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mareastrorum · 6 months ago

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These are just initial thoughts, and perhaps I’ll learn something that changes my mind on it, but I’m glad to see Critical Role making the leap to their own subscription service with Beacon.

As a lead in: I’m an attorney that has some background in IP law, though it isn’t what I practice currently. I’ve kept in contact with several active practitioners, particularly those that represent small-time creators either in their own independent practice or via nonprofits. I do not have an extensive Rolodex of IP peers, nor do I spend the money to keep up on IP CLEs. I’m just someone who used to know a ton because I did heavy research and work in that space, and that hasn’t been the case for years.

So here’s my thoughts a bit on the IP angle:

The primary reason I’m happy to see this leap is that CR is taking active steps to keep control over its IP. It’s a boring thing to most people, but when I start paying attention to a specific creator (authors, directors, companies, etc.), I tend to be very attentive to how they use their IP. How freely do they license their marks to partner with other creators to make merch? How often do they allow others to make adaptations or derivatives of their copyrights? What is the quality of those products? What is the supply chain like? Are those third parties objectionable in some way? Were the other parties faithful to the original works or marks? Was this a cash grab or an earnest effort to make something worth the price tag?

Honestly, I like how CR run their business. They have a history of tapping fans and fellow small businesses when making new merch or spinoffs. They embrace the culture of fan-made derivative works, both by featuring fanart/cosplay and by sharing their success. Do you know how rare it is for a company to pay fan artists for their already-made and freely posted work and then sell books of it? Let me be clear: CR bought a limited license from each artist so they could print and sell each work in a physical book, then paid the cost of publishing that book with no guarantee that CR would make that money back, let alone profit. I have a copy of the collector’s edition art books: they’re actually very well made and the packaging definitely cost a pretty penny. That’s not a rainmaker idea, that’s genuinely risking financial loss to sell something people could access for free if they wanted to.

The art books aren’t a one-off either. Darrington Press is CR’s separate LLC for tabletop games. (It’s good business practice to split off companies that handle products in different industries.) CR has also made shows based on those games, and the Candela Obscura series has quite a dedicated audience. Everything about Candela belongs to them: the game itself, the rule book, all the art in the book, the web series based on the game, and merch. It’s so successful that they invested in scheduling a live show for Candela later this month. That’s HUGE.

Contrast that with the distribution of Campaign 1 and the first 19 episodes of Campaign 2. CR cannot host those videos themselves; Geek & Sundry still exists and still holds what I presume to be distribution rights (but I don’t have the contract to review). So G&S gets to host those videos on YouTube and reaps the advertising. I can’t speak to whatever share CR gets from that, but considering that CR is locked out of hosting their own copies of those videos, I doubt it’s much, if any, revenue. (If you’re wondering why CR just didn’t buy those rights back, I ask: what incentive does G&S have to sell something that’s making them money for no cost?)

Knowing that background about G&S, I was wary of CR choosing Amazon to host and distribute The Legend of Vox Machina. Originally, TLOVM was not the plan; CR had a kickstarter for an animated special based on C1. It was only because they blew past the goal that CR was able to make an entire season. The reasonable assumption is that choosing Amazon had to have secured CR additional funding for future seasons of the show, which seems evident from how quickly season 2 was announced, Mighty Nein Animated is also going to be a thing, and that season 3 of TLVOM is scheduled for fall 2024. CR had the option of just doing 1 season and keeping it purely in their control, but going with Amazon meant they could animate more of their works. Animation is expensive. I cannot stress enough how doubtful I am that CR would have been able to afford this many episodes and both campaigns if they had not gone this route. As wary as I was in the start, it paid off, and it’s going well—so far. Hopefully CR doesn’t regret that decision if Amazon tries something sleazy. But, as before, we don’t have the contracts and can’t know how secure CR’s position is if any dispute came up.

CR also partnered with Dark Horse Comics to make Vox Machina comics and Might Nein Origins comics. What’s especially surprising is that each of the cast had a hand in writing the MNO comics for their characters, with Matt listed for multiple. That isn’t very common with comic adaptations. Often times, IP owners let comic companies go ham with minimal oversight. Being listed as one of the authors comes with IP rights that have to be negotiated. That means that Dark Horse had to talk with CR about whether that warrants more or less revenue going to which party in exchange for that—or, alternatively, whether the comic gets made at all. That’s a ballsy move. You think people can just demand to write the comics that a publishing company is going to pay to print? Pffft. CR wanted some creative control, and that is a big ask. However, Dark Horse still has the distribution rights, both digitally and for physical copies. You couldn’t buy the comics from CR until they came out with the library edition, a book bound compilation of 4/8 comics. But the publisher is still Dark Horse; CR is just allowed to sell the book directly from their own site as well.

Contrast that with the novels about CR characters. CR partnered with Penguin Random House to publish novels about Vex and Vax (Kith & Kin), Lucien (The Nine Eyes of Lucien), and Laudna (What Doesn’t Break). Liam and Laura were vocal about having some say in K&K, whereas Madeline Roux said in an interview that she had full control over TNEOL. Both of those novels were narrated with CR voices, but narrating a book doesn’t come with IP rights, it just brings in a paycheck. There’s a lot less IP control in there compared to the comics, but this isn’t abnormal for book publishing. To be blunt, I doubt PRH would have agreed to publish the novels if anyone from CR had been a co-author or had heavy oversight over the author or the editing. I don’t think PRH even considered that as an option. Either an author that has already managed to sell X number of copies or nothing. Creative control over a book a huge ask, asks come with reduced revenue, and switching to books from a web series is already a leap. The fact that Laura and Liam had any say is surprising, really.

That was a long meandering tour of what we’ve seen CR do with its IP. The reason I bring up each of these things is that navigating the way to protect an IP in this space is rife with challenges. Different types of IP warrant different strategies because of the cost involved in creating each medium and the challenges placed by industries that have already sprung up around them. Any time that a third party is tapped to create an IP, it’s usually because they already have the funds and resources to create the work, and CR has to negotiate for revenue, creative control, distribution, and—the big one—who gets to be the owner. These are not easy, quick, or fun conversations, and CR is always going to be the smaller company at the table.

Knowing that, I’m not surprised or worried that CR is creating its own independent subscription service with Beacon. It tells me that they’re being careful with their IP whenever they can. A subscription service means they don’t have to trade away distribution rights or give up ad revenue to a third party. They’re in this for a long term investment, and that requires solid income not tied to third parties that can definitely outspend them in litigation in the event of a dispute. A subscription for bonus content is one of many parts in a diverse revenue stream.

(All that said, this isn’t meant to criticize creators that cant afford to do this type of thing. It took 9 years for CR to get to the point where Beacon is financially feasible and a desirable business decision. They have enough ongoing, popular content to warrant paying for a subscription, and they’ve built sufficient trust with their audience that more will be added. That takes time and an awful lot of money.)

As a final note, I take this step as a sign that CR definitely intends to stick around. This isn’t a move people make when they plan on ending the business after the current campaign. I’m glad to see CR is taking steps to secure their foundation and keep making new content.

I’m sure people will chime in on other issues (cost, content exclusivity, etc.), but I hope my perspective gives an idea of why this sort of thing is good for business generally and why it would be good for CR.

#critical role #beacon.tv #don’t trust me I’m a lawyer #I’m not your lawyer #I’m not CR’s lawyer #none of you paid me for shit #I do what I want

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laurentidal · 27 days ago

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Catalogue

When the catalogue arrived at the house, Renee thought it was a prank. Someone had signed her up for some bizarre joke magazine like when she used to sign up her neighbors for Playboy under the name "Jack Mehoff." She opened up the flimsy paper catalogue, trying not to chuckle at the name Slaveseeker.

The paper was light. Almost like tissue paper. It was like holding a magazine printed on brown public bathroom paper towel. The comparison to Playboy had been apt, apparently. Each page contained a single naked woman and a listing of her features: blue eyes, red hair, 40DD, submissive. Finally, at the bottom there was a price tag. She sighed and threw the escort advertisement away, and it was out of her mind the second it hit the bin.

But then the next month, another copy arrived. Slaveseeker June edition. And this time it was a little nicer. Gone was the flimsy almost-see-through material from May. It looked like they'd been able to spring for real paper this time. She smiled and thought, "Good for them." She supposed enough people had called and hired an escort that they'd managed to scrounge together a proper printing operation. But again, she threw the magazine away.

July. August. September. All brought a new copy of Slaveseeker Monthly. By October, the magazine was positively glamourous. The paper was glossy. The pictures of the models were obviously professional quality. And the descriptions were more… in depth.

Listing No 724-A: Melinda Esthridge Eyes: Green Hair: Blonde

Renee stared at the woman in the image. She'd be lying if she said she hadn't touched herself flipping through the magazine last month. The arrival of the catalogue had become something of a guilty pleasure. Renee had never dreamed of hiring an escort before, but when you're given the option again and again. And this woman - Melinda Esthridge - she was new. Renee double checked September's copy that she'd stashed under the end table.

Something about this woman called to her. And the cost wasn't bad for a night.

Maybe if she hadn't been in such a dry spell. Maybe if she hadn't had that extra glass of wine with dinner. Maybe if she hadn't flipped to just the right page with a model that looked so much like…

Anyway, there were a lot of maybes, but none of them mattered. In the end, horny and a little tipsy, Renee called the number on the last page of the catalogue and told the sweet voice on the other side of the line that she'd like to purchase 724-A for an evening. The woman took her credit card information and assured her that Melinda would be there within the hour.

While she waited, Renee read more of the woman's profile. The simple "Submissive" that they'd included in that first shitty edition had expanded greatly. Now there was a comprehensive list of Melinda's like and dislikes and fetishes and their strengths. And last, just above the price, there was a Willfulness Rating, which the first page told her was a indicator of how easy it would be to make Melinda want or do things anathema to her above listings. Melinda's was quite low.

A knock on the door, and Renee almost ran to open it. In front of her, to her shock and dismay, stood her sister-in-law, Mary Ann. The church-going goody-two-shoes housewife that her brother had married was almost unrecognizable under the makeup and in the revealing clothing, but here in person, Renee could see what the picture only suggested.

"Mary Ann?" Renee asked, as the woman walked into her house. She didn't react. Instead, she sat on the couch, eyes glazed.

"Hello," she began to recite with robotic precision. "Thank you for selecting me from Slaveseeker Monthly. I am your slave for this evening. Our time expires at 4:00 AM, no matter what time I have arrived. Until then, I am yours completely. Any damage incurred will be met with hostility and substantial charges to the card on file."

Then, she blinked, and seemed to return to life. "Renee?" she asked, puzzled. Then a look at sheer panic filled her face. "Oh my god. Oh my god. You bought me? Renee what the fuck?"

"What the fuck yourself? What are you doing in an escort magazine?"

"It's not…," Mary Ann trailed off. "This isn't supposed to be possible. They swore when I signed up."

"What was that big speech you gave? You said you are my slave."

That glassy look returned to Mary Ann's eyes. "Yes, Mistress. I am your slave for the evening. I will obey all commands." She blinked again and came back to reality. "Fuck I need to go. This can't happen."

"Stop," Renee said forcefully, and Mary Ann froze on the spot. "Strip."

"Yes, Mistress," she answered immediately and began to obey. But as she peeled her clothes off, she begged Renee to let her go. And as she stood there, naked and helpless, she told Renee that it wasn't supposed to be possible to get family.

"But you're not family," Renee said with a sly smile. "You're Melinda Esthridge."

Melinda relaxed, allowing the persona to sweep over her. The worry melted away, replaced with eager lust for the task at hand.

After that, Renee didn't need to call the catalogue anymore. The editions continued to come, but so did Renee. The family dinners were much more exciting. Melinda was ever her secret plus one, no pretense or hypnosis needed - they both knew what had been unlocked that night - and she didn't even have to prepare another plate. Melinda ate a different dinner from everyone else; quickly and quietly in a back bedroom, where no one could hear the need in Mary Ann's voice as her personality changed in the blink of an eye.

Thanks for reading! If you are a fan of my work, consider buying me a coffee. Any contribution is insanely appreciated. 💖

#tidal story #fem dom #fem sub #cheater cheater #accidental hypno #brainwashing #hypno fantasy #hypnok1nk #hypnosis #hypnosub #hypnotic #mind conditioning #hypno toy #mind control #mind corruption #mind fuck

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bunny-corp · 9 months ago

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Hi everyone! I'm looking to hop RIGHT into this whole thing, Excited to share something REALLY cool with you all today! In 2002 Fredbear's Family Diner had gotten so popular that the establishments owners William Afton + Henry Emily wanted to branch out, Celebrate in a more personal way! So they proposed a Sleep-over party! At this party, guests could expect fresh home-made pizza, Ice-cream sundae competitions, Various party games [ Pin the tail on the bunny, Fredbear Sing-along, Hide away], Prize scavenger hunts …AND EXCLUSIVE Once-in-a-lifetime performances from Spring-Bonnie and Fredbear!

These performances were put on record as Story-times and a special lullaby duet! These would have been different with every Sleep-over, but due to the restaurants abrupt closing in 2003, only 3 of these Over-night parties were ever held!

Despite the fact that there were so few of these parties, they were WILDLY popular amongst the children of Hurricane! SO MUCH SO that William and Henry had to make a reservation list for party guests, limiting the available spaces for attendees to about 40 per party seeing as that was the capacity of the building at the time. Tickets to enter these parties cost about $15!

The dates of these parties are the following; 06/14/2002 [FIRST], 07/12/2002, and finally 06/13/2003!

Attached is a scanned poster i found advertising the original event, and the 2 ticket prints you could've gotten from reserving your place at these parties! It's believed Henry Emily is the artist behind these pieces but I haven't found any confirmation of that yet.

~Bunny C.

#Archive Fredbears #fnaf #fredbear #springbonnie

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blueiscoool · 1 year ago

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The Aztec Death Whistle ‘The Most Terrifying Sound in the World’

For those who want to celebrate Halloween like it’s 1399: Scientists are sending shivers down the internet’s collective spine by recreating an ancient “Aztec Death Whistle” that’s said to emit the “most terrifying sound in the world.”

The macabre kazoo is detailed in a new video produced by the Action Lab, a group of proud internet nerds who specialize in mind-bending experiments.

“The sound that the death whistle makes innately strikes fear into your heart,” intones presenter James J. Orgill in the clip while holding a 3D-printed version of the instrument.

The Brigham Young University engineering grad then plays an audio clip of the scream machine, which evokes a bloodcurdling, bansheelike shriek resembling a sound effect from a haunted house attraction. (We dare you not to jump!)

Orgill points out that this is not a “human scream” but rather the sound emitted by the replica of a skull-shaped artifact originally discovered in Mexico City in 1999 by archaeologists.

It was reportedly found clutched in the hand of a headless skeleton in a temple dedicated to the wind god Ehecatl — one of many sites where the Aztecs conducted human sacrifices.

Initially thinking it was a toy, per Orgill, scientists didn’t blow into it until 15 years later, whereupon it emitted a terrifying sound.

“‘It was a startling discovery because it sounded like a screaming human,” said the burgeoning YouTube star, who dubbed it the “most terrifying sound in the world.”

The Aztecs were able to create this nightmarish noise by modeling the death whistle after the human larynx.

When the user blows into the instrument, the wind divides in two, producing oscillating sound waves that bounce around a large chamber before leaving via a second hole.

While the purpose of the instrument remains unclear, experts have several theories, with some believing this fright flute was used to scare enemies in battle.

Others postulate that the whistle was a defense talisman used to ward off evil spirits during a sacrificial victim’s journey to the afterlife.

In order to resurrect this symphony of screams for our listening “pleasure,” Orgill blew into different Tim Burton-esque whistles that were 3D-printed by US tech firm HeyGears.

All told, they made the raptor larynx from “Jurassic Park” sound like a kazoo.

No 3D printer, no problem: Interested parties can buy their death whistles on Amazon, which offers duplicates made of materials ranging from resin to carbon fiber.

Many advertise how closely their decibels match that of the most bone-chilling human screams.

By Ben Cost.

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mostlysignssomeportents · 2 years ago

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Even if you're paying for the product, you're still the product

There’s something oddly comforting about the idea that “if you’re not paying for the product, you’re the product,” namely, the corollary: “If you can afford to pay for a product, you won’t be the product.” But it’s bullshit. Companies don’t make you the product because you don’t pay — they make you the product because you can’t stop them.

The theory behind “if you’re not paying for the product…” is that old economist’s saw: “incentives matter.” Companies that monetize attention are incentivized to manipulate and spy on you, while companies that you pay just want to make you happy.

This is a theory of corporate behavior grounded in economics, not power, a creature of theory and doctrine that never bothers to check in with the real world to see how that theory and doctrine map to actual events. Reality is a lot uglier.

Apple has blanketed the planet with billboards and print and online ads extolling its privacy-forward system design (e.g. “Privacy. That’s Iphone.”). There’s something to this: in 2020, the company made it very easy to opt out of third-party Ios surveillance, and 96% of its users opted out:

https://arstechnica.com/gadgets/2021/05/96-of-us-users-opt-out-of-app-tracking-in-ios-14-5-analytics-find/

That decision cost Facebook $10 billion in a single year, and the losses keep coming. Facebook launched a campaign that accused Apple of privacywashing an anticompetitive maneuver, claiming that Apple didn’t care about its users’ privacy, they just wanted to eliminate competition for Apple’s own ad brokerage:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2020/12/facebooks-laughable-campaign-against-apple-really-against-users-and-small

Facebook’s campaign poses itself as the true champion of its users, accusing Apple of shamming. It’s laughable. Facebook manifestly despises its users and proves that fact every day in a thousand ways, large and small. Facebook’s true objection to Apple’s privacy tools is that they reduced Facebook’s earnings by $10b. Obviously.

But that doesn’t mean that Facebook is wrong about Apple’s cynicism. Apple exercises enormous control over its users. It’s a direct control. Apple blocks you from installing software of your choosing or from using third-party repair services of your choosing. They pour millions into engineering to make this technically challenging, and lead a coalition of large corporations that kill right to repair legislation whenever it is mooted:

https://doctorow.medium.com/apples-cement-overshoes-329856288d13

Some of Facebook’s critics accuse it of exercising similar control, but via a far more insidious method: they say that Facebook’s voracious surveillance of its users, combined with machine learning, allows Facebook to control its users’ minds, stripping them of their free will and turning them into algorithm-addled zombies who do whatever Facebook directs them to do.

This is an extraordinary claim, given that every previous claim of mind-control turned out to be bullshit, from Mesmer to MK Ultra. The best evidence for these mind-control claims comes from Facebook’s own marketing materials, where the company assures advertisers that they should spend their money on FB’s platform because of its mind-control features.

When FB critics repeat these claims, they’re engaged in “criti-hype,” Lee Vinsel’s useful coinage describing criticism that serves to bolster the target’s own propaganda. If FB are evil geniuses, well, at least they’re still geniuses.

https://sts-news.medium.com/youre-doing-it-wrong-notes-on-criticism-and-technology-hype-18b08b4307e5

Some Facebookers doubtless believe their own hype, but that doesn’t mean we have to join them in self-delusion. We can criticize Facebook for seeking control over its users, and for using that control to do things that serve its own interests at the expense of its users’ interests.

https://onezero.medium.com/how-to-destroy-surveillance-capitalism-8135e6744d59

That’s the true sin of Big Tech: using deception and coercion to control users. Companies that gain this control can be reliably expected to use it in whichever ways they can get away with. They are paperclip-maximizing artificial life-forms bent on devouring the human race, not ethical actors.

Apple’s commitment to privacy is best understood as instrumental. Apple thinks that protecting your privacy will attract your business, and they’re right. I would like to have privacy! But while Apple can increase its revenues by telling you they’ll protect your privacy, they can increase them even more by lying about it.

That’s just what they do. Earlier this month, a small security research firm called Mysk released a video revealing that when you tick the box on your Iphone that promises “disable the sharing of Device Analytics altogether,” your Iphone continues to spy on you, and sends the data it collects to Apple:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8JxvH80Rrcw

The data Iphones gather is extraordinarily fine-grained: “what you tapped on, which apps you search for, what ads you saw, and how long you looked at a given app and how you found it.”

https://gizmodo.com/apple-iphone-analytics-tracking-even-when-off-app-store-1849757558

It doesn’t stop there: “The app sent details about you and your device as well, including ID numbers, what kind of phone you’re using, your screen resolution, your keyboard languages, how you’re connected to the internet — notably, the kind of information commonly used for device fingerprinting.”

The researchers had to jailbreak an Iphone in order to find this lie. Apple has gone to extraordinary lengths to make jailbreaking illegal. Apple claims that allowing users to disable the locks on their phones will make them vulnerable to bad actors who will install deceptive, coercive software.

That is true, but it’s also true that these locks make it impossible to determine whether Apple’s software is deceptive and coercive. The walled fortress that keeps you safe from third parties is also a walled prison that leaves you at the mercy of the warlord who owns the fortress.

Once a company attains a certain scale, it becomes too big to jail, and then it monetizes you however it can. If you think the future of technology is battle is between Google’s approach and Apple’s, think again. The real fight is between the freedom to decide how technology works for you, and corporate control over technology.

https://locusmag.com/2021/01/cory-doctorow-neofeudalism-and-the-digital-manor/

Apple and Google are like the pigs and the men at the end of Animal Farm: supposed bitter enemies who turn out to be indistinguishable from one another. Google also has “privacy” switches in its preference panels that do nothing:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/06/01/you-are-here/#goog

Indeed, there are so many places in Google’s location privacy settings where you can tick a box that claims to turn off location spying. None of them work. A senior product manager at Google complained to her colleagues that she had turned off three different settings and was still being tracked:

https://twitter.com/jason_kint/status/1398359580275523590

Apple is now the subject of a California class action suit over its deceptive practices, which violate the California Invasion of Privacy Act.

https://www.bloomberglaw.com/public/desktop/document/LibmanvAppleIncDocketNo522cv07069NDCalNov102022CourtDocket

As Gizmodo’s Thomas Germain notes, Apple has a good — if self-serving — reason to spy on its users. It has launched its own ad network, and is selling advertisers the ability to target its customers based on their activities:

https://gizmodo.com/apple-iphone-privacy-analytics-class-action-suit-1849774313

Companies will only protect your privacy to the extent that it is more profitable than not doing so. They can increase those profits by advertising privacy promises to potential customers. They can increase them more by secretly breaking those promises, And they can increase them even more by using privacy claims to block their rivals’ spying, so they’re the sole supplier of your nonconsensually collected personal information.

That’s what’s happening with Google’s endless proposals to “increase privacy” in Chrome that block third parties from spying on users, while letting Google continue to invade our privacy:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2021/03/googles-floc-terrible-idea

If we want our privacy, we need both transparency (so third parties can investigate companies’ claims to protect privacy) and regulation (so cheating companies will face consequences when they’re caught by those third parties).

That’s why it’s so exciting that the FTC has announced its intention to treat privacy invasions as antitrust violations:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/08/12/regulatory-uncapture/#conscious-uncoupling

For so long as corporations can use technology and law to hide their misdeeds and power to avoid consequences for those misdeeds, “voting with your wallet” is as useless as opting out of Ios tracking.

We had advertising-supported media for generations — centuries — without mass surveillance. The problem with advertising isn’t incentives — it’s impunity.

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

[Image ID: An Apple 'Privacy. That's iPhone.' ad. The three rear-facing camera lenses have been replaced by the staring, red eye of HAL9000 from 2001: A Space Odyssey.]

#pluralistic

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zahri-melitor · 5 months ago

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If you want to read comics and you want to test the waters:-

Yes, RCO and clones exist, everyone uses them, I do it weekly too for titles I cannot access any other way (The Warlord) but let me tell you, it’s not the only option, particularly if you want to read reasonably modern comics back issues rather than deliberately suppressed obscure stuff. Plus, don’t you want to look at comics without worrying about getting viruses?

Your Local Library: your library probably has comics as trade paperbacks, and inter library loan will have more. It’s not the most consistent way to find things, but you should definitely look them up, there’s probably something there you’d be interested in reading. Good for having multiple presses, and most take suggestions for their collections, which is a slow but free way to read titles with highly detailed art like Wonder Woman Historia in person.

Digital libraries: my local libraries have ComicsPlus subscriptions, which I can use for free. Now you won’t get DC or Marvel on them, but BOOM!, Dark Horse, Image, Oni Press, Papercutz? All options. A really helpful way to easily sample other presses.

Internet Archive Library: the IA is again going to have an eclectic collection and be difficult to search, but it’s there and it has a lot of stuff and you’re not going to be worrying about computer viruses.

DCUI: if you’re in US, UK, Canada, AU or NZ, you can get a DCUI account. There’s a free trial available of course, and if what you’re interested in trying was published more than 6 months ago, you don’t even need to shell out for Ultra. It costs me less than a Netflix subscription per month, even for Ultra. There’s also a small handful of comics you’ll be able to access for free without ANY subscription - essentially advertising for new runs etc.

MU: just like DCUI, only Marvel, and available more places. Also runs on a subscription model. MU also has the quirk that you can manage digital ownership of individual issues also through their app (if you buy Marvel floppies there is a mechanism to obtain a legal digital copy within ~6 months of the publication date)

Local Comics Shops: you can also…buy floppies and trade paperbacks for yourself. If you really love a story and it’s out in trade, I highly recommend buying it for yourself to have forever. It just sidesteps so many future problems. An LCS is also more likely to have a back catalogue of titles available - if you’re looking for a trade published 8 years ago, they might have it while an ordinary bookshop won’t. If you’re less certain, events like Free Comic Book Day and Batman Day are largely a marketing exercise more than new original material these days, but they’re also a good way to get to handle and own actual comic books if you’ve never done that before.

Other bookshops: if you don’t have a local bookshop with a specialist comics and manga collection (I do) it’s going to be a bit like trying to find comics at your local library: you’ll see lots of stuff with Batman and Joker in the title, and a random selection of anything else. Sometimes you can get surprisingly good deals from them as collectors are less likely to use them to get titles.

Overstock/Remainder Sellers: always worth a look, particularly if you’re trying to pick up titles printed several years ago. My local one has found some absolute gems for me, at a significant discount (I have picked up parts of Dixon’s Nightwing run, Bennett’s Batwoman run, Rowell’s Runaways, some Wonder Woman trades from Rucka and Perez, Gotham Central, I just managed to get the second n52 Blue Beetle trade…)

EBay/second hand shops/Abebooks/Biblio: a decent way to measure what the actual value of a comic title is on the second hand market. Sometimes you can find that the market value is far lower than you expected (Cassie’s Wonder Girl series is remarkably affordable). In other occasions you realise DC is leaving a LOT of money on the table by not reprinting (look up Red Robin trade prices and weep).

Friends: do you know anyone else who likes comics? They may already own stuff they can loan to you! (Once I lent out my Birds of Prey collection to a friend and he returned it with the first two n52 titles added. Still unsure if that was meant to be a kindness or just letting me store them)

#yes yo ho ho is an option #but there’s also multiple free legal methods #and paid legal options #and sometimes I feel people act like managing to get comics anywhere other than RCO is wildly difficult #it’s not! and depending on what you’re looking for it can be very affordable

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mitchipedia · 9 months ago

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The Whiskey Trust Hates Her for this Simple Home Remedy! 1905

“The reader has very likely seen in the public prints an alleged picture of Mrs. Margaret Anderson of Hillburn, New York, who "cured her husband of drinking," and wants to tell you how to cure yours, free.

"She has nothing whatever to sell," says the advertisement. True. But the Physicians' Co-operative Association, a quack organization of Chicago, for which Mrs. Anderson is stool-pigeon, has something to sell. That something is Alcola. "The Conqueror of King Alcohol." Mrs. Anderson's correspondents are recommended by her, in a skillful imitation of a hand-written letter, to buy Alcola and be saved. Alcola is the same kind of fake as the rest of the “given in secret” cures.”

Samuel Hopkins Adams, “The Great American Fraud”, 1907

From a subsequent article about Alcola:

“The trial treatment comes swiftly. It is 3 tablets of yellow, chocolate color, and pinkish gray. They can be slipped into a gentleman's coffee when he isn't looking . The "complete treatment" costs $5. If you don't order it in a reasonable time, you get letter after letter from the Physicians Cooperative Association, winding up with a "personal" letter from the "medical director," Dr. Edward F. Stace, urging purchase of the stuff at specially reduced price. Well, the American Medical Association Journal, which prints the foregoing facts in its May 4 1907 number, has been analyzing the-tablets in its laboratory and has found that they contain poison. Says the Journal: Tablets No. 1 and No. 2 contain strychnine, while Tablet No. 3 contains tartar emetic to induce vomiting.”

#vintage advertising

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dsmppinup · 1 year ago

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DSMP Pin-Up Calendar - Details and FAQ

TIMELINE:

Applications Open: August 11

Applications close: August 25

Invites to artists sent: August 30

Printing: Late October DSMP Pin-Up Calendar is an artistic celebration of the characters of the DSMP, drawing inspiration from the creativity of the fandom community, "hot guy" calendars, action movie posters, classic pin-ups, vintage advertisements, art prints, and more, in the form of a 2024 calendar. FAQ:

Which characters are going to be in the calendar? There are 38 people on the DSMP, so we're not going to be able to fit them all. We're going to attempt to build a portfolio that covers as many characters as possible, but we're not deciding on which characters specifically until we know which artists we have and what ideas for images they have.

Are the characters played by minors involved? There are no current minors involved with the DSMP, but we understand that the creators being underage for much of the server's run puts a bit of a damper on enjoying more salacious images of the characters. In cases where artists decide they want to draw a character who was underage for a significant period of time of the DSMP, we'll ask that their images tend closer to "action movie poster" or "vintage advertisement" than "pin up".

Is NSFW allowed? We want this calendar to be fun and a bit cheeky, and we want to allow the artists creative liberty, but we also want you to be able to display this without your parents going "what the hell"? No actual NSFW will be part of the calendar.

I want to draw [x] character, can I draw them? During the application and planning process, we'll ask artists to indicate which characters they want to draw. We will then draw up a plan for the calendar, and artists will be assigned a character or characters based on the ones they selected.

Do the images have to stay canon-compliant? Can I draw my own design for a character? We encourage you to bring your own designs to the table, and feel free to set the characters within a canon setting OR an au.

How will I get the calendar? We will be printing a bound calendar through a central source, probably Mixbox, and we will also be making a PDF version that you can print yourself locally, if you have a different print source in mind or if the website doesn't ship to your country.

How much money are you making from this? We are not making any money from this project. If you buy the calendar through a source that asks you to pay for it, it will be priced at-cost, so you will only be paying for the cost of the printing and shipping. The mod team will see no profit from it.

How does the process work? We are going to open the calendar up to applications, and then we're going to go through the apps and select artists that can draw a wide variety of characters. Once in the discord, we're going to ask artists to pitch us a variety of ideas, and then the mod team is going to select pitches to make sure we, ideally, get a variety of different images and characters represented. We will then go through sketches, final, layout, and then release it for you all to buy or print!

#DSMP Pinup Calendar #Fandom Calendar #DSMP #DSMPblr #mcyt #mcytblr

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blogdays · 1 year ago

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Fastdtftransfer - Devasa+ (2)

Create dtf design is a printing method that involves printing a design onto a piece of PET film using specialized equipment. This method offers a cost-effective way to create high-quality and durable graphics and labels. Unlike other printing methods like DTG (Direct-to-Garment), DTF requires the use of a film, a powder, a curing oven, and a heat press to complete the printing process. DTF transfers are versatile and can be used on various types of fabrics and garments, allowing for flexibility in design placement. With the ability to customize and personalize designs, DTF printing offers endless possibilities for creating unique and professional apparel. It is important to understand the process and benefits of DTF printing when considering custom uniforms design. Custom uniforms play a crucial role in branding and establishing a company's identity. They serve as a visual representation of a brand's personality and can incorporate unique design your own tshirt, design elements such as colors, patterns, and logos. By incorporating brand elements into custom uniforms, companies can create a strong brand identity and promote their business effectively. Custom uniforms also provide free advertising, as they showcase the company's colors and logo, making an immediate impact on customers. Establishing a brand identity takes time and effort, and custom uniforms can be a powerful tool in achieving this goal. Therefore, it is essential to consider custom uniform design as part of the overall branding strategy. When designing Dtf guidelines, there are several guidelines to keep in mind. Firstly, it is important to ensure that the design captures the brand's identity and message. The design should align with the company's values and target audience, while also being visually appealing and professional. Secondly, the design should be versatile and suitable for various types of garments and fabrics. This allows for flexibility in creating uniforms for different purposes and environments. Additionally, attention should be given to the placement of the logo and other design elements to ensure visibility and impact. Lastly, it is crucial to work with experts who have experience in DTF design and printing to ensure the best results. Their expertise can help guide the design process and ensure that the final product meets the brand's expectations and requirements. By following these guidelines, businesses can create unique and professional DTF custom uniforms that effectively represent their brand and enhance their overall image. Dtf printing in USA,Dtf printing in Canada our website can help you to have information about the issues.

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marrogerson · 8 months ago

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Hi Margaret,

I absolutely adore Sorcery of Thorns. As an aspiring writer, I wanted to ask you how you started worldbuilding? The world just seemed so lively and detailed, just as if it was real. While reading I imagined it like in the Victorian era, were there special things you researched? Worldbuilding just seems so daunting to me.

Sending you all the best wishes, and I‘m waiting patiently and excited for new stories from you :)

Hi anon,

Thank you for the lovely ask. I was also daunted by worldbuilding when I started trying to write books. (Key word, trying... my attempts didn't work out too well for the first few years.) Since this is turning out to be a longer post, I'll put the rest under a cut.

Initially, the thing I struggled with the most was having a great idea for a world, fleshing it out, and then trying to populate it with characters and an interesting plot. This worldbuilding-first strategy works for some writers I think, but it didn't for me. I personally had a breakthrough when I started instead focusing on creating the main characters/their central conflict first, and then constructing the worldbuilding around them to support the story's needs. For example, the premise of the magic system in Sorcery of Thorns (sorcerers who summon demon servants at great personal cost) was one that I created specifically to facilitate the angst between Nathaniel and Silas.

I always say that I don't consider myself much of a researcher, but then I glance across my desk and see the stack of books that I ordered secondhand from Ebay because they're no longer in print. If you're writing in a similar time period, I highly recommend The Victorian City by Judith Flanders (this one is still in print and easy to find). The most curious one (to me at least) is probably The Victorian Bathroom Catalogue which is a book full of historical advertisements including illustrations of old bathroom fixtures.

My best advice when it comes to research—if it's something you struggle with—is to try reading things that are fun, which you would enjoy reading anyway even if you didn't have a reason. The most useful research I've ever done was just-for-fun reading that I did not realize was important research until much later. Forgive my weird analogy, but all that reading turns into sort of a yeast culture in the fridge of your brain, which you can draw from when needed instead of having to go searching for yeast every time you need it. And the yeast culture will also creep into your bedroom at four in the morning, and whisper tantalizing ideas into your ear... ok, let's stop there.

The nice thing about writing fantasy is that you don't need to sweat the small stuff. Just worry about writing a fun story first.

Some of my favorite specific topics that I've researched online lately include elevators in the first half of the 1800s, and whether gunpowder would have been used to demolish a large building just prior to the invention of dynamite.

Best of luck!

#writing #ask

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toms-cherry-trees · 1 year ago

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Don't Hold My Hand (I'll Break Your Heart) || Tommy Shelby x Fem OC ~ Prologue

Summary: How can one recover from having their life swept out from under theit feet? When a promising future becomes lost, shattered by a past that should have remained long forgotten? Is care and love enough to undo the damage, or will it just be a sweet balm to give a brief respite of the pain before the unavoidable end?

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: Vague description of war injuries

Author's note: This fic is loosely based on Me Before You, keyword loosely. I don't have many information on what voluntary nurses did after the war nor how did they treat those with long term injuries, but I am working as best as I can with what I know so do not expect this to be entirely historically accurate. There also may be some ableism akin to the period but it will be kept minimal

This is also my first time writing Tommy with an OC! Say hello to Charlotte Florence Tindall everyone! She is an OC I've had for 3 years based in Lady Sybill Crawley from Downton Abbey

Next part 》

The gates to Arrow House stood tall and imponent amidst a thick grove in the depths of Warwickshire. The estate’s name had been forged in sturdy steel and perched high above the iron and brick archways, kept in pristine condition despite the long exposure to the elements, with the family’s proud surname hanging just below in equal condition. Charlotte could easily imagine an unfortunate servant sent there on the daily with a ladder and some polisher, his only duty being to keep the family’s name spotless, literally.

The journey towards the manor was brief and silent, the bumps in the road barely noticeable in the luxurious car that had picked her up from the train station, with leather seats and a smoothly purring engine. She knew little about the brands and commodities money could afford, but the vehicle, driven by a smartly dressed man in a crisp suit, surely cost more than all the money she had ever owned or would ever own in her life as a former VAD nurse.

The Great War had taken many opportunities, but in its wake, it had unexpectedly given some. Hordes of girls and women turned to their nearest recruitment offices or hospitals to receive express courses in nursing and home care, to serve their country side by side with the men, restoring to health those who had been wounded in combat and caring for those who had given it all until they had no more left. Field hospitals, Red Cross stations, local hospitals, and convalescence homes; all packed to the gunnels with soldiers who had been wounded, scarred, maimed, and traumatised beyond repair.

But the war had come to an end. The volunteers, the ones who had risen to the task, scattered and went back to their lives. And so did Charlotte. Only to realise the long battle had just begun. The men would not recover only because the conflict had concluded. Many remained who would need lifetime care and attention that not many families were trained or willing to provide. The nurses returned, offering their skills in little advertisements printed in newspapers or glued to shop windows.

She had it easy, in a way. Early in 1919, a man she cared for harnessed her in to be his private nurse, but that lasted until he came forward with less honourable propositions. Then came an elderly colonel, whom she watched over up until his last breath. And most recently, a strapping young sergeant, whose fiance, who didn’t take kindly to having a young woman dress and wash him, nearly chased Charlotte off.

She quickly grew disenchanted with the job, having found mostly trouble and no small amount of tears in it. Perhaps she was not made for this as she originally thought. Maybe she would do better as a cashier or cook; she could seek a post as a secretary or a board girl in the telephone company. She had learned enough to defend herself as a seamstress. Anything to keep her clothed and fed while sparing her the suffering.

But one day, a letter arrived at her door. A letter sent by the treasurer of Shelby Company Limited. The infamous Polly Gray. A shiver ran down her spine when she read the name in elegant calligraphy over expensive paper, and a part of her feared the envelope would burst in her hands like a hand grenade.

Who in Birmingham didn’t know about the Shelbys? In the slums and the rookeries, people didn’t pray to God; they prayed to the Peaky Blinders. They owned the factories, the distilleries, the pubs, and the institutions. They owned the police. They owned the very streets the people walked every day, their houses, their money, and their lives if they so wished.

And now, it seemed they wished to own Charlotte.

Mrs. Gray convened her for an interview at their estate since they requested her services as a nurse to care for a war veteran. The letter provided little more information other that they offered generous pay, accommodations, and a day off of her choosing. A preset date and time had been included, next to a train ticket to get her to the station closest to them.

Charlotte could not tell exactly what drove her to actually assist. Perhaps she wished to know how and why they found her. Maybe the lure of a salary twice the average had lured her in. Or the morbid curiosity of meeting this soldier; as far as she knew, the Shelby brothers didn’t need anything from anyone.

When she arrived at the manor, a stern-faced woman took her coat and bag. She barely had time to admire her surroundings before the maid led her towards a drawing room. Dark wood in panels and furniture, crimson wallpaper, two walls entirely lined with bookshelves filled with books of all sorts, some in pristine condition and others worn and falling apart.

Amidst all, in a settee of black velvet, sat Polly Gray. Pearls hugged her neck, hung from her ears, and adorned the front of her silver frock. Bracelets and rings decorated her fingers. Masses of papers covered the tea table before her, which she methodically separated into neat piles. By her side were a glass of whiskey and a cigarette with crimson stains, the ashtray filled to the brim. The face powder could not conceal entirely the dark circles underneath her eyes, and some fine streaks of grey contrasted against her golden chocolate curls. A woman not quite old in age but worn out tremendously by troubles and tribulations Charlotte didn’t know.

She cleared her throat, since she appeared so immersed in her paperwork she didn’t notice her.

“Mrs Gray”

“Sit” The harshness of the command contrasted with the undeniable softness of her voice, edged with barely contained nervousness, as if she stood ready to collapse. Hurriedly, she collected the scattered papers and dropped them in a pile at her side, just in time for the stern maid to place before them a tea tray, all polished silverware and hand-painted porcelain. Mrs. Gray and her spent several minutes in fraught silence, stirring a cup of fragrant tea with two sugars, while Mrs. Gray added the last of her whiskey glass into her cup. Charlotte waited for her to speak first, but the woman seemed to be in no rush, which only added to her own anxiousness.

“Mrs. Gray. You called me here. You sent me a train ticket and a driver to pick me up. Why?”

She stirred her beverage methodically, making five perfect clockwise rounds with the spoon and gently tapping it on the rim twice. Staring into the steaming liquid while she pondered her words.

“You are a nurse, aren’t you? You have field experience, and have also have cared for disabled soldiers." Not an interrogation, merely a statement. She didn’t question her about how she knew that. If she so desired, she could track down her school teacher and ask her how well she did in maths when she was nine. But that still didn’t provide her with answers.

“I am. I have worked with several patients, and if you wish, I can provide referen-”

She cut Charlotte off with a wave of her hand. “I already have your references. I spoke with your previous employers myself.”

A cold shiver spread down her legs. What could she possibly require from her that she take such an effort to map out her past? If she had that information, it meant they had checked her background and that of her family and close friends. And she assumed she had passed whatever unspoken test they carried on her; otherwise, they wouldn’t have brought her straight into their den.

But again, why?

Mrs. Gray put down the teacup and finally looked at the other woman’s face for the first time since her arrival. Her eyes were large, deep in colour, and full of wisdom and caution.

“Do you have any experience with men with reduced mobility? That is, men who are wheelchair-bound?”

That treaded closer to her area of expertise. For a brief moment, she feared she would be taken to a dimly lit basement where she’d be asked to save the life of a grievously wounded man with a gun pressed to her temple. Or maybe she just read far too many crime novels.

“I do. I worked with many men who had lost their ability to walk, either by spinal injury or loss of limb."Before the following pause prolonged for too long, Charlotte pressed the matter further. “Is that why you called me? You have a veteran who can’t walk."She spoke the words carefully, since she had learned through trial and error that not all people reacted well when she spoke too harshly about the state of the patient, so she tiptoed around the subject with carefully chosen words.

Suddenly she stood, setting the cup aside with such carelessness that the tea splattered everywhere, staining the lace covering the side table.

“Come with me." She headed towards the hallway, not even looking to see if Charlotte followed. She barely had time to steal one more sip before rushing behind her, straining her legs to keep up with her pace. She led her through a back door and out of the house, towards a stone and gravel backyard, smelling of horses and petrol. Other than a few hounds and a lone gardener trimming some bushes, no one else was around. No one listening but Lottie.

“My three nephews enlisted around the same time in 1914. And I will forever be grateful that the three of them made it home alive." She walked with her hands behind her back like a man. With that ramrod straight posture and her puffed chest, she could put a general to shame. It certainly worked to intimidate her, and she walked a step behind her, feeling unworthy of keeping up her pace.

“John and Arthur came back okay. Or as okay as men could after the things they saw and did” John and Arthur. Both names rang a bell, but she hadn’t seen them personally. They acted as henchmen more than businessmen, terrorising the factories and the foremen in their factories. Legend has it that a foreman in a Sparkbrook steelworks bought a house with bribes for tossing bodies in the furnace.

“But Tommy” She continued, bringing her attention back to the present. “He was a tunneller. There was a collapse near the end of everything. I don’t know the entire story, but the tunnel caved in on them. Out of fifteen boys, only five were dug out."She fell silent for a moment and made the sign of the cross. Pain wrung Charlotte’s heart, but she didn’t allow it to settle. She had quickly learned to push pain into the back of her mind during the war. If she allowed herself to feel it, she’d collapse like wet clay.

“They brought him back on a stretcher. I never thought a person could be more blue than white and have more broken bones than whole ones. He spent the rest of the war in a hospital room and remained there for a good part of the next year. Every doctor expected him to just die in his sleep, but he refused to give up. He made a full recovery and came home as if nothing happened.”

The tone of her words and Lottie’s very presence there indicated that not all had gone well.

“He took over his duties in the business and married a girl he fancied. They even had a son. No indicator that something could be wrong". Her pace had slowed, allowing her to catch up, now walking by her side, not wanting to miss a word. She had left the backyard behind and now moved into bare grass; from the entrance, she hadn’t quite grasped how far the estate stretched. It could easily and comfortably house two manors equal in size with their own stables and gardens.

“He suddenly started complaining of pain in his legs. Stiffness, soreness, especially in the mornings” She recognised the symptoms immediately but chose to remain silent while she spoke. “Soon he had trouble walking; sometimes his knees gave out and he just fell. He resisted the cane as much as he could, but in time he could not remain upright without it for long.

“We sought a doctor in London. He said a disc in his back had cracked in the accident. The fracture had been stable, but as time passed, it worsened and began to collapse and compress his spine."She waved her hand dismissively. “I didn’t understand any of the technical words, but the doctor said the injury would progress. The spine would be compressed more and more until he lost all use of his legs.

Even though Charlotte didn’t see her expression, she noticed in her words the sorrow she felt for her nephew. And she didn’t blame her. To have him delivered home in pieces, seeing him go through a miraculous recovery only for this to happen. His life robbed from him, one sliver at a time, seeing his own body fail him day by day.

Mrs. Gray exhaled slowly, as if regaining her composure. “Ever since he got the diagnosis, he changed. He became irritable and wrathful. He refused to be seen with the cane; whenever he met people in the office, he leant into something or sat down. Then he refused to be seen altogether and handled business locked in his office." She pulled out a cigar case from her dress pocket and offered her one, which Lottie kindly refused.

“When he no longer could manage stairs easily, he started working from home. He seldom saw people; only his brothers and I could visit him” The smoke left her mouth with each word, since she consumed the cigarette so desperately she barely had time to breathe out. She thought that she didn’t need all that information to do her job, but she didn’t interrupt her. She sounded like she needed someone to listen to her at least once.

She finished the first cigarette and quickly lit a second with the leftover stub. Her crimson coated lips parted, as if she wanted to say something else but chose not to at the last second. Instead her features contorted in a snarl briefly, lips pursed like she tasted something bitter, and then shook her head and regained her composure.

“He bought this manor to be away from everyone. He wanted to live alone, with only the staff to help him, but I couldn’t leave him alone in that state, even if he refused to be helped. He may be an arse, but he is still my nephew” Lottie snickered at her last statement, disguising the inappropriate sound as a cough.

“I realise I could not handle it alone. There is just so much to be done, and many things he would never let me do for him” Another lit cigarette, consumed as frantically as the first two. “I tried to hire him a personal maid but she had the talent of a doornail”

“That’s why you sought me?” It made sense now. A common maid couldn’t handle his injuries and his needs like she could.

A bitter laugh fell from her lips “I sought a nurse, yes. And another one. And another one” She didn’t pay heed to her concerned expression “He never got along with any of them. Despised them, I dare say. Tommy cannot stomach being stared at or treated with pity” She made a mental note of that for her future work, that is, if she survived the day “Not all the pay raises and benefits in the world convinced them to stay long. I offered to pay the last one’s bank loans if she reconsidered her resignation, but that only held her in for another three weeks”

Charlotte’s resolution to take the job faltered by the minute. Why would she want to care for a man who seemed hellbent in making his caretakers miserable? Sure, his situation was nothing short of horrible, but did that really give him the right to spread his venom to those who tried to do good by him? And most importantly, did she really want to put herself through that? The pay was the best she had ever been offered, but would the money be worth it?

Suddenly Mrs. Gray gripped the younger woman’s hand, so tightly her fingers ached. She should have shaken her off, but the desperation in her eyes deterred her from it. She looked like a woman standing on the edge of the abyss, hanging only from her grasp.

“I personally collected your reference letters. All of your previous employers spoke of your patience and your affection. Of how your softness and cheerfulness helped them. I think you are what Tommy needs. I think you are the one who can help my nephew” Her grip tightened and an involuntary mewl of pain came from her throat. She released Lottie’s hand, and instead placed a pleading touch on her bicep.

“Please give it a try. At least for a month. I know he won’t live to be an old man. And whatever life he has left, whether it is 4 years or 4 decades, I want him to find peace. Happiness, even. I want him to have a reason to wake up in the morning” She could tell she wished to say more, but had cut off her words.

With all she laid out before her, Charlotte barely resisted the temptation to grab her purse and run for her life. But something in her words, in the story she narrated for her, it pulled at her heartstrings. She had a thing for lost causes and broken things. In the worst scenario, she would walk out depressed but with enough money to start anew.

She only had one request

“Can I meet your nephew before I make my decision?”

Mrs Gray dropped her arm and pressed her lips into a thin line, eyebrows knit together in a scowl. She wanted to say no, that much she could tell. Maybe she thought she shouldn’t see Thomas until she had her signed up so she couldn’t back out. But Charlotte wouldn’t agree on anything until she spoke to him

“Of course”

Back into the house, she took her to the second floor. Lottie quickly noticed the house had been retrofitted in ways most couldn’t afford to offer Thomas a semblance of comfort. Large paintings hung in the stairway, most of them displaying a man with blue eyes and a dominant posture, always standing with his hands behind his back.

A set of double doors stood ajar towards the back of the floor. The room behind stretched almost all the length of the house, and Lottie noticed in the wall the dents where walls had been taken down to create such a large space. The furniture stood well spaced between each other to allow wide passages, enough to comfortably fit a wheelchair. Sunlight filled the alcove, coming from the many windows with the drapes drawn back. A set of glass doors led to a magnificent veranda that overlooked the estate.

Just outside, close to the balustrade, sat a black-haired man, his back turned to them. The wheelchair he sat upon was far more complex and luxurious than the ones she had in the ward. He wore a robe and slippers, as if he had just risen from bed despite being well into the afternoon.

Mrs. Gray walked out first, while she waited just under the lintel. She stood next to the man, one hand on his shoulder.

“Tommy, there is someone I want you to meet”

“No” His voice cut through the air, deep and curt. It sounded manly, and would have been pleasing to hear in other situation

“Tommy, please give her a chance, I promise-” He cut her pleading short with a smack of his fist on the wooden armrest.

“I said no! I don’t want her here. Put her in a cab and send her away” Mrs. Gray seemed to be at her wits’ end. She crouched next to him, like when one speaks to a child. She couldn’t make out the words she hissed at him through clenched teeth, but whatever she said, he didn’t like. With surprising skill he turned the wheelchair around and nearly ran Charlotte over, having barely managed to stop the chair with a heel on the floor.

The paintings did little justice to the blueness in his eyes. A vibrant blue not often seen, but filled with ice the moment they laid on her. The smart haircut had been replaced by an overgrown mane, jet black strands curling behind the ears and waving around the top. A five o clock shadow obscured the clenched jaw down to the neck. But even unkempt like that she felt the aura of haughtiness and pride bordering on arrogance emanating from him. He held her gaze for endless seconds, and not once she shied away from his cold eyes.

“Whatever it is you think you can do for me, save it for someone else. And now, get out of my home”

He wheeled past her, moving towards the main double doors. He couldn’t really go anywhere, but she figured he planned to hide somewhere until she left.

Lottie stood there, a bit dumbfounded, while Mrs. Gray returned to her side, despair plastered in her features, mixed with barely contained anger

“He is like that sometimes, but I promise you, some days are better. I will talk to him and get him to behave, and if you-”

“I can start tomorrow” She cut her off. Her jaw hung open, eyes widened as she struggled to wrap her mind around her words. Words that shocked Charlotte as much as Mrs. Gray, for she hadn’t actually allowed them out of her mouth. They just left in a blurt. But she meant them, even if she couldn’t quite tell herself why. It went beyond the money; she wanted this job. As if something invisible pushed her to stay there; as if there she’d truly find a purpose. It made no sense, but hunches and feelings rarely did

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Gray. I think I can help your nephew.”

#marsie writes #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x you #tommy shelby x oc #tommy shelby x fem oc #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby series #tommy shelby one shot #charlotte tindall #female oc #tommy shelby #thomas shelby #peaky blinders #don't hold my hand (i'll break your heart)

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hbyrde36 · 1 year ago

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No Vacancy

Chapter 3: Out of Order

WC: 5248 | R: Explicit | CH: 3/12 | AO3 | Now Complete!

Ch 1 Ch 2

*CHRISSY*

Chrissy was hiding in her small office tucked in the back of the lobby, behind the front desk, hunched over in her chair and staring at the stack of bills that were threatening to overwhelm her.

No sooner would she pay off one invoice than two more pop up in its place. They just kept on piling up no matter how hard she tried.

She was alone for the moment, keeping an ear open and the door cracked to keep an eye on things while Robin was busy outside playing in the dirt with Steve. Chrissy didn't mind, though. it wasn’t as if they were that busy in the mornings. Someone just needed to be around on the off chance that one of their very few guests stopped in for some extra towels, or if by some miracle someone popped in needing a room.

She sighed.

If things didn’t pick up soon she didn’t know how they would make it through the coming winter, when business would grind to a halt as the weather cooled and the beaches were abandoned.

It was normal for a new business to struggle and Chrissy thought she’d budgeted well enough for the possibility but the motel had needed far more repairs than either she or Robin had anticipated—not to mention the fact that they had dropped the ball a little on advertising.

They'd been too late in signing up for the local Community Guide, which meant they hadn’t been listed with the other hotels, motels, and b&b’s in town, and had only just gotten a tri-fold pamphlet printed and delivered to the welcome center on the way into town a few weeks ago.

For what it was worth, Robin did have a cousin who was getting into computers and promised to build them a website. They agreed to let him do it, mainly because it wasn’t going to cost them anything, but the internet was new and Chrissy doubted anything would come of it.

No one would be booking vacations on there.

Suddenly Chrissy heard the main lobby door swing open, wincing as it slammed loudly into the wall from being thrown open too hard.

And, that would be Robin.

They really needed to invest in some door stoppers.

Chrissy hastily grabbed the stack of mail that she’d been scowling at for the past forty five minutes and shoved it into her bottom drawer, just managing to get it closed again before Robin peeked her head in the doorway.

“How’s it going?” Robin asked.

Chrissy’s response died in her throat as she took in the other girl’s appearance with wide eyes.

Robin wore only a black sports bra and a pair of small electric blue running shorts, and her face was flushed the most lovely shade of pink. A side effect of the heat, the hard work, or both, but Chrissy couldn't take her eyes off the beads of sweat that ran down Robin’s chest to disappear between the well of her breasts.

“Chris?”

Oh, right. Robin had asked her a question.

Shit.

“Fine, yup! All good here!” Chrissy giggled, the sound a little higher than usual.

Her voice did that when she was nervous—and these days she was always a little nervous around Robin, terrified that her friend would realize that she had fallen head over heels in love with her.

Chrissy cleared her throat and changed the subject, trying to regain some dignity. “So, what did Steve have to say?”

Robin pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, shaking her head. “It wasn’t him. That asshole… I mean, your best friend, brought a hook-up back to their room.”

“He didn’t!” Chrissy gasped, throwing a hand over her mouth.

“Oh yes he did!” Robin said, eyes filled with murderous intent.

“Please don’t kill him.” Chrissy squeaked, nervous now for an entirely different reason. She knew how much Robin loved Steve, and how protective she could be of him. Why did Eddie have to be so predictably stupid!

“I’m sorry, he can be such an idiot sometimes!”

Robin shook her head. “He’s safe, for now, but he’s on thin ice.”

“How did Steve take it?”

“He pretended like it was fine, but you know how he can be. He thinks Eddie hates him. I did finally get him to admit his crush out loud though.”

Chrissy rolled her eyes. “As if it was a big secret.”

Robin didn’t smile at the comment the way Chrissy thought she would, and was quiet for a long minute before she spoke again.

“Do you think… maybe he’s right? Are we wrong about this?” Robin asked, tentatively.

The thing was, Chrissy knew her best friend better than he knew himself sometimes.

Eddie tried to present himself to the world as this hard, carefree, badass guy, when deep down he was the most sensitive soul she’d ever met. She knew he was growing homesick, in a way. Not for Hawkins or some other specific place exactly, but a connection, someone to call his own.

He hadn’t said as much to her directly, but she could see it in his eyes and read it between the lines of his letters. He acted like love was the worst thing in the world, like he didn't need or want it, but she knew it was a lie.

Everyone needs love.

And Eddie—poor, sweet, beautiful, infuriating knucklehead that he could be, deserved it more than most. He’d been there for her, time after time, whenever she needed him, and God help her she was going to do this for him.

This would work, she was sure of it, they just had to stick it out and hope Eddie got out of his own way.

“No,” Chrissy answered eventually. “ we’re not wrong. Eddie’s just in denial and too stubborn for his own good. He pretends to forget who Steve is one minute, then complains non-stop about him the next, and yet can’t tell me a single thing Steve ever did directly to him except stare at him too hard. Which, of course, you and I both know was for gay reasons, and not because he wanted to beat him up.”

“Right, but does Eddie know that?”

“Fair point. But c’mon, Robin!” Chrissy stood, taking both of Robin’s hands and squeezing them. “I just know if they spend a little time together they’ll figure it out!”

Robin's face softened a bit, but she still looked a little skeptical. “Are you sure? Steve was trying to hide it but he was really upset. Maybe we should just tell them the truth.”

“Absolutely not Robin, are you kidding?!”Chrissy’s heart began pounding in her chest. “Eddie would never speak to me again if he knew I set him up like this!”

Robin stilled, and Chrissy felt all the blood drain from her face.

“What is it?” She was almost afraid to ask.

“The sign, the no vacancy sign—Steve noticed and I panicked. Told him we were waiting for a maintenance guy to fix it.”

Okay, no need to freak out just yet.

“Did he believe you?” Chrissy asked.

“I think so? But honestly I’m kinda surprised they haven't caught on already since there's hardly ever anyone else around.”

“Because they’re both too distracted with each other to notice!” Chrissy insisted excitedly, even if she wasn’t feeling quite as confident as she was trying to sound. “See, our plan is working!”

“I hope you’re right.” Robin said, squeezing her hands back before finally stepping fully into the room and plopping down in the only other chair. She smelled like coconut tanning oil and sunshine.

Chrissy swallowed thickly. “D-did you send him to the laundromat on Broadway, like we talked about?”

Robin nodded. “Yeah. When did Eddie leave?”

“About 25 minutes ago,” Chrissy answered after checking her watch. “He should be just going into the dryer when Steve gets there. They’ll be stuck together for at least 45 minutes.”

“Okay.” Robin released a long breath, sinking down in her seat. “Let’s just hope this works.”

*EDDIE*

Eddie felt like he’d been set up.

Sure, it had all worked out fine, even if it did turn out that he was maybe, slightly, a little bit wrong about Steve Harrington.

He’d heard the guy out and it’d all seemed genuine enough, but fuck, when Steve had walked into that laundromat so scantily clad—sweaty, smeared with dirt, and all that fucking chest hair peeking from under his tank top?

Eddie never stood a chance.

He could have resisted, probably, had the guy been even the slightest bit of a dick, but no, he had to be sweet, and charming, and a little bit pitiful, and oh god.

Steve said that Eddie made him nervous. What a fucking notion.

So yeah—he’d folded like a card table.

In the days following their impromptu lunch hangout, Eddie found that life in the motel room was still fraught with tension, it was just a different kind of tension now.

He was suddenly glad for their opposing schedules on a whole new level. It turned out that the only thing worse than living with renowned asshole Steve Harrington, was finding out that he was in fact, not an asshole at all. He was thoughtful, kind, funny, and a little bit dorky, and so, so incredibly hot.

How could one afternoon have changed things so much?

Okay, fine. He’d been hot before, Eddie could admit that much to himself now, but being attracted to someone based solely off looks was a completely different problem than admiring the way Steve chewed on his lower lip when he was nervous, or the way he’d giggled anytime Eddie cracked a joke, even if it wasn’t remotely funny, and–

Oh.

Oh shit.

Not good.

This was not good.

Eddie hadn’t had a crush on a straight guy in years. Honestly he hadn’t had a crush on anyone in years, but that was by design. He’d been witness to heartache before and been there to pick up the pieces for his closest friend more than once. He had no interest in ever going through something like that again, least of all for himself, and It seemed to him that the best way to keep from getting your heart broken was to just not let your heart get involved in the first place.

He needed a hookup and he needed it now. Anything to clear his mind of these thoughts of Steve.

Steve spread out beneath him, sun kissed thighs begging to be caressed.

Steve kissing him goodbye to the backdrop of the sunrise as he left for work.

Steve shooting him soft smiles through the mirror as they brushed their teeth side by side.

Eddie could deal with the horny thoughts, those were normal, but this domestic bliss fantasy bullshit?

That was more than he could handle.

It was Saturday morning, about a week after the fateful day that Eddie had finally surrendered and given Steve a chance to explain himself.

He woke slowly, stretching like a cat as he rolled over and opened his eyes for the first time that day. The sight that greeted him stole his breath away.

Steve was still there, sitting up in his own bed, a pair of wire rimmed glasses perched on the end of his nose and a book resting in his hand. He didn’t seem to have noticed Eddie’s return to the land of the living yet, too engrossed in what looked like a romance novel of all things to notice Eddie's eyes on him.

Unable to look away, he studied Steve openly while he had the chance, taking in the way his glasses—

Since when did Harrington wear glasses?

—complemented his face and made him look so much different, and somehow even more attractive than the teenage Steve he remembered. His hair was a mess, stuck up in all directions as though he had been fighting enemies in his sleep, but that only added to the cute factor. And though his bed was made, the blanket tucked in tighter than even the housekeeper could manage, Steve was still in his pajamas and just generally looked comfy and snuggly.

Ugh, Snuggly?

Eddie coughed loudly, choking on the thought which finally managed to rouse the other man’s attention.

Steve smiled at him, wide and unguarded, eyes sparkling.

Eddie’s stomach flipped, and he forced a yawn, trying to hide whatever it was his face might be doing.

“Day off?” He forced out, throat dry from sleep and absolutely nothing else.

“Yeah.” Steve answered softly. “Coffee?”

Eddie nodded dumbly and sat up, shivering a little as the cool air hit his suddenly exposed chest. He never slept with a shirt on—truth be told he usually slept naked, but he didn’t think Steve would appreciate that.

Steve spun, stepping towards their small kitchen. “And, uh, how do you take it?” His voice sounded a little rough too. Maybe they had the air conditioning turned down too low or something.

“Oh,” Eddie hesitated, he hadn’t expected to be like, waited on. “Um, just fix it how you’d make it for yourself.”

A moment later Steve was back, handing him a steaming mug and Eddie… Eddie didn’t know how to handle that.

No one had ever brought him coffee in bed before.

It did not seem like something that should have made his cock twitch with interest, but that’s what happened. He nearly spilled the cup, rushing to sit up straighter, shuffling around to make sure the mound of blankets in his lap would hide his predicament.

He was half hard from being handed a cup of coffee.

Pathetic.

Mercifully, Steve began to talk, seemingly unaware of Eddie’s situation, and clearly felt more comfortable now after their day at the laundromat. As much as Eddie was struggling with his newfound and unfortunate attraction, he was glad. Steve looked so happy as he animatedly shared stories from his long days at the beach—missing children found safely after wandering off to make new friends, seagulls swooping down to steal an entire sandwich right out of a man’s hand, teenagers who thought they could sneak beer onto the beach in coolers without anyone noticing.

He practically glowed, telling Eddie about it all as he walked around the room getting ready for the day, even shouting through the open bathroom door while he fixed his hair at one point, which was fucking adorable and definitely not helping.

Eddie didn’t even need to add much apart from a hum here or a single word answer there. Steve seemed to know somehow that he would need to carry the conversation until Eddie was more fully awake. Eddie was happy to let him do it, too. On top of being his normal not-a-morning-person self, he was kind of at a loss for words.

Steve just kept surprising him.

At one point though, the other man trailed off, looking at Eddie in that nervous way that he had before things had changed. “Did you maybe want to get lunch today? With me, I mean, and–uh, my treat this time. Only fair after last week."

And Eddie had never been so glad that he had to work, and had a legitimate reason to say no. He didn’t want to be rude to the guy, not anymore. They were friendly now, if not exactly friends, but he couldn’t handle another afternoon in the face of Steve Harrington's charm until he got this thing under control and out of his system.

“Sorry, man. I would but it’s Saturday, I have to be at the bar early. I think I'd have to sell my soul to get a Saturday night off. It’s alright though, I make some of my biggest tips on weekends.”

“Oh.”

Steve looked so disappointed, and it was all so unexpected that without thinking Eddie quickly added, “next time though. I’m all yours.”

And immediately wished his bed would swallow him whole.

Why did he have to say it like that?!

At least Steve didn’t seem to pick up on the flirtatious nature of the comment. He just smiled, nodded, and began pulling clothes out of his drawers.

That was it for Eddie, the last straw. He finally jumped out of bed, leaving the remainder of his coffee to go cold on the night stand as he hightailed it to the bathroom and slammed the door without another word. He needed a shower anyway, and he definitely did not need to watch Steve get dressed.

Eddie turned on the spray and once the water warmed up, stepped into the shower, letting the warm water pour over him as he lightly banged his head into the wall over and over again.

This was an absolute nightmare.

To make matters worse, he’d always had a bit of an overactive imagination but today it had a mind of its own, leaving him fully hard and aching within seconds—overwhelmed by fantasies of Steve sneaking into the bathroom and slipping into the shower behind him. His big hands reaching around to grasp firmly onto Eddie's cock, as his own hardness was pressed firmly against his ass.

He could practically feel it.

Eddie moaned involuntarily and took himself in hand, setting a brutal pace right from the start. He threw the other hand over his mouth, terrified of what might come spilling out, of what Steve might be able to hear when he was just on the other side of the thin wall.

Of course, the idea that the other man might hear him was apparently a major fucking turn on, and Eddie resorted to biting down on the heel of his hand to stop himself from shouting Steve’s name as he came in spurts, painting the wall of the shower with his release in record time.

He hadn’t even caught his breath yet when there was a knock on the bathroom door.

Fuck.

Eddie’s heart hammered in his chest like he'd been running a marathon, but he tried to sound as normal as possible when he called out, “Yeah?”

Steve's hesitant voice carried through the door. “Sorry, I just wanted to let you know I was gonna head out. Robin said something about painting a shed today, figured I would go help her since you're busy.”

Eddie rested his forehead against the cool tile and squeezed his eyes shut. Relieved that Steve hadn’t heard what he was up to, but—what he was supposed to say? And was he crazy or did Steve sound genuinely sad that Eddie had to work?

A long beat of silence went by where Eddie assumed Steve must have left, but eventually his voice came again from the other side of the door. “I’ll uh, see you around?”

“Yeah, okay! See you around, Steve!” Eddie shouted back, feeling a little like an idiot, and a creep.

He waited until he heard the outer door close to finally relax and begin the process of actually showering. He washed quickly, but took care to condition his hair a little longer than usual so he could work his best feature to its full advantage later that night. He was even more sure now that he needed to fuck or be fucked by someone else, anyone else, a soon as possible, before this thing about Steve got out of hand.

In that same interest, Eddie took his time getting dressed. He was working, ultimately, so his outfit choices were limited, but his uniform of sorts had worked just fine for him before. Again pulled on his tightest black jeans with the rips in the thighs and his cropped work tee—he even added a few extra rings to really draw attention to his deft fingers. After smoothing some product through his hair, he called it done, deciding to leave his curls down for the night for good luck.

Eddie was on the prowl all night, as much as he could be anyway when he was stuck behind the bar mixing drinks and pouring out beer after god-awful beer. He might have grown up in a trailer park, but even he thought Bud Light was an atrocity.

This Saturday was even busier than the last, meaning Eddie was being run absolutely ragged, but that also meant it didn’t take long for him to find a perfect willing target for his mission.

He was a pretty young thing, with bouncy chestnut hair and hazel eyes that kept catching Eddie’s own from across the room with a shy little smile.

Eventually pretty-boy made his way up the bar, getting a round for himself and his friends. He was shy at first, blushing and stumbling over his words as he attempted to rattle off his order, but opened up beautifully once Eddie started peppering him with compliments.

Though the young man’s style was a little preppy for Eddie’s taste, he still laid it on thick, telling him how good he looked in his shirt, how the color set off his tan. And he might have been talking out of his ass, but it was working!

By the third round of drinks he’d managed a lingering arm touch and flustered pretty-boy into a whole new shade of red. He also found out that his name was Evan.

Unfortunately, somewhere around midnight Eddie got slammed and lost track of his hopeful conquest for over an hour.

When he finally came back up for air, and the line was no longer three deep in all directions, Eddie took a look around, bummed to find that the corner Evan and his friends had been hanging out in all night was now empty.

The idea briefly crossed his mind to try and find someone else to play with tonight, but it was nearing closing time, and if he got a head start on his side-work at least he could get home early and get some sleep.

He began to clean, and had his back turned, putting clean cups away, when he heard someone plop down a bunch of empty pint glasses on the bar behind him. He groaned, turning, ready to be annoyed but was pleasantly surprised to find that it was Evan.

“Hey there sweet thing, I thought you left without saying goodbye. Another round?”

“No, thanks, um,” Evan stuttered out. “My friends left a little while ago. I just thought maybe I'd help out a little by bringing these up here.”

Eddie smirked, raising an eyebrow. “You wanted to help out, Is that right? Any particular reason you wanted to help get me off as quickly as possible?”

The younger man blushed for what had to be the dozenth time that night, looking adorably nervous. For a second it reminded Eddie of Steve and Christ, he had to knock that shit off right now.

He took pity on Evan and poured him one last drink on the house, sitting him down at the end of the bar where he would have the best view while Eddie bent and stretched as he reset the bar for the next day. Anytime he looked up Evan’s eyes were glued to his body and Eddie knew he had hit his mark well.

He couldn’t believe he was going to have to do this again.

When the bar finally closed, Eddie had tried to convince Evan to bring him back to his own hotel room, but apparently pretty-boy was a poor college student sharing a single room with no less than six other guys, and not even in a sexy way.

He had no other choice but to take him home.

Finally feeling a little more comfortable, or perhaps loosened up by the last drink Eddie had given him, Evan talked a bit about himself as they walked towards the Buckingham—telling Eddie how he was the only gay guy in his friend group but that they all knew and accepted him.

It stunned Eddie a little to hear first hand how things were changing for people like him. They still had a very long way to go and he doubted they would ever be fully welcomed in the mainstream of society, but inch by inch people were opening their minds to different lifestyles and possibilities. If frat boy Evan from North Carolina could find a group of friends willing to accept his sexuality, then maybe there was hope for the future.

As happy as Eddie was for him and his support system, he really needed the guy to stop talking. This hook up was starting to feel a little too much like a date, and that was not the objective here.

At the next opportunity Eddie took matters into his own hands, pulling the other man into a dark alley between buildings, and crashing their lips together.

Pretty-boy quickly grew long and hard against his thigh and Eddie smiled into the kiss, breaking it soon after so they could complete their journey—at a much more reasonable pace this time and one hundred percent less talking.

When they reached the motel, Eddie—once again—slipped into his and Steve’s room while his guest waited outside.

He crept quietly across the floor until he was right next to Steve’s bed—no idea why he was being so careful when he was going to wake the guy anyway, but he couldn’t seem to help it.

Eddie reached down to shake Steve’s shoulder, trying and failing not to look at the other man’s face as he scrunched his nose and slowly roused, taking a deep breath and letting his eyes flutter open.

He smiled softly as his eyes fell on Eddie, but the happy expression dissolved quickly as he seemed to realize what was going on. Eddie was taken aback for a second, not sure what that was about, but decided Steve was probably just annoyed at being kicked out again.

Which was fair.

Steve rolled out of bed, blanket in hand, and headed straight for the door, looking everywhere but at him.

“I’m sorry.” Eddie found himself saying to the other man’s back as he followed.

“Don’t worry about it.” Steve threw the words over his shoulder, not stopping or turning around.

Eddie’s throat tightened, a weird chill working its way up his spine. He almost called out for Steve to come back, though he didn’t really know why or what he’d say. In the end he kept his mouth shut and stuck to the plan.

It was better this way.

He would get this shit out of his system so he could be normal around Steve. He could make it up to him later for interrupting his sleep.

It would be fine.

Eddie took his time with this one.

No amount of rushed blowjobs against a wall were going to do what he needed done. He needed to fuck, deep and hard.

They started out slow, making out for a while but eventually ending up with Evan on all fours while Eddie worked fingers into his hole, getting him warmed up and stretched out, brushing over that sweet spot inside of him.

It wasn’t long before it became too much and Evan’s arms gave out, sending him face down into the mattress—not that either of them were complaining—and Eddie wasted no time rolling a condom on and getting himself lubed up.

He bottomed out quickly and easily after the prep work and was soon pounding into Evan's hole with reckless abandon until the other man was a drooling mess and they both shouted their release.

Eddie pulled out carefully, collapsing to the bed beside Evan as he relearned how to breathe—tears he couldn't quite hold back suddenly pricking at the corners of his eyes.

This was getting out of hand now.

He’d been doing fine at first, enjoying the various moans and whimpers he pulled from the other man, until he realized with sudden horror that Evan looked a lot like Steve. Once he’d seen it, he couldn’t unsee it, and by the end it was only by the skin of his teeth that Eddie managed to cum with a wordless sound and not the wrong name falling from his lips.

He wanted to scream.

Eddie was losing his damn mind and that was the only excuse he had for why he allowed Evan to scoop him into his arms and hold him as he silently cried. If the other man noticed his tears, he was polite enough to ignore it—a gesture Eddie was incredibly grateful for—and in a moment of weakness, or maybe in return for Evan’s kindness, when his cheeks finally dried, Eddie offered to walk him back to his hotel.

But first he had to find Steve and let him know the coast was clear.

It was awkward as hell striding up to Steve where he sat by the pool this time. Eddie felt guilty about the fact that he had just cum for the second time that day with his roomate on his mind.

He had a hand out ready to nudge Steve awake but found he already was—staring off into the distance with a dazed look.

“Hey, are you okay?” Eddie asked.

Steve startled, all but throwing himself from the chair, and with arms wrapped tightly around his middle he finally looked up to meet Eddie’s gaze. His face was puffy, eyes red rimmed like maybe he’d been crying too. Or maybe Eddie was just projecting.

“I’m good, um, fine,” Steve said, rocking back on his heels. “I guess this means I can go back to bed now?”

“Yeah,” Eddie breathed, the word, hooking a thumb over his shoulder. “I'm uh, just gonna walk Evan back, so the room is all yours again.”

“Evan, right.” Steve mumbled, moving past to head towards the stairs.

Eddie followed. “Thanks, by the way. For being so cool about all this.”

Steve stilled, pausing his stride though he didn’t look back. “Like I said, don’t worry about it, Eddie.”

Evan’s hotel wasn’t far from the Buckingham, so it didn’t take long to get there. They didn’t really speak as they walked—Evan looked tired and frankly too fucked out to care, and Eddie’s head was too much of a mess to make small talk.

They shared a passionless goodnight kiss at the hotel’s front gate, and then Evan was gone, and Eddie was left alone with his thoughts.

It was the last place he wanted to be.

He made his way back to the motel growing more furious at himself with every step, even taking his anger out on a very full trash can at one point, toppling it over and sending garbage spilling all over a neatly manicured lawn.

No one would be around to see at this hour, but still he ran, and kept on running until his legs burned and he was too out of breath to continue. He’d passed the Buckingham a while back but just kept going. He wanted—no—he needed to make sure Steve would be asleep before he went back, he could not face him again right now.

When Eddie did finally make his way home, Steve was softly snoring.

Exhausted, both mentally and physically, he stripped down to his boxers and climbed into bed, finding that his sheets now smelled like a stranger. The whole room smelled wrong, in fact. Where before the air had held a mixture of his and Steve’s natural scents, with a hint of the fancy cologne that the other man would sometimes wear, now it was tinged with sex and regret.

Chapter 4

Special thanks to @penny00dreadful 😘

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#steddie fanfic #no upside down au #stranger things #steddie #buckingham #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #chrissy cunningham #no vacancy #it was the 90s #double idiots to lovers #platonic stobin #platonic hellcheer

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