#maybe they used motion capture for those two

[snobgoblin]

say what you will about the phase 4 motion capture stuff, but the Murdoc model was actually really beautiful when they took the time to let it be

#gorillaz #murdoc gorillaz #murdoc niccals #as much as i love the gritty style of phase 3 #theres just something so nice about this one #noodle and 2-d still looked janky in strobelite idk why Murdoc's movement was so fluid and he wasnt even the focal point #maybe they used motion capture for those two #but yeah when they actually animated it this model was stunning #drop dead gorgeous #gorillaz phase 4

[clockwayswrites]

Rumors of a Prince

“You could always ask Jason to pay her a visit,” Dick said from where he was lounging, mostly upside down, on the couch in Bruce’s study.

Bruce frowned at him. “I am not going to have Jason kill Vickie Vale.”

“Hey, you’re the one who said kill!” Dick held his hands up or, rather, given his position, down. “I just meant puts some fear into her. Maybe kidnap her for a few days so that she can’t write any more libel.”

Bruce found himself smiling, slightly and against his better judgment. It faded away when he looked back at his laptop. “At least in this case, it wouldn’t do much good. The stories is already out there and, unfortunately, Vale’s take on it has captured the public’s attention.”

“Tim knows I bet… and Babs.”

“Undoubtedly by now.”

“And if those two know, Steph knows. If Steph knows, she’s ranted to Cass.”

“Yes.” This family was impossible to keep things secret in.

“Welp,” Dick said and swung himself to be sitting up normally— or as normally as Dick ever sat. “Then I guess we better tell the others. How do you want to divide this?”

Bruce was grateful that Dick was willing to be his partner in this. “You would be best to take Jason. I’ll speak with Damian. Either of us can catch Duke when he returns from his patrol.”

Dick nodded. “And Tom?”

“I think perhaps it would be best to have as much of the family in the manor as possible,” Bruce said after a moment. “If he destabilizes, I want him to know that we are around and that he is still safe.”

“Alright.” Dick slapped his knees once and stood. “I’ll drag Jason back then. You know he’ll come if it’s for Tom.”

“Make sure he reads the article before he comes over.”

Dick grimaced. “Yeah. Yeah, that would be best. I’m going to bring some food too over with me. Good luck convincing Dami that he can’t go and stab Vickie Vale.”

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. “Right. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Dick chirped as he left for his task.

Bruce dropped his hand.

‘Gotham’s Pale Prince’ stared back at him from the screen.

-

“Seriously?!” Jason burst in through the kitchen door. “Have you read this swill?”

“Yes chum, of course I have,” Bruce said. He shot Dick, who trailing behind Jason’s fury, a look. Dick was supposed to get Jason to read the article before coming over.

Dick just shrugged helplessly and motioned in a way that conveyed Jason had read it and was still clearly quite upset.

“One of the biggest questions is,” Jason said, clearly reading now from the article with the air of Bristol accent he had put on, “perhaps, why the newest Wayne is not in school. Bruce has proven himself to be a champion of the educational system. This is despite the man himself being a college drop out’ like what the fuck?”

“To be fair, I am,” Bruce said.

Jason rolled his eyes and continued. “His oldest ward’— Dick is fucking adopted now, bitch!”

“Boo!” Steph echoed and tossed popcorn at the tablet Jason was holding.

(Bruce was neither sure when Stephanie had arrived nor where she got the popcorn.)

“Never going to college,” Jason said with a jab of his free hand, “and the second oldest never completing high school.’ I was dead you narrow minded shew!”

“Well, I mean, all she knows is that you were supposedly kidnapped by terrorists and tortured for years,” Dick said. He had moved over to help himself to Stephanie’s popcorn and paused raising the next handful to his face. “Okay, no, that’s actually worse.”

“And you are clear on your line that I cannot stab this woman for the dishonor she implies about the family?” Damian asked, again, as he joined them in the kitchen.

“Unfortunately we have to handle this the proper way, with a press conference,” Bruce said. Stabbing was looking increasingly appealing though.

Jason dropped into one of the open chairs. “I’d call it a battle of the wits, but I don’t think Vale has any left with this trash she’s writing!”

“Alright,” Tim said as he entered the kitchen with almost as much fury as Jason, just more contained. Cass followed in his wake. “I am sure that B has already run through no killing, no stabbing, no maiming, no poisoning—”

“No poisoning Vickie Vale,” Bruce said, feeling so tired.

“Way to go, Timbit, now we can’t poison her,” Jason groused.

Tim sighed, “Fair, I shouldn’t have assumed. I really thought someone else would have brought it up already.”

“People went for more bloody options,” Dick explained.

“Also fair,” Tim said, pointing at him. “Anyways, since we can’t do all that, can I ruin her reputation?”

“Tim,” Bruce sighed.

“Now come on old man, let’s here Timtam out,” Jason said, holding out his arm. “You said yourself we had to handle the proper way and I’m sure that our little socialite here knows just how to ruin her through something like a press conference.”

“You I can stab,” Tim said with a shark sharp smile towards Jason.

Jason returned it with a smile like broken glass. “You can try.”

“Oh, if you keep calling me a socialite I will try and I will manage.”

“Boys, please.”

“Are people threatening blood and violence again?”

Every head in the room swiveled towards the door to the hall.

Tom almost recoiled at the sudden attention of all of the family, taking a half step back and looking a little wide eyed.

Cass walked forward and wrapped her arm around Tom’s. “Tim is. To Jason.”

It took a moment for Tom to tear his eyes away from the family to look at his sister. “Of course. What’s… it about this time?”

“Jason is reminding Tim that he’s a rich society brat and Tim hates to be reminded about that even though it’s true because Tim is also a little freak and the upper crust would be applaud if they knew even a fraction of it,” Steph said before she stuffed his mouth full of more popcorn.

Everyone in the room paused for a moment.

“No, yep, I think that’s pretty much spot on,” Dick said. He wasn’t even pretending not to laugh.

The laughter was infectious and almost everyone was either snickering or outright laughing. Bruce even quirked up a little smile. Tom still looked mostly confused but at least less nervous.

“Come sit by me, little shadow,” Dick said with a smile.

When Thomas settled next to Dick, who immediately wrapped an arm around him, the room settled again into that slightly somber mood.

“What is going on?” Tom asked, voice small. There were times when he still seemed unsure if he could be a presence in a room or consternation. It was something that they were still working on as a family.

Bruce sighed. “A reporter found out about you and wrote an article with mostly speculation. Unfortunately, because of who I am in the city and my existing tendency to adopt, it’s getting attention.”

Tom chewed on his lip and Bruce just hoped he wouldn’t worry it so much it bled. “Bad?”

“Not bad towards you, but unkind. She made a lot of guesses and fact reasons about why the public hasn’t seen you,” Bruce explained.

“Oh. Am I…?”

The dropping of words wasn’t the best sign. Dick pulled Tom into his lap.

“No. Most of the children didn’t attend the press conference announcing them and you don’t have to either. But I will need to make one simply to clear up some of rumors. I wont say anything that you don’t want me to say.”

“Bruce and I can plan it out,” Tim said, “and then run it by you if you want to look over it.”

“Can… will… if anyone wants to help…”

“Of course!” Dick said cheerfully. “We can make a lunch of it or something. It will be the best press conference yet.”

“Yeah. And you don’t even have to watch it,” Jason said. “We’ll plan something fun for that day. The old man can go and do the hard work and we’ll enjoy ourselves.”

“Thank you, Jason,” Bruce said dryly, pretending he wasn’t warmed still whenever Jason refereed to him as anything approaching father.

“It’s what you deserve,” Jason said and tossed his tablet, cleared of the article, on the table. “Come on, let’s plan what we’re going to do.”

“The zoo is always enjoyable,” Damian said.

“You always say zoo,” Cass pointed out as she perched next to Jason.

“What about the park?” Steph suggested. She joined the others at the table and passed around her popcorn.

“Nah, Ivy has a new variety of tulips. I’m worried some of them might turn man eating again,” Dick said.

“We could head out of Gotham I guess,” Jason pointed out and pulled up the map.

Bruce slipped quietly out of the room with Tim on his heels.

“You can stay with them and help them plan,” Bruce offered. Tim was always too grownup, had been since before he came to Bruce.

Tim just shook his head. “I’m never the best distraction. I’ll be more use to you. Besides, I have some plans to run by you that doesn’t need the blood thirsty contingency hearing about.”

“Of course you do,” Bruce said with both a sigh and a smile.

“Nothing physical,” Tim defended himself. “I can ruin her legally.”

“That I have no doubt of.”

No matter what, Bruce had absolutely no doubt that the family would be there for Tom. They were a family, after all.

---

AN: Vickie Vale won't know what hit her. Esp after what she wrote.

Don't know if this will become a full sequel or not, but it was fun to revisit this universe and see how they've progressed!

#dp x dc #shadow of a bat #rumors of a prince #batpham #phanTOM is Danny #and now Thomas Wayne

[abibliophobiaa]

Begin Again: Chapter Three

Summary: The year is 1988. After the loss of a beloved family member, you find yourself inheriting an old coffee shop. The quiet bartender at the Hideout across the street just so happens to catch your eye.

(23k+ words; eddie munson x afab!reader; sunshine!reader x grumpy!eddie vibes)

Note: Tumblr ate my formatting, so AO3 is probably best. 🙃

Warnings: Vignette style (sorta); Eddie’s post S4 trauma; panic attacks; nightmares; family member loss; grief; alcohol use; nightmares; suicidal ideation; mild smut in later chapters so 18+; additional warnings to be added.

AO3 | MASTER LIST | PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

*

 Fall, 1988

 *

 It’s funny, you think, as those first leaves fall outside your bedroom window with the changing weather. 

This feeling of shedding the old and making room for the new. Going away for a season, with hopes of something special ahead. 

It’s this expectancy, this wonder, in trusting in the unknown. 

It’s the dizzying free fall, the twirling, fluttering comedown. 

It’s the flicker of color, the splashes of light in a heart, the things that make it warm. 

It’s like the stars that fell over Hawkins as summer slipped away slowly like a bottle of wine to be savored. 

It’s the time shifting through an hourglass, always moving, always in motion, fingers coming up to catch before they’re gone too soon. 

In six months you’ve created a strand of memories. 

A reel of moments that have made your eyes crinkle and cheeks hurt, have made your stomach burn from laughter. You’ve cried and you’ve rejoiced and yearned. 

They’re moments captured in the photos sitting on the bedside table you picked up with Eddie only a week ago, now littered with photos of the people that make you wonder if home isn’t really a place at all—but instead those you surround yourself with.

Your chosen family to stand beside you in the good, bad, and the ugly. 

Your grandfather’s face smiles up at you from the frame it’s safely kept within. Your decision becomes easier every day. 

 *

 Nothing really changed initially after that night at the movies. 

When The Lost Boys credits rolled along the scene, and you lifted your head from where it was tucked against Eddie’s chest, neither of you acknowledged the closeness in proximity between the two of you. 

Robin and Steve seemed none the wiser to what occurred either, both too wrapped up in talking about the movie as they closed the back doors behind them and Eddie opened the passenger side door for you to get in. If his hand lingered a little longer within your own, you say nothing of it, chalking it up to the hour or so you spent cuddling him. A touch of skin against skin seems a little silly when you have that reality to now consider. This…intrigue between the two of you that you supposed started at the fair. Maybe even sooner, when painting your bedroom. 

You weren’t very certain, but all you knew in that moment, as his eyes clashed with yours in the night, was that something shifted.  

Irrevocably so. 

There was a line of where you two stood before, and there was a line for what would come after, and neither of you dared to venture there—at least until now. 

The ride home was spent in that murky questioning. The will they, won’t they every couple must eventually face. Steve and Robin filled the open air with conversation, but it did little to quell the tension wrapped around the atmosphere. The way Eddie’s ringed fingers curled around the steering wheel, how his eyes shifted to yours every so often. As if he were expecting you to be gone—as if he wondered if you were even real at all. 

Steve and Robin were eventually dropped off and Eddie drove you back to your apartment, keys jangling as he tugged them free from the ignition. You didn’t expect him to walk you to your door, and yet again he’d surprised you these weeks. You also didn’t expect him to tug off his leather jacket and drape it over your shoulders, making sure it was pulled around your body enough to block out the chill in the air. 

From the man who used to speak single word sentences to you months ago, to the man who now held your hand at the fair, showed you the constellations in the sky, and curled you close to his body to keep you from the cold.  

“This is my stop,” you whispered at the bottom of your stairs, tipping your head to the door. Your fingers toyed with the zipper on his jacket, eyes glancing down to your sandaled feet. “I had fun tonight.”

“Me too,” he said, brushing at your shoulder with the back of his hand. At your confusion, he held out his closed palm and lifted it in front of your face. He opened his palm and there sat a tiny lightning bug, tail end flashing like a strobe light in the night. “My mom used to say lightning bugs were these little lights shining bravely in the dark, there to remind us we all have a light within us. I think she really only told me that so I wouldn’t get scared.”

“And now?” you asked, watching those wings as they fluttered and it took to the skies, trailing high above Eddie’s wavy head of hair. 

“I’m still scared,” he admitted softly, glancing up at the sky. You followed his gaze, watching as other lightning bugs flickered and pulsated in the air, a pattern only they understood, reaching out to one another in the night. Calling to one another, being light for one another. “But at least it’s not all dark now.”

Suddenly he was looking at you, and you felt that light reflected back at you within his eyes. 

The wind tickled at your thighs, ruffled the ends of your dress, pushed you nearer to him. Your fingers trailed along the inside of his jacket once more, the scent of leather, cigarette smoke and his after shave just inches from your nose and comforting in the sense they all reminded you of him. So it pained you to pull it free from your shoulders, placing it into his awaiting palm, before crossing your hands behind your back, swaying awkwardly on the balls of your feet. 

“I should, uh, probably head to bed,” you said, glancing up at his face. He was unreadable. All placid features, rested mouth, unfurrowed brows. Calm, undoubtedly so, and it warmed your heart to see his soul in such a state of rest. “Goodnight, Eddie.”

He nodded. A slow movement cut short when his arms opened and curled around you. Before that, hugs had been initiated by you only, and rarely to respect his carefully laid out boundaries. But now, like this, within the cradle of his arms with your face pressed into his chest, you let out the deepest sigh. Your fingers worked around his back and slid into the middle of his shirt, pressing into the fabric there, pushing him closer to you. He sighed, his breath fanning around your shoulder, face pressed right against your cheek. 

It was one of your few hugs with Eddie, but you know they had already become your favorites. The way he cradled the back of your head and kept you close, pushed himself tight against you so you could feel his harder edges against your softer ones—the warmth of him seeping into your skin, blocking out the cold. 

Safe. 

He made you feel safe. 

Untouched from the rest of the world, just like that very moment. 

“Goodnight,” he whispered against the side of your head, pulling back enough that you could see the outside light from your front doorstep reflected within his gaze. 

So you bid him goodbye with another hug, and the sound of your shoes as they walked up your steps. You glanced down at him, his form still there as you slipped your key into the lock and opened, fingers curled around the doorknob. 

Then, and only then, as you flicked on your apartment lights and the room was basked in light, did he raise his hand and slip away with your heart thumping in your chest, and mind wondering what any of this meant. 

 *

 “You need to tell her to stop,” El laughs, her smile beaming as Eddie slips in the front door and arches a brow at the sight of you standing behind the front counter, bent low over a mug. “She’s been going at it for over an hour now.”

“It’s looking more like a ghost the more times you try,” Will says sadly, glancing down at your sad attempt at latte art. “I also don’t think I can drink anymore coffee.” 

“Me neither,” El gripes, patting her abdomen. 

“What’s going on here?” Eddie muses, leaning over the counter to get a look at what exactly you’ve been up to. 

“She’s trying to make a pumpkin since it’s October first,” El explains. 

“Only, she’s really good at making leaves…and not so much the pumpkins,” Will says, and you huff out a whine. “Sorry, boss.”

You glance down at the mug and grimace at the swirling blob that’s smiling up at you. It’s…more like a ghost just as Will suggests, a circular foam blob with a trail at the end. You add two little eyes and an open mouth and slide it across the counter to show Eddie. 

His eyes meet yours and then shift to your drink, a hum of approval spilling from his lips. “It looks…well, it’s not a pumpkin.” He’s humoring you, and it reminds you of those early days in your relationship when you would write jokes and facts on his cups. 

You still do even now, just to make him smile. 

At your frown, he continues, “It looks nice though. Really. I mean it.”

“Will you try it?” you ask. You know it’s not his normal choice for coffee preferences, but it makes your face hurt from grinning so hard when he nods his head once and lifts it to his lips. “There's vanilla powder in it. So…it’s got a little bit of the sweetness you like.”

He takes a cautious sip for dramatic effect, mouth hovering over the lip, inhaling the vanilla and espresso before he drags his tongue over the foam and makes your chest burst with a giggle. Your laugh makes him laugh and he’s suddenly got foam on his upper lip, the kids awkwardly looking on as you quickly pass him a napkin that he dabs against his face. 

“It’s good,” he says brightly. 

“You didn’t even try it.” 

He takes a sip for real this time, waiting a moment with his eyes on a point far away at a distant wall. “So, not my usual, but you can definitely tell it’s made with love.”

And that’s enough for you, because you think about what you told him in your apartment, about wanting to uphold your grandfather’s legacy, and you feel your insides churn with the honey richness of the words he’s given you. 

The purpose within them is not missed.

He catches your lips as you mouth ‘thank you,’ and shift about behind the counter to go make his actual coffee for the day. When you whirl back around, he’s there with a broad smile and his money at the ready. The kids choose that moment to make themselves scarce, your hands moving about as Eddie regards you carefully, dimples full on display today. 

“You still want to go get that tattoo?” he asks you, and nervousness pools in your belly once more at the prospect. 

You mentioned to him in passing after your movie night that you thought you might want to get some sort of piece to commemorate what you’ve done so far in coming to Hawkins and reopening the shop. Had even spent the time to ruminate about what exactly you wanted to do a bunch, when you glanced at Eddie’s tattoos and suddenly it became all that much more clear to you. 

“I’m nervous,” you admit, handing him his change that he immediately tosses into the kids college fund jar (as he always does). “I want to…I just don’t know what to expect, or what it’ll feel like, or—”

“I’ll be there,” he reminds you. “I’ll talk to you the whole time to keep your mind off of it. You might even get sick of me, that’s how much I’ll be talking.”

“I could never get sick of you,” you tell him, wrinkling your nose up at him.

“I hope not, sweetheart,” he says, a little forlorn. You open your mouth to question the sudden change in demeanor when the door jingles and Max walks in, ready to start her shift. When her eyes lift and meet Eddie’s frame, she pauses, not moving any further into the room. “Hey Max—can I talk to you for a second?” 

“Eddie, if it’s about school, Wayne already talked to me and I’m—”

“Privately,” he says, tipping his head over his shoulder to glance back your way. “I’ll see you later, right?”

The two of them step outside and you watch as you hand customers their drinks in piping hot cups. Max crosses her arms over her chest and tilts her head to the side, obstinate as Eddie talks to her. There’s a hardness to his posture, his head angled down toward her as he speaks, one hand waving in frustration beside him. 

You’ve never seen them angry with one another—not in the months you’ve been friends with the group. They’ve always been that of close friends in your vicinity, or even comparable to that of siblings, though you know neither of them has any. But it’s clear now in the way her head jolts as she talks back to him, clearly upset by whatever he’s just said, and his hand comes up to cuff her around the back of her skull and pull her into a reluctant hug. 

He’s pulling back a moment later, tapping his fist gently against her chin and wiggling her head slightly, making her laugh and smile through the clearly evident tears brewing in her eyes. And then she’s hugging him again, longer this time, her freckled face pushed tight against his chest. 

He holds her tighter still. 

“I’d like a medium coffee, milk two sugars, please,” your customer requests, and you’re back to reality, hand curling tight around their money they must have handed to you as you found yourself caught up in the happenings of the duo outside. 

“S-sure,” you say. 

When you glance up, Max is rushing inside tying her apron around her waist and Eddie’s gone. 

Wonder what that’s all about?

 *

 It’s quiet that day in the cemetery. 

Then again, it always is. 

You brush your newly placed flowers in the vase at the base of your father’s gravestone, fingers trailing across the stone slab where his name is written in a blocky font. Your fingers drop to the date of his birth, across the epitaph, and the date of his death. The wind drifts along the hood of your jacket, rustles the fabric against your back, the leaves on the ground around you. You pick one up and twirl the stem around between your thumb and forefinger, eyes squinting as you open your mouth to speak. 

“I’ve really been thinking about staying,” you say into the atmosphere, and the silence is broken. You tilt your head up to the sky momentarily, wondering if he hears you even now where he is. You believe he has to. “Had a conversation with a friend of mine recently. Wonder if you’ve ever met him…his name is Eddie Munson. He’s…well, he’s quiet, but he’s kind. He’s been opening up more, though. All his friends tell me so. But he asked me why I picked Hawkins, and if I was thinking about staying. And you know what—up until recently that idea scared me. Like really and truly terrified me. But I know how much you loved it here, how you stayed here even when it got hard, and I think about all the memories I had of you while growing up…and I start to think that maybe it’s worth it. Maybe it’ll be nice to slow down. I feel like I can picture you laughing at me, in that way you always did, where your head would shake and you’d say ‘oh, girlie.’”

You brush your sleeve against your eye, collecting the tear you refuse to let fall. “All this time, I’ve thought home was a place. I think that’s why I always move around; I never could figure that out. What makes home home, you know? But I’ve got these friends and they’re wonderful and warm and bright, and they’ve started to feel like that for me. I look forward to the end of my day when I can just see them, get to know them, and be an active participant in their lives. I haven’t had that before, but I think back to how everyone in town used to see you and wave when we’d go on our walks, and I’ve started to think that I want that. To plant myself and finally just …grow in one place. What do you think about that, gramps?”

You pause, dropping your gaze back down to his grave stone. You can still picture his face even now,  the wrinkles around his eyes and mouth, the sound of his laughter, the tone of his voice. You can picture the sticky fondness of his kiss upon your forehead, as he croons how proud he is of you, tells you how much he loves you, that you’re his ‘girlie.’

The wind tickles your cheek. A gentle hum that trickles on by, ruffles the ends of your hair.

“I think so, too,” you tell him, standing to your feet. You adjust the flowers once more and make sure they’re in place, stepping back to make sure they’re just right and say, “I’ll see you soon, okay. Love you so much.”

You’re about to head back to your car when you see Max sitting in the distance, body between two gravestones. She’s mouthing to them— both of them, with her head low and a smile on her face. Her glasses she usually wears are sliding down the bridge of her nose, fingers coming up to press them back into place when she finally glances your way, raising her fingers in a silent greeting. 

Sensing your hesitance, she calls your name into the open air and you walk the short distance between you, boots crunching loudly against the freshly fallen leaves. As you lower yourself down beside her, your eyes trail the names on the two headstones. 

One Susan, the other Billy. 

Loving mother on one. 

Beloved son and brother on the other. 

Your heart splinters in your chest, but you don’t let it show on your face, instead you train your eyes forward and wait until she says something. 

Fortunately, it doesn’t take long before she’s asking, “You came to visit your grandpa?”

“Yeah,” you kick your feet out in front of you, tattered boots crushing leaves beneath them. “I try to come once a week if I can. Tell him about my week.”

Max nods, as if she understands, and it hurts you because she shouldn’t know this grief. Not now, not at her age, not ever really. And still, she stares at her mother’s name all the same, and the brother she had loved and lost, and anguish rushes over you in waves. 

“My mom,” she says, pointing to the stone on her left. “And then my asshole step brother.” She says the second part with a chuckle, and your heart clenches at the affection that seeps into her tone when she does so. 

Your eyes scan the dates. One is July fourth of 1985, and the other March twenty seventh, 1986. 

It’s that same date you keep hearing about over and over again. 

What happened that day to have hurt so many people? 

Changed so many lives?

“I’m so sorry, Max,” you breathe out, scooting closer to her. 

“Billy died in the mall fire back in July. He was an asshole, but he was my step-brother and I loved him,” she says firmly, like she wants you to believe her, but you don’t need any convincing. You can see it in her eyes, the love she bore that boy. 

So young. He was so young.

“And then it happened in the earthquakes for my mom, but I hadn’t been awake for it,” she continues to say. “I was in the hospital. Eddie and I both, actually.”

“Max.” Your exhale is shaky. Broken. Watery. 

“Both our hearts stopped that night,” she says, chuckling a little bit. “Mine right before all the earthquakes, and then his heart stopped in the hospital on the table when they were trying to save him.” 

You don’t know what to say. 

There aren’t even words that can express the feelings that swirl endlessly in your mind. 

The reality that both Max and Eddie had died, however brief, but died nevertheless. 

Two people that have changed your life in a short period of time for the better almost were snubbed out before you ever got the chance to know either of them. 

“Figures that’s why we’re so close now,” Max says, fingers reaching down to pick at the grass there. It’s starting to die with the chillier weather. 

“I didn’t know that you were so close,” you admit, the leaf in your hand twirling as your fingers shift it around and around and around again. “I saw you two talking at work.”

“He’s kind of like my brother now…in a weird, dysfunctional kind of way.” She shrugs, glancing up to the sky. “His Uncle Wayne met one of our other friends, Hopper, when I was in the hospital. He was visiting Eddie a bunch while he was recovering, so they saw each other often. And then I guess…I don’t know, because I was unconscious for most of it, Wayne offered to try and petition to be my guardian. He has…really good insurance because of where he works. My dad’s been shitty for as long as I can remember, so it apparently wasn’t that hard. I don’t really understand all the legal stuff. So I’ve been living with Wayne for…over a year now?”

You’re silent. Stunned silence. 

“I got really lucky in a crap situation,” she says a little breathlessly, tucking her head against her knees, her freckled face shifting enough where you can see the blue of her eyes. “It’s why I really needed this job. I hate him having to pay for me, so I try to help where I can. Eddie’s an annoying little shit and also pays for my crap too, no matter how much I tell him I’ve got it. He already moved out so I could take his bedroom. So I just wanted to say thanks.”

You swallow thickly, trying to imagine what it must have been like to have been in Max’s situation. Unconscious in the hospital for ages, unknowing that her mother had died, and that she’s been taken in by someone she barely knew. And then there’s the fact of Eddie, trying to care for her, always putting others' needs before his own. Moving out of the room you know he’d spent the better portion of his life in from what he’s chosen to share with you. 

“Of course, Max,” you whisper softly, offering her a smile. Catching the downturn of her lips, you smirk. “I’m guessing that’s why you’re always trying to force something between the two of us. You’ve got that little sister role down.”

“I’m sorry about that.” Her cheeks flush bright red, hand coming up to brush at a stray hair that blows in the wind. “He’s just—he’s been through so much shit and he didn’t deserve any of it, and people are so shitty to him, so when I saw you being nice to him and him opening up again I figured…maybe something could happen.”

“You really care about him,” you say. It’s not a question. 

She dips her head. “Yeah. Don’t know when it happened, but yeah I do.”

And you suppose you understand. 

In the time you’ve known Eddie, you only know his heart to be kind and open and generous. 

He’s been there to lend a helping hand, to help you with your apartment, to reassure you when scared. He’s been steely and rough around the edges, but he’s opened up. Really and truly started to bare his soul to you in a way you know he doesn’t frequently do so with much of anyone at all these days. 

But you don’t want to tell Max the depth of your feelings. The swirling and hum that settles within your gut as of late when you’re near him. The wonder of ‘what if’ lingering in the spaces between the two of you. 

The line between friendship and the something more you felt the beginnings of at the end of summer. 

So you offer her solace with, “I really care for him, Max. Don’t worry. And I’m here for you, no matter what you need. Always, okay?”

She whispers a quiet thank you, and you sit in silence, honoring her loved ones lost. 

 *

 The Mad Tatter sits just outside of Hawkins, about twenty minutes from both the Hideout and Sunshine Coffee. Eddie sits in the van beside you, watching your foot as it taps along the floor, an endless tap tap tap of nervousness that bubbles and bursts along your skin. 

“Are you ready to go in? Your appointment is soon.” His head shifts just enough to look at you, those dark eyes of his warm and welcoming before you. “It’s going to be okay. You’ll look at me the whole time and you’ll barely feel it. And the sketches look great. Plus, I know the artist; they helped with my tattoos after…my accident. I wouldn’t take you just anywhere. I actually care about you, in case you forgot.”

Your hands slide along your jeans, sweat pooling in the hollow of your throat at the nerves jumping to life in your belly. Eddie’s words are a comfort, but they do little to quell the impending worry of what to expect, whether or not it’s going to hurt, and if you’ll be able to sit for the whole tattoo process. 

But it’s Eddie, and you do trust him, so you dip your head as you follow him into the building and begin the process of filling out what seems to be heaps of paperwork for the ink that’s about to be permanently etched into your skin. 

Eddie stands near the counter, talking amongst the workers, showing off the pieces you assume they’ve done for hom along various places of his body. He’s boisterous, all raucous laughter and head tipping to the ceiling with them. 

Livelier, now that he’s no longer in Hawkins. 

You wonder what that’s about. 

Once you’re done, however, you have little to focus on other than the various drawings of tattoos along the walls. Tiny sketches that mimic those in the endless books laid out for all the artists' works and their individual tattoo styles. 

Eddie had referred you to his friend, Theo, who had apparently worked on some of his newer stuff. Especially the still in progress pieces meant to cover up some of the visible scars he has along his arms.

Your name is called and you’re introduced to a man with a trimmed beard and a pair of oversized glasses, hands already snapping a pair of gloves into place as he preps your skin to be ready for the piece he’s created for you. 

It’s two daisies, like those that scrawl underneath the title of your coffee shop, set to be inked just above the crook of your elbow along the flesh of your bicep. 

Dainty line work and delicate shading, from what you can see of the stencil he places against your skin. 

“Before we start, how do you feel about it? Placement and everything,” Theo asks, but you’re turning to look at your reflection in the mirror, and then over to Eddie beside you. “I can give you a second?”

He steps away just over to the front counter, and you turn to look at Eddie once more, eyes wide as your gaze drops down to your bicep then back up at his eyes. ���It’s good, right?”

“How do you feel about it?” Eddie asks you. “It’s going on your body.”

“The design is perfect. Exactly what I wanted,” you say, glancing down at the design once more. “He did a really great job with it. I’m just…scared, I guess.”

“What if I hold your hand?” he asks, his fingers already reaching for your own. You reach down and feel his fingers lace within yours, the weight of them heavy in your palm, and then settling against your thigh when you drag it down to rest there. “Are you ready? Just remember that I’ve got you, okay? No matter what.”

Your head dips once. “I guess as I’ll ever be,” you say, exhaling shakily as Eddie calls Theo’s name above the quiet of the room you’re sitting in. 

The burly man shuffles back into the room with a stiff nod and settles back down on his stool, prepping all his machinery for the tattoo he’s about to work on. Your foot taps against the table you’re splaying out upon, Eddie’s fingers squeezing tight within your own to remind you he’s there and not going anywhere. 

By the time he’s ready, your eyes linger on Eddie’s face as Theo walks you through the fact he’s set to start. You hear the whir of a buzz coming to life, the voice of Theo asking you if you’re ready, and you nod. 

The first pass of the needle isn’t painful, no. That’s not the word that comes to mind when you feel the first prick against your skin. It’s more like that of something scratching into your skin, like an uncomfortable itch deep within you. Sharp in nature, just like the sounds coming from the machine, but not terrible. 

“Are you okay?” Eddie asks, leaning down close to your ear. His shoulder brushes your free one, his hand still in yours against your thigh. “It’s not so bad, right? Just a little pinch.”

“A bunch of little pinches,” you correct, glancing down at the top of Theo’s head. From this angle, you can’t see the tattoo yet, but you’re sure it’s great because you’ve seen Theo’s work and liked all of it. You’re not really sure he’s really paying attention to you two, because he’s nodding his head along and mouthing the lyrics to the metal music blaring in the room, so you tilt your head back to look at Eddie and say, “I bumped into Max at the cemetery yesterday.”

His mouth drops into a line. “She’s been thrown a lot in the past few years.”

“She told me how kind you’ve been to her,” you tell him, feeling your chest swell with that sticky fondness that’s been growing in his presence as of late. “How you and Wayne took her in, and that you moved out to give her space. I thought that was really selfless.”

You leave out the parts about what you now know about the both of them. That for a moment they were gone, before they were brought back. The fact Eddie’s body had been so broken, he’d needed to stay in the hospital for so long. The fact Max had needed to do the same. 

He gives your hand a squeeze, eyes softening. “Red’s just a kid. Figured I might as well move out, you know? I was twenty-two. Seemed about time to get out of Wayne’s hair. Plus I’ve grown to love the little monster.”

“She loves you too, you know?”

He dips his head. “I know. Closest thing I’ve had to a little sister. Even if she drives me crazy with her stubbornness. It’s why we were fighting outside your shop; sorry about that, actually. Wayne’s too soft on her, plays the good cop with her.”

“So you're the bad cop in this situation?” you muse lightly, wincing at a particularly harsh pass of needle against skin. 

“Someone has to be,” Eddie says, brushing his thumb along the back of your hand. Awareness prickles there, tiny champagne bubbles dancing along skin. “Took me three years to finish senior year. I’m not about to watch her do the same.”

You glance up at Eddie’s face. The soft lines of his features, paleness of his skin except for the darker shade of the scars that crawl along his cheek and neck, stark against the shock of raven waves at the top of his head. His thick span of inky lashes, framing those chocolate brown eyes that look to you with such affection you feel like your chest could burst aflame. 

Your tongue dips against your bottom lip, your lungs drawing in a deep inhale as you shift on the cot and say, “You’re a good man, Eddie Munson.”

“You’re a good man, Eddie Munson.” The words beat like a tattoo against your ribcage. His brows start to furrow together upon his forehead. A sort of melancholy settles against the lines of his face. Almost like he’s not heard those words before, almost like the mere idea of him being a good man is unfathomable. It burns in your chest to see him struggling with the compliment to his character, evident in the tremor that spills from deep within his chest, a hitch of his breath falling on your ears. 

Your hand still presently holding his own against your thigh squeezes lightly. You stare deep into his eyes and reiterate, “You are, Eddie.”

In that moment, away from Hawkins, away from your friends and loved ones, away from Theo who’s occupied with tattooing your arm, Eddie’s ringed hand comes up to curl around the side of your face. It just lingers there, the pad of his thumb a gentle sweep low against your chin. He just stares at you, like he’s painting a picture of you in his mind, memorializing this moment for him to keep. 

And you’re doing the same. 

Relishing the feel of his skin against yours, of the light and teasing affection, of the calluses on his fingers from the endless hours of practicing his passions for music, the way he stares with his head tilted to the side, just full to the brim with kindness that spills into the spaces between you. 

You’re upset when the moment shatters, Theo’s voice booming into the quiet to tell you he’s done. Your gaze drops to your bicep and Eddie’s hand drops from your face—though it never leaves your thigh—and the two of you take in the new piece before he has to cover it up from view. 

It’s just as you wanted. Delicate line work, two twining stems of the daisies, their petals lightly shaded. Pretty and purposeful. A reminder of your grandfather and the shop, forever written into your skin. 

“It’s perfect, Theo,” you say, staring down at your arm, feeling Eddie’s hand tighten around your own. “Thank you so much.”

“Looks great, sweetheart,” Eddie agrees, and Theo gets to work bandaging it up properly. 

He walks you through all the steps for the upcoming days, steps you’re grateful you also have Eddie remind you of if need be, to ensure it heals properly as you head up front to pay your bill. You thank him again and tip him generously, waving to everyone inside as you go. The workers give Eddie a knowing look and you feel heat bloom in your face, before you’re both heading out into the crisp fall air and climbing into the van. 

“Thank you for…in there,” you mutter softly, lowering the dial on the radio. 

“That was all you,” he says, smirking lightly. “It just gave me a chance to hold your hand again.”

You shove at him lightly, feeling butterfly wings rustle to life deep in your belly. Rapid beats that swoop low against your skin. A peal of laughter spills from your lips as the two of you bask in the newness of flirtation. 

Eddie raises the knob on the radio. His fingers reach out and buckle you into the seat beside him, curls dancing along your collar bones, and you can faintly smell his shampoo from this morning. Something citrus and sweet. A contrast to what his outward appearance portrays. All dark wash jeans and equally dark colored clothing. 

“Ready to go?” he asks. 

“I am now,” you reply, feeling his eyes linger on your face. 

There’s a brief moment where you think he wants to say something. 

Intends to say something. 

But it never comes, and that’s okay because in a sea of uncertainty, you know with Eddie all you have is time. 

 *

 The realization hits you harshly that morning: you want to tell Eddie how you feel about him, how you have been feeling about him, but it’s met with the trepidation of how one might do so. 

“You just tell him, babe,” Robin says when you meet her for lunch that evening, mouth full of freshly baked macaroni. 

“You make it sound like it’s so simple!” Your voice comes out in a whine, at which Robin simply rolls her eyes and stabs her fork into her bowl. 

Her hands move upward to fold across the table in front of her. Eyes firmly set on your face as she says, “Then don’t overcomplicate it. You like him, I’m sure as hell he likes you, you tell him about this revelation and you ride off into the sunset.”

“You really think it’s that simple?” you ask, stirring your own food around in your bowl, prongs of your fork digging into the noodles as you do so. 

“I’m telling you, it’s exactly what Steve would tell you to do,” she tells you. “And sure, he’s not quite found the right person yet, but he’s dated, like, a lot of girls. So he must know what he’s doing.”

“Okay, okay. So I just…come out and tell him.”

“Yeah, I mean you can get a little creative with it, maybe. Don’t you write little jokes and facts on his cups or something?” She glances up at you expectantly. 

“Yeah, I do,” you say, mulling over her words. An idea blooms, then. A smile crosses your lips as it settles and stirs, hand tightening around your fork. “I—I think I have an idea.”

It’s how you find yourself the next day scribbling away on his coffee cup a few minutes before he comes in. You hide it from the kids, making sure none of them see, because if you’re about to embarrass yourself, you would rather do so in private. You can’t fathom to think of them witnessing your possible rejection first hand. 

Couldn’t even think of it. 

And suddenly, just as your hand stops shaking long enough for you to set his cup down on the counter and slide on a sleeve to keep his hand from being burnt, the door chimes and Eddie spills in as usual. 

He catches your wobbly smile at the register, brow arching as you hand him his coffee and he says, “You’re being extra…bouncy today.”

“That’s not a bad thing, is it?” 

He shakes his head. “No, never. Can I get one of those peanut butter cookies you made the other day? I…ate all the ones you gave me.”

You gasp mockingly. “I’ve turned you into a cookie fiend.”

He pats his abdomen, laughing. “Who knew the way to my heart was through my stomach? Although I am going to have to cut back eventually…maybe after the new year.”

You wrinkle your nose up at him, giggling brightly as you reach into the glass case and hand him what he’s asked for. Your fingers brush for just the slightest moment, your eyes lingering on your scrawl across his coffee cup. 

He’s not seen it yet, and you’re grateful for it. 

You almost hope he reads it in private, over when he’s at the Hideout, so you can’t see his reaction. Especially if it’s not the one you’re hoping for. 

“I’ll see you later?” he asks, getting ready to head for the door. 

“Yeah, I’ll be over after I close up shop,” you tell him with an eager smile. 

As soon as he’s gone, you work on making yourself busy. Your nerves feel alight with anticipation. With this fear of the unknown dangling in front of you. 

The wonder of if he’ll mention the confession at all. 

The words you had written in curly font across the side of the cup, saying, ‘Fun fact of the day: I kind of sort of have feelings for Eddie Munson.’  

You can’t take them back now. It’s the reality you come to accept as the sun starts to set over Hawkins and most of your customers have left for the afternoon. 

Max and El have since clocked out for the day, leaving you to close up alone. You find you like it most nights this way. You turn on some music and sing along as you clean. And by the time you’ve finished sweeping and mopping the floors, the place is glowing and ready for a new day. 

Your eyes catch the time on the wall and you flip the sign hanging on the door from ‘OPEN’ to ‘CLOSED,’ your heart already pounding faster in your chest as you slip your apron from around your waist and place it up on the coat hanger. 

You feel like a teenager with a crush all over again as you rush up the stairs to your apartment and look at your appearance in the mirror that Eddie had found you at a store near his apartment and surprised you with. You quickly brush at the mascara that has melted beneath your eye throughout the day, fix your hair a bit, and apply just the smallest smudge of chapstick. 

And then you’re fixing your sweater, adjusting how it’s tucked into your jeans, nervousness pooling in your belly. 

It’s Eddie. 

It’s a reminder you force into your mind. 

Eddie, who has seen you in all states of dress. Who has never once said you look anything but nice. Who has only ever been kind. 

So with that knowledge, you lock up and make your way over to the Hideout, jacket enveloping your form from the cool air, pocketbook bouncing against your side. 

Eddie’s there with a wave as you enter, a glass of wine already on the counter as you approach, with a little napkin tucked underneath it. Stark white against the cherry wood. 

Curious, you think, but you settle down all the same and pull out your current read. 

The Mists of Avalon. A take on an Arthurian legend from the perspective of female characters. 

Another slice of influence from Eddie being in your life, thoughtfully picked for you by him. 

It’s only when you glance down at the napkin a few moments later once Eddie’s done with helping another customer that you see he’s written something there in his messy handwriting. 

“I read your little fact of the day,” he says, his chuckle like music to your ears as he adds, “Probably my favorite one so far, if I’m being honest.”

He pushes it closer to you, the silver of his rings catching in the light. 

And there, on that napkin, he’s written his own tidbit. 

Fun fact of the day: Eddie Munson kind of sort of has feelings for you, too. 

“So what do we do now?” It’s you who asks, holding the napkin in your palm against your chest. You want to wrap those words around yourself like a blanket, joy unmeasurable filling every atom of your body. Your fear of rejection quells and settles into nothingness, because the feelings are mutual. 

A tentative start at friendship has blossomed into something more. This is your something more, you realize. 

Eddie tucks a bit of hair against his mouth at your words, all frenetic energy as he bounces a bit on the balls of his feet nervously. “See, not going to lie to you, sweetheart. I’m not really a pro at this. Might need your guidance here.”

You know, from what he’s insinuated previously, that he’s never been one for relationships. A few interests here and there, always brief. It’s a fact that had been hard for you to grasp then, and even harder now, that people wouldn’t realize the absolute wonder and privilege of being a friend to Eddie Munson. It’s even more baffling that, knowing who he is at his fundamental core, would prove to be a hindrance in his romantic life. 

“Generally, one starts with a date,” you tell him teasingly, feeling your lips quirk upward at the corners of your mouth. 

“Okay, okay. That’s when two people sit around, typically over food, and talk about the weather, right?” 

Your grin turns wry, complete and utter giddiness sloshing around low in your belly. “More or less.”

He smirks at you, elbows dropping down against the bar as he hovers closer. “Sweetheart, I know that part. And I’d love to take you on a date.”

“Is that so?” You hum thoughtfully, folding your arms across the bar in front of you. Your fingers trail the bat tattoo on his forearm, watching gooseflesh pimple against pale skin. 

“How does this Saturday sound?” He glances down at where you’re touching him, his voice a soft husk as he speaks. 

“You’ll pick me up?” 

“Seven sounds good? I’ll switch around my shift with someone else,” he says, eyes flickering to your face. “And of course I’ll be picking you up, I am a gentleman.”

“Sounds like a date then,” you say. 

“Yeah, definitely,” he agrees, and that nervousness wells. 

Bubbles. 

With your spoken agreement set into place for this upcoming Saturday, he resumes work as the bar grows busier, and you drift back into your storybook, letting the words flow behind your eyes to temper the rapid thump of your heart. 

For the rest of the evening it’s all quiet glances from the boy. It’s Eddie stopping every so often to ask if you’re okay, make sure you have water, offer you some food when he hears your stomach grumble from even above the music. It’s all fleeting looks and the brush of his hair against your shoulder when he looks to see what page you're on and asks if you’re enjoying, it’s him simply wanting to make sure all your needs are met, when all you’ve only asked for is to simply spend time with him. 

And at the end of the night, when he helps you into his van and does his normal loop around the parking lot, that an awareness of mutual affection stirs between the two of you. Neither of you speaks for some time, eyes trailing to the moon, the buttons of the radio, the cup holders with various used cups within, his box of cigarettes fallen to the floor of the vehicle, the dangling pine scented air freshener. 

He exhales from beside you and mutters, “You should get some sleep. You’re up early in the morning,” he says, and he’s not wrong. Your start time is just a few hours out now. 

You want to tell him to get some rest as well, but you remember he doesn’t like the dark, doesn’t enjoy rest until the sun starts to rise in the sky. 

It’s one of the areas in his life you don’t pry into.

So instead, you settle on, “Goodnight, Eddie,” and loop your arms around his neck, feeling the weight of his palm against the center of your back as he comes to curl his own arms around you, hugging you close. 

You wish each other goodnight with quiet words. 

With the slow slide of your hands down his arms as you separate. 

The bashful wave as you stand outside of his van, shifting to go walk toward the apartment. 

The shared knowledge that you like him and he likes you. 

And the promise of a date to explore it. 

 *

 The day of your date, the worst thing imaginable happens: you find yourself coming down with something. A sort of head cold that starts the night before behind your eyes with a little pressure, a tickle in the back of your throat, and a sniffle here and there—and by morning, you’re feeling a lot like warmed up death, trying to calm the sandpaper currently tearing up your throat and wishing you had stocked up on more tissues at the supermarket. 

The kids are more than kind, taking over opening up for you. Will and El bring freshly made soup from their mother, Joyce, to your apartment and you gratefully sip at the warm broth to ease some of the ache. But the ache in your bones is the worst part, chills making you seek out the comfort of your warm bed and a sea of blankets and pillows. 

Your television plays in the distance, a VHS of The Lost Boys popped in as a little saving comfort, reminders of the back of Eddie’s van there to keep you content. It’s around then that you hear a soft rap at your door, your eyes drifting to the alarm clock on your side table reading five in the afternoon in glowing red neon lights. You’re not expecting anyone, and you tried to call Steve earlier to tell Eddie that you wouldn’t be able to see him today because you don’t want him getting sick, but he’d only dug into you asking what your plans were for the afternoon and why he hadn’t yet been informed of them. After much groveling, however, he did say he would relay the message. 

So it comes as a shock to you, when you pull your knitted blanket over your shoulders and tug both ends tight to your chest, that when you open your bedroom door it’s to none other than Eddie Munson. Before you can protest that he shouldn’t actually be there, he’s pushing into your room with two giant brown paper bags in hand, and immediately laying them out on your kitchen counter. You catch a few bottles of gatorade, some water bottles, boxes of tissues, different cold medicines. He’s also brought along with him some snacks, throat lozenges, an oven bake pizza, a five hundred piece Star Wars puzzle, and a thermometer that he’s already running along under water before popping it into your mouth. 

You raise a hand to protest, but he taps your chin and mutters, “Quiet. Stay still, sweetheart.”

You huff out a sigh as he comes to stand behind you, thumbs running along your trapezius muscles as you wait for the few minutes to be up on the cool metal currently perched between your lips. You can’t deny that the feeling of his fingers pressing into your skin does feel amazing; especially with the soreness throbbing and aching within every inch of your being, likely from fever. After a few moments, Eddie moves back around to pluck the thermometer from your mouth, tutting at the number he reads there. 

“What’s it looking like, Dr. Munson?” you grumble, swiping a hand down the front of your face.

“One hundred and one,” he reads out loud, eyes squinting to see the temperature accurately. “Maybe one hundred and two, hard to tell on this thing. But either way, your diagnosis is that you're sick.”

“You shouldn’t be here…I’ll get you sick,” you say, but you’re grateful anyway when his arm loops around your shoulders and pulls you close to him, your body just melting into his own.

“If I remember correctly, we have a date planned for today,” he replies, his voice a warm puff of breath against the crown of your head. “And no one, in my professional opinion, should be all alone when they’re not feeling well.”

You sigh against him, pulling back just enough to take in what he’s decided to wear tonight. He’s in a simple black sweater, a thin red line across his upper chest. His typical jeans spread tight over his eyes are on full display, wallet chain dangling silver against his hip. He’s got his hair back, revealing the fullness of his striking jaw, the fullness of his lips, the angles of his cheekbones, the little crinkle around his eye when he smiles, the scars on his cheek and neck visible against the low collar of the shirt. 

He’s handsome as ever, and you whine miserably at the fact your original date got ruined, though there’s some solace in the fact he’s willingly standing there now, keeping you company. “Go lay down, I’ll grab you some medicine and get started on dinner.”

You part from him fully, tugging your blanket closer as you clamber over to your bed, climbing on top until your back bumps against the headboard. Eddie’s diligent as ever, popping open the box of medicine and reading the instructions on the side before pouring some questionable colored liquid into one of the measuring cups given along with it. He then proceeds to grab one of your little breakfast trays you keep hidden in a cabinet and places some fruit onto a plate, along with the box of tissues and a water bottle. He moves toward the oven next, prepping a tray and reading how to make the pizza, his brows furrowing together as he does so. The oven is set to preheat and he’s walking back over to where you lay, the tray in hand. 

He settles it down over your lap and says, “Medicine and water first. Snacks after.”

You sniffle involuntarily, lifting the cup of liquid to your lips and downing it in one swallow. Your face wrinkles at the taste, Eddie already holding out the water bottle, lid already tugged off. You swallow it greedily, wincing at the aftertaste of the syrupy goo that just slid down your pained throat. “How did you know that I was sick? I was going to call you…but I realized I don’t have your number.”

“You called Steve, and if there’s one thing you must know about Steve’s, it’s that he has a big mouth and he immediately called me and said I better get over here,” he says, capping your water bottle once you’ve drank a little more. “Our date wasn’t till seven, so I figured I could go to the store and grab you some things to surprise you with…but then I got a little excited, so here I am at five.”

“You’re going to get sick,” you reiterate. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, and you shift just enough on the bed to make room for him. He settles down beside you, plucking a pineapple from your tray. “Eat up. I’m at your service for however long you need me.”

You sit like that on your bed watching Beetlejuice, your head lolling from sleepiness against Eddie’s shoulder. He’s never one to protest, pulling you closer into the fold of his body as the characters move about the screen and the smell of pizza fills your nostrils, even despite the fact your sinuses are practically screaming at you. 

“Funny enough, Lydia looks so much like Joyce,” Eddie points out, and you can’t help but see the uncanny resemblance. His hand slides over to where it rests against his side and pulls it to his face within his own, kissing the back of it softly as he climbs up off your bed. “Let me go check on dinner.”

You lift your remote to pause the movie and grab some tissues as Eddie walks about your kitchen, compiling some things he knows you’ll need from your various cabinets. “Where do you keep your cups again?” he asks, his broad back covered in black filling your vision.  

“Bottom shelf, left upper cabinet,” you tell him. 

“Okay, close your eyes, sweetheart,” he says, peeking over his shoulder to look and make sure you’re doing as he’s asked of you. “No peeking.”

Your heart dances in your chest, hands coming up to cover your eyes as he moves about your kitchen. You can hear the clink of glasses here and there, the sounds of silverware as he digs them out from the drawer, the flicker of a cigarette lighter, the slide of plates across a rickety wooden table, the scrape of wooden chairs against tile as he pulls them out to make room for the two of you.

“Keep them closed,” he repeats, the sound of approaching footsteps greeting your ears as he brushes his fingers around your wrist, a solid circle of his thumb and pointer as he picks it up within his own, and slowly slides them lower so his fingers lace delicately between your own. “Eyes still closed, but slide your feet over the side of the bed.” 

You do as told and he helps lead you into the kitchen, your slippered feet recognizing the soft tap tap tap of the plastic grippers on the bottom of them meeting the tile. Your eyes remain closed as he settles you down into a chair and slides you closer to it, and then listens as he does the same across from you and finally says you can open your eyes. When you do, your heart nearly bursts in your chest at the sight Eddie’s made in front of you. 

It’s so silly, you think, because you’re eating an oven-baked pizza while fighting off the cold from literal hell, and Eddie’s gone on to make things as romantic as possible for you. He’s picked your nicer plates, glass cups full of ice water, silverware resting on folded napkins. And there in the center he’s lit little tea light candles, because they’re all you have, illuminating your swiftly darkening apartment in a yellow glow. 

“I figured, yeah…it’s not what we had originally planned for today, but I still wanted to do something nice for you.”

“Say thank you to the chef for me,” you laugh, bringing up a slice of pizza to your lips and smiling around a mouthful of cheesy goodness. “It’s perfect. You even set up candles. This is the sweetest thing anyone has done for me.”

“Laying down the pressure already for our next date now that the bar is set,” he teases, sipping some of his water. 

“Next date, hmm?”

“Oh absolutely, sweetheart,” he chuckles. 

“I would say it is very likely,” you chuckle.

“So what does one talk about on a first date?”

“We talk about whatever we want to talk about,” you tell him, leaning forward in your chair. The blanket around your shoulders shifts a bit, one side falling over. Eddie’s quick to jump up and tug it tight around your shoulders, his palm curling about your shoulder and squeezing tight. You thank him quietly and continue, “There are no rules. A first date is whatever we want to make of it, though I really doubt this is your first date ever.”

He shakes his head, the loose curls on either side of his face bouncing about his shoulders. “Not my first date ever, no, but the first one in over two years. And I really want to impress this girl.���

“You already have,” you tell him sincerely, gesturing to the table. You sniffle noisily, earning a soft laugh from the dark eyed boy. “You’re here when I’m sick, made me dinner, brought me all kinds of things to make me feel better…I’d say this is a pretty great first date. Just maybe not ideal.” 

Because you find you really want to kiss him at the end of the night, but you know better than to risk giving him your cold any further than he’s already done so by staying here with you. “So…since high school then. I am so curious to know what high school Eddie was like.”

“Oh, you know, Freak of Hawkins High, leader of the school’s DnD club, not really anyone's cup of tea.” He’s smiling at you as he says it, but there’s a little bitterness that seeps into his tone and catches you off guard. 

You reach across the table to rub a thumb along his knuckles. “Pretty sure I’d have liked him. I like you now.”

So it carries on like that, simply sharing in the comfort of quiet conversation as you snack on pizza. He asks you the simple questions, those little tidbits neither of you is yet privy to with one another. What are your favorite colors? He’s red, a darker shade, and you wonder if it’s because his guitar is that color. Yours, you state, changes often (which he argues isn’t fair if he needs that information for later), but at present is blue; not just any blue, however, blue like the color of the Hawkins sky, that pale shade that signifies a new day dawning. You talk about your favorite seasons. You the warmer months, him those quieter, cooler ones where he can stay in and relax. He jokes about how you’re the sunshine to his dark storm cloud, and you argue that he’s not a dark storm cloud at all.

In the past months you’ve seen him open up, watched him flourish and share with you, learned his heart. He’s harder around the edges, maybe, but there’s a softness he shares with his loved ones—and it’s the same softness he shares with you now. That flash of gold in his interior, a special gift to those who have the privilege of knowing him. That warm, beautiful center of his heart, where you have learned he is kindness personified.

That is Eddie Munson. 

Once you’re done eating, Eddie maneuvers around the kitchen table to drop a kiss to the crown of your head, suggesting, “I’ll go ahead and clean up. Why don’t you shower and get comfy, and we’ll watch that movie while we…start this puzzle?” 

He holds up the box that’s on the kitchen counter and your grin widens, head dipping once. 

“You continue to impress me,” you admit, laughing as he excitedly shakes the insides of the box. It looks to be five hundred pieces, a scene of C-3PO and R2-D2 from one of the movies. “Give me like…fifteen.”

“Take your time,” he calls over his shoulder as he gets to work, sweater rolled up to his elbows. 

You’re grateful for it as you slip into the shower after rooting around for some sweats and a pull over, hot water rolling over your hair and skin. It helps to ease a little of the soreness in your muscles, assisting your medicine with the congestion in your nose and chest. You hum contentedly to yourself and shut the water off after a while, snatching a towel to dry yourself before patting your hair with another. 

Once dressed and dry enough, you slip back out into your kitchen to find Eddie with a blanket folded on your chair and him sitting in the one beside yours, pieces of the puzzle already spread out over the table. He’s got the remote in his palm, ready to hit ‘play’ once you sit down. 

You work in a comfortable silence. But it’s in that silence the evening shifts. Eddie’s more open with his touching, growing braver with every passing minute. Soft brushes of skin when you reach for the same puzzle piece, the heat of your thighs pressing together when he grows tired of the space between you two and slides your chair closer to his. Whenever your blanket starts to fall from your shoulders, he’s there to pull it back up, fingers lingering there longer and longer. And as the puzzle takes form and shape, you catch the way he looks at you out of the corner of his eye. 

This curiosity behind his eyes, a want burgeoning between the two of you. You can feel it— have felt it since he made you dinner and set up a romantic table for you. You bite your lip after a while and say, “I’m not kissing you. You’ll really get sick then.”

He sputters a bit, laughing as you narrow your eyes his way, as if that isn’t what he's been thinking about when looking your way. Have you read the signs all wrong? 

“On a first date?” He’s light and teasing, thumbing at your chin when you force a pout. 

“Remember what I said?” You press a puzzle piece into place, glancing up at him through your lashes. “About there being no rules on a first date?” 

“Except for right now…because you’re sick.”

“Yes, unfortunately.” 

“But next date…”

You dip your head. “Next date.”

He’s all smiles and boyish charm, that dimple in his cheek popping as he glances down at the table to try and hide the grin that slides across his face. Sticky fondness bubbles in your chest, driving you to move closer, thighs draping over the top of his, your cheek pressing against his shoulder as the two of you resume your puzzle. 

Soon enough the movie ends and your clock reads ten at night, and Eddie’s making sure you take another round of medicine against your many protests. He drops the cup in front of you on the table and hands you another water bottle, smiling fondly as you stick your tongue out in disgust. 

The puzzle is still not finished, only about halfway done, and your eyes are practically closing where your head rests against his shoulder. It’s then and only then he starts to stir from beneath you, standing to his feet as he suggests you start to get ready for bed. 

You’re sluggish in movement as you do what he says, body thumping against the mattress as you curl on your side. His head pops up beside you from where he kneels beside your mattress, head of curls beckoning your hand toward his face, tangling with the strands there. 

“Thanks for a perfect first date,” you murmur sleepily. 

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

“I’ll be better for the next one,” you say, glancing over to your television set up. A sad TV sat on a packing box. “I think I need something better for the TV to sit on…and maybe a couch. Come with me?”

“I’d love to,” he says, cupping the side of your head and gently brushing the backs of his knuckles against your hair. “You should get some rest. You’re a little warm again. I’ll come check on you tomorrow.”

You sigh, eyes closing. “Goodnight, Eddie.”

He leans over your bedside, lips featherlight against your cheek. A soft press of his skin against yours, and then he’s leaning back to whisper, “Goodnight.” 

Your head burrows deeper into your pillow, arms coming up to tuck beneath your head, and Eddie’s jingling wallet grows more and more distant as he heads toward the door. 

He whispers goodnight once more, and your eyes grow heavier. 

The last thought before bed is that of all the first dates you’ve been on, this one’s the most special. 

 *

 You waste no time in seeing one another again. Luckily, Eddie’s immune system is stronger than either of you predict, because he never gets sick and soon enough you’re climbing into his van and greeting him with a giant hug as you head to the thrift stores in search of some sort of entertainment system or couch. 

You plan on splurging a bit on at least one of them today, and excitement seeps into your veins at the thought of spending more time with the man.  

It feels like a whirlwind as you waltz into the first thrift store, not quite finding anything you’re looking for. Most of the furniture looks a little too aged for your liking, with holes that seem a little questionable. 

But it doesn’t stop you from shoving Eddie into a dressing room with a bunch of ridiculous clothes. Bright patterns full of color, hats too big on his head, and the most ghastly sunglasses you can find. When he walks out you wish you had brought along your camera, his hands on his hips as he strolls out casually, asking what you think. 

“It’s definitely a look,” you laugh, coming forward to toy with the button on the shirt you’ve picked for him. “I think the hat really sells me on the whole thing though.”

He grips the bottom of your chin and wiggles your face lightly, reaching forward for a moment, and you wonder if he’s about to kiss you, but he only bumps your nose against his and murmurs, “Your turn, sweetheart.”

His choice is worse, you think, as he disappears from you for a moment and rushes around the aisles. When he returns, he’s got this frilly pink dress full of tulle and a hat with plumes of feathers on top, and a clashing plum velvet exterior. Still, you disappear from view and head into the dressing room, slipping the hideous combination on and laughing at the reflection that stares back at you. Endless fabric spills around your frame, and the hat atop your head falls into your eyes unless you keep pushing it up, weighed down by the feathers. 

You drag Eddie in with you, glancing at both your images in the long mirror, his features filling in the spaces beside you. You pull out your camera shoved into your bag and snap a few photos, wanting to save this moment to join the other photos you keep sitting on your night table and bookshelf. 

He tugs you close there and kisses your temple, and your fingers curl in his shirt. You look like a kaleidoscope of garish color, but your joy burns bright, the newness of whatever this is scoring a memory across your heart. 

The next thrift store ends up being a little more fruitful. You don’t tempt one another with hideous outfits; instead, you manage to score a beautiful, barely used looking entertainment system that looks close enough in color to your bookshelf that it should work with the apartment. 

A worker helps Eddie carry it out to his van, sliding it into the back, and the two of you stare at one another over the center console when you’re all ready to go back inside. He reaches over first to grab your hand, slides his fingers through your own after he raises the volume on the radio a bit and announces your next location. 

You end up at a furniture shop where a salesperson immediately asks you a thousand different questions. “What are you looking for?” “What kind of space?” “What color?” “What fabric?” And Eddie’s there to help you answer, his hand in your own as you try out various different couches. 

“I feel like Goldilocks or something,” he laughs after a while, wincing as the two of you drop into the most uncomfortable of the bunch. “The one before this had me feeling like I was about to fall into a black hole. This one I think just broke my ass.”

“Mine, too.”

“Not the one?” the worker asks, interrupting your private moment. “I think the next option might be a good fit then.”

And it is. 

If anything, it’s perfect. Not too hard, not too soft, just right. 

Eddie curls you against his chest later that evening on said couch when you return to your apartment and set up your new things. You’ve worked on your puzzle a bit more and it starts to look a little bit more like the photo on the box, but decide to relax and put on a movie.

His legs kick out beneath him, back against one of the armrests, your side stretching across his chest as his arms rest low around your waist. 

It’s then with the sun starting to set over Hawkins, sky growing a beautiful red and orange color like a burst of fall in a perfect painting, that you tilt your head up and look at Eddie’s face. His profile stares back at you, head turned just enough to watch the scenes playing out on your television. 

Your fingers slide up the side of his face, body moving up and off of him just enough to do what you want to, and those chocolate eyes slowly shift until they meet yours. His head follows suit, tipping ever so slightly to let you know he wants this just as much as you do. 

Your breath halts as he lifts a callused hand to your cheek and slides his fingers along the side of your face until they rest comfortably against the hinge of your jaw. His thumb brushes your bottom lip and you shudder a breath. It’s a gentle perusal as the pad of his thumb slides to the corner of your mouth and lingers there, eyes dropping down ever so slightly to where you equally want him just as much. 

“Can I—”

He’s barely gotten the words out before you nod and he’s leaning down to press his lips against yours. You meet softly in the middle, the plushness of his lips sealing over your own, your own hand pushing further across his skin. 

You feel the roughness of stubble forming along his jaw as his lips move over your own, all gentle presses of skin, heat sparking life in your belly, a quiet hum falling from your parted lips as he pulls just back enough to rest his forehead against yours. He’s all puffy lips and red cheeks, shaky breath panting against your mouth. 

But it’s not enough. 

You lean back forward, claiming his mouth with your own, easing him in slightly. He’s hesitant at first, hand still on your cheek, just gentle caress after gentle caress, until the uneasiness of kissing someone new dissipates into something deeper. 

You can taste the sweetness of the fruit you shared earlier on his tongue as it slides across your bottom lip, seeking entrance, sliding against your own. Can feel the throb of his heart against your ribcage as he shifts the two of you with an arm around your lower back and rolls you over until your spine hits the plush cushions beneath. 

Eddie groans as your fingers curl around the back of his neck, dragging him down closer to you, your body relishing and twisting beneath him at the solid press of his weight molding you into the couch. 

He slows down after a while, soft sigh after soft sigh pouring from his lips into your own, making sure things don’t progress too far too fast. And when he parts, your breath shakes against his bottom lip, eyes clashing with his in the dark. It could have been minutes or hours you’ve spent languishing in his presence, you’re not even certain, all you know is you crave more of it. 

You lift your head just a bit to close the space once more, the smack of a quick peck filling the quiet of your apartment. 

“Hmm,” you hum, nuzzling his nose a bit when he curls a hand around your neck and leans down above you. He does the same, a slide of skin against yours, and drops a kiss to your forehead, smiling against your skin. “Well, I’d say our second date was a success.”

He rests his head down in the crook of your neck, his muffled laughter making your skin warm. You lift a hand to thread it through curls, feeling his arm loop around your waist. 

“How are my odds at a third?”

“I’d say highly probable,” you tease, holding him tighter. 

 *

 The next date finds you at a local harvest festival. It’s outside of Hawkins and all bright and welcoming. Everywhere you look are things to see. From the pumpkin patches, to the apple orchards. There are fresh pumpkin donuts wafting in the air, caramel apples on display, corn being sold by the ear. 

Kids skirt and weave about you and Eddie as you walk through the crowds hand in hand, both of you wearing thick sweaters and flannels overtop. To your right stands a hulking corn maze, and to your left the worker currently smacking their gum between their teeth protects the farm stands and pumpkin patches at the entrance from behind their register for entry. 

Your idea had been simple: grab a few pumpkins and carve them back at your apartment with Eddie and have a cozy night in. That’s quickly turned into a grand event, with your friends trailing on ahead, a prospective pumpkin carving competition on the horizon. 

Steve and Robin lose it upon seeing the two of you holding hands openly, commenting that it’s ‘all thanks to them’ you’re together in the first place. You whisper to Eddie later that it’s not, and he brushes a kiss along your temple when no one is looking to reassure you you’re right.

So you and Eddie set off to look for the perfect pumpkins, perusing the patch with a wheelbarrow trailing behind you as your friends mill about in the distance trying to pick their own. It’s also then Eddie starts this game of making the absolute most ridiculous flirty pick up lines that make your sides hurt from how hard you end up laughing at them. 

In the patch it’s, “If you were a pumpkin, I’d pick you.”

Later, when trailing through the check out lines and waiting with the other dozens of people who have the same plans in mind as you for the weekend activities, he holds up a gourd and bats his eyelashes, muttering, “You’re gordeous. I can’t be-leaf you’re mine.” 

In the corn maze, when you and Eddie end up deciding to split up with Robin and Steve and see who gets out first, he’s tugging your hand to his lips and saying, “You’re a-maze-ing.” (You roll your eyes at that one, but reward him with a kiss when he ends up pouting). 

And later, as you crowd around on a line to grab something warm to heat yourselves up, Eddie leans down to the hollow of your ear, chuckling out, “Want to go on a coffee date? Because I like you a latte.”

You shove at him lightly, waiting till Steve and Robin are too preoccupied in their own coffees to lean up on your toes and press your lips against Eddie’s. He’s warm, lips tasting of hot chocolate, and smelling like those sugary donuts, mixing in with his aftershave and the leather of his jacket, the cigarette he smoked as you stood in line to get into the festival. 

Later, you all stand around Steve Harrington’s kitchen table covered with a giant plastic bag to keep the mess at minimum. You all sip on chilled beers as you crowd about, Dustin there to judge the pumpkin carving competition. You and Eddie choose to carve a Yoda into the front face of the pumpkin, which proves to be more ambitious than you initially plan for, but Eddie’s up for the challenge. His hair is tied back, sleeves rolled up high on his elbows, tongue pressing into his lips. You’re there to gut the pumpkin, arms deep into the cavity to pull the guts from it, the sticky sludge sliding between your fingers. He’s laughing to himself when you pretend to be a zombie, murmuring ‘braiiiiins’ and walking toward him slowly as you hold aloft the gooey mess in your palm, fingers deftly holding a knife to the front of your pumpkin as Steve and Robin look on happily.

Dustin only gags at your public display of affection, groaning out, “Get back to work, you two. This is a competition and you’re being timed.”

In the end, you and Eddie don’t end up winning. Which is understandable, because despite all Eddie’s best efforts, Yoda hardly looks like Yoda and at least Steve and Robin’s pumpkin looks like something. Theirs is merely a grinning mouth with endless rows of teeth, and yet it’s easy to crown them winners and you hand over their aforementioned bet money, knowing you’ve already won the best prize. 

And it comes in the form of Eddie pulling you close by your belt loops later that night, him sighing into your mouth as your tongue drags against his and you tug him closer. 

Always closer. 

“Goodnight,” you whisper. 

There’s a press of his lips against yours once more. 

A seal for the end of the night. 

“Sleep sweet,” he murmurs against your skin, and date number three ends better than you could ever imagine, with his arms curling tight around your frame, holding you close, simply basking in your newfound closeness. 

 *

 You continue on like that for the next two weeks. 

In the morning, you wake and open the coffee shop. Pass out endless coffees and tend to your workers, laugh with the kids, talk with your customers about their day to day. In the afternoon Eddie comes to visit for his coffee, lingers to talk with you and the kids. Reminds Max about her homework assignments. 

Some nights you visit him at the Hideout, sitting near the bar as you read a good and pass him smiles from where you sit, counting down the minutes until you can see him again. Other nights you spend in the company of Steve and Robin, telling tales of your travels, listening to them rant and rave about their jobs at Family Video. 

Some nights, Eddie comes barreling into your apartment seeking you, wanting to be near you. Clings to you with hands, lips and teeth. Presses you against the cushions on your couch, holds you tight as he nips and kisses along your skin, always tasting, never venturing further. But you don’t press him—you don’t wish to push him further than he’s ready to go. He confides in you one night that he’s never been with anyone—not fully, at least. He’s tried things before, sure. Has kissed his share of people. But when it comes to intimacy, he’s nervousness embodied. So you only reassure him you’re in no rush, you’re ready when he’s ready, you want him to be happy. That you want that moment to be perfect, and you’re more than happy to wait for him. 

Some nights Max teases Eddie about where he’s been. Questions a fading mark on his neck nearer to the front of the store so you can’t hear (you always hear). Asks what his plans are for the weekend. Wonders whether or not he’ll be joining her and Wayne for dinner. It’s on those nights he questions her grades, asks if she’s done her homework, threatens to tell Wayne to take away her allowance or phone privileges. She’s always quick with a quip, and he’s all smiles and wit, hugging her despite her protests.   

Soon enough it becomes a comforting pattern for you. 

A daily constant.

Something to rely on every day, because it’s a certainty just like the sun rising every morning, and setting in the evening.  

Work, friends, Eddie. 

Work, friends, Eddie. 

You don’t know when it happened, but you suppose it’s exactly how it was meant to be all along. Your soul sings and your elation hums in your veins. 

Life is good, things are good. 

The shop is growing, you’re thriving, and you’re falling for Eddie Munson in the midst of all of it just like the leaves that drift and tumble to the ground.  

It’s hard to admit, even scarier to accept, and yet you’re falling all the same. 

 *

 “It’s not even fair,” you grumble, watching as Eddie walks out of your bathroom wearing his leather jacket, a dark shirt underneath, hair down and earring on full display. 

You’ve opted for a flowing skirt, and a white tank top you found that looks as close to Star’s from The Lost Boys that you could muster. All in all, you’re Michael and Star, minus the literal vampirism, and ready to head out to Steve’s party for Halloween. 

“What’s not fair, sweetheart?” he asks you, moving about your kitchen to grab his keys. You lock up behind him as the two of you slip out of the apartment, curling your hand around his as he leads you down the steps. 

“That you look like that right now.”

“Speak for yourself,” he says, helping you down the last step, grunting as your form bumps into his own. “Easy there. Look at you falling for me, sweetheart.”

You want to laugh, because you already are. 

Instead, you follow him to the car and pop in one of his Metallica cassettes. The familiar opening notes of one of the songs greets your ears and you watch Eddie’s fingers strum along his steering wheel. 

“What time is Charlotte getting there?” Eddie asks. 

And that’s right, because you’ve invited one of your customers you caught Steve Harrington practically fawning over the last time he and Robin came by. She’s pretty, all long curly hair and striking blue eyes, a dance teacher. So when Steve mentioned you and Eddie could bring whoever you wanted, you had asked the girl and she hesitantly said yes, yet said yes all the same. 

“Look at you matchmaking,” he teases. 

“Yeah well, the kids all have someone. Robin has Vickie. I have you… it’s Steve’s turn.”

He reaches over and grips your hand in his gentle kisses brushing over to the back of your skin. “The fact you’re so thoughtful is one of the reasons I like you so much.”

“Not that I supply you with endless coffee and snacks?”

“Those are definitely brownie points. I cannot lie, sweetheart.”

When you arrive at the party, Robin’s dressed with Vickie in a style that looks like that of the seventies. All flowing bell bottoms, tassel tops, oversized circle sunglasses, dangly earrings. And then there’s Steve dressed up as Danny from Grease . 

The rest of the kids stand about the Harrington home, their little core group dressed as characters from Star Wars, while Jonathan and Nancy are dressed as Johnny and Baby from Dirty Dancing. Her in a dainty pink dress and heels and Jonathan in his all black garb. 

“You two look so good,” Robin coos, reaching up to toy with the curls around Eddie’s shoulders. “The fact you got him to wear a costume, babe, is a true miracle. Last year he dressed as himself.”

“I’d say I’m dressed as basically myself now,” Eddie points out, batting playfully at her hands. 

“He does dress very similarly,” you say, leaning closer to his side, waving hello to Vickie. 

“Still, it’s the thought that counts.” And Robin’s swooning around the kitchen as the older girls flit on inside, commenting on each other's costumes and making yourselves drinks. 

Nancy talks about the journalism department at her college. Vickie mentions she’s happy to just be home for a little bit and kisses a blushing Robin on the cheek. You update them on the fact you’re finally feeling like the shop is making you the money you actually need. And then the door rings, just as soon as Robin’s handing you all red cups full of whatever concoction she whipped up today. 

In walks Charlotte and you burst over to her side just as Steve intercepts her, giggling to yourself over the fact she’s dressed as Sandy, with her hair all curly, a black top, black pants and a little pop of red on her high heels. 

You didn’t plan this part, and yet it’s somehow infinitely more perfect than you ever could have anticipated. You give her a hug and introduce her to everyone before telling her you’ll show her where the rest of the girls are, mouthing over your shoulder at a very smitten looking Steve (and a bemused looking Eddie), “Act natural.” 

Steve only mouths back, “I love you!” 

And then mutters to his best friend, “I think I love your girlfriend,” and is effectively elbowed in the ribcage by said friend. 

Later, after Charlotte’s warmed up and the group of girls has had a drink or two in their systems to loosen up a bit for the night, you find yourself back at Eddie’s side while Steve and Charlotte talk together in the distance. He’s carding his fingers through his hair and laughing at something she’s said, her smile bright and wide across her pretty face. 

It feels perfect. 

Steve talking with the girl he’s been pining over with a new light in his eyes. 

Said girl looking up at him like he’s as wonderful as you know him to be. 

Robin and Vickie kissing in the kitchen. 

Jonathan and Nancy sway as he holds her in his arms. 

The kids outside play with their fake lightsabers, shouting loud above the music. 

And then there’s you, standing with the boy in all dark clothing that makes your soul sing. 

“I feel a little floaty,” you murmur sleepily, pressing your face into his leather-clad shoulder. 

“It’s your good friend Robin’s love for tequila.” 

“Mm,” you hum, nodding. “Probably.”

“I tell you how pretty you look tonight?” 

You shift in his arms, glancing up at his kind face. “Don’t think so. But maybe you can tell me now?”

He chuckles and lowers his face to your ear. “You’re so pretty. And I’m so happy you’re here.”

“Here as in the party?” You ask, face warm still from his compliment and the way it tingles down to your toes. 

“As in Hawkins. Here.” He curls his arm around your shoulders and presses you against his chest. “With me.”

 *

 The next weeks pass swiftly, and it’s only because with the cooler weather, you find yourself busier than usual. You end up hiring another two openers, this way you can stagger out the kid’s schedules and also to allow yourself the opportunity of some flexibility after Eddie catches you falling asleep at the bar one night and suggests you need to take care of your own self too. 

Apparently working seven days a week isn’t sustainable. 

So for the next couple weeks you work on training them up, helping them learn all the functions of the shop, as well as showing them how to manage the money for the earlier portion of the day, while the kids know how to handle the night shift. 

Soon enough, you find yourself able to take a day off when you actually want to, visiting Robin and Steve at Family Video here and there, and Wayne on the days he’s off from the power plant. 

That’s a newer development. 

Since meeting him at Eddie’s birthday back in August, you’ve gotten closer with the man. 

The two of you try to get together just to sit and talk even if it’s for thirty minutes every so often. 

But you enjoy it. He’s an addition on the list of things that make Hawkins more like home. 

Your photo collection grows in those weeks as well. Jonathan helps you develop your photos and soon you have the ones of you and Eddie from the thrift store, Halloween, a photo of Eddie kissing you that one of the kids must have taken when you weren’t looking during one of your ‘family game nights’ at Steve’s. 

Steve and Charlotte have started to date as well. 

You’re not shocked at all by that. It was easy to see at the party they were smitten with one another, and now he’s set to be spending Thanksgiving with her family in New York. He says it’s serious, and you’re more than overjoyed to hear it. 

He deserves the world. Especially for the kind of friend he’s been to Eddie these years. 

And then there’s Eddie. 

Eddie with his glowing smile. Eddie with that sweet dimple. Eddie who comes over more and more to make you dinner, to hold you close, to kiss you until your head spins. Eddie who murmurs his affection low in your ear, words meant only for you to hear, who opens up and blossoms before your eyes, who whispers of a future he hopes you see in Hawkins, paints the picture with his dreams. 

It becomes more and more clearer every day. 

 *

 “Okay, so Max doesn’t like cranberry sauce,” you say, holding aloft the grocery list in your hand. “Should we just forget about it then?”

“Do you like it?” Eddie raises a brow, pushing along the shopping cart beside you. 

“No.”

“I don’t like it,” he says. 

“I don’t think anyone really likes it, babe,” you laugh out, gasping in shock when Eddie grips your hand and tugs you against his chest. “We’re in a store.”

He presses a kiss to your lips. “You didn’t say hello.”

“I did. Many times.” You lean up and kiss him once more, pulling back to whisper, “Hello.”

His fingers curl around the belt loops of your jeans, tugging you close in a hug, his hand sliding just slightly into your back pocket. The aisles are empty, and to anyone who might pass, you look like just another couple in the honeymoon phase. All bright colors behind your eyes, whimsy, kiss stained lips. Girlish giggles and boyish laughter between closely bent together faces, hands brushing, fingers trailing, that constant need-to-touch behavior. 

“I just want to make a good impression,” you remind him once the two of you have separated. “It’s my first Thanksgiving with…well, with family in a long time. I don’t want to mess it up.”

“It’s Max and Wayne…who both already love you.”

“I know, but I just think it should be perfect. It means a lot to me, Eddie.”

“I know, sweetheart,” he says softly. 

And he does. 

You’d whispered to him the night he mentioned to you how Wayne wanted you to spend Thanksgiving with them that the invitation alone meant more than words could say. Your own family had never been one for the festivities. They’d often travel somewhere tropical and have whatever food was offered there to celebrate, and often left you behind because it was generally under the guise of a ‘business trip.’ 

But that traditional Thanksgiving. The Thanksgiving you’ve seen only in movies…that’s the kind you want that year. The kind full of family and friendship, of the people that make you happiest, the ones that make you feel warm. 

“It’s going to be perfect,” he promises, lowering his hand to the small of your back, his lips a gentle brush against your temple. 

You walk in and out of the aisles in search of everything you need, talking amongst yourselves, merely enjoying the day together. And you’re ready to check out when you see a woman with a shock of blonde curly hair standing behind you in line staring at Eddie like she knows him, like she loathes him. 

He doesn’t see her at first, but you do, watching as the cashier works on ringing everything up and Eddie stands at the end of the belt to pay. 

“You shouldn’t be with him,” she says out loud. 

You’re not sure she’s talking to you. 

And why would she? 

She doesn’t know him. 

You merely nod your head and glance away, uncomfortable. 

“He’s not a good man.”

There’s that voice again. 

That haunted sounding voice that makes your blood run cold, but not because the words hold any weight, but because of the hollow tone to them. 

You move further away from her, glancing at Eddie who is still caught up with whatever the cashier is talking to him about. Apparently they share an interest for metal and were talking about the upcoming concert the younger boy was planning on going to. 

“Miss, I really think you should kindly mind your business,” you say as nicely as possible, your voice high and tight at the end. 

It’s then Eddie finally hears you, eyes darting to your face, and then further still over your shoulder. His mouth drops open as he meets the woman’s eyes, handing the cashier his money so the two of you can get the hell out of there.  

“You shouldn’t be here, young man,” she says directly to him, and ice crawls down your spine. “I don’t care what they say, you shouldn’t have been allowed back.”

You shove your cart forward and Eddie moves to turn you away from the woman, rushing the two of you out the front doors to the supermarket as she shouts again he shouldn’t be there into the cold fall air. 

Your heart is racing as you load up your car with the groceries, Eddie pushing the cart away into the corral once everything is stowed away. You drop down into your front seat and lock your buckle into place, hand against your chest to try and calm yourself down. 

Eddie appears a moment later across from you, looking just as fearful, but though your fear is for him, his is solely for you. He reaches across the space between the two of you and cups your face in his hands, pressing his forehead against yours as your raspy breath fills the car. 

“Are you okay?” He finally breathes into the open cabin of the car. 

“Am I okay? Eddie, she was harassing you.”

“I’m okay.” The tremor in his voice tells you he’s anything but. 

“Who was she? Why was she saying that?”

“Sweetheart, there’s…I…the things that happened two years ago. I—”

He’s struggling. 

His breath comes quick and staccato in your ears, his eyes growing rounder and rounder in his growing panic. 

Your hands come out to rest on either side of his shoulders, feeling them as they tremble, his mouth working over words that won’t come up. 

They die on his throat, and all you’re left with are the sounds of his struggle. 

“Eddie,” you whisper, sliding a hand up and down his arm. “Don’t. I…would never want you to talk about something if you’re not ready or comfortable. Please know that, okay? Whenever you’re ready, I’m here. But not a moment before that.”

He’s rasping out, “Okay” over and over again and your heart breaks for him. For the fear crawling up his throat and choking him. 

Your anger builds for the woman who thought it okay to openly yell at him in a public setting and left him like this. 

Your anger builds for the woman who left him broken like this. 

“Let’s just go home, okay?” you whisper, sliding your hand down until you can feel his palm within your own. 

You give him a gentle squeeze and he returns the pressure, training his gaze ahead. 

Let’s just go home. 

 *

 Thanksgiving dinner isn’t perfect, but you think it makes it infinitely better. 

The turkey you tried to cook…doesn’t exactly work out as planned, and despite you nearly bursting into tears in front of Eddie over it, he’s there with his arms at the ready holding you close and reassuring you that you also brought chicken wings, and he and Wayne like those a thousand times more than ‘boring dry turkey.’

Dessert is easier. 

You’re good with dessert and end up baking an apple pie and a batch of chocolate chip cookies (the ones you know Eddie and Max like). 

When all is said and done and your apartment smells like a bakery, you get ready for the evening in a simple brown sweater and jeans. Something comfortable for all the food you’re about to consume. 

And as you arrive at Wayne’s with Eddie in tow, all your worries about everything that might have gone wrong dissipate. Because Wayne’s there with a giant hug and a booming welcome, with Max lingering in the hallway a little further behind, practically screaming at Eddie when he rushes forward and picks her up in a bear hug. 

Her head dangles over his shoulder and her fists rap against his back, but she’s laughing, red hair spilling around her like a fire, smiling when he places her back on the ground and pushes her glasses up on the bridge of her nose. 

“Asshole,” she mutters, but it’s said through her grin, before she pushes past him and hugs you too. “Happy Thanksgiving.” 

You unpack the things you bought and lay them about around kitchen counters and tables, Wayne admonishing that you’ve made too much, that it’s more than he could have expected. 

But you wanted perfect for your first Thanksgiving in your new town, and can only grin to yourself as you swat both Eddie’s and Max’s hands away when you show Wayne the cookies you worked on. 

Dinner is spent passing plates over the table to one another, with Max announcing she wants mashed potatoes, Eddie shoveling yams onto her plate, making sure she’s also got vegetables in there somewhere. It’s spent with Wayne telling you stories about Eddie’s childhood. Like the time he cut his own hair and tried to hide it from Wayne for a week with a knitted hat…in the middle of summer (he later took him to a barber shop, where they ended up chopping most of the length off). He tells you about the first tattoo Eddie got and also tried to hide from him. Eddie only balks that he was too young at the time, and wasn’t about to tell his uncle he’d gotten a stick and poke from a friend who was only learning then. 

Max tells you about her schooling, her hobbies. Eddie laughs that she’s always covered scrapes and bruises because she still holds her title as ‘Mad Max,’ as given by her friends, but sobers up when he says he’s happy she can again, and he’ll always keep Wayne’s place stocked with band aids since he’s so happy she’s back to full health. 

Apparently there were many months of physical therapy after her accident to regain full strength back in her body. 

After a while she announces she’s going to the Sinclair’s for dessert, but steals one of your cookies on the way out, thanking everyone for a great dinner. You’re left in the kitchen washing dishes with Eddie as Wayne sits in front of the TV in the living room. 

Eddie’s hand curls low around your waist as you clean up, your soak slick hands roving around one of the plates. “How’s the first Hawkins Thanksgiving?”

“Perfect, Eddie,” you whisper gratefully, “thank you.”

“I’m going to go ahead and get dessert set up,” he says, brushing a kiss against your temple. 

You hum as he goes, singing along to a tune unknown as you work, glancing over your shoulder to where Eddie stands in the living area opening different dessert trays with his hair falling forward around him. And then further, you catch sight of the elder Munson, your heart swelling at how much they already have come to mean to you. 

Both of them. 

It’s a little overwhelming, and a lot scary, but you lean into that feeling. 

You let it roll over you in waves, this feeling of family that grows with every passing day here. 

Dessert feels like an orange glow. Like the heat of a fire warming your skin. Pillowy soft and honey sweet. It feels like candy, sugar coating your mouth. It’s the heat from Eddie’s body rolling into yours as Wayne pulls out Eddie’s old talent show tape from when he was younger. Shaved head, no tattoos, with a more youthful face. Eddie cringes as the three of you watch, his movements along the strings still just as impressive then as you know them to be now, and you lean into his arm to give him a kiss on the cheek through the awkward laughter he lets out. It’s the quiet call of your name as Eddie moves to go clean up dessert and slips into the kitchen. 

Wayne leads you outside with a fresh mug of coffee in both your hands. The instant stuff, he laughs, not like the good stuff you have back at your shop. But you don’t mind it, not at all, as you settle down on a chair beside him, a blanket swallowing your form as you tuck your thighs beneath you. 

“Thank you for inviting me tonight,” you say after a while, eyes lingering on the beautiful moon up above. 

You hear the rustle of leaves pick up in the wind, the sound of wind chimes dancing in the air, the bark of a dog in the distance, a low hum of a car engine as people head back home for the night. 

It’s nice. 

“It’s my pleasure, little missy.” He looks over to you and smiles, the wrinkles around his mouth crinkling as he does so. “Been a long time since I’ve seen my boy smile like he does with you. Grateful for that tonight.”

“Thank you, Mr. Munson,” you reply, feeling your eyes burn. “It’s all I want for him, really. I…I really care about him. He’s such good person, and I know a lot of that is thanks to you.”

“He’s a good kid, despite everything he’s been through,” he agrees, tipping his head up to the sky. “You’ll look out for him, won’t you?”

“Always,” you promise.

 *

 After saying goodbye to Wayne for the night, you tell Eddie you want to go back to your apartment to hang out for a little bit. 

You sit in the quiet of comfortable companionship. Talking about your favorite moments from the night, laughing over the videos from Eddie’s talent show. 

“Looked like a whole different kid,” he chuckles out, recalling the shaved head and lack of ink you currently run your fingers over as he sits beside you. “How about you, what was your favorite part of the night?”

“Just getting to spend time with you all. It felt right.”

“I know what you mean,” he says, his head rolling a bit on the couch cushion to look you in the eyes. “Meant a lot to me you were there. You mean a lot to me.”

Your fingers brush his jaw, right along the ridges of his scar, ever so gently. “You mean a lot to me too, Eddie.”

“Seems so silly to ask you to be my girlfriend when I think about it. But then again, we’ve never really talked about what we are. I just know I’m serious about this, about us. And I know I’ve been a real idiot about certain things in the past, but this is one thing I want to get right.”

“I want this too, Eddie. More than anything.”

What happens next starts out hesitant.

Eddie presses his lips to yours and hums into your skin as you clamber up and onto his lap. In the distance, your TV plays, but right now all you can focus on is the rapid beat of your heart, the flush that warms your skin. 

His hands are hesitant. Splaying on either side of your hips as your knees press into the couch cushions, your mouth sliding over the curve of his cheek, the gentle slope of his jaw. You grin at the sound of the moan that spills from him as your teeth lightly drag along an earlobe, scoring a path down his neck. 

Those hands around your hips tighten reflexively as you mark your path back up his neck and claim his mouth once more with your own, exhaling shakily against skin at the first experimental roll of his hips up into yours, fueled only by natural instinct. 

He’s already hard there, impossibly so, your hips rocking forward slightly against his zipper, hissing low in your throat as heat drags low along where you want him most. 

He mutters your name to stop you as you reach behind you to grip the hem of your sweater in both arms, those callused fingers replacing your own a moment later as he helps you push it up and over your head. You’d foregone a bra as soon as you got home, and you’re happy for it now with the way he murmurs, “Babybabybaby,” against your collar bone, and then lower still at the first swirl of his tongue against hot flesh.  

You yelp at the shift in weight as he flips you beneath him, thighs parting around his slender hips to make room. You feel so very exposed laying there half naked while he’s still fully dressed, but the way he looks at you quickly quiets that fear. 

All dark eyes blown out only for you, gentle touches against skin, murmurs of how beautiful and perfect you are against the hollow of your throat as he punctuates each compliment with a kiss. 

You rock your hips upward against his slowly, his answering groan against your lips before you swallow the sound making heat pool. At the first press of him at your core, just the slightest of rolls of his hips as he grows more comfortable in the moment, you let out a breathy sigh, body practically humming with delight from the nearness of him. 

But it’s not enough. 

And he agrees, because it’s suddenly a frantic clash of lips and teeth. His elbows lowering to either side of his head as his chest rests against yours, his heart thrashing against your sternum. His fingers work deftly at the button on your jeans, zipper slicing into the silence of your apartment as he slides it down. 

Every inch of you burns bright. 

Your lips are kiss swollen, breath heavy, chest tight. You can feel the slick of your center, the need spiking with every second that passes he’s not inside you. And you know he feels it too, can feel it in his kisses, the sounds rolling from deep within his chest, the press of him hot and hard and ready at your core. 

But that’s where it all goes wrong. 

He’s kissing your throat and sliding his hand down the front of your jeans, fingers just barely skimming the line of your underwear, when you decide you need more of him. 

It’s your hand sliding beneath his shirt and running along the first ridge of a scar you hadn’t even known was there that does it. 

It’s like tires on a tarmac. 

The rust of brakes gone bad. 

The scratch of a record as the moment screeches to a halt before things can go any further. 

Because Eddie’s flinching and murmuring, “Waitwaitwait.”  

And suddenly he’s rolling off of you and standing to his feet, breathing heavy and looking up at the ceiling. 

You curse under your breath, snatching your sweater from the floor and sliding it back over your form, reaching for him because you don’t know what else to do. 

“Did I hurt you? Eddie, please tell me I didn’t hurt you—”

“No, shit, sweetheart…no.” He curses again, fingers pressing into the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry. God, I’m so sorry. I just fucked it up, I’m sorry—”

You wrap your arms around his midsection slowly, feeling the tremors wracking his form, pressing your cheek over the frantic beat of his heart. “Eddie, you’re all I care about. If you’re not ready, you’re not ready. It doesn’t change how I feel about you. All I’ve ever wanted is what you want. You didn’t ruin anything.”

“I just…I don’t look like I used to. It’s—”

“Eddie, please don’t feel like you need to explain. It’s okay.”

“I’m just—I look like a monster under there,” he admits, dragging you back down over to the couch. You curl up on his lap, his hands twining with your own, your thumb rolling lazy circles into his skin. “It’s wrecked to shit and…”

He presses the heels of of his palms into his eyes and curses out with a low groan. 

When he pulls them away, your eyes meet his. Your voice is soft as you whisper, “Eddie Munson, a few scars don’t make you a monster. A human heart does, and I know you have a damn good one, okay? One of the best. But I want this to be enjoyable for you too, and I only want it when you feel absolutely, one hundred percent comfortable. Not a moment before. So just hold me and watch this movie with me, because I really don’t want to say goodnight to you yet.”

His arms curl tighter around you as your head turns to take in the movie. “I’m sorry,” he whispers against your head. 

“Don’t apologize,” you reply, giving his hand another squeeze. “I’m here, I’m with you, you’re safe and I’m safe and we’re happy. That’s all that matters.”

Your chest aches, because you love him. 

You don’t know yet you’re in love with him, as you’ve got nothing to compare it to, but you know you love him. 

Nine months of knowing someone will do that. 

And it kills you to think he still sees himself as this ugly monster, when he’s only ever been beautiful to you. It kills you because you don’t even know what it is that’s made him that way. You wish you could take it all away. 

So you settle for, “You’re beautiful, Eddie Munson, and I wish I could silence everyone who has ever told you otherwise. Even if it’s just the voices inside your head.”

He buries his head into your shoulder, his swath of dark curls falling around your face. And if he cries silently into your skin, a few droplets sliding down the collar of your sweater as proof, you say nothing of it, not wanting to upset him further. 

You only hold him close, for as long as he needs— forever if he asked you. 

 *

 The night at your apartment becomes a memory. 

Not in the fact either of you have forgotten, but in that you’re currently preoccupied with making Eddie’s apartment look like a winter wonderland. Your space isn’t large enough for anything impressive. You bought a few decorations and lights here and there for the upcoming winter festivities, but after much groveling (much, much groveling) you find yourself trailing behind Eddie as you walk through the local tree farm in search of the perfect Christmas tree for his space. 

“It just can’t be bigger than eight feet,” he tells you on the way in the car, his fingers curling within your own. “I’m serious, no bigger than eight feet.”

Your knee bounces erratically. And it’s not simply because you’re on your way to buy him a tree, but because it’s also the first time you’re going to his place, just outside of Hawkins. It’s a fifteen minute drive, in a complex full of nicely decorated spaces. Definitely more upscale than anything you might be able to afford. But you don’t question it, and instead focus on the task at hand. 

All around you are towering branches, full trees, sparse trees, trees covered in the snow that recently dusted Hawkins. Earlier than usual, the news had said, shocked by the six inches of snowfall that hit the town within the past day or so. Still, it makes for the perfect atmosphere. Tickled pink cheeks on Eddie’s face, a scarf tucked around both your necks, fluffy jackets on and knitted hats with pompoms bouncing as you walk about the place looking for the perfect pine. 

“What about this one?” You stop to ask, glancing up at the tree before you. It’s likely not as full as Eddie has grown to want, but the color is vibrant, and the height is within his specified wishes. 

“It’s…I just don’t think it’s the one.”

“Well, how will you know?”

“I’ll know,” he says, leaning over to brush at some snow that’s fallen onto your shoulder. 

“For someone adamant against buying a tree, you sure seem invested.”

“Because now that I have the idea in my head, I want it to be perfect.” He turns around and stops you in your tracks, looking down at you. “We never really did the whole…Christmas thing when I was growing up. Dad was…you know, in and out of jail. And mom was usually out of her mind on whatever she was doing at the time. Wasn’t till I was at Wayne’s that I really did much at all. But this year I want it to be special.”

It’s the unspoken words that spill between you that make your heart swell. 

This year he has you. 

The next tree you stop in front of is actually perfect. Full branches, no spaces, the perfect looking height. You’re about to tell Eddie as much when your foot slides out from beneath you and you go tumbling to the ground. Eddie’s hand, practically fastened to yours these days, ends up jolting upon your impact and sends him hurting after you. You’re a swarm of limbs and laughter, your head in plush snow as Eddie’s form trembles above you, his sides shaking from his own mirth. 

An attendant rushes over, likely afraid he’s about to be sued, and asks if the two of you are okay. 

And you’re fine. Truly. 

You’re more than fine. 

You’re all wide smiles and sticky sweet kisses as Eddie leans down and presses his mouth to yours. 

You're wide eyed and joyful as the attendant helps wrap up your tree and fastens it to the top of Eddie’s van. 

And you’re over the moon when the two of you make your way back over to his apartment. 

It’s the first time you’ve been there and it’s not lost on you as you enter, taking in the sights all around you. 

It screams Eddie. 

His living and kitchen area are separate from his bedroom. Already much different than the open floor plan of your apartment. He doesn’t have much other than a cough and TV, a little kitchen set, some nicknacks here and there. Memorabilia from Dnd and Lord of the Rings rest against his entertainment system, and you run your fingers along his bookshelf, taking in the broken spines of the books he has there. They look well-loved and appreciated, worn from years of tender love and care. It’s a little messy, sure, but it’s quaint. 

It’s his and he’s choosing to share it with you at the moment.

The two of you help carry inside the tree, fanning out the limbs in the holder Eddie’s purchased in preparation. It overwhelms the space, broad branches spanning into the room and making it feel full. But Eddie seems happy with it, moving about to the small closet he has to pull out various lights and ornament boxes. 

“Didn’t know you had all of this,” you say, holding up a strand of colorful lights. 

“I was waiting for the right moment,” he says, and the two of you begin working on setting up the tree. 

Eddie puts the radio on, where holiday tunes are already playing, and it fills his apartment with sound. You move around one another, handing each other lights and stringing them up on the tree until it glows in a colorful rainbow of light. And once you’re done with that, it’s the two of you bobbing and weaving as you put ornaments on the tree. Various bulbs of silver, gold and red, spread out messily, and yet still somehow coming together to form something special—something uniquely yours.

And neither of you would change it for the world. Not as you stand back and admire the tree, holding one another close. Not when you begin to get ready for bed in his bathroom, the two of you brushing your teeth in tandem, excited to spend your first night together. There’s no expectations, nothing further than a kiss here or there, and yet your heart thrums speedily in your chest. 

It always does when it comes to him. 

Later, as you walk into his bedroom and take in the sights, you feel that love for him growing all the more. His acoustic guitar in one corner, electric guitar in the other. The various metal music posters for the bands he likes strewn about the walls. His dresser isn’t fully closed, some of his shirts and jeans poking out here and there. And his closet looks to be full to the brim with laundry. But he turns to you in the dark and whispers that he’s happy you’re here.

Presses his lips to yours and walks you backward to his bed. Your back hits the comforter as your kneecaps hit the mattress, fingers curling in his hair as you hum a sigh when his lips connect to your collarbone. 

And later, as you melt into one another beneath his blankets, your body curled against his, his arm wrapped low around your waist, you feel like this is how it has been meant to be all along. 

All your wandering, all your searching has led you to this moment in time. 

You and Eddie, folded into one another, seeking warmth, seeking love. 

Rest comes easy that night.

 *

 Red sky. 

Inky darkness. 

Flashes of light, slicing the dark. 

Whip of a tail around his throat, circling, tightening, choking. 

A crude noose. 

Smack of his back against concrete. 

Stars in his vision as he’s momentarily jolted. 

He can’t think, can’t hear over the sound of flapping wings, over the screeching in his ears.

The whip of tails around his appendages, a painful spread of his limbs. 

Stretching taut, tight like a medieval torture rack. 

Teeth biting into flesh. 

His flesh.  

Over and over and over again.

They rip into him, take pieces of him, consume him.

He’s screaming, screaming, screaming. 

It never stops. 

The pain never. Stops. 

It is waking death. 

Living torture. 

He cries, and no one listens. 

No one…hears him. 

Pure agony. 

Blood. 

So. Much. Blood. 

Praying for death. 

Wishing for it all to just end. 

The pain of it not. 

Gasping, writhing, pleading. 

No one hears him. 

No one ever hears him. 

It’s lonely in the Upside Down. 

And then there’s Dustin. 

He’s crying and asking him to stay. 

Pleading with him. 

Telling him he loves him. 

Dustin loves him.

He wants to stay, wants to graduate, wants to live. 

Fuck, he wants to live. 

But there’s too much blood. There’s always so much blood. 

It oozes from him, bubbles up on his lips, chokes him. 

He can’t breathe. 

His lungs constrict, he gasps, he begs for mercy. 

It never comes. 

Why would it ever come? 

He doesn’t deserve it. Chrissy is dead, Fred is dead, Patrick is dead. 

It’s only right he dies too. 

Isn’t it? 

This is his punishment. 

This slow, painful death. This slow ooze of life into the dirt, this slow plea for the end, this cry for help that never comes.

It never comes. 

His eyes flutter closed.

He wakes up. 

 *

 “I need to tell her,” Eddie says, discarding his cigarette into the ashtray between the two lounge chairs Steve and Eddie rest upon. 

Steve takes a sip of his beer and dips his head. “You mean about the Upside Down? What happened to us in March?”

“Yeah,” he says cooly, his voice carrying in the fall breeze. “She, uh, stayed the night—don’t make that face, Harrington, it wasn’t like that. But I had a nightmare. Woke her up in the middle of the night and I think I scared the shit out of her. Was the first in a while, of course it has to be when I have company and I’m trying to not make her think I’m some fucking Freak.” 

He lets out a bitter laugh that has Steve’s head whirling his way. 

“You’re not a Freak, you idiot. You almost died two years ago.” Eddie winces at the harshness of Steve’s words, but he knows his anger is not directed at him. “We tried to take down some sadistic torture wizard and lost that first time. You had a whole damn town chasing you down like they were on some sort of witch hunt. You were pinned for the murders of three people. You were acquitted, sure, but there are people in Hawkins who are conspiracy theorists who will do anything to paint you as that murderer. You could have ran away, but you stayed because of Wayne and Max…and all of us, too. It’s expected that you’d still struggle with it, man.

Steve’s right. 

He knows it in his heart of hearts. 

But it’s hard to separate that from the fact it happened—that it’s still happening. 

That you had to witness Mrs. Cunningham run him out of a store. 

That you saw him have a panic attack in your kitchen over the bat that flew into your window. 

That he flinched when you tried to touch him the other night. 

That he woke drenched in sweat from a dream of swirling red clouds and endless teeth ripping into flesh. 

“Will you help me tell her?” Eddie asks sullenly, meeting Steve’s gaze. “I don’t know if I can. Not fully. Not all of it, man.” 

Steve nods his head. “Of course. Whatever you need, just tell me when.”

If there’s anything Eddie Munson knows for certain, it’s that Steve Harrington is a good man. 

It’s that he’s lucky he has friends who stayed by him after everything that happened and worked to see his name released from the accusations set against him, that he had his Uncle to care for him when he was healing. 

It’s that he needs to tell you about what happened, because you deserve to know, because he wants to be fully open with you.  

Because Eddie Munson’s never been in love, but he thinks that’s what he’s starting to feel for you. 

 *

 Chance Muller comes in like he does any other day, except this time it’s the afternoon; that’s not typical for him. 

Though your relationship had been fleeting, just the slightest of interests fizzling into a dull spark, he’s not held it against you. Instead, he still visits multiple times a week before his shifts, resuming your normal day to day as though nothing has changed. 

That evening, however, he’s like the cat who swallowed the canary. All overly eager smiles, elbows leaning expectantly on the countertops, looking like he’s having way too much fun for a man who likely only just finished up a long shift. 

You almost don’t want to ask him what’s got him smiling like that. 

Alarm bells sound in your ears. 

Scream at you that something is wrong, though you cannot know what until you ask. 

The shop is dead for this time of day. Eddie’s set to come in soon before his shift, the cookies you made him already put to the side for snack should he crave one, and other than the two patrons sitting outside over a cup of coffee with their dog, you’re all alone with him. 

“I didn’t know you and Munson were dating,” he says all of a sudden, picking at the straw sticking out from his cup. At your confusion, he continues, “I didn’t mean to pry, believe me. I just saw you wishing him farewell early this morning when I was getting in my car. You two seem very cozy.”

You bite at your lip, not quite understanding why he even cares in the first place. It’s not like you two were ever anything serious, and it’s not like Hawkins isn’t a small town anyway. It’s likely people would find out by way of gossip eventually. Still, you make a mental note to be a little more careful when wishing him goodbye. Not even just around your customers but also the kids. As much as you are close with the kids who run your shop with you, you don’t want your relationship to veer too far into that of friendship; there still needs to be that balance. 

That and Hawkins doesn’t really need to see you kissing Eddie goodbye after he’s spent the night. Those moments, so special in their meaning, are not meant to be spread to the world. They’re for your safekeeping within your own heart, and meant to be shared with him and him alone. 

Your fingers brush along your lips at the memory of his lips ghosting yours that morning. The feel of his fingers curling around the side of your neck, thumb tipping your jaw up up up so he could kiss you sweetly. 

Soundly.  

“We’re seeing each other,” you state plainly, moving to rearrange the treats within your glass case into a prettier assortment. 

Your fingers curl around a croissant when he says, “Did he tell you about what happened two years ago?”

You pause on the spot. 

The croissant drops to the bottom of the case, forgotten. 

“I know there was an accident, or something,” you say, humming brightly. 

Or at least it’s what you think happened. You know from Maxine that two years ago some stuff happened that Eddie found himself in the middle of. You know he has scars that cover a large portion of his body, have felt them now beneath your fingertips, know which ones still cause him discomfort sometimes. But you’ve always thought them to be akin to those of a fire or some sort of car accident. 

Because it’s not your story to tell, you’ve respected his wishes and kept the conversation out of your mouth. You have waited for him to be the one to share that with you—to tell you about that March two years ago that changed his life. 

An image, a memory, flashes across your eyes of just days ago. Of running your hands beneath his shirt and feeling him tense underneath your fingertips at those first subtle brushes of your skin against his scars. The way he jolted away like he’d been struck by lightning, by fear. 

“Pretty girl, you’re telling me you haven’t looked into it at all?” Chance asks, shifting his body weight so his elbows rest on the counter and his head tips to the ceiling. 

“Didn’t think it was my place to meddle,” you tell him, closing the glass case shut and spraying some glass cleaner over the surface. 

It sparkles under your attention and Chance only chuckles. “So when you moved here, you didn’t research the place at all? Anything about what happened?”

You didn’t have to. 

People were more than ready to talk about the curses laid over the town. 

Over the satanic worship and the cults that walked the earth. 

Of how the gates of hell opened up beneath the place. 

The deaths that happened in the span of days. 

The ‘Freaks’ that live in the town. 

The girl in the trailer park, with her eyes ripped out of her body. 

You heard about it all and still chose to move here—still chose to take a leap, despite all that stood against you. 

“People talk,” you admit, tossing your rag into a bin to be cleaned later. “Back where I lived before here. Told me I was crazy for moving to this ‘cursed town.’”

“That’s all true,” he tells you, voice dropping an octave lower. “The rumors about hell being here, about all the devil worship and the sacrifices. It’s all true.”

“Chance, stop.” 

“I’m not lying to you,” he promises, whirling back around to face you. “Do you know where Eddie Munson lived? Not where he lives now, where he lived.”

You do. 

The trailer park. 

The same trailer park that’s being rebuilt to this day. 

You shake your head. “I’m not talking about him with you.”

“He’s not safe,” he shouts when you try to maneuver around him to wipe at one of the many tables littered with coffee stains. 

Eddie..not safe?

You nearly laugh in Chance’s face. 

Eddie, the same man who helped you paint your apartment. Eddie who used his bare hands to put together a bookshelf for you. Eddie who held your hand at the fair when you were scared, and then later when you got your first tattoo. Eddie who held you when you were bedridden with the flu. Eddie who sat behind you and showed you how to really carve into a pumpkin. Eddie who caressed your face in bed the night before as if he were holding the most precious thing in the world. Eddie who kisses you like a butterfly's wings kisses the skin, soft brushes, gentle flutters. 

He’s not talking about your Eddie. There has to be another, it’s your only explanation. 

And yet, your mind hitches on the ‘trailer park,’ and the rumors you heard. 

The girl in the trailer park with her eyes ripped from her head. 

Not Eddie; not your Eddie. 

Maybe someone else’s Eddie, and you’re sorry for them, but it’s not Eddie Munson. 

“Four people died,” he starts, walking closer to you. You feel like you’re caught in a trap, his dark eyes chilling you right to the bone. “Four people. They’ll tell you Jason Carver was fueled by jealousy. They’ll tell you that he was so angry that the Freak of Hawkins High had lured his sweet little Chrissy to his trailer that he went on this wild man hunt. They’ll tell you that Patrick McKinney drowned in Lover’s Lake. They’ll tell you Fred Benson, so overcome with grief , claimed his own life. They’ll tell you that Jason killed Chrissy out of anger for being cuckolded. Not his Chrissy; never her. They’ll tell you that Jason tried to kill another girl and her friends, and ended up with that girl being bedridden for months while he died shortly after in the earthquakes that destroyed the town.”

“I don’t…I’m not..” Your words are a babble. 

Your mind spins. 

It reels, because you don’t know what any of it means. 

Why is he telling you this? 

Why does it matter and what does it even have to do with Eddie?

Eddie, you remind yourself, who woke up that morning and hugged you from behind. Kissed your shoulder and told you he’s never felt this way about anyone before. 

Eddie, who you were sure you were falling in love with—a feeling you’ve never truly felt before. 

“I don’t know how he managed it. I don’t know what kind of lawyers he had, but people will say Eddie was innocent in all of it. That he hadn’t been around when Chrissy died, and wasn’t around when Patrick or the others died either. The evidence is ‘too loose and flimsy,’ they said. And the news just fed it to us,” Chance goes on to say, spitting venomously. “You know he got out with no jail time? All those murders, he just got away with them all.”

“You said Jason Carver was responsible—”

“That’s what they told us to believe,” Chance barks out, hand fisting at his side. “But I know Jason, and I know he would have never hurt Chrissy. He’d never have hurt that other girl, either. It wasn’t him.”

“But you said he went after Eddie—”

“Because Eddie killed Chrissy!”

“I think you should go,” you say through a clenched jaw. 

You want to hear nothing more of his delirium. This warped idea he has of Eddie in his mind. 

Not your Eddie, not your Eddie. 

Never him. 

It can’t be. 

“You don’t really know who you’re dating,” Chance warns, cornering you against the countertop. “Three of my friends died that week. Three.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, but it wasn’t Eddie. They ruled him out. They wouldn’t have let him go free if they didn’t think he was innocent.”

“What do you know about it? You didn’t know him in high school like we did. Didn’t know about his satanic club he had. They called themselves Hellfire. How more obvious could it be that it was him? It was right there all along—!”

“Chance,” you shove at his chest, sensing the sorrow and grief radiating off of him as his eyes water and his breath heaves on a sob. “Again, I’m very sorry, but you need to go—”

“What’s going on here?” Eddie calls from the doorway. He’s in a red and black flannel. A sight that would normally make heat pool low in your belly, but now only makes your heart ache because of the way he looks at you. 

Pain, he’s in physical pain. 

Your eyes glance up to the clock, and you breathe a grateful sigh of relief in knowing it’s time for him to head off to work. Another chill slides down your spine at the way they look at one another. 

Recognition flares in Eddie’s gaze. 

Eddie repeats, “What’s going on here?” 

Chance steps away from you, your breath coming in shaky exhales. 

Chance lifts his coffee cup from off the table he sat it upon, tipping it toward Eddie. “Just filling her in on Chrissy…Fred…Patrick…oh and Jason, too. Seems you forgot to. Don’t worry, I took care of it for you, buddy.” Chance glances Eddie’s way, smiling. It’s not a sincere smile, no; it’s the kind of smile that makes your heart stutter, your breath halt in your lungs, because of how empty it is. “Take care.”

He leaves with the jingle of your door bells, leaving you and Eddie in stark silence. You want to scream in your frustration, but instead rush over to him, hands coming up to rest on his forearms. 

He’s unblinking, unfeeling, unseeing as his eyes dart to yours. 

You lean up on your toes and kiss the side of his jaw, dropping back down when he winces. 

Actually winces. 

Your heart shatters at the rejection that bleeds. 

Seeps from the wound. 

“Eddie?” Your voice cracks on the whisper, his form stiffening further as your hand slides up along his chest, over the rapid beat of his heart beneath. 

He’s shaking. 

Full body shakes that make you reach forward to hold him, but he steps backward, head shaking as he chokes on his words. There are tears swimming in his eyes and you feel another crack wedge its way into your heart. 

You whisper his name once more. 

Your hand reaches out to grab his hand but it meets empty air, because he’s slipping from you, out the door and muttering, “I-I have to go.”

And you’re left standing there, with your hand over your chest, heaving out a sob for the man with pain in his face and disaster behind his gaze. 

 *

Tag List: @clinicallyonline17, @sidthedollface2, @lazywillow6748, @idkidknemore, @blue-eyed-lion, @emma77645, @bambipowerblueaddition, @aysheashea, @lezzy-bennet​, 

#eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson agst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x afab!reader #eddie munson fluff #Eddie munson imagine #Eddie munson post s4

[karniss-bg3]

I would like to hear your thoughts about Larian giving Kar’niss female pedipalps?

Personally I feel like it was just another f you from Lolth

Alright so, this is a complicated and detail-heavy topic. For that reason I’ll be splitting this theory into two sections: Technical Aspects & Lore. There will be a TL;DR at the bottom.

Technical Aspects

Kar’niss is a complex model and I imagine the rigging on him was wild. To my understanding his walking animation was done by hand which makes sense. His torso could be motion captured but the arachnid portions needed to be moved in engine. The best time to witness the separation is if you play music for him as a bard. His torso will bob and sway the same as the rest of the NPCs but his legs stay perfectly stationary. I do get a kick out of the idea of the Larian devs trying to put a tiny motion capture suit on a spider but alas.

I bring this up because the pedipalps add an extra layer of complication that the devs didn’t really need. In fact the concept art for driders doesn’t include them at all which suggests they weren’t part of the original design. A lot changed from concept art to the final version it seems. He used to have extra arms, his legs were longer, and his facial features were more twisted. His skin was also darker but it was either changed because he is a Szarkai or because his skin tone blended too heavily with the color of the chitin.

This would align with a lot of the concept art from D&D. There are many examples of driders without pedipalps, both male and female.

All that said, when it comes to the technical aspects, I have a theory as to why the original and final designs were so vastly different: Time. Kar’niss is one of the more detailed models in the game and even the final version didn’t turn out perfect. If you look closely at where his torso attaches to the spider body you can see some model tearing when he turns at certain angels, as well as what I refer to as “tubing”. I’ve seen this in a few games and it’s where limbs or portions of a body thin out to an impossible degree and they look like a squeezed out tube of toothpaste. This could be due to improper skeleton models, broken seams or rigging but as I don’t work in the industry those are my best guesses.

When you have a strict budget and time limit sometimes a development team has to cut some fat. They didn’t have the time to add in the extra arms, super long limbs or highly detailed face model. Perhaps they looked at the final design and weren’t satisfied with the lack of monster features. Thus, the pedipalps were introduced. But since drider are canonically sexless they designed the palps in such a way that they were made for battle; hence the sharp barb present at the tip of each. They are located face level for most races which make them perfect eye gougers or maybe they use them to subdue prey. Palps are also used to “taste” in most spider species and he could likely use them to discern if prey is edible or not.

“Pedipalps contain sensitive chemical detectors and function as taste and smell organs, supplementing those on the legs”

As for why they are female in design the simplest answer I have is that it was an oversight. If they were already scrambling to finish the model then they were likely going for the path of least resistance. Male pedipalps would’ve required a bit more work and either they didn’t think that much about it or chose the easiest design to model. I know about the Kar’niss is trans theory and I’ll be touching on that in the next section.

Lore

Anyone who has followed me for a while knows I’ve discussed drider lore a lot here so I’ll try to be a bit more brief in this section. Drider are meant to be sexless as Lolth didn’t wish for them to reproduce and rise up against Her. If Larian’s design of the palps were with intent then I believe we’re looking at Jurassic Park situation here. Maybe Lolth’s manner of birth control was to make all spider bodies female regardless of the gender of the drow who is changed. It would also align with the Matriarchal society drow come from as well as Lolth choosing to make driders in “Her image”. So yes, a “fuck you” from Lolth would be accurate in this case. The issue I run into is that Kar’niss is the only drider model in-game and so I have nothing to compare him to. I don’t know if all driders in this universe look the same or if there would’ve been a difference between females and males. It leaves it all up to pure speculation, sad to say.

There is a theory that’s been around for a while now that Kar’niss is transgender. While I think it’s a perfectly fine theory I don’t necessarily agree with it. It’s not because I’d be against him being trans, it’s more that I can’t find enough evidence to support it. For starters if he is trans, is he a trans man or a trans woman? We’ve learned that Kar’niss is a female name according to drow naming conventions and of course his palps suggest a female body. The name can be explained as an act of defiance as it is stated that if a man takes on a womans name they are considered troublemakers. If he is a trans woman, why would he ever allow himself to be misgendered?

There are several NPCs that refer to him as “he” and Kar’niss never once barks at them. It’s not as if he’s shy and in fact he’s proven to have quite the temper. He no longer follows nor worships Lolth and he’s under the protection of the Absolute, a cult that allegedly loves and accepts him. Why hide himself as a trans woman under these conditions? Especially in a game that is very progressive in terms of character creation and pronoun usage.

If he is a trans man then the spider body becomes a moot point. Did he transition before the drider transformation or did Lolth change his sex but slap on the female spider body as a way to mock him? Is that why he was changed? I imagine in a drow society where being a woman is a big deal having one that wanted to become a male, a lesser, would be the talk of the Underdark. I’m sure it’s worse for men who want to be women as that could be seen as “rising above their station”. It’s hard to say as modern day gender identity isn’t really addressed in drow lore.

There is a trans woman in Baldur's Gate 3 that the player meets during Shadowheart’s storyline. It can be easy to miss as her past isn’t revealed unless Shadowheart consumes the noblestalk Tav picks up in the Underdark. This is an excerpt from Nocturne’s journal.

“I am Nocturne. I think as her. I see her when I look in the mirror. I can't remember the last time someone called me by the wrong name - Shadowheart has been swift to gently correct slips of the tongue, and even swifter in challenging those who'd use my forsworn name in malice. I'm lucky to have her as a friend. “

While it seems she had trouble in the beginning, those under Shar came to accept her in time as far as I can tell. With this we can at least say that Larian has no issues adding in trans characters but Kar’niss doesn’t receive this treatment. Another thing to note is that Nocturne is voiced by a trans woman, Abigail Thorn. Where as Kar’niss is voiced by, what I assume to be, a cisgender male. In my mind if Larian would take that much time and care for accuracy wouldn’t they do the same for Kar’niss?

With all of that said if people have the headcanon that Kar’niss is trans that is a-okay, I have no issues with that or any other character! It’s simply a theory I don’t personally subscribe to because the elements don’t line up well enough for me. But hey if they ever expand on his story and he is trans that’d be cool. I don’t know if there is a trans man elsewhere in-game so it’d be nice to see that representation there.

Phew, that was far longer than I anticipated but I hope I covered the topic well enough as it has been debated quite a bit in the fandom. Once again I want to express that I believe folks are allowed to write and draw these characters how they see fit. It’s fantasy fun folks, go wild and enjoy your faves as you desire.

TL;DR: I think the female pedipalps are a technical oversight and were only added in to give Kar’niss a more monstrous appearance or to round out his design. I don’t believe he is trans due to the lack of evidence to support the theory. If Lolth had any bearing on the spider body it was likely to prevent reproduction or in an effort to make driders in her image. Overall, the pedipalps are more up to interpretation than hard evidence.

#baldur's gate 3 #kar'niss #bg3 #drider #karniss #baldurs gate 3 #answered #drow #drow lore #theorycrafting #spider anatomy #pedipalps #long post

[spoodrm4n]

Hello :) I have a request for Steve x Reader, it’s based on the prompt of the kids watching them (being all cute) and one of them says “I’ve never seen him this happy before”.

It’s pretty open so write whatever feels write just make it super fluffy bc I’m a sucker for those <33 Thank you SO much in advance, I love your writing!

it's halloween in this lil drabble because i need fall asap!!

It Looks Good On Him

Pairings: Steve Harrington x Reader

Warnings: none! just a whole lotta fluff :)

You found yourself walking through the rich neighborhood of Hawkins with your boyfriend, Steve, taking the kids out for Halloween. This was your first time chaperoning the kids, but Steve had watched them last year, so he knew what houses to hit for the giant candy bars. You and Steve were walking behind the group, letting them take the lead for a bit. 

“You think I can convince one of them to give me a candy bar?” You smiled up at Steve and he laughed at you, eyes crinkling at the edges and grip on your hand tightening. Unknown to you both, the group of kids weren’t oblivious to your conversation or the sickly sweet looks you had been trading all night. 

“Ugh, can’t they just get a room already?” Lucas gagged, turning back around to the party. 

“I think it’s cute!” Max declared, shoving Lucas in the shoulder playfully. “Besides, you don’t think it’s gross when it’s us.” Max stuck her tongue out at him. 

“I think it’s super nice that Steve’s finally found someone for him.” Will shrugged, kicking a rock that was on the road ahead of him. 

“Totally! Y/N is like the perfect match!” Mike agreed, nodding to the two. The two of you continued walking behind them, giggling and whispering to each other. You and Steve had met in High School, but you had only passed each other in the hallway, never really speaking to one another, but acknowledging that the other existed. It wasn’t until you had gotten a job at Scoops Ahoy that the two of you actually started to talk to each other. You both had gotten along well– maybe even too well– and you had developed feelings for Steve. Unfortunately, you had gotten wrapped up in figuring out the secret Russian code and getting stuck in their underground base. You and Steve went through it together and it had ended up okay. The two of you got together shortly after Star Court and had been loving every second since. 

“What do you think they’re talking about?” El tilted her head to the side, eyes scanning the couple behind them. You were motioning with the hand that wasn’t laced with Steve’s as you were talking to him. He was just staring back at you with a soft smile, pure adoration in his gaze. 

“They’re probably plotting to steal our candy.” Dustin rolled his eyes, leading the party to another house. Dustin turned back to really look at the two of you. Ever since Steve had asked you out he had been overall more of a joyful person. He smiled more, laughed more, and the usual tension in his shoulders had disappeared. Dustin had noticed the change and he couldn’t be more happy for his friend; even if that meant he had to share Steve with you. 

Steve leaned down and captured your lips in a quick kiss. You both parted and you giggled, cheeks turning pink. You grinned up at him and continued your conversation. 

“I’ve never seen him this happy before.” Dustin blinked, voice soft almost like he was talking to himself. 

“Yeah, it’s a good look on him. He deserves it.” Max smiled at you two. She liked the effect you had on Steve. 

“Come on, guys! Stop gawking over them and let’s get some more of those king sized candy bars.” Lucas groaned, taking the lead of the party.

#steve harrington #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington drabble #steve harrington x reader #stranger things fic #stranger things drabble

[fatehbaz]

About the lethal world-altering power of "legal fictions of property" and creation of laws in British imperial attempts to control the monsoon-flooded rivers and deltas of Bengal, described in Debjani Bhattacharyya's work (Empire and Ecology in the Bengal Delta: The Making of Calcutta, 2019). Other scholars have also come to similar conclusions about British treatment of Bengal. It's kind of a nice microcosm not just of British rule in South Asia, but also of imperial attempts to control ecology, communities, and imaginations across the planet.

In deltas, shorelines, seasonally-flooded rivers and riparian wetlands, mangrove forests, etc., there may not be clear distinctions between "land" and "water". The boundaries might change every year, every season, sometimes every day, depending on tide, floods, etc. So, if empires like Britain or the United States are to control such a place, there are two different challenges here. One challenge is, maybe more obviously, material, physical. The other is ontological, imaginative, etc., or what not.

---

The material or physical challenge is:

How does the empire tax or administer properties if the property changes seasonally depending on rivers, floods, precipitation, etc.? How does the empire "manage" local social/financial conditions if there isn't clear recognition of a stable title, landlord, authority figure? Where is the solid property boundary that can facilitate ownership transfer, zoning, revenue collection, etc.? How does the empire force people into industrial or plantation labor if the empire can't use the threat of home-loss or job-loss to coerce local people? How does the empire install development projects or extractive industries, like roads, bridges, monoculture/plantation fields, etc., if the land and water are always in motion, fluid, changing?

The ontological challenge is:

Part of the empire's power comes from its ability to conquer the imagination, to capture the future, to insist that there is no other way, there are no other options. Empire is inevitable. And the empire insists that borders are "real", definite, strict. But how can you believe the empire's claims about strict boundaries, about the inevitability of their future, when you can clearly see an alternative, when you are living in an ecosystem where land and water are in a kind of dance, influencing each other, fluid, impermanent?

And the empire doesn't appreciate physical, material challenges. But the empire especially doesn't want any ontological challenges. If you can identify other ways of being, alternative lives, other futures, you undermine the empire's claim to inevitability and inspire others to live otherwise. In a way, a river or a delta or an estuary, they are a provocation; as if they were alive, agents themselves, these environments are a direct challenge to empire's claims.

---

A summary of this imperial conundrum, from Natasha Ginwala and Vivian Ziherl:

'[T]his tropical coastal ecology is a site of continual refiguration: neither sea nor land, neither river nor sea, bearing neither salty nor fresh water […]. The Sundarbans covers an area of 10,000 square kilometers of intertidal zones between parts of southwestern Bangladesh and the state of West Bengal in India. The largest mangrove forest in the world […]. As a landscape, the Sundarbans is marked by unfixity, since its intertidal nature places it between appearance and disappearance – with islands being submerged overnight. […] [T]heir porous quality does not allow for clear border-making. [...] [W]e are met with the trembling instability of borders. [...] [H]ere the coastline becomes indiscernible as a single entity. The legal vexations of such amphibious and obtuse terrain become pronounced in sea-rights cases, wherein border-making becomes the necessity of tenure.' ["Sensing Grounds: Mangroves, Unauthentic Belonging, Extra-Territoriality." e-flux Journal Issue #45. May 2013.]

---

So, those "legal vexations", "wherein border-making becomes the necessity of tenure [ownership]"? That's what Bhattacharyya discusses, how laws become "technologies of property" in Bengal.

Basically, Bhattacharyya describes "the legal processes through which the mobility of the landscape was accommodated into the architecture of ownership" (p. 77); "drying a tidal landscape was as much an infrastructural project as it was an ontological endeavor in producing a dry culture with colonial law as its handmaiden" (p. 83)' "the materiality of the paper" functioned as "a legitimizing object of modern property" (p. 100); the British/US/imperial imagination of rivers were "characterized by a cartographic-mindedness that captures and fixes the spatial mobility. The colonial journey is one of reterritorialization that involves mapping, measuring and fixing" (p. 122).

---

In the tags of my post, I mentioned that the "legal engineering to conquer rivers in Bengal" is also the focus of two other scholars who examine the relationships with water, the creation of private property, and the power of colonial law-making in Bengal:

Kuntala Lahiri-Dutt and Rohan Ignatious D'Souza.

D'Souza authored Drowned and Dammed: Colonial Capitalism and Flood Control in Eastern India (1803-1946), which provides nice coverage from the East India Company, through the Mutiny and nineteenth-century expansion of finance and plantations, into modernist development of the twentieth century.

And I think Lahiri-Dutt sums up this whole situation nicely:

'Traveling through Bengal in the eighteenth century, […] [travelers] saw a highly sophisticated water-based economy – the blessing of rivers […]. Bengal’s essential character as a fluid landscape was changed during the colonial times through legal interventions that were aimed at stabilizing lands and waters, at creating permanent boundaries between them, [...] in a land of shifting river courses, inundated irrigation, and river-based life. Such a separation of land and water was made possible not just by physical constructions but first and foremost by engineering a legal framework. […] BADA, which stands for the Bengal Alluvion and Diluvion Act, a law passed by the colonial British rulers in 1825 […]. Nature here represents a borderless world, or at best one in which borders are not fixed lines on the ground demarcating a territory, but are negotiated spaces or zones. Such “[...] spaces” comprise “not [only] lines of separation but zones of interaction…transformation, transgression, and possibility” […]. Current boundaries of land and water are as much products of history as nature and the colonial rule of Bengal played a key role in changing the ideas and valuations of both. […] [R]ivers do not always flow along a certain route […]. The laws that the colonial British brought to Bengal, however, were founded upon the thinking of land as being fixed in place. […] To entrench the system, the Permanent Settlement of 1793 created zamindars (or landlords) “in perpetuity” – meaning for good. The system was aimed at reducing the complexities of revenue collection due to erratically shifting lands and unpredictable harvests in a monsoon-dependent area […]. From a riverine community, within a hundred years, Bengal was transformed into a land-based community.' ["Commodified Land, Dangerous Water: Colonial Perceptions of Riverine Bengal." RCC Perspectives, no. 3. 2014.]

---

Part of why I appreciate Bhattacharyya's take on it is that she focuses on what was lost, not just in terms of physical landscape, material accessibility, etc., but also what was lost culturally, emotionally. Stories, traditions, ways of being. This is why Bhattacharyya describes this process of British rule in Bengal "a history of forgetting". She says: "And because we forget, it is harder for us to imagine alternatives".

Basically, British legal maneuvers to strictly define borders between land and water in Bengal, achieved several things: Yes, faced with frequent seasonal/annual changes of where shorelines and islands, etc., were located, part of the benefit of this legal defining and clarification of solid land was allowing the empire to map and administer stable segments of property for purposes of taxes, records, and development projects (roads, bridges, canals, etc.). This "permanence" of property then allowed for the opening of the door to financialization, so that investors in London or Calcutta could participate in financial speculation on the real estate market.

Another benefit was the installation of "private" property and strengthening the power of landlords, enforcing a social hierarchy, detaching poorer people from land access, resulting in conditions of indebtedness. Of course, the precarity of debt and lack of access to land then essentially forced poorer people into wage labour, factory work, plantations.

After all, Britain needed laborers to staff its expanding and notorious Assamese tea plantations. And the empire did this repeatedly elsewhere, too: Alienated people by using legal frameworks to force them into debt or homelessness, and then using those alienated people to work in terrible industrial conditions, often far away from their homes. Just as earlier nineteenth-century metropolitan London staffed its factories with indebted and impoverished people from elsewhere in England, Britain staffed its Assameses tea plantations with poor people from central India, and Britain staffed its plantations and infrastructure projects in Malaya with "coolies" and convicts from Bombay.

Outside of these material consequences, there is also the insidious lasting devastation of alienation itself. Emotionally. Loss of stories, songs, traditions, relationships, etc. The river, the delta, the ecosystem that you know and love, is not accessible to you. And so the empire's definitions and traditions are made resolute, the only possible future. There is no alternative.

But the river says otherwise.

#abolition

[frenziedslashers]

Hey, so I saw that you had requests open for TWD stuff on your Daryl post! I LOVED that fic so much! I read it last night and oh my lord, you write for Daryl so well! It felt like I could picture him right in front of me with how well you captured him. He wasn't ooc at all!

Anyways, I was wondering if you could write a part two? Maybe Reader stays with Daryl while he is in the kingdom and they find Carol together. Maybe reader stays with her and she picks up on the signs and tells the reader to get tested to see if she's pregnant 👀 Sorta just want a fic where Daryl has a baby <3 And I feel like you could write that super well! If you are uncomfortable with this request feel free to ignore this! Thank you for the beautiful fic last night 🙏 I will be reading it again now.

Baby, It's Okay

Pt. 1; I Love You, and I Don't Say It Enough{smut}

A/N: Ahh I am so glad that people like it! I wasn't sure if people would be too into it lmao. I had the idea, but I wasn't sure haha. Glad that you think I wrote him pretty in character too! I was a bit worried lmao. Apologies if this isn't that well written. I have been struggling with words lately.

Pairings: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Warning: AFAB!Reader, She/her pronouns used, pregnancy,

REQUESTING INFO || TWD MASTERLIST

Carol reached over to hand you one of the apples that Ezekiel had brought for the two of you. A soft smile on her lips. "So, you and Daryl," she motioned to her own neck with a smirk. You swore you couldn't feel any hotter at the moment. Hands reaching up instinctively to feel your neck, even though you knew you wouldn't be able to feel the hickeys she was motioning to.

She only laughed softly, shaking her head with a sigh. "Don't worry, I get it. I'm just glad he has you," You chuckled softly, nodding. "Yeah, I am too. He treats me better than anyone I've ever dated in the past," "he better. Or else he'll be dealing with me." She commented and you snickered, rolling your eyes with a soft sigh. Carol had always been yours and Daryl's number-one supporter. She was always there when one of you needed advice. Though it was mostly you that went to her, Daryl would occasionally ask or wait for advice from her. She was pretty good at reading when he needed some.

"I'm glad that we found you out here. Daryl doesn't want me in The Kingdom in case they find him. He knows Negan and his men will probably come looking for me next in order to teach him a lesson." You added with pursed lips at the thought of it all. "So he thought me being here would be better. Plus, then neither of us is alone." She smiled at your words. Reaching across the table to hold your hand. "I asked to be alone here, you know?" Your smile was quick to fade at that. Looking her over cautiously, hoping that you didn't say the wrong thing. Or that you weren't intruding. "But I wouldn't ask for anyone else to break those rules than you and Daryl." You chuckled, giving her hand a light squeeze. "We're thankful, Carol. I'll try my best not to be a burden."

You tried not to get in her way for the next few days. Daryl coming to visit the both of you every night and leaving back for The Kingdom or Hilltop in the morning. Promising to return later that night. He always came back, too. You and Carol both knew he wouldn't stay long, though. He loved you, but he had to keep moving. Keep helping the groups prepare for the fight against the Saviors.

"Are you all right?" Her voice was hardly audible as you held your head in your hands. You had just thrown up again, the third time that morning. Carol frowned as she looked you over. "Honey, do you feel all right?" She asked, coming to sit beside you. When you finally processed what she was asking, you nodded. "Yeah, just feeling nauseous is all. I don't know what's going on." "Morning sickness?" You froze at those words. It couldn't be.

You shook your head, dropping your hands to look over to Carol. "What? No, it can't be, I..." You were about ready to tell her that you and Daryl had used protection, but thinking back to it. You hadn't. He'd came inside you and that was that. "I.." you stammered again, the realization of it all finally setting in. "Hun, relax, everything will be okay." She assured you. Reaching out to place her hands on top of yours once more. "But what if he doesn't..?" tears were pricking your eyes. Unable to finish the question as dread set in. "Look at me, Daryl won't be mad at you. This is just as much his fault as yours. He might be a little scared at first, but he won't be mad. He'll love you and the baby if you are pregnant. I know he will." She smiled, and you nodded. She was right.

You both sat there quietly for a moment or two before she let out a sigh of her own. "I can go into The Kingdom today. Get you a pregnancy test to make sure. No use telling him just to find out you're getting sick 'cause of stress. Don't wanna put any ideas in that head of his." She spoke and the both of you chuckled. Nodding your head while sniffling. "Thank you, Carol." "Anything for my favorite couple."

It wasn't long before you had the test in hand. Staring at it with anxious eyes as you waited for the stick to decipher your future for you. To your disfavor, it was positive too. Frowning with a sigh as you tried to rake your brain for a way to tell Daryl. How would you? Maybe you could just wait it out, and he'd notice. Or wait until you were further along to be sure you would stay pregnant and nothing would happen to the baby. God, what if something happened to it? You were so overwhelmed, holding the test in your hand while entering the house again. Staring down at it while your feet led you to where Carol last was.

"Darlin', everythin' okay? What's the matter?" your head snapped up in a panic. Wide eyes stared back at Daryl who was now standing in the kitchen with Carol. You held your breath, hoping that she would say something to get you out of this situation. But when you looked over at her she was sneaking into the other room. Neither of you expected him to be back for another few hours, so you were both surprised by his arrival.

Your mouth opened to say something, but no words came out. A tear rolling down your cheek while you stared back at your lover. You didn't know what to say without scaring him away. You had a feeling that whatever you said or did would send him out the door, never to come back. Even if you knew that he wouldn't leave you. So, when he approached you with worried eyes, you extended your arm to hand him the test.

He was quick to reach out for it. Grabbing and inspecting it. It took a moment of looking it over and finally, he read over the words on it. Finally realizing what was going on.

Daryl's worried brows relaxed as reality set in. Blinking while he stared blankly at the test. If anything, this felt worse than him pushing you to the side and bolting out the door.

"Is this.." He pursed his lips, eyes flickering up to yours and then back to the test. "Is it mine?" The fact he even asked that made you frown. Nodding your head with sad eyes. "Yes it's yours, why would you even ask that?" He only gave you a shrug in response. Trying his best to figure out how to feel about the situation. He was happy, hell. He'd never felt so excited about the thought of kids! He just wasn't prepared for it. Nor was right now the time for you two to be worrying about a baby. It was already a lot making Sure Maggie and her baby stayed safe. This would be a whole other ball game for Dixon.

"So, I'm gonna be a daddy, huh?" He asked, flashing you a half smile as if to assure you that he wasn't upset by the whole thing. You nodded, letting out a relieved sigh while sniffling, which caught his attention real quick. Though he smiled, you couldn't help but worry it was just so you wouldn't freak out. That was too late. Every bad thought you could have was already plaguing your mind. "If you want to, if you wanna leave me, I get it." It was his turn to frown. He hated that you thought he would leave you over this. It was his kid, why would he want to leave?

Daryl put the test in his pocket. Unsure what else to do with it. Living in the apocalypse he had a habit of shoving everything in his hands into his pocket. Once his hands were free he grabbed you to pull you close. Cradling the back of your head with his hand, kissing the side of your head with a hum. "Baby, it's okay. I ain't leavin' you. I just.." He pondered for the right words, and you clung onto his shirt. Trembling a little while you waited anxiously for what he would say.

"I just never thought I'd be able to be a dad. With the dead and all, plus. I just never supposed I'd be a good one." He told you, and you pulled back to look up at him. Reaching up to cup the side of his face. "Dar'," you called, and he sighed. Resting his forehead against your own. "You'd be one of the best fathers in the world. You've proved that with how you treat Judith and Carl, and how you watched over Beth... I was worried you wouldn't want it." He shrugged, smiling softly. "Well, it wasn't on my to-do list, but we can't really do anything else. I ain't leavin' you anytime soon, either. Not over no damn kid. I'll love you and them just fine." He muttered in assurance, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your lips and you giggled lightly. "I'm glad." He nodded, leaning down to press a kiss to your jaw. Sighing while his free hand came between the both of you to rest on your stomach. Forehead now resting on your shoulder. "Can we name 'em, Little Ass Kicker?" It was time for you to roll your eyes, sighing deeply at your lover. Which only seemed to make him smile more. "Daryl," he hummed, pulling back so his eyes met your own. "You aren't allowed to name the baby." He chuckled, sighing while pressing another kiss to your lips. "Alright, fine. You and Rick ain't no fun." And so that was that. Daryl knew about the baby, and everything was going to be all right. He would be sure of it. Or at least you hoped everything would be all right. As good as it could be in this fucked up world, anyhow.

You and Daryl had decided on keeping the baby between the two of you and Carol until the whole Negan situation was handled. Or until Daryl could find a safe place to keep you. Carol would get you the supplies you needed. Such as vitamins, and enough food to make sure you were somewhat healthy. Daryl would spend a lot more time with you, too. The further along that you got, the harder it was to get the hunter to leave your side.

Once Negan was somewhat stopped and finally imprisoned within Alexandria. You and Daryl finally told the group about what you were both expecting. It was like a weight was lifted off everyone's shoulders. Even if it was something that they would have never known until you were showing significantly. It was wonderful to hear the great news after stopping the Saviors for what you all hoped was for good.

Rick had pulled Daryl in for a hug. Smiling widely at his friend. "Never saw you as a father type," Daryl chuckled, shrugging. "Me neither." He spoke, looking over at you as you spoke with Maggie and a few of the others. Smiling and laughing as you talked about the big news. "Guess Abraham was right though, is nice thinking about settlin' down. 'Specially with 'er." Rick nodded, squeezing his friend's shoulder with a sigh. "I'm happy for you. If you two ever need anythin', you just give me a holler. Got it?" Daryl nodded, keeping his eyes on you. Smiling when you glanced over and waved at him. "Thank you, Rick." "Anything for family."

It was a little weird having Daryl at your beckon and call at all times of the day. Once he was finally able to feel the baby, you were done for. Privacy was a thing of the past and Daryl couldn't get enough of you. He had to have his eyes on you at all times. Making sure that you were safe and okay, that nothing would happen to you or your baby. He'd never forgive himself if anything happened.

When he did have to leave your side. Michonne or Carol, sometimes both of them, would be with you. Helping you and giving you the time away from your lover that you needed.

"I don't think I've ever seen him stay in Alexandria this long, he's always going on runs and doing something" Michonne stated. "Well, he's got a baby to take care of now," Carol spoke with a smile, and you chuckled, sitting back in your chair with a sigh. "Well, he's driving me crazy." You huffed, a hand resting on your stomach while you looked between the two women. "I love him, but god. He's been a lot, lately." You laughed, and they laughed with you. "Give him a break, he's just trying to do what he thinks is best for you and your guys' little one." You nodded, shrugging. "Yeah, I guess you're right." "I'm always right," Carol spoke, and the three of you laughed once more.

When Daryl came back from his hunt later that night, you were already asleep. Michonne was passed out on the couch downstairs with a book in her hand. Carol back in her own house. He smiled faintly at the woman on the couch, thanking her silently in his head and reminding himself to do so later when they were both awake. She nor Carol didn't have to stay with you, but they did, and he appreciated that more than either of the women knew.

When he made it to the room he cleaned himself up, first. Showering to get all the blood and grime off himself before climbing in bed with you. His hand instinctively came to rest on your stomach while he curled up beside you. Kissing your shoulder with a sigh. "Hey," you muttered, and he smiled. He should have known you would have woken up. "Hey," he spoke back. Both of you lay there for a moment before you spoke again. "You get anything good today?" You spoke groggily and he shrugged. "Nah, not really." He lied, but you believed him. Cozying up next to him with a hum. "Better luck next time," you muttered, and he nodded. "Yeah," he mumbled, kissing the side of your head.

Daryl didn't want to tell you that he actually did hit the jackpot out on his run today. Not only did he have a deer hanging in the garage to butcher later on. But he also found you some stuff. Some clothes for the baby, some baby food, and even a set of rings for you and him. Or at least he hoped the ring would fit you, if not he'd put it on a necklace for you. He had never asked you to marry him, and everyone already assumed that you were both married if they weren't a part of your original group. Hell, even the original group considered you both to be spouses, so why not make it official with rings? It may not actually be official, but to Daryl, and hopefully yourself, it would be.

Daryl never knew that he would ever be married to the love of his life. Let alone having a pup with them. He'd never been happier with the idea. Smiling softly at the thought of the baby being born. Being able to hold both of you. Being able to teach it how to hunt and track. He had to chew on his bottom lip to hide back the wide grin that threatened to show. Watching you sleep while rubbing your stomach. He'd never felt more normal in his life than now, and he sure as hell wasn't going to let anyone take this away from him. Not Negan, not the dead, no one could hurt his family. Not on his watch.

Not now, not ever. He'd be sure of it, too.

You hoped that he would lay off being protective after the baby was born, and he knew it. But truth be told, Daryl knew he'd only get worse as time went on. The moment he held the little one in his arms, and realized what you both had made. How precious it was and perfect. This little bundle of joy that brought hope for the future. Your future. You'd both just have to grow to live with it because he'd never let either one of you out of his sight. Not in a million years.

"Daryl, we aren't having any more kids," you'd tell him, but Carol was right. Back when she mentioned not to tell him until you knew it was certain you were pregnant. Because even just the thought of a baby might give him ideas, and right now. The thought of having more kids with you after this one got old enough for you both to care for another baby. God, it was definitely giving him ideas.

#Daryl Dixon x reader #daryl dixon #the walking dead #x reader #pregnancy

[bluebudgie]

Oh hi. I heard it's gifs tips'n'tricks time.

View this as a little addition to this post I made a while back.

This time I thought I'd take you through my gif making process. It'll be very specific to Photoshop CS6 but maybe some of you will find parts of it helpful regardless.

And since our biggest nemesis appears to be ~The Tumblr 10MB File Size Limit~ I decided to go for the absolute worst premise for a gif: Lots of stupid wobbly particles and gw2 bloom and transparency effects. Because huge gifs love these.

Aah, a horrifying amount of those in this single scene. Perfect!

Let's start with a little timelapse video, and I'll get into the details with screenshots below then.

So this actually went smoother than expected? Not super much fiddling needed in the end, but here's how it went in detail:

Load the raw footage into photoshop.

You can do this in two different ways: What I do is simply drag & drop the video file into the program and it'll open with a video timeline and some rudimentary video editing options.

What you can also do is File -> Import -> Videoframes to Layers and select your source video, which will give you a timeline of separate still image frames instead.

It comes down to preference, I used both methods in the past but nowadays I find the video timeline more intuitive.

Cut the footage to roughly the right length.

From experience I know that most of my gifs are around 3-4 seconds long. This can of course vary depending on different factors. Don't get too attached to the exact seconds you selected, you might have to shave off a bit depending on how evil the file size decides to act.

Optional: Change footage speed

Depending on the gif and its purpose, I slow the footage down. I usually do this for the visual effect (especially nice for showing off animation details) but it also has the practical side effect that it can help with file size. Say you want a gif that loops after 4 seconds. At 100% speed your gif will move at your original framerate (in my case 60 fps); if you slow it down but keep the same length in seconds it'll logically use less frames. That's less data to blow up the size! Yey.

Crop the image.

Now this is probably one of the most crucial parts when it comes to your final file size, and your gif looking nice on tumblr. Since the tumblr dashboard displays images at a width of 540px, you want this to be your absolute minimum image width to ensure a crisp image. If I can, I'll make the gifs larger (I like starting at a minimum of 600px and then reduce the image dimensions if needed).

With that in mind.... choose your image crop wisely.

A "widescreen" image like this will be the most merciful in terms of file size, but might not always be what you want in terms of composition.

Given tumblr's very vertical nature, this kind of approach will look great in posts (if it fits your image composition of course), but at 540px minimum width tends to be a file size monster.

For the gif I'm attempting to make here I opted for a more square approach. The subjects of the scene fill out the image's space nicely, and it's still a nice size for tumblr posts overall. Let's see what the file size will say about this.

Replay your footage after cropping to make sure you didn't accidentally cut off any motion you didn't mean to cut.

Next up: optional colour corrections

I tend to crank up the saturation for gifs way, way more than I ever would for regular screenshots since I find that often the limited web palette can make them look fairly dull. But like everything else so far, this greatly varies depending on the scene you're showing.

Note that colour correction can increase or decrease file size depending on what exactly you're doing. The more different colours you have, the larger your file size will be.

Reduce image dimensions

Since my original video footage was fairly zoomed out, the cropped area only left me 575px of width to begin with. In an earlier attempt (that I absolutely did not fail to capture and therefore had to record the whole thing a second time) I tried to leave it at these dimensions, but the 10MB size limit did not like that so now I knew better and immediately reduced the width to 560px.

Note: After you've changed the video's dimensions it won't let you edit the speed anymore (for some reason), so make sure you've got that settled.

After all the adjustments are done it's time for the moment of truth...

File > Save for Web...

This beautiful window will open and...

Aww almost.

But honestly? That's not bad at all. I've had completely different disasters to deal with in the past (starting somewhere in the mid 20MB, good luck trying to make use of every size-reducing trick you've got up your sleeve).

Before I do any adjustments to shave off the last few KB though, I preview the gif to make sure it loops correctly. I want the Chak to sway seemlessly. Turns out it didn't, so I back out of the window to remove a few frames from the footage. And when I open the "Save for Web" window again....

Well that's anticlimatic. Apparently those few frames were enough to get the file size where I need it. (Note: Sometimes Tumblr likes to be a little b* and pretends your file is too big when you're this close to the 10MB limit. It be like that.)

While my gif journey theoretically ends here, I want to at least show you a few more things that could have helped if I had needed to get the file even smaller.

So this dithering thing I keep making a big deal of...

It can make or break a gif. In my experience this is so, so crucial to the final file size and quality of the gif.

In my own very amateurish words, dithering is a way to emulate colours that aren't actually part of the images colour palette. This is especially needed for in-game transparency effects like fog, glowy stuff, or smooth gradients. And that is part of why I chose this hell scene of all the ley line glow and the typical gw2 bloom that's particularly bad in this area.

PS CS6 offers you three different kinds of dithering techniques: Diffusion, pattern and noise.

My go-to is diffusion dithering, which has adjustable quality levels.

In my opinion it's generally the type of dithering that's often the least noticeable and creates the smoothest looking images. Unfortunately, it's also the one that creates by far the largest file sizes. Another downside is that it doesn't work super well with heavy DoF/fog etc. effects and is prone to really ugly banding, especially visible the more you decrease the quality. It looks awful for this particular scene. (Look at the glow around my asura's headpiece if you don't know what I'm talking about. Or... just the entire background.)

Both noise and pattern dithering will get you smaller file sizes, luckily.

I've never used noise so far (it tends to look messy in my opinion), but pattern gets the job done! Especially for gradient heavy gifs it's a lifesaver. It's definitely more noticeable than the diffusion dithering on static parts of the gif, but it absolutely makes up for it by not having any ugly banding effects. This is also what gave me the neat little 9.99MB file size in comparison to the diffusion dithering's 15.31MB.

Last but not least, if fiddling with the dithering or image dimensions doesn't help you get below that magic 10MB mark...

Limit the colour palette

You can either manually colour edit your image to use less colours for a more artistic approach, or you can let Photoshop limit the palette to its best abilities.

Additionally you can double click each individual colour to replace it how you see fit. (I've done that in the past when Petthri's yellow eye colour got erased and I had to bring it back manually.)

In this gif's example, reducing the palette from 256 to 128 colours has brought the file size down from 9.9 MB to about 8 MB. It can have a big effect, but doesn't always in my experience.

SHOW US THE GODDAMN GIF ALREADY!!!

Not the best quality gif we've ever seen on tumblr, but given the extremely unfavourable source material I think it turned out alright. I have to admit I'm actually surprised it worked at all.

Oh well! This got long (once again). I hope this was at least a little bit helpful to someone out there. Happy gif making!

#i did not proof read this #budgie plays gw2 #gif

[forever-rogue]

Carving pumpkins with Steve? He’s not that good but you help him and he goes all heart eyes before getting back to work on his pumpkin 🥺 for the spooky requests?

AN | Fall is my absolute favorite time! I wish I had a Steve of my own to do this with! I hope you like it🥺🥰

Warnings | None

Pairing | Steve x Fem!Reader

Word Count | 1.8k

Masterlist | Steve, Main

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

This was your first fall with Steve. As it was, it was also your favorite time of year - and his - and you decided you were definitely going to take advantage of all the cute, fun fall things with your boyfriend. Steve didn’t mind in the slightest; he would do anything with and for you. He was already a huge sucker for you. 

“Stevie!” you pulled him out of his little daydream as he snapped back into reality and turned to look at you. A huge grin spread across his handsome face, stretching from ear to ear as you waved at him from the middle of the pumpkin patch, “I think I found some good ones! Come look!”

“Coming,” he was the physical embodiment of heart eyes as he hurried over to you, almost tripping over some rogue vines in his excitement, “alright, angel, show me your picks.”

“These guys,” you pointed to the ground, where two pumpkins sat at your booted feet. They were big, but slightly oddly shaped, and imperfect in their own perfect little way. You loved them and quickly decided that these were the ones, “whaddya think?”

“I think they’re perfect,” but he wasn’t looking at the pumpkins. He was looking right at you, studying your pretty face as you excitedly explained your reasoning for those particular pumpkins, “are those the ones then?”

“Yes,” you grabbed his arm before leaning over to press a kiss to his cheek, “these and maybe one or two of the little baby ones they had at the front.”

“Well then,” he was practically glowing with happiness, “then we'll get these and those baby ones you like so much.”

“You’re the best,” you sighed contentedly, “these will look amazing once we carve them!”

You were about to walk over and grab one of the unoccupied wheelbarrows when Steve reached for your hand and gently wrapped his lithe fingers around your wrist. You stopped and turned back to him, “hang on for a second.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he reached into the backpocket of his jeans and pulled out his disposable camera. How he even got it in there with how tight his pants were was a miracle in and of itself. He held it up excitedly, “I just want to get a picture! I have to capture the moment!”

“You’re so silly,” you shook your head in amusement as he tutted before motioning for you to pose. You did feel cute today - you were wearing a pair of cute jeans along with a pretty sweater and your favorite boots; it was simple but made you feel cute and judging from the way Steve looked at you when he picked you up, you would have thought you were the most beautiful woman in the world. To him, you were. 

“Don’t argue!” he teased, “just pose!”

“Fine,” you struck a cute little pose as he clicked the shutter and captured the moment. You grabbed the wheelbarrow and hurried back over to him, gently grabbing the camera out of his hand, “come on, my love, let me take a picture of us!”

Before he could argue or say anything else about it, you leaned your body into his, squishing your cheek against his before both of you started to giggle. You held the camera up and snapped a picture of what you hoped was the both of you since you couldn’t actually see what you were capturing. 

“See,” you handed the camera back to him as he watched you in amusement, “now we’re even! I’ll get one of you when you’re least expecting it.”

“Sure, angel,” he picked up the pumpkins and loaded them, waving you off when you tried to help, “come on, let’s go get cute baby ones. And maybe some caramel corn on the way out.”

“Now you’re speaking my language,” you grinned at him, stopping for a moment to admire him. He looked so effortlessly handsome in his checked flannel, jeans, and boots, that it almost wasn’t fair. Steve must have felt your eyes on him because he stopped and raised an eyebrow at you.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you promised softly, “just really love you is all.”

“Oh,” his cheeks turned a pretty shade of pastel pink as he worried his bottom lip between his teeth, “I love you too. A lot.”

“A lot a lot?”

“The lotest,” he grinned as you laughed softly, “come on, let’s get going so we can get to carving!”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It was nearing sunset as the two of you sat outside on deck in Steve’s backyard. You each had a pumpkin in front of you, some knives, and a bucket for the pumpkin guts. You had traced some simple patterns on both of them, one for each of you to carve. 

“I don’t want to brag, but I take pumpkin carving very seriously,” you stuck out your tongue as you spread your legs and pulled the pumpkin closer to you. Steve snorted in response as he followed suit, attempting to mimic your actions, “and when we’re done, we can save the seeds to bake for a snack!”

“Look at you Ms. Crafty,” he grinned as you gently nudged him with your elbow, “I don’t think I’ll be as good as you, so no laughing!”

“I would never,” you totally would. You both knew that, but it was one of the many things he loved about you, “alright, let’s do this. And then we can fully decorate casa Harrington for Halloween!”

A comfortable, warm silence fell over the two of you, only the soft music playing on the radio and the sound of cutting and carving audible through the quiet. You liked that the two of you were able to spend time doing almost anything together and it was still enjoyable. Even the most mundane of tasks became something fun when it was the two of you. Hell, even cleaning and doing chores around the house wasn’t so bad.

After you’d been working on hollowing out your pumpkins for some time you heard Steve sigh in exasperation. You set down your knife and turned to him, immediately fighting back a giggle as you watched him struggle with trying to carve one of the eyes you had mapped out.

“What’s wrong, Stevie?” 

“This is hard,” he groaned lightly, “it always seems so easy!”

“It’s not terrible,” you scooted closer to him, and gently took his hand in yours, “do it like this. An angle will make it easier. Have you never done this before?”

“N-no,” he confessed quietly as you guided the knife through the pumpkin, “my parents weren’t…around a lot when I was growing up so we never really decorated for anything. I don’t think we ever even got real pumpkins. Maybe a few fake ones here and there.”

“Oh,” you knew his relationship with his parents wasn’t great and they weren’t around a lot, but the more you learned about them, the more your heart broke for him. You’d made it a point early on in your relationship to shower him with all the love and affection he deserved, and then some. His parents were just that - his parents, but you were his family, along with the kids and friends that adored him. You turned your head and nudged his nose with yours before kissing him softly, trying to keep your pumpkin covered hands off of him, “I’ll show you, love. And then we’re going to make this the best Halloween ever. Maybe we can even get more pumpkins and put them out everywhere!”

“Yeah?” his expression softened and his big doe eyes grew wide as you just nodded at him. You would have done anything for his man. You loved him more than you could have ever put into words, “I-I’d really like that.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do,” you promised sweetly as he just looked down at his pumpkin with a big smile on his face, “just wait until we get ready for Christmas. Halloween is huge for me, but Christmas is even bigger. I can’t wait to spend it with you, Steve Harrington.”

“Me too,” he blinked rapidly a few times, fighting off the tears that threatened to well up, “thank you.”

“Nothing to thank me for,” you handed the knife back to him, now that he seemed to have the hang of it, “besides, it seems like you’re going to be a natural at pumpkin carving!”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It was only once the sun had set and stars started to litter the inky sky that the two of you had finished. Between the two of you there was a huge bucketful of innards and pumpkin pieces and two beautifully carved pumpkins.

“Alright,” you grinned, “let’s see how we did. I’ll go first…ta-da!”

You showed your pumpkin to him, proudly displaying the gap toothed face you had taken the time to create. You were happy with how it turned out and judging from the expression on his face, Steve liked it too.

“Very nice, as expected,” he clapped lightly as you gave him a little mock bow from your seated position. He took a deep breath before turning his own effort around, “don’t laugh! I worked hard on him.”

“Steve,” you loved the face he’d created with the help of your little stencil. It looked good and you could tell that he put all of his effort into the carving, “I love it! It looks fantastic - and it’ll look even more amazing when we put candles in them and light them up. You’re amazing, love.”

“Do you really think so?” he perked up as you nodded. You leaned across the pumpkins and kissed him softly, hoping he could get even a vague sense of how very much you loved and adored him, “maybe I should carve pumpkins more often if it gets you to kiss me like that.”

“I kiss you like this all the time you dork,” you booped his nose in amusement, “but I love you and our pumpkins very much.”

“I love you,” he agreed with a shy little smile, “I hope we can do this every year.”

“And we will,�� you promised, “we’ll do this every year even when we’re old and gray.”

“Pinky promise?”

“Pinky,” you hooked your pinky with his outstretched one, nodding happily, “always.”

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x you #joe keery #joe keery x you #joe keery x reader #st

[rainbowdaisy13]

Just watched Miss Americana for the first time after learning the lore around the 2019 coming out plans and it’s so much more heartbreaking with that in mind. At the beginning where she says she didn’t have anyone to celebrate the success of 1989 with, like ‘shouldn’t there be someone standing next to me?’ I can’t help but think the reveal was meant to be that that person was always standing in the shadows because she couldn’t be up there with her. And the old diaries and her saying that she always just wanted to be a good girl and will take whatever amount of success until society won’t tolerate her being successful anymore… she seemed so scared there. At the end when she’s asked what it feels like to not be silent anymore, she’s just so elated when she says ‘fucking awesome’. To think she thought she’d be out when people see this 😭😭😭

And all those cute home videos where you never see the other person… it feels so heavily edited it makes me so sad :( Motion capture paint me in a bad light indeed… I need her next film to be more truthful!

Yeah Miss Americana was such a mindfuck as someone who was in the Kaylor/Gaylor space prior to its release. I was convinced (maybe naively) that this was the Coming Out. The whole documentary turns out to be a big nothing burger—like when we really think about it, a rich famous white woman making an entire documentary about how she finally felt brave enough to make a IG post saying she’s democrat…..it very much gives “people are dying Kim”

I’m still of the belief that Miss Americana was always meant to be a two parter—with “The Heartbreak Prince” being Part 2. When in life has Taylor ever used half of a song title without there being a specific reason?

We may never know for sure if the whole doc was 180-ed to be about “politics” instead of her coming out, but what was released definitely felt off and not genuine like we were told it was gonna be

[thefanficmonster]

One hell of a love story

Steve Brodt x Reader (Female)

Warnings: Swearing, Mentioned Trespassing, Referenced Paranormal Investifations

Genre: FLUFF, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: What modern love story doesn't feature a bit of crime and paranormal activity?

When two posts broke the color monotony of Steve's Instagram everyone - except Dylan, of course - was rather surprised. Not so much the sudden pop of color, but rather the content of the images.

The photos being of a beachside sunset featuring a lovey-dovey couple.

What those pictures don't reveal is the long, long story behind them, behind the relationship they display. They show the progression, but not the roots....and the tiny criminal activity they include.

So, allow me to tell you the story, for the purpose of which I will take you back to five years ago. Back before Haunted Nights was officially up and running.

A solo urban explorer and a solo paranormal investigator.

Steve knew it was a bad idea going to this warehouse when he it first came to his attention. Although it was visually in an abandoned state, it was still privately owned and under surveillance. So, despite being very used to jumping the occasional gate or fence to get into places, this one specific instance was a rather clear case of trespassing waiting to happen.

And it wouldn't have been at all like Steve to keep it waiting.

With a backpack loaded with some cheap ghost hunting equipment over his shoulder, he made his way to the warehouse, a mask covering his nose and mouth. He did a great job keeping himself incognito and below the radar as he watched each and every step he took, leaves and branches cracking beneath his feet on a few inevitable instances.

He was well aware of the risk he was taking. But it was a temptation he couldn't refuse. He'd been hearing ghost stories stemming from this very place ever since he moved to the town. He just had to live one of those said stories himself to believe it.

Little did he know he'd live a whole different genre of a story.

Three floors and an underground storage unit and nothing. Nothing concrete anyway. No activity with the motion detectors, unrelated words coming in through the Ovilus and no physical activity. Whatever energy may have been stuck between those walls wasn't intelligent or just wasn't in the mood to talk. So, to prevent his trip and taken risks to be in vain, Steve resorted to taking some pictures of the place and the surrounding area.

As creepy as it looked, it was still a beautiful location to capture a few shots of with the underlying agenda of maybe possibly catching something in the photos he couldn't spot with his naked eye.

He'd eventually figured out a way to climb up to the roof which was a pretty bad idea for several reasons. For one, that roof didn't look anywhere near safe to withstand the weight of a human, not to mention he wasn't particularly sure on how he'd get down without injury but hell, he decided he'd cross that bridge when he'd get to it.

And last, and potentially most, was the danger of being spotted by the aforementioned surveillance.

To Steve's utter dismay, that last one was the one that got him in the end.

He'd taken a seat on one of the more solid looking panels to look through the footage he'd captured when he heard the unmistakable sound of car tires over leaves and gravel. All color immediately drained from his face.

Scurrying as quietly as he could up to his feet and over to the opening he'd climbed up through, he found himself forgetting all his previous concerns regarding getting down unscathed. His decade long experience going into abandoned places came in real handy when he managed to land on his feet rather steadily from such a high drop.

He was in the middle of debating whether to make a run for it or hide until the coast was clear when he heard hurried footsteps approaching, giving him no time to pick either option before a figure rounded the corner and startled the ever-loving daylights out of him.

Except, it wasn't a cop. Something he immediately picked up on from the attire - which included a face mask much like his own and a pair of fingerless gloves - and backpack.

Steve knows an urban explorer when he sees one and this girl fit all the criteria.

He was quick to press his finger up to his lips, sliding his mask under his chin to be able to mouth "Cops" to her, eliciting a nod in response.

"We need to hide." She whispers, clearly having taken in his appearance and deemed him one of her own instead a threat she should be mindful of along with the cops that just pulled up to the site.

Fleeting was no longer an option when they heard the boom of someone's voice echoing off the walls in a shout, provoking the trespassers to show themselves.

Although his newfound companion was frozen like a deer in headlights, giving him a look of terror, Steve was luckily thinking on his feet.

With barely a couple seconds to spare, he grabbed the girl's hand, hoping to God it wouldn't earn him a slap, and whispered a quick, "Let's go..." as he tilted his head in the direction of a long hallway leading to the underground unit entrance.

He gave her a second to agree, which she thankfully did with a very accentuated nod, before the two took off down the hall, cringing at the loud thumping of their footsteps.

His heart was beating against his ribcage, blood pounding in his ears. He wouldn't be this anxious over the whole ordeal has he still been alone. The weird need to protect his companion was driving him into a faster running speed and more complex ideas.

"There..." He pointed to the gated off stairwell to the lower level, completely out of breath as he carried on to explain: "Hop the gate, I'll make a distraction."

"What if they catch you?" She whispered back, her voice further muffled by the mask she was still wearing.

Clearly, the need to protect was mutual.

Out of instinct, he gave her hand a comforting squeeze, reminding himself to drop it, "They won't." With those reassuring words, they parted ways.

He lingered around almost a second too long to make sure she got over the gate ok before he booked it to a side exit, purposefully making a ton of noise, leaves crunching beneath the soles of his shoes.

Once he was certain it'd be enough to mislead the cop(s?) that had entered the building, he made a beeline for a window he'd taken notice of earlier while he was exploring the underground unit. It was just wide enough for him to squeeze through and hop down. Just in the nick of time, as well, seeing as how there was barely five seconds of time between the sound of his feet hitting the floor and the footsteps of a cop running out to where he'd made the diversion just moments prior.

Standing stiff as a statue, he listened as the cop spoke into his radio, "I scared the fuckers off." He muffled the sigh of relief that escaped his lips with the back of his hand.

He made a point of waiting to hear the car driving off the property before going to seek out the girl. Props to her - although the space wasn't particularly large, he couldn't pin point her location even after scoping out the area for the third time.

"Hey!" He whisper-yelled, still wary of raising his voice, "The coast is clear!"

He watched in amusement, a smile tugging at his lips, as a lid of one of the empty crates was lifted, the girl emerging from within.

That's when all caution was tossed out the window as the two broke out into laughter.

"Come on, let's get you out of there." Steve said, taking the lid from her and setting it on the ground before taking a hold of her hands, helping her stay balanced as she hopped her way out of the crate.

"Damn, was it hard to breathe in there." She chuckled, finally removing her mask, flashing a bright smile at Steve in the process.

Would it be an upmost cliché to say he was enamored right off the bat? Maybe, probably. But it'd definitely not be a lie. She was indeed beautiful, he was aware of it before she even took the mask of. However now, with her full face on display there was no denying it. The tension had been lifted off her shoulders, replaced by her usual lightheartedness.

He had to recalibrate himself for a moment to regain cognitive thought and remember how to function in human interactions. He successfully managed to extend his hand for a handshake, "I'm Steve, by the way."

She captured it with hers immediately, his smile impossibly brightening, "Y/N. Nice to meet you, Steve. And thanks, I owe you big time."

He shook his head, mind racing as to how to navigate the conversation without making an ass of himself, "Nah, you owe me nothing. Us urban explorers have to look out for one another."

Her eyebrows quirked up, "Ah, so my observation was right, we're in the same boat."

"Well, actually..." Steve smiled, slinging the backpack strap off his shoulder, setting it on the ground to unzip it, "I'm more of a paranormal investigator." He explained, showing Y/N the ghost hunting gadgets inside.

The look she gave him was nothing short of amazed, much to his relief, "No way! I love that! I've always been curious but never had the balls to do it. Not on my own at least." That last bit was added as more of an afterthought but it didn't fly under his radar.

"Well, if it means anything to ya, I've been told I'm great company for ghost busting." He's never been a flirt, ever. Not a successful one anyway. Well, not that he's often put himself in situations where quick wit and a few flirty remarks would come in handy. Still, even he's aware that he handled that well. He picked up what she put down.

And if her beaming smile was anything to go by, he did so well. "Aren't I glad to hear that." She too reached inside her backpack, rummaging around for a few seconds before plucking out a pen and handing it to him, "Maybe you could show me the ropes, instruct me on how to use those thingies." She pointed at his ghost hunting equipment and offering him her arm. An action that earned her a puzzled look from him, causing her to giggle sheepishly, "I have nothing to write on, the arm will have to do. That is if you wanna give me your contact info, of course. No pressure."

All hesitation evaporated as soon as it had plagued her mind when, with the goofiest smile, Steve accepted the offered arm and jotted down his phone number.

"Thank you." She smiled, cheeks flushed.

"No, no. You'll thank me only after I've made a ghost hunter out of you." He mused back, cranking his charm up to eleven and hoping for the best.

"I'll take those words to heart."

"And I'm giving them to you as a promise."

With said that and a professional handshake to officialize it, the two made a deal. A deal that would kickstart a series of wild explorations, fun - and some slightly terrifying - memories, stories they'll be retelling their whole lives. And, of course, a company.

A company known as Haunted Nights.

That intel makes the caption under the aforementioned posts much clearer.

"It's my pleasure to introduce you to the cofounder of Haunted Nights, who also happens to be my fiancée @y/n_hn"

To top it all off, we have Dylan's comment right underneath.

@snevets_nalyd: I can't believe she said yes @y/n_hn blink twice if you need help

#steve brodt #steve brodt x reader #steve brodt imagine #steve brodt fic #steve brodt fanfic #steve brodt fanfiction #steve brodt x y/n #dylan stevens imagine #dylan stevens #dylan stevens x reader #dylan stevens fic #dylan stevens fanfic #dylan stevens x y/n #haunted nights #sam and colby #sam golbach x reader #sam golbach imagine #sam golbach smut #colby brock smut #colby brock x reader #colby brock imagine #fic #fanfic #reader #x reader

[paladin-of-nerd-fandom65]

(Credit for the above image goes to the lovely and talented as ever @spider-jaysart who helped considerably co-create this character)

Meredith Adams Robinson

Age: 10 1/2 years

Height: 5’2”

Personality Traits: Adventurous, Intelligent with her Hobbies, Playfully Mischievous, Open Minded and Positively Receptive when Taking Genuine Criticism, Stands Up against Authoritarian Tendencies from some Grown Ups and Bullying from some jerkish classmates, Very Hard to Get Stressed Out, Easy Going, Conversely is Very Hard to Calm Down or Soothe when Agitated, Scared, or Angered, Never Runs From a Fight No Matter the Risks, Sometimes can be Impatient with certain things like upcoming news for her fandoms or with unpredictable delays in whatever her friends and her are doing that day.

Attends Bludhaven Academy, currently in 5th Grade

Only Daughter of Mackey Vernon Robinson, a local Bludhaven based Car Mechanic, and Susana Whitehead-Robinson, a US Marine currently stationed at Air Station Iwakuni in Japan.

Primary Hobbies: Making Short Films with her Phone’s Camera, cardboard miniature buildings and her collection of kaiju action figures as Practice for her Cinematography skills and stop motion animation, Writing Down Scripts and Story Treatments for Dream Movies, Comic Book Reading and Collecting, Gymnastics and Social Networking

Best Friends: Jake Grayson*, Thara Ak Var, Christopher Kent, and Mar’i Grayson

*Both Jake and Her are clearly developing feelings for one another despite insistence from the both of them of being merely just very close good friends

Bio: Raised by primarily her father due to her mother’s duties as a US Marine, Meredith Robinson takes a lot of her persona and approach to life from said father, who in turn always values making the best out of any sort of situation and looking to the bright side when possible. While not exactly entirely low class citizens, The Robinsons reside at a humble and modest neighborhood relatively close to both the slums and the dockyards, which in turn had Meredith for the longest time attending the less prestigious and even sometimes run down elementary schools prior to attending Bludhaven Academy for the fifth grade, even then it took insistence from her parents and a threat of lawsuit to the Bludhaven Unified School District to allow her in. With that, Meredith is a relatively street wavy sort who’s familiar with the rougher sides of the city, which ensures she can fend for herself and her f friends in times of danger, maybe even jump as a volunteer during fights being rouges and Bludhaven’s local crime fighters

Speaking of whom, Meredith first meets Jake Grayson during her first day at Bludhaven Academy, as both have picked Basketball for their PE Classes, difference here being Jake has been part of the Academy’s official peewee and later Junior teams ever since he was seven. Upon first laying eyes and beginning to talk to each other, a sort of emotional spark within them went off, as if their hearts grew by one or two sizes and they largely grew the very second they say hi to one another.

However, Both Meredith and Jake rather not dwell on those bidding emotions and feelings too much as the two don’t wish to pursue an immediate relationship of that sort with anyone. It just feels…wrong if they jump into a childhood crush right away. No, Meredith and Jake instead immediately start out being friends, quickly becoming close within the next two weeks after that first meeting. Within that time, Meredith then meets Jake’s best friend Chris and his Big sister Mar’i. What truly captures her eyes though comes when she’s introduced to one of Chris’ other school friends whom is a foreign exchange student from New Krytpon, Thara Ak Var. Other than Jake and despite going to differing schools, Thara and Meredith quickly form a tight knit and solid friendship with each other, Thara more sensible and typical girly approach balancing out with Meredith’s tomboyish attitude and adventurism quite nicely.

During the particular weekends after beginning her school year, a rampage by Cinderblock results in Meredith being precariously dangling off the rooftop of a building, each blow to it the stone monster causing more of its foundations to break. Finally as the building gives and just as Meredith was going down with it, she’s rescued from the crumbling rubble by one of those local heroes, swinging away to safety on a cable while being safely held in his arms. Meredith peaks open her eyes, revealing a young man about her age on a black domino mask and an assuring smile on him, Skybird. It’s only about six to ten months later and after further adventures with Skybird does he finally feel confident in her trust to not reveal his secret identity to those who don’t know, revealing himself as his best friend and classmate Jake Grayson.

After the tiny bit of silence in so both can process their thoughts and emotions after such a reveal, Meredith becomes a viable yet not distracting presence for Jake when hero duties are concerned. Her experience in the streets allows Meredith to catch wind of any sort of shenanigans and plots being done from the view point of the near lowest level which gives Jake and his partner Chris the intel needed for their never ending battle against the forces of evil. Akin comparatively to the portrayal of the character of Mary Jane Watson seen in the Insomniac SpiderMan games.

Oh and as the shirt she wear was major indicator and thanks to her mother’s continuous presence at Japan, Meredith and her Father have an entire collection of pretty much ever my single Godzilla movie, show or tv series ever made. Her dream is to one day create a kaiju movie of that caliber cause really it’s one of the great accomplishments as far as she’s concerned.

Misc Trivia:

- Absolutely Loves Blue Moon Ice Cream and is so ever thankful a local parlor near her place serves it. She’s considered something of a regular customer and the staff are alway so delighted to see her

- Besides Skybird, her favorite superheroes would be both Starfire and Troia. Some honorable mentions go to Batwoman, Batgirl (Cass) and Raven

- While generally easy going and hard to annoy, one particular quick way in getting there is continually poking fun at suitmation, the common method for special effects in the majority of the Godzilla and other kaiju movies. She’d very very quick in pointing out the hardships and difficulties the guys in those rubber suits had to undergo in making the best film they can, not limiting to exceptional high temperatures inside said suits, the risks of injury just by tripping and falling over the sets given the virtually useless eyeholes, risk of burns from the small sparks and controlled fires along many others. She respects those guys.

- She’s loosely based on the woman Jake had married and had a child with at the very end of Nightwing: The New Order. The general idea being the small childhood crush they develop grows over the years, developing into romance once they reach college and once they’ve graduated, then they’re a happily married couple

#Meredith Robinson #dc comics #oc #sort of #jake grayson #godzilla #nightwing new order #thara ak var

[overtrred28]

Love you to the moon and saturn | Emily Prentiss x gn!reader

Summary; Emily Prentiss and Y/N have been dating for a long time and Y/N decides it’s finally time to tie the knot. 

Parings; Emily Prentiss x gn!reader

Warnings; none, pure fluff with kissing

Words; 1.6k

No one is permitted to steal, copy, or reblog my work as their own!!

Not my gif. @pagetbrewsterfansite​ 

It was no secret that Emily and Y/N were deeply in love with each other. When they started dating 3 years ago they were able to keep it a secret for a good few months. That was until Garcia caught them sneaking off together during a team get together at Rossi’s, outing them to the whole team. No one had a problem with it, if anything they were obsessed with their relationship and the love they had for each other. The two agents were obsessed with each other, with one another more than not. 

Y/N knew they would like Emily as soon as she walked into the BAU on her first day, capturing the attention of Y/N almost instantly. That was 5 years ago, and it took them 2 years of working together and becoming best friends to realise that they actually liked each other and it wasn’t one sided pining. From then it’s been smooth sailing, rarely having fights and saying I love you within a few months. 

Y/N has been planning this for a few months, even going to a specialty jeweller, creating the perfect ring for Emily. They’ve been carrying the ring in their pocket for at least 2 weeks now, waiting for the perfect moment to drop to one knee and ask the question. There have been many occasions when they’ve been ready to do it; at a fancy dinner date night, at Rossi’s with the whole team around, during a work trip to the mountains. But something has always interrupted them, stopping the romantic moment before they could ask Emily to be their partner for ever and ever. 

And that leads us to today. The team had just gotten back from a case in Texas, a particularly tough one at that. The team had been investigating a number of mysterious explosions throughout a small town and when Emily almost ran into a building that was seconds away from exploding, Y/N knew. They knew that with this job, their lives could be taken away from them and Y/N didn’t want to go another day without having Emily as their wife. Today was the day. 

Everyone exited the elevators, ready to see Penelope’s smiling face greeting them like always but when those doors opened, the hallway was empty. Everyone’s face fell to confusion while Y/N’s gained a smirk. The plan was in motion. Before they got onto the plane, Y/N called Penelope back at Quantico, telling her that they were finally going to propose to Emily and they needed her help. Penelope was over the moon excited, she’d been waiting for this to happen ever since Y/N told her about the ring. 

“That’s weird.” Derek commented finally, stepping out of the elevator, everyone else following behind. He wandered down the hall to her lair, opening the door. “Baby girl?” She was nowhere to be found. 

“Maybe she’s inside.” Emily walked towards the glass doors, pushing the open simultaneously, ready to spot the analyst wandering around or in the kitchenette. Once again it was empty. 

Y/N hid their excitement, wandering over to their desk and placing their bags down. “I’m going to check up there.” They announced, nodding their head towards the stairs that lead up to the round table room where the shutters were oddly closed. Whilst walking, they reached into their jacket pocket to make sure the ring was still in there, it was. When they opened the door they were met with a very excited Penelope, she was grinning ear to ear. Y/N smiled back before she pulled them into a hug. 

“Oh my god, I’m so excited! I’ve been waiting up here for so long, you guys seem to take forever.” Penelope stepped away from the hug. Y/N looked around the room, spotting flowers scattered and small candles lit. 

“Pen, this is amazing! Thank you so much.” They thanked Penelope, the room looked amazing. “Now I just have to get her up here. And hope from there on everything goes smoothly.” They were getting stressed out, thinking about what they were about to do. 

“Hey, it’s going to be fine. I’ve never seen two people more in love, she’s going to say yes.” Penelope grabbed their hands, bringing them back down. “Is it time to go get her?” Penelope asked, releasing their hands as they nodded. “Okay, good luck my love.” She kissed them on the cheek and walked out the door that led to the catwalk, closing it softly behind her. Y/N breathed deeply, thinking of the words they had prepared on the plane. 

“Emily Prentiss,” Penelope finally appeared to the rest of the team that were milling around the bullpen. “Your presence is requested at the round table.” Penelope tried to contain her happiness, walking slowly to the steps and hiding her smile. 

“Uh, okay.” Emily shook her head, walking up the stairs and passing the mysterious analyst. Her brows were furrowed as she walked to the door. 

“What are you up to, baby girl?” Derek asked, wrapping an arm over Penelope’s shoulder. 

“Something magical.” She smiled, looking up at the windows of the room that was still closed off to everyone else. 

Emily finally approached the door, opening it slowly. A small gasp left her lips as the romantic setting was revealed. She let go of the door handle, walking further into the room. “Y/N?” She spotted them in the corner of the room, pacing nervously. 

“Hi.” Y/N breathed, walking to meet Emily in the middle of the room. 

“Hi.” Emily smiled at her lover, curiosity running through her veins. “Baby, what’s going on?” She chuckled nervously, interlocking her hands with theirs. 

“Emily,” They paused, making sure to capture her attention, meeting their eyes with hers. “The day I met you, I knew we were meant to meet. You came into my life at a time where I really needed someone, to listen, to talk and to understand me. And you did that and so much more. You became my best friend but I always wanted more than that. And I’m mad it took us so long to realise that we both liked each other, because then we could’ve spent so much more time in each other’s arms, spilling the secrets of our hearts instead of stealing glances across the room.” They paused, watching Emily laugh. 

“You, are my favourite person in the whole world, the love of my life, and I never want to spend another day without you in my arms. I’ve known that for a while, but today really made me realise that with this job our lives could be cut short at any moment.” They took a second, blinking away the tears in their eyes, taking a deep breath. “So, with that said,” They let go of Emily’s hand, reaching into their pocket. Emily’s eyes filled with tears, shock running over her face. Then they got down on one knee, looking up at Emily with a box in their hand.

 “Emily Prentiss,” They opened the ring box, revealing a silver ring with a sparkling sapphire diamond. “Will you do the absolute pleasure of marrying me?” They smiled up at Emily, her hands now covering her mouth with a big gasp. 

“Oh my god. YES! Yes, yes, yes!” She reached down and pulled Y/N up by their shoulders, grabbing their face and pulling them in for a passionate kiss. They split apart, smiling at each other, laughing. Emily pulled Y/N in for a hug, holding them tightly. Y/N took the opportunity to grab Emily’s waist, lifting her legs off the ground and spinning her around. 

“Y/N, I love you so much.” Emily jumped down to look into her fiance’s eyes. Y/N kept smiling, pulling the ring out of the box and placing it onto Emily’s finger. “It’s beautiful.” She examined the ring. 

“I got it made specifically for you.” Y/N smiled at Emily, wiping the tears of joy that had fallen onto their cheek. “I love you.” Emily leant in for another small kiss, unable to wipe the smile off of her face. 

“Do they know?” She nodded her head to the blocked window, gesturing to the team who were patiently waiting downstairs. They shook their head.

“Only Pen, she set all of it up.” They pointed to the flowers and candles scattered. 

“Should we go tell them then?” Emily asked, grabbing a hold of Y/N’s hand. They nodded enthusiastically, kissing her again before they walked to the door hand in hand. They were silent as they appeared on the catwalk, waiting for the team's reactions. 

The bullpen was silent, tension and anticipation circling the air. When no one said anything, Emily finally shot their hands up in the air, her engagement ring shining in the light. 

“We’re getting married!” She shouted into the space. The team was cheering and clapping, filling the room with happiness as the couple made their way down the stairs. Emily and Y/N were laughing at the reaction. Rossi was the first to greet the couple, kissing both of them on the cheeks. 

“Congratulations!” He smiled at the pair. Hugs and laughter were shared with the team, everyone stopping to admire the ring Y/N designed, complementing them. The last person to congratulate them was Hotch. 

“I’m very happy for you two.” He smiled at Y/N before bringing them in for a hug. And that’s how the night continued, laughs shared among friends as the happy couple reminisced on their relationship. It was a happy day for everyone. 

#emily prentiss #emily prentiss fluff #emily prentiss imagine #criminal minds #emily prentiss x reader #y/n #orignal work #proposal #paget brewster #criminalminds imagine

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

infatuating incantation

summary: “did you take my pipe?”

warnings: Eddie Munson/reader, witch!reader, cosy magic vibes, lesbian witch aunts, kissing, magic, sexual references

word count: 680

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist | witch!reader au masterlist

“Wow…” Eddie muttered, still in a daze as he draped his arm around your bare waist. 

“Yeah,” you slowly lulled your eyes open, curling your body deeper into his musk. 

“I mean, that was-“

“I know, I told you,” you tilted your chin up and flashed him a victorious grin, “sexual activities during the full moon really is something.”

“I just kinda thought you were kidding about the levitation part.”

“Oh, baby,” your thumb and forefinger caught his chin, “I never kid,” you reminded him in a dramatic tone, before capturing his lips in a kiss. 

Just before you could slip your tongue past his lips, he broke away and asked, “can you do that thing again?”

“What thing? I do lots of things,” you ran your fingers down his chest in a manner as if you were already trying to start something again. 

“You know, that thing,” he gesticulated with one hand, fluttering it around over your heads. 

“Oh, that thing,” getting what he was hinting at, “sure,” you rolled over, a motion that successfully stole most of the covers from your boyfriend, surely exposing his spent manhood, you reached down to your backpack on the floor and fished out the small intricate pipe that was in the front pocket.

Scooting back into place, you placed the tip to your lips and puffed a few times. Readjusting the duvet, Eddie curled one hand behind his head and stretched the other one behind yours, letting you use his bicep as a makeshift pillow. 

Carefully blowing the smoke up into the air above you, it curled and formed clear little clouds of marvellous shapes.

“Uh, that one looks like a sheep!” your excited partner pointed to one of the few clouds that weren’t shaped like anything fantastical, but just kinda looked like a regular cloud, “and that one looks like, um, cotton candy maybe?”

“Babe, I give you the full-on Gandalf treatment, I mean, that one over there literally looks exactly like a pirate ship and those two are the ones you rave about? Any day, you can look up to the sky and see those exact ones.” 

“Well, it’s just-“ Eddie didn’t get to clarify any further as a sudden knock at your door found both of your ears. 

Acting quick, Eddie yanked the comforter over his head, successfully wafting the clouds out of the air, and you covered yourself enough so they you couldn’t tell that you were in fact stark naked under it.

“Y/n,” your aunt with her greying hair perfectly pinned as always, swung open the door unceremoniously, “did you take my pipe?”

Under the duvet, you tightened your grip around the very objects in question and lied, “hi, um, nope, no I didn’t.”

“I could have sworn I smelled the faintest bit of smoke coming from up here…”

“Well,” you scrambled your brain for a suitable explanation, “you know, Eddie did lend me his jacket today at school and I never got around to returning it, so that might just be what your nose picked up on.”

“Oh, okay” she thankfully seemed to buy the story, “why are you in bed?”

“Um, I have a bit of a headache, so I was just trying to take a nap.”

“Really?” worry washed over her usually tranquil features, “you are tired on a full moon? Did you get cursed again? Do I need to draw you a cleansing bath?”

“No, no, no,” you rushed out before she could manage to run after the lavender, “I didn’t get cursed, don’t worry, I was just a bit tired, that’s all.”

“Alright… well, dinner is in an hour, okay?”

“Cool,” you bit down on your bottom lip as you felt Eddie’s warm body shift slightly, pressing further up against your own. 

“And let me know if you find it,” she really drew out her exit. 

“Will do!”

“Okay, have a good nap, darling,” she smiled, and just before the door closed, she added through the crack, “you too, Eddie!” 

Finally, he bashfully revealed his wild curls and replied instinctively, “thanks, ma’am…”

© 2022 thyme-in-a-bubble 

#lea’s writing #witch!reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x witch!reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson hc #eddie munson headcanons #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson au

[steddieunderdogfics]

This week's writer spotlight feature is: @ciriceart! They have sixteen works under the Stranger Things tag and ten under the Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson tag over on Archive of our Own!!

Our anonymous nominator recommends the following of their works by CultOfAdoration:

I get this feeling I'm in motion

Rule Me Captive, Drain Me Empty

a good age to meet the person you're going to spend the rest of your life with

to have everything you can see

They care alot about capturing the accurate voice of the characters they write about, and put lots of thought and care into character motivations and worldbuilding :} - anonymous

Below the cut, @ciriceart answered some questions about their writing process and some of their recommended work!

Why do you write Steddie?

I just like the dynamic, and getting to write dialogue and think about conflicts that might naturally crop up between the two. I don’t think that there was a chance for them to get along well at all if not for the kids dragging them both into the end of the world, so it’s kind of fun to find different ways for them to get past it. Less of a “they would never get together” and more of a “under what circumstances would they get together” situation.

What’s your favorite trope to READ?

I think I just like anything that falls into character study or backstory development. I used to eat up anything under the hurt/comfort or angst tags as well, and those can all go pretty well together. Anything that even vaguely evokes Orpheus and Eurydice is also pretty much guaranteed to get my attention.

What’s your favorite trope to WRITE?

Slow burn. A lot of my writing never sees the light of day (or outside groupchats), but a majority of it is “will they, won’t they” slow burn with the two kind of dancing around the subject until it feels inevitable.

What’s your favorite Steddie fic?

I’m not sure if I have a singular favorite fic. “New York Hardcore” by CaptainHoney is pretty high up there. It’s part of a larger series, but that first entry stuck with me. The tag “Steve deserves to be happy and go ham in the moshpit” is the truest statement I’ve ever read about that man.

Is there a trope you’re excited to explore in a future work but haven’t yet?

I’ve been working on a sort-of AU road trip fic about Steve, Jonathan, and later a hitchhiking Eddie, as they go cross-country. It’s very “right person, wrong place, wrong time”. Right now it’s just a big mess of notes and writing sprints, though.

What is your writing process like?

Almost everything starts off as scribbles in a notebook/Notes app, or taken down in notes app using speech-to-text on my phone. I always have to do the worst version first or it just doesn't feel right. Everything I want to be included gets thrown in there with very little regard for eloquence or order. From there, I break everything down into bullet points that I can expand on whenever I have time, and move things around into chronological order.

Do you have any writing quirks?

There are some words that I feel like I overuse. Things like “definitely”, “just”, and “very”, which reflects my real life speech habits.

Do you prefer posting when you’ve finished writing or on a schedule?

I try holding off posting until I’m finished if only because it feels SO bad if I don’t manage to complete something. It doesn’t usually work. I get excited, so usually I end up starting to post when things are maybe 60% finished. Schedules remind me too much of school to be fun.

Which fic are you most proud of?

I don’t think I have one I’m most proud of, but I don’t have one that I’m not proud of either. “a good age to meet the person you're going to spend the rest of your life with” is one that I thought a lot about and still think about, even though it’s pretty short. I only posted it very recently, but I wrote it shortly after Vol. 2 when thinking too hard about Robin and what her personal life might be like after everything.

How did you get the idea for Rule Me Captive, Drain Me Empty?

I thought it would be interesting to explore the two of them fumbling through kink and figuring things out in a more organic way. It’s something I always find quite cute, and it feels more natural to me when they’re not exactly well versed in the ins and outs of “proper” kink etiquette and terminology. 

I’m also a Dom-leaning switch Steve truther and I’m out here in the trenches. 

When writing to have everything you can see, what was something you didn’t expect?

The response to it from readers, mostly. I had several people letting me know that the subject matter is more outside of their usual interests but that they ended up enjoying it and seeing the appeal regardless. That’s a pretty big compliment to me because I’m somewhat in the same boat.

What inspired to have everything you can see?

So, when I don’t share an interest with others, I get really heavily invested in why they like that thing, or how the interest came about. It could be about anything - books, music, shows, ships, spirituality, kinks. I just like to Know, I like “getting it”. 

I wrote that fic to understand “under what circumstances would this be A Thing for this character” in a somewhat judgment free zone. Just going right the hell into it like “alright, this is what these characters are into. Make it believable and make it fun”. It works!

What was your favorite part to write from I get this feeling I'm in motion?

I think it’s the implication of how routine hangouts like that are, with Steve and Robin. They go to her house, they get snacks and drinks, and they immediately make themselves comfortable in her room. There’s something really sweet about a best friend making themselves at home in your house, and just existing beside you.

How do/did you feel writing Rule Me Captive, Drain Me Empty?

Nervous! I get really in my head about how I go about things at first. Am I being too needlessly verbose? Too much exposition? Do people even care about all the pointless errands they’re going on, or should we just get right to the bedroom?

But then I calm down and figure, I’m having fun writing about Steve intentionally dragging Eddie around town, and everyone else is just going to have to make peace with that. 

What was the most difficult part of writing I get this feeling I'm in motion?

Does “not immediately oversharing all of my personal hang-ups in the author's notes” count?

Actually, it was probably making the “repercussions” of Steve’s actions still be scary enough for him to internalize as a kid, but not be too disastrous or dangerous for him. I’m still not sure how I feel about it. 

Do you have a favorite scene and/or line from any of your fics?

It’s very small. In “a good age (…)”, Robin thinks about what it might’ve been like if Steve were her brother and they (affectionately) come to the conclusion that they would have been little shitheads to each other as kids.

Do you have any upcoming projects or fics you’d like to share/promote?

I have a handful of steddie illustrations based on fics that I’m waiting for the green light on to post, and quite a number of fics I’m chipping away at. Watch this space!

Thank you to our author, @ciriceart, and our nominator! See more of @ciriceart’s works featured on our page throughout the day!

Writer’s Spotlight is every Wednesday! Want to nominate an author? You can nominate them here!

#steddie fic recs #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #writer's spotlight #writer's wednesday

[novankenn]

"Jaune Gets A Gun AU - Day 3" Colonial Marines - Various...

Inspired by @howlingday's RU-JA-GUN-CON

The girls were still feeling a little off, like they had forgotten something big. Something related to the goofy knight that had captured all their hearts. But for the life of them all they couldn't put their finger on it, plus there was a sudden distrustful jealousy of Cheerleaders that they couldn't explain. So they just chose to go along with Jaune's suggestion to get some lunch.

As they were moving past the various booths on their way to the Food Court, they passed a very militaristic booth. It instantly reminded Ruby of the Mobile Infantry Recruiting Booth from Day One of the convention. She shivered, knowing that through her inaction she had allowed Jaune to enlist.

????: Jaune? Jaune is that you?

Jaune: Huh? Did someone call my name? That voice. It couldn't be?

????: It is.

Jaune: (Turns to his right) Aunt Ripley? When did you get back?

The girls all turned to their right, following Jaune's lead.

Ripley: Recently, and my, my you have gotten so BIG since the last time I saw you! Come give your Auntie a hug!

The girls watched as Jaune hugged the older woman, a bright smile on his face. When they ended the embrace, Jaune stepped back to stand with the girls.

Ripley: Now, who are these young ladies?

Jaune: Some friends from Beacon. Ruby Rose, team leader of team RWBY.

Ruby: Hi.

Jaune: Pyrrha Nikos, my partner and temamate on JNPR.

Pyrrha: Hello.

Jaune: This is Emerald Sustrai, she's from Haven and a member of team CMEN.

Emerald nods.

Jaune: and a pair of old friends from Ansel. You should remember Tiny Tina.

Ripley: I do. Good to see you again, Tina, and if my memory serves me correctly, you should be Jinx.

Jinx/Tiny Tina: Ms Ripley.

Ripley: So what brings you to this event, Jaune?

Jaune: My friends have talked me into getting a ranged option to round out my arsenal. Right now I'm only using Crocea Mors, so they think I should look at getting a gun.

Ripley: Not a bad idea. So, have you thought about what you want to get?

Jaune: A few people, I know, suggest a shotgun, but I'm still open to other ideas.

Ripley: Well, maybe I can help you. Come with me.

Ripley led the sextet towards the booth she had been at. As they closed the distance, they saw two armoured men, standing behind the display counter.

Jaune: They look a little serious.

Ripley: Hicks and Hudson are good guys, and don't let their appearances fool you (whispers to Jaune) They're big softies.

The girls spread out to look at the display case as Jaune was introduced to his Aunt Ripley's companions.

Ruby: They do have a pretty good selection.

Pyrrha: They all look pretty sturdy and robust.

Tiny Tina: What's this one? Here at the end.

Hudson: That's a M134 Motion Tracker.

Jinx: Motion tracker?

Hudson: Provides a 180 degree sensing hemisphere in the direction the operator is facing, that indicates the presence of anything moving, with distance from the operator. Great for watching for unseen or hidden threats.

Ruby: Is that a M41A with under barrel U1 grenade launcher?

Hicks: (Moving from Ripley and Jaune as they continue to talk.) You have a good eye. I have a feeling you know the specs too.

Pyrrha: She does. What about that big one? Looks like a machine gun.

Hudson: The M56 Smartgun.

Tiny Tina: Smartgun? How is it smart?

Hicks: Mounted on a self stabilizing arm that auto-tracks targets with an infrared target tracking system.

Jinx: So it would be good for someone with, like, NO firearms experience?

Hudson: It would. Takes the guess work out of hitting a target.

Tiny Tina: And this one here, next to the rifle?

Hicks: M240 Incinerator Unit. (Noticing the looks of the girls) It's a flamethrower.

Ruby/Pyrrha: Nope. Too brutal.

Hudson: When you're taking on Xenos... anything goes girlies.

Tiny Tina/Jinx: Xenos?

Hicks: Screen on the side of the booth, next to the armour display.

Girls: What the hell are those?

Hicks: Xenomorphs, or Aliens. Steel like exoskeletons and molecular acid for blood.

The girls all grew wide-eyed. Those things made the grimm look like stuffed animals. Ruby and Pyrrha grew even more concerned, knowing that the last time Jaune visited a booth about a military style unit, he ended up enlisting.

Jaune: So, what do you think? That shotgun looks promising.

Hicks: Solid and true. War Era M37 pump, modified with a short barrel, capable of slam-firing.

Jaune: The pistol looks nice too, but I think I'd go with the shotgun.

Hicks: It's my personal favourite. Like to keep it nearby for ... "close encounters"

Ripley: So, see anything that tickles your fancy, Jaune?

Jaune: I think I'll get the shotgun.

Hudson: Okay, just some paperwork to do and...

Pyrrha/Ruby: NO! (Each girl taking a side and hooking Jaune under his arm pits, and before Jaune could struggle, Tiny Tina and Jinx moved in and lifted him by his legs.)

Hicks/Hudson: (Shouting as they watched a potential customer being hauled off) What are you doing?

Ripley: Put him DOWN NOW!

Hudson: I don't get it? It's only forms to get the proper licences. That's an over reaction, if I ever saw one.

Emerald: I'm sorry, but Jaune already enlisted with the Mobile Infantry. Thank you for your time.

Ripley: HE WHAT NOW?!? JAUNE GET YOUR ASS BACK HERE! YOUR MOTHER IS SO GOING TO HEAR ABOUT THIS YOUNG MAN!

Jaune: (in the distance) I'm sorry?

Hicks: United Federation, those blood suckers always looking for fresh meat for the grinder.

Hudson: Game Over, man. Game Over.

Ripley: (Whipping about to face the two marines) Get hold of Gorman. Tell him personal favour. Find a way to get Jaune out of the that enlistment!

(So I'm giving up on the Bolding of all the speakers. If this you find it is better with the bolding, DM or comment, and I'll edit this, and continue the practice in further posts. Hope you enjoyed.)

#jaune gets a gun au #rwby #aliens #colonial marines #jaune arc #ruby rose #pyrrha nikos #emerald sustrai #tiny tina #jinx #lancaster #arkos #topaz #timebomb #ballistarc #ellen ripley #cpl dwayne hicks #pvt william hudson