails in the pastel bubble gum shade he had picked out— it was a stark contrast to the ruby reds you had been accustomed to— but those days were long gone, and things were finally starting to look up for you.

It had been four months since Eddie broke things off, claiming he needed ‘space to find himself’ and although you spent a majority of that time wallowing in ice cream containers and mopping up tears when you saw a brown set of curls, or heard the jingle of a chain wallet— you moved on.

He wasn’t from Hawkins. Didn’t know of Eddie at all, and you preferred to keep it that way. You were never ashamed of the boy you loved for so many years, the only embarrassment you felt was the night he ended things like someone would end a call after placing an order for pizza.

Like it meant nothing to him, like you meant nothing to him. But that was then, and you were happier now.

So when you looked up to see Gareth’s wide eyes staring in shock was not at all how you imagined your date would go. You had been caught red handed by his best friends, and you knew it was only a matter of time before he found out.

Toes twirling in the water you bobbed your head along to the music playing on the portable radio, sunglasses perched on your nose— not a single care in the world.

Until the music turned to something more familiar.. the screech of guitars and aggressive tempos, you could practically feel the warmth leave your skin as the dark cloud of Eddie’s van cast its shadow on your skin, parked in your driveway like he belonged here.

By the way he tore around the corner and through the stop sign— you knew he was pissed. The clunk of his rings scraped against the paint as he reached through the window to open the door—still broken.

“I don’t smoke anymore Munson, but if you’re offering freeb—”

“Who is he?” he interjected, in no mood for your joking tone.

Sucking your drink until the ice clinks together at the bottom—whiskey making you ballsier than you ever had been—you finally answer, “Who is who?”

He crosses his arms, trying to stay calm, although all he wanted to do was scream, “the guy, cmon princess, don't play dumb with me.”

Staring at him you can’t believe the audacity of the boy standing in front of you, coming here, demanding to know what’s going on in your life when he’s the one who practically skipped on his way out of it.

instead of stomping around and causing you a scene, you simply ignore him, “you’re in the way.”

“Huh?”

Pointing with a lazy finger to the sky you watch as his eyes follow, “don’t tell me you came here to bitch me out, you’re wasting your time.”

He leans in over your body so close that you can see the chocolate color of his eyes, eyes that you'd lose count of the times you’d stare into them.

“I’m not leaving until you tell me who he is.”

“Okay.” You say nonchalantly, unbothered.

“Okay?”

“Yeah go ahead, stay. ‘s long as you want,” you push yourself up from the pool, standing in a string bikini that matched your nails, “I’ll be the bigger person here, and I’ll leave.”

Water dripped down your thighs as you walked to the front porch and pushed the door open, ready to slam it shut and twist the lock upon entry—but a dark boot prevents your dismissal.

Rolling your eyes you try to kick his knee to get him to move but he wouldn’t budge, and you huff in annoyance.

“Pretty sure this is harassment.”

You ignore the way he walks in your house like he knew his way around, even though he did, your house was a second home to him for years.

Shutting the door with dramatic flair, Eddie leans into your space, inches from your nose, “just answer my question sweetheart— and I’ll be on my happy little way.”

“You’re deranged if you think I’m telling you anything.”

He cocks his head and laughs like a jerk, mocking you.

“Thata more than likely, but I know better than anyone,” his eyes undress you, fingernails skating across your thighs, “how much you like it.”

You turn and shout over your shoulder, “go home Eddie— I’m not in the mood for this!”

He barrels around you, demanding your attention.

“Aww you’re not in the mood?” his voice dipped to a gravelly bite of anger as he put his hand over his heart, “my sincerest apologies to your feelings baby…but I somehow don’t give a fuck about your little feelings when I find out from Gareth that you were sucking some guy’s dick in the Starcourt parking lot.”

Your face heats in embarrassment and Eddie’s eyes are glassy, coated with pain. You never wanted to hurt him, never wanted him to look at you the way he is right now.

“Ed—”

He smirks.

“I think it’s cute…honestly, still doing the same shit you did with me…” he moves to brush your cheek with his thumb, “I’m flattered.”

“Get out,” you bite back, making to shove him to the door but you’re no match for him.

“D’dya swallow for him like you did for me?”

“Get..”

“He bigger than me?”

“…out!” your shoves are fruitless against his broad shoulders.

“Last I checked Harrington was the only one who had me beat… unless you’re fucking him too.”

The slap startled him, but he knew he deserved it. The torment in your eyes was fueled by his words and he fucking hated himself for making you feel that way.

He was hurting too, body shaking with rage and swallowing tears the whole drive here. But, when your tears fell on the apples of your cheeks— all his pain turned to gloom.

“I’m sorry— I— That was a dick thing to say.”

“Do you think getting over you was easy for me?”

“I don’t know.”

“It wasn’t.. and truthfully I don’t think I am yet, but what fucking choice did I have?!”

“Babe—.”

“I loved you, Eddie… I still fucking love you. Why isn’t that—”

His large hands clutch your cheeks, warm lips press into yours with a magnetic force you had forgotten about. Eddie’s tongue tasted like the tobacco spice of a camel, and a subtle hint of mint, and you devoured it like you were starved.

He whispers and groans how he was so stupid, a real dumb mother fucker, and that he never should have ended it.

Accepting his apology—for now—you pull him towards the couch, heels rocking on the carpet until they hit firm on the plush sectional, still lip locked with the man you swore, that you hated to your friends but your pillow heard a different plea ever since he broke your heart.

His arms wrap around your waist, fingers daintily pulling the string from your bikini bottoms until the soft fabric hits the floor. His Hellfire shirt joins them before you both collapse into one another on the cushions, Eddie’s hair draped into your face hiding you both away from consequences and the reality of bad decisions.

He breaks away from your lips to lick up the slope of your neck, and your head angles back in ecstasy. His body temperature was like fire against your skin, curling your legs around his back you couldn’t get enough of him.

“So fuckin’ beautiful,” Eddie grooaned, grinding into your naked cunt, his tongue kitten licking around your neck, working his signature hickey into your skin, “my angel.”

You moan feather light in his ear, fingers twisted into his curls. His hand works down your front, sliding between your slick folds with skills you swore only he possessed.

He played your body like a guitar, knew how to tune you up, the proper way to hold you. A true expert of his craft— your pretty little noises would harmonize from the simple touch of his fingers, your sweet cunt clinching onto him like vice.

“Missed that sound,” he chuckled, his bangs pushed up from the angle on your neck as you came undone, “so pretty like this… drunk on how I’m making you feel.”

Your eyes were pinched shut, chest heaving from the breath shattering orgasm you haven’t had since you got dumped by him. Nobody came close to the way Eddie could do it.

Kissing him square on the mouth, you twist your tongue with his, massaging them together as if a flame could spark from the pink wet muscles.

Intimacy with Eddie felt like home, like a warm blanket straight from the dryer when you were freezing. A cup of soup to soothe an itchy throat.

He melted into you, collecting each gasp you choked out with a kiss from his lips, doing a poor job of hiding the smirk on his face when your breath was stolen from his pistoning hips.

New— but entirely the same, your bodies fell back into each other like no time had passed and he made up for what was lost, twice. Each time your cries rang out like music to his ears— his favorite song.

You slept now, adjusting to his arm wrapped around you, a kiss to your forehead, and a new plea in your pillowcase— for Eddie to stay, forever.

#eddie munson #eddie x fem!reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie drabble #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson blurb

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dreamofbecoming · 7 months

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ok fuck it context now on ao3

—

“I’m freaking out, man!”

“You’re what? Why? This is like, what you’ve been waiting for, isn’t it?”

“I mean, yeah, dude, but now it’s here, it’s happening, and tomorrow it’ll be done and I can’t take it back!”

“Do you want to take it back? Because I think that’s a terrible idea, but if it’s really what you want, I’ll sneak you out the back right now.”

Dustin deflates a little, slumping into the plush chair this weird little church greenroom was nice enough to provide. “No, I don’t want to leave. Of course I don’t.”

Steve puts his hands on Dustin’s shoulders, not massaging, just resting. He doesn’t want to smear too much of his scent onto him before the ceremony, but old habits die hard. Steve suspects he’s always going to want to scent the kids for comfort, even though they’re literally all grown and starting families of their own and don’t need their old omega babysitter anymore.

Case in point, Dustin’s wedding is meant to start in, oh, looks like about 25 minutes, so Steve has to smooth this crisis over double time.

“What’s really bothering you, Dust? You were over the moon yesterday, and the day before that, and every day since you and Susie proposed to each other. Hell, every day since you met! What’s going on now?”

There’s a pause, which is always unsettling coming from Dustin, who hasn’t shut up for more than twelve consecutive minutes in the decade plus Steve has known him, but then he sighs.

“She wants kids.”

Steve’s brow furrows. “And you…don’t?”

Dustin huffs, frustration rising in his scent. “It’s not that I don’t, it’s that I don’t know if it’s a good idea, you know?”

“And you guys haven’t talked about this before now? You’ve been together for like eleven years, dude!”

“We have, of course we have! I’m just thinking about the risks, Steve! I’m a beta, I can’t carry her pups, and pregnancies are dicey for alpha females! What if something happens?”

“First of all don’t call women females, it’s weird. Erica or Nance will definitely smack you for that, and you don’t need a black eye in your wedding photos.” Dustin nods, cringing a little.

“Second, pregnancy isn’t the only option, man, and also it’s her decision. If she wants to carry them, that’s a discussion you need to have with her, but you can’t just shut her down about it. She knew you were a beta when she decided to marry you. She picked you because she loves you, don’t go deciding for her she’s better off with someone else. And besides, if you decide it doesn’t feel right for both of you, you can talk about adoption, or surrogacy, or…I don’t know what all the options are, but I bet there’s tons! Hell, I’d carry for you guys, if you wanted.”

“You would?” Dustin’s eyes get big and shiny almost immediately, and shit, Steve’s gotta shut this down now. The groom can’t be going out there with red eyes and tear stains, Susie will murder Steve on principle.

But he can’t lie to Dustin. Swore he never would, not when it mattered. “Course I would, man, what’s family for? Aw hell, kid, don’t cry, your mate will run me over with her car if your photos are fucked up because of me.”

“I just- I can’t believe you’d do that for me! You don’t even know if I’ll be any good at it!”

Ah, so that’s what this is really about.

“Of course you’ll be good at it, Henderson. You’d be an incredible dad, any kid would be lucky to have you. I mean, your kids are gonna turn out to be nerd city, but that was always a given.”

Dustin gives him a bitchy little eye roll, which was of course Steve’s aim. He still smells anxious, though.

“How can you be sure, though? It’s not like I have any idea what a dad is supposed to be like, you know? It’s why I kept latching onto older male figures, no offense to you and Eddie.”

Little shit. “You should be so lucky, you little twerp.”

Dustin shoves him away, but he’s grinning now, and his scent is slowly returning to the lemon-bright joy that colors it so often Steve just associates it with Dustin’s base scent at this point, so he’ll take the win.

“You really wanna know how I know you’ll make a great dad, Dustybun?”

“Don’t fucking call me that, today’s supposed to be my day!”

“I’m your best man, I’ll call you whatever I want. Seriously though, I have a story for you.”

“A story, huh? I don’t know, Eddie’s more the storyteller in your relationship…”

“I’m gonna go out there and tell your bride to delay the ceremony because you shat your slacks and need new ones, you menace.”

“Okay, okay!” Dustin laughs. “Tell your story.”

“I was gonna put this in my speech later, but I think you need to hear it now, and honestly it might be more about me than you, and I don’t want to steal the spotlight or anything.”

“Not worried about that, but I’m intrigued.”

“You know how when you’re a kid, you learn how to pick out emotion scents by context clues, from like your family and stuff?”

Dustin lifts an unimpressed eyebrow. “Yes, Steve, I’m aware of one of the foundational tenets of our society, which we all personally experienced.”

“Almost fifteen years I’ve known you, and your attitude hasn’t improved one bit, you know that?”

Dustin waves imperiously for him to continue. Steve glares at him, but they really are running short on time.

“You ever know a kid who had like, a gap? Some feeling they had never run into before, so they didn’t know what the smell meant?” Dustin shakes his head, looking curious.

“There was this girl in my class when we were like, seven? Eight? Something like that. Anyway, she borrowed Tommy’s favorite eraser, one of those animal-shaped ones with the faces printed on? He loved that thing. The girl, Cassie, she broke it, by accident. Tommy lost his shit. I’d never seen him so angry. And like, you know how little kids emotions don’t really come through that strong? He smelled like, grown-up angry. Filled the whole room. Freaked the teacher out, too. Everyone’s backing the hell up out of Tommy’s way, even me. But Cassie was just confused. Because no adult in her life had ever been truly angry around her, so she hadn’t learned what it smelled like yet.”

Dustin is listening avidly, looking gratifyingly similar to how he does when Eddie DMs.

“Anyway, Tommy slapped her so hard it left a bruise, got his dumb ass suspended. But I just remember being so jealous, you know? Can you imagine? Eight years old and never knew what anger smelled like. Hell, at that point anger was just what home smelled like to me.”

Aw shit, now Dustin just smells sad.

“Do you remember when I drove you to the Snow Ball?”

Dustin’s got his thinking face on now, trying to figure out why Steve keeps jumping all over the place. Sue him, he’s no Eddie.

He nods anyway.

“Before you got out of the car, when I told you I’d come back to pick you up, you gave me this huge smile, and the car filled up with something I’d never smelled before. Not really, anyway. Maybe like, in passing, you know? Like in the hallway at school, but always faint and never towards me, so I never focused on it.”

Dustin’s eyebrows are totally scrunched up now, little genius brain whirring away. Goddamn brat never had any patience.

“I didn’t ask about it, because I wasn’t sure it was important, and also a little because I felt like enough of a caveman around you little rocket scientist dweebs I didn’t need you explaining feelings to me too, but I kept smelling it from you after that. And from El, and a little from Lucas and Max and even once from your mom, but it was just confusing, you know? I couldn’t figure out what was causing it, so I had no context clues to figure out what it meant.

“And then at Starcourt, after Robin and I went to go puke up those Russian drugs—”

“Ditched me and Erica who were very responsibly trying to wrangle you, you mean.”

“Tomato, tomahto, kid. Anyway, I told her I had a crush on her and she panicked and came out to me, so I switched to making fun of her crush so she would know I was okay with it, and suddenly there was that smell again. First time I ever smelled it coming from her. So after everything was done, I asked her.”

“Oh, so you’ll ask her, but not me? Hurtful, Steve.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Yeah, shithead, because Robbie already knew I was a moron, and she was never gonna want to go out with me, so I didn’t need to impress her. I could look stupid to Rob back then, but I still wanted you guys to think I was cool.”

“Steve, buddy, my brother, my best friend, my favorite jock please don’t tell Lucas I said that, we literally never thought you were cool.”

“Now who’s being hurtful?”

“Just the truth, Munson. I tell it like it is.”

“Ugh, whatever. The point is, I asked Bobbie what she felt for me in that bathroom, and she told me that’s when she realized she would love me forever. That we were going to be best friends.”

Dustin looks stricken.

“That’s what I was smelling all that time. Honey. That’s what I smelled in the car in the Hawkins Middle parking lot. You loved me. You were literally the first person in my whole life who ever did.”

“Steve—”

“This isn’t—look, I know it’s kind of sad and pathetic for kid Steve, but this isn’t about that. It’s not about me, okay? It’s about how my whole life turned around the day Dustin Henderson decided he loved me, because he never stopped. Not for a single second of the last thirteen years, and because you loved me then, I have a platonic soulmate and a horde of little siblings and a mate I adore and more friends than I can count on all my fingers and toes! You’re the one who encouraged me to go to cosmetology school, you’re the one who introduced me to Eddie, you’re the one who stood by me and let me crash on your mom’s couch when my parents kicked me out. My life is full of love, and joy, and purpose, and it all started with you, Dustin. I’m here because you loved me, and because once you started loving me you never stopped. I have smelled honey on you every single day since the 1984 Snow Ball, and that’s how I know you’ll be an incredible father. Because if you have all that love for a washed up ex-jock omega nobody had ever loved before? You’ll have all that and more times a million for any kid lucky enough to call you Dad.”

They’re both crying by now. Susie is gonna kill them for sure, but as Dustin buries himself in Steve’s arms like he’s still six inches shorter, Steve decides it doesn’t matter. This is worth it.

There’s a knock at the door, just in time it seems.

“Dingus, baby Dingus, you in there? T minus 5 minutes, boys, stick those feet in the oven if you gotta!”

“Yeah, Bobs, I hear you! We’ll be out in a sec, no cold feet in sight.”

“Roger that, bubba! I’ll inform the bride!” He can hear her racing off, probably dancing with pre-wedding excitement. For a cynical lesbian who has a new girlfriend every month and swears marriage is an archaic institution built on misogyny and omegaphobia, she sure does love weddings.

“You ready, kid?”

Dustin has taken the brief interlude as an opportunity to splash his face with water from the sink in the corner, so he doesn’t look like he’s been crying to into Steve’s shoulder, but Steve makes sure to straighten his tie and finger comb his curls back into place.

“Yeah, I think I’m ready.” He looks at Steve for a long moment, then throws his arms around him one last time. “I’m really glad you’re my brother, Steve.”

Steve squeezes him tighter for a moment, breathing in the familiar scent of lemon and cut grass and honey. Of family. Of love.

“Yeah, kid. Me too.”

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steddieas-shegoes · 1 year

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For the requests: heard of hearing and/or partially blind Steve + his parents realizing. Maybe they come home & see how their house has changed to be more accessible for Steve? Or something like that.

HONESTLY THIS ONE HURTED. But as usual, you provide the quality shit!!!! Poor Steve, but also if it ain't hurt/comfort, then did I even write it? Everyone loves Steve. Except his parents. His parents suck. But everyone else? Angels. Hope you love it darling!!! - Mickala ❤️

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Concussions were a bitch.

Multiple concussions in a three year period were a bitch.

But the worst part was when he noticed he couldn’t hear out of his left ear. Robin had been talking to him at work on his left side, whispering about some customer that was walking down every single aisle as if they didn’t know what movies were out, and he didn’t even notice until she switched sides halfway through a sentence.

He pretended it was fine, that he’d heard her the whole time, but then she asked him a question he couldn’t answer. She walked to his left side and said something, and when he shook his head, she bit her lip, fighting back tears.

“It’s okay, Robs. I can still hear out of the other one,” Steve said to comfort her, but also to comfort himself.

If he lost it in one ear, he could lose it in the other, and then what?

She tried to convince him to get a hearing aid, but he didn’t think he needed one.

“Your parents sent you money for medical expenses, use it for this!”

But he couldn’t.

And then he started getting blurry vision in both eyes. The left was rapidly growing worse, and Dustin noticed.

“Dude, you’re squinting. Do you have a migraine? You could’ve had Eddie drive me.”

“Nah, just tired. Trying to focus.”

Part of that was true. The squinting helped him focus a little, but he knew he had to do something about it.

So he sat down with Robin and came up with a plan.

He hated every fucking second of it.

“You get a scan first, we need to know if this is gonna keep getting worse or what permanent damage is there. You get glasses-“

“I might not need-“

“You get glasses. Then you get fitted for a hearing aid.”

“Yes ma’am,” Steve rolled his eyes.

But looking back, he was grateful Robin made him do it.

The doctors had been amazed he was able to talk with the damage done.

“Will I lose my ability to talk?” He asked, realizing that not being able to hear, see, and talk was too much for him to deal with.

“I think we can work through some physical therapy type exercises to make sure that doesn’t happen. I’m glad you came in now and not a few years from now.”

Robin never said ‘I told you so,’ probably sensing that Steve wasn’t coping well with the news.

They told him he would most likely lose all hearing over the years, and his vision would progressively get worse, though it would most likely plateau and he wouldn’t lose it completely.

They said he needed to do vocal exercises every day, brain exercises as often as possible, and to come back the moment he recognized any change in his speech.

So he lived with the anxiety of not being able to communicate with anyone he loved every second of every day.

Dustin, Will, Mike, and Max had done research for weeks, finding things they could do to help him live in his house alone. Sure, they were there often, almost enough to be considered roommates, but that wouldn’t always be the case.

They would all grow up and leave.

Max had lost her own vision after Vecna, only able to see light and sometimes movement, but never any detail.

The day he got his glasses, she threatened him with murder if he didn’t wear them.

“The more you strain your eyes, the worse they’ll get. Wear the glasses. I’m sure you look just as cute as always.”

He didn’t have anything to say to that, but he didn’t want to piss Max off, so he wore them all day every day.

Dustin had found a way to wire the doorbell to the lights in the whole house, so if it rang, and somehow Steve couldn’t hear, he’d see the lights flash three times from any room he was in.

He’d done something similar with the walkie, so Steve would know if someone was trying to communicate with him.

Will figured out a light system for the phone, where it flashed with green while it rang and red if he missed a call that went to their voicemail.

It only worked if he was in the kitchen, living room, or his bedroom and paying attention, but the thought behind it made him want to cry.

He got debilitating migraines frequently, which left him bedbound, unable to even get up to use the bathroom on his own sometimes.

They figured out a signal for his walkie that he could push the button in a sort of Morse code to make sure someone knew he needed help.

If he couldn’t get to his walkie for some reason, Dustin programmed buttons on all the phones: *1 called Robin, *2 called Eddie, and *3 called Dustin.

All of his meds were moved to the drawer by his bed, with a reminder note in every room of his house, just in case he forgot.

Which was apparently another thing he had to worry about: his memory.

The doctors seemed to think he would be okay if he stayed active and healthy otherwise, and definitely needed to avoid another concussion, but they did say he could notice some issues as he got older.

Mike looked up what vitamins he needed to help boost his memory and vision, and increased his iron intake to hopefully stave off some of the migraines before they even started. He put the instructions with his medication reminders all over the house.

But what surprised him most was what happened when his parents came home early on a random Thursday morning.

He was dealing with a bit of a migraine hangover, the day before being a blur of calling for help, reaching for his meds, and Eddie arriving to make sure he stayed hydrated and made it to the bathroom as needed.

Eddie was still here, in fact.

So when he heard them banging around downstairs, his eyes flew open and he looked at a still sleeping, very shirtless Eddie next to him in his bed.

Nothing happened obviously. Eddie just ran hot.

But his parents had already been questioning him a lot about not having a girlfriend in a while and hanging out with “queers” like those two things alone could make him gay.

And if they saw Eddie like this, they would make assumptions.

Assumptions that would get him kicked out of the house that everyone just worked so hard to make accessible for him.

So he got up as quickly, but quietly as he could, ignoring the buzz in his ear where his hearing aid was loose from sleeping in it. He wasn’t technically supposed to, but he didn’t like anyone touching his head on migraine days so it stayed in.

Eddie didn’t budge, and he hoped he stayed that way while he tried to keep his parents busy.

Then the lights flashed and he heard the distant high pitched ring of the doorbell.

“What the hell?” His father asked as Steve ran down the stairs.

“Steven?” His mother asked as he flew past them and made it to the front door.

“Steve!” Dustin yelled excitedly as Steve glared at him.

“Dustin, not now.”

“Why? I saw Eddie’s van, so I figured-“

“Who is at the door, Steven?”

Steve closed his eyes and heard Dustin mumble ‘shit’, before he turned around to face his parents.

His glasses were dirty, but he could see that the looks on their faces were not impressed.

“Since when do you wear glasses?” His mom asked.

“Is that a hearing aid?” His dad added.

“Dustin, I’ll call you later.”

“Answer the questions.”

“I started wearing glasses and the hearing aid after a few concussions that caused a lot of damage.”

“What’s going on with the lights? Do they always flicker like that?”

Steve hadn’t really expected them to care much about him, but it still hurt a little how quickly they became concerned about the house instead of him.

“They’re a visual aid so if I’m not wearing my hearing aid or my hearing gets worse, I’ll know when the doorbell rings.”

“Is that really necessary?”

“Yeah, it is,” Eddie said from the stairs, luckily not shirtless.

“Who the hell are you?” Steve’s dad didn’t waste time with pleasantries, he never did unless someone had something to offer him.

“I’m Eddie. Steve’s friend.”

“His friend?” Steve’s mom was hesitant to be obvious about what she meant, but everyone could understand where she was going with the questioning.

“Yeah, or would you prefer if we were boyfriends?”

Steve couldn’t help the snort he let out.

Eddie wasn’t the type to hide himself away, but he wouldn’t purposely make Steve’s life harder.

“Is there a reason you’re here?”

“I was taking care of him yesterday. It got late so I stayed.”

“Take care of him?” His mother turned back towards him. “Are you sick?”

“I get migraines.”

“We all get migraines, Steven,” his father said as he crossed his arms.

“But we all don’t get the kind that leave us crying and throwing up for hours on end because we can’t even see straight, do we, Richard?” Eddie asked as he walked closer to them.

“I don’t know who you think you are-“

“I told you, I’m Eddie. And as far as I’m concerned, I, and quite a few other people in town, are quite good at taking care of Steve. Unlike his parents.”

“Steve’s a grown man-“

“Yeah, now. But where were you when he wasn’t and got the concussions that caused this?”

Steve could feel his head pulsing, and he knew his migraine would be back at full force if he didn’t rest.

He took his hearing aid out for a bit of relief, the volume of his father and Eddie arguing going down considerably.

He massaged his neck the best he could, knowing that the release of some tension would at least keep the pain at bay until this could be over.

Then, he saw the phone start flashing green.

“What is going on with the phone?”

His mother directed the question at him, but Eddie stopped berating his father long enough to answer her.

“It’s so Steve knows it’s ringing if he happens to have his hearing aid out like he does now. In case no one is here with him and someone needs to reach him.”

“That explains not answering our calls.”

“I think that could just be that you don’t call at all.”

Eddie moved closer to Steve.

“Go upstairs, Stevie,” he said quietly into his right ear. “I can handle them.”

Steve was too tired, too frustrated, too borderline on a migraine to fight.

He walked upstairs, ignoring his father’s protests, his mother’s pleas, and Eddie standing in front of them both raising his voice to be heard.

Everything felt blurry as he removed his glasses and rubbed at his eyes when he made it up the stairs.

His room was dark still, the blackout curtains still drawn closed, lights off, like Eddie had suspected it might be a bad day again.

His pills were on the table, a cup of water next to them. He set his glasses down and took them, trusting that Eddie followed the instructions perfectly.

He always did.

He always took such good care of him.

He came at the drop of a hat, even if Robin was already here. He brought Steve’s favorite soda, insisted it helped with migraines even though it probably didn’t. He massaged the spot on Steve’s neck that always held the most tension, pulled him close until he fell asleep on the couch or in the bed, always on his chest.

He’d been learning and teaching everyone sign language too.

Steve had started learning immediately, and so did Robin, but Eddie had insisted on it too, and started teaching the kids. He’d been showing Max one sign at a time, putting her fingers and hands into the movement so she knew how to do it.

And Steve didn’t think he could love Eddie more.

But he figured if Eddie was interested in him, he would have made a move already.

He could very distantly hear Eddie’s voice saying something, but he wasn’t sure what. With his hearing aid out, he usually couldn’t hear anything downstairs from his room.

He closed his eyes, settling under the blankets so he could try to do what Eddie wanted him to.

He drifted in and out, tired, but not quite enough to fall asleep all the way.

At some point, Eddie had made it back to the room and got in bed, his hand running through Steve’s hair gently.

“Eds?”

“It’s alright, Stevie. Your parents are gone. They won’t be back again for a while.”

“Mkay.”

He let himself drift again, safe with Eddie there.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #robin buckley #the party #hurt/comfort #hard of hearing steve harrington #visually impaired steve harrington #steve harrington has terrible parents #he also has migraines #but he also also has the kids and eddie #so thats a plus #requests #ficlet

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munson-blurbs · 5 months

Text

086: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader Series

Chapter 002: The Devil Has Come to America

Summary: Following orders and toeing the line is your specialty, but when Patient 086 tries to bargain with the doctors, you're tempted to step out of your comfort zone.

Warnings: dark themes, mostly canon-compliant (Eddie lives), violence, blood, restraint, amnesia, abduction, that scene at the end of S4E9, flashbacks, drug/alcohol use

WC: 5k

Divider credit to @saradika

October 30, 1984

“Have you seen the new guy?” Heather giddily asks you and Carol through a mouthful of macaroni salad. A soft blush creeps into her cheeks as it often does when she gets flustered.

Carol nods enthusiastically. “He sits in front of me in algebra.” She offers a smarmy grin as she tucks into her own lunch. “Let me tell you, I might actually show up to class every day if I get to stare at his ass all period.”

Heather laughs, covering her lips with a manicured hand. “Don’t let Tommy hear that,” she jokes.

“Don’t let Tommy hear what?”

Carol swats at her boyfriend as he sits down next to her, giggling as she explains the situation. “We were just talking about the new kid, Billy…something-or-other.” She waves it off; clearly, the shape of his butt is more important than his last name. “I think he’s from California.”

Tommy nods knowingly. “Yeah, I have phys ed with him. I was gonna see if he wants to go out for basketball this year. He’s pretty damn good.”

“Better than King Steve?” Carol snickers, reaching onto Tommy’s lunch tray and swiping a French fry. “Or should I say, Mr. Nancy Wheeler?”

Heather laughs at this, too, but you can tell by her unnatural lilt that it’s forced. She’s been doing that a lot more often lately–pretending to be amused by Carol and Tommy’s antics just to fit in with them.

Tommy throws a letterman jacket-clad arm around his girlfriend. “And, uh, speaking of dudes who are totally whipped,” he says under his breath, eyes sweeping to the corner of the cafeteria where the Hellfire Club sits. You know exactly what he’s looking at; sure enough, when you drag over your own gaze, there’s Eddie Munson, staring longingly at your table.

“Ooh, I’ll bet he’s gonna be selling at Tina’s party tomorrow!” Carol flashes you the grin you only get when she needs a favor. “Can you talk to him? You know he’ll give you a discount.”

Never mind the fact that you didn’t smoke, or that the last time you’d done this for her, she hadn’t paid you back a single cent. The question is a simple formality: you will get cheap weed from Eddie, whether you like it or not.

“Y’know,” Tommy breaks in smarmily, eyebrows raised like he’s offering classified information, “I heard he flunked last year on purpose so he could keep selling at high school parties.”

“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. He could’ve graduated and still swung by to sell.” The retort spills from your lips before you can stop yourself, but it’s true. It’s not unheard of for recent grads to pop in to snag some beer or jungle juice.

Your words are met with glares from Tommy and Carol; Heather’s foot brushes your own with a dual meaning of are you okay and don’t get us in trouble.

“Sorry,” you mumble, desperate to avoid the unwanted social consequences that await you and Heather if you mess this up. “I can, um, talk to him at the party tomorrow.”

Flirting with him for discounted pot doesn’t sit right with you. But since Heather is your only friend, and she’s now friends with Carol, you can’t risk losing her.

You let yourself look over at the young man who’s been harboring a crush on you since this school year began, feeling a pang in your heart. This is the last time, you tell yourself, and then I’m done leading him on. Carol can buy her own shit, full price.

But when you hear Heather laughing again, you realize that you’re only lying to yourself. The only thing worse than high school is enduring it alone, and if that means temporarily turning into someone you hate, then so be it.

March 30, 1986

“EDDIE!”

The shouted word reverberates around Patient 086’s skull as he wakes up suddenly, body trembling from the nightmare and from the headache forming behind his temples. He winces when he opens his eyes, the overhead lighting only enhancing the pain.

“Eddie,” he whispers to himself, letting it melt on his tongue. “Eddie, Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.” He smiles despite having every other reason not to.

I’m Eddie. My name is Eddie.

His joy dissipates when he fails to recall whose voice was calling out for him. It’s a balloon that keeps getting whisked away in the wind, just out of reach.

Eddie grits his teeth, overdue tears streaming down his scarred cheeks. I know this–it’s…it’s…

“Fuck.” The swear is all exhalation, hardly any force behind it. His shoulders shake as sobs wrack through him, his quest to remember seemingly still fruitless. He’s so close, but still too far away.

The door to his room swings open without warning, one of the doctors from his earlier scuffle standing in Eddie’s line of vision. It isn’t the one he’d bitten–Dr. Snell–but the one who appeared to be the leader. His mere presence unsettles Eddie, like there’s an invisible evil seeping from his pores.

“086.” An unfriendly grin stretches his lips. “I take it you’re feeling rather…well-rested, yes?” He takes immediate notice of the way Eddie’s hands clench into fists, one by his side and one still cuffed to the gurney. “I think we got off on the wrong foot, 086. Perhaps we should start fresh, now that you’re aware of our non-compliance protocol.”

“Eddie.” Eddie grunts, not daring to make eye contact. “My name is Eddie, not 086.”

The doctor’s eyebrows furrow in momentary confusion before he clicks his tongue disapprovingly. “Yes, right. I forgot that 055 accessed that memory.” His signature smirk returns as though it never left. “We use numeric identifiers here. Easier to keep track of our patients. So while you may have been Eddie, you’re now 086. Understood?”

But Eddie’s mind remains trained on the doctor’s previous statement. “Someone…accessed my memory?” He curls inward at this privacy violation. A person he didn’t even know was able to see his memories–yet he still couldn’t.

“Very briefly,” the doctor confirms. “It was more difficult than anticipated because you were sleeping. We will require your cooperation for this task.” His arched gray eyebrow informs Eddie that this is not up for discussion. “Be aware that while it is challenging for 055 to access your memories while you’re asleep, it’s not impossible. If you choose to behave as you did earlier, the consequences will be the same.” He holds out a water-filled paper cup and a small container of two pills, chuckling at Eddie’s ambivalence. “Just some ibuprofen for the headache. They’re standard after memory accession.”

Every muscle in Eddie’s body tenses, his already-dry throat feeling like sandpaper. He gulps down the medication, utterly defeated. “C-Can I just ask…why do you need my memories?” What secrets could he possibly hold that interest them enough to steal them from his unconscious brain?

The doctor sighs, weighing the options of honesty and deceit. He speaks after a moment with a carefully curated response. “The place we rescued you from was nowhere you should have been. Nowhere anyone should ever be.” His lips purse in concentration. “We need to know who, if anyone, was with you to ensure their safety and wellbeing.” The doctor lowers his voice as though revealing priceless information. “What if they’re trapped there, 086, just as you were? We can’t know unless you allow us to see.”

Eddie doesn’t miss the faintest smile, disappearing almost as soon as it forms, as though the doctor is proud of his presentation. Like he’s telling an elaborate fictional story rather than insinuating true mortal danger.

“Okay,” Eddie pauses but agrees, despite the nausea pooling in his stomach. There may have been people with me. Family or friends or anyone links to my past. To who I am, or who I was. “I’ll do it, but I want to see more than just the end. I want happy memories pulled, too. Can 055 do that?” He keeps his voice as insistent as possible, vaguely aware that he just may be making a deal with the Devil himself.

“Of course she can.” He eyes Eddie’s singular restrained wrist; for a second, Eddie thinks he’s going to let him go, but the man just continues speaking. “I’ll bring her in as soon as she’s ready.”

He’s too quick and too smug in his response, but Eddie has no choice but to believe him. It’s the last bit of hope that he has.

October 31, 1984

You can hear music blaring before you and Heather even pull up in front of Tina’s house. She’s meticulously checking her lip gloss in her compact mirror, one manicured fingernail scraping around her mouth to remove any nonexistent excess.

“How do I look?” She asks, eagerly awaiting your opinion. It’s a seemingly stupid question; she always looks gorgeous. It’s almost unfair how beautiful she is, not to mention an impossible comparison standard to which you’ll never measure up.

She’s truly outdone herself tonight, dressed as Wonder Woman. The corset amplifies her cleavage and the blue barely-there shorts showcase her long legs. Diana Prince’s signature crown is perched atop her hair.

“Amazing. Billy’s gonna lose his shit.” You smile as she blushes and gets out of your car, excitedly slamming the passenger door behind her. There’s no point in fielding her the same question; she’ll placate you with an untrue compliment that won’t do anything to boost your ego.

You adjust your black mask and step out, cautiously teetering in your high heels. It was Heather’s idea for you to be Cat Woman, claiming that she couldn’t dress sexily without you, but you feel like a fish out of water. The latex suit just doesn’t look right on your body, or maybe the problem is that your body doesn’t look right in the suit.

Heather waits as you get your bearings, hooking her arm with yours and bringing you an immediate sense of comfort. This is the Heather Holloway you’ve grown up with, the one who’d encouraged you to face your fears and ride a two-wheeler bike, the one who’d used her own allowance to buy you a new pair of pants when you got your first period in the middle of Sears, the one who’d let you sleep over whenever simmering arguments with your parents reached a boiling point. Regardless of her newfound affiliation with Carol–and Tommy, by default–she’s still your best friend.

Someone lets out a low wolf-whistle as you two walk through Tina’s house and to the backyard. Heather holds her head high while your gaze stays glued to the ground, unwilling to make eye contact with the perpetrator. It’s highly unlikely that the flirtation was intended for you, anyway.

Outside, the crowd is chanting as Tommy stands beside the keg, propping up a guy in a leather jacket. Heather squeals and tugs on your sleeve excitedly. “That’s Billy!” she exclaims, discreetly pointing to the man currently upside down, guzzling beer like his life depends upon it.

After twenty-two seconds, Billy motions to be lowered back to the ground. Foam spews from his mouth and drips down his chiseled abs, slick with sweat.

“We got ourselves a new…keg…CHAMP!” Tommy announces, slipping a lit cigarette between Billy’s fingers.

Billy takes a triumphant drag, exhaling smoke as he declares, “That’s how you do it, Hawkins! That’s how you do it!” He looks around the party with a squared jaw, assessing who is impressed by his feat besides the Tommy Hagan-shaped puppy yipping at his heels.

You turn to Heather, trying your best not to roll your eyes while she outwardly swoons. “There’s your Prince Charming,” you mutter, stomach curdling as Billy’s blue eyes flicker up and down her body, a predatory smirk crossing his ale-drenched lips.

Heather saunters over to him with a confidence you haven’t seen from her before. One hand wraps around Billy’s bicep, pulling all of his attention to her. “That was really cool,” she says breathily, biting her lower lip and peering at him through mascaraed lashes.

Billy shakes his mullet of curls, inhaling from the cigarette again before he speaks. “Yeah, well, someone had to breathe life into this shitty excuse for a party.” He sighs and stretches, causing his muscles to ripple underneath his jacket and snaking an arm around her waist to tug her closer. “But it looks like it just got a lot more interesting.”

He’s a walking cliché, the absurdly attractive new kid obnoxiously strutting around like a proud peacock while girls fall at his feet. You can’t blame Heather for being entranced; you just wish she could see through the shiny exterior and realize that, to him, she’s just another pair of panties on his bedroom floor.

An impatient tap on your shoulder draws you from a disbelieving stupor. Carol stands behind you, arms folded across her chest as though she’s irritated with you before you can even say a word.

“Freak’s here,” she reports flatly, shoving a crumpled bill in your palm. “Whatever twenty bucks can buy.”

Right. The second reason you’ve dragged yourself to this party, in addition to being Heather’s loyal sidekick, is to awkwardly flirt your way to a weed discount.

You shuffle back into the house, spotting Nancy Wheeler sloppily ladling jungle juice into a cup, swaying with the beginnings of tipsiness. Your heart sinks; it seems like everyone is enjoying themselves at this party–or is trying to, at least–except for you.

Why are you like this? Why can’t you just be normal and fit in? It was simple for Heather; Mrs. O’Donnell had assigned her and Carol to be lab partners, and within a week, she’d begun her ascent up the social ladder. But you were resistant, remembering Carol’s constant barrage of snide remarks hurled your way, never trusting her the way your best friend did.

“C’mon, don’t you want to be popular? To finally be noticed?” Heather had pressed, eyes shining with the prospects of landing on Hawkins High’s proverbial A-list. “You can’t just let people trample over you for the rest of your life.”

And so you’d tagged along for the ride, only to find that you’d graduated from punching bag to doormat. You did what they asked because they had the power to obliterate your already meager social life, and they knew it.

That’s why you currently find yourself looking over at Eddie Munson as he digs through his tin lunch box. He takes a handful of bills from Linda Becker and gives her a pre-rolled joint, shoving the cash in his pants pocket. He shakes his mop of curls out of his eyes and moves onto his next customer, a junior who just crushed a Miller Lite can on his head.

Eddie only sticks around these parties long enough to sell whatever’s in his stash before he slips away; if you put this off any longer, you risk pissing off Carol, which will upset Heather and further strain your friendship.

You take a deep breath. It’s just some harmless flirting; you’re not proposing marriage, or even sleeping with him. Bat your lashes, tell him he looks nice, ask him about his day, and get some weed. Yeah, you can do this.

Here goes nothing.

One hundred eight…one hundred nine…

The squeak of his door opening disrupts Eddie’s meticulous wall tile counting. Annoyance prickles under his skin when he loses focus. He tries not to let it show, keeping up the cooperative façade so the scientists will be willing to give him what he wants–a glimpse into his past. Not just the parts of 086 they deem important, but the smaller moments that comprise him. The parts that make up Eddie.

The man he’d bitten—Dr. Snell—stands in the doorway with what appears to be another patient. She wears a hospital gown identical to his own, and her hair is also cropped close to her scalp.

Dr. Snell speaks first. “086, this is 055,” he says, gesturing to the young woman to his right. Eddie tries to get a better look at her, but it proves to be more difficult than he’d anticipated. She doesn’t allow her gaze to meet his as though she’s afraid to be seen; ironic, considering she’d infiltrated his mind just hours earlier.

“Um, hi,” Eddie sputters awkwardly, not quite sure how to navigate this unique introduction. Thanks for uncovering my memories? Sorry for whatever you find in there? Also, if you could look past the bloody mess and let me know who the kid screaming my name was, I’d really appreciate it?

He sighs when you offer only silence in response, using his untethered hand to scratch a spot on his scalp where his hair is shaved a bit too close. Impatience gnaws in his chest. “So, uh, we gonna get started on this memory pulling thing?”

Dr. Snell nods, hesitantly making his way to Eddie’s bedside. “086, I am going to remove your restraints. When I do, I expect you to continue giving us your full cooperation. Is this understood?” He conspicuously fiddles with a button hanging from a cord around his neck; Eddie can only assume it’s used to page the other scientists in an emergency.

“Yes, sir.”

“Very good.” The doctor pulls a key from his pocket and plunges it in the slot that joins the clamps together. The metal digs into Eddie’s wrist before the pressure disappears altogether, and he exhales a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“Now,” Dr. Snell continues, turning to 055, “you will continue revealing 086’s memories of the Nether. You’re going to determine who else was there and what they may have seen.” He ticks off the two agenda items on his pointer and middle fingers as though it’s a simple task.

Eddie watches as 055 pulls up a chair across from him, still avoiding making eye contact until it’s absolutely necessary. “Sit up.” It’s an order, but a polite one, and Eddie follows it without a second thought. “I need you to take the memory I pulled and think about pushing it to the surface of your mind. Do your best to focus only on that, and it’ll make my job a lot easier.”

There’s a familiar cadence to 055’s voice, her last sentence laced with both honesty and a hint of humor. Eddie’s surprised to find himself relaxing a bit, a hint of a smile dancing on his lips. He reflexively closes his eyes.

“N-No…leave them open.”

His eyelids flutter open, embarrassment pinkening his cheeks as though this was something he should have known. He concentrates on the already-fading memory of the boy shouting for him, biting into his lower lip so hard that it draws a bit of blood. The metallic taste stirs something within him, his ribs suddenly aching where they’re scarring.

An earthy scent overtakes his next inhale, a stark contrast from the sterile lab environment. Eddie’s moving too fast to be on foot, the bicycle wheels spinning across dirt and sinking into the mud as he frantically pedals. Something weighs on his back, but he can’t reach back to feel what it is.

He leaps off of the bike without warning, faintly hearing it clatter in the distance, but it’s quickly drowned out by violent shrieking. The sound tornadoes around him as he grabs the items from behind him: a makeshift spear and a garbage pail lid with nails driven through it.

Clang! Clang!

The flying objects ricochet off of the lid, the spikes not impaling them enough to do much damage. The shield begins to bend under their impact, but Eddie continues swinging with all of his might. His grunts are barely audible over the screeching bat-like creatures. His chest tightens as he musters up his remaining strength and courage, bellowing into the wind.

“COME ON!!!”

The scream provides no intimidation; it only further depletes his already-limited energy. He pauses for a second to take another breath, but his air supply is cut off by a barbed tail wrapping around his throat.

Eddie instinctively drops the spear to unravel the beast’s grasp from his neck, but he knows it’s too late. He’s done for. While he wrestles with the bat, others latch onto him and drag him to the ground to feast on his flesh.

“EDDIE!”

The boy.

Eddie hears him over the blood pounding in his ears, willing him to stay away, go back to safety, but shock has rendered him wordless.

And then the shrieking stops, leaving only the sounds of his own ragged breathing.

“Eddie!” The boy’s voice is quieter but still panicked, his face coming into view as he tends to Eddie’s wounds. Shiny braces adorn his teeth and mucus muffles his speech. “Oh my God, Eddie.”

Eddie can only look straight into the misty darkness, unable to move his body. “‘S bad, huh?” he manages through terse lips.

“No, nononono, you’re gonna be fine,” the boy sputters, trying to convince himself more than Eddie, “we just gotta get you to a hospital, okay?”

“Okay,” Eddie agrees too easily, feeling the fight leaving him with each passing second.

The two of them grunt in frustration and agony as Eddie uses his friend as a crutch, but he knows it’s no use. There isn’t any sense in this kid wasting his precious energy saving him from his inevitable demise.

“Just give me a second, okay?” Blood pools in Eddie’s throat; he swallows it down and forces a small smile. This is it. He has nothing left to give.

His gaze meets the boy’s, and they share an understanding glance. There’s nothing that either of them can do: Eddie is going to die.

“I didn’t run away this time, right?”

“No, nonono. You didn’t run,” the boy reassures him with a swift shake of his head, his curls held in place by a thick band.

Eddie grabs his hand, shiny eyes flitting over so he can drive home his point before it’s too late. “You’re gonna have to look after those little sheep for me, okay?”

“No, you’re gonna do that yourself!”

“Nah, man.” He needs this; he needs this promise fulfilled before he can fully let go. “Say you’re gonna look after them.”

The boy almost starts to deny it again, but Eddie’s steadily loosening grip informs him that his time is limited. “I’m gonna…I’m gonna look after them…” he chokes out, no longer able to look Eddie in the eyes.

“Good.” Haziness engulfs him, blurring his thoughts into a swirl of memories that has no beginning or end. “Because I’m actually gonna graduate…” He punctuates the statement with a small snort as he laughs through the pain.

The boy lets out a strained cry, pity and sadness and the early stages of grief rolled into one small sound.

“I think it’s my year, Henderson. I think it’s finally my year.” Eddie’s eyes glaze over; with his final breath, he ekes out a promise of his own. “I love you, man.”

“I love you, too.”

It’s the last thing he hears before the world goes black.

Eddie’s eyes snap open now, the dull roar of a headache barely affecting him. The present bleeds into the past, tile and disinfectant replacing dirt and overgrown moss. He blinks a few times to adjust.

“H-Henderson,” he stammers, looking between you and Dr. Snell. “My friend—Henderson—he was with me there. Dustin Henderson!” He snaps his fingers excitedly, pushing away the discomfort from the rapid movements. “I think we go to school together. Oh, my God, Dustin Henderson!” He laughs aloud, beaming from ear to ear. He remembers Dustin Henderson’s name, which means other memories of him can’t be far behind.

Eddie turns back to you as you wipe away the trail of blood under your nose, speaking so eagerly that he’s tripping over his words. “Okay, I’m gonna—I’m gonna keep thinking about him, and you pull more memories.” He looks you directly in the eyes, emotion written all over his own. “His name is Dustin Henderson. Got it?”

Before you can answer, the doctor cuts in. “I’m afraid that’s all we have time for today, 086.” He doesn’t seem apologetic in the least, practically baring his teeth in a sinister grin.

“N-No, he said—he promised,” Eddie sputters, feeling increasingly pathetic.

Dr. Snell shakes his head. “Who’s ‘he?’” he sneers. “I don’t recall making any promises to you.” He crosses his arms over his broad chest.

“The other doctor—he said that she,” Eddie glances at you, “could pull more memories. Good ones.”

Your blood runs cold; this is the first you’re hearing of this, and you suspect it’s one of Dr. Moseley’s many empty promises designed to foster compliance and break spirits.

Eddie’s throat goes bone-dry and his stomach curdles as the doctor says nothing more, cuffs him back to the bed, and leads you away from the room. You look back for a split second, briefly making eye contact with him, but quickly turn around.

Please, Eddie begs silently, please help me remember. There had to be some good in my life, and I need to know what it was.

Cynicism chips away at his waning hope as you get farther down the hall until he can no longer hear your clipped conversation with the doctor, your presence becoming a memory in itself.

Your time in the lab thus far has been spent obeying orders and doing your best to remain inconspicuous whenever your services are not needed. Your allegiance, coupled with your refusal to make waves, is what’s kept you from experiencing the scientists’ wrath. Silent unless spoken to.

Guilt gnaws at your insides, churning bile in your stomach, and you know what you have to do.

“Dr. Snell, I have to use the restroom.” You push the words out in a single breath, lungs tightening when he actually stops in his tracks and faces you. Skepticism is written all over his face, and with good reason, but you double down on your statement with the three words that fluster nearly every man: “Got my period.”

Sure enough, his cheeks turn magenta as he sputters, “Yeah, yes, of course.” He steps aside as you rush back towards the bathroom, your urgency very much real though the excuse is a blatant lie. You stand behind the door and silently count to five, peering out to ensure that the coast is clear. There’s no sign of Dr. Snell–or any of the scientists, for that matter–so you make your way to Eddie’s room, cursing the soft noise your bare feet make on the tile floor.

Turn back. Don’t risk your safety to play the hero.

If you’re caught, there will be repercussions. You could easily find yourself strapped to the bed or thrown in isolation for days on end; all of the trust you’d built up with the authorities will be tossed in an instant.

Something propels you forward; perhaps it’s the desire to do what’s right, but you know it’s mostly the guilt of what happened between you two, whether he remembers or not.

“Ed—086,” you quickly amend, your voice barely louder than a whisper. Eddie looks around, disoriented and fighting the post-accession headache.

“Y-Yeah?”

You tiptoe closer to him, doing your best to ignore how vulnerable he looks right now. If you think about it too much, you might cry. “You need to obey the doctors, especially Dr. Moseley,” you say.

“Why?” Eddie spits back. “I tried, and they fucked me over. Why should I help them?”

You lean over and tug on the handcuff. “You see this? Notice how I don’t have one?” You shake your free wrist to emphasize the point. “That’s because I do as I’m told and fall in line.”

“This whole place is a goddamn prison,” he retorts, rolling his eyes. “Who cares if I’m strapped to the bed or not? Where the hell am I gonna go?”

“You’re not hearing me.” You want to scream, and it takes everything inside you to hold back. “The less trouble you give them, the less they’ll watch over you, and the more I can access your memories. The ones you want to remember.”

This throws a temporary wrench into his anger, scowl softening until he recalls how he’d recently been tricked. “Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice—”

You cut him off, grabbing his one free hand without warning. Staring into his fear-filled eyes, you pull a memory, though he doesn’t know that it’s easily accessible because it’s one of your memories, too.

That’s a conversation for another day.

The smell of stale beer and unfiltered cigarette smoke clouds the bar while a band of four boys plays onstage. Eddie has one ring-clad hand wrapped around the electric guitar’s neck and the other strumming intensely as he launches into the song’s chorus.

For whom the bell tolls Time marches on For whom the bell tolls!

He turns around and faces the drummer, grinning headbanging along to the beat. The kid behind the drumset is a bit younger than he is, and considerably more nervous, but Eddie’s encouragement allows him to lose himself in the music.

You end the memory before present-day Eddie can hear the applause; you know you were the one cheering the loudest that night, and you can’t let him recognize you.

“There will be a lot more of that if you fly under the radar and give them a reason to back off,” you tell him, plucking a thin tissue from a nearby box to clean your nose. “Trust me, they don’t want to watch over you 24/7. They have bigger issues they need to deal with.”

Trust me. The last time he trusted you, it destroyed him, whether he remembers it or not. This is your chance to make it right.

“Just think about it,” you plead, adrenaline waning and anxiety drawing you back to your room. “Help me help you.”

You leave him with even more questions than he had before. Hopefully, that’s incentive enough.

tag list (still open)

@munsonmuses @vintagehellfire @chrissymjstan @munsonology @lady-munson @roadkill-writes @randomreader1999 @babez-a-licious @madelynraemunson @the-unforgivenn @nailbatanddungeon @lokis-army-77 @laurenlokirby @american-idiot-jpg @str4ngergirlw0rld @tlclick73 @gnrquinn @katethetank @inourtownofhawkins @munson-addict

#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things #086

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inkskinned · 1 year

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i. there's this phrase: bloom where you are planted.

ii. something i should maybe talk to my therapist about is that all of my daydreams involve me helping people. when i picture meeting celebrities, i'm usually just suggesting therapy to them. there's just not a lot left for me to get out of this world, i feel like - like with this time left i might as well use it for kindness.

iii. according to the gardening map, i was raised in Zone 6 of plant hardiness. i think that's kind of funny. i am good with plants, and keep too-many of them. i learned young about the colors of hydrangeas - how you cant tell the pH of the soil by it.

iv. they tore down both of the schools i attended as a kid. most of the forests we walked in have been turned into apartment complexes. there's nothing really left of the places i've been.

v. tumbleweeds are liminal things - they are carcasses that carry their seeds along with them. a plant that evolved to move. we have so much to learn about nature, and the way that happenstance creates miracles. can you imagine the beauty of that? i think so often about how the roots of a tree often take up the same shape and circumference of its branches. i think so much about carnivorous plants; those that eat with no stomach. about where plants store their "knowledge."

vi. i'm not going to write about who i was or what i did to myself before i left. only three things, which will make sense if you are the type of person i buried in that ditch. the first is that i ended up getting tattoos to cover it. the second is that setting boundaries still makes me uneasy. and the third is that i am constantly shocked at the fact i have actually made it to the place where i'm happy.

vii. there's this ongoing joke amongst those of us who keep plants: you don't really get a say in whether or not the plant wants to be dead. i'm excellent at orchids, but i kill every ivy i've ever met. i have been rotating one particular rescue plant around my apartment, trying to figure out what exactly is the right amount of sun for it. the truth is that sometimes things will never survive being kept.

viii. i used to daydream about joining the circus. about an alien abduction. i used to picture meeting celebrities and whispering please fucking get me out of this. did you know the quote originally came from a bishop? when i googled it, google told me the meaning is don't take what you have for granted. make the most of what you are given.

ix. sometimes i think about my 17 year old self. it's been happening a lot lately. i keep watching her through my memories, how she clawed herself raw, scratching at the walls. we got out, is the thing. i know we thought about staying. but oh, fuck dude: we could have never bloomed if we'd stayed planted.

#is this anything?#warm up #plants #fussy orchids that hate all environments: we love u miss raquel #''hardy'' ivy that has like 12 ''u can't kill this one!!!'' notes attached to it:#i hate u and i am GOING to die now #is this bc i saw this quote on the back of a car? yeah

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libraford · 2 months

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I don't mean to keep talking about work shit but I'm back in that place where I like what I do and want to continue to do it, but there are parts of it that are starting to wear on me personally.

Work bitching under the cut.

We have a whole new crew this season except for me. And my boss is getting more stressed out because of her bosses, which means that when the new crew has questions it falls to me. Which is fine- the person who trained me was real knowledgeable and I'm decent at coming up with solutions to problems on my own.

The new people think I'm 'very chill.' But the truth is that most of the problems they're fussing over are things that I've encountered before and I know how to solve them or who to call if I can't. Sometimes my solutions aren't perfect and the overhead bosses notice that we had to rig something.

My immediate boss wants perfection. I told her that I can't promise that. She still thinks that I can do that, but I've never been a perfectionist. She will show you every hair out of place, every wrinkle in every collar, every misplaced crop.

Well?

Our subjects are children and children are imperfect. I didn't wash my hair for a year in fifth grade because I had constant earaches and didn't want to get my head wet. Sometimes kids are just funny looking- they make weird faces when you tell them to smile, they bug their eyes out, they don't sit still. Like I'm sorry, parents, that your kid doesn't sit with perfectly placed hands and a natural smile- but that's your goofy kid. Love and cherish their goofy years.

With most kids, I have a few tricks for getting them to fix their shirts and hair, get into the correct pose, and somewhat approaching a natural picture smile. But when you're doing 60 subjects a minute, some of them are not going to be perfect.

Yesterday I had a student who was special needs, did not like to be touched, and had specific wants for her photo. Her mother died last month and she wanted a photo of her holding the locket with her picture in it. Its the cutest photo ever.

They'll see that I went off-book. They'll see that her skirt isn't perfectly pleated. They'll see that she has some stray hairs.

I made an accommodation for this child. I accepted that we weren't going to get it perfect, but we were going to get a photo that her grandparents were going to cherish forever. Its truly an adorable photo. If I waited for perfect, I wasn't gonna get it.

Another kid was having a bad day. She was crying. I had to take her picture while she was crying, which is insult to injury for a kid who is having an internal crisis. We weren't going to get perfect.

I instruct the special needs teachers to send their kids to me because I'm very patient and I know some tricks and I know my equipment and I know how to make some adjustments to make it easier that some of my new photographers might not. I may not get perfect. I hope for happy, I hope for 'looking at the camera.' Its a win if I get both.

When I'm doing yearbook candids, I do fast and good. I have a system that allows me to take a rather high volume of decent photos that I know will look good in a yearbook without interrupting a class to get them. You literally can't get perfect here except on accident. They're kids in their natural environment.

When I'm doing sports candids I aim for volume. I know where to stand to get the best shots. If I take enough pictures, occasionally I get a really good one. But I don't look for perfect. I can't be like 'hey basketball dude, could you twist your hips a little bit to get that flattering curve of your spine?' Not happening.

I learned to work fast because I am being asked to do multiple things within a short time frame, so I learned how to process tasks in an efficient way: learning the typical building layout to minimize my workload and prepare for certain hiccups that happen often.

I mention them to the new people. I tell them that I am good and fast because I have done these things for three years and I am familiar with thinking on my feet. Often, I have to get things done quickly so that I can go help the new photographers who are struggling. If they prefer to go slow and focus on details first, that's fine. I will focus on volume and speed, I will pick up the slack while they are still learning.

I am told that I am going too fast. I need to slow down, focus on details, get things right instead of get them done.

But which would you prefer? That your kid was just a little messy for their photo or that I didn't take their photo at all because we ran out of time? Last season, one of our photographers had an emergency and I had to photograph nearly 800 students by myself.

The boss was shocked that they were good. Glad to hear we were expecting garbage.

Yesterday, while at a job, the boss was there to help one of the new photographers with one of the more complicated tasks. The new photographer felt that she was being pressed to go faster than her standards would allow. I told her afterwards that speed comes with time, there are some things you can't account for, and it wasn't necessary to push her that hard.

Our other new photographer is a 'perfectionist' and she takes so very much time getting every hair and every position and every expression, but she struggles to put up her equipment every time and if there's a problem she shuts down and can't think of a solution.

I have to be able to set up quickly so that I can make sure she has an extra hand to help her with issues. I have to photograph quickly to make sure that if she needs help I'm available.

And her photos are not really that much better. I'm often coaching her on cropping, on posture.

Slow does not equate perfection. Every person I've met that calls themselves a perfectionist is a perfectionist until it comes to the actual job.

She wants me to do class groups. Every time she trains me on class groups, there is some reason that I have to hop onto a solo unit. The first time it was because one of our photographers, another perfectionist, was taking too long and it created a bottleneck. Last time, it was because our other photographer went into labor and the remaining photographer was slower than hell.

So I'm learning that my speed and ease is an asset in these situations, but in situations where speed is not an asset then I should slow down- which experience tells me that if you slow down you're not guaranteed to do better.

Earlier in the week, I was showing one of the new girls how to do a dance backdrop setup. I had her look over my shoulder while I did the white balance and then exposure. I had shown her how to do it on a previous day and this was just reinforcement. Its also something that we do literally on every job, just in a different context- she should understand the concept and I gave her the option to raise any questions.

The boss told me that if I'm training someone how to do something I should show them how to do it, then mess up the settings on purpose for them, and then have them fix it. We were running behind schedule and I had actually been on schedule to leave like two hours prior but chose to stay so that we could work on this project together. I was not intending on training anyone.

She asks me why I don't want to become a trainer.

Its not usually like this. Usually, I can coast a little. But I'm filling the shoes of a couple people that had to sit this season out and now she's busting my chops to be perfect when 'perfect' was never my goal.

I dunno.

Its exhausting.

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kingmagnificoofrosas · 3 months

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Ok, it's time to deep talk even more about Magnifico! Part 1.

Since my analyses have gotten so much love, support and agreement, I feel motivated to continue 💙

In my first analysis I've touched up on many things, but something I want to deepen a little more is his trauma and his responses to it. Next to his character all in one of course.

After watching and rewatching and studying while making screencaps, I found myslef being heart broken for Magnifico even more. He's so horribly misunderstood it blows my mind. People are so freaking mean and ignorant it's insane!

We know that Magnifico was deeply traumatized as a young boy. Most people focus on themselves, their pain and their healing, but Magnifico instead wanted to make sure others will never suffer like he did. Please, let that sink in for a moment. His first response isn't to look at himself but to look at others. He lost everything and what does he want to do? Give! His first impulse was - I need to learn magic, so I can be strong enough to build a place where I can make sure people will never have to endure what I had to. Not "I gotta build myself a safe place so I can never be hurt again" like a little hermit crab hiding in a new house. No, he always looked what he could do for others!

This is one of the most selfless things a human being can do! It's not happening often but it's happening. People with trauma using their trauma as a motivation to help others.

Magnifico's determination to build a save haven for others despite his situation is freaking honarable!

He loves deeply! I did explain that the trauma Magnifico suffered heavily influenced and altered his thinking, his feeling, his actions and decission making.

He loves deeply but his paranoia and fear cloud it. What I mean is, some of his decissons aren't right but this doesn't make him evil! He's like a helicopter parent! His motivation to fiercly protect and keep save is purely love driven and initially right but because of his immense fear and paranoia it's becoming overprotectiveness and that is not the right way.

He never meant harm, he never meant to hurt. He was being too selfless in way. I heard another Magnifico defender say, he did too well.

And it's true.

Magnifico has given so much in his life. Matter of fact, he was absolutely right when he said he gives and gives and gives and yet people still aren't satisfied. And I totally get it! It's real life. People are greedy beings. Give them your little finger and they soon want your whole hand.

The people of Rosas live in total peace. They get everything they could ask for and more. Enough food, good homes they don't even need to pay rent for, enough money ... they get wishes granted every month. Sometimes even more! Magnifico mentioned in the past year he's granted 14 wishes, which means he did grant more than just one every month from time to time.

Magnifico is so much more than his handsome looks and his abilities. Yet, all people saw him as was that. A very handsome genie. Not the benevolent ruler that even made this flourishing life possible in the first place!

And I mean yeah, he said "I'd love to see you try and do my job!" And he's right again. I've never ruled a whole kingdom before and successfully at that! But I can imagine it must be darn hard! Certainly not a piece of cake.

People loved and celebrated him for what he could give and do! But what if he'd been just a regular king without any magic powers to grant wishes?

We see how the people of Rosas reacted after he told them about a threat. In the end they ask for another wish ceremony. And Magnifico snaps at them. He's clearly in distress even though he tries to appear collected and sovereign, and the only thing they care about is getting more wishes granted? Dude, give this poor man a break!

I can totally understand Magnifico having a nervous, emotional breakdown. Add it all up. He's constantly on edge because of his trauma, he always means well but the pressure of his ambitions and his duties as king are weighing him down further, he's constantly triggered, constantly irritable, no one gives a toot (Amaya included) which is like fuel to the fire in his soul, he feels threatened, he's terrified, he feels not understoond, valued and respected and furthermore used and exploited.

See how he make's the wishes spin around him faster and faster here? It's literally symbolic of what's going on in his soul at that moment.

Same as this one does.

The mirror is cracking, meaning his soul is cracking further. He's starting to break.

It's no wonder he loses his cool, really. Everyone would eventually break in such a situation.

Now, back to the whole wishes situation

Stop a moment and look how Magnifico looks at this wish/dream. He adores it, he appreciates it. (It's a happy family btw.) and someone who's as good in reading emotions as I am will see the ever so slight pain swimming along.

As king, it's Magnifico's duty anyway to make sure his kingdom runs well. That his people are safe and content, that there is order. And the whole decission making rests upon his shoulders as well.

Should he be in the leading position he is in? No. No, a person as deeply traumatized as he is, shouldn't. But the fact that he still tries is admirable! He's not in power because he's a power hungry, cruel, cold-hearted, selfish, narcissistic psychopath, like a villian is! He is in power and wants to stay in it, because he wants to protect others! He cares so much more about others, that he stresses himself to the peak of breaking mentally!

His trauma keeps him in this spiral. Trauma driven motivation > stress/trigger > trauma response > desire> action > trauma result/success or failure

Yes, he doesn't grant every wish because his trauma blurrs his judgement. He's so deeply into it that he cannot judge properly. Does this make him evil? Nope. It would be laughable how rediculous the hater's arguements are if it weren't so sad.

The arguement "Magnifico sees the dreams of people as a threat to his power so he steals them and makes people forget them."

🤨 huh?

I could slam my forehead even harder against something other than my hand. 🤦🏻‍♀️ The ignorance hurts!!! Like, have this people even paid any attention? Clearly not.

He never stole anything! Neither did he manipulate, play or lie to people. He left the decission to them. It was an open fact "If you want, you can give me your wish and I will keep it save and eventually grant it." And even if one doesn't give their wish, they are more than welcome to stay in his kingdoom and live a happy life!

Now listen. Magnifico's desire to keep the wishes in the first place isn't out of any bad or ill will! To say he keeps the wishes because he simply likes to be in control over people because of selfish, cruel reasons is a big mount of bullcrap. Look at how this man treats the wishes! Which by the way, to him, resemble his people!

Ah, yes, sooo evil and selfish and ill willed!

If someone sees this, the pure love in his whole bodylanguage, and still claims that this man is evil, actually doesn't give a damn about his people, and takes the wishes just because "powerhungry" has something really wrong!

Should he decide over other peoples dreams and wishes? Not really! This is a grey area. Back to his duty as a king. A king needs to care for his people. Magnifico takes this very seriously. Thanks to his trauma, a bit too much. This might be "not ok" but it doesn't make him evil. Good grief! Urgh!

He loves his people! He keeps the wishes because he thinks that it gives him a better opportunity to keep watch over them! Why does he want to watch over them and have the control? Out of fun? To satisfy his selfish urge to rule over others? No, because -

"Everything, everyhing I do is to make sure that never happens again!"

It's the very same stupid reason people have been villainizing Abuela Alma from Encanto. It makes me fuming mad that people ignor deep trauma and the mental issues that come with it and make such people out to be villains. Abuela treated her whole family unfairly, yes. She was harsh, inconsiderate, cold, stern, overprotective, insensible etc. But why did she act like that? Because she was hecking traumatized!

After she and Mirabel reconcile, she tells her family this :

"I'm so sorry I held on to tight, just so afraid I'd lose you too!"

Aha! Now taken in consideration that she is also deeply traumatized and I mean, pfff, she saw her home town getting burned, had to flee with her 3 newborns and see her soulmate get stabbed to death or even beheaded (we don't know) right in front of her eyes.

Her desire to keep safe was always good but her trauma blinded her to a degree.

A similar case were people have been villainizing a character for having trauma would be the case of Imelda from Coco. Her trauma of losing her husband and having to raise their daughter on her own caused her to forbid music for 2 generations! She was harsh too, and even though her actions concering this might have been wrong, she meant well. Everything she did came from the good motivation to keep her family from experiencing the crushing hurt she had.

Yet another example I've seen Magnifico defenders bring up would be Elsa! Elsa has been born with ice-powers because she's actually part spirit as we've learned in the 2 movie. She got traumatized as a child when she accidentally hurt her little sister Anna. Her response to trauma brings her whole kingdom in danger, even threatens to kill them by freezing them to death, and when Hans and his guards go to find and kill her, she defends herself and almost kills one of the guards. Yet, despite everything, Elsa isn't made to be a villain! She was supposed to be but in the end recieved love and appreciation, while Magnifico didn't?

It makes absolutely no sense.

Does trauma justify wrong actions? No! But it explains them and it certainly doesn't make someone a villain! Goodness gracious! 😩🤌🏼

Alma was obsessed with having the "miracle" controlled because she was terrified if she would lose that control, her past would repeat. She would lose her family.

Elsa abandoned her kingdom because she didn't want to hurt anyone anymore.

Imelda forbade music because she didn't want her family to experience the hurt she did.

All of this Sounds similar, right?

Magnifico obsessivly wanted to stay in control because he was terrified that if he would lose that control, his past would repeat. People will get hurt and lose everything like he did.

He panicked as an unknown light flooded his kingdom and made the wishes rattle.

The very first thing that came to his mind was "threat." And this was ONLY because of his trauma.

More in part 2 ⬇️

#king magnifico #disney wish #wish 2023 #team magnifico #magnifico defenders #king magnifico isn't a villain

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minthara · 2 months

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really long personal answer to an anon i got. trigger warnings in the tags.

First of all i wanna apologise to everyone who follows me for the last few days lmao, but i feel like if i dont post about it im literally gonna kill myself. I need somewhere to write down my thoughts because i feel bad always going to the same 2 friends i still have and complain about the same situation again and again about a dude they dont even know that well.

Thank you so much for ur message really, and sorry if im gonna take it as another excuse to write down all my thoughts, but i think it will really help me.

So the pathetic thing. I didnt ever post about this and in real life i think only like. 3 people knew. But after we broke up i begged him for months to take me back. It really was pathetic. And when he called me pathetic i think he was just very very hurt, because that was the second time i broke up with him (just a few weeks ago). It was in the sense of me begging him for so long just to break up again a few months later. I feel fucking stupid even writing this. I spent about 10k euros trying to get away from him, it fucked up my life so massively that i lost a job i really loved over it.

And now my new job is about 5 minutes away from our old apartment and i think thats a huge reason why i cant get over it. Every day i walk past restaurants, the supermarkets, anything we went to together. I had to buy snacks for work today and just burst into tears in the fucking supermarket because we used to go there together. The people at work are always so appreciative bc i know the area so well but they dont know how much it fucking hurts me and its so stupid like. Should i just avoid that part of town forever??? No fucking get over it bitch like wtf its a fucking supermarket.

And it also hurts because i know i wasnt always perfect and there were many times i was super mean to him. But at a point i couldnt deal with his ADHD anymore and that sounds so shitty but im a super organised person to the point where sometimes i wonder if thers anything ocd related but i dont think so. In my head i swap between i have ocd, i have adhd, i have borderline, i have autism - i have no idea whats wrong with me, but the way i feel cant be normal. I know this because the way i behave isnt normal, i know i can come across as really strange, i cant judge social situations well and often dont know how to behave. But i constantly criticised him for symptoms of his mental illnesss.

But i never physically hurt him, and that was the last straw for me, why i left. I dont know how u can do that to a person you love.

And im just mourning the life i thought i was going to have so, so, so much. I know on tumblr ppl somehow think youre brainwashed when you want a traditional marriage and kids and stuff, but i really thought that was going to happen in the next 2 / 3 years, thats how i planned my life since i was fucking 21 and i met him. And now im almost 27, and i cant even go on dates because i cannot bear talking to new people because all i want is a clone of him but better.

I know i will look back at this and think “u cried about THAT guy???” in a few years, because thats how its always been in my life lol (except for one relationship, but were still really really best friends). I always think afterwards i will never love someone that much again. But it hits so much harder because it was such a serious relationship lol i really wanted to marry him. Sobs lol.

#asks #anonymous #abuse cw #suicide cw #i feel so much better after writing this down lol #blondshell salad on repeat if u know u know

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russiantapo4ek · 11 months

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“I like how you draw Rusame, but as a US citizen I will never accept it, bcuz Russia is a terrorist who unleashed a war with Ukraine, it offends me. Russian is wild (???? what 😂) ofc I prefer Usuk more, u now?“ - wrote to me a dude who retweets patriotic American quotes about “freedom“ and mute evidence that Trump is an agent of Putin. Dude, first of all, for what purpose did you write to me about this, given that I deeply don't care about your opinion with preferences, while you so directly assure how terrible Russia is spreading propaganda (let me remind you that there is propaganda in US too, it has always been, especially nothing it does not differ from the Russian one, do not try to deny it, I know what I'm talking about, I once visited my aunt and listened to American political programs for the sake of interest, should I say how much outright nonsense I listened to, my ears almost withered ...) a retweet was made on your page about Trump as about a Russian agent, and do you willingly believe that? Dude, you're 27 years old, you're two years older than me, and you have the mindset of a 14-year old teenager who believes in all sorts of conspiracy theories and other nonsense from the Internet without any logical evidence. Is Trump an agent of Russia? Really?! Where do such conclusions come from? Election 2016? Does anyone else remember them? Why not Obama then? Not John Kennedy? Btw, he was suspected of fictitious collusion with the Communists only bcuz he wanted to improve relations with the USSR, he was not killed bcuz of suspicion, but your state sources will never reveal the truth about the true motives for the assassination of the president. Why only Trump? Does the American community still believe in this? Well, then I have no more questions for you 😂 is it more like paranoia to see the participation of Russians in everything (as some of you still like to call us “commi“, which we have not been for a long time) in the elections bcuz Russia wants to destroy America? Omg…Dude, I don't support the war, don’t support Putin, but that doesn't mean that I think that the US government is a bulwark of justice, it's far from it, I won't list what terrible things the White house did with other countries, including Yugoslavia/Iraq/Syria/Vietnam, and I don't want to talk about how hypocritical the US treats Russia and after that you claim that there is no propaganda in your country, but only the truth is being told? You know, in Soviet Union, they also believed everything that was said on TV, but the country was isolated, people believed everything that Stalin, Brejnev, Gorbachev said, we did not broadcast anything Western (Russians usually learned about Disney, Tom and Jerry, Looney Tunes and others foreign cartoons after the collapse of the USSR, American delegation often visited Russia, importing a lot of her production, spreading high crime in the country, instead taking away our scientists, Soviet equipment, including the resources of a weakened country). Why ,of all the things that America has done to my country , do I not consider all of America terrible , unlike you ? (Damn it, in the 90’s Russia was literally dying dude, my country could have died if not for humanitarian support, and even after all the hell Russia went through, still wanted to get closer to the US, but the US, oddly enough, was in no hurry to reach out in response…) Were Americans isolated from the world like Soviet Russia ? No. So where does such a superficial judgment about Russia come from? Dude, pls don't provoke me into a polemic with you, you've got the wrong address, I have no desire to continue this meaningless chatter with you, you still won't understand a damn thing from what I've written, bcuz your horizons are limited only by what you are told through liberal channels. They will tell you that every Russian comes home riding bears and that it snows all day in the country, you will believe it without any doubt. Bcuz based on what you wrote to me under the post with art, you think with the logic of the TV 😂

my conclusion: ❌🧠❌->🤡

(guys, I banned this clown, unfortunately, I don't want to show what he wrote, bcuz I deleted all this shit from the comments under my art, you can read my entire answer above, I think adequate people who don't think like him will support me)

Honestly, I still can't understand what he attributed the irl policy with Hetalia to?😂

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steviesbicrisis · 1 year

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Steddie Grease AU where Eddie and Steve have a fling during the summer and think they will never see each other again.

Then Steve transfers to Eddie's school after the summer and their encounter isn't like he thought it would be: Eddie barely acknowledges his existence, especially when he's around his clique.

Steve guesses Eddie doesn't want to let people know that he's gay, he's hurt but he can't do much but accept it. He understands.

Eddie is the school's resident bad boy, and Steve hangs out with preppy guys from the baseball team, their social circles are completely different.

During the school year, he tries to move on, gets into the baseball team, goes on a few dates with what he considers the completely opposite of Eddie (girls who are neat, polite, and boring) but it's all in vain because Eddie always finds a way back into Steve's life, even for just a few minutes, and Steve goes back to square one.

He is confused and frustrated: when they're alone, Eddie acts like he did in the summer, sweet and caring, when they're at school he pretends he doesn't exist.

When he finally confides to his new best friend, Robin, she gives him a simple answer: Eddie, in Robin's book, is put off by Steve's polished looks.

Steve finds it ridiculous, especially since he looked like that in the summer as well, but the more he thinks about it, the more realizes she's probably right: Eddie has been acting strange and distant only when his friends or Steve's friends are around.

The realization makes Steve come up with a plan: with Robin's help, he builds up an outfit consisting of a lot of leather, tight-fit clothes, and puffy curly hair and wears it at the end of the year's carnival.

Eddie's reaction when he sees him is priceless, but Steve gives him zero attention throughout the whole evening, enjoying Eddie's suffering look.

Only at the end of the evening, Steve decides to give him a little bit of his attention.

«So, did we learn something today?» he asks, approaching Eddie in the parking lot, who's sitting in the back of his van, looking a little miserable. Their friends are still enjoying the rides.

He looks up, surprised that Steve is talking to him «what?»

Steve sits next to him, Eddie can't stop staring at him and he enjoys it «now you know what it feels like to be ignored.»

Eddie looks surprised, then blushes «well, I guess I deserved that» he admits, sheepishly.

«You so did dude, look what I had to do to get your attention!» he gestures at his clothes and hair.

«You always have my attention» Eddie replies immediately, getting an unconvinced look from Steve «you do! I know I've acted kinda like an ass and I'm sorry, but it's true! I just can't not look at you, that's why I-» he stops talking, looking conflicted, Steve presses his shoulder against his to encourage him «that's why I've been ignoring you. But today you look so- ugh, illegal? I couldn't help it.»

«I'd like it if you looked at me. I liked what we had last summer. If you liked it too, why are you acting like this?»

«Because this» Eddie gestures at Steve's outfit «is all temporary. Tonight you'll go back to your white mansion with a picket fence and your wealthy life and preppy clothes, nice girls who are dying to get a date with you and I'll stay like this! With the hand-me-down leather jackets, the bad boy look that your parents wouldn't approve of and surely not enough money to give you what you're used to» he finishes his speech, looking at his worn-down shoes.

«So this isn't about you being embarrassed of me because I don't look like this every day and you being afraid of your friend's judgment?»

«I would never be embarrassed of you. But yeah, I do care about what my friends think» he admits «they look up to me and I'm often concerned about doing the thing they expect me to do. I've noticed that, in the past year» he doesn't say it but gives Steve a side look that makes him understand that this realization is also because of him «but I realized that they don't care as much as I thought they did. And honestly, if they did, I would've dropped their asses off. Do you care what your friends think? about me?»

«Dude, I've known these people for a couple of months, I don't really give a shit about what they think. Oh, except Robin of course, if she doesn't like you, then you're dead to me» he says in a serious tone, making Eddie laugh heartily.

«But anyways» he adds, taking one of Eddie's hands in his «if you still like me like you did in the summer, and the only problem is that you believe I'm too much of a rich kid for you, then I must say you're kind of an idiot. And a dumbass.»

Eddie squeezes his hand «yeah? how come?» his tone is weirdly fond for someone who has just been insulted.

«For starters, I don't live in a mansion, it's a normally sized house, and you'll see when you come over. Secondly, I do have a wealthy life, but I also have shitty parents who think they can buy my love with their money. And finally, I think I made it pretty clear that I don't want to date any nice girl but just the one guy sitting next to me.»

As he's sitting next to the most beautiful guy Eddie has ever seen, who not only ditched his nice polished clothes for leather pants and a tight shirt just for him and who's saying all of those nice things about him that he totally doesn't deserve, he can't help but wonder out loud «Are you even real, Steve Harrington?»

It's Steve's turn to laugh. Eddie briefly looks around to be sure that they're alone, before pulling Steve close to kiss him.

«I've been wanting to do this since I saw you the first day at school» he admits.

«As I said, you're an idiot, and a dumbass.»

----

They ditch both of their friend groups who -as they’re passing next to them in Eddie’s van- shout at Steve, for leaving without saying goodbye, and at Eddie, for leaving them without a ride home.

As Steve is laughing and waving at them in the passenger seat, Eddie realizes he really doesn't care about his friends' reactions.

And that Steve is right: he had been an idiot. And a dumbass.

#just inspired by grease #i didn't like some things for steddie #so there's that lol #they both idiots actually #steddie #steve harrington #bisexual steve harrington #steve and eddie #steve and robin #bi steve harrington #gay eddie munson #steve x eddie #grease au #robin buckley #ficlets #sbc writes

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useless-catalanfacts · 1 year

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As you've discussed in your blog there's a distinction between Catalans and Valenciansin terms of identity, is there also one for Balearics?

(Sorry it took me a few days to answer, I've been very busy lately and I didn't have time to write a long post.)

First of all, I wouldn't quite say there is a distinction between Valencian and Catalan identity, because for many there isn't. For many Valencians, it's obvious that Valencians are part of the Catalan Countries, but there are right-wing groups who try very hard to push the idea that they're completely different, ignoring uhhh.... All of history, language and most of culture, and basing on pseudohistory, a handful of dialectal/accent differences and mostly a lot of Catalanophobia and Spanish nationalism/supremacy (some of this groups are openly fascist/neo-nazi). I know you're simplifying in order to ask the question, but I just wanted to make it clear.

For those new to the argument, I'll link to a previous post talking about Blaverism (the right-wing movement to consider the Valencian Country separate from the rest of the Catalan Countries, only a region of Spain, justified with conspiracy theories that contradict every serious historian and linguist):

To answer your question: in the Balearic Islands, it hasn't really happened. Technically it exists, it's the posture known as "neogonellisme", but it's soooo small that most people have never heard about it, and very often (as we'll see below) it's imposed from outside of the Balearic islands. In the (extremely few) cases where people from the Balearic Islands have defensed this, it was always Spanish nationalists who wrote exclusively in Spanish (mostly Antoni Alemany). When there's people in the Balearics who want to distance themselves from the rest of the Catalan Countries, it's usually just Spanish nationalism with Mallorcan regionalism, not an indentity in itself (like the now dead Centro Cultural Mallorquí and the still "active" Grupo d'Acció Baléà, Catalanophobic groups created by copying the Valencian blaverist groups).

I've only heard of the existence of these groups years ago when I was doing research into Blaverism, but I've never heard any Balearic person consider that their language isn't Catalan or that they're culturally something else. I know many Mallorcans, some Menorcans and an Eivissan and I think they'd be surprised to hear about this micro-movement.

However, right-wing Spanish groups are trying to push this idea there, since the "divide and conquer" strategy kind of worked in the Valencian Country. For example, the conservative politician Pablo Casado (of the PP party, he's from Castille) went to the Balearic Islands and gave a speech saying "what you speak in the Balearics isn't Catalan, you speak Mallorcan, Menorcan, Ibizan and Formenteran". Basically, this dude who doesn't even speak the language comes to tell us what is it that we speak lmao, but not only that, he says that each island speaks a different language! If I hadn't heard him on the news and knew about the Blaverism he's trying to copy, I would think this was made up as a joke. Sadly, a few time later, the Spanish so-called "left" wing party Podemos also copied this idea and tried to pass a law saying that Catalan in the Balearic Islands from now on should be called "Balearic". Both of this things were widely mocked, of course, since they don't make any sense and everyone considered them ridiculous.

So yeah, the idea exists, but it mostly comes from Spanish people who don't even speak the language and who try to convince us of it for purely ideological reasons, not because they actually believe it's something different. However, very few people actually believe it or defend it so it's basically seen as a joke, unlike Valencian Blaverism which is a bigger movement and well-organised in neo-nazi or philofascist organizations that have even attacked people for it and often get books banned for being written in "Barceloni", have prohibited Catalan TV and radio stations in the Valencian Country, etc., as we explained before.

#ask #anonymous #illes balears #neogonellisme #gonellisme #blaverisme

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ladykailitha · 6 months

Text

Corroded Coffin Headcanons!

Why yes, I am procrastinating. Why do you ask?

I've good all week and want to take a little break and descend into madness, so I'm allowed, okay?

As always, you can headcanon whatever the hell you want, just like I can, so please no hate. Good?

Good.

This mostly about the members of CC and not necessarily about the band as a whole.

I'm going to do Eddie last because we know the most about him.

The Unnamed Freak- And as far as I've heard around, this dude STILL doesn't have a name. I've seen all sorts of names for him: Frank, because it sounds like freak; Grant, because that's the actor's name; Archie, is another I've seen crop up a lot; and of course a smattering of others. In all of my fics, he's Brian. All the other members of the band had epic names: Gareth, a knight of King Arthur's Round Table, Edward, the name of several of England's kings, and even Geoffrey has a lot of famous people of that name. So he gets named Brian. Usually his last name is Martin.

He met Eddie because they were seated next to each other due to their last names in band. Eddie got him into metal music and the subculture.

Bassist for the band he began learning at an early age, early enough that he was and is the band's only bassist.

He is the oldest of four kids having three younger siblings. Two brothers and a sister. He tries to get out of babysitting as often as he can.

He's ace but not aro. When I age him up in stories, he's often in a romantic relationship, but never a sexual one. He's not sex repulsed but it's not for him.

He was held back in kindergarten and understands what Eddie is going through as far as being older than his peers.

He's a year younger than Eddie, and if he hadn't been held back would have graduated with Steve.

Jeff- Everyone thinks his given name is Geoffrey, but nope. It's Jeffrey. It's because his mom thought it would be easier for him. Nope! He has one older sister who is away at college. His last name is Lawrence mainly because I love that name and I think Jeff Lawrence just has a nice ring to it.

He is the grade he's suppose to be in, the same grade as well...literally every other older teen in the series except Steve and Eddie. In fact he's super smart, but doesn't have the patience to help Eddie with his school work. He gets frustrated too easily.

His mom hopes he gives up the idea of super stardom soon because she thinks he's smart enough to be a doctor.

In my fics where I age them up, he has a white girlfriend and understands Eddie's fear of going public with a guy, because in the 80s, black boy and white girl is just as bad as being gay. Still is in some places, sadly.

Jeff is Eddie's best friend, mainly because they both play guitar. Jeff is rhythm guitar, though because Eddie is far and away the better player.

Jeff is bisexual. Yes, he is with a girl most of the time and his relationship with his girlfriend is a lot like a couple friends of mine, where they are both bisexual, but dating an opposite member from their sex. Still experiences attraction to the same sex, though.

Gareth- this might shock some people but Emerson is a fanon not a canon last name for the character. And because I headcanon him as second generation American, his grandparents migrated over to America from Wales and his dad is first generation, their last name is Hughes. His dad knows Welsh, but Gareth and Gethin his twin brother don't.

The main reason I think this is because Gareth is a very Welsh first name. As is the name Gethin, in case you were wondering. It's why I picked Gethin as the name of his twin.

I think Gareth is a twin because there is a character in the first episode taking pictures at the basketball game that looks a lot like Gareth, almost uncannily so. You can even see Nancy talking to him for a moment.

Gareth is gay and Gethin is straight. Gethin is everything his parents would want from a kid, straight, smart, into photography, preppy. Everything Gareth isn't. He's gay, struggles in school, drums for a metal band, and is a metalhead.

That's not to say his parents aren't supportive, because they are. They let Corroded Coffin play in their garage, after all. But Gareth still feels like a disappointment anyway.

He's a junior in high school and absolutely wants to drop out when his bandmates graduate, but he's afraid his mom will kill him.

Eddie- Look, I know I've used Edward as his full name a lot, but sometimes Edmond is just the superior name. And I use them interchangeably, but yeah it's probably Edward considering he grew up poor.

Wayne is a Catholic (you see a calendar of the saints in the trailer) and Eddie grew up around Catholicism, but the more he realized he was gay and moved further into the metal subculture the less he liked the religion.

Yes he does know the patch on the side of his denim vest is the church of Satan. :D

Wayne bought him his first guitar after his mother died and taught him how to play as way of coping with the grief.

Eddie was one of those students that coasted in school until his senior year where suddenly the difficulty was ramped up to eleven.

He promised his mom that he would graduate from high school though, because she didn't. She got pregnant with him.

I think he was 11 or 12 when he went to go live with Wayne, just barely starting middle school. He's been around Wayne long enough that he knows he's loved by him, but old enough to have been influenced a little by his dad's life style.

In fact, it was his dad that got him into dealing drugs for Reefer Rick.

His dad keeps coming into town and dragging Eddie back down with him and leaving Wayne to pick up the pieces.

I've written him bisexual in the past, and probably will again, but there is just something about Eddie being gay that hits a sweet spot. An extra box to tick in the freak department (not that being gay is bad, it's just how Eddie would see it).

The Munson Doctrine is a serious things he's picked up over the years from his dad and uncle but also his experiences with life as whole.

Did NOT get bullied by Steve. Especially since for most of Steve's high school career Eddie was the grade above him. He just dealt at enough parties to "know" rich+good looking+popular with girls=douchebag. But he hasn't had any direct experience with Steve outside of the odd class they had together his second senior year.

Is the president of the Hellfire Club in practice, but on paper it's usually someone else. Someone more liked by the principal. And is billed as a gaming club on the school records so that it doesn't get banned. Everyone knows it's DND.

Corroded Coffin- Just a little headcanon here. Gareth is the second drummer but everyone else were original members that played at that Talent Show (Gareth would have been in fifth grade). They picked up Gareth after their original drummer moved away.

So there you go, just some of my headcanons for the CC boys.

#ladykailitha rants #eddie munson #jeff stranger things #unnamed freak stranger things #gareth stranger things #corroded coffin #headcanon

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