#eddy stern

[the-krakens-bitch]

One of my favourite niches within shows and fandom spaces is when a character is allowed to be silly and goofy. Like when a character is introduced and they’re stoic, cool and always know what to say in a very charismatic way and then through the serious they become to be a little bit silly

[haveyouplayedthispinball]

Halloween Pinball Feature #8: The Munsters

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

Since the Neighborhood are adventurers, I'd like to imagine they travel by sea a fair amount of times too! A nice boat trip while occasionally breaking out into a sea shanty, eh? (And for gits and shiggles, to keep up with the whole.. Eddie in water joke, I imagine the poor guy is clumsy enough to go overboard. He may not be unconscious during it, but it wouldn't make it any less funny with the group desperately trying to pull him back aboard-)

OH OH OH allow to ramble at length about this!!! what an idea!!! i fucking love boats & the ocean & being on the water so this ask is checking all my boxes rn

first i imagine that the length of their trips varies wildly, along with the quality due to the glorious variation in weather & bodies of water. and i'm choosing to believe this universe uses tall ships instead of like... fantasy steam ships. because i fucking love tall ships. the sails, the rigging, the elegance... an absolute bitch to maintain and maneuver <3

i imagine that depending on the ship, captain, and size of the crew, the Neighborhood may be required to help out to earn their keep. especially since they're a crew of nine eight, and some ships are woefully understaffed!

I'd imagine that Poppy sometimes takes the cook's job if the crew is currently lacking one (or if the cook wants a fucking break, jeebus it's a demanding job. there's a reason ship cooks in moves/tv are always stern & serious). Barnaby can probably charm his way into doing nothing but provide music/entertainment (much to Sally's aggravation). everyone else are plain deckhands

of course i imagine that that doesn't always happen! plenty of ships are probably content to just take their coin and tranport them. some of them (Eddie, Poppy) may still wheedle their way into helping out though. they strike me as characters that can't Not help

who i imagine loves their little water journeys: Barnaby, Wally, Sally, Wormie

neutral: Frank, Julie

hates it: Poppy, Howdy, Eddie

allow me to provide reasoning!!

Barnaby's impeccable balance probably means that he's stable as a rock even in choppy waters, and i'm reasoning that he doesn't get seasick either. his vestibular system is as solid as his sea legs! he probably finds the whole experience relaxing as anything. He gets to just recline on the bowsprit's base or wherever he isn't in the way & smoke/play his accordion/nap.

Wally just has such a love of life and new things, so why wouldn't he love being on the water? it's different! it's new every time! there are ample things to learn about and do! Home probably keeps his systems stable so that he doesn't have to deal with seasickness. though it probably takes him a little bit to find his sea legs... catch him stumbling around like a lil newborn lamb. sometimes he is facedown on the deck <3 i imagine he'd enjoy going aloft!

Sally would probably love the inherent romanticism and adventure of it all. Who knows what dangers and glory they may face! I bet she writes up a storm during this time - plenty of story material! food for the imagination! what does Anne say... Scope for the imagination, i believe! i bet she also loves having a captive audience. Literally. they're stuck on this ship with her <3

so many lines for Wormie to climb... so many little places to crawl into... new people to trick into giving her treats... down time where the Neighborhood is relaxing in one place. abundant time for affection!

Frank probably doesn't have strong feelings about it. It's a boring ship with no bugs or things to do. Except when he manages to rope crew members into having a lil impromptu fight club. Or when the Neighborhood is put to work - i wonder if he'd find the maintenance soothing or pleasant... or if he'd relish in the hard work of pulling lines

Julie is likely in a similar boat (ha) as Frank. once the initial "wow! whoah!" wears off, it can get boring! and games are limited - there's only so much you can do on a ship (depending on the size of the ship of course), and there might be strict rules to keep passengers out of the crew's way and to lower risk. She probably entertains herself by "bothering" her friends and the crew & cloudgazing.

Poppy... do i need to explain? wooden ship on the ocean, which i understand can be terrifying. who knows what lurks below the waters? if the weather will change on a dime? if one of the flammable things on board catches fire? if the ship hits something? etc. I imagine it's impossible to get her to go above decks. They have to literally push her statue-frozen body onto the ship when they first board

Howdy! honestly i just think it'd be really fucking funny if he gets Violently seasick! like, curled into a ball in his bunk & involuntarily making agonized noises. he sounds like a ghost w/ all the pained moaning. his sea legs suck unless he stances all four at the right distance to anchor himself in place. he's a weak, sickly, fragile little thing, take mercy on him... he doesn't even have the strength left to swindle or sell...

Eddie. now we get to the point of anon's ask - his sea legs would be nonexistent. he's staggering and stumbling all over the place. the ship just barely tilts and he's smacking into a mast or careening across the deck. and of course, hitting the guardrails at precisely the right speed/angle to allow him to tumble overboard. i bet this happens enough that every time the Neighborhood is so much as on a dock, there is at least one person either holding his arm or acting as a barrier between him and the water. as soon as they get on any ship, he's immediately sent below decks. any attempt he makes to come up is instantly blocked.

there's a lot of both comedic and angst potential there. small ship, calm waters? comedic. some neighbors are playing cards, there's on off-screen splash & Frank immediately sighs and gets up all "god damn it, Eddie-". lmao im imagining him floating there and rapid-fire blabbering in fear 'cause there's a shark (it's not a shark. it's a dolphin. everyone on board is so unimpressed.) he's sobbing in fear as they pull him in <3

but angst? imagine there's a storm. imagine it's an all-hands-on-deck situation, every available hand is needed, and Eddie is strong as fuck - he'd be a monster at pulling lines. probably wouldn't even need to sweat them. but a violently rocking ship, slick decks, maybe even waves splashing over the deck... oof i can so easily imagine Eddie slipping & sliding right over the side. maybe while the others watch. maybe they try to grab him, but they're too late. and in such a horrible storm, there's not much they can do - it's dark, the water is incredibly turbulent, the ship can't turn around easily, there's torrential rain. a high stress situation! i'm imagining Frank grabbing a lifebuoy, firmly fastening it to a pin, and then throwing himself overboard after Eddie. something to think about! (i'm imagining that after the storm clears up enough, everyone rushes to the side to check. Eddie & Frank are trailing after the boat, lashed to the buoy and exhausted. maybe a little banged up, but overall fine!)

and then yeah.... oh the shanties Barnaby could lead... the whole ship sings! and then them all in their bunks (or in their hammocks!) in the [insert term for living quarters here, it can vary] when its sleepytime. y'all would not believe the shenanigans that can occur in the fo'c'sle (or the main hold, basically wherever the ship's sleeping quarters are), especially before actual sleep occurs. peak silly time.

there's a lot of potential here, thank you anon!

like now i'm thinking - what about sea monsters? or jobs that Require them to go on the water, as in the job takes place on a ship? ocean battles! ocean searches!

[k-i-l-l-e-r-b-e-e-6-9]

𝔖𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔫 𝔓𝔦𝔫𝔟𝔞𝔩𝔩: ℑ𝔯𝔬𝔫 𝔐𝔞𝔦𝔡𝔢𝔫

[transvampireboyfriend]

steddie henderdads but it's spy x family

[child-of-hurin]

Devastated that I can’t reblog that post about Gen having mother issues (which I agree with wholeheartedly) because it is written in a way that implies that he’s into Irene because he sees something mother-ish in her (cringe)

[episodicnostalgia]

Comic Book Break: The Venom Symbiote

Featured art by Ron Lim: Covers for Marvel Tales #266-268 Mark Bagley: Carnage/Spidey/Venom Poster Ron Frenz: Cover for Amazing Spider-Man #252

I grew up as a Spider-man fan in the 90’s, which means I (predictably) thought Venom was the coolest villain of all time.  My Dad introduced me to Spidey’s ‘modern era’ shortly after Carnage first hit the scene, which means the Symbiote villains were a hot topic.  As such, my first introduction to both Venom and Carnage would be in the pages of ‘The Amazing Spider-man’ #365, and boy did that issue leave an impression. 

You see up to that point my fascination with the web head was moderately new, and I remained largely ignorant to the finer points of his lore.  My Dad had just begun to re-discover comic books for the first time since his childhood, and this particular issue was a extra sized anniversary edition, replete with a holographic cover, character histories, and even a handful of bonus stories that were framed around various side characters who could reminisce about Spider-man’s classic tales.  It was a handy way to bring new readers up to speed, and it worked well enough on my Dad (much to my approval) for him to continue collecting until the Clone Saga ruined everything.  ASM #365 also featured this absolute BANGER of a poster by Mark Bagley.  Check it out!

That image was seared into my brain, and two things became abundantly clear to me 1) Those villains were unequivocally, the greatest characters in modern literature, and 2) I needed to know why. Obviously I asked my Dad who those guys were, and he proceeded to explain the basic premise of the Symbiote suit and it’s history with Spider-man.  Needless to say, I became obsessed with finding an issue, ANY ISSUE, that featured Venom and/or Carnage; I wanted to know everything about these guys.  The only obstacle that stood between me and my goal was my age, as I was still quite young, and I think my folks were just the tiniest bit leery of exposing me to a characters who looked and behaved like, if we’re being honest, bloodthirsty hell demons (or brain thirsty, as the case may be).

As luck would have it, my dad found a pretty fair compromise in the pages of ‘Marvel Tales’.  MT was a series that featured reprints of classic-or-topical spider-man comics from days of yore, often with new cover art by a current artist.  Since the introduction of Carnage was turning heads towards the Spider-man books (also around the same time the comic book speculators boom was taking off)  it was a prime opportunity for Marvel to reprint the issues of ASM that introduced the original symbiote creature (written by Roger Stern).  So, my dad bought me several issues (pictured up top, and immediately below) to satiate my curiosity for another year before I finally got finally see Venom himself, and in the mean time I was simply delighted to be reading the origin story as I went.

Since those days, my interest in Venom has wavered dramatically depending on the project/medium/who’s writing him, and I’ve found much of what’s been produced fairly underwhelming; but my admiration of the design for Spider-man’s black costume has remained steadfast.  If I’m being (perhaps heretically) honest, I almost prefer the black costume to the original.  Something about it just feels so correct for the character, and clearly I’m not the only person who felt as much.  Despite some initial push-back,  the black costume had garnered enough support by the end of the 8-issue symbiote saga, for it to be brought back as just a ‘regular costume, but with the symbiote aesthetic.’ From that point on, it would feature regularly for several years before Venom officially inherited the look.

And just to be clear, no I wouldn’t ever truly want to replace Spider-man’s classic look, but you gotta admit, the black suit looks mighty slick.

[90smovies]

[duranduratulsa]

Up next on my 90's Fest Movie 🎬 🎞 🎥 🎦 📽 marathon...Home Alone 2: Lost In New York (1992) on glorious vintage VHS 📼! #Movie #movies #comedy #Christmas #homealone #homealone2 #homealone2lostinnewyork #MacaulayCulkin #JohnHeard #RIPJohnHeard #catherineohara #joepesci #danielstern #DevinRatray #angelagoethals #KeiranCulkin #allysheedy #timcurry #RobSchneider #danaivey #DonaldTrump #gerrybamman #brendafricker #EddieBracken #annaslotky #hillarywolf #jedidiahcohen #SentaMoses #jimmiewalker #riptaylor #ripriptaylor #michaelcmaronna #vintage #VHS #90s #90sfest #durandurantulsas4thannual90sfest

[fuckyeahvanhalen86-95]

Nuno Bettencourt is defending Joe Satriani's perceived 'screw-up' of Eddie Van Halen's "Mean Street" intro last week on The Howard Stern Show.

Much has been said about Satriani's performance last week (Nov. 17), who joined Sammy Hagar, Michael Anthony, and Jason Bonham for the announcement of Hagar's upcoming Best Of All Worlds tour, and not all of it has been positive. During the appearance, Stern asked the band what the most difficult Eddie Van Halen riff to play is. Satriani then launched into an impromptu rendition of "Mean Street." Satch himself admitted: "This is impossible to play, right?"

Extreme guitarist Nuno Bettencourt has come to the defense of Satriani. During a recent appearance on The Jeremy White Show, Bettencourt said playing Eddie's riffs is, as Satriani said, impossible.

"The one thing that I learned recently of seeing Joe or anybody—me, Joe, anybody—if we're gonna take a risk and we're gonna play an Edward anything, especially on Howard Stern or anything like that, where you know you can't get it back, good luck. That's all l'm saying is good luck. Why? Because you're going now into hallowed ground."

Later on, he called out Hagar for putting Satriani in a difficult position.

"So, look, you've gotta give Joe a bit of a pass on this one, because it's Joe doing Edward. I'm more pissed at Sammy [Hagar] for allowing him to do it. 'Cause Sammy's, like, 'Man, that's why I got Joe. Nobody can do this stuff! And I'm, like, look, you're, you're right there. You're already putting him on the spot and doing those things and asking people to play those things. It's realy difficult. And if youre gonna do it, man, and Joe probably nows this now, 'cause... Joe is untouchable as Joe Satriani. He's the greatest Joe Satriani you'll ever hear... Nobody can attack you when you're doing you..."

[coal15]

Here's an excerpt from Tandum Idiots, the Station 19 Travis/Eli fic I just posted. It's nothing elaborate, just a progression of their relationship. There's fluff, snark, sexy times, hurt/comfort, no hardcore smut, no insipid love triangles. Enjoy:

Please, please, please, please keep him safe, his mind begs. Eli is not a man accustomed to begging, but now he does. Ceaselessly. He’s so laser focused on pleading for Travis’s safety, he doesn’t even notice Andy sprinting up to the crowd perimeter until she’s standing directly in front of him. 

“He’s on the second floor next to a load bearing wall,” she informs him, the words coming in a fast no nonsense rush. “The stairs aren’t passable anymore but Vic and Sully are up there trying to knock down enough fire in either the hall or west bedroom to clear a path to the windows. Okay, I gotta get back, I’ll try to keep you posted if I can.” She’s charging back to the firetruck yelling orders before Eli can even get the words ‘thank you’ out of his mouth. 

Being so familiar with this incredible team does offer Eli a measure of comfort. The knowledge that every single person battling this fire is incredibly skilled, strong, and possessed of a profound loyalty to one another. He knows when it comes to protecting their family, each of them will always fight til the point of no hope, and even well beyond, before accepting defeat. 

Another ten minutes of frantic chaos goes by before Eli sees one of the ladders moving, extending toward a window at the side of the building. The smoke is so thick he can barely make out a hand reaching out for the promise of rescue. Seconds later this person, a firefighter, descends down the ladder with the help of someone else. 

Eli squints, craning his neck for a clear look at the person’s jacket and desperately trying a not to assume it’s his person just because he wants it to be. 

Then he sees it.

Montgomery

The relief turns his legs into jello and he crumples to the ground, sobbing words of relief and gratitude. As nearby spectators help him to his feet he realizes Andy is waving him over, yelling at the people steadfastly maintaining crowd control to let him through. 

Travis barely has time to get his helmet and mask off before Eli thwumps into him, all tears and kisses.

“How can you hug me right now? I must smell terrible!” Travis teases through heavy breathing.

“You could smell like a landfill and I wouldn’t care, you're alive!” Eli sobs, dizzied and delighted as he presses his face into the curve of Travis’s throat. “I was so terrified,” he whimpers, the words muffled against Travis’s skin.

The smoke-soaked man says nothing, but wraps his arms around Eli and holds on tight. Like both their lives depend on it. Normally by now he would be telling the incident commander he’s okay, he’s fine, he’s ready to go back in and keep fighting. But Eli is so upset, so fragile in his arms, he can’t bring himself to charge back inside. Not unless he’s ordered to.

No one delivers such an order, so once Eli is calmed down enough to let go of him and stand back Travis does his part from the outside. He helps man the fire hose, clear fallen debris, and takes an ax to various parts of the house’s exterior to create more escape points. Eventually they get the fire under control and snuff it out completely.

Then the brave firefighters of Seattle all move along and wait for their next emergency. 

Eli, however, is not a firefighter. And he can’t stop having nightmares. Watching his boyfriend burn alive or choke to death on smoke, sometimes while other people mill around doing nothing to intervene, like it’s not even happening. Whenever they spend the night together, which is most nights, Travis tends to wake up suddenly to Eli wailing and thrashing beside him. “It’s a dream,” he whispers, gently squeezing Eli's arm. “Wake up baby, it’s just a dream.” Tonight is another one of those nights. Travis is having trouble falling asleep and he’s trying to order his brain to shut down before the sun comes up when an unconscious Eli begins to squirm and whine. Maybe it’s not a nightmare, it could just be sleep babbling. 

“Aagh!” Eli bolts upright, wide eyed and panting.

Travis hefts himself up, curling both arms around his boyfriend, surrounding his body so they’re posed with Eli’s back against his chest. Nope. Another nightmare.

“Sorry,” Eli warbles, embarrassed and rather annoyed with himself. 

“It’s fine,” Travis whispers. “You’re fine.” He nudges Eli’s chin, prompting the man to tilt his head back enough for a lingering kiss.  

“I just wish these damn nightmares would stop.”

“I’m sure they will.” Travis guides their bodies to lean back against the headboard, and the two of them cuddle in silence. Meanwhile, a possible issue begins nagging at the back of his mind. He pushes it down, too tired for deep thoughts or discussion. We’ll deal with it later, he tells himself. 

Eventually they re-settle beneath the covers, Travis on his back and Eli’s head tucked neatly beneath his chin. 

When morning comes Travis wakes to discover his peacefully sleeping man has rolled away from him. He watches Eli’s shoulders rise and fall, no squirming or hints of distress, and his immediate urge is to slide close and play Big Spoon. Eli is the best Little Spoon on earth as far as Travis is concerned. He needs as much sleep as he can get, he reminds himself. If I go squirming over there, I might wake him up. So instead he gets up, mindful not to disturb the mattress too much as he rises, and heads for the kitchen to brew a pot of coffee. 

He’s even contemplating the possibility of pancakes.

Who doesn’t love a pancake breakfast?

It's only a few minutes later when Eli shuffles into the room. “Sorry again about last night,” he apologizes through a long yawn, reaching out for the coffee pot like a zombie in search of brains.  

“S’okay, I got it. Here.” Travis fetches down another mug and pours another piping hot cup of energy. 

Eli accepts the beverage and leans in for a quick good morning kiss, but then something gives him pause. He hesitates.

“What?” 

“I’m not sure.” Eli says, eyes narrowing as he tries to decipher Travis’s expression. “You just look . . . a bit troubled. Is there something we need to talk about?” 

There is an issue on Travis’s mind. He really doesn’t want to admit it, but the alternative is lying to his boyfriend, so he has no choice. “I guess I’m worried about . . .”

“Yeah? Worried about . . . ?”

“The thing is, Eli, that fire? It was bad, but I’ve been in way worse. Not only have I, but I will be again at some point, it’s part of the job. It’s something . . .” he pauses to carefully consider his words. “ . . . Eli anyone who chooses to be with a firefighter has to accept the same fact. That every day we go to work, we might not come home. You have to deal with knowing, every day, that you might get that call. It is an awful call, and . . . not everyone can handle it. So I, I wouldn’t blame you if it’s too much for-” 

Eli puts an end to Travis’s worried monologue by inhaling his mouth in a wild, needy kiss. “It’s not too much, I promise.” The words come breathy and rushed between a barrage of kisses. “It was just my first time seeing it that bad and I-” He stops kissing, steers Travis up against the refrigerator, and pulls off his t-shirt in one fluid move. “I’ll be fine.”

“You sure?” Travis manages to ask quickly before Eli goes on devouring him, tongue sliding and pushing against his own.

Finally Eli pulls back, panting and entirely kiss-drunk. “I am sure. I’ll adjust, Travis, it just . . . might take a minute.”

Travis gazes at his boyfriend's face, unblinking, absorbing every detail. What he sees is absolute sincerity. “You really do believe we’re worth it don’t you?” 

The fact that Travis even needs to ask sends Eli’s heart breaking open. “Sweetheart,” he whispers, cradling the man's face and dusting little kisses all over. “We are worth everything to me. If being with you means I must learn to cope with life-or-death stress on a regular basis, then I will damn well learn.” 

“Wow,” Travis's eyes pool with misty sentiment. “How did I find a guy like you?”

“You didn’t.” Eli giggles. “I barged into your place of business and ordered you to employ me. Which you did.” 

Travis opens his mouth to fire off a snarky response, but Vic’s voice cuts him off.

“I am about to enter the kitchen,” she announces. “You have five seconds to cover your junk if necessary.”

Eli leaps back like a caught out teenager whilst Travis snatches up and dives into his shirt. “We’re not always making out in here y’know.” He says when Vic strolls into the room. 

“Please,” she snorts, nudging Travis away from the fridge to gain access to her overnight oats. “If there were hidden cameras set up in here I’d have enough material to start an OnlyFans account.”

Travis rolls his eyes. “Overstatement much?”

“We’d expect a share of the profits.” Eli casually informs her. 

Travis whips his head around, pointing a stern finger at Eli. “No, bad! Stop it!”

Eli’s lips press tight as he struggles not to laugh. “Mmm, Yes Sir.” Victoria giggles and high fives him whilst making zero effort to stop laughing.

“You’re the worst,” Travis informs the them. The chuckle twins. “You are both the worst. Who wants pancakes?” 

Rather than acknowledge the question, Vic turns to Eli and asks in a matter-of-fact 'team meeting' sort of tone, “how do you feel about props, my guy? Should there be props?”

“Chocolate chip pancakes,” Travis mutters to himself, “yeah, those sound good.” 

By the time breakfast is served Vic and Eli have dropped the onlyfans gag, but it does become a running joke between the two of them. Comments here and there. Travis pretends to be annoyed by it, but the truth is he loves how well they get along. It means no touchy, tumultuous ‘significant other and best friend don’t get along’ drama to navigate. 

Waiting for the next huge life-threatening disaster to come along is like waiting for the other shoe to drop. And not that Eli wishes catastrophe upon anyone, but he needs to experience the proof, for both himself and Travis, that he can cope with the reality of Travis’s job. Day in and day out. For what he keenly hopes will be the rest of his life.

When the other shoe does finally drop, it happens in the worst way possible.

*************

Go HERE to read the whole thing.

[midnightbasilisk99]

What if the Lyoko Boys did this scene from the Ed, Edd, n Eddy episode: Hand Me Down Ed?

[fail-front-door]

Bading ding! Ding ding! Bading!

[afrotumble]

Charlie Murphy Talks Growing Up With His Younger Brother Eddie (2004)

[skeltnwrites]

Bad Cop - Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: You wake to a call from your boyfriend Eddie who asks you to bail him out of jail. 

Word Count: 2.2k

TW: interactions with police, mild injury, talk of fighting and bullying, sexual innuendos 

A/N: I might be a little late to the Eddie Munson party but I’m here now! :D

“This is a collect call from Edward Munson at Hawkins Police Station. Will you accept the charges?” 

You clear your throat but your voice still feels raw when you speak, “Yes.” 

“Please hold,” the operator says. 

A trilling sound as you wait, twirling the phone cord anxiously. You’d been tucked in bed a minute ago, dead to the world. The phone rang loud enough from the kitchen to startle you awake. You caught the time on the alarm clock on the nightstand as you kicked the blankets off, just after one in the morning. 

“Y/N?” His voice is soft under the crackle. 

“Edward.” It’s not angry per se but you never use his real name which is telling.

“Please don’t be mad.”

“Are you okay?” you sigh, tipping your head till your forehead meets the wallpaper. 

“I’m sorry— I’m fine. I just, can you bail me out please.” 

“What happened, Eds?” 

“Just a stupid fight. Nothing serious, I promise.” He pleads like you won’t believe him and doesn’t give you a chance to press for details, “There’s cash in a shoebox on the top shelf of the closet. On my side, all the way in the back.” 

You want to scold him but you're still kneading sleep from your face, irritated now that you know he’s okay. You bite your cheek, considering the possibility of an argument. Knowing that it shouldn’t take place through a phone. 

“You’re sure? It’s enough?” 

“Swear.” 

“Okay, on my way.”

He apologizes again before the line clicks. 

You shuffle through the band tees he’s grown out of and have since been neglected to the back of your shared closet. You make a mental note to remind him to drop some off at Goodwill. Under a stack of vinyls, you locate the box with a rolled wad of twenties held together by a rubber band. You snap the band, biting your lip. It’s enough to buy something expensive, really expensive. You jam your heel into a laced sneaker and do not bother to change out of your pajamas. The money is pushed deep into your pocket along with the house keys. You shake away arising questions as you start the van. 

Cold air smacks your bare arms as you push open the station door. You blink rapidly at the fluorescents. An officer hands you a clipboard, you sign two dotted lines, and fork over most of the cash. He retreats to a separate room without a word, presumably to retrieve your boyfriend, leaving you alone in the lobby. 

Your arms pillow your head on the counter until a familiar set of steps rounds the corner. His eyes, big and sorry, find yours instantly. But your attention quickly shifts to the marbled purple and blue highlighting the arch of his cheek. The stern speech about bar fights and bail payments you’d rehearsed on the way flees your throat. He brushes past the counter to hug you and you spot a split lip too. Your shoulders deflate as you meet him halfway. 

“Thank you,” Eddie mumbles into your crown. 

You give his waist a quick squeeze before pulling back. His hands chase the goosebumps from your skin as you scan his face. His curls are frizzy which is typical but more disheveled like he’s been running his hands through them. Your nail traces his lower lip where it was clearly cracked open but is now glazed over with a layer of dry blood. “Lose any teeth?” 

He smiles, pearls still intact, and you can’t bring yourself to be mad. His breath smells faintly of alcohol as he says, “You look tired.”

“I am so tired,” you admit. 

He grits his teeth guiltily, “I’ll make it up to you.” 

An officer clears his throat and passes Eddie a brown paper bag with ‘Munson’ scribbled on the front. He snatches the bag with a wink. The man offers nothing but a blank stare, maybe mild disapproval as Eddie pivots and jogs toward you, already at the door. He fishes for his lighter from the bag, kissing and pocketing it as you step outside. 

“Can I drive?” Eddie reaches for the keys in your hand. You always let him drive. 

You snatch the carabiner to your chest, elbowing his side, “Are you trying to get a DUI too?” 

“I had one beer,” he scoffs as you unlock the door. 

You believe him but pretend not to as you hop in the driver's seat. “You’re a criminal now. Can’t be trusted!” You yell playfully before slamming the door as he jogs around the hood. 

“Very funny,” he mutters as he climbs in. 

You sling your arm over his seat to back out. The streetlight accentuates the bruise when you glance past him. 

“Does it hurt?” 

“Hmm?” 

You point at your own cheek. 

“Oh, no. It’s fine. Should’ve seen the other guy,” he chuckles. 

“We’ll ice it when we get home,” you pull out onto the main road before settling your gaze back on him. “So who was the other guy?” 

His eyes roll in your peripherals, “So Shelly Watkins was there—“ 

“You hit Shelly Watkins?” 

“Jesus! No! Her stupid boyfriend Rob Perry.” He groans in disgust. “You remember him? He was such a dick in high school!” 

You shake your head, trying to recall. 

“He’s a couple of years older I think. Well anyway, Shelly was blabbing her big mouth, as usual, about Robin and her new girlfriend.” 

“What was she saying?” You interrupt, curious but inferring already. 

“Nasty shit. And she’s talking so loud the whole bar can probably hear. I mean, I couldn’t not say anything, babe. And hey,” he throws his hands up in surrender, “All I said was ‘Seems like what other people do in their spare time isn’t your business.’” 

You smirk, knowing it was not as polite as he made it out to be. 

“And Rob is all ‘What did you say?’” Eddie teasingly lowers his voice, foot hiked up in his seat to face you with a finger curled under his nose like a mustache. 

You steal glances from the road to watch the theatrics as he retells the story, making sure to emphasize when he punched Rob square in the nose so hard it broke. 

“Did you win?” You ask, attempting to hide your proud grin by checking your blind spot. 

“Oh yeah.” Eddie crosses his arms, accidentally nicking the wound on his lip with his nail as he retracts the faux finger stache. He winces, tapping the cut to assess the damage. Fresh blood coats his finger; he’s quick to press his whole hand over his mouth as he fumbles through the glovebox with the other. A deck of fast food napkins you’d organized spills out. You catch one before it falls, crumpling it into his free hand and swerving back into your lane. He replaces his hand with the thin sheet, wiping his fingers on another napkin off the floor as you pull up to a stoplight. 

He tips his head like a puppy when he catches you staring. You lick your thumb, smearing a stray drop crawling down his chin. Your palm lingers on his skin, rubbing circles behind his ear as the light flicks green. 

It’s not long before you pull into the driveway and unlock the front door. Eddie holds a third napkin to his face. You consider going to the ER for stitches as you toss the keys on the counter and snatch a Ziploc bag from the cabinet. 

Two lines of light form a skewed L in the hall from the cracked bathroom door; A silent message that you are allowed to come in. It squeaks familiarly loud on its hinges but Eddie doesn't acknowledge you. 

He focuses on his reflection as he peels the napkin away hesitantly. The blood has stopped but his lip looks swollen and angry. You hook a finger through his belt loop, tugging him until he turns. You nudge the bag of ice to his cheek and he flinches grasping your hand to pull it away. 

“‘s cold.” 

You tug the hand towel off the sink and wrap the plastic, pushing it back to his cheek. You hold it there caressing his lash line with your pointer. He leans into the touch, rubbing his eyes with ringed fingers. Eddie pulls the thick silver off one by one, setting them on the counter. 

“Sit,” you tell him. 

He perches on the edge of the toilet lid obediently. You pick a washcloth from the drawer and run it under the sink. He parts his knees as you approach him, hands snapping into place at your hips. You cup his chin, pushing up until he tilts it toward you. Cool water cleans his lips where you brush. He doesn’t flinch, even when you accidentally dig too hard. You progress down to his jaw, where blood is smeared dry, and flaky. 

 “Think I’ll have a cool scar?” His breath fans your chin as you work cautiously. 

“No,” you say. He toys with the strings on your pants, happy to be taken care of. “But you don’t need it. You’re cool already.” 

The corners of his mouth lift fondly. He fights the urge to smile, hoping you’ll work longer if he sits still. You swipe in slow strokes, also secretly loving the time and touch. 

You give his face a once over before tossing the rag to the counter. He searches your expression for a diagnosis. But words are slow to find your mouth, too enraptured with the long lashes that bat his cheeks sweetly. “I love how eager you are to stick up for the people you love,” you start. 

“But?”

“But, we can’t afford you getting arrested over something like this.”

“I know,” he groans and headbutts you gently in the stomach. His hands cup the backs of your thighs and his hair drapes around his face like a curtain. You comb a handful of it over his neck and he tilts his head so you can see his eyes. “I don’t regret what I did, though. He’s always been such a bully. He deserved it, you know?” He sighs, gaze drifting away, “I felt like I could finally stand up to him after all these years.” 

Your fingers trail down his shoulder to smooth out the tee riding up his back. “I don’t doubt that he deserved it. I know you just want to do the right thing. But still, he can probably afford it, we can’t.” You hesitate to ask, “Where did you get that money anyway?” 

He hugs your middle, muttering into your belly, “Been saving.” 

“For what?” 

He shrugs and says what you believe to be, “Something special.” You are curious but lean on your trust rather than insecurity. He most likely intended to surprise you with something if you didn’t know.

“Sorry, you had to spend it.”

“Not your fault.” He peers up at you as if to ensure you know that and you brush his bangs back. 

“Still, sorry.” 

He blinks slowly up at you like a cat waiting for more pets. Then, he shoots up, back stiff, eyes wide. “You have work tomorrow,” he realizes out loud. 

“Oh, you didn’t hear?” you pull his arm until he stands. “I actually have come down with a real nasty cold,” you force a cough into your fist. 

“Oh yeah?” He raises an eyebrow. 

“Yeah, not only that but there's this criminal that won’t leave me alone. Think I might have to file a report at the station tomorrow.” 

He laughs, flicking the light off as he follows you to the bedroom. The ice pack is left to melt in the sink and the stained washcloth to dry on the counter, a mess for tomorrow you’ve decided. You’re quick to crawl under the covers and he’s even quicker to shed his clothes and join you. 

Eddie pecks the sliver of collarbone poking out of your shirt, making his way up in a dotted line. He presses gently to your lips, and you break away mindfully, aiming for the corner instead. 

“You know?” Your eyes are closed but you feel his stare. 

You hum.

“I think it’s kinda sexy when you call me a criminal.” 

“Oh my God!” You throw an arm over your burning cheeks, “You are so horny.”

He laughs into your wrist but moves it aside to cradle your cheeks firmly. He pulls one eyelid open gently with his thumb when you refuse to engage. You release the smile you’ve been keeping. He mirrors it, teeth bright in the moonlight spilling in. “Think about it, I already have handcuffs so you can play bad cop and—“ 

You grope for a pillow to push into his face and then another when he chucks it off the bed, giggles overlapping. 

“I’m going to call the police on you, have them arrest you again. Take you to horny jail.” 

“Now you get it,” he releases his grip on your wrists to sit back on his heels and in a voice that is not his own he fawns, “Oh, officer! I promise to be a good boy from now on!” 

You roll over, groaning wildly into your pillow. “Go to bed!” 

He settles behind you, his heart races where it's thumping against your back. Yours isn’t far off. A final kiss is planted on your nape where he tickles you with his hair as he wishes you a good night.

[duranduratulsa]

Up next on my 90's Fest Movie 🎬 🎞 🎥 🎦 📽 marathon...Rookie Of The Year (1993) on glorious vintage VHS 📼! #movie #movies #actionadventure #comedy #baseball #sportsmovie #rookieoftheyear #thomasiannicholas #danielstern #johncandy #ripjohncandy #roberthygorman #EddieBracken #ripeddiebracken #patricklabrecque #garybusey #AmyMorton #danhedaya #BruceAltman #alberthall #colombejacobson #wearlbrown #barrybonds #andyberman #BobbyBonilla #vintage #VHS #90s #90sfest #durandurantulsas4thannual90sfest