#the original 4 are already a full party

[breezy-cheezy]

Trigun Stampede (+Milly) x FFXIV rambles

Vash:

Preferred job type: Healer (Sage)

Flex-

DPS: Machinist

Tank: I'd say Gunbreaker but I think he'd be drawn to the Paladin vibes ngl.

(the rest under the cut, this got LONG)

Viera, talks like a sprout/newbie even though he's been here forever. He's just so friendly!! Says hi!! And does a funny dance when queuing into any instance!! Always resurrects a downed party member, regardless of if they got there by being stupid or not. No matter how many times they die. He WILL raise them. He also maybe cries when someone falls off the stage (while everyone else laughs). Excellent healer, very attentive and knowledgeable about mechanics. Very encouraging!! Might get overwhelmed, even if very good at adjusting. Do Not Yell At Him He's doing his best.

Insanely good at DPS for some reason. He never wants to be the DPS. Heck if there wasn't a JOB depending on damage to heal, he'd do no damage at all. :/

Meryl:

Preferred job type: DPS (Monk. Punchy. Also Black Mage.)

Flex-

Healer: Sage (she's WAY too big on the DPS part. Opposite of Vash where if this didn't heal she'd do no healing....)

Tank: Warrior (so powerful, basically self sufficient)

Miqo'te Keeper of the Sun or Lalafel. Not sure, LOL. Always down to raid, especially if it's with friends!! Tends to jump the gun and trigger boss fights before tank is ready. She's lucky her tank (Milly) and Healers (Vash, sometimes Roberto) go with her anyway and don't let her die (like I would kJHSJDKLHF). Vash will start explaining mechanics and she'll just YEET into the room. Mechanics are for cars!!! Healers have to use Rescue on her alot....

She is, while blunt, still very kind to new people. She’s also always worried she isn't doing enough, so she throws herself into another fight before ready, MERYL NO-

Milly:

Preferred job type: Tank (Paladin, Gunbreaker)

Flex-

Healer: White Mage (simple, extremely effective)

DPS: Bard or Summoner (she loves playing the instruments! And the little friends from summoning :>)

Highlander Hyur. Always there if anyone wants to do anything, very easygoing and vibes with many different parties. She’s not....the fastest Tank (she’s not one to pull mobs from wall to wall) but she’s good at getting between the threat and her friends, and that’s what matters. As a tank she’s supposed to be leading but when Meryl’s in the group, she’s usually seen closely tailing her instead....also keeps putting the “Cover” spell (Take all damage intended for another party member as long as said member remains within 10 yalms.) on Vash even when he insists he can handle the damage.

PLEASE (politely) remind her to turn her tank stance on. She will forget.

She might get a little lost in admiring the scenery of the dungeons, or. Lost in general (as I have done hhhsdkj). Gently redirect her and you’ll be fine. Doesn’t quite know the mechanics but somehow does a great job anyway!

Roberto:

Preferred job type: Healer (Scholar. His weapon is a freaking newspaper.)

Flex-

Tank: Gunbreaker (please don’t make him tank, he is very slow, you’ll be there all day)

DPS: Black Mage (don’t have to move much, better on his back, big damage)

Highlander Hyur. Grumpy healer!! Very tired, but still very good at his job, always there when the going gets tough, no matter how much he complains. He’s given up on resurrecting downed party members when Vash is in the party because that kid is always on it. SOMEONE has to cover the healing when Vash inevitably runs his mana reserves dry doing this. Says he’s too old to raid, and yet has a surprisingly solid grasp on the mechanics. He does his research. Whether he takes the time to explain them though is another issue entirely....he will do callouts if needed.

Also has Rescue on a hotkey for Meryl, sometimes Vash. Will make fun of people for dumb deaths, might play limbo with health sometimes, but he’s reliable. He’s alert, and there are very few deaths on his watch. (Mainly because they don’t want his world-wary lecture, but shhhh)

Wolfwood:

Preferred job type: DPS (Reaper. because Undertaker. get it? haha. ha.)

Flex-

Tank: Dark Knight (giant unweildy weapon?? Angsty origins? Eyup.)

Healer: White Mage (He sucks at it, don’t make him heal. He just keeps using Glare and Holy.....)

Miqo’te, Keeper of the Moon. Used to be a tank main (and really enjoys co-tanking with Milly!!) but found Reaper worked for him really well. He’s the type to keep an eye on the healers, and is the first to run down wayward mobs that escape the tank’s notice. This is especially important with Vash, who gets so focused on healing he doesn’t realize he’s getting hurt. Plus, the faster they can kill stuff, the safer everyone is. Win-win.

Likes to pull crazy stunts, has accidentally Engressed off the stage. Several times. Sometimes gets the Rescue Leash (just not as often as Meryl). Constantly bickering with Meryl over everything, who did the most damage, annoyance for running ahead (when he’s doing the SAME THING), scuffed mechanics, etc. Thinks stupid deaths should be left alone but....

“No Needles they need to learn their lesson, leave them-”

-rez sounds-

“Nevermind.”

Knives:

Preferred Job Type: DPS (Ninja, Dancer. Both throw very sharp objects. I think Dancer would be nice for him since it deals with Dynamis, and expressing emotion in alternate ways, etc. Bard for the piano playing.)

Flex-

Tank: Dark Knight

Healer: Astrologian (He likes the strategy of it.)

Viera, very rarely talks in chat. Does not emote often, but when he does it’s....rather extreme. Vash does alot of talking for him really. (”Nai said thanks!” “......”) Just wants to get the duty over with. Honestly doesn’t show up often but when he does, it’s clear he’s done extensive research so he does it near perfectly every time (he got lost in a beginner dungeon ONE TIME....). If someone fails a mechanic and dies they deserve it. As healer, plays limbo with the tank HP (unless the tank is Vash).

Do Not get between Knives and his uptime. Just don’t. He knows what he’s doing (Milly as healer used Rescue on him ONCE before he was ready, and he’s never forgiven her lmao. Then there’s Wolfwood and Meryl who do it on PURPOSE...please don’t make them heal). 

He has entirely too many weapons. Millions, you could say. His glam chest is FULL of them.

[killjoy-prince]

So I'm on playthrough #4 of this game playing as Astarion this time around with the intention of romancing Wyll and man, picking all the good and heroic options as Astarion especially in Act 1 really is a case of "He would not fucking say that" bc Wyll likes all the good and heroic options and Astarion is. not that lolol

One thing is by chance I found a workaround on how to not make Wyll a devil and still keep Karlach alive. It worked but now im wondering if making him a devil would of been better narratively? Also I just got used to the horns that I kinda miss them. I do have a save thats right before doing the workaround but I did quite a bit of stuff so is it worth it?

[naughtyneganjdm]

Leather and Latex

Summary: Every year Negan throws a Halloween party at The Sanctuary and this year he asks you to be his date. Endlessly, Negan has asked you to be one of his wives and you have turned him down. So for the Halloween party he tries to get you to dress as one of his wives, but you have something else in mind.

Characters: Negan & the reader (OC, second person)

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59504641

Warnings: 18+, Swearing, Smut, rough sex, unprotected p in v, Halloween themed, no use of Y/N, female reader, little to no plot, leather, latex, Batman references, praising kink, spanking, edging, etc.

Notes: This is day 4 to go with this kinktober list. The prompts I chose were Leather or Latex and Sensory Deprivation.

You never really pictured Negan to be much of a fun guy. Or a good guy for that matter. But when Halloween came around, it was shocking how much The Saviors and Negan loved to throw a good Halloween party. For the most part, Negan did it for the children, which he’d never let people openly know. He had an image to uphold, but over the last few months you had really gotten to know a different side to Negan.

Tonight Negan had asked you to be his date for the party and you accepted. You couldn’t exactly turn down the leader of The Sanctuary. Even though, recently, you had turned him down many times before. Especially considering the situation at hand. For the last few weeks, Negan had been desperately trying to get you to be one of his wives, but you turned him down every time. It was driving him crazy and you kind of loved it. You reminded him time and time again that you didn’t want to be sitting in a room, wearing a black dress like some mindless drone waiting for him whenever he wanted you. No, you wanted to be making a difference. You wanted to be someone that people respected. And to be respected? You couldn’t be one of Negan’s wives.

So the only thing at this point you had really done with Negan was kiss. But you would quickly stop things and shut him down. Hell, you liked Negan, but you had to make a point with Negan. You weren’t just someone who was pathetic and needed him to take care of you.

Tonight, when he brought you your ‘costume’ it had only fueled you more. Negan was specific in what he wanted you to wear. And that costume was a black dress and a nice pair of shoes so that for one night, you could be one of his wives. You played along with it, but when the opportunity arrived for you to pull one over on him, you did. Many times you and Negan had talked about things you liked before the world fell to shit and Negan stressed that he was a big fan of Batman. So when you had gone on a run with the saviors and found a Halloween store that had an extensive Batman costume, you made a deal with Negan. You wouldn’t be upset if he put that on. Even though he originally wasn’t planning on wearing any costume.

So that’s where he was. In the bathroom attempting to put on the costume that you had asked of him. At first, he was uncomfortable with the idea since it had extensive amounts of latex and leather. And he didn’t know if he could fit into it.

Laid out on Negan’s bed, you hadn’t let him know that you were out to surprise him with something while he had been locked away inside his personal bathroom that was in his bedroom. The loud music from the party that was already going on downstairs filled the air and it made you smile.

“You know, this is fucking awesome, but I think I’m going to need some help with putting on all the pieces,” Negan’s voice began, stepping into his bedroom to reveal that he had the cowl on along with a long-sleeved black shirt and the full batman pants set up. At this point he only had on half the costume, but you really didn’t give a shit. Once his eyes fell on you, he came to a quick stop and gave his classic Negan lean. “What in God’s name are you doing?”

“Me?” you questioned, looking down at yourself. While Negan was away in the bathroom you had grabbed a pair of his pants, one of his crisp white t-shirts, his red scarf and his leather jacket that he had set aside to get changed. On your right hand you had snatched the leather glove that Negan often wore and put that on too. Swiftly you had changed out of the classic Negan wife get up and into this which had his hazel eyes gazing over you. “Can’t you tell who I’m going to the party as? If you let me borrow Lucille, it would complete the set.”

“Where’d your dress go?” Negan looked around to see that the dress was laying on the floor at the foot of the bed. “Damn darlin’ you really wanna test the limits with me, don’t you?”

“No, I just really wanted to be Negan for Halloween,” you pulled yourself to the edge of the bed, biting down on your bottom lip. Curling your fingers around the bed, you gave a simple shrug and looked up to Negan with a sense of innocence. Wiggling your finger at Negan had his jaw flexing and in the Batman cowl, it actually looked incredibly sexy. Stepping forward toward the bed, Negan stopped when he reached the area before you. Outstretching your hands, you hooked your fingers with his and heard him growl. “You know…I always had a fantasy about having sex with Batman.”

“I don’t have the full costume on,” Negan pointed out with your eyes gazing over the parts of the costume that he already had on. The top was clinging to his body showing every part of his slender torso and the pants already looked good on him. Taking your hand, you reached out to palm in over the front of the pants eliciting a loud grumble from Negan’s throat.

“Is that you or the costume?” you wondered, licking your lips and dropping your palm between his legs to cup his testicles firmly. Wincing out, Negan tipped his head back and the prominent vein was visible at the side of his neck.

“That’s all me,” Negan responded, sucking in a sharp breath of air. “What about the Halloween party?”

“I think we can have our own party in here,” you suggested, standing up from the bed before Negan. Sliding your palms up over the lengths of his torso, you curled your fingers around his shoulders to get him to lower down closer to you. “Unless of course, you don’t want to have sex…”

“Lucky for you I always had a fantasy of fucking myself,” Negan mused with an arrogant bob of his head. It was such a ridiculous line and the way he delivered it was so cheesy that you couldn’t help yourself with laughing. Grasping your hips firmly in his hands, Negan snickered and drew his tongue out over his bottom lip. “This was a bold decision.”

“I’d like to think of it as smart,” you reasoned with him, tipping up on your toes to press kisses over his jawline. Groaning out, Negan tipped his head back and allowed you to pepper his throat with wet, teasing kisses. “I’m Negan already, so why shouldn’t I look the part?”

“No one gets to wear that leather jacket, I hope you know that,” Negan was letting you know that you were somehow special in the way that he wasn’t angry with you for wearing it. “I will worn you though, this was a bitch to get on, which means it’s going to be a pain in the ass to get off.”

“Well good thing I’m determined and have patience,” you slurred, purring out when Negan’s palms slid in over your sides toward your bottom to give it a firm squeeze. “I’m still not going to be your wife. I need you to know that.”

“No, this is purely Batman and Negan having sex,” Negan snorted and it drew attention to his eyes. Negan had already put the black makeup around his eyes to fit with the cowl and you couldn’t help but smile in how serious he took this whole thing. It really brought out the color of his beautiful hazel eyes and you were actually kind of glad you did this.

Tipping up on your toes, you brought your lips together in a hungry sweep that had Negan clinging firmly to you, pulling him flush against you. With every caress of his lips, you felt your heartbeat growing stronger.

“Fuck me,” Negan grunted, dropping his head down to look between the two of you. “My dick is only just starting to get hard and these pants are killing me.”

“We’re going to have to get them off you then,” you worked with the belt realizing what he meant with it being so many pieces. It took a lot to get them undone and you had to use a lot of strength to tug at the material when you dropped to the edge of the bottom of the bed. Getting the material down to his thighs made you smile when you saw his semi-erect length before your eyes. Caressing your hands up over his thighs and toward his hips had him sucking in sharply. God, his incredible v-line looked twice as amazing in what he was wearing. “Look at the weapon you were hiding on you this whole time Batman…”

“Weapon?” Negan repeated with an amused rumble, humming out when your fingers curled around his shaft. With gentle strokes over his body, it had him growing harder within your grasps. “I like that. It’s both a weapon of mass pleasure and destruction. Because tonight, I’m gonna absolutely destroy your pussy.”

“Now that better be a promise,” you purred, reaching around to grab his small ass in order to tug him forward. A wicked smirk tugged at Negan’s arrogant features when you let the tip of his cock drag over your full lips. Extending your tongue out ever so slightly against the ridges had him breathing loudly. “I’d hate to be let down by my favorite superhero.”

“Oh, that would be a catastrophe,” Negan agreed, his head nodding slowly and his gloved hands hooking around you to grab firmly at the back of your head. Wetting your lips, you pressed teasing kisses over the head of Negan’s cock that turned to gentle flicks of your tongue over the swollen tip. You didn’t want to jump right into this. No, you wanted to make him suffer with continuous wet, hot kisses at the tip that would grow more in strength. So that way by the time you finally did take him into your mouth, his legs were uneasy with his breathing broken. Watching Negan was the key to all of this with you lapping at the underside of his cock and then taking him further back toward your throat. “Y’know, I’ve never missed a Halloween party.”

“There is a first for everything,” you pulled your mouth away with a wet sound, your lips glimmering as you pressed them up to the tip. Extending your tongue out had Negan growling out. “If you’d rather be at the party.”

“Shut up and suck my dick,” Negan scoffed getting you to chuckle against his flesh. It had him tremoring and stepping in closer to you. His free hand wrapped around the base of his erection bringing his cock to your lips. Sinking it between your lips, Negan started to rock his hips back and unhurriedly forward toward your throat. Grasping at his hips, you allowed him this. You knew how bad he wanted this whole thing so you were going to give it to him. It was a mix of him letting you pleasure him and him fucking your throat. When he thought you’d need to catch a breath, he’d loosen up before urging you down his cock firmly. “Good girl.”

After a few firm thrusts to the back of your throat with a gagging sound following, Negan pulled his hips back and away from you. It had a line of spit connecting your lips and his cock. An amused sound escaped him when he pushed into your shoulders to get you to lay back.

“I’ve never given head before with something like this on my head, but let’s give it a shot,” Negan pulled at the pants you were wearing and it didn’t take much to get them from your body. Tearing at your panties had you gasping out, but Negan didn’t take his time. Dropping to his knees, his hands forcefully pushed your thighs apart and it was pretty immediate that you had his head between your legs. A rough, forceful kiss was pressed against your folds causing you to arch your back up toward him. Humming out, Negan dragged his tongue out between your folds teasing at your sensitive body. Slurping faintly at your clitoris had your fingers reaching down in search of his hair, but you realized that he was still wearing the cowl and it made you laugh. “What?”

“This is just new for me Batman,” you liked the smile that he gave you with his head tipped back. This was both incredibly sexy and ridiculous at the same time, but you weren’t going to complain. Dropping his head back down, Negan was very dominant in the way that he ate you out. It was no time before you were a shuddering mess beneath him clinging at whatever you could grab. You may have preferred to see Negan’s face and not so much his Batman mask, but you were making it work. “Negan…”

With your moans, Negan kept up the pace of his mouth and tongue working to bring you right to the edge of your orgasm. Bouncing your hips toward him, you were in desperate need of the orgasm that he was working up inside of you. It had been so long and he was surprisingly doing such a good job even with that cowl on.

Negan’s fingers hooked with yours right when you were about to come and you threw your head back into the pillows. It had an amused rumble falling from Negan’s throat when he sat down at the bottom of the bed. Your thighs were tremoring, your eyes slammed close leaving you with the sensation of spinning. Even though you were trying to catch your breath, Negan was ready to keep going.

In a haste, he pulled you in over him. Together the both of you shakily worked to pull the tight material of the long sleeve that he was wearing up his body to toss it to the floor. Crawling further in over his lap, you curled your fingers around his neck and it felt strange with the way the cowl felt against your fingertips.

“Wait,” Negan demanded, reaching for the red scarf that you had put on. Lifting it, he wrapped the material around your eyes and it had you releasing a shuddering sound. By his low rumble of a laugh, you could tell that he was amused. By taking your sight away, you couldn’t see a thing and he knew that. Maybe just simple shapes, but that was it. Gasping out, you tried to keep yourself balanced by holding onto his shoulders when he firmly tugged the white shirt up over your breasts and yanked down the cup of your bra. Negan’s mouth was quick to cover your breast, his tongue circling the nipple eagerly. “So fucking perfect.”

Whimpering out, you felt the length of Negan teasing at your entrance and you bucked up against him wanting to have him enter you, but he wasn’t giving you the satisfaction of that yet. Instead he continued to pamper your breasts with kisses until he hooked your arms behind your back in one of his hands.

“You are my prisoner after all,” Negan nipped at your neck, having you cooing out at the sensation. You could feel the leather of Negan’s jacket hot against your exposed flesh with Negan firmly rolling you over onto your stomach. Pulling your hips to the bottom of the bed, Negan roughly pushed into your lower back before kicking your legs apart. The warmth of Negan covered you with him wrenching your arms behind your back. “You are a naughty girl.”

“I’m so naughty,” you purred out with Negan’s cock hovering over your bottom. A soft tapping was felt against your cheeks before Negan led his cock to your entrance. In a swift, fluid movement Negan filled you completely having you throw your head back. A loud cry fell from your lips when he pulled his hips back and then firmly smacked forward. The movement was so strong that it had you bouncing forward up the bed. “Fuck!”

“I did say I’d deliver on a promise of destroying your pussy,” Negan growled in your ear and with your sight taken away from you, you felt everything in so much more detail. Every powerful thrust had you moaning out, your cries not being held back with Negan pounding into you with reckless abandon. Loud smacking sounds of your flesh filled the air and he wasn’t letting up on the grasp of your arms behind your back. “Such a tight pussy. It feels like it was made for only me. Who does it belong to?”

“It’s yours,” you whimpered, biting down on your bottom lip with every powerful forward thrust he made inside of you. It was hard to form words with your face buried against the bed and your eyes covered. What Negan was doing to you was both incredible and mind blowing. It wasn’t romantic, but that was never really something you pictured Negan being.

“I asked you who it belongs to,” Negan finally released one of your arms, giving your ass a firm smack. Whimpering out, you clung tightly to the comforter on Negan’s bed.

“Negan,” you were quick to answer wincing when he dropped your other arm. Both his hands were squeezing at your ass while he led you back over him repeatedly. Plunge after plunge of his body was rough, powerful and had you attempting to crawl upwards, but he would pull your hips back to him.

“I know this big cock has to be new for you sweetheart, but you’re going to take it like a champ,” Negan assured you, his right hand reaching out to press between your shoulder blades to keep you in place. Leaning over you, his weight braced against his arms that were beside you. Hooking his left hand with yours, Negan squeezed his fingers tightly with yours when he started rolling his hips forward, his lower abdomen smacking against your bottom. “Good girl.”

There was some racket downstairs from the party, but you were so lost in this that you didn’t care. There was a heat growing in your belly with every deep thrust Negan left you with. Negan’s mouth was covering your shoulder, neck and jawline with hot kisses.

“You feel so fucking good,” Negan growled in your ear, drawing chills throughout you. Turning your head just enough had you begging for his lips to cover yours. Giving you what you wanted, Negan stole a kiss from your lips that had you desperate to kiss him back. “Are you going to come?”

“Yes,” you panted, your body bouncing back into Negan’s thrusts. He had you trapped beneath him, but you liked the way it felt with him surrounding you. The smacks of his testicles against your clit felt amazing with him plowing into you. Grunting against the side of your neck, Negan bit at your jawline and hissed when your body started to tense up. Feeling your body contracting around his, Negan’s hips seemed to falter leaving you with a cry. “Please. Negan!”

“Not yet,” Negan snickered, pushing up and away from your body. The drag of his cock from your warmth was agonizing with him leaving your body. He seemed amused with your whining as he flipped you over onto your back. Crawling in over you, he urged your right leg to curl around his waist and you frowned. “You’ve teased me this whole time and you can’t wait a few extra minutes to come?”

“It hurts,” you frowned getting a deep rumble of a laugh to fall from him.

“And now you know how it feels when you’ve sent me packing with the blue balls every time you made out with me,” Negan breathed against your lips, amused when your hips arched up toward him begging him to enter you again. “You’re a greedy little thing.”

“I thought Batman was supposed to be the good guy,” you reminded him with Negan snickering against the side of your neck. “You’re going to leave a lady aching and in pain?”

“Batman isn’t liked by everyone you know,” Negan reached between the two of you, his lips hovering over yours. Leading himself back into you with ease had the both of you moaning in unison. At first, the roll of his hips was slow. It was almost torture with the slow pull back and the unhurried push forward. It was having him fill you completely and then almost leave your body before smacking forward again. Your arms hooked around his shoulders, you fingers digging into his flesh. “Give me what I want and I’ll let you come.”

You didn’t respond. He wanted you to be his wife, but there was no fucking way. Your silence didn’t bode well for him with his thrusts becoming more forceful having you bounce upward with every movement, “It’s not that hard to just give me what I want.”

“I won’t be one of them,” you denied him, your nails biting into his skin with how hard Negan started to fuck you. It had your back arching with you crying out his name again and again. You were thankful that the music was loud downstairs or otherwise you would have drawn the attention of someone in The Sanctuary. It was so fucking good, but just like before right when he got you to the edge, he stopped leaving your heart hammering in your chest. “Goddamn it Negan.”

“Only good girls get to come and you’re being very bad,” Negan slurred, his mouth covering your exposed breast. Nipping at the taut bud had you purring out, your fingers sliding up toward the back of his head where that fucking mask still was on him. And then he started moving again. Sharp, torturously slow movements that had you gasping with the sensation. “You wanna come? Give me what I want.”

“I’d be miserable,” you whined, your throat tensing up with Negan kissing up over your chest toward your neck to bite at the side of it. That would certainly leave a mark. “I want to be beside you, not waiting for you to return.”

“Goddamn,” Negan snarled, pulling away from you again, but this time he was tugging the blindfold down to get you to look at him. Trying to get the cowl from his head, you helped him when he hissed out and managed to get it off. Tossing it aside made you smile. He was soaked, his messy hair clinging to his head with him rolling you over so that you were on top of him. “If you don’t want to give me what I want then make yourself come.”

You weren’t going to fight that one with you bracing your hands over the center of his chest. Negan’s palms cupped at your breasts while you started to bounce yourself eagerly over his hips. You wanted to feel all of him and you were so desperate for that release. Winces were falling from Negan’s throat, his hazel eyes narrowing while you had your way with him.

Breathy pants were falling from your parted lips. Negan’s hips were meeting yours with every downward thrust you made over him. Your motions went from careful to forceful with Negan grasping to your hips to help you rock over him in swift movements. Your face was hot, your heart hammering when you threw your head back finally reaching that orgasm that Negan had held off from you for so long.

“Don’t stop,” Negan hissed, pushing up so that he could kiss over the side of your neck, forcing you to continue to move your hips over his even though you were already weak from how hard that prolonged orgasm took to get. Grasping at his wet, dark hair you knew he was looking for that same kind of euphoric feeling you allowed yourself to have. Short, pronounced winces were pressing against your throat. A few more powerful thrusts beneath you had you clutching to Negan when his cock twitched inside of you filling you with the first line of his cum. Bouncing up toward you, Negan clung tightly to you until the end of his orgasm, his breath warm against your lower neck. His arms were holding tightly to you and you were clinging to him. “I don’t know why you don’t want to be mine.”

“Because I can be yours without having to be your wife,” you hushed him, dragging your thumb across his bottom lip. Nipping at the pad of your thumb, Negan’s hazel eyes hooked with yours and it made you smile that he still had the Batman make up around his eyes. “I’ve been yours this whole time Negan. You’ve just been too blind to see it.”

----

Tags: @slutlanna976​ @fuckthis-and-fuckthat @jennydehavilland @pixelb4rbie @ibelongtonegan

@smallsadjellyfish @labyrinthofheartagrams @msjamesmarch @thebeautysurrounds @hotfornegan

@redmercysugar @caprithebunny @tuttifuckinfruitty @emoryhemsworth @a-girl-interupted

@akumune @stoneyggirl2 @xsarcasticwriterx @haleygreen23 @xhannahbananax03

@sanctuaryforthelost @burningredaffair @killaweiser @dead-of-niight @ayumi-wolf

@promiscuousbarnes @tone-stark @lanadelnegan @peachihellcat

[thepunkmuppet]

the possible future of the hatchetfield series: hatchetfield halloween party livestream full rundown

again apologies if someone has already done something like this, but I’m procrastinating doing my coursework and just want to talk about hatchetfield I want everyone to be aware of this exciting stuff that was announced in the stream so here you go:

the next starkid musical to be released will not be in the hatchetfield universe.

the guy who didn’t like musicals will soon be ready to license.

nightmare time 3 was originally planned to be released in the same year as nightmare time 2 and will wrap up the overarching nightmare time stories (which seem to be miss holloway and the foster sisters respectively).

if they did a fourth hatchetfield musical, it would be about miss holloway and her backstory. it is already written. I am very very extremely normal about this fact 😃

there is a possibility of a hatchetfield movie, and workin’ boys was sort of a test for this concept. it would be a slasher murder mystery centering around the hatchetfield community players (zoey chambers and the cast of workin’ girls, possibly also with ruth, hidgens, alice and any other theatre-oriented characters but that part’s just my speculation). the transcription of the teaser description can be found below the nmt descriptions.

ok so here are the transcriptions of the nmt3 episode descriptions:

Story #1: Bottle Imps

Bill Woodward has been chosen to test CCRP’s latest and greatest product; Bottle Imps. These reality-bending buddies will bring their owner the one thing they desire most. When his new imp, Lovely, leads him to his soulmate, Bill decides to use his magical companion to play matchmaker. But to help Charlotte find the man of her dreams, Bill will have to bend the Imp’s rules. Rules he’s been warned, must never be broken…

Story #2: Frankenruth

Desperate to see a naked body, Ruth Fleming and Richie Lipschitz volunteer at the morgue of St. Damien’s Hospital. Their terrible plan becomes exponentially more terrible, when they become unwitting subjects in the experiments of the body-snatching madman, Doctor Laszlo, who claims to have conquered death itself. If Hatchetfield thought Ruth was bad before, then they will cower before the unspeakable horror of… Frankenruth!

Story #3: Becky Barnes Climbed a Tree

Becky Barnes is on top of the world! Not in a literal sense, of course. She’s deathly afraid of heights. After years of struggle, Becky’s life is finally everything she dreamed it would be. She’s engaged to her high school sweetheart, Tom Houston, and the two have a surprise baby on the way! But, as the couple prepare for the arrival of baby Marie, a shadow from Becky’s past returns to haunt them.

Story #4: Devil’s Night

Tim Houston has a crush. Unfortunately, it’s on his older, mature and totally cool babysitter, Grace Chasity, who he fears will never see him as anything but a snot-nosed little kid. But when a devilish maniac with murderous designs on Grace attacks Hatchetfield the night before Halloween, Tim must protect his beloved, or join the killer’s growing body count. It’s another slashing adventure on the night HE came home… Devil’s Night.

Story #5: (long special episode) Miss Holloween

It’s Halloween in Hatchetfield once again, and Miss Holloway is celebrating the same way she’s done for decades, staving off the horrors that go bump in the night. But when Duke gives her an invitation to his wedding, the dejected Miss Holloway begins to chafe under the terms of a contract forged many years ago. She strikes a new bargain, but unfortunately her creditors are known for their tricks, not treats. Just as Miss Holloway gives up her powers in exchange for a mortal life, a monstrous new threat rears its ugly head. As All Hallows Eve descends, and all Hell breaks loose, Miss Holloway must save the town or die trying… for real this time.

Story #6: (long special episode / season finale) Orb Weaver

Lex Foster had a life once. A home. A boyfriend. Now there is only the road, and her sister, and the fear of the men who are hunting them. As Hannah Foster watched Lex sink deeper into despair, she is certain of only three things: Webby is gone. She cannot help them. They are alone. Elsewhere, an old soldier awakens from a catatonic state. Returned from some unimaginable Hell with a mission. He knows that somewhere, two magical girls require immediate evac… then maybe some coffee.

very important: if you want nightmare time 3, WATCH NIGHTMARE TIME 2. BUY A TICKET TO THE LIVESTREAM. SHOW THAT THERE IS LOVE AND DEMAND AND IT’S WORTH THEIR TIME AND MONEY I AM BEGGING YOU

hatchetfield movie: Cast Party Massacre

The Hatchetfield Community Players. You will never find a cattier troupe of two-faced thespians. But when the blood begins to flow at their latest show’s cast party, they must consider: is there a secret murderer in their midst? And more importantly, who amongst them is a good enough actor to pull off such a performance? Can they set aside their petty squabbles and tangled romances, or is it curtains for this ensemble? Who will survive… the Cast Party Massacre!

[patito-oward]

one of my favorite pieces of indycar lore is beadgate, also referred to as tubgate, and it is TRULY not talked about enough. in case any of you don’t know, here’s a deep dive into the lore.

to really get the full effect you have to rewind to may of 2021. for anyone who doesn’t know all of the drivers basically live in a lot together in motorhomes for the month of may. rossi returns to his bus one day to see that his golf cart had been put up on blocks, had the wheels taken off, and the wheels were now on top of his motorhome; see below:

so alex, because he’s the most predictable human alive, is furious. he’s determined to find out who did this and get revenge on them. eventually he breaks down sweet baby colton, who originally helped conor with the golf cart on blocks, and colton tells him it was conor.

alex had already narrowed it down to conor, but colton confirmed it. alex even overhears a call between conor and colton where conor is panicking thinking alex is onto them. then alex starts a deliberate plan to get him back and make his life hell. despite being very adamant that he had nothing to do with the golf cart conor is very careful because he knows revenge is coming.

throughout the next week and a half-ish alex tries everything to get conor back. conor is being very careful to lock his bus and car whenever he’s away, and he’s also stopped using his golf cart completely and hidden it somewhere at the speedway. alex is so dedicated to doing this that he finds out who conor was going on a date with that night (because conor was a bit of a whore before his girlfriend), dms the girl on instagram, and gets her in on this prank.

he basically asked her to keep an eye out for his motorhome keys in the car or on him, she says she doesn’t see him, but tells him where they went for dinner. rossi goes to this restaurant, convinces the valet to give him the keys to conor’s car and looks for the keys to his bus, they aren’t there. then, not willing to give up, he goes to conor’s house and breaks in, still can’t find the keys.

finally, he heads back to the speedway and decides he’ll fuck with his golf cart instead, but like i said, conor’s golf cart is MIA. rossi starts a search party for this golf cart, he has everyone he knows, including doug boles (president of ims and conor’s step dad), looking for this golf cart and they can not find it. he calls it off for 2021, but promises that he’s not done yet, and now has a whole year to plan his next prank.

a whole year goes by, it’s may 2022, and because conor is who he is he decides an inflatable hot tub is an absolute need for his motorhome.

he is so proud of himself for this thing and is showing it off to everyone, and the absolutely diabolical alex rossi sits back and laughs maniacally as everything falls into place.

alex does extensive research (as he does on most things) and finds out exactly how many orbeez it would take to fill the hot tub, and on tuesday morning of practice week he sneaks over to conor’s hot tub, and 4 hours later conor goes to show off his hot tub to someone and finds this:

conor is furious and on the hunt for who would’ve done this, he, wrongly, assumed that it was done monday night and therefore couldn’t be alex because alex was with him. the whole week goes by, and he still doesn’t know who it is, until the night of the victory banquet when alex drops this:

anyways this is my favorite thing ever hope you all enjoy as much as i do

[anim-ttrpgs]

Gorgon Player Character Rules in Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy

Eureka has six playable "monster" types, and about ten total supernatural character options all together. Each supernatural trait is taken basically as if it is a normal trait like the ones you have been seeing us post. You cannot give a character more than one supernatural trait--and from what you are about to read, you probably wouldn't want to. Playing monsters is recommended for "advanced" players only, people who like a lot of "crunch" in their games, as require you to keep track of a lot more mechanics than playing a normal human.

I was going to post the wolfman but a bunch of people wanted me to do the gorgon so I'm impulsively doing the gorgon.

Here is the Gorgon Trait. This is going under a Read More because it's long as hell but we really hope that you will check it out and comment. This is, like, the whole entire ruleset for playing a gorgon in Eureka.

Gorgon (Monster Trait)

A gorgon is a mythological creature owing its origin in legend to Ancient Greece, Medusa being the most well-known example, but far from the only one. Historically, gorgons are often, but not always, depicted with serpents for hair, wings, and/or a serpentine tail[1], as well as frequent descriptions of other reptilian or serpentine features.

[1. Off to the side in the final formatting] The latter of which is far too noticeably abnormal for an investigator, but is not excluded from the possibility of belonging to a monstrous NPC. Gorgons as they are already push the boundaries of what a monstrous investigator can look like.

Petrifying Gaze

One of a gorgon’s most defining features is their petrifying gaze. Any living thing with eyes the gorgon makes direct eye-contact with for more than an instant will be turned completely to stone within seconds. This only works at a range of about 10 feet. Clothing and small objects they are holding will be turned to stone with them. [go back and clarify this is how the witch and fairy’s curse works too] This is not an ability the gorgon can control in any way, it happens to anyone they make eye-contact with.[1]

[1  off to the side in the final formatting] This works even if it is eye contact with only one eye. 

If a gorgon makes direct eye-contact with someone unintentionally (as is a natural human instinct), they can avert their gaze quickly enough to spare them with a Full Success on a Reflexes check. If the other party is aware of the gorgon’s petrifying gaze, they may also make this Reflexes check. A Full Success by either character will prevent the petrification.[1]

[1  off to the side in the final formatting] A gorgon’s life is often one of isolation, with intimacy their most deadly curse.  

Investigators are assumed to make eye-contact by default if they have a non-negative stat in Social Cues. For NPCs, the Narrator rolls 1D6, and on a 2 or higher, the NPC is assumed to make eye-contact by default.

The petrifying gaze only works through direct eye-contact, not through artistic depictions, photographs, video, or reflections. Looking through sufficiently opaque fabric, lenses, or other material will also prevent petrification, as long as the gorgon’s eyes are obscured from view.[1] The effect of direct eye-contact with a gorgon is still potent even if the gorgon is deceased, so long as the eyes are intact. Undead, living dolls, and gorgons are not affected by this petrification. 

[1   off to the side in the final formatting] Contact lenses will not help to prevent petrification. Also, only the gorgon’s eyes being obscured from view matters. If the other party is wearing sunglasses, they will still be petrified.

Petrification is generally absolutely permanent, and is not reversed when the gorgon who caused it dies.

Effects of Being Petrified

A victim of petrification will not be aware of their surroundings while petrified, but they will lose 4 points of Composure per day until they are effectively dead, and can never be returned to normal. If relevant, consider NPCs to have 1D6+1 points of Composure to lose before this Composure loss starts to eat into their HP. 

Reversing Petrification

However, a fairy or fairytale witch could reverse the effect (see p.XX). However, the petrification of gorgons is not the same as the petrication of a witch or fairy’s curse, and requires different components to reverse. Instead of the name or a lock of hair, this requires both eyes of either the victim or the gorgon who caused the curse. If this is done with the gorgon’s eyes, this only works on one victim (since the gorgon’s eyes are destroyed by the process)

Anyone coming out of petrification will do so as if they have just had a very long and totally unrestful sleep, and any damage they sustained as a statue will immediately take effect. For example, chips in their stone body become lacerations in their living body. If an arm was broken off their statue, their arm is now severed. 

Snake Eyes

The eyes of a gorgon resemble those of a snake, and have vertical pupils. For a gorgon, “automatic” success or failure results are reversed, so a roll of double 1s is an automatic success, and a roll of double 6s is an automatic failure.

Gorgon Skin 

Choose only one of the options below:[1]

[1  off to the side in the final formatting] The coloration of a gorgon’s scales is up to the player’s choice.

Normal Skin (Option): It’s normal.

Scaly Skin (Option): The gorgon’s skin is covered randomly in large patches of thick, hard scales. It is up to the player where on the body these patches are, which may make it easier or harder for the gorgon to pass as a normal human. Regardless, these scales reduce damage by half against 1-Damage and 2-Damage melee weapons. Having Scaly Skin also gives the gorgon Claws.

Full Coverage Scales (Option): The gorgon has no human hair anywhere on their body, and is instead covered nearly head-to-toe in thick, hard snake scales except for a smooth underbelly on the front of the torso, the inside of the hands, and soles of the feet. These scales make it near impossible to pass as a normal human without wearing full-body coverage, but reduce damage from all melee weapons by half. Having Full Coverage Scales also gives the gorgon Claws.[1] 

[1 off to the side in the final formatting] Gorgons with Full Coverage Scales also shed their skin a few times a year, but this does not happen often enough to be worth considering a codified mechanic. The patches of scales for Scaly Skin may also shed occasionally. 

Gorgon Claws

A gorgon only has claws if they have Scaly Skin or Full-Coverage Scales. If they do, the gorgon’s nails are hard and sharp, like claws[1]. Because of their superhuman strength, these claws deal 2 Penetrative Damage.

[1 off to the side in the final formatting] A steel file is required for filing these nails down, they tear up lesser files.

Gorgon Wings

Choose only one of the options below:

No Wings (Option): The gorgon has no wings. This is very helpful for passing as normal in public.

Wings (Option): A large pair of wings (leathery or feathery, player’s choice) stretch out from the gorgon’s back with at least a 15-foot wingspan from tip to tip. Effective use of these wings for flight requires enough space in one’s surroundings to fully extend the wings as well as get a running start, and an Athletics check. However, because gorgons lack any sort of tail or rudder, their flight will never be as stable or graceful as most other winged creatures. Apply a -1 to any roll to avoid obstacles or take any other action while in flight.

Full Success: The gorgon can take flight fully. +4 Acceleration.

Partial Success: The gorgon can at best glide low to the ground, maintaining flight for a few seconds at a time as they must touch down to kick themselves back off frequently. The gorgon will still have to contend with most Chase obstacles while this low to the ground. (As a travel method for the purposes of tracking Ticks during travel scenes, this kind of “flight” is only -2 Ticks.) +2 Acceleration.

Failure: The gorgon fails to take to the air, and probably falls flat on their face.

A gorgon’s wings are nearly impossible to hide without attracting at least some attention. As long as the gorgon is wearing sufficient clothing,[1] a Stealth roll can be made to hide their wings for the duration of one Scene, on a per-Scene basis. 

[1   off to the side in the final formatting] One suggestion would be to wear a large overcoat and walk with a hunch.

Full Success: No one will notice if they’re not already looking for it.

Partial Success: Most people won’t notice or care, but the gorgon will likely attract some stares in public. It looks like they are hiding something, maybe a backpack, under their clothes. 

Failure: The gorgon’s wings slip out and, even if just for a moment, it is obvious to anyone looking that they are real or at least very convincing fakes.[1]

[1   off to the side in the final formatting] Which is weird in and of itself.

Gorgon Hair

Choose only one of the options below:

Normal Hair (Option): It’s normal. If the gorgon has Full Coverage Scales, then this means no hair at all.

Normal Hair with Serpents (Option): (This option cannot be chosen alongside Full-Coverage Scales.) Alongside regular hair, the gorgon has several snakes which protrude from their scalp. These snakes grow in length at the same rate as the gorgon’s hair, though they are always slightly longer than it. So long as the snakes are behaving well, a gorgon can pass for normal without wearing a hat or hair cover. See “Head Snakes” below.

Full Serpent Hair (Option): Many snakes protrude from the gorgon’s scalp, fully covering it. These snakes grow out at the same rate as human hair. The gorgon will require significant coverage to hide these from the public eye.

Head Snakes

The snakes on a gorgon’s head can be any species of medium-sized venomous snake, though they are always all the same species. These snakes are part of the gorgon’s body, share their nervous system, and do not require independent sustenance, but do have minds of their own. The gorgon has only about as much control over them as they would a moderately trained pet. Unlike a gorgon’s primary eyes, the snakes’ eyes do not cause petrification.

The gorgon can sense anything that their snakes can sense, granting them a +1 Contextual bonus to all Senses checks. (If the gorgon has Full Serpent Hair, increase this bonus to +2.)

The snakes can swallow objects up to about the size of a baseball and spit them out at will.[1][2]

[1. Off to the side in the final formatting] No, this does not mean they can spit them out with any considerable force.

[2. Off to the side in the final formatting] These snakes do not have a back end, they end at the gorgon’s skull.

A snake’s head being severed is painful and upsetting, requiring the gorgon to make a Composure roll at +0, but the head will grow back from the stump within one day. If the gorgon wants to cut their “hair,” it won’t be a fun process, but the gorgon only needs to make one Composure roll (with an exacerbating factor) no matter how many snakes they cut.

The snakes on a gorgon’s head have their own venom (chosen from the same list as “Venomous Fangs,” below). All snakes share the same type of venom with each other, but this does not have to match the type of venom in the gorgon’s primary fangs. Because it is a much smaller dose, however, it has an increased Onset Time of 1D6-1 Ticks to take effect. (If the gorgon has Full Serpent Hair, it takes 1D6-3 Ticks instead.)

At any point when another character is within arm’s reach, the gorgon may attempt to sic her snakes on them. When the gorgon is at 3 Composure or lower, this is no longer a choice. The snakes become aggressive, and this is rolled every time a person comes within arms reach of the gorgon. Roll 1D6. This takes one Movement if time is measured in Turns.

1-4: the snakes will do nothing. 

5: the snakes will lunge out but miss the target. 

6+: one or more of the gorgon’s snakes will lunge out and inject venom into the target. If the target is not Grabbing or being Grabbed by the gorgon, they can avoid the bite with a Full Success on a Reflexes roll.

Add +1 to this roll if the gorgon has Full Serpent Hair. Also add +1 if the target is antagonizing, aggressing, or otherwise frustrating the efforts of the gorgon. Add an additional +1 for every point of Composure the gorgon is missing below 3, as seen below.

3 Composure: +0

2 Composure: +1

1 Composure: +2

0 Composure: +3

Forked Tongue

Gorgons have forked tongues like snakes, as well as the ability to sense heat through pit organs in the nostrils. They can still identify the approximate location of living organisms and heat sources even in total darkness. Additionally, they are able to detect a much wider variety of chemicals than any human nose. These properties mean that gorgons can reasonably make Senses checks that an ordinary human could not attempt, or could gain additional information from relevant Investigative rolls that others would not.

Scent Tracking

Gorgons are capable of Scent Tracking. (See p.xx “Scent Tracking”.) A gorgon must regularly and very noticeably taste the air with their tongue while tracking a scent.

Superhuman Strength

Gorgons are considered to have superhuman strength, and have a +2 Base bonus to Athletics and +1 Base bonus to Close Combat.

Serpentine Anatomy

With an Athletics check, a gorgon can squeeze their entire body through any gap larger than their own skull, and/or perform other extreme acts of contortion.[1]

[1 off to the side in the final formatting] If the gorgon in question has the Just Built Different Trait, apply a -2 modifier to this roll. 

Full Success: Gorgon makes it through.

Partial Success: Gorgon takes 2 Superficial Damage but makes it through.

Failure: Gorgon takes 2 Superficial Damage and gets stuck.

Venomous Fangs

Most gorgons have long, retractable, venomous fangs in their upper jaw. The venom only takes effect if injected into the target’s body, not if ingested.[1] Regardless of the type of venom, a second bite will double the damage or penalties taken by the target from the venom, but will not accelerate the process. 

Each gorgon’s fangs has one of four possible venoms, though if they have snakes on their head, those may have a different type. Choose only one of the options below:

[1. Off to the side in the final formatting.] Unless the victim has open cuts in their mouth or stomach.

Constrictor (No Venom) (Option): This gorgon does not have venomous fangs and neither do any snakes that may be attached to their head, and instead they rely on raw physical strength to subdue their prey. A gorgon with this feature has an extra +2 Base bonus to Athletics.

Paralyzing Venom (Option): One minute after being bitten, the target must make an Athletics check.

Full Success: The target has a -3 penalty to all rolls for 3 Ticks.

Partial Success: The target has a -4 penalty to all rolls for 4 Ticks.

Failure: The target has a -5 penalty to all rolls for 5 Ticks.[1]

[1 off to the side in the final formatting] This will be the number of Scenes instead if you aren’t tracking Ticks.

Agonizing Venom (Option): This venom applies poison (Non-lethal, OT: Immediate, DF: Per Round) to the target.

Lethal Venom (Option): This venom applies poison (Lethal, OT: 10 minutes, DF: Per minute) to the target.

Spray Venom (Option): Can be injected or sprayed, but requires 2 doses (see “Venom Doses” below) to take effect either way. When injected, it applies poison (Non-lethal, OT: Immediate, DF: Per Tick) to the target. When sprayed, the gorgon can propel the venom up to a range of 6 feet with a Close Combat roll, which causes immediate damage: 

Full Success: 4 Superficial Damage

Partial Success: 2 Superficial Damage

Failure: No damage.

The gorgon must aim for the target’s face or an open wound for this attack to be effective. Clothing which completely covers the eyes will render this spray harmless, and a target wearing glasses will take half damage. Any Injury roll taken as a result of damage from this attack will count as one degree worse than the actual result.

Venomous Bite

When a gorgon has someone in a Grab or (regular) Hold, they may make a bite attack to inject venom into their opponent. This attack is rolled using either Athletics or Close Combat, and is subject to all other regular rules regarding melee attacks. 

Full Success: Gorgon injects venom and deals 2 Superficial Damage.

Partial Success: Gorgon injects venom and deals 1 Superficial Damage. 

Failure: Gorgon cannot get their fangs into the victim.

Venom Doses

Gorgons do not have an infinite supply of venom, and replenishing it takes a long time. If a gorgon does not have enough doses, they cannot use their venom. A gorgon can never have more than 4 doses stored at a time. At the start of the adventure, gorgons have 1D6-2 (to a minimum of 1) doses of venom stored. Venom is replenished at a rate of 1 dose per week, however, a gorgon can spend a number of Eureka! Points to instantly recover an equivalent number of doses.

Terrifying Visage

At will, the gorgon can contort their face grotesquely. Gorgons have a +2 Contextual bonus to Threaten.

Gorgon’s Blood

Arterial blood from a gorgon is deadly poison.[1] If it enters the body through any means, it will cause Lethal Poison.[2]

[1. Off to the side in the final formatting.] Obviously this does not affect gorgons.

[2. Off to the side in the final formatting.] For vampires, this counts as Non-Lethal Poison.

However, venous blood from a gorgon has supernatural healing properties for living creatures other than gorgons.[1] If fresh venous gorgon blood is applied to the wound with a Medicine check, the Medicine check will restore 1 or 2 additional HP depending on the amount applied. Extracting enough blood to restore 1 HP will cause the gorgon 2 Superficial Damage. Extracting enough blood to restore 2 HP will cause the gorgon 4 Superficial Damage.

[1. Off to the side in the final formatting.] Though vampires are humans, their healing is not the same, and this blood will have no special effect on them whether ingested or applied to a wound.

Blood taken from a wound will usually be a mixture of arterial and venous blood. If this type of blood enters the human body, roll 1D6.

1-5: The blood counts as arterial, as the poison ruins any medicinal properties of the venous blood.

6: The blood counts as venous.

If a character attempts to extract venous blood from a gorgon, the Narrator makes a hidden Medicine check for that character.

Full Success: Up to 2 HP worth of venous blood may be extracted.

Partial Success: Up to 2 HP worth of venous blood may be extracted, but causes an additional 1 Superficial Damage to the gorgon.

Failure: The gorgon takes the same amount of Superficial Damage as with venous blood, but the extracted blood is contaminated with arterial blood, unbeknownst to the characters.

Serpent’s Jaw (Gorgon True Nature)

Gorgons need to devour human beings whole as part of their diet.

The following sections deal a lot with “size” and “capacity,” which in most cases we handle abstractly. We advise that players and Narrators use common sense when working with these mechanics. Go with what seems to fit in the moment based on the rules provided, rather than pausing to calculate the exact volume of people or objects.

The gorgon regains no Composure from eating normal food, but does gain Composure from sleeping. They will lose Composure from skipping meals or skipping sleep. A gorgon’s diet works very differently from most characters’, see below for details.

Composure loss from skipping meals: Yes

Composure restoration from eating three meals a day: No

Composure loss from skipping sleep: Yes

Composure restoration from full night’s sleep: Yes

Normal Food

Gorgons are obligate carnivores. In order for a meal to count towards their daily meals, it must be primarily composed of meat. When gorgons eat normal food, they need to eat one exceptionally large meal and subsist off that for some time. Gorgons need only eat one meal per 48 hours, but the Wealth roll for buying this meal has a -3 penalty.[1] Food Budget for a gorgon costs 3WP, and only covers a single meal.

[1   Off to the side in the final formatting] Ordering this much food in public may attract attention.

Eating this one meal of normal food will prevent Composure loss, but will not restore Composure. At the start of an adventure, they are always assumed to be in need of food that day.

If a gorgon attempts to eat multiple smaller meals over the course of a day like a regular person (or eat people piece by piece) they will suffer intense indigestion and lose 1 point of Composure each day they attempt this. Snake digestive systems aren’t built for that. 

Swallowing Large Objects

Despite being outwardly near indistinguishable from the shape of a regular human, the internal muscular and skeletal structure of a gorgon resembles that of a snake. Their lower jaw is comprised of two separate mandibles attached by elastic ligaments, allowing their mouth and throat to stretch to incredible size. The back teeth in both upper and lower jaw are hooked backwards like those of a snake.

Their collar bone and sternum are similarly only attached by elastic ligaments, and, where needed to accommodate their eating habits, their skin and musculature are able to stretch well beyond the limitations of a regular person.

A gorgon can effortlessly swallow anything up to about the size of a baseball.[2] For anything up to a little larger than 3 feet in diameter[1] the gorgon must make an Athletics check.

[1 off to the side in the final formatting] About the diameter of a large beach ball.

[2 off to the side in the final formatting] This does not prompt a supernatural ability Composure roll. 

Full Success: One Movement 

Partial Success: One Action

Failure: 3 Actions (or 1 Tick)

Objects that are larger, but are elongated and able to pass through an opening a little larger than 3 feet in diameter (such as a human body), take longer to swallow:

Full Success: 1 Action

Partial Success: 3 Actions (or 1 Tick)

Failure: 6 Actions (or 2 Ticks)

The gorgon can still attempt to swallow objects of even larger size, but may hurt themselves. The gorgon takes 2 Superficial Damage[2] and a -2 penalty to the Athletics for every 1 foot or so of diameter the object increases beyond that of a human body.[1]

[1. Off to the side in the final formatting] If the target is around 4 feet in diameter (your average hula hoop), that would be 2 Superficial Damage and -2  to the Athletics roll. If it’s around 6 feet in diameter (a large dinner table), that would be 6 Superficial Damage and a -6 to the roll

[2. Off to the side in the final formatting] This damage should only be applied after the object is fully swallowed (or after a Failure).

Full Success: 3 Actions or 1 Tick, but takes no Superficial Damage

Partial Success: 6 Actions or 2 Ticks

Failure: They can’t swallow it, but still take the Superficial Damage from the attempt. They may try again.

Spitting Out Objects

Reversing the process is much trickier. To spit out any swallowed object, the gorgon must make an Athletics roll. If the object smaller than about a 3-foot diameter sphere (such as a beach ball), the item, use the following results:[1]

[1. Off to the side in the final formatting] After a victim has been digested, only one roll needs to be made to spit out all or most of their clothing. Particularly protective articles of clothing (such as a motorcycle helmet) may still contain bones.

Full Success: The gorgon can spit out the object as 1 Action.

Partial Success: The gorgon either: 

takes 2 Actions (or 1 Tick) to cough up the object, as well as 1 Superficial Damage, 

loudly belches (drawing a lot of attention) as they cough up the object, 

or, if they were trying to retrieve a specific object, coughs up a different random object from the Random Gorgon Contents Table.

Failure: The gorgon fails to cough up the object, and either: 

takes 1 Superficial Damage

loudly belches, drawing a lot of attention

Larger objects (including most people) are a bit more difficult to spit out and use these results instead:

Full Success: The gorgon is able to spit out the object with 3 Actions (or 1 Tick).

Partial Success: The gorgon is able to spit out the object with 6 Actions (or 2 Ticks), and both take 2 Superficial Damage.

Failure: The gorgon not only fails to spit them out, but belches, either:

 drawing attention 

or, if the gorgon was hoping to get them out alive, reducing the time they have before suffocation by 6 Rounds.

Stomach Elasticity

An experienced gorgon’s stomach can stretch virtually indefinitely, though weight and bulk can quickly become an issue.[1] The gorgon may take penalties or encounter other difficulties based on how much volume they have in their stomach, as seen below:

[1. Off to the side in the final formatting.] Any gorgon without Full-Coverage Scales is very likely to have noticeable stretch marks around their waist.

Less than a Basketball: No penalty. One of a gorgon’s “normal” meals is about the upper limit of this.

Less than One Adult Person or Equivalent Mass: No penalty. Could pass for pregnant.[1]

[1 off to the side in the final formatting] The stomach is quite a bit higher up than the uterus, but the likelihood of anyone shouting “Hey, her pregnancy is too high up!” is pretty low.

One Person or Equivalent Mass: -1 to Athletics, Close Combat, Reflexes, and Stealth. Could pass for pregnant with nonuplets.[1]

[1. Off to the side in the final formatting.] At this point the gorgon must lean back as they walk to adjust their entire center of balance.

Two People or Equivalent Mass: -2 to Athletics, Close Combat, Driving, Reflexes, and Stealth. Can’t reasonably go out in public like this.

Three People or Equivalent Mass: -3 to all Physical Skills except Senses. Can’t reasonably go out in public like this.

Four People or Equivalent Mass: -4 to all Physical Skills except Senses. Can’t reasonably go out in public like this.

Five People or Equivalent Mass: -5 to all Physical Skills except Senses.. Can’t reasonably go out in public like this.

Six People or Equivalent Mass: -6 to all Physical Skills except Senses. Gorgon cannot move more than a bare minimum speed.

Seven People or Equivalent Mass: -7 to all Physical Skills except Senses. Gorgon cannot move more than a bare minimum speed.

Eight People or Equivalent Mass: -8 to all Physical Skills except Senses. Gorgon cannot move at all without a Full or Partial Success on an Athletics roll, and even then only bare minimum speed.

Nine People or Equivalent Mass: -9 to all Physical Skills except Senses. Gorgon cannot move at all without a Full or Partial Success on an Athletics roll, and even then only bare minimum speed.

Ten People or Equivalent Mass: -10 to all Physical Skills except Senses. Gorgon cannot move at all without a Full Success on an Athletics roll, and even then only bare minimum speed.

Beyond Ten: -10 Athletics, Close Combat, Driving, Reflexes, and Stealth. Gorgon cannot move at all, period.

On a per-Scene basis, a gorgon can make three types of roll to make their stomach appear one size smaller for the duration of the Scene. With a Full Success on an Athletics roll, the gorgon can suck in their stomach. With a Full Success on a Stealth roll, the gorgon can adjust sufficiently baggy or form obscuring clothing to hide their stomach size. With a Full Success on a Manipulate roll, they can act nonchalant so as not to draw attention to themselves. These methods can be combined, for up to a total three size category reduction in visibility and attention drawn.[1][2] Each of these rolls counts as one Movement if time is measured in Turns.

[1   Off to the side in the final formatting] These methods do not reduce the penalties, just the amount of staring.

[2 off to the side in the final formatting] A gorgon with the Just Built Different Trait can have their stomach counted as one size smaller all the time by default. 

Neither of these methods of reducing the conspicuousness of the gorgon’s belly will hold up under direct scrutiny, it only “passes for normal” in the sense that even for people who do take notice, their first guess won’t be that there is a body in there, and it would be very rude to ask.

If anyone inside the gorgon’s body is attempting to struggle or scream for help, count the gorgon’s stomach as two sizes larger for both conspicuousness and penalties.

Swallowing Live Prey

If a target is (very understandably) resisting being swallowed the gorgon must first Grab them. Once a gorgon has a target Grabbed, they can put them in a Hold as normal, or put them in a Swallowing Hold.

Swallowing Hold

Mechanically this works exactly like a regular Hold except where stated otherwise. The gorgon has stretched out their jaw and begun to swallow the target whole. There is no Submission with a Swallowing Hold. If this is being done head-first, start to apply the Drowning/Suffocation rules to the target immediately.

Once a gorgon has their target in a Swallowing Hold, at the next opportunity, they may make another Swallowing Hold to finish the process and fully swallow their target.[1]

[1 off to the side in the final formatting] Experienced gorgons often prefer to start with the hands. It also helps to lift a victim upside down, bringing gravity on one’s side.

Once a victim is cut off from air, the Drowning & Suffocation rules come into play. Optionally, once a victim is fully swallowed, the Narrator may simply declare them as good as dead with no need to play out their struggle mechanically.

Once a target is swallowed fully, the gorgon no-longer has any of the penalties associated with putting anyone in a Hold. Instead, refer back to p.xx Stomach Elasticity.

Internal Struggle

As mentioned earlier, living victims can struggle and fight, causing trouble for the gorgon inside and out. While in the stomach, they count as Held. If armed with a small piercing blade or a small firearm, they can attempt to attack the gorgon from inside, dealing normal damage. In this case, a Partial Success on a Firearms attack will still hit for full damage, and a Failure would fail to correctly operate the firearm and pull the trigger under these conditions. To escape, a victim will have to succeed at two Escape attempts, the first to reach up to the gorgon’s mouth, where they will count as being in a Swallowing Hold but without Drowning/Suffocation, and the second to pull themselves out of it. If the gorgon is taking a penalty to Athletics rolls because of stomach size, this penalty is not applied for the purposes of Weight Class with the victim’s Escape attempts. Attacking or trying to Escape will count as exertion for the purposes of the Drowning/Suffocation rules.

Digestion and Composure Restoration

Regardless of which option is chosen, the gorgon’s player should track the Ticks for digestion separately on their own. It should be noted that gorgons get more nutrients from live prey, but can subsist on recently-dead victims as well, as long as there is no decomposition. Choose only one of the options below:

Serpentine Enzymes (Option): The gorgon will digest person-sized meals over the course of a full week, and is able to fast comfortably for some time after. The size of the stomach will gradually decrease by one degree (see “Stomach Elasticity” above) every 48 hours or 40 Ticks. For 14 days, the gorgon will not lose Composure from skipping meals. For 7 days, the gorgon will regain 2 points of Composure per day per victim.They will regain an additional 1 point of Composure per day if the victim was eaten alive. Inorganic materials swallowed (such as a victim’s clothing) may sit in the gorgon’s stomach indefinitely until spit out. Neglecting to spit out clothing for several meals may result in being unable to reduce the size of the stomach past a certain point.

Additionally, at the start of each adventure, roll 3 times on the Monster Stomach Contents Table (see p.XX). The results are leftover objects that are still in a gorgon’s stomach from their last several victims.[1] Write these objects in the gorgon’s inventory but mark that they are in the stomach. Once per Scene, at the cost of 1 Superficial Damage, a gorgon with Serpentine Enzymes can attempt to spit out a single random object from the Random Gorgon Contents Table that they forgot was even in there. 

[1   off to the side in the final formatting] The random results that this table spits out[1.1] will tell a story, and could  imply a lot about the gorgon in question, but the intent is to leave creative leeway for the player to work with. A shoe belonging to the whole party’s mutual friend Jennifer could imply that Jennifer is never to be seen again, or that Jennifer is alive and well after she and the gorgon made a drunken bet. 

[1.1   off to the side in the final formatting] Pun intended.

Aqua Regia (Option): The gorgon digests food with shocking rapidity, burning calories like a jet engine[3], and nothing can remain intact in their stomach for long. Eating an entire person still only sates the gorgon for 48 hours. The size of the gorgon’s stomach decreases by one degree every 2 Ticks. A victim is considered “digested” after 4 Ticks, and the gorgon regains 1 point of Composure from that victim (or 2 points instead if they were eaten alive). The gorgon can continue to swallow more prey while they are digesting - track the Ticks for each victim separately.[1] There will be nothing left to spit out, as this gorgon’s stomach even rapidly breaks down inorganic material into vapor.[2]

Victims in the stomach of a gorgon with Aqua Regia suffer from damage equivalent to Lethal Poison, not representing actual poison, but rather the rapid dissolution of their flesh. (Lethal, OT: Immediate, DF: Per Round)

Additionally, Wealth rolls to buy food for this gorgon have a -4 penalty instead of -3, and they lose 2 Composure for skipping a meal instead of 1.[4]

Gorgons with Aqua Regia cannot spit out random objects. No small object can survive more than a single Tick in their stomach. If they do try to spit anything out, double any relevant damage penalties.

[1   Off to the side in the final formatting] Note that with Aqua Regia, each victim only restores Composure once, not continuously like with Serpentine Enzymes.

[2   off to the side in the final formatting] The large amount of vapor created by this digestion means that the gorgon will have to expel it after eating - often with a small burp.

[3   Off to the side in the final formatting] While gorgons with Serpentine Enzymes can be found to have all manner of body types regardless of their diet, gorgons with Aqua Regia struggle to put on any weight at all.

[4  off to the side in the final formatting] Sometimes there are people who simply require more than others to live at the same standard of health. Can they simply curb their greed?

Cold Blooded Killer (Gorgon Weakness)

Cold-Blooded

Though they still have mammalian features, a gorgon’s body temperature is not self-regulated. Their skin will feel room-temperature to the touch, and they will not be easy to spot with thermal imaging.

Gorgons have nine levels of body temperature (seen under “Body Temperature Levels” below), and their body temperature can have significant effects on their ability to function. At the start of an adventure, a gorgon’s body temperature will always start at Ideal. Under most circumstances, their body temperature will decrease by one level at the beginning of every Scene, not counting the very first Scene of an adventure. 

Because gorgons can not regulate their own body temperature, they are at the mercy of ambient temperature. In average ambient temperatures of 90°F and above, the body temperature will instead increase by 1 level each Scene. In average ambient temperatures of 50°F to 32°F, the body temperature will drop by 2 levels every Scene. In average ambient temperatures or 32°F and below, it will decrease by 3 levels every Scene. With no internal body heat, jackets and blankets are of limited help, though in temperatures of 50°F or below, they reduce the temperature drop by 1 level. 

In real life, temperature fluctuates from day to day, and throughout the day and night. However, to keep bookkeeping from being a nightmare for the Narrator and player of the gorgon, for game mechanic purposes we recommend you set a single average outside temperature for the entire adventure based on the region and time of year it is taking place. For interior locations, most buildings are kept at a “comfortable” temperature between 65°F and 75°F.

Body Temperature Levels

At high body temperatures, gorgons digest more quickly. When an entry says “double digestion speed,” that means count every Tick that passes as 2 Ticks for the purposes of how quickly something is digested. At colder temperatures, gorgons cannot continue digestion at all - spending extended periods of time at this temperature will count as not eating for that amount of time, even if they have food in their stomach.

Overheating: Double digestion speed. -3 to Composure rolls. -5 to all Skills. 2 Superficial Damage for every Tick that passes at this level.[1]

[1. Off to the side in the final formatting] Overheating is the only body temperature that will make a gorgon’s skin feel warm to the touch like a regular person’s skin.

Too Hot: Double digestion speed. -1 to Composure rolls. -2 to all Physical and Interpersonal Skills.

Hot: Double digestion speed. +1 Contextual to Reflexes. -1 to all other Physical Skills and all Interpersonal Skills.

Warm: +1 Contextual to Reflexes. 

Ideal: No bonus or penalty.

Cool: +1 Contextual to Stealth

Cold: Do not advance digestion. +1 Contextual to Stealth. -1 to all other Physical Skills and all Knowledge Skills.

Too Cold: Do not advance digestion. -1 to Composure roll. -3 to all Physical and Knowledge Skills.

Freezing: Do not advance digestion. -3 to Composure rolls. -5 to all Skills. 2 Superficial Damage for every Tick that passes at this level.

Warming and Cooling Sources

Spending 1 Tick engaging in the listed activities or standing near the listed objects will raise or lower the gorgon’s body temperature as noted below. With no internal body heat, jackets and blankets are of limited help, though for Moderate Cold Sources or colder, they reduce the temperature drop by 1 level. 

Major Heat Source: Increase by 3 levels. Examples: bonfire, furnace, “hot” bath or shower (around 100°F or higher)[1].

[1 off to the side in the final formatting.] What is “hot” or “warm” to a warm-blooded individual is very different to a cold-blooded individual.

Moderate Heat Source: Increase by 2 levels. Examples: Heat lamp, campfire, space heater, heated blanket, “warm” bath or shower (around 90°F), sharing body heat with a warm-blooded individual under a blanket.

Minor Heat Source: Increase by 1 level. Examples: hand warmers, heat vent, hot water bottle, strenuous exercise[2], ambient air temperature of 90°F or above, sharing body heat with a warm-blooded individual through skin contact[1].

[1  Off to the side in the final formatting] Having the warm-blooded individual in the gorgon’s stomach counts.

[2  Off to the side in the final formatting] Muscle movement generates heat.

Minor Cold Source: Decrease by 1 level. This is the default for ambient heat loss in the environment, which is why gorgons lower 1 body temperature level in most Scenes.

Moderate Cold Source: Decrease by 2 levels. Examples: AC unit, open refrigerator, ambient air temperature of 50°F to 32°F.

Major Cold Source: Decrease by 3 levels. Examples: Open freezer, ice pack, cold bath or shower (around 50°F), ambient air temperature below 32°F.

Monster Eyes

Most gorgons have learned the hard way not to look too closely at other people’s faces without a good reason. Gorgons have a -1 penalty to Social Cues and Charm. Additionally, if a gorgon sees their own uncovered eyes in any way, such as through a reflection, photograph, etc. they must make a Monster Composure Roll.

Yawning

If a gorgon gets less than a full night’s sleep the previous night, the Narrator rolls a hidden D6, and that many Ticks later, the gorgon will feel a monstrous yawn coming on, and must make a Reflexes check to stifle it if they don’t want anyone to see their enormous maw.

Full Success: The yawn is fully suppressed.

Partial Success: The gorgon yawns wide, but not noticeably wider than a normal person could. However, anyone looking directly at them may notice the other serpentine features of their mouth.

Failure: The gorgon yawns, momentarily opening their mouth at least wide enough to swallow a football.

Loss of Eye Coverage

Gorgons will typically wear dark or mirrored sunglasses, dark veils, or other means of covering their eyes. This eye coverage is always at risk of being lost in some way. If any offensive roll is made against them, and at least one of the dice on this roll shows a 6 [1], the gorgon’s eye coverage is knocked off, knocked away, or otherwise slips[2], regardless of the outcome of the roll. Additionally, if the gorgon gets a Partial Success or Failure on an Athletics or Close Combat roll, their eye coverage is also knocked off if either of the dice show a 6. 

[1   off to the side in the final formatting] To be perfectly clear, this is not about a +6 modifier, or a cumulative 6 made by adding things up. If you roll the dice and see a 6 on the physical dice, that is when the glasses are knocked off. This also applies when any roll happens to use a D12, still look for a 6. 

[2   off to the side in the final formatting] Just go with what makes sense - if the gorgon is wearing glasses, they are knocked to the ground. If they’re wearing a veil, it might just blow aside and require an action to readjust. If their eyewear is firmly secured to their face (such as ski goggles or a tightly tied blindfold), then don’t use this rule (though wearing ski goggles indoors is going to turn heads). 

To recover their eye coverage after losing it, they must take 1 Action to retrieve it. Another character may also use their own Action to find and retrieve the glasses. 

[professorlaytonarchive]

Dear fellow Professor Layton fans! I’m writing this post to explain the timeline of events about the search for Mansion of the Deathly Mirror to clear up any misconceptions or missing information you may have.

To start, Professor Layton and the Mansion of the Deathly Mirror (レイトン教授と死鏡の館 ) is a game in the Professor Layton series that was exclusively released for mobile. It was available on Professor Layton Mobile. The game features a brand new story formed by 6 chapters in total. Each chapter was his own i-appli, and they were released every two weeks starting from October 2008. As of June 2024, a translation of the original version is in the works, with the first chapter already released and as of September 2024 all 6 chapters have been preserved

Professor Layton and the Mansion of the Deathly Mirror -Remix- (レイトン教授と死鏡の館 -REMIX-) is an updated version of Professor Layton and the Mansion of the Deathly Mirroravailable to i-Mode devices through the Professor Layton Mobile and Mobile R portal. This version has different puzzles, slightly better animations and slightly different dialogues compared to the original version.

Synopsis

Professor Layton and his number one apprentice, Luke Triton, are invited to a party hosted by famous author Drevin Murdoch. At this party, he reveals to be in possession of a mirror that allows the attendants to talk to the dead. However, after Murdoch is found dead the following morning, it's up to Layton and Luke to find out the truth behind the Deathly Mirror, and the secrets Murdoch's Mansion holds.

(Credit: Keitai Wiki)

Chapter 1: A Single Piece

In 2014, a streamer managed to record the first three chapters of Deathly Mirror. A little while after, the streamer began to be harassed by multiple fans, eventually leading them to take down the videos. Due to the lack of preservation efforts at the time, the videos weren’t saved.

Years later, bits and pieces—such as screenshots, articles, and press videos—were found, but nothing concrete.

Chapter 2: A Picture Forming

In May of 2023, a Japanese fan posted the first part of what would become a complete playthrough of all six chapters of Mansion of the Deathly Mirror Remix. This was monumental for the Layton Lost Media (LLM) scene. However, during the 11 months it took to release the full playthrough, there were some difficulties with Western fans. The issues included harassment of the player for more videos, begging for the ROM (despite the player clearly stating they were afraid of Japan’s strict piracy laws), and other forms of harassment.

This period caused uncertainty and worry throughout the Layton Lost Media community, leading the community to strictly instruct members to cease any future contact with the player to prevent the playthrough from being lost before its completion. Around the same time, in February of 2024, thanks to the help of the user @/ponkikipon on Discord, we were able to preserve the ROMs of the original chapters 1-3. In April 2024, the playthrough of Remix came to an end with the release of the video for the sixth chapter. This allowed for the formation of Team Enigma, which sought to fully remake both the original and remixed versions of the game into one package, translate the original game into English, and expand their efforts into other translation projects. Chapter 1 is currently fully translated and available.

Chapter 3: The Final Piece

In September 2024, Keitai Wiki and a user by the name of @/yuvi on Discord managed to locate chapters 4-6 on a junk phone, marking the full preservation of the original Mansion of the Deathly Mirror. This allowed Team Enigma to bypass multiple roadblocks in the development of the remake and translation.

Please show your support by supporting Keitai Wiki, Team Enigma, and Team Professor Layton Archive.

https://x.com/rockmancosmo/status/1834626811646599498?s=46&t=r1PBA7kkYm_L_o06jhQMgw

[bizaar]

Endless Summer ✧

Part 4: Dead Man's Party

Cruel Summer Masterlist

Prev - Next

pairing: eddie munson x afab!reader

warnings: sexual content (18+ minors dni), fluff, horny-loser!Eddie, brief descriptions of sexual fantasies, bullying, mentions of parental abuse, mentions of drug and alcohol use, boys being gross, swearing, and so, so SO much pining

word count: 23k

a/n: once again, if anyone knows the original creator of the gif below, please let me know so I can tag them, I’ve had these on my laptop for over a year and I’ve lost all my credits!!

Dreams are weird. 

Here he stands in the vacuum of a white and foggy nothing, with absolutely no context as to how he ended up there or what he is even supposed to be doing, and yet Eddie is oblivious to the fact that there is anything amiss. 

This is normal, and more to the point this is where he is meant to be, standing out in the middle of this nothing which is slowly revealing itself to be the side of the road, despite a complete and total lack of distinguishing features to establish it as such.

He gets the faintest suggestion of a feeling that he is waiting for something, but before he can stop to ask himself what for, a voice fills the air. 

“Eddie!”

Of course, he knows instantly who is calling – there are only a handful of people who so casually address him by his first name (the vast majority of his peers electing to stick to his last name or some mean-spirited nickname).

Fewer still of that small grouping happen to be of the fairer sex, but even if he didn’t immediately know, who else’s voice would he be hearing out here in the misty mire of his dreams?

 It is music to his ears, and when he turns to look, there you are, already rolling down the window of a sleek car that is most certainly not your dented, soup green Toyota Corolla. 

That’s normal. 

“Hiya Sweetness…” he says, grinning and, even in a dream, hyper conscious of trying not to sound too thrilled that you just so happened to happen upon him in this void of nothing by the side of the so-called-road – what are the odds? 

“Where are you headed?” You ask, leaning seductively over the car door and giving him full vantage of the tiny red bikini you’re wearing – somehow, you’re suddenly also in a pool. You’re in a car, but you’re in a pool. 

And that’s still completely normal too. 

“Home,” Eddie says, gesturing down the long stretch of nary a thing with a long sweep of his arm, “That-a-way.” 

You smile, pink tongue poking through the lines of your teeth, and you lick your lips long and slow. Vaguely, he can’t help but get the sense that Moving in Stereo is playing somewhere in the distance. 

“You want a ride?” You purr, pushing your tits up and looking not so much like yourself as you do an amalgamation of half a hundred different pinups and playmates who have kept Eddie’s company over the years.

“Sure,”

The answer pleases you immensely and the atmosphere grows thick with the heady weight of your approval. 

Your teeth shine in pearly lines behind ruby red lips as you jerk your chin up and bat your eyes all pretty. 

“Hop in and I’ll suck your cock,” —

THUMP THUMP THUMP. 

The banging on Eddie’s bedroom door rattles it in its frame, lancing through his bleary subconscious and startling him into waking. 

The bubble of his dream pops with a fizzle, and just like that, you and the unknowable side of the road are replaced with the socked in atmosphere of a filthy bedroom and a gruff middle aged voice speaking at him through layers of warped hollow core. 

And just when things were starting to get good — ain’t that just the way. 

Lying face down in the rumpled sheets of his unmade bed, Eddie opens his eyes to the real world, and any lingering essence of the dream immediately begins to fade, replaced instead by the voice of his uncle and a sharp rattling door handle. 

“Get up, Ed!” Wayne calls. 

Eddie imagines it is meant to be the warning of an impending entrance, a gentlemanly way of telling him to make himself decent before anyone has to witness (or be witnessed in) any untoward morning actions.

It wouldn’t be the first time he’s been caught jerking off when he’s supposed to be getting ready for school. 

“No fuckoff,” Eddie moans, burying his face into the pillow and squeezing his eyes shut until he sees stars, willing them to take the shape of nondescript pool-cars and bodies in tiny bikinis — it’s not working, and now the door is creaking open.

“You better get your ass up if you wanna have time to shower,”  

He pulls the pillow over his head and whines out a moody complaint. 

“Five more minutes,” Eddie huffs, not caring about showers or school or whatever other bullshit reason Wayne has decided it’s so important he get up right this very moment. 

The man couldn’t be more urgent if the goddamn house was on fire.

“I’m not gonna tell you again,” Wayne says without any real tooth behind the threat.  

If his eyes were open, Eddie would have rolled them. 

In the bad old days, his father wouldn’t have bothered with such a luxury. Al Munson would have told his son once, and if he failed to heed that warning, a very rude awakening was sure to follow, one which varied in levels of violence depending on the old man’s mood and whether or not he’d started drinking yet. 

Eddie is no stranger to waking under a flipped mattress or splash of cold water (or warm beer). Sometimes, he can even still feel the burning of the cigarette his father stubbed out on the bottom of his foot when he failed to get out of bed on the first morning of the eighth grade, but these days he can rest easy knowing his uncle hasn’t got the same penchant for that kind of insanity.

He just likes to stand in doorways and offer cryptic prophecies like he thinks he’s the old man on the mountain or something.   

“She’s gonna be here any minute,” Wayne stresses.

And Eddie has got no earthly idea what kind of bizarre empty threat that is supposed to be — until he remembers the G rated source material behind his dream. 

The reason he was standing on that very real stretch of side road as your little green car came rolling up at precisely the right moment. More importantly, he remembers the plans you made after. The van is dead and he’s catching a ride with you to school today. 

“Oh, shit!”  

He is only vaguely aware of the sound of his uncle retreating and muttering to himself, something to the tune of “oh, sure, now it’s oh shit.” 

When he reaches for his Kmart Special digital alarm clock, which isn’t worth its weight in batteries, Eddie puts a fist into its winking face and punches it clear off his nightstand. Then, he upends himself over the side of the mattress and goes spilling out onto the floor as he leans over to reach for it. 

Lying upside down in a jumbled heap of pillows and blankets, he smashes buttons until the device creaks in his hand and winks off.

“Come on you — fucker!” 

It’s only when he gives it a hot-tempered shake that it comes back on and reveals the terrible truth.

It’s 7:22, and the returning memory of the previous afternoon’s coordination sends him into a blind panic.

You very clearly told him that you would be back at 7:30, leaning out your car window (and most certainly not offering to suck his cock) after you’d dropped him off. 

“How’s that sound?” you asked.

And because he’s the most insufferable human being on the planet, he gave you a sleazy, shit-eating grin and said, “Like a hot date.” 

The van is temperamental on a good day, but it had been acting up from the moment he turned the keys over that morning. Every couple of weeks it gets the notion in its head that it’s going to flirt with going to that great big used car lot in the sky, and every couple of weeks Eddie forces it to limp home where it can sit for a few days and think about what it’s done, but it’s more or less reliable. 

So it’s no wonder he went about the rest of his day with nary a thought in that head so stuffed up with yearning and dirty dishes and Shakespearean bullshit that it would leave him stranded on the side of the road. 

Now, he has eight minutes to pull his shit together before he’s expected to resume his sudden tenancy to your passenger seat. You’re on your way – ETA any minute, so says his uncle – and it sends him into a flurry of movement.

When he checks the clock again hoping maybe he read it wrong the first time, he is alarmed to find that it’s already been a full minute since he last looked. 

“Oh, shit! — shitshitshit!”

Why, oh why, today of all days, did he have to sleep in?

After a moment of aimless scrambling and trying to remember how to function, so recently removed from dreamland, he hears the familiar thumping cadence of his uncle’s gait coming back down the hall and Eddie feels the phantom throbbing of cigarette burns, bringing with them the consequences of a call unheeded. 

He can almost hear his father slurring “I’m only gonna tell you once,” and Eddie’s heart rockets up into his throat as he thrashes to free himself of the tangle of blankets. 

Wayne is still coming down the hall, and Eddie tries to read the man’s mood just by the familiar thump thump thumping – can footsteps sound angry? A traumatic childhood tells him, yes, they most certainly can.  

“I’m up!” Eddie shouts, standing up with enough velocity to very briefly strike him with the bends, dizziness sending dark spots exploding across his vision, “I’m up, I’m getting dressed!”

He whirls in useless circles and teeters hard to the left as his head swells and swims, hoping the suggestion of frantic movement will deter his uncle from rushing him any more than he already is.

“Fantastic,” Wayne deadpans from the doorway where he stands watching the frenetic display, “Alright with you if I take a piss?”

Oh. He’s about to tell the man to do whatever he wants, then he makes a move for the adjacent room and Eddie remembers all the things he still has to do. 

“No! Waitwait no don’t I gotta get in there! I gotta–” he shouts in a garbled rush as he flies past his uncle and slips in to the bathroom, shutting the door in the man’s face and flipping on the light.  

He’s got his toothbrush in one hand and a stick of deodorant in the other before Wayne can even protest the shortstop.

“Well, what the hell am I supposed to do?” he demands, voice cutting through the wooden barrier like a crash of thunder.

“I’ll be right out!” Eddie promises around his toothbrush, with a cloud of minty drool oozing down over his chin to drip into the sink.

On the other side of warped hollow core, he hears his uncle retreat back down the hall, grumbling, but he’s already sunk into a haze of brushing and reciting force of habit lines of poetry.

Some kids learn to say the alphabet while they brush, others do it to the tune of Happy Birthday. When Eddie was a kid, his mother had him brushing to the tones of Edgar Allen Poe, and even after all this time, he still can’t shake the habit.

Once upon a midnight dreary,  while I pondered weak and weary, over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore… 

But Poe is nothing if not just another long-winded Eddie, one with no remorse for this one who happens to be pressed for time, so he elects to go for the abridged version. The ghosts are just going to have to forgive him for that.

He brushes and spits, and rinses, all with those gloomy stanzas running endlessly through his head.  

While I nodded nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, as of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door… 

Thump thump thump.

…quoth the raven – 

“Can you get the door?” Eddie calls, and hears the vaguest hint of a disgruntled rumbling as his uncle heaves himself up from the Laz-E boy. 

Half a second later, there comes the telltale sound of the front door creaking open, followed very quickly by your voice, and Eddie’s stomach does a cartoon flip-flop and screams an incoherent exclamation – you’re here! 

And it’s only then that he notices how he can see all his tattoos and his nipples and his belly button staring back at him in the mirror. 

You’re here and he’s not dressed. 

“Oh, my God!” 

He’s still standing there in his goddamn undies, separated from you by only the shortest distance imaginable, and now he’s spinning in those useless circles again, half-naked and desperately looking for something to cover his shame.

Eddie’s never spent a moment of his life wishing for something as frivolous as a bathrobe, and yet, as he attempts to decide if it’s more scandalous to wrap a towel around his waist or simply live his boxershort truth, he’d give his right nut to be that fancy.

The cold comes rushing in as he eases the door half an inch open and attempts to evaluate the situation, crouching low and listening intently (as if making himself smaller is somehow going to make him less naked). 

Eddie hears you greet his uncle from two rooms over. 

“Good morning, Mr. Munson,” you say, and he winces.

Because he knows Wayne does not abide being called anything but his name, and he prays to any higher power that may be watching that the man is suddenly and miraculously cured of his hideous tendency toward being an insufferable twat. 

“Wayne,” his uncle says gruffly – Thank you, God – followed quickly by the muffled sounds of further conversation and the heavy thunk of the door being shut. 

“Yer that friend of Ed’s, right?” Wayne’s voice comes floating down the hall. “The one from the bar?” 

Of course he had to say it like that. 

Never mind everything else Eddie told him about you after he got home that night last week — no, you’re just his friend from the bar. 

“Yep, that’s me,” you say with no small amount of humor tinging your voice. 

“Heard you had to rescue him from the side of the road—” Wayne starts.

“That’s not what happened,” Eddie shouts, instantly forgetting that he is meant to be listening in secret.  

The last thing he needs is to draw attention to himself in his undressed state, but he can’t just sit there and let his uncle embarrass him like that, not in front of you. 

Of course, there’s nothing overtly embarrassing about the notion that you rescued him, only the way Wayne insists on saying it. 

The van died, Eddie started to walk, you came along and offered him a ride. Nothing more, nothing less. Of course, he failed to be anywhere even remotely that casual about it when he had to explain the lack of his van to Wayne later that evening, and therein lies the problem.

Wayne knows Eddie likes you, even if neither of them have overtly broached the subject.

And of course, now that he’s been discovered lurking, Eddie knows he can’t linger, so he moves as quick as he can. He is a pale flash of skin in the dark, scrambling the distance between the hall bath and his bedroom, a few steps made frighteningly unnavigable by his stunning lack of clothing. 

Eddie briefly glimpses you as he goes, standing politely in the living room with your hands laced behind your back as you turn and take in the ramshackle decor of Casa Munson.

He wishes he’d had time to clean, but since he already used what little time he had lying in, chasing his sickly-sweet dreams, he’s just going to have to live with the state of things as they currently are… and hope that there is nothing too seriously embarrassing lying out, waiting to scandalize you.

He doesn’t need a rerun of what happened with the pinup in his locker. 

“Hiya Sweetheart!” he calls, daring one second more before he slips into the velvet dark of his room.

“Oh — hi! Good morning!” Eddie hears you say distantly, and the acknowledgment causes his insides to flutter and bloom with sunshine lollipops and rainbows.

Having a crush is so fucking embarrassing, and Wayne is more than happy to exploit that.

“Oh, goddammit — you still ain’t got pants on?” He calls. 

You giggle distantly, and Eddie slams his bedroom door. 

The clothes scattered to every odd corner of his room are what he would refer to as “more or less clean” … which is to say, not. Normally, that would be fine, but fine is simply not good enough if it means sharing the sealed proximity of your compact little car, especially when he didn’t have time to shower. 

Suddenly, Eddie is wildly paranoid that he’s radiating a particularly heinous funk that is going to send you running for the hills. That’s never been something he’s been particularly concerned about, and it’s wildly disconcerting.

After all, what is a group of guys if not a raucous cloud of sweat and body odor and farts? That’s just one of those things – a gen-u-ine fact of life. Guys don’t give a shit about that kind of stuff, they barely even notice it if not to laugh, but girls? 

Girls care. 

Some of the far more precious members of the sex tend toward offense by that kind of stuff, and while Eddie has no clue as to your disposition, no amount of sniff testing garners any answer about whether or not he stinks. 

All Eddie can smell is his room, and his room smells like it always does – like weed and dirty clothes and the underlying guff of something harsher. It does nothing to instill confidence in him as he begins the hectic process of dressing.

He zips his jeans and reaches over to punch the strip vent at the top of his window in the hope that a little fresh air might shine some light on the emergency at hand. He is tragically disappointed to find no change, save for the November cold ekeing in and flash-freezing him with goosebumps. 

Eddie doesn’t know what to do. 

He can’t go out to ask Wayne for his opinion on the matter, not with you standing there and not with his pack-a-day sense of smell (or lack thereof). Then again, even if he dared to pose such a vulnerable question as “do I stink?” while standing in the presence of the object of his undying affections (regardless of what Wayne knows about that) the only answer he would be sure to receive is a resounding “to high heaven”, regardless of the truth. 

So, Eddie resorts to a seldom-used plan B: cologne, and lots of it.

If he can’t smell good naturally, he’ll douse himself in the stuff and hope for some kind of miraculous happy medium.

“Hurry it up, Ed,” Wayne calls from down the hall, and it presses him into action. 

Don’t rush me! He wants to howl, but he’s worried that doing so will make him sound far too much like some whiny little freak who slept in past his carpool date (ding ding ding, you are correct sir), so he swallows the intention and leaps across his mattress to ease the door open.

“I’ll be out in two minutes, I swear,” he calls down the hall, doing his best to tear his room apart as quietly as possible as he begins searching for the half-empty bottle of cologne he’d received as a Christmas present a few years back. 

In the other room, Wayne makes a harsh sound, something like a grunt twisted out of shape by the first rattling of a smoker’s cough.

“Where’ve I heard that one before,” he mumbles, undoubtedly to you. 

Eddie doesn’t have time to worry about whatever conversation is sure to follow such an aside, or whether Wayne has already gone and whipped out the baby pictures. 

The thought is terrifying – and here’s one where Ed took off all his clothes to run in the neighbor’s sprinklers, just look at the rash he’s got on his little butt – NO NO NO NO NO NO NO! 

He needs to get out there, he needs to get you out of here, and he needs to find that bottle yesterday, but he has no idea where to start looking.  

He hasn’t seen it in months – years even – and he barely even remembers if it was something halfway decent or just run-of-the-mill bargain bin trash. 

Then again, Eddie distinctly remembers one instance at the Hideout of a sloppy-drunk middle-aged woman leaning over the bar and pulling him forward by the front of his shirt while he was wearing it. She batted her eyelashes and told him he smelled nice, and sure, she was just trying to get laid, but a compliment’s a compliment, and those are hard to come by for a guy like him in a town like this.

Naturally, even with his dresser drawers upended onto his bedroom floor, Eddie can’t find the bottle of dollar store cologne, and he’s well beyond out of time.

So, he reverts to Plan C, which is to tear an insert for a fragrance called Sex Bomb out from between the sticky pages of a well-loved Hustler magazine (the original home of his since discarded locker playmate). 

He gives himself half a dozen paper cuts rubbing it across the length of his chest and under both arms before throwing on the closest shirt within reach, which just so happens to be an old Hellfire Club t-shirt with a greasy pizza stain on the front. 

He barely has half a moment to try and look at himself in the mirror around Sweetheart before Wayne is shouting down the hall again.

“You’re gonna be late!” he calls, with long emphasis on the “late”, because what he really means is he’s going to make you late, and you’re just too polite to say anything about it.

No time to change, he’s just going to have to live with the stain. Eddie doesn’t even bother tying his shoes before he shrugs into his jacket and heads for the door. 

Then, at the very last second, he stops short as he remembers your tattered copy of Dune sitting on his bedside table. He contemplates returning it and the precious contents scrawled across its pages, then spies the dusty paperback sitting on his floor, wedged beneath the stumpy, broken leg of his desk. It’s an easy choice to make 

Eddie drops to his knees and relieves it of its terrestrial duty, then watches blankly as the bench lists and sends everything piled high on its flattop crashing to the floor.

Whoops. 

“…Everything okay in there?” Your voice comes filtering down the hall. 

“Yep,”

He makes a mental note to clean it up later (never) as he tucks the book into the back pocket of his jeans and whips his door open. 

Wayne is back in the Laz-E boy when Eddie finally emerges, and you’re perched on the edge of the couch with your hands tucked neatly into your lap. 

He’s relieved to see that, despite the morning grump, Wayne at least had the decency to offer you a seat. More importantly, Eddie is relieved to find the conspicuous lack of the family photo album spread out between you. 

Which means no baby pictures – Thank fucking Christ. 

“Hi,” you chirp when he arrives, jumping to your feet and crossing in front of Wayne and the television with an apologetic smile.

Before Eddie can reciprocate the greeting, your eyes flit down and your brows jump.

“Uh-oh,” you say, and drop into a graceful crouch to take his laces in hand and – his heart throbs in his chest and he flashes a panicked look at Wayne – you take the time to carefully tie his shoes. First one, and then the other. 

And has anyone ever been treated with such purposeful care? Such reverence? 

Oh my God oh my God oh my GOD.

He’s so not normal about anything happening here – this flagrant act of decency, perpetuated so easily and without a single prompting instance. You, fixing something simply because you noticed it was out of place. 

Something far too big for so small a gesture begins to swell and throb in the space behind his lungs and Eddie feels an unbearable heat blooming across his face as the television vomits a muted stream of morning show prattle to back your benevolent care. 

His heart is beating itself into concussion against the prison bars of his ribs by the time you come back up to meet him. 

“There,” you say with a shy, satisfied smile, “Now you’re perfect.”

It hits him like a fist to the gut and leaves him genuinely winded. In the grand scheme of things, those three little words do more to wreck Eddie than your dreamland doppelganger’s proposition ever could. 

Whatever happens, however the chips may fall and whether you ever make it past this moment – this beautiful, perfect, bizarre fucking moment – this tiny little nothing (it’s everything, you’re everything) will be enough to sustain Eddie for the rest of his life.   

A thousand miles away and to his immediate right, he hears his uncle release a slow breath as salt and pepper brows climb toward his receding hairline.

“Whoa,” Wayne mutters as he bears accidental witness to something that feels unbearably important, and Eddie hopes to God that you don’t notice the way he’s turned feverish, suddenly sweating underneath all his layers.

“Ready to go?” you ask.

He nods a stupid rubber up and down and lurches to the left to whip the door open and hold it for you. 

“Let’s hit it,” he says.

Your car keys jingle as you duck down under his arm and slip back out into the world, the invisible ticking clock of arrival bearing down on you, though not so much that you forget your manners.  

“Oh — bye, Wayne,” you call over your shoulder as you start down the steps, “Nice seeing you again!”

Before he commits to following you out, Eddie whips around to give his uncle one last giddy look - did you see? Did you hear what she said? Can you believe any of the magic you just witnessed?! – grinning so widely he can feel the muscles in his cheeks creaking as they pull nearly past their limit. His face could tear off at the seams, and he wouldn’t give one hot shit about it, because now he’s perfect. 

You said that – you actually said that — so it must be true.

Wayne just shakes his head, already flipping through the pages of the latest issue of American Gardener Magazine.   

“Have him home before dark,” he calls, and even that kernel of irreverence is not enough to put a damper on Eddie’s euphoria, despite the way it twists a chord of bewildering embarrassment in his midsection.

He shuts the door with a slam, clears the steps in one mighty leap, and feels the vicious stab of pins and needles exploding in his knees when he lands and breaks into a short jog to keep pace with you.

Thank God the van is such a clunky piece of shit – imagine the scenario where he didn’t get to receive this gift of a morning, where you didn’t pull over to the side of the road to rescue him from his relatively short walk home and kindly offer to drive him to school. Just imagine.

He can’t, he won’t, he refuses – he really hurt himself jumping off the steps like that.  

“How’d you sleep?” Eddie asks, trying not to limp under the duress of his knees demanding to know why he is the way he is, and feeling his heart palpitate when you stop at the driver’s side door to look back at him.

Despite the chaos of the previous two minutes, it feels so incredibly correct seeing you like this. You’re familiar as childhood, fresh-faced and bright-eyed, first thing in the morning like you’ve carpooled every day of your lives since you were kids – imagine that. 

“Good,” you tell him, smiling secretly as he meets your gaze over the top of your little green car – you open the driver’s side door with a pop, and you tease him, “Wayne says you slept in,”

Eddie scoffs, and mirrors your action, sliding easily into your passenger seat – falling into, more like – and knocking his head on the door frame as he does. Ouch. 

He’s not used to riding in vehicles he doesn’t have to climb up into. 

“Wayne says a lot of things,” Eddie winces, thankful as his blundering goes unnoticed.   

You pull your door shut with a hard thunk and when Eddie does the same, it seals you in together. For a moment, he’s overwhelmed to be so completely blanketed in the aura of you. 

Your space, your car, your perfume – he’s losing his mind and he hopes beyond hope that it all lingers in his clothes and hair for days to come, just so he can revisit this moment in the cold blue hours of the impending mornings he is doomed to spend without you.  

Before he can settle too far into the despair of that future, Eddie lifts up to fish the book out from where it’s been sandwiched between the seat and his back pocket and angles it toward you.

“Candygram.” 

“Oh!” You say, taking it and looking it over, “Oh…what’s this?” 

“A book,”

You scoff, and somehow you manage to make the sound lighthearted and kindly. 

“Thank you, Captain Obvious, I can see it’s a book…” 

Eddie pulls his shoulders up defensively.

“I just thought it might be up your alley.” He stays facing forward as he says it — casual, calm, cool — but can’t help but steal a sidelong glance in your direction to try and gauge your reaction, “Y’know, since you seem to like sci-fi and all…” when his explanation goes without a response, he reaches over to tap the cover, “Heinlein’s a good place to start. He’s pretty much king of the genre,”

You turn the book over in your hands and hold it up so you can see the worn, lined cover to The Moon is a Harsh Mistress – no title has ever sounded so unbearably trashy until this very moment.

Much to Eddie’s patent glee, you bite your lower lip in an attempt to stifle a smile when you open the cover and see his fourth-grade chicken scratch etched into the title page – Properetey of Eddie Munson.

A relic from the days before the word “property” had come across his vocab sheet, and back when Eddie Munson was still just a little boy with a ninth-grade reading level who couldn’t spell and lived in a three-bedroom house with two whole parents. 

Go figure.  

He’s not even embarrassed to share that with you – mostly because he’s glad you like his little gift, but also because it buys him a little more time with your private annotations. If sharing a peek into the murky lens of days bygone is the price for such a private intimacy, he’ll happily pay it.

A mind’s eye for a mind’s eye.  

Satisfied, you lay the mass-market paperback on the dashboard for later and twist your key in the ignition. 

The engine turns over with a gentle rumble — a strident contrast to the phlegmy, hacking roar he gets from the van — and suddenly, butterflies are replaced with gut-wrenching nausea as the radio kicks on and Eddie is forced to endure hearing a miserable three seconds of Crazy Little Thing Called Love. 

He yelps – actually yelps – and slaps the dial over to the next station, which delivers nothing but blessed static.

It fills the car and sets his hair standing on end, and he tries not to look too conspicuously guilty of anything as he begins to feel the heat of your startled gaze on the side of his face.

“Everything okay?” 

“Yeah… about that…” he begins lamely, trying with everything in his power not to think about that scorching, tumultuous summer or how goddamn strong Stacey Keats’s thighs were, squeezing around his neck and shoulders while she attempted to suffocate him. “... I got nothing, sorry.” 

You blink back at him, wide-eyed but ultimately forgiving of such an act of sudden spastic violence.

You regard him with a cautious smile, “…No Freddie for Eddie, huh?”

“Uh… hah, no. I mean … just not that song.”  

“Fair enough,”

It’s already in his head though, and Eddie is just about ready to spend the rest of his day buffeted with trauma flashbacks of losing his virginity when you pull the gear shift into reverse, and put your hand on the back of his headrest as you twist around to back out.

Thrust into such intimate proximity – this close, he swears he can see the individual hairs of your lashes, curled up so perfectly to kiss your shadowed lids – he forgets there ever was such a person with stunningly muscular thighs named Stacey Keats. 

It’s just you and him and this cloyingly sweet atmosphere, seeping into every fiber of his being. Eddie tries not to stare at you too intently and knows he is failing miserably when he watches you flatten your lips against what he imagines can only be a smile.  

“You smell good,” You say softly, and he barely hears you over the roaring of his blood thundering through his veins.

He thinks he manages to force out a choked “thanks” but he can’t be sure with how quickly his senses are abandoning him. 

It occurs too late that he ought to return the compliment. Your perfume is in his sinuses now, with the faintest undertone of shampoo and something sweeter, which he can only imagine must be the natural smell of your flesh. It comes together in a stupefying combination that turns his tongue fat and fills his mouth with saliva as it envelopes him in a sickly sweet embrace.

Eddie has to grit his teeth just to keep his head above water. He knows if he isn’t careful, and if he lets it overwhelm him, he’s in danger of doing something insane like telling you he loves you.   

Being a person is a particular sort of agony, he is coming to learn.  

You aren’t even touching him, and still he feels the ache of your hand’s absence when you take it back from the headrest to take hold of the steering wheel — he can’t really be that starved for touch, can he? He’s not actually that pathetic… 

“You can put something else on if you want,” you say, gesturing to the well in the passenger’s side as you complete your three-point turn and begin the long, bumpy trek back up the drive to catch the turn off to Kerley Avenue.  

Yes please, anything to distract from the way his heart is beating itself senseless against his ribs. 

Eddie surges forward to fish a rectangular box out from where it’s been stashed beneath his seat and flips up the hard vinyl lid, revealing a collection of cassette tapes – your music. 

“Ah ha!” he cries, unable to separate the total and abject weirdness bubbling up alongside his mounting excitement, “Avast ye, me hearties! Ex marks the spot – buried tray-sure!”

In the apparent inability to function normally, Eddie’s subconscious inexplicably turns pirate, which is utterly mortifying and something that – to his knowledge – has never happened before.

Maybe he’ll get lucky and it will be nothing more than the first signs of an inoperable brain tumor and not just his painful inability to be normal, but beside him, you do your best to swallow an undainty snort of laughter and fail miserably. Thankfully it is not a mean sound, then again Eddie is not entirely sure you’re capable of such a thing.

It helps to alleviate some of the humiliation of the previous moment as with hungry, waggling fingers, he peels back the curtain to take one more coveted peek into your secret world. 

For a long few moments, neither of you speak, but he can feel you trying to split your attention between him and the road as he takes steady, focused inventory of your taste in music. 

It’s all more or less what he would have expected – a lot of 70s rock, some pop, some disco. There are a few surprises in there, like the Alan Parsons Project and Supertramp, but Eddie sits pleased with the run-of-the-mill presence of Fleetwood Mac, Bowie, and Kate Bush.

For as much as you continue to surprise him every time you spend any amount of time together, there is a strange comfort in knowing that you’re not actually all that hard to pin down. You like exactly what he expects you to like, and somehow that makes it feel easier to know you. 

When he sits in silent regard of your tapes for too long, you start to fidget, and when the silence persists even after that, he can sense a tangible nervousness leaching out of you, clouding the atmosphere like blood in water.

“Just… try not to judge me too hard, okay?” you finally say, “I’ve been told my taste is…hmm… eclectic?”

It comes tumbling out of your mouth like a dirty word you’re shy about using and Eddie bites the inside of his lip to try and temper the wicked little smile forming there. 

“That’s not always a compliment,” he hums, imagining the fights you must have with your shitty friends over what to play and, more than likely, losing out over their preferences — it’s Belinda Carlisle over Pink Floyd, every day of the week, and how you must suffer for it. 

“Believe me, I know.” You say, “I mean, try explaining to your PTA treasurer mother why you’re listening to a band called Judas Priest –”

“Judas Priest!” he shouts, a little too loud for such an enclosed space. 

He didn’t mean to say it like that, but how else is he supposed to react when you hit him with such a ridiculous concept?

The reaction makes you jump, and suddenly you’re staring back at him in owlish surprise — he almost feels bad about that, even as he begins to laugh.  

“What?” you ask.

“Please. Now you’re just trying to impress me,”

Your brows furrow over your pretty eyes, making a crease between them, and Eddie has to resist the urge to smooth it out with his thumb. 

“No, I’m not,” you say. 

He calls your bluff. 

“You do not listen to Judas Priest,”

“Yes I do,”

“No, Sweetheart, you don’t, and that’s totally cool! But let’s just be honest with each other here.”

“How dare you.” You gasp, feigning complete and abject offense, “You don’t think I can rock out?”

Eddie snorts, because no, actually, he doesn’t. You, all sweetness and sugar (with a mother in the PTA – because that absolutely tracks, he bets you were a girl scout too) headbanging and growling out the chorus to Exciter like you think you’re Joan Jett or something? 

Absolutely not, and your mouth falls open as you come to realize this fact. 

“You don’t!” You gasp, “Well excuse me, Mr. Rockstar, but I thought I was supposed to be Corroded Coffin’s biggest fan! What happened to that, huh?” 

“Listen,” Eddie starts with a diplomatic hand, “I’m sure you think you’re hard, listening to all that bubblegum shit they play on the radio — Twisted Sister and Def Leppard, am I right?”

You set your jaw and your face flushes with the faintest hint of pretty, indignant color. 

“So what?” You press, 

“So, I’m just saying, there’s metal and then there’s metal.” He continues, “Maybe you’ve got a little Zeppelin on your rotation, and I’ll even buy the occasional foray into AC/DC, but Judas Priest? Come on, Babe — don’t kid a kidder.”

He’s testing the waters with that sneaky little term of endearment, that’s for sure, and with the way you’re sitting there gawping at him, Eddie is almost sorry he tried it. 

Maybe he’s read the room wrong and getting a little too familiar too fast, but maybe you’re trying a little too hard to convince him of something that is so blatantly untrue it’s laughable.   

Your face twists into a mask of genuine annoyance then, and Eddie can’t help but fixate on how much attention you’re putting into glaring at him and not watching the road – it makes his insides squirm with repressed nerves and latent images of cars in ditches. 

How he ever managed to let you start this car when neither of you is wearing your seatbelt is beyond him – he guesses he’s just that sick with the fever of you – and he’s suddenly kicking himself for so blatantly antagonizing you. It’s all fun and games until you’re upside down on the side of the road.

“Next…” Eddie starts, casually reaching over your head to snag the belt, pull it across your lap, and buckle it into place. “...you’re gonna tell me you listen to Iron Maiden,” 

“I do listen to Iron Maiden!” You cry, head snapping back to the front and swatting his hand away. 

Eddie snorts out a scoff.

“You’re such a liar,” 

“And you, Eddie Munson,” you begin. “Are an unbelievable snob.”

It forces a startled bark of laughter out of him, once again too loud for the enclosed space – that’s a first. He’s been accused of a lot of things, but never of snobbery.

“Prove me wrong,” he says, grinning wickedly and leaning dangerously far into your space.

Your seatbelt doesn’t let you get far, but you rise to his challenge anyway, and suddenly you’re nose to nose.

“I will!” you insist, “Keep looking, Smart Guy, since you’re so damn sure – go on. All the way to the back.” 

Ever eager to please, Eddie resumes his inventory with renewed interest, rapidly flipping through the likes of Elton John, the BeeGees, ABBA, John Denver, and half a dozen other bands, none of which are even remotely within the vicinity of what you so calumnously claim to listen to. 

On and on, he is greeted with the top forty of this decade and the last: Tears for Fears, Loggins and Messina, Queen, The Clash, Dusty Springfield, The Go-Go’s, Jefferson Starship, Paul Simon, Duran Duran, ELO, KC and the Sunshine Band – the list is neverending. 

The further he goes, the surer he gets, shaking his head and chuckling smugly to himself. 

He’s so right, and you’re so busted. 

“There’s no way you listen to–” and then, like happening on a unicorn, he finds it. 

Stuck in at the far back between Mötley Crüe and (lo and behold) Iron Maiden, is the Screaming for Vengence album, on glorious cassette tape. 

Buried treasure.

All further taunting immediately dies on his tongue as he suddenly gets a very good taste of his own foot. 

“HA!” you shout, and it rings loudly in his ears, “I told you!” 

You snatch the tape from his hand when he holds it up and immediately feed it into the player. After a moment of mechanical whirring, the car fills with the introductory riff of You Got Another Thing Coming, and Eddie is stunned – truly stunned. 

Judas fucking Priest. 

“Oh, my God,” he says, “How is this possible? How did I not know you were cool?”

“Because you’re a snob!” You punch him in the shoulder and it’s not half as startling as the way you bloom before his eyes, “And I’m a stunningly mysterious creature with many secrets to behold!” 

While both of those facts are inarguably true, Eddie has never seen you so excited. Who knew riling you up was the key to opening the door to your life? It stirs a dangerously mischievous urge in him as he tucks that revelation into his back pocket for later. 

Still, he’s never wanted to know more about someone than he does right now. Eddie is ravenous to know everything there is to know about you, and he’s trying so desperately to be cool about it.  

“I’m serious — how’d you get into Judas Priest? Girls like you don’t listen to music like this.” 

You grin.

“A snob and a chauvinist. You’re oh-for-two there, Buddy-Boy — but if you must know…?”

“I must,” 

You cast a sultry sidelong glance at him and Eddie is instantly shot full of holes. 

“I was exposed at a very young and impressionable age,”

Which means someone sat you down and picked out a song special for you, knowing you’d love them before you even knew you had the proclivity for metal in you. Eddie is suddenly so incredibly jealous, that he feels like he could burst. What a devastatingly intimate thing to have missed out on – how he wishes that could have been him, young and dumb and unlocking something so important in you as an entire genre of music. 

It’s not fair that he’s had to wait this long to get to know you, and that he’s missed out on years of having a friend like you. He suddenly can’t believe he went so long not knowing what he was missing.

“Who did this to you? Tell me everything,” Eddie pleads, “The suspense is literally killing me.”

You bite back a grin and turn your attention to the road as you explain. 

“You went to Hawkins Middle, right?” You ask, and he nods, electing to say nothing about what a hellish experience it was, smack dab in the middle of the single parent, Alan Munson days, “Remember how they used to do a talent show and everyone had to participate for good sportsmanship or whatever?” 

And then, something begins to tickle the back of Eddie’s brain, something far too good to be true.

“Sure do.” He says, trying not to sound too excited about what he suddenly thinks he knows.

He tells himself he doesn’t know exactly what you’re about to say, (because he doesn’t want to get his hopes up) but suddenly he’s leaning into your space again, hanging on your every word, and despite his better judgment warning him to temper his expectations, he knows exactly what you’re about to say.

And it is too good to be true.

“So, most people would just pull some bogus thing together and call it talent, because they had to, right? But then, there was this group of kids who just woke up and decided they were gonna put together a fully functioning metal band for the show…”

Holy shit holy shit holy shit–

“...and they weren’t good, but it was crazy, because of all the things they could possibly play, they get up there and whip out Exciter like that’s a totally normal thing to happen at a middle school talent show–”

Eddie’s mouth falls open as he is bombarded with memories of the earliest days of Corroded Coffin, those first practices in the Hawkins Middle music room, back when the band was him, Jeff, Doug Teague, and Ronnie Ecker. 

Talk about a blast from the past – what a fucking trip.

“You’re kidding,”

“I’m totally serious. Bunch of twelve year olds playing in a Judas Priest cover band,” you say, like it’s the funniest thing anyone has ever heard.  

Eddie bites back the urge to correct you (Corroded Coffin is not a cover band, they are a band that happens to do covers) and he keeps waiting for the punchline, for the other shoe to drop, but you’re still just going on and on like you’re blissfully ignorant of what exactly you’re confessing to him, here on this random Friday at 7:40 in the morning. 

You continue with a casual wave of your hands, daring to release the steering wheel just long enough to get your point across.

“Anyway, it’s like I said – young and impressionable. But it sort’ve blew my mind, and I’ve been listening to them ever since– in secret, of course, because, girls like me don’t listen to music like that,” You say, making a point to drop your voice in abject mockery of him. 

For half a moment Eddie can’t tell if you’re joking, telling him all this as if he doesn’t know exactly what you’re talking about, and as if he wasn’t the one getting pulled off stage for playing Exciter at his middle school talent show. 

And then it hits him. You don’t know. 

Oh, my God. He can’t believe this. He cannot believe you don’t know. How can you not know?

“Dude… that was me.” he says, unable to keep it to himself for another second, “That was me!”

You give him a dubious, sidelong glance as you reach the intersection and roll to a stop.

For a moment, you don’t speak, you just stare, eyes narrowed, brows furrowed, jaw set in a quizzical press. 

“...shut up,” you say slowly, and yet you don’t outright reject the notion, the way he had earlier with you. 

Eddie doubles down, and he knows he’s talking too fast, too loud, but his blood is pounding with the revelation that you’ve been in each other’s orbit – affected each other – for much longer than twelve measly months. 

“That was my band! That was Corroded Coffin! We got together and learned to play Exciter in like, two weeks, and we were awful and nobody clapped!”

Your eyes go wide as realization hits you like a brick, and then you gasp.

“Oh, my God, I remember that!” you shout, “Nobody clapped! Eddie! That was you!?”

There he goes grinning his face off again. 

“That was me!” He shouts, “I made you cool!” 

And then you scream. It is a loud, giddy thing that fills Eddie’s chest cavity with a bright, uproarious, infectious joy that wells so big so suddenly, his ribs crack open and it floods the car in a matter of moments.

For a second, you’re both insane with it, shouting and laughing and talking over one another as you slap and pull at each other’s jackets, capering and cajoling like you’re the oldest, closest, best of friends that ever were and ever will be.

It’s disgusting and it’s wonderful.

While you’re too busy playing to notice, the light changes, and two sharp beeps from the impatient driver idling behind your giddy shenanigans alerts you to the green. You don’t stop talking, even as you flip your indicator and take the turn that will begin the final stretch to school.

You’re still laughing and breathless when you pull into the parking lot, which is already flooded with cars and bodies and the everyday flurry of pre-bell action, none of which you notice because you’re both too busy battering each other in questions – do you remember this, did you see that, were you there when so and so did this that and the other.

Come to find out, you haven’t just been in orbit of one another. You’ve been right fucking there. All your lives, you’ve been each other’s unknowing shadow, and Eddie can’t stand knowing that you were so close and he was too stupid to notice you there until you were staring him in the face.

He’s completely out of his mind with the giddy atmosphere in this car – if he were thinking rationally, he might crack the window just so he can try to breathe, but you’ve got him full force now, completely unfiltered and unfettered.

It occurs to him distantly that most people never get to experience this much of him, he doesn’t often get the chance to be so unabashedly himself, and he might want to dial it back a bit, just to save a little face. But it’s intoxicating to be so completely seen and to have his energy matched, and now that he’s started, he can’t stop. 

“Did you see us play at the winter show in ‘81?” He asks, pulling his knee up and twisting in his seat to face you as you shift your car into park and pull the break. 

“No,” you say, almost apologetically. “I was tragically still sequestered to Hawkins Middle…”

And Eddie was a bright and shiny Freshman at Hawkins High, steeped in that happy little limbo between escaping his father and having his heart curb stomped into the pavement.

“...why, what happened in ‘81?” 

“Aww, man!” He starts, “You missed out, it was awesome. We got pulled off stage and everyone got put on academic probation for Satanic Ideations,”

Finger quotes don’t even begin to cover all the drama that went along with that and the untoward allegations he has long since stopped trying to beat. 

Your eyes go wide. 

“Is that how all that Satan stuff started?” You wonder aloud, “I remember when people started saying that, but I never knew why. I always thought it was just too much Dateline or something,” 

“Yeah, that coupled with all my Dad’s shit and a heavy dose of Iron Maiden in the ninth grade, and here you find me. Eddie Munson: Satanic Freak.” 

He drops his voice to a theatrical cadence and gestures widely as he says it, fully intending to give himself a fix of your laughter, but your response is surprisingly muted. 

Your brows pinch briefly before smoothing over again, and you hum thoughtfully, dropping your gaze to stare pensively into space as you settle back into your seat.

For a moment, the silence is unbearable, and when you finally speak, Eddie has to try and breathe out as quietly as he can so as not to be caught holding his breath. 

“…well,” you begin, “For what it’s worth – I never bought in to all that,”

It might have been startling were he capable of being startled by anything you have to say about him anymore. After this morning’s onslaught, what’s one more little kindness to come tumbling from your lips?

“No?” Eddie asks, crossing his arms over his knee and dropping his chin down to rest there, “You’re not subscribed to the Hawkins Christian Coalition?”

You pull a face. 

“You’re not scary enough to be a Satanist, even with all those tattoos and chains and everything you do to try and look tough.” Your gaze flits back to him, “You don’t scare me,”

Eddie’s heart crawls up into his throat and begins to throb there, threatening to strangle him with every solid beat. He’s been hoping you feel that way, but it’s been a long time since he learned not to hope for things.   

“Not even a little?” He asks, voice dropping to a muted timber as the atmosphere suddenly becomes unbearably charged with intimacy. 

You shake your head. 

“How come?”

Then, you stick him to the spot with a shy quirk of your lips. 

“Because I’ve seen you in your underwear,” you say innocently, and his guts seize.

What was that he was saying about not being shocked? 

Eddie’s mind goes blank and his mouth falls open – and here he thought he was being so stealthy. You erupt into a fit of infectious laughter, and what is he if not powerless but to laugh right along with you? 

It’s bizarre, sitting here like this, with his head buzzing and the muscles in his face and abdomen aching from laughing so hard. He can’t stop, every time he thinks he’s coming down, you break into another fit of giggles and pull him right back over that cliff again. 

He’s never felt higher than he does right now, and it takes a long, long time to touch back down again.  

“Man — where the hell did you come from?” Eddie asks when he finally manages to catch a breath, “How come I don’t remember you from back in middle school?”

“I don’t know,” you tease reaching out to tug at the frayed strings lining the hole in the knee of his jeans – he has to resist the urge to take your hand, “Maybe you were already too cool and famous to notice little ol’ me,"

Eddie can’t tell if you’re making fun of him, and with what you say next, he finds that he doesn't expressly care.

“I feel like we would’ve been friends if we knew each other back then,” you say, “Back in middle school? It could’ve just been this — you ‘n me — all the time, and none of that other bullshit. Us against the world… I think that would’ve been better…”

And have truer ever been spoken? You're right. It would have been better to live in that far-off universe where this was his reality and his days were filled with mornings like this one, laughing and shouting and loving instead of bracing for impact and dreaming for something better.

Eddie tries to imagine how your friendship would have softened a hundred different blows from a hundred different hurts, how different so many things would have been, and his heart throbs for what he didn’t realize he was missing.

Of course, then again, if you’d been his friend back in those days, it would have put you in the path of his father, and if only for that reason, Eddie is so incredibly glad he never knew you until now. 

Wayne has got that wild penchant for embarrassing him, sure, but he’s harmless. The same can not be said for Al, who was always more of the “search and destroy” type than the “you wanna see some baby pictures?” kind of Dad. 

He wouldn’t have been able to sit by and just let Eddie have you. He would have ruined it, and by extension, ruined you, and Eddie can’t even think about that. He won’t, so he focuses on you here and now, sitting so pretty with your face curled into that soft, wistful smile, saying all the right things to break his heart in the best possible way. 

He has to clear his throat to keep his voice steady. 

“Yeah,” he says unevenly, and if you notice the change, you don’t show it. “Me too… I've been thinking about that a lot actually…”

“You have?”

Eddie pulls his shoulders up in his best approximation of a casual shrug, even though nothing about this feels at all casual.

"Why? Is that weird or something?"

"No, it's not weird," you tell him, "...you're kind of a big softie, you know that? Under all that armor?"

You reach out to tug at the collar of his jacket and Eddie huffs out a breath, averting his gaze so that you won't see his eyes sparkle with the wonder of being seen.

"Yeah, but don't tell anybody," he says, "I've got a reputation to manage,"

You hum out a gentle laugh and shake your head, looking almost secretive, sitting there and smiling for no reason save the atmosphere and such a fond, shared sentiment. 

Suddenly all Eddie wants to do is squish your face between his hands and tell you how much you matter to him, how important this all is, and how it’s gonna last forever in his heart of hearts. 

In a hundred years, no one will remember that either of you existed, but he’ll always remember the way you dropped down to tie his shoe, and the ease with which you spoke when you offered a kindness you could not have possibly known would break him into a hundred thousand pieces. He imagines those pieces radiating out in a shockwave through time and space, embedding themselves in the fabric of the universe where they’ll live on indefinitely. 

Fueled by that thought alone, Eddie can’t help himself. He’s starting to learn that he is greedy for your innermost thoughts, and he desperately wants to be let in.  

He knocks your knee with his, and it feels so devastatingly intimate it threatens to make him blush.  

“What’re you thinkin’ about?” He asks – the school bell will be ringing any minute now, but he’s going to use every second of that time, if it’s the last thing he does. 

Your shoulders jump.

“All the fun I missed out on,” You hum, and it hits him like a fist to the gut, “...I mean, just imagine all the time I could’ve spent hanging out with Uncle Wayne,”

Eddie rolls his eyes, but even that is not enough to dampen his affection for you, not entirely. 

“He’s a shithead, but he’s not so bad when you get to know him,” he says. 

“I like him,” you say, “I think he’s nice.”

It’s another little kindness you have no idea he needs so badly. They're still a family, Eddie and Wayne, as odd a couple as they may be, and it is such a relief to hear that you like his little broken family.

Eddie blooms under the approval he didn't realize he was looking for.

"Oh," he says, "You do?"

“Yeah," You say, smiling sweetly, "He said he was gonna show me your baby pictures next time I come over,”

Eddie frowns.

You have a funny little way of undercutting sincerity like that – maybe because you’re scared to be too vulnerable for too long – and he can’t stand how endearing it is. 

Maybe it’s because he feels the exact same way, and maybe it’s because of how his affection for you is growing faster than he can manage it.

Even just in the time it has taken to get from his driveway to this parking spot, his fondness for you has swelled exponentially. He'd offer you his heart if you asked for it, and the thought is terrifying, because of how easily (and how badly) you could hurt him if you chose to.

He doesn't think you will, because he likes to hope that you feel the same about him (you like his family, why would you want to hurt him after that?) Still, you will not be seeing those pictures, under pain of torture and death.

He’ll burn his house down before that happens.    

“Congratulations,” Eddie says, grinning, “You’re officially banned from the house,”  

You laugh out loud, and for half a second he thinks all that madness is about to kick up again, but then, your smile drops and all the levity goes out of you as your gaze shifts to the right, just over his shoulder.

The shift in mood is jarring enough to draw his attention, and when he turns to follow, he sees it too – Carol Perkins, making a beeline for the little green Toyota.

“Well, shit.” He says, insides squirming with anticipation of the sudden and violent death of this moment. His moment.  

You sigh, and Eddie watches with no small amount of despair as you begin fumbling with your keys and your seatbelt and anything else you can get your hands on. 

Show’s over, everybody out of the pool. 

“… I guess she’s still pissed…” you say. 

Still, because Carol had been your original passenger the previous afternoon before you deigned to swoop in and replace her with Eddie. She’d sat with her arms crossed and her lips curling as you traded greetings and the initial back and forth that led to the events of this morning, and she made no effort to hide how against the ride-giving she was.  

Before Eddie could pull the handle (or try and navigate getting into your two-door car with Carol sitting so summarily opposed to such an action) she slapped the doorlock into position, like someone’s snotty brat kid throwing a public tantrum.

“I’m so fucking serious.” She hissed, “If you let him into this car, I will get out and walk.”

You leveled her with a dangerous look then, the likes of which Eddie had not yet seen grace your features, and it made his insides squirm. 

“Then get out and walk.” You said through your teeth, and the silence that followed was unbearably weighted.   

Presented with two options – get out or make room – Carol lost her shit (as seems to be her standard operating procedure.)

“— you fucking psycho! You’re gonna feel so bad for me when I get fucking murdered on some backroad—” she snarled, and then, like fate, the Harrington wagon whipped past, and in half a second, Tommy Hagan and Steve Harrington were there to bear witness to the first step to something Eddie can only hope for – that you would once again choose to swap your shitty friends for someone like him (not just someone like him, but him exactly).

He supposes you’re both going to hear all about it as soon as you break the vacuum seal of this car. 

He is hit then with the sudden and desperate urge to beg you not to do it – maybe you don’t have to go to school today. Maybe you can just drive somewhere and keep talking and laughing and never let this moment end and forget the law of the land and which sides you both stand on.

Maybe you can just stay together like this forever.

Awful lot of maybes for a ten minute drive to school. 

The rush of cold morning air is sobering in the worst way when Eddie pops his door handle and steps up out of your car and the perfect little biosphere of your aura. 

You appear on the other side a moment later and shield your eyes against the sun. 

“You want me to distract her so you can make a run for it?” he asks.  

The corner of your mouth twitches in a humorless smile. 

“Funny, I was about to ask you the same thing,” 

He can already hear the beginning rattle of Carol’s tirade like poison daggers hurled at his back – undoubtedly meant for you. He might have done something to try and shield you from that, but he’s still loopy from the giddiness of everything that just happened in the car, so he snorts out a burst of laughter. 

He’s still smiling stupidly when Carol arrives. 

“What, is this just gonna be a thing now?” she says, “You’re suddenly a packaged deal?” 

“Nice to see you too, Carol—” Eddie tries, mustering as much sleazy charm as he can manage.

“Shut up.” she snaps like a slap to the face, coming to a short stop at his side, “Are you coming tonight or what?”

Of all the questions someone like Carol has ever posed to someone like him, this one leaves him a little more than dumbfounded. 

“ Come again?” 

Carol’s features pinch with the prelude of a rage she quickly swallows.

“To the party, Dipshit.” She drawls.

Eddie looks to you, for assistance as much as in expectation of the same kind of droll, sarcastic response you’ve been giving all morning, and is almost shocked to watch when the color drains from your face instead. 

He wants to laugh about it, he wants you to put him at ease by doing just such a thing, but with the low autumn sun reflecting the faded color of your car into your face, you suddenly look like you’re going to be sick, and Eddie can only respond in kind.  

“What party?” He asks slowly, feeling the corners of his mouth begin to tremble with the prelude to some terrible revelation like he is about to realize this has all been some hideously mean joke.

“Nothing,” you say quickly, “Don’t worry about it,” 

But he is. He’s violently worried about whatever it is he’s missing out on here, and it’s twisting him up bad enough to move him toward panic. 

Eddie hates that Carol is the one to voice those exact concerns. 

“What do you mean don’t worry about it?” She snarls, “We talked about this—”

“Carol—” you warn, slipping back into that dark and dangerous look you’d adopted the afternoon before, “Shut the fuck up.”

Her eyes go wide and she recoils – actually recoils – like you’d reached out with the words and slapped her across the face. Eddie wonders when you last spoke to her so directly, if ever, and the air begins to bubble with the impending row.

He has half a mind to excuse himself because in the wake of the ongoing conversation, he suddenly doesn’t feel so steady on his feet, but Eddie can’t resist the sense of duty he is saddled with to stick close by, in case you need him to pull you out of the fire. 

“Did you even ask him?” Carol demands.

You set your jaw and breathe out hard through your nose, gaze flitting briefly over from where you are busy boring holes into your so-called best friend to regard Eddie with a strange, guilty look.

“Can we talk about this later?” You ask, and he doesn’t know why, but it hits him like a fist to the gut. 

The first inkling of wretched rejection lays prickly fingers at the nape of his neck, and despite the roots he puts down, that sick sense of vertigo intensifies. 

“You didn’t, did you?” Carol says. 

When you remain silent she rolls her eyes and grinds out an aggravated snarl. 

“Jesus Christ, I have to do everything around here.” She says, then turns over to regard him with a droll, uninterested look, and Eddie’s mouth goes dry, “She's having a party tonight, and she was supposed to invite you, but I guess she chickened out — anyway, you should be there,”

Hurt feelings are blood in the water to someone like Carol Perkins, and Eddie does his best to swallow them down as he struggles to pull his armor into place. He tells himself doesn’t care. He doesn’t care that you’re having a party and didn’t invite him, and he doesn’t care what that suggests. 

“...Why should I be there?” He asks, trying his best to mimic Carol’s apathetic tone and feeling his voice quaver. 

He doesn’t care. Really he doesn’t, so why does it hurt so bad to think you don’t want him around with all your other friends?

Overlooking the obvious reasons – your friends are terrible, he has no interest in socializing with them, they have no interest in socializing with him – he suddenly can’t stop his head from spinning with a hundred different ugly little suggestions.  

“God, you’re really that stupid, aren’t you? You’ve been trying to get into her pants, right? That’s what this whole thing is about? So bring your stash tonight and see what happens,” Carol shrugs, “Who knows, maybe you’ll get lucky.” 

The silence that follows is shockingly loud and Eddie feels it screaming in his ears, telling him that this is the other shoe dropping, this is what it’s been all about – all of it.

You’ve just been using him to pass the time while your friends are away, the minute they come back you’ll drop him – Stacey’s friends are back and their mean, cackling laughter is so loud, it draws everyone’s attention. Everyone is turning to stare, everyone is watching the Freak get his heart broken.   

“We’re just friends…” he says flatly, trying not to look at you as he does and cringing under how hideously false it sounds. 

It’s easier to lean on the lie and make it feel like truth in moments so vulnerable as this. He wishes you would say something, and yet he’s not sure he could stand to hear whatever it is you might have to say, because what if you agree?

After everything you’ve been through in the last few weeks, over the last half hour? He’s not sure he could endure that, it might break him. 

Carol just rolls her eyes. 

“So, what? You’ve never heard of friends with benefits?” She says, “And if you’re her friend, then you’re my friend too, and if we’re all gonna be friends now, I don’t see why we all shouldn’t benefit,” 

She’s said the word too many times and it’s been whittled down to a blade that stabs Eddie in the chest with every violent utterance. 

“What is your problem?” You demand a thousand miles away and to Eddie’s immediate left.

He doesn’t know when you came around to his side of the car, but suddenly you’re standing next to him, and he is busy grappling with the powerful urge to step away from you if only to try and protect himself.

Carol ignores you and holds him trapped in her gaze like a snake hypnotizing its prey.  

“You come to the party and bring weed,” She says, “She’ll open those little legs for you, and at the end of the night, everybody will be happy. What’s the problem here?” 

“Carol!” You cry, but with such a hideous truth hanging between you, it’s too little too late. 

He’s never swung so hard from euphoria into unhappiness – it’s a violent startling sensation that leaves Eddie feeling like he’s swaying. 

This is why he doesn’t let himself get his hopes up. This is why he stays in his own goddamn lane and minds his own goddamn business.

Eddie feels like he’s going to be sick. 

I thought you said you loved me… 

In the distance, the bell begins to ring and the parking lot steadily begins to empty. Carol gives you one last parting look before turning those viciously saccharine-sweet eyes on him, and Eddie feels something inside of him crumble. 

“Bye Eddie, see you tonight,” She calls in a malicious sing-song, skipping away. 

You linger where she leaves you, watching her disappear into the steadily thinning crowd.

For a long time, neither of you speak. The air feels very thin, and suddenly Eddie can’t catch his breath. Something deeply recessed in him urges him to run. Something small and vulnerable, familiar as childhood and in desperate need of protection, something he’s suddenly so sorry he ever considered offering to you. 

“...Eddie, I’m so sorry.” You begin, “That was… I don’t know what that was–”

“You talked about it, huh?” 

“No! No, not like that …” You insist, and then you pull a guilty face and drop your eyes to your sneakers, “I mean, technically we did. She brought it up, but it wasn’t like that, I swear. I don’t even want to have this stupid party.”

He’s heard enough. Never mind that his feelings are hurt you didn’t invite him in the first place, but to find out everything has been hurtling toward the inevitable way it always plays out? A sleazy hand on his thigh, bashful batting eyelashes, and a loaded confession of “...I don’t have any cash on me,”

Eddie Munson is easy. Eddie Munson trades weed for head. 

No need to stand on ceremony and take the whole beating if he doesn’t have to. Eddie turns on stiff legs and starts back across the parking lot, headed for the safety of the trees and leaving you standing there as the late bell brings to chime. 

“Eddie, don’t go–” You call, and he flexes his fingers against the buzzing static suddenly burning in his palms – his vision blurs and his chest fills with something black and angry,  “I’m sorry!”

He doesn’t care, and he spends the rest of the morning in misery.

For lack of anywhere else to go – and because he refuses to slink home with tears on his lashes and his tail between his legs after the way he left, just to have Wayne utter the dreaded curse of “told you so,” – Eddie hoofs it out to where he left the van parked on the shoulder the afternoon before.

He shuts himself up in the back and lays curled on his side in the dark, counting down from a thousand and doing everything in his power not to think about how perfectly wonderful the morning had been until it wasn’t, and how perfectly wretched everything is now. It hurts so badly he can barely breathe, and he hates hates hates just so he doesn’t have to feel that hurt. 

Eddie hates how tightly around your finger he’d let himself get coiled, he hates how vulnerable that’s left him feeling, and he hates how stupid he was – what was he thinking giving his heart over like that?

He should know better, but this time was supposed to be different. 

That’s how it always works, though, isn’t it? The world lulls him into a false sense of security, and just when he’s let his walls drop, just when he deludes himself into thinking he’s finally getting something made special for him, it pulls the rug out and he cracks his head open on the pavement. He doesn’t know why he’s still so surprised every time it happens, except that you were supposed to be different.

Everyone told him you were different.   

You weren’t supposed to hurt him like that, and yet he knew you had the capacity for it. He knew he needed to proceed with caution (isn’t that exactly what Wayne told him that night after he got home from the Hideout, brimming with butterflies and positively glowing in the aftermath of you?) – and still he let you do it anyway. 

Eddie thumps his head against the floor of the van hard enough to send a burst of dull muted color flashing across his eyes, and when it still doesn’t banish the image of you from his mind, he does it again, and again, and again.

Stupid stupid stupid stupid…

He allows himself to wallow in that patent despair until the steadily rising sun makes it too hot to remain closed up any longer. And even then, all he does is shrug out of his jacket and resume his miserable solitude with his head in his hands. 

Back to his regularly scheduled programming, whatever that means. He’s not going to that party, that’s for sure, and the next few weeks are going to be miserable because of it. 

He’s going to have to avoid you and all your shitty little friends, and he’s also going to have to endure all the whispering and staring and snickering behind his back, ramped up to eleven because he dared to rise above his station and court somebody so hopelessly out of his league. 

Worse of all is how he’s going to have to avoid his friends, who are all going to want to know with wide-eyed horror how this could have happened? How could it not? And why is everyone acting so surprised that it did?

It’s not like that, I swear, your voice pipes up from somewhere in the back of his mind, somewhere he’s going to have a very hard time extracting you from, I’m sorry! You call, I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry– 

And despite his best efforts, Eddie believes you. Everything that happened this morning, the week before at the Hideout, and the week earlier at the picnic table not so far from here – all of that matters. He can’t discount that, no matter how hard he tries to shield himself from the hurt it makes him feel now. 

People don’t just look at each other the way you look at him when it doesn’t matter, they don’t say each other’s names the way you say his or perform act upon endless act of necessary kindness as a means to justify a sticky little end. He has to believe it matters, and after everything you’ve done for him, he has to at least give you the benefit of the doubt, even if at the end of the day he’s reading the room wrong, and you only want to be his friend. 

Somehow, the notion hurts worse than the idea that you’ve only been paying attention to him to hook your friends up with free weed, which he tells himself you’re not. That would be too outlandishly cruel, and even despite that nagging little call, begging him to defend himself from such a hideous possibility, Eddie has to believe you want to be his friend.   

“Fuck!” he grinds out, scrubbing his hands over his face until his skin begins to burn, “God dammit,” 

He doesn’t want to be your friend. He wants so badly to matter more to you than that, but Eddie never gets the things he wants, so he decides that he can swallow his pride and be your friend, even if it makes him miserable. 

He’ll put himself on the back burner if that’s what it takes to be near you, and he’ll go to your stupid party tonight, even if he’s not actually invited.   

——————————————————————————————————

When you told him his place was on your way to school, he didn’t expressly believe you, but Eddie never imagined you’d be coming all the way down from the top of Cornwallis and doubling back again just to pick him up. Awful long way to commute for just a hookup. 

He’s busy trying to calculate how much gas money he owes you as he hops down from the van – back in action, two hundred dollars and a full afternoon spent under the hood later – and slams the door, stuffing a plastic bag of substance into his back pocket. 

It’s a meager haul, he didn’t have time to hit up Rick on top of everything else he had to do just to work himself up to coming here tonight, but Eddie figures it’s not going to kill these assholes to share. 

Anyway, he’s not here for them. He’s here, because he’s taking a chance that it’s worth trusting you, and trusting himself that it will in fact be worth his while to step out of his comfort zone.

Only this is very far out of that little green zone. 

Eddie hates parties.    

Your house is what would typically be an unassuming home built in the tract style of the 60s and 70s, similar enough to the one across the street to be from the same catalog, if not nearly identical. Tonight, however, it is a beacon of activity you can sense a mile away. 

Eddie imagines it must look worlds different when it isn’t teeming with wildlife and thrumming with the base and drumline of the overloud music playing within.

As he crosses your front lawn, he tries not to get caught imagining the alternate universe where he’s coming to your house for the first time under entirely different circumstances — dinner with your parents.

He brings flowers and wears nice clothes and does all the right things to make that good impression which has always eluded him. In spite of the odds stacked against him, at the end of the night your father shakes his hand and your mother tells him he simply must come back for Christmas, and you walk him out to the van, wrapped in a conspiratorial huddle as you tell him how well he did, how your father doesn’t approve of anyone, and how he just got finished telling you what a fine young man he is.

It’s an outlandish flight of fancy, sure, but it’s all he’s got to bolster him as two meatheads come spilling out of your front door and down your steps, entangled in the throes of testosterone and budding alcoholism. 

Eddie steps over them and pays no mind to the couple busy playing tonsil hockey on your front porch as he slips through the front door and into the house. Your house. Not the way he wants to be seeing it for the first time, but beggars can’t be choosers. 

He’s barely over the threshold and already his skin has begun to buzz – this better be worth it, because he’s missing Hellfire Club for this, and Keith already tore him a new asshole for daring to bow out of the session. Eddie knows he can’t kick him out of the club for missing one game, but the consequences will be dire. 

He’ll probably kill his character off in some deeply insignificant way and make him spectate through the rest of the campaign, and Eddie will sit there and take that disrespect because there are more important things happening tonight than fighting the Thessalhydra.

D&D will still be there for him next week, but if he doesn’t play his cards right tonight, you may not be, and that’s not a chance he’s willing to take.    

Eddie makes his way through the party, through the violent, seething throng of co-eds actively making bad decisions, and tries to take in the place through the haze of teenage mayhem.

He wants to say your house is nice, but who could honestly tell through all the mess? He wonders idly who among this group of maniacs is going to have the presence of mind to stay after and help you clean this up, but the thought is quickly forced out of his head by wave after overstimulating wave of noise. 

He can hardly think for how loud it is.

In an attempt to get his bearings, Eddie makes his way to the kitchen, which he learned very early on during nights and weekends like this, is always a good place to center oneself amid such chaos.

The kitchen is typically the center of a home and a safe space at a house party because it’s where the losers tend to congregate – the people who don’t know how they got invited and have no idea what they’re doing here. For some odd reason, Eddie hopes it's where you'll be too.

If he's lucky, maybe he can coax you out into a quieter space to try and smooth things over before he has to have any of your terrible friends inflicted upon him.

Color him wildly disappointed then to find Tina and Carol, standing over an electric red bowl of something into which they’re upending bottles of vodka and gin.

Jesus Christ, Eddie manages to make himself think with no small amount of effort (because the kitchen has provided no respite to the noise) They’re gonna kill somebody. 

He is halfway through making a mental note to warn you to steer clear of the witch's brew of instant inebriation, wherever you may be, when your friends finally notice him. 

“Omigod hi!” Carol screeches, too loud and over-friendly to be sober, it puts him immediately on edge, “I didn’t think you were coming after that stunning little tantrum you threw earlier.”

“Well, what did you expect?” Tina starts, leering at him and sending a shock of chills crawling up Eddie’s spine, “When stray dogs get a whiff of good pussy, they come running,”

It’s not the most intricately crafted insult he’s ever heard, though Eddie imagines that has something to do with the booze. 

Still, his insides heave when the pair erupt into a fit of mean, tittering laughter. He breathes a deeply agitated sigh and waits for them to stop. He’s not going to leave, no matter how badly he wants to, because he’s here to make things right. 

That’s all that matters to him. 

When he doesn’t react, the humor very quickly goes out of them, and Carol sticks him to the spot with daggers in her eyes. 

“Well? Did you bring your shit or what?” she slurs. 

Or what is a good question, but Eddie’s long since learned that it’s better if he keeps his mouth shut in situations like this. Wordlessly, he reaches into his back pocket and produces the bag of contraband, and both girls react with immediate disappointment.

“That’s it?” Carol says, snatching the bag from his hand. 

“It’s not like you gave me a lot of notice,” Eddie presses. “You’re lucky I even had that,”

Carol makes a phlegmy sound of disgust in the hollow of her throat and rolls her eyes. Then, Tina produces a crisp twenty-dollar bill and snaps it at him, like he should be wildly impressed by such an amount.

Never mind that what he just handed over is easily worth double that, he’s not going to argue — he can always count on getting robbed blind at these functions — now, he just wants to see you.  

Eddie swallows any dirty feelings attempting to rise in him over what the transaction suggests – he brings weed and you get laid – and crumples the bill in his fist, focusing on the way it folds as he dares to ask where you are. 

“Whatever – she’s probably in her room sulking,” Carol says with a dismissive gesture, saying something under her breath that sounds a little too close to “fucking loser” as she turns her attention back to the electric red caldron bubbling over with poison and the promise of bad decisions.

He can't tell if she's talking about him or you.

“Which one is her room?” Eddie asks, and Tina’s eyes flash with malignant glee.

“And wouldn’t you just love to know?” she says, grinning, and he doesn’t know why it feels like being lied to.

It’s not as if either of them were ever going to take him by the hand and lead him to you. In their eyes, he is only here for one reason, and now that the transaction is complete, he’s on his own. 

He doesn’t know why he expected anything less. 

As Eddie turns back toward the party and readies himself for what is promising to be an exhaustive search – the house is not that big, but good God if it isn’t filled beyond capacity – he gets stuck on the suggestion of faded lines etched into the door jamb.

Beside each tick in the wood, there are clearly written heights and age definitions by year. He can’t help but reach out and run a fond, reverent hand over the gentle care taken to keep track of your life and wishes someone would have thought to do the same for him.

“Why are you just standing there?” Tina snaps, “She’s waiting for you.”

Eddie fails to suppress a flinch as he takes his hand back. He gives her one last parting look, one which is met with sneering, smirking disdain, then steps down into the living room.

“Be gentle with her,” she calls as he starts back into the house, “It’s her first time!”

They erupt into more of that mean laughter, and Eddie has to bite the inside of his cheek until he tastes blood just to endure it.

Of course he’s heard that rumor, and talk of your inexperience has ramped up increasingly as people have begun to notice the pair of you dancing around each other, but he can’t help but think of how you would be mortified to know they’d just offered the secret to him. It was not theirs to tell.   

Still, he takes hold of the knife of that last parting gift and carefully removes it from his back, tucking it away where it will remain safe with him, forever if need be.  

It’s a lot of trial and error to finally happen upon the right door, and Eddie has the misfortune of walking in on not one, but two pairs of writhing bodies in various states of undress, going at each other like the world is ending – one in what he imagines is your parent's bedroom, and the other in the hall bath. 

Sure, maybe he ought to have started with the door covered in plastic butterfly decals, but isn’t there a saying about judging books by their covers?

Anyway, how is he supposed to know which room is yours? He’s never been to your house before now, and the music is inordinately loud, too loud to think straight.

Usually, that’s not something that bothers him, usually he likes that, but Eddie doesn’t usually spend his Friday nights socked into a singular space with everybody who hates his guts, and it’s all come together to knock him woefully off kilter. 

Then, as if the punctuate the thought, someone shouts something unintelligible and the room erupts into laughter – something about nerds or freaks or any of the other infinite hurled insults that batter Eddie daily, and he is reminded, once again, that he is missing Hellfire for this.

He knocks and presses his ear to the door to try and scan for any kind of life within, beneath the thrumming of the music – if somebody doesn’t turn the noise down, they’re going to blow the speakers. 

“Go away!” Your voice comes shouting through layers of distance and solid core. 

Bingo. 

Normally, he might have done you the courtesy of heeding such a warning, but tonight he doesn’t dare.

All the things Eddie has to say to you are best not done through a wooden barrier, especially surrounded by so many intently listening ears, so he takes a chance – and a breath. He twists the knob and lets himself in. 

The atmosphere in your room is instantly better than the rest of the house, and it is thankfully much quieter in here.

Like finally closing the lid on something, Eddie is relieved to find that he can finally hear himself think again as he shuts the door and braces his back against it.  

You respond to the intrusion on your sanctuary by pushing up from where you’ve been lying on the bed with a pillow over your head and hurling it across the room

“This room is off —oh, Eddie!” you yelp, curling your lips inward and instantly losing steam the moment you clap your eyes on him. 

The pillow strikes the wall beside him with middling force, and he watches it slide flaccidly to the floor.

“Hiya Sweetheart,” Eddie offers, forcing himself to try and sound casual as he says it, “Sorry I’m late,”

You don't respond, you just sit there staring back at him with wide-eyed wonder, and he is struck with a sudden bolt of unbearable shame for having ever doubted you.

He wants to tell you he missed you, but he swallows that intention because it's only been twelve hours, and he's not trying to look that pathetic in front of you, even if he still feels a little sore about the way you left things that morning.  

Eddie clears his throat and reaches up to pull at his neck, making a show of looking around your room and trying to hide the rush of nerves he is suddenly feeling.   

“So, this is where you’ve been hiding, huh?” He’s in your bedroom — oh, my God — he’s actually in your bedroom. 

He is a visitor from Mars, taking his first look at the scenery of a brand-new world, and he’s not too shy to admit that it is thrilling.

It’s just as bad as it was back in your car, only dialed up to eleven, because this is the hub, the mothership, your den of secrets, and Eddie is desperate to take in as much of it as he can as quickly as possible, in case you really mean it and are about to kick him out.

Posters, pictures, books, stuffed animals, bed sheets, pillows, trinkets, clothes – you you you yOU YOU.

He has to make himself stop and breathe because if he keeps going like this, he’s in danger of keeling over right there on your bedroom floor. And wouldn’t that be the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to him?

In the distance, the party rages on, separated by layers of wood and plaster and paint, and Danny Elfman begins to wail “Oh I think you like it, like it, being told what to do…”

He can’t help but wonder who among that crowd would be so bold as to put on Oingo Boingo, and he almost says something about it, but when he notices how small and fragile you look, sitting there, tucked in among your pillows, the notion goes out of him.

He doesn’t want to tease you, but under the circumstances and the lingering miasma of his hurt feelings, he doesn’t know how else to interact with you.

“You know, I’ve been looking all over for you,” he starts slowly, venturing a step forward into your domain and watching you with careful, unblinking eyes as if you were a venomous snake, poised to bite. 

“You have?” you gulp.

Eddie nods, moving closer. 

“Yeah, weird move to invite someone to a party then disappear,” he says, then shrugs, “But what do I know? Maybe that’s what all the cool kids are doing these days.”

The attempt to stir something from you goes over like a lead balloon, and you remain where you are, watching him with wide, unblinking eyes. 

“I can’t believe you’re here,” you say, and unlike Carol, you sound genuinely stunned about that.

Still, it puts the gentle fear of rejection in him and Eddie has to put down roots to keep himself from retreating a step.  

“...should I not be?” He asks, and you surge forward.

“No! No, I’m so happy you’re here–” You start, scrambling toward the end of the bed as if you’re suddenly desperate to be near him before second-guessing the act. It sends another flurry of mixed feelings tearing through his body. 

“ …I looked for you …” You say, dropping your eyes bashfully, “After school.” 

Eddie makes a thoughtful sound and tries not to picture you sitting in the parking lot, long after it has emptied out, waiting for him to show up. Of course you would want to drive him home, even after the fight you’d had (if you could even call it that) because you’re just that nice.

He hates to have disappointed you like that, and it makes him feel all the worse about the way he reacted and all the nasty little thoughts he spent the day wallowing in.

Before he can even think to verbalize any of that, you explode. 

“Eddie, I’m so sorry! All those things Carol said? I promise you, that’s not what I want out of this,”

“...out of what?” he asks after a moment of silence, because his feelings are still hurt and he can’t help but poke that bruise just a little.  

“Out of this,” You stress, gesturing between you, “You and me. I wanna be your friend. I promise I’m not trying to use you for anything. I just want to be your friend,”

He feels the corner of his mouth twitch and contemplates how best to navigate the new waters of your relationship/friendship/whatever this thing is between you, especially now that he knows you’re a virgin. Frustratingly, it paints every one of your previous interactions in a new light, despite how he's been telling himself that it doesn't matter.  

Eddie wishes that information could have made its way to him through you, just so that he could have been a little more cautious with his actions – his flirting – but he never gets the things he wants, he just rolls with the punches. 

And the only way he knows how to roll with this situation is to poke fun at it. 

“So, you mean you haven’t been waiting in here all night, consumed with lust and just dying to see if I’ll show up?” 

Another swing and a miss. 

It was supposed to make you laugh – a throwback to the good part of the morning – but all you do is sink forward to rest your head miserably in your hands. You make a terribly melancholy sound and your shoulders heave, and after a moment, Eddie realizes with a bright burst of panic that you are quietly trying not to cry.  

Oh, shit.

It’s paralyzing in the worst way, and he feels instantly awful. He came here to make things right, and what does he do? Open his mouth and spit poison all over the room – that Munson Magic, funneled through his warped lens. 

Eddie has to remind himself for the hundredth time since he decided to come tonight that he isn’t mad at you. He’s taking a chance that you were just as stunned by Carol’s behavior that morning as he was, and he’s sinking down on the end of your bed, exercising the utmost caution with every one of his glacial movements. 

Your shoulders tremble with the effort of holding something in as you take a deep, watery breath and force it out through your fingers, and Eddie’s fingers twitch with the urge to put his hand on your back. He doesn’t dare, because with the lingering effects of the venom he hadn’t realized was still coursing through his veins, he’s afraid he doesn’t know how to be gentle with you. 

A long and sticky silence blooms between you as you both wait for the other to speak – someone in the next room screams, the house erupts with muted laughter, and Oingo Boingo continues to push your speakers to their limit.

“… I’m sorry about the way I acted this morning,” Eddie finally says, taking yet another chance at being unflinchingly honest and quietly marveling at how brave he suddenly is, “I guess I got my hopes up for something, and got my feelings hurt, and instead of facing it I walked away. I do that… when the going gets tough, I get going … but I want you to know that I wish I’d stuck around…”

When he looks, you’ve sat up, and you’re blinking back at him with a look of utter horror. 

“You’re sorry?” You yelp, eyes flooded with tears, “No, I’m the one who should be sorry! If I thought for one second something like that was going to happen…? I would’ve… I wouldn’t have… I don’t know. I would have done things differently.”

He pulls his shoulders up and can’t make himself tell you that the feeling is mutual. It would have been nice to have you stand up for him, but he understands what it’s like to be paralyzed by a moment, so he forgives you for that, even if he isn’t ready to verbalize it.  

“I know,” he mutters, tracing a loose spiral into the rumpled fabric of your quilt. 

“I’m so sorry, truly and deeply, from the depths of my soul. I’m sorry and I’m mortified, and I totally understand if you never want to see me again,”

Eddie sighs.

“Sweetheart, I wouldn’t be here if I felt that way,” he says, “I don’t make a habit of showing up for people I don’t want to see – I’ve usually got more self-respect than that…” Of course, that brings to mind all the times he’s done exactly that, and he feels himself pulling a face at the blatant contradiction, “…usually…”  

Another one of those silences settles over you, and you sit together listening to the thrumming static of a sound system being pushed to its impending doom.   

“Why are you being so nice to me?” You ask, looking miserable as you shift to pull your knees up and hug them to your chest.

He can hardly stand how small and sad you look – nothing like that should ever grace your features, and Eddie moves before he can stop himself, reaching out to pinch your cheek between his forefinger and thumb.

“’Cause you’re a freaky little weirdo with bad friends and I feel sorry for you,”

Funny how that’s the joke that finally lands.

You laugh, a soft, watery thing, which comes burbling out of you on a burst of breath as you jerk out of his touch. He is instantly lesser without the searing press of your flesh – even so innocently as that – but finally, Eddie feels some of the weight of the earlier day lift from his heart.

Even with the party raging on behind you, the atmosphere feels almost as good as it did that morning, with the pair of you socked into your car and losing your minds together.

Somehow, it makes everything that happened between then and now simultaneously worse and a little less significant, and Eddie is tired of thinking about it, so he puts the matter to bed.    

“Look,” He starts, “Carol is a gaping asshole, alright? Everybody knows that, so let’s stop pretending this isn’t old news and move on with our goddamn lives. Let’s go back to the good part.” He’s moving again before he can stop himself and grips you by the shoulder, “We’re friends now, aren’t we?”

You nod, and he gives you a gentle shake for good measure – your secrets are safe with him. You’re important to him. You matter to him, and he hopes beyond desperate screaming hope that you feel the same.  

“So, let’s just be friends,” Eddie says, and you surprise him by surging forward to throw your arms around his neck.

“Thank you,” you say into his jacket, hugging him tight, and he is woefully unprepared to accept such a sudden burst of affection.  

He cannot be this starved for touch. He refuses to be that pathetic, and yet he’s fighting every screaming instinct he has to constrict you in his arms and bury his face in your hair, because Eddie doesn’t remember the last time someone hugged him. 

He’d forgotten how good it feels to be held, to be wanted, and part of him isn’t sure he’s ever really known the feeling. It’s a frighteningly somber thought to have at a house party on a Friday night, and yet as you continue to hold him, his heart is suddenly in his throat and that insane urge to confess his feelings is sitting on his tongue like a hot burning coal. 

The idea of opening his ribcage and giving you his heart is suddenly so tantalizing that Eddie can feel his resolve slipping – he doesn’t want to be your friend, he wants to matter to you, he wants it so bad sitting there on your bed wrapped up in your embrace, that he feels insane with it.

Thankfully before he goes doing anything too foolish, he can hear his uncle’s voice of reason warning him to “proceed with caution and leave room for Jesus” (the second part less serious than the first), so Eddie clears his throat and gives you a neighborly pat on the back, like something Wayne would have done.

It makes him feel stupid, he knows he should have just hugged you, but despite his best efforts, when you release him, he watches you rock back on your knees and feels you take his heart with you.

Just like this morning after you’d deigned to so charitably tie his shoelaces, Eddie is suddenly unbearably warm under all his denim and leather.

You scrub your hands across your face to try and banish any lingering wetness on your cheeks and offer him a weak smile, happily changing the subject as something immeasurably charged threatens to pass between you, and he shrugs out of his jacket as quickly and casually as he can, desperately hoping that you don’t notice if he’s blushing. 

“How bad is it out there?” you ask, scrunching your features as if you’re afraid to ask.

Eddie sucks a breath in through his teeth and contemplates lying to you, just to spare you the hard truth – it’s a disaster, the house is a lost cause, there’s no hope in ever getting it clean again, you’re going to have to move.

“You’re gonna want to burn your parent’s sheets,” he says diplomatically, “Seriously.”

It takes you a moment to pick up what he’s putting down, but when you do, your eyes go wide and your shoulders drop. 

Somebody is having sex in your parent’s bed (and in your hall bath, but that’s neither here nor there).   

“Oh, my God—” you moan, “Who?”

He feels his face screw up as his subconscious unhelpfully drums up the image of the frenzied bunnyfucking he’d walked in on in your parents' bedroom, and he sucks his teeth. 

“You know, I never quite mastered the art of identifying people by their bare asses…”

You scoff, but you’re clearly too pressed to see the humor in it – maybe in a few days, when the heat has died down. Then again, maybe in a few years when no one remembers they ever even went to a party up at your place.

Eddie will remember, if only because this moment and the press of your arms around his neck has been seared into the back of his mind, but nobody cares what the town Freak remembers, and there is a quiet comfort in that. 

“You should also know that your speakers are this close to going the way of the dodo,” he says, jerking his thumb over his shoulder, “I mean, listen, I know you’re eclectic and all, but I’m guessing those are probably your Dad’s and if he’s anything like mine – which, for your sake, I hope to God he’s not – you’re gonna catch a whole lotta hell for killing a nice sound system like that with Oingo Boingo.” 

Your lips quirk shyly.

“I can’t take credit for that,” you say, “It’s Jonathan Byers’s tape – he let me borrow it,” 

Eddie can feel himself pulling a face, try as he might to remain neutral about the idea of you trading music with somebody else – with Jonathan Byers. And after that beautiful moment you had this morning? 

Maybe he is reading the room wrong, and he’s just the next name on your roster as you make your charitable rounds with all the social misfits of Hawkins.

It’s a terrible feeling, one that wells up so suddenly that Eddie has to jump up from the end of your bed, just to try and get away from it and the image of you picking up Jonathan Byers for school and tying Jonathan Byers’s sneakers and laughing and playing and—

“Jonathan, huh…” he huffs, jealousy driving him three steps forward to knock haplessly into your dresser, where he immediately begins aimlessly picking up and putting down all the little trinkets he disturbed with such a frantic movement, “What’s that about?”

In the attached mirror, Eddie sees your shoulders jump innocently.

“Nothing. Sometimes we hang out,”

He plays at making a little porcelain horse canter across your dresser and tries not to feel the twinge of nausea those four words spike through his midsection.

Sometimes you hang out.

Boy Howdy, he sure hates hearing that, and he hopes to God he never comes up so casually in Jonathan’s presence.

“…and he just… gives you tapes?” he forces himself to say, not actually wanting to know what he’s really asking you.

This time, the subtext is not so murky that you don’t pick up on it. 

“Yeah.” You say slowly, lips twitching, “So, what?”

Eddie pulls his shoulders up.

“So nothing, it’s just … if I’d known you were in the market for trade-sies, I woulda brought you something good to listen to… not this bizarro new wave shit.” He says, gesturing to the bowels of the house where Grey Matter is still inexplicably playing.  

You narrow your eyes at him when he turns to face you.

“…Is that you being a vicious snob again, or are you seriously getting jealous right now?”

It’s a ridiculous notion, one which Eddie is offended to have thrust upon him.

“Me? Jealous? Not a chance,” He lies, like a lying liar, “Also, how dare you? I don’t get jealous,”

You bite your lip in a failed attempt to stifle the slow smile creeping up across your face, and for reasons he cannot explain, it makes him feel suddenly and painfully shy.  

Okay, he’s jealous, so what? He’s jealous that you’re out here trading cassettes with someone else. Big deal. It’s not like he went out on a limb giving you that book or anything or that he imagined you were having a special moment when he was looking through all your music earlier.

It’s not like he’s so desperate for your approval and your attention that he came all the way out to this stupid party, even though he’s been suffering what felt very much like the prelude to heartbreak all afternoon.

It’s not like he’s missing Hellfire Club or that he spent the better part of an hour trying to get Garreth on the phone just so he could get your home address, and it’s not like he ransacked the emergency fund Wayne keeps to get the van working so he could be here, standing in your bedroom with you looking right through all his bullshit.   

It’s not like he’s in love with you, or anything so mortifying as that. No, nothing like that at all.

“Quit lookin’ at me like that,” Eddie says, dropping his gaze in a desperate attempt at self-preservation – he immediately clocks the faintest suggestion of a teddy bear hidden beneath your bed, and his bloodstream fizzes with unbridled affection.

“Like what?” you ask softly and the sensation intensifies. 

“Like you’re so smart and can read my thoughts.” Eddie hums, feeling hideously vulnerable as he snags a kinky lock of his hair and drags it across his face – hiding, “Anyway, what do I care about who you’re dating? Not my business – not my circus, not my monkeys,”

The next three seconds of silence are the longest anyone has ever experienced in the history of life on Earth, of that he is certain.

“…I’m not dating Jonathan Byers.”

When he finally musters the courage to drag his eyes up from the stuffed animal peering up at him from beneath your bed skirt, Eddie gives you a long, hard look and tries like hell to decide if he thinks there is a “but” coming swiftly down the line.

He waits and he looks at you, and you just keep looking right back at him until the standoff starts to feel something similar to “home free”.   

“You’re not?” He finally asks.

The corners of your mouth begin to curl, and you continue to hold his gaze.

“No,” you say,  

“Okay, good.” 

“Why’s that good?” 

“Don’t worry about that,” he says, flopping back down onto your bed with enough purposeful force to jostle you, “You lied to me, by the way.”

“When?” You ask.

“Yesterday, when you said my place was on your way to school.”

Your brows jump up toward your hairline and you adopt the guilty look of someone caught red-handed. You had said that, before you promised to come back and get him that morning – you said “it’s no trouble, I can swing by and get you – it’s on my way, any way,”, so who’s the lying liar now?

You take a deep breath in through your teeth, hold it, and force the words out on your exhale. 

“Okay, so maybe it’s not exactly on the way…”

Eddie levels you with an unimpressed look.

“Sweetheart…”  

It’s way out of the way – driving past and doubling back, adding fifteen minutes to your commute on top of how late he was already running out of the way. 

Far enough out of the way that you can’t even pretend it isn’t.

Your lips curl sheepishly as you pull your shoulders up to your ears. 

“I mean… can you blame mel?” 

It makes him feel unbearably smug and paints the rose-tinted memories of that morning in a brand-new cherry-flavored haze.

Eddie’s heart thumps against his ribs and he hums thoughtfully, trying to play cool, despite feeling the exact opposite about how hard you campaigned just to come and get him this morning. 

“So… I guess that means you kinda like me, huh?” He tries – you flush and quickly pull a pillow into your lap, averting your gaze.

“Who says?” you ask.

He could keep pushing it, if he were feeling mean. And he is, because he wants to see a little more of that pretty color bleed into your face, but doing that would mean putting himself further on the line than he already is, because what if you turn the question back on him? 

No, he’s not that brave.  

“You sure ask a lot of questions for a girl hiding out at her own party,” Eddie says, plucking at a string hanging from a seam in your comforter and trying with everything in his limited power not to get too hung up on the fact that he’s lying across your bed.

How many times has he imagined doing this in how many different ways? Even so platonically as this?

It’s just another one of those things that is oh-so-casual, suddenly second nature, like he’s been doing it every day of your lives.  

First, he’s riding in your car and flipping through your cassettes, and now he’s in your room, lying on your bed, with his head propped up on one hand, and there you are, sitting close enough that he could reach out and touch you if he so dared – does he dare?

No, probably not. You’re not there yet, despite the hug and all the previous touching.

Somewhere to his left, he’s vaguely aware of hearing you groan in disgust.

“Please don’t call it that.” You say, heaving out an aggravated sigh and burying your face in your hands, “This is not my party,”

Eddie reaches down to snag the fluffy ear of your stuffed bear from where he can see it peeking out from under the bed.

He brings it back up for air and props it between you, half out of decency because he’s just realized that you’re wearing a skirt and he can see the faintest suggestion of your pink panties peeking back at him from where you’re sitting cross-legged.

“Go on, Sweetheart,” He says thickly, “Tell it to the bear.”

Self control, he tells himself, averting his eyes. Self preservation. Self destruction, as his eyes flit down to steal another peek, and when he gets home? Self care.  

You shift forward to snatch the teddy up, unfolding your legs to stretch out demurely in front of you, and placing it reverently beside you in the pillows. Eddie is struck blind with a powerful sense of relief mixed with disappointment, and the faintest pang of jealousy, because that’s where he wants to be.

“It’s just not fair.”

Tell me about it. He thinks, trying not to frown at the bear from where it sits leaning against your hip and grinning back at him.

Bastard.

“They all decided they were allowed to come and hold me hostage in my own home just because my parents are out of town, and they can’t imagine not throwing one of these shitty house parties every week.” You say, “I don’t even know most of the people out there, and the ones I do don’t even like me. Nobody likes me, Eddie…”

He’s listening, he swears he is, but he’s also looking at your legs, stretched out and crossed so daintily alongside him. He traces a line in the comforter beside them because he’s not bold enough to do so along the expanse of your skin. 

“Aww c’mon,” He says, “Somebody here likes you…”

The comment goes largely unnoticed, and the bear keeps grinning at his failed attempt at flirting with you.

Loser, it taunts.

You’re thankfully too distracted by the fires of your indignation to notice when Eddie drags it down by its foot and whips it back under the bed.

Stay down there, Fucker. He thinks as you continue, practically frothing at the mouth as you go, oblivious to all that is happening around you. 

The genie is out of the bottle, and she is – evidently – fucking pissed.  

“I don’t know why I even bothered. I told them I didn’t want them coming here, but nobody cares about what I want. This whole thing was some great big ploy to get Steve Harrington to come down from his throne but he’s not even here because he’s off playing pretend that he’s this nice guy so he can get into Nancy Wheeler’s pants and somehow that’s my fault, because everything is my fault, right? It’s my fault Steve didn’t come to this stupid party and it’s my fault that they’re all cannibalizing each other trying to get his attention. It’s so fucking pathetic.”

Of course it is, but the last thing Eddie expected from tonight was to receive such a titanic info dump on the current state of affairs of the inner circle, and it’s all he can do just to try and keep up.

“Hold on… who are we talking about – Carol or Tina?” Eddie asks, “Or Tommy?”

He needs to make sure he gets all the details right for when he tells the guys about this later – Adam is gonna love this, goddamn gossip hound that he is.  

“Does it matter?” You deadpan, “They’re all the same – all they do is sit around fighting over whose turn it is to gargle Steve’s balls,”

Eddie’s brain lights up in a hundred different places with a hundred different images, most of which involve exactly what you just described (which he is trying not to picture). The rest involve you and himself recast in those leading roles and he feels his temperature steadily begin to increase. 

“Wow.” he chokes and clears his throat in a futile attempt at banishing the image as he is unceremoniously reminded of the dream that had been so tragically cut short. Hop in and I’ll suck your cock– he has to shift to try and conceal the way all that thinking has started to affect him, “…You–uh– you really just said that.”

As the fires of your anger begin to dwindle and fade, the air of your tirade settles, and Eddie watches as you begin to realize everything you just said.  

“...sorry, that was a lot.” You mumble, “I guess I’m upset,”

“You’re my goddamn hero is what you are — hey, you wanna do me a favor and go repeat all of that to the room? I’d love to see Carol’s head spin around.” Another swing and a miss, “So, all of that being said… let me ask you this – if you’re so miserable, why do you stay friends with them?”

“I mean… how would I even begin to make new friends? Who’s gonna wanna hang out with me after Carol’s finished with me.” 

Eddie drums a muffled beat out over your comforter and after a moment of contemplative silence, volunteers himself for the task with a tantalizing wag of his fingers. 

You huff out a watery sigh of laughter and shake your head, reaching out to crush his hand in your fist.

“You don’t count.” You say, and Eddie might have taken genuine offense to such a notion if he wasn’t so fixated on your sudden point of contact.

“Babygirl, I’m the only one who counts.” He presses, flexing his fingers to steeple them with yours.

Much to his patent dismay, you take your hand back, and he pushes up, folding his legs and sitting upright because what he has to say next has to be done with his chest. 

“Hear me out, okay? Because this might sound a little crazy…” He starts, “What if you just … stopped hanging out with them?”

You glare back at him, but Eddie doesn’t really think your ire is meant for him.

“As if Carol’s gonna let me go quietly like that–”

“Fuck Carol–” He spits, he’s so sick of hearing about Carol fucking Perkins he could break something – he won’t, but he could, “You’re really gonna spend time sitting around thinking about her after all the shit she’s pulled? Just the shit she’s pulled today? Grow a little spine there, Sweetness, it’ll do you some good.” 

“It’s not that easy—” You whine, and Eddie doubles down, rising up on his knees and snatching your desperate, flailing hands out of the air.

“Yes, it is,” He says, holding your wrists together, “It actually is.”

You heave a world-weary sigh that has no business coming off of you.

“Eddie–”

“What are you so scared of? She’s bad for you, Sweetheart – I know you know that. Cut her out before she kills you.”

You grind out a desperate sound and just like that, your head is in your hands again – you double over, leaning far into his space, and this time he’s powerless to stop from resting a hand on your back because he knows.

He knows life is hard enough with bad friends but with no friends…? He’s been there, and it’s a miserable existence he wouldn’t wish on anyone, especially not you, but he cannot stand by and watch you suffering at the hands of the worst people he knows. Not when there’s something that can be done about it. 

Eddie might suggest that he’s got a whole group of friends who would be happy to have you (maybe) but things are starting to get a little too heavy for his liking.

The atmosphere is filling up and getting hard to breathe, so Eddie pivots and pulls your hands away from your face – because since you’re touching now, apparently he’s just going for it, every chance he gets.

Cool.   

“Come on. Look at me.” He says gently, and slowly, you unfold yourself to meet his gaze, “How long have you been friends… ten years?”

You nod.

“And d’you really wanna waste another ten years feeling like that just because starting over is … is what? Scary?” Eddie doesn’t wait for you to answer, “Of course you don’t. Carol had her chance to be nice and fun, and she blew it, okay? She decided she’d rather be the wicked bitch of the mid-west, and now she can fuck off back to Oz, ‘cause — hey, look at me — I’m your best friend now, okay? I’m your best friend… and I’m gonna warn you now, Sweetheart, I’m not good at sharing.”  

You give him a look, one that says ha-ha very funny, and Eddie almost takes genuine offense to it.

“It’s so funny how you think I’m kidding. Just wait, you’re gonna wake up tomorrow and it’s gonna say Property of Eddie Munson tattooed across your forehead,”

“Just make sure you spell it right this time,” you say, and this time, Eddie does not think that kind of irreverent undercutting is very funny. 

“Gee, thanks,” he huffs, watching you settle back into your pillows, “I’m only tryin’ to save your life here.” 

You giggle, but he can tell you’re not convinced, and it’s driving him a little crazier than he expected something like this might. Maybe that’s because it feels a little too much like he just asked you to choose him over Carol and you’re leaning steadily toward no. 

 “This is nuts,” Eddie says, shifting up to settle over you – he leans with one hand braced on the mattress over your hip and stares down at you, laying there nestled in among your pillows, “You’re really gonna make me beg?” 

“I’m thinking about it,” you hum, and he feels that unpleasant skittery feeling threatening to return, so Eddie shifts away, preparing to vacate the spot on your bed, but you snag him before he can get very far.

 “Alright, I’m just kidding… don’t go.” You say, taking a fist full of his shirt and holding him to the spot, “I’m done with Carol.”

He twists back to look at you, and when you don’t show any immediate signs of teasing, he shifts around to lean over you again, caging you in with both hands this time. 

“For good?” he asks.

You nod. 

“For good.”

“And you’re gonna come hang out with me instead, right?” Eddie stresses, “You’re gonna sit with me at lunch and trade tapes and books with me and not Jonathan Byers,”

“I knew it!” You gasp, pushing up into his chest and shoving him away – before he can protest, you slip off the side of your bed and plant yourself on the floor, “You are so goddamn jealous.”

“I’m just trying to make sure we’re on the same page here, Sweetheart.”

“No, you’re just trying to boss me around,” you huff, crossing your arms and sitting with your back to the mattress, tucked in between your bed and dresser with your knees pulled up. 

And Eddie, unable to stomach such a separation, slides down to follow you.

He settles in beside you, hip to hip, and watches you with no small amount of amusement as you try to play mad at him.

“I told you I don’t like sharing.” Eddie says, nudging you with his shoulder, “Not with Carol, and not with Jonathan.”

You roll your eyes. 

“...If you must know…?” you start, gaze sliding sideways as you wait for him to give you the expected follow-up.

“I must,”

“Those interactions begin and end with me babysitting his brother. Nothing more, nothing less.” 

And isn’t that the tastiest little morsel of forbidden knowledge he’s ever had the pleasure of learning? Eddie knows he’s grinning at you, and he’s trying not to leer, but holy wow.

“You’re a babysitter?” He gasps, trying not to make it sound too sleazy as he stretches the word and holds it in his teeth. “Cool. Tell me everything.”

It makes sense in a wet-dream fantasy sort of way, like the version of you leaning out of the car and licking your lips on the other side of his raunchy little REM cycle.

You give him another one of those looks, and it opens up a path of clairvoyance between you. Eddie’s not blind to what other guys would say – what kind of fantasies that knowledge would set minds belonging to the likes of Tommy Hagan and his cadre of meatheads to spinning.

And he knows what you’re going to say – you’re getting ready to head him off at the pass. To assure him that it’s not nearly as sexy and glamorous as what trashy teenage slashers would lead him to believe, and Eddie would remind you that he’s not, and never has been, like the other guys – the seven seconds in heaven he just spent looking up your skirt not-withstanding.

“There’s nothing to tell,”  you say. “It pays the bills,”

Eddie scoffs, trying and failing not to stack up the world of difference between your home and his. He bets your place is nice, when it’s not full of screaming hormonal assholes, a lot nicer than a rusty doublewide on the wrong side of town.

“What bills have you got living in a nice place like this, huh?”

You’re not rich, by any stretch of the word – Eddie can tell that just based on the car you drive and your Crate & Barrel catalogue of a living room – but you’re not struggling either. He doesn’t imagine your parents spending much time deciding whether it’s better to shop for groceries or pay that month's power bill, and you seem to know that as you twist over and give him a strange, pensive look.

“See that box over there?”

You turn his direction to a circular blue tin sitting on the far end of your dresser, tucked in between a music box and – Eddie is immensely pleased to see – his tattered copy of The Moon is a Harsh Mistress.

Even from here, he can see that there is already a bookmark tucked into its pages, and it makes him feel unbearably smug to have been right about that – he knows what you like.     

Eddie lifts up and uses the motion as an excuse to put a cheeky hand on your knee, reaching over to fetch it for you and watching keenly as he settles back in against you.

Visions of loose sewing supplies dance in his head as you pop the lid, and you reveal a treasure of rolled, stacked, and waded-up bills, crammed into every nook and cranny of the Royal Danish cookie tin.

Money. A whole lotta money.

“Ho’mama!” He says, immediately reaching over to take his very own fistful of dollars, “— what’d you do, rob a bank?”

Eddie opens his hand and lets all the presidents rain back into their little tin hideaway, and you make a harsh sound in the back of your throat.

“More like stash every dollar I’ve made since I was thirteen.” you say matter of factly, “This is my George Bailey fund,”

It's startling to hear that name come tumbling out of your mouth, like the clanging of a bell. It sends him catapulting back into a sepia-toned memory, standing on a chair to peer into the top drawer of his mother’s dresser, and hearing her tell him the same thing about her own meager stash of bills, much smaller than yours.

“Someday,” she’d said, pulling him close – distantly, Eddie can still feel the vibrations of her gentle Tenessee drawl, moving through his body as she spoke the same words then that come slipping through your lips now.

“… I’m gettin’ out of this crummy town and I’m gonna see the world,” you say, affecting your best transatlantic accent, putting in all the right inflections at the right places and blowing Eddie’s brains clear out of his skull.

They’re plastered all over your bed and the back wall, that ooey-gooey grey matter, of that he is certain because you’re shrinking further and further into yourself with every moment of silence that passes between you.

What are the odds that you would have the same thought, the same intention – he is only vaguely aware of the look he must be giving you, if only because of how you grow suddenly sheepish under it.

“…Jimmy Stewart?” You try, “It’s a Wonderful Life?”

Eddie blinks hard to try and disperse the haze of his two lives colliding with such a violent cacophony, and when it lingers, he shakes his head – he knows. Of course he knows, how many times has he watched that movie with and without his mother? Enough to know that he’d throw a lasso around the moon for you if you asked.

He’d pull it down so you could swallow it, and the moonbeams would shoot out of your fingers and toes, and the ends of your hair. Even if not that,  he’s seen it certainly enough times not to have to have the concept of George Bailey and Bedford Falls explained to him.   

“No,” He says too late, “I mean – yes. Yeah, I’ve seen the movie, I’ve just…” he doesn’t know what to say, he’s literally speechless, so he takes a page out of your book and cuts that vulnerability off at the knees before it can settle, “…I’ve never seen such a terrible impression,”

You snort, and the money disappears as you slap the cover of the tin back into place.

“That’s mean.” You say, setting your life savings on the floor beside you.  

Eddie crosses his arms over his knees and after a breath of sullen silence, shifts over to lean against you.

“You started it,”

For a long moment, neither of you speaks as the atmosphere grows once again heavy and super-charged with that high Eddie’s been chasing since the morning.

You reach out to trace the burnished ridges of his rings, and before he realizes what’s happening, you tentatively lace your fingers with his.  

He holds his breath and lets you take his hand, still sitting so close to you, and a pensive silence falls over the room. You sit side by side, holding hands, and Eddie wonders if he could have even imagined something like this happening this morning when he slid into your passenger seat, so blissfully happy that you’d deigned to stoop so low to even tie his shoes.

And now you’re holding his hand.

The music is still playing in the other room loud enough to rattle the walls of your bedroom with each thrum of the bass, but neither of you seems to notice anymore.

It might as well have been your own individual heartbeats for all you know.

“Eddie…?” you say thickly.

“Hmm,”

“…Can I ask you something?”

He can feel you looking at him, and when he turns, your eyes flit down to his lips. 

Oh boy. 

Behind his teeth, his tongue grows restless, and he can’t stop it from darting out to swipe across his lower lip. He watches the faintest tinge of a blush spread across your cheeks as he does it and sees just how hard you have to work to drag your eyes back up. 

You like him. He doesn’t know why he keeps convincing himself that you don’t when you’re sitting here like this staring at him like that. 

Eddie nods, and you get caught on a shallow, stuttering breath as you try to inhale.  

“Promise you won’t laugh?” you ask.

“I won’t.”

Your brows come together over your eyes, and you suddenly look so sincere, he can’t help but feel a pang of violent remorse for every time he’s ever even thought about teasing you.

“You have to promise.”  

“I promise.” Eddie makes the sign of an x across the left side of his chest. “Hope to die.” 

You breathe out, long and slow, and flex your jaw as you hold him in your gaze.

“I don’t want you to die, I just wanted to know if…” you trail off, take a deep breath, “Would you kiss me?” 

It hits him like a brick to the face and for half a second, Eddie forgets how to breathe. He swallows hard against the way his throat has gone so suddenly dry and feels his life flashing before his eyes rather than really seeing it. He’s too blind to see it – his vision has gone spotty with a headrush, and it takes every single ounce of his self-control not to sway under the force of it.  

“You want…” he starts, and finds that when his voice fails him, he has to start again, “You want me to kiss you?”  

You nod.

Oh.

That’s what he was hoping you’d say, but Eddie spends a lot of time hoping for a lot of things that never end up happening, so it’s not what he expected you to say. And despite all the time he’s spent sitting around fantasizing about this exact moment – about the way you’d bat your lashes and lick your lips before giving him a soft, slow smile –  he doesn’t know what to say.

His functionality for speech has abandoned him entirely, so he just hums out this weird, pensive noise that is caught halfway between a giddy laugh and a desperately wanting whine.

For half a blinding second, he’s afraid it’s going to scare you off – because what the fuck was that?! – but your brows come down, and your lips twist up, and the next thing he knows, you’re laughing.

He’s laughing too. Because you want him to kiss you.   

You haven’t even been Amigos Oficial for twelve hours and here you are blowing past those barriers at the speed of light.

Life is so wonderful and weird sometimes.  

You want him to kiss you. You, want him. Genuinely and truly.  

Eddie’s mind is clawing at the planes of his skull, screaming desperately for release, and his heart…? Well, that fucker’s stopped beating all together. It’s dead on arrival.

You’re suddenly so close, closer than you’ve been all day, closer enough that he’s suffocating in the sweet, cloying scent of your perfume and your shampoo and your skin.

You smell so good that it kickstarts his salivary glands, and he has to swallow down the sudden excess of spit in his mouth.

“Eddie…?”

“Okay.” he says unevenly, “I mean — yes. I’ll… I’ll kiss you … uh…” he clears his throat, “When?”

You suck in a sharp breath and hold it and pull your shoulders up to your ears as you scrunch your features in that specific little way Eddie so desperately loves.

“I’m free now?” you offer, and – CLEAR – Eddie’s heart leaps back to life, bruising itself on his ribs and punching a breath out of him.

It’s violent, and it hurts a little in all the best ways, and it takes him a moment to learn how to work his brain again.    

“Oh – right – um … o-okay.” He says.

And then, he watches something indiscernible flash across your eyes in the wake of such a hesitation and you immediately begin to backpedal.

“I’m sorry, you don’t have to,” You say quickly, and isn’t that the worst thing anyone has ever said? “If that was totally off base…? If you don’t want to–”

“No! No, I do – I want to.”

“Do you?” you ask, so painfully hopeful it makes his insides throb with an unabashed wanting he is powerless to ignore. 

“Yeah… actually… I really do.” He says, growing shy again and swallowing it for his own sake, “…been thinkin about it for a while now.” 

“Oh – you have, have you?” You giggle, grinning as you tilt your head sideways to press your shoulder to your ear. “...okay, good.”

Eddie shifts further into your space and braces a hand on the floor at your hip.

“Great.”

Your gaze flits down, and you bite your lower lip to try and get control of the smile that is steadily growing wider and threatening to split your face in half. Like always, you fail miserably, and nose to nose, you can’t stop yourself from looking. Eyes up, then down again.  

“Excellent.” You purr. 

Eddie takes your face in hand and watches your eyes flutter shut as he tilts forward. He can feel your breath fanning his face in gentle, anxious puffs, and he savors this moment. The anticipation of the next step – the deep breath before the plunge. 

“Fan-tastic,” he whispers, gently knocking foreheads with you and breathing in your sigh as the tension reaches a boiling point. 

For over a year, this is all he’s wanted, all he’s thought about, and now that it’s here, he’s almost afraid to go forward with it. Not because he’s worried it won’t be everything he’s imagined and more, but only because, somehow, Eddie knows once he does this, there’s no going back.

There is a tangible fear that comes with that, despite the urgency he feels, imploring him to hurry up and kiss you already. He wants nothing more than to do exactly that, but he can’t help but linger in these final moments before his life changes forever.

He wants you to look at him when he does it, and bear witness to that change because after you, he’s never going to be the same again. He hopes you like the person you make out of him because people have been careless enough to mold him before and they haven’t always liked the results.  

Eddie thumbs the hollow beneath your eye, as if to banish an imaginary teardrop, and gently nudges your head back. He watches you, and he waits, hearing the way your breathing hitches as your lips part. After a moment, your eyes flit open curiously, bathing him in the warm glow of your attention, and only then is he ready to kiss you. 

BOOM.

Your bedroom door bangs loudly against the wall as it comes flying open, and Eddie has never been on his feet faster.

Shot full of adrenaline, his fingers twitch at his sides in anticipation of being told to “put his hands up”. But instead of the cops and your parents and a whole host of other authority figures ready to crucify him for deigning to drag you down to his depths, it’s just Carol standing there, leaning against your doorway, looking far too pleased and much more sober than she was the last time he saw her. 

“Hands to yourselves, Perverts,” She drawls, “There are underaged people in the audience.”   

Eddie’s got no idea what the hell that is supposed to mean, he only knows that if he doesn’t manage to regulate his heartbeat, he’s actually going to keel over and pass out.

And then, a high, squeaky voice cries your name, and suddenly you’re shouting right back.

“—Dustin!” You squawk, twisting around to peer across your bed at the smaller body that has appeared in your doorway, “What are you doing here?!”

The boy, who cannot be any older than twelve, has no front teeth and stands there furiously lisping back at you.

“What are you doing?!” he fires back, “What the hell is going on here? And who the hell is that?”

You ignore all three of his high-pitched questions in favor of one of your own.

“How many times have I told you – you have to knock!” you stress, and Eddie is half convinced that no one has ever spoken with such authority, even he feels chagrined about it.

Sometime, in the last few minutes, the party ended with a fizzle, rather than a bang, but neither of you has seemed to notice this with everything else currently going on. 

“Yeah Kiddo, you almost got an eyeful of something you could never unsee,” Carol stresses, leering across the room at Eddie, who suddenly has no idea what to do with his hands. 

“Is that your little brother?” He asks.

It feels like a stupid question to be asking, considering he’s fairly sure you don’t have any siblings, but then again, what does he know except that he's panicking and he doesn’t think he’s ever been so embarrassed in his life.

“No,” You huff, “That’s just the kid I babysit.”

“Just?!” the kid – Dustin, evidently – shouts.

Eddie looks at you, then at him, then back at you, and while he’s no expert on people’s younger siblings, he’s fairly certain he’s missing something.

“I thought you said you babysat Jonathan’s brother.” He says, offering you his hand as you begin to stand.

“I do,” you huff, putting your fingers in his and letting him pull you up, “But mostly I babysit this little shit.”

“LITTLE SHIT?!” He’s gone so red he’s almost purple now. “That’s it, this is over – right now!” 

He turns on his heel and storms back into the hall. 

“Dustin—” you call, to no avail.

“Right! Now!” He reiterates and disappears into the house.  

“What’s that mean?” Eddie asks.

Beside him, you breathe out hard through your nose and your shoulders drop.

“He’s gonna tell on me.” 

It’s almost funny, in a wholly bizarre, completely bewildering sort of way. 

If either of you were paying better attention to the rest of the house, and the sudden and conspicuous lack of music, or overall chatter, you might have noticed that something is suddenly very different about the front room.

“Oh, by the way,” Carol starts once the kid is gone, eyeing her manicure and still looking far too much like a cat in cream for Eddie’s comfort, “You should know, somebody called the cops.”

“What?!” You yelp.

“Yeah, I don’t know – something about somebody bringing drugs? You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you, Eddie?” she purrs, and behind her, he gets the first glimpse of flashing red and blue lights, painting the room through your front windows. “Anyway, they’re looking for you.” 

His stomach bottoms out, and just like that, there goes the other shoe. That’s what this was all about, the real reason Carol wanted him here so badly tonight. 

He doesn’t know if she called them or if it was one of your neighbors, but here is the Hawkins PD, coming to break up a party and cart him off to jail if he doesn’t get out of here right now.  

Before he can even begin to form a plan of escape, you seize Eddie by the front of his shirt and drag him around to your bedroom window. “You have to go!” 

“Oh, brother,” Carol sighs, “What kind of chivalrous bullshit–”

You force the window up in its frame with a deafening shriek, and the cool autumn air comes rushing in, clearing the air and Eddie’s mind of everything that just happened in the last two minutes.

“Go now!” 

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He’s out your window and gone the second his feet his the grass, and suddenly this all feels a lot more familiar than he’s happy with. Leaving a party out some side window and hitting the breeze while the Hawkins PD descends is pretty much par for the course for these little get togethers.

Except this time, there is the added bonus of being able to hear you distantly arguing with Carol – you accusing her of putting in the call, and her stridently defending herself against such a hideous (and likely true) accusation.

Beyond all of that he sees Jim Hopper, marching up your front lawn and into your house while his deputies try in vain to catch all the stray fishies pouring out of your home in droves. If Carol is telling the truth – which, to be fair, it is highly plausible that she is not – the chief of police is entering your house with the sole intention of rooting him out, and when he doesn’t find him, when he hears the talk about where Eddie’s been all evening, it’s going to be pretty easy to surmise what happened.  

You’re gonna take a lot of heat for what you just did for him, and he doesn’t know if you realize that.

How many little selfless acts can you perform for him without a second thought? And how can Eddie stand here and take it without doing something to repay you?

He has to do something, but what can he do? 

Well, it occurs to him that he can do exactly what you just asked him to do, as would only be right. 

But that’s crazy, right? He doesn’t have time for that kind of ooey-gooey “lasso the moon” nonsense when he ought to be long gone by now. The last thing he needs is to get caught and spend the night in jail, waiting for Wayne to get off shift and bail him out.

He doesn’t need to be running from the cops, either – he’s got a pair of handcuffs nailed to his bedroom wall to remind him of exactly that – but it occurs to Eddie that he can’t just leave, not without thanking you. Not without saying goodbye.

What kind of friend would he be if he did that? Certainly not your best friend, and certainly not more. 

He’s stupid, he’s foolish, he’s taking his life into his hands — he’s skirting back across the grass and hitting your windowsill with a muted thump.

When Eddie pops up, you’re still standing there, too preoccupied with fending off Carol to notice him looking in. The coast is clear, for now, so if he’s gonna do this, he better do it fast.

He reaches up to tug at the hem of your sleeve, and your name is out of his mouth before he has time to think better of it. You turn, and brace your hands on the windowsill to lean out and look down at him with wide, confused eyes.

“Eddie,” You gasp, “What are you still doing here? You gotta—”

He lifts up on his toes and kisses you. It’s only a quick, chaste brush of the lips to the corner of your mouth – he calculated wrong and misaimed – but it’s enough to send an electric shock ripping through both of your bodies. You freeze and go rigid, and behind you, Carol snorts out her disgust.

“Oh, fucking gross—” she gags.   

When Eddie drops back down his face is on fire, but he doesn’t wait to see what happens next.

He turns and runs, leaving you standing there, hanging halfway out your bedroom window as the first inkling of the police chief’s voice comes booming through the house.

“Okay – party’s over!” Jim Hopper shouts as Eddie escapes into the night, grinning wildly and laughing because, despite his better judgment, he’s pretty goddamn sure he's in love love love, and he’s home free. 

[attheexactlyrighttimeandplace]

For the people who still think the colony of Israel has a right to defend itself:

They're not defending anything, they're just having fun killing:

Update 1 (17/10/2023) for the confused and sceptics :

Update 2 (10/22/2023): To add some context to this post following Reuters (direct link to article) attempt to verify the reality of the IDF Facebook post.

In fact, Reuters failed to verify anything: as the agency admitted in its article, its journalist "could not find the impostor's Facebook account or the publication on the platform social network".

They then contacted "a spokesperson for the IDF", who told them that " the Facebook post was not shared by one of its official accounts. He added there was only one official IDF Facebook page in Arabic that carries a verification tick "

A Reuters reporter also contacted"a representative for Meta, Facebook’s parent company, told Reuters the page was removed".

In this total absence of material evidence, and relying solely on the statements of these two sources which are the least reliable when it comes to commenting and sharing information and facts about the war against the Palestinians (the Israeli army is party to the conflict therefore It is biased and will protect its agents and soldiers- and Facebook has a history of censoring Palestinian content that could be used to document violence and help legally qualify zionist crimes).

Reuters came to this hasty conclusion:

Their main arguments are that

The Israeli occupation army never admitted to bombing the hospital and blamed Islamic Jihad, so it had no reason to celebrate.

Reuters journalists conveniently ignore the timeline. The IDF message welcoming the bombing of the Baptist hospital in Gaza was published immediately after the attack, while the controversy over the perpetrators of the attack began a few hours after its deletion.

Until the controversy, no one wondered who was behind the attack. The zionist army has always publicly assumed its crimes: it even ordered (according to the clerics who were in charge of the administration of the hospital) on several occasions the hospital to evacuate, knowing perfectly well that it was impossible. It was only when outrage became widespread that western media, including Reuters, began to question the origins of the strike. There's a post on Tumblr that pulls together the subtle changes in headlines to make it seem like Israel never took credit for the attack (even though it destroyed different 2 floors of the hospital a few days before the biggest attack).

There are other videos on Mohammed El Kurd's Twitter account showing the zionist army celebrating its strikes. There are videos on social media of zionist soldiers humiliating prisoners in their custody, so gloating on social media is not a new practice for them.

There is no reason why they should not celebrate what they consider a victory: their ministers have already publicly and clearly stated that civilians who do not leave northern Gaza, whatever their reasons, will be assimilated to Hamas fighters. So everything is consistent; in their minds, hitting innocent and defenseless civilians is legitimate and they are happy about it.

On its Twitter account, the Israeli military removed a video that purported to prove that Islamic Jihad carried out the attack, but ultimately did not prove its claims. So they also have a habit of deleting their own content when they realize that it exposes them more than it helps them.

Other journalists (Al Jazeera uses its own images: it is the only media that remained in Gaza and they filmed all the attacks, information from Channel 4) and independent experts on weapons of war and geolocation worked on the question of identifying the perpetrators of the bombing of the hospital. So far, their preliminary conclusion is that the Israeli military's claims do not match the facts and material evidence on the ground.

Full details of this debate are on the X/Twitter accounts of Lowkey and Mohammed El-Kurd (look for posts made on October 17).

2. I don't really know how Facebook/Meta works: I never had an account on it (I mean I never used it properly: I opened an account years ago, exclusively to follow the activity of a group that I was part of in life but closed it after a few weeks without interacting beyond a few likes), but on Twitter you can hide the checkmark.

Even if the checkmark cannot be hidden, there is nothing in the Reuters "report" to indicate that the Zionist army does not maintain multiple accounts - some with checkmarks and some without - and does not delete accounts that are not officials when it does not suit their interests.

They have a history of spreading fake news: from rumors about 40 beheaded babies, to accusing Palestinians of bombing themselves, to creating fake documents to accuse Hamas of planning attacks on primary schools while manipulating parents by buying YT ads shown during videos aimed at children to improve their image damaged by their violence with families, and to justify the harm they do to the children of Gaza.

I'm only making this long argument because Lowkey and Mohammed El-Kurd deleted the tweets I reposted and I think they shouldn't have done so. I understand why: it actually seems like an insignificant speck in an ocean of real crimes, but I personally consider it symbolic and indicative of the true and greater zionist project: genocide.

Genocide in international law is based on proof of intent to destroy a group, and the zionist army's mocking Facebook post establishes beyond doubt that nothing is accidental on the zionist side, everything is premeditated and based on their superiority complex over the Palestinian people.

[theminecraftbee]

some smallishsona social links i've thought up:

XIII (DEATH): zombiecleo. i know this is the obvious choice but also i'm not immune to obvious choices. cleo is a "florist" that joe knows. florist is in the world's biggest scare quotes; between the fact they're the one who's willing to give the team weapons and fence stuff they got from the other world, and also the conspicuous full-body burn scars, joel is VERY willing to bet that cleo is not, in fact, a florist. he's not stupid though. he's not about to like, ask if she's in the yakuza or something. because then they would kill him. he is ALREADY unwillingly at constant risk of death by shadow monster, he doesn't need yakuza coming after him, thanks.

cleo's social link starts out about their begrudging willingness to do joe a favor by handing high-schoolers various weaponry, but also their continued attempts to explain that they're making a mistake. (joel KNOWS okay it's not HIS fault there's a demon in his head and his life is full of tarot cards now, give him a break.) however, as the social link continues, it reveals details of cleo's life, the story of how they ended up with those burn scars, and how they can move past the tragedies of their past.

V (HIEROPHANT) xisuma. this one feels a little obvious, went back and forth on whether this should be tfc instead but landed on xisuma. a man joel meets in a tea shop who is very concerned about joel's mental state, considering how joel came to town in the first place. joel thinks this is extremely rude, thanks, especially since if it hadn't been for the fact it was tea, not alcohol, joel would be half-convinced xisuma had been trying to drink his problems away.

the social link focuses on xisuma trying to mentor joel very badly, and also the reveal that part of why xisuma is so concerned for joel is that he wants to make up for his failures to take care of his younger brother. at the end of the social link, xisuma starts to reconcile with his brother and family, and joel maybe reluctantly admits it's nice to have an adult with nothing supernatural going on with them that's somewhat concerned for him. not that he needs supervision or anything, but...

XVI (TOWER): doc. was going through the suggestions people gave me and was surprised to realize just how UBIQUITOUS this was as a suggestion. however, yeah, this fits his character archetype to a t. doc is a disgraced scientist who is willing to give joel his inventions to test; joel's courage social stat needs to be like a 4 before he can even initiate this social link, and joel first finds out about doc from rumors in town about a madman scientist who got someone killed in a lab accident. the inventions provide various perks in battle, though, and frankly by the point in the story joel has high enough courage to start this one his attitude is starting to become "fuck it we ball", so.

doc's social link starts with doc leaning into his terrifying reputation. however, as the social link continues, it becomes clear doc is actually trying to make a working version of his clean fuel generator that couldn't possibly ever cause an explosion like the one he faced again. in the end, it's revealed the original design was sabotaged, and there was nothing doc could have done to prevent the tragedy--except, maybe, be willing to share his plans with others to catch the sabotage, because joel helps doc figure that out.

this social link MAYBE has some thematic relevance. don't worry about it.

I (MAGICIAN): scar. one of joel's earliest social links and teammates, i'm debating if he was one of the people who was teamed with grian before joel arrived. scar himself has a largely magic-based garu persona. he's also the party's early healer, although he later gets supplanted in this role when impulse joins as the actual party healer, and his build is actually more focused on heavy-hitting magic and status effects. (think ann, or reload mitsuru). i think if i go with my current theme for the team's personas (mythological lovers/mythological figures related to love or bonds), i might make his persona majnun?

anyway, he's very VERY scar, a fast-talking, smooth-playing, optimistic kind of guy, who DEFINITELY won't end up having a mid-story breakdown about whether or not he's wanted or needed on the team, absolutely not, no way, it's not like that's the magician's role in a persona game or anything. as a social link i think scar's social link is about him dragging joel into his school black market schemes and the two of them hitting it off during this, but also, a bit, about scar confiding his loneliness and feelings of inadequacy as something more than the comic relief. he's one of the earliest available social links, second only to skizz, and ends up being one of joel's closest links, magical tarot powers be damned.

VII (CHARIOT): skizzleman. joel's earliest social link, who develops a persona thanks to joel having to rescue him from the other world. a cheerful, friendly guy with a slight sense of distance under the surface, skizz works to keep himself strong and the people around him happy, sometimes to the point of excluding his own emotions. he's an agi user, although his persona is largely focused on physical skills rather than magic (he's the team's physical heavy-hitter), and i might make his persona patrolcus? (all of these personas are things you can argue with me, btw.)

skizz's social link is about him trying to find ways to lighten the moods of the other people in joel and skizz's apartment building who were moved in there because they didn't have elsewhere to stay, and his ability to remain cheerful despite often being rejected in this. it's also a social link about digging more into the history that lead to skizz feeling alone enough to be Vanished and in need of rescue. because he's so plot-central in that way, though, his actual SOCIAL LINK is more lighthearted shenanigans about the various schemes skizz comes up with to try to get other people to cheer up, and eventually ends with joel and the others turning it around to give skizz that same cheerful stuff.

anyway these are the guys i've definitively assigned to what social link now i am having SO MUCH FUN with this au,

[tallertysupremacy]

As someone who received their first seasons of shadowhunter shipment already I wanted to put together this post as an unofficial guide of what to expect since a lot of you have questions. Please help spread this around if you can!!

Will I get an email to tell me my order has shipped?

Yes. You will receive an email from “Seasons of Shadowhunters” once your order ships. It will contain a tracking number and a link to an article that will explain more about international shipping.

What can I expect from the package?

The package is small, the size of the book and should fit comfortably in most mail / P.O. Boxes. (I know personally the mail person will not leave a package at my door. If it doesn’t fit in the mailbox, they won’t deliver it!) It is black with white runes. I was informed courtesy of @thephonyqueenofengland that the eye catching package may make it more susceptible to theft in some areas so please be aware.

I haven’t received an email yet. Should I be concerned?

Nope! Mailing these out appears to be a slow process and I have heard from many people who haven’t heard anything yet. It’s normal! Very few people have received their shipment. Just keep an eye on your email (and spam folder), and if the time comes where this does start to become a concern, shoot an email to kshelp@cassandraclare.com

What all am I getting again?

The first shipment contains the book “Secrets of Blackthorn Hall” with full color endpapers and a ribbon book mark. Also included are bonus items “So Your House is Cursed” pamphlet, 3(?) stickers (originally it was announced to be 4, but I only received 3, as did others to my understanding), and the Polaroid pictures from the night of Kraig’s retirement party. Those who backed the project in the first 48 hours will also receive a booklet containing the twp sneak peak.

Edit: I forgot to add, you will also be receiving Thomas’s journal of you ordered it!

Shoot me your questions and I’ll try to help as best as I can! I feel like I was blessed to be one of the first recipients so I must give back where I can hahaha

[magellanicclouds]

Halo - An Essay: regarding waste management systems and devices for MJOLNIR armoured Spartans It has been a hectic sort of few weeks. Between work and getting sick again (for the fourth time already this year thanks to my crewmates who can't remember it's their duty to stay home when they're ill) I've been on the outs. I haven't had the energy for much, but I'm usually a pretty active person, so this has kind of made me loopy? Which feels like as good a time as any to talk at length about the concept of catheterizing Spartans for waste management in MJOLNIR.

Let me explain.

This Silly Post crossed my dash recently and I fully understand it is meant as lighthearted fun - we have fun here. But it also dragged out some strong thoughts I've had haunting in the back of my mind about this for years because I'm super normal about Halo, and have time on my hands and the right amount of sleep deprivation and medication on board. So I wrote 3500 words about it. And about Karen Traviss, who is pretty knotted up in this conversation, since she's the one who decided to start it back in 2011.

To preface, I'm not an expert, but I have worked in emergency medicine for 25 years, and been a fan of Halo for almost as long. I've had more of a lukewarm relationship with it the last decade or so if I'm being honest, but it will always have a home in my heart; I just think letting it under my skin like that in the first place may have made me feral and prone to biting. Thankfully, I can always happily rotate Fred in my mind until the heat-death of the universe, so that's nice. Anyway, full disclosure: the essay below contains discussion about medical devices, physical trauma, and I am sharing quite a lot of personal negativity about the Kilo-5 trilogy and Karen Traviss. That said, if you'd like to sit in on the length of what I'm about to yell into the sky about all this, you can find it under the cut. I love you.

Welcome to my dissertation.

Section 1 - The Relevant Background:

Equipping Spartans with urinary catheters weeded itself into the Halo universe in the 2011 book Halo: Glasslands, during a conversation between Spartan II Naomi-010 and ODST Mal Geffen. Glasslands was the first in Karen Traviss's Kilo-5 trilogy, and she is both the originator of this, and the only official Halo author or source to have used catheters specifically since. Some context: I don't personally like these books, or their author, or even her reasoning for why she chose to add this. My personal preference doesn't make something 'bad', and I'm not out to hurt any feelings. Kilo-5 isn't a total wash for me, there are some characters and ideas that I'd of otherwise loved to have seen explored through the lens of a different author, but these books felt smothered under Traviss's habit of always injecting her very loud personal voice into the narrative fabric. I think this is something that's fine to do in an original series, but doesn't really belong in an established third party IP. She bangs on about so much of her own narrow worldview and self-assured prejudices across the trilogy that still discussing them today creates division in the fandom, and sadly did a lot of lasting damage to a couple characters. But for the topic here, the dialogue that started all this cath chat came from Naomi-010, having idle conversation with Mal who asks her about bathroom breaks. “I’m catheterized. Another reason why that machine has to be so precisely calibrated. This suit plugs into me in a lot of places.” 'The Machine' she's referring to is a Brokkr assembly, which was introduced to the lore as a large mechanical armature used to get Spartans in and out of MJOLNIR. You can see them in action in cinematics from Halo 4 (+Spartan Ops) and 5.

One single mention, and it was big news. Traviss was naturally interviewed about it because of course she was - people can't help themselves but forget an entire novel and tunnel vision on 'but how pee pee?', and her answer has always irritated me. It's not in what she says, so much as what 'what she says' means in her voice. Traviss didn't answer it directly, but instead talked about how she likes to get into character's heads by addressing the mundane necessity of things that often go overlooked to expand a sense of familiarity with the character and their world. Sounds super reasonable, I know, but don't give her too much credit - that's not a quote. It's just me paraphrasing and honestly I was pretty generous in my wording. Probably because I agree! What bugs me about it, is if you've ever read literally any interview with her, or her personal musings about her writing process, you know there's a bit of an 'honesty' issue there. She's somebody who feels perfectly comfortable ignoring established character voices, traits, or histories to satisfy whatever roles she's reinvented for them, and too many others wind up as mouthpieces. How much are you really challenging yourself in finding characters' voices when most of them are just yours? And the part about familiarity with their world? I giggled a little. She doesn't care about their world, or their aesthetics, or their technology, or their medicine. Because she didn't care about Halo while writing these, and she's not vague about admitting that. It's a matter of pride for her to purposefully refuse to research those things, in the same way she disregarded Star Wars and Gears of War - she doesn't consider the effort to be a valuable part of her process. So instead she'll skim the foundation, gather some recognizable names, pick her targets, and trusts that her personal experiences combined with an outsider perspective will generate better content to seamlessly overwrite what existed. Cool, Karen. Annoying, but why bring all that up? We're here to talk about catheters, right? Well, the fandom for the most part begin and end their assessment of the dialogue at urinary catheters, but the whole quote implies so much more than that - "This suit plugs into me in a lot of places." We're not just dealing with a cath, but apparently with multiple additional external-to-invasive connections. Reader, this dialogue is a plinth to Traviss's bizarre refusal to research not only the franchises she's contracted to write in, but also just into the basic function and hazards of existing concepts that she wants to introduce, and all because she's convinced herself she's done learning about the world. Choosing to ignore the creative freedom of limitless potential in a future of technology that would be basically magic to us today, and instead degrade 529 years of advancement is certainly a take, but it's even more ridiculous to do it with a subject (The Spartan Programme) that is considered to be the peak of advancement in that future's setting. That's clownery, just like her alleged commitment to adjusting her perspective to suit a universe's world.

I want to close out this section with a question: Why is it that writers in the Halo space - both fan and official - cling so tightly to current-day modern concepts as if they'd still be perfectly relevant in 500+ years? Music, for example, apparently suffered a multi-century stagnation in lots of published and fanmade Halo media. Though my partner made a strong counterpoint about this to be fair: we still listen to music composed by Mozart. So there's an argument to be made there. Medicine though. There is way less latitude to embrace the classics there. It's been shown across several games, novels, and films to be sufficiently advanced well beyond anything we're currently capable of or even understand, so why undermine that and choose to drag it centuries backward? For clarity, I am not talking about what might be standard in the public or private sectors, nor the enduring things that'd be used by the public and military alike, like sterile dressings, syringes, supplemental oxygen equipment. Those are the Basics and they will be relevant to us indefinitely. But I'm talking about the UNSC. I'm talking about ONI R&D. I'm talking about Section Three. Retrograding tech and failing to address a necessity that applies to every living person in the Super Soldier Wizardry department makes my mouth flatten into a tight little line.

Section Two - Caths, and why this whole thing got written:

Indwelling urinary catheters, both urethral and suprapubic. There's a laundry list of problems here, but I've distilled it down to the three biggest when suggesting they'd have any safe practical application in Spartans: Care. Activity. Damage. There is unreasonable expectations of care and maintenance for caths with regards to people who can be on operations isolated for months at a time with no support of any kind and are often limited to carrying only what can be kept on their person. The level of extreme physical activity Spartans engage in on any perfectly normal day whether deployed or not is unfit for the stability and safety of a cath. And damage; obvious enough, but with this one I'll be taking a huge emphasis on concussive forces - explosions. Something Spartans are subjected to a lot. I'll be using the height of modern-day catheter quality as a baseline for this, since that's what Traviss felt was sufficient. Regarding Urethral vs Suprapubic, Traviss doesn't specify by name, but Naomi's comment in full reads to me that she's only catheterized temporarily while armoured, hence the assembly needing to be so finely calibrated. Foley caths are temporary urethral caths that would only supplement the urinary process while a person was armoured. Suprapubic caths however are surgically placed devices. They do need routine tube replacement to keep them clean, but unlike the Foley that just serves as an aide measure for an otherwise fully functioning bladder, suprapubic caths are usually placed in people with congenital bladder disfunction, or who've suffered injury or disease that left the bladder in poor health or failure. This type of access will always require a tube in place and this would be the exclusive method of urination - in or out of armour. My Big Three Concerns fit both types similarly, though there is some additional risks associated with urethral caths that I'll cover.

Care: Caring for an invasive cath is a not insignificant effort. They're prone to blockage, kinking, and bacterial growth. They're so frequently responsible for UTIs and kidney stones that these complications are just considered the Standard Fair for having a cath. Their need to be frequently replaced because of their penchant for bacterial growth is the kicker here - whole floral colonies sprout up in caths and can eek their way out into the body through compromised tissue and wreck havoc. They have no self-cleaning mechanism, and steadily deteriorate. Changing and replacing an indwelling cath is a procedure that requires additional supplies that'd have to be carried, and needs to be done in a practiced and clean setting; preferably medical. Granted, there are people who manage the removal and insertion of their own caths at home, but they still need to ensure a clean and safe environment while they do this. A Spartan could never be guaranteed that, nor would it even be wise to consider the vulnerability of removing so much armour to handle it. Modern day caths are recommended to be replaced every 30 days or so, with some models able to be in place for a few months at a time, but that's with constant daily care and cleaning; something that'd be unreasonable for a Spartan to maintain while entrenched who knows where for who knows how long, and without access to replacement medical supplies. Those endurance times between replacements are geared for the average public person who leads an average public life and care for their cath as directed and don't get into fist fights with Sangheili. Needless to say, the endurance time for the same device in a Spartan who leads a wildly different lifestyle probably cuts those times down to a third.

Activity: Modern day caths are designed to offer people the most utility and versatility possible. Both models are available for people who are bed-bound or have extremely limited mobility, as well as for those who are mobile, independent, and live out average lives. With regards to the latter, suprapubics are somewhat more common, if for no other reason than to reduce the Foley's higher risks of induction injury, but modern urethral caths also allow for regular movement and activity with a more reduced chance of becoming dislodged or damaged than they would have had a couple decades ago. But when I say regular activity, I mean going on a walk. Shopping for groceries. Doing basic house chores. Even light exercise and sexual activity can be managed with physician advisement and the appropriate precautions taken. Anytime a Spartan was fielded they'd have to be all the more overly-cautious about Movements Outside of Their Control during confrontations, maneuvers, ambush, environmental or vehicular incidents. Even when things go well there'd be too much risk involved. That said, traumatic decatheterizations happen more frequently than anyone would like, and I'm talking about regular old Joe Everybody. I respond to no less than a dozen of these incidents a year. Both types of catheter are held in place by a bulb balloon that's inflated from a port with around 10-30ccs of saline after the tube enters the bladder (30ccs would be more appropriate for better security of the line). Before removing a cath, the saline is removed to deflate the balloon and the tube is guided out - with a Foley cath, that means being guided out of the urethra. When a Foley cath is traumatically removed, the saline filled balloon - which is like five times wider in diameter than the average 6mm urethra - does a pretty devastating amount of damage on it's way out, penis or vagina; though a penile urethra has significantly more length to damage, and the penile meatus very typically is torn. These incidents run high risk of bladder hematoma as well, which requires urgent surgical intervention. The very worst traumatic decatheterizations I've responded to were all penile and had trauma to external tissue. Ever microwaved a hotdog a little too long?

Damage: How often are Spartans subjected to explosive and other concussive forces? Silly question - answer: a lot and often and unavoidable. And we know they still feel the powerful feedback. Despite shields and dampeners and a self-moderating gel layer, strong inertial forces are still felt through the suits. Across multiple novels we're given details about near misses and blasts, accelerated or uncontrolled falls, rattling their teeth, hampering their vision, hearing, or balance; they've been rendered unconscious and suffered internal injuries. The fact that most of these events don't flat out kill them is a credit to their armour and augmentations. For reference - when a person experiences explosive or concussive force from a distance enough to avoid separation of limbs, bisection, etc, the totality of their injuries can't and won't be seen externally. How they present on the outside is just the tippy tip of the iceburg - it's what's happened to them internally that you need to be concerned about. Cracked or fractured bones, torn musculature, arterial shearing, hollow organ rupture, cardiac and brain tissue bleed, to name some common ones, and this kind of trauma extends to all implanted devices as well. For example, rods and nails and other structural aids or replacements are much more resilient than your organic tissues, and can dislodge when tissues tear or rupture, damaging anything in their way like shrapnel. The fragile little balloon of a catheter will shatter when subjected to even relatively minor explosive force, so to even consider for a moment that this would be a viable piece of equipment for people intended to routinely be involved in explosive environments is beyond willful negligence. That there wouldn't be a better solution to the question of waste management - a necessity for literally all human people who make up the entirety of the Spartan branch, with the infinite funding of ONI R&D seems so stupid to me that I… well, that I wrote this. Because, friends - participating in active warfare is not cath-safe. The kinds of physical demands and forces on Spartan bodies are not cath-safe. The risks will never outweigh the benefits to this. Even while sealed in powered armour and a skinsuit tech layer, the very thought of Section Three engineers or Halsey or anyone involved in the development of MJOLNIR dismissing the glaring obvious failure of Spartans having any kind of externalized invasive devices is so unreasonably negligent that it could only be the brainchild of an author who's convinced that these characters are all actually just psuedo-intelligent government boogiemen who aren't as capable as they claim to be. But No. They are that capable, and they are that intelligent and the fact that they have a bottomless budget and deeply flexible ethics is literally what makes them so dangerous.

So if we have to address this, how do we do it? Apparently there was always an official answer for this. Former Franchise Development Director, creator of the Master Chief**, and extremely racist asshole Frank O'Connor weighed in on this in the same interview, where he almost immediate rejected and denied Traviss's catheterization claim and says that 'this sort of stuff' was the kind of thing he and the other creative heads at Bungie/343i talked and planned about all the time. So how does this work then, because we're invested now. According to 'ol Frankie's elegant input: they just pee freely into the suit. That's it. For clarity, he's talking about the skinsuit and not the MJOLNIR interior proper. He goes on to say that connectivity between body and MJOLNIR at all levels is fully noninvasive, but precise, and that it doesn't matter what kind of body output a Spartan introduces into the suit interior, because a hygienic valve system (??) will scrub it continually and collect all matter for recycling and reintroduction via capillary action powered by movement. It's not clear in what layers or intermediaries these mechanisms occupy, he doesn't break it down more than that. But that's the answer, and it did exist back when Traviss was penning Kilo-5.

Is this answer better than haphazardly plugging extension cords from actual organ systems into MJOLNIR interior? Yes. Like, leagues better by comparison, but also I still think it sucks. To me anyway. It's flat out gross as hell, which definitely fits the personal brand of a man who proudly overfed his cat and called himself "Stinkles", but also it just doesn't strike me as the kind of design strategy ONI would pursue for any of their assets. Beside it just being 100% torn from Dune's stillsuits, it's also missing that special brand of proprietary Section Three je ne sais quoi. There's layers upon layers of too-specialized equipment installed into these people for everything else, why skip this? A body function that should have been Point 3 on a 50 point list of 'stuff to manage'. Also though? It's a lot of freedom. This is just another easy opportunity to add yet another layer of dependence. Spartans are expensive equipment. It doesn't do to give them any fewer reasons to think they can ever walk away.

So anyway, I figured I'd take a crack at it. I came up with this while editing the last two paragraphs: [Waste management] - a fully internalized collection and processing device - lets say a cybernetic implantation - that entirely replaces the bladder. It has bio-organic lumens that interconnect it to the GI and Hepatic organs. The implant assists in accelerating the processing of gathering and refining waste materials with the help of nanobots that identify and redirect waste along the lumens of each system, plus they keep the implant clean and free of bad flora. All twice-processed waste gets refined a lot quicker and any water by-product of the process is refined and redistributed back to the organs along the lumens. None of the refined water is removed from the body for drinking, because that's an unnecessary step; it's already inside. (Drinking water would be the responsibility of a suit system more likely - like, sweat leeching in the skinsuit; refine, filtrate, purify, collect into a reservoir, and jettison the excess sodium. ) There is no 'extraction of other viable nutrient' from the remainder, it's been twice identified as waste. It gets catabolized and consumed by the nanobots as a fuel source, and no externalized waste is created at all while the Spartan is geared up. The implant doesn't always run like this - it only engages this way when the Spartan is wearing MJOLNIR, and when they're not, it just works like an out-of-the-box bladder. The intermittence of usage lets the organic organs truck along as usual, preventing risk of atrophy, and the Spartan can just use a bathroom like everyone else. I'm not a bioengineer, but I do like sci fi and I think all that sounds like something that'd be possible in this sandbox. And that's the real fun of it, isn't it? There's no way anyone today can anticipate what sort of gadgetry might be available 500+ years from now, especially in a fictional universe that includes military tech hybridized with reverse engineered alien tech.

I think it's fascinating when writers and artists shake loose and really grab the reins, and I love seeing the fruit of that labour in this particular tumblr community so often. We're not a huge Halo circle, but we're a passionate one, and if this essay leaves you with nothing else, I hope it will at least remind you to Go For It when you're writing your next fic or drawing your next piece, or composing, or sewing, or printing, or anything!

In Conclusion: Rest easy, friends.

Despite Traviss's word and even books that went to print, the official canon is that Spartans are not catheterized. If that's a bummer for anyone, canon can't stop you from writing whatever you want, but I do hope maybe you'll remember my reasoning for why it might not be the best idea? At least not for armoured Spartans. A Spartan, but they're laid up in hospital? Any non-Spartan personnel? Maybe you're writing in the public sector, a colony world or vessel? Sure - I'll bet caths are still plenty widely used. Why not? They're a blissfully simple and useful effective piece of equipment. It's just all about adjusting and adapting for practicality. Medical science, like any technology, adapts and evolves infinitely as we learn and discover new things. Treatments or drug algorithms I'd of used just last year have already undergone changes, and protocols are amended constantly. It's why a person 'practices' medicine; why a scientist is always a student. If questions like this or similar really need answering in your next work, remember: Give yourself the credit you deserve, and embrace the spirit of invention. Let my Cyber Bladder, by Sparklets be the candle in the window for you!

You may all retrieve your keys from the bowl and unsilence your phones. Stay safe and please text me when you get home. Thank you. ' u ' **Addendum: Former Bungie Creative Art Director Marcus Lehto is in fact the person who is most associated with the creation of the Master Chief.**

[blouisparadise]

Upon request, today we have a rec list of A/B/O fics with touch deprivation! If you enjoy our rec lists and want them to continue, please be sure to like and reblog this post to help spread the word.

1) Get Nesting & Soft Knots | General Audiences | 5,714 words

Note: It is also locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

AU where Omega Louis who runs a nesting materials Youtube channel meets Alpha Harry who knits his own blankets.

2) Every Time We Touch | General Audiences | 5,806 words

Note: It is also locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

Louis laughed when he heard the term professional cuddler for the first time. His doctor let Louis laugh and then explained the purpose behind the profession and how it could help Louis. It took a few weeks but Louis finally scheduled an appointment, now all he had to do was leave his car and walk into the house.

3) Tearing Me Apart | Not Rated | 6,079 words

Louis knew his heart was breaking and there was nothing he could do about it. He knew the day his best friend finally presented as an Alpha that he was his alpha but Harry kept breaking his heart. He kept bringing random omegas into their shared apartment and Louis just cried each night with a hand over his mouth to stifle the noise. His touch deprivation was getting bad but his alpha didn't know.

4) Everything Comes Back To You | Explicit | 8,643 words

Harry and Louis are childhood best friends. What happens when Harry has to move towns just as they are starting their secondary gender presentations? What happens when fate brings them back together years later in the most unexpected of ways?

5) Night Out | Explicit | 9,741 words

Note: This fic is the prequel to fic #xx on this list. It is also locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

Symphony hall was the first place Louis had felt at home in this city, and he always had the box to himself. Until tonight. Symphony hall was the first place Louis had felt at home in this city, and he always had the box to himself. Until tonight.

6) Unfortunate Fortunes | Not Rated | 9,793 words

There are three stages of touch deprivation. Stage one is very mild, stage two leads to itchy skin and restless nights, but stage three is the worst. Omegas with stage three touch deprivation, rarely survive because the only cure for it is finding your true mate. Louis Tomlinson is an omega with stage three touch deprivation and Harry Styles is his new alpha neighbour who also happens to be a famous boxer-not that Louis knows.

7) Breathe Me In, Breathe Me Out | General Audiences | 14,263 words

Louis is drawn into a quaint candle shop in his desire to find ways to soothe himself while struggling with touch depri. It takes him two more run-ins and with the lovely alpha sales assistant, and a drop, to figure out the source of the scent that imprints upon him and calms his omega. Idiots to lovers.

8) Just Let Me | Explicit | 14,714 words

Note: This fic is locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

The party was going well. So well, Niall had already sworn undying love to one multi-tiered chocolate cake, two friendly corgi-poodle mixes, Zayn’s hair, and the entire population of Los Angeles. So well, Zayn had only laughed and ruffled Niall’s hair and not even twitched towards a cigarette. So well, nearly everyone had spilled far past the boundaries of the night’s original plans, extracting bottles of vodka from the cabinets and losing a lot of clothes. Harry had proclaimed that he was finally going to throw a small and very grownup dinner party and of course here they were three hours later, fifty people half-naked in the pool. Soon to be full-naked, if Louis had to guess. Everybody in LA loved a heated pool. Everybody loved Harry.

9) Captain Cupid | Not Rated | 15,331 words

“Right,” Niall started, finally getting the opportunity to unleash his horrible plan. “Well, as you both know, I’m an excellent matchmaker. A human Cupid. The best of the best at finding one's mate. And I’ve decided it’s time to make money doing it.” “Oh, God no,” Louis groaned, picking up his empty plate and placing it in the sink. He needed to escape as quickly as possible. Or the one where Niall enlists his friends to help start a speed dating side hustle. Things don't go as planned... or maybe they do?

10) Your Touch Is The Only Thing I Feel | Mature | 15,979 words

Liam. Liam was finally here. Louis kept his eyes closed and cuddled farther into Liam’s side, revelling in the pheromones Louis’ body desperately needed. He wasn’t sure how long Liam had been holding him, but Louis figured it had to have been at least an hour by the way his body had loosened. The need of an alpha’s touch seemed to have been temporarily lifted from his mind. Louis listened to the sounds of the pub around him. It was louder than before he had fallen asleep and he briefly wondered why Liam hadn’t just woken him to go back to their flat. “Who the fuck are you?” Louis’ eyes flew open at the sound of Niall’s voice, and the arm that had been around Louis shoulders lifted in the same instant. He missed the warmth immediately. Louis looked from Niall’s stormy face over to the person who was definitely not Liam. The alpha Liam impersonator, who smelled a lot better than the actual Liam now that Louis was alert, looked back at Louis with wide eyes and familiar furrowed brows.

11) Etched In Salt (Is A Cathedral Of The World) | Explicit | 24,417 words

Note: This fic has mentions of BH.

Louis asks for very few things in life, and they are: to solve cases, to keep bad people from doing their bad things, to get good coffee, to go home to a spacious apartment with nobody else in it, and to manage his stupid telempathy powers with minimal interference. And now he's stuck in a tiny cabin in a snowstorm in the middle of god-awful-nowhere with Harry Styles. Because of course he is. Louis asks for very few things in life, and they are: to solve cases, to keep bad people from doing their bad things, to get good coffee, to go home to a spacious apartment with nobody else in it, and to manage his stupid telempathy powers with minimal interference. And now he's stuck in a tiny cabin in a snowstorm in the middle of god-awful-nowhere with Harry Styles. Because of course he is.

12) You Go Undercover (You Cross Your Fingers) | Explicit | 25,815 words

Louis didn’t think that motherhood would be easy, but he certainly wasn’t prepared for just how challenging it would be. He also wasn't prepared for a certain alpha called Harry appearing each time he needs help until accepting is no longer a difficult thing to do.

13) Dont Know Its Lost Til You Find It | Explicit | 30,614 words

Maybe it’ll be better this way. Maybe Louis just needs to distance himself, get over his crush so Harry doesn’t have to worry about his obsessive friend who feels too much and says too little. He wonders what this girl is like. What she looks like, what conversations they had to make Harry fall for her in three days. If maybe she’s just stellar in bed. If she smells like heaven or if it’s just the fact she’s a girl. He wonders and wonders, resists the temptation to stare at the alpha, and gets exactly no work done.

14) Compass To My Soul | Teen & Up | 31,439 words

Harry Styles, alpha, is 1/4 of the perfect pack, and 1/5 of world famous boy band One Direction. He spends his time touring the world with his best friends and family. Louis Tomlinson, omega, is 1/5 of world famous boy band One Direction. He spends his time hoping his bandmates don’t notice him.

15) Here, And Where You Are. | General Audiences | 32,852 words

In a world where astrology is real and advanced, Harry finds out that Louis is his soulmate. The catch? Louis’s at the heart of a protest for omega/soulmate rights against the very case Harry is representing at court. Before they pass each other too many times, the universe takes it upon themselves to make them meet.

16) Too Young To Know | Mature | 35,412 words

Louis blinked awake and quickly wiped the tears from his eyes. This was the second morning in a row he had woken up after dreaming about Harry. “Babe, what’s wrong?” Eric asked as he held Louis tighter in his arms. Louis liked being the little spoon, except for when he’d rather be holding someone else. Which were the past two days.

17) Picking Up The Pieces | Explicit | 37,607 words

Louis returns to his hometown for the first time in ten years for his high school reunion and is faced with memories he’s long since tried to forget.

18) Give Me Love | Explicit | 41,041 words

Louis doesn't feel like a good omega, Harry doesn't remember how to be an alpha, and they figure it out together.

19) All I Want For Christmas Is You | Not Rated | 43,248 words

A Christmas AU in which a soft alpha with gorgeous green eyes and an even prettier smile moves into Louis' apartment complex and turns the omega's world upside down during his most favourite time of the year - featuring christmas decorating, christmas markets, cookies in the making, and copious amounts of mulled wine (and kisses).

20) Your Touch Shouldn't Make Me Feel Like This | Explicit | 48,883 words

Uni AU in which Alpha Harry has been in love with his omega friend for the longest time and one motorbike trip to the countryside with Louis made him realize that he could no longer hold back his feelings.

21) Hold On To Your Heart | Explicit | 54,183 words

The Proposal AU, where Louis is the no-nonsense editor in chief of one of the largest publishing houses in the country, and Harry is the unlucky assistant that gets roped into a fake engagement to prevent his boss from being deported. Things don't go as planned.

22) Your Gift is Wasted On Me | Not Rated | 54,472 words

Omega Louis has severe touch deprivation and is averse to touch. But he’s fine. Really. Alpha Harry is the new neighbor who loves to bake cookies and is very curious about the omega across the hall.

23) Lost & Found In Oblivion | Explicit | 74,779 words

Omega Louis decided to hire an alpha for his heat to ease his touch deprivation, but little did he know everything would grow into so much more.

24) Invisible String | Explicit | 84,911 words

Louis swears on his life that that man came out of literal nowhere and he thanks each lucky star for having good breaks in his car. This strange alpha also happens to be the most beautiful being Louis has laid his eyes on. For some unknown reason, the omega feels safe around the alpha. It might seem strange, but you can't always explain why or how things are the way they are. All you can really be sure of is that they happen for a reason. There's a higher power (call it what you want) that knows better and definitely knows more than you do.

25) Saving Symphony Hall | Explicit | 124,766 words

Note: This fic is a sequel to fic #xx on this list. It is also locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

“I think I have an idea,” Louis said. Slowly, and reluctantly, but with a growing sense of the inevitable. “God damnit, I think I have a really good idea.” “Oh christ, that's the problem-solving face,” Babs said. “Last time we saw that face, he sold a company.” “Wait, what?” Zayn asked. “Right place, right time,” Louis said. “Also, fuck my life,” “What?” Zayn repeated. Niall patted his hand. “I usually just roll with whatever Louis is about to do,” he said. “It’s better for us all.” “That’s the attitude,” said Louis, “I’ll tell you tomorrow. Tonight, I need to do some research. Zayn, give me your number. I’m gonna save our symphony.”

26) The Longer the Waiting the Sweeter the Kiss (It's Better My Darlin' I Promise You This) | Explicit | 160,589 words

It all started with a letter from his grandmother's Executor of the Estate. His life had been just fine in New York, he'd had a great internship, more friends than he knew what to do with, and a powerful family name to provide a million opportunities for him. But the minute he'd received that letter a desire for more was born. That was how he wound up here, stranded on the side of a dusty old road with a broken down car and a carry-on full of dreams.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

[morganski-19]

WIP Wednesday

So I posted this post on monday and got a few people interested in reading more of it, so that means that I'll be writing a whole fic about it now.

The premise is that Steve's dad is a real piece of shit and had an affair when Steve was three, leading to him having a daughter. Her name is Julie and is recently placed in the foster system after the death of her mother. Steve is now set on this journey of bonding with the sister he never had and essentially bringing her in and raising her. With a side of Steddie.

But I wanted to introduce Julie a bit since she is an original character.

Her full name is Julie Rebecca Lawson and she was born on January 28, 1970, making her 16 when the fic takes place. She is a grade ahead of the rest of the party but is in a few of their more elective leaning classes. She's average in most of her classes but loves to write and illustrate her own stories.

She is a bit of a loner and doesn't have many friends. Her mom and her lived in the trailer park that the Mayfeild's and Munson's lived in in season 4, meaning that she was a witness to most of the events that happened as well.

She is stubborn, strong, sarcastic, caring, and most importantly, a teenager who is going through the loss of her mom. So there's a lot of angst to come for both her and Steve.

The story will be told from both of their perspectives as well as a few flashbacks to Julie's witnessing of season 4 events and just general parts of her life.

I'm working on an outline and figuring out what I want for this story but the first chapter should be posted either this Saturday or the next. It will be posted both here and over on my ao3, which I will provide the link to. Be prepared for a longer one (for me at least), I have a feeling I'll be working on this for a while in order to tell the story I want to.

And if you are interested at all in this story, let me know and I'll start a tag list. (I'll already add the people who said they were interested in the prev post below, let me know if you want to be taken off)

Edit: part one now posted here

current tag list: @homoerotictangerine, @mugloversonly, @thesuninyaface, @imyelenasexual, @anaibis, @ilovecupcakesandtea, @brainsteddielyrotted, @jackiemonroe5512, @eddie-munsons-missing-nipple, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @cinnamon-mushroomabomination, @lolawonsstuff, @writingandmushroomdragons, @stevesbipanic, @sierra-violet, @steddie-as-they-go, @dauntlessdiva, @mousedetective, @the-daydreamer-in-the-corner, @zombiethingy, @connected-dots-st-reblogger, @that-agender-from-pluto, @allyricas, @cheddartreets, @devondespresso, @crypticcorvidinacottage, @queenie-ofthe-void

[hotdamnhunnam]

✨ Tag Game ✨

Okay so the weekend totally got away from me, but I am now doing this FINALLY, tho I know I’m sooo late to the party 🙃

Thank you all so much for tagging me lovelies 🥹💕 @whatever-lmaoo @honeydewwboo @daryldixonpls @puffins-muffins @songsforthesaints

Not tagging anybody, as I’m pretty sure that most of my tumblr loves have been tagged/played this game already! 😘

………………………………

I feel like my answers to these (especially re: tattoos/piercings) expose the fact that I’m pretty boring honestly 😅

last song you listened to? “Wait - Kygo Remix [2024 Edit]” 🎶 I love the original M83 song sooo much (@red-orchid I know you feel me on this!! 💞) and have also been loving this remix!

silver or gold jewelry? I love both, and often change it up to match my clothes, but lately I’ve been leaning into the gold layering that’s been trending, as my jewelry collection happens to include a bunch of different gold chains and pendants! 🌟

do you have any tattoos? Nope 🙂‍↔️ I’m too much of a baby about anything painful unless Charlie is inflicting it on me lol

piercings? Nope 🙂‍↔️ Again I’m a baby and thankfully there are enough holes in my body for Charlie to fuck already

currently reading or favorite book? Hmm I haven’t read anything (book or fic) in far too long but will say that the last fic I read is Part 4 of Breathe by my bestie @laurfilijames and that it remains my favorite fic I’ve ever read (though I’m currently woefully behind on it 🥲) and that it’ll be the first thing I pick up when my brain is in the right state to read again, and for anyone who’s not already reading it I highly recommend!! 💖

a hobby you would like to try? Sucking Charlie’s cock 24/7 (more a full-time job than a hobby I suppose but anyway that shit would be literal heaven 🤴🏼🍆🛐)

coffee or tea? I love both brews, but tea if I must choose! 🫖

favorite video game? I don’t think I’ve ever actually played a video game unless Tetris on my laptop counts as one lmaooo, even that I haven’t played since back in college though 😆

star sign? Capricorn ♑️🐐 and idk the other info sorry 🙈

who is your hear me out? Well I am a very one-track hoe who is thirsty for one man only (I know this is so atypical of me) — the one character of Charlie’s for whom I CANNOT bring myself to thirst is Bosie (fugly bastard in Cold Mountain 🤢), and his upcoming role in Monster is a whole other story (horrified to imagine him playing Ed Gein 🫣), but among the rest of his roles, I can’t think of any that are hear-me-outy lol… maybe this guy below?? ⬇️ (just came up in the gif search but wtf is this I don’t even know 😂 lmaooo would still smash tho)

[sourpatchsquids]

Hi I talk about In Stars and Time again!!!

Hi it's been like a week since i posted the last transcript! I am simply keeping the train rolling and going right into the next piece from the In Stars and Time OST that I wanna talk about: "We're With You!"

Just like last time, I'm gonna allude to/discuss the events of the game in moderate depth, so reader discretion is advised. Spoilers below the cut.

"We're With You" will play during moments such as Mirabelle's speech before leaving for the House of Change and a few other places where the focus is on Siffrin and how he relates to the party. Keep this in mind as we go forward.

As we open the piece there is already plenty to talk about! A small orchestration of Piano, Plucked strings and a plucked bass perform just about the strongest tonic harmony you could ask for. The figure in measures 3 and 4 where the left hand supports the right in the stepwise ascension to E is the first time I've ever thought to call a phrase of music adorable, and it really creates this air of togetherness and joy. You're with your friends! They're here to support you! Hey what's with that leading tone in the bass

The next chord to enter the progression is a iii7, which is a motion that I would best describe as Noncommittal. Essentially, putting a iii7 after a root position tonic chord is like splitting the tonic into its two neighbors. Things feel more or less the same, but it's like you've lost something that was keeping you grounded. Now that the quality of the chord is minor, it all comes together to creating this tender, vulnerable feeling. You aren't on sure footing, but it's okay. This is further elaborated when the line from the previous phrase's left hand returns in measure 7. The same support from the beginning is still here, your friends are still here.

As we continue, we move down to a ii7. iii7 -> ii7 is a nice mellow stepdown progression that doesn't shake up the harmony too much. As a predominant chord, it's setting us up for an expected dominant to take us back to the tonic and resolve this uneasy tension that has built up in the last phrase, and it delivers on that front. It takes the phrase from the first 4 measures and brings it down by a step, while keeping a little bit of that tension by having the left hand of the piano jump from the 5th to the 7th of the chord, as opposed to a simple arpeggio like last time. From here, the line repeats the beginning phrase and begins a nice gentle stepwise descent to set us up for that nice E major to make us feel all nice and happy hey what's going on here,,,,,

This isn't a dominant chord that will bring a satisfying resolution to the harmonic tension and take us home, this is a Neapolitan chord in 2nd inversion! To break this down a little, a neapolitan chord is a fancy name for a major chord built on the flat 2nd scale degree. Because of how much it can warp the harmony around it, it's typically used for very strong moments in music with a lot of emotional weight. Which is to say that compared to the choices in progression made previously, this is very potent. To make things even more jarring, the chord plays with the 5th in the bass, which is the most unstable voicing this chord could have. Even with the motion of the previous line, it still is striking when the Bb plays in the melody.

Because the strings have been following the same pattern this entire time, as well as the melody slowing down after this chord change, we are able to rest a bit as listeners while we adjust to this strange new harmony while we wait to be taken to the next section.

In the last measure of this 4-bar phrase, we get an Ab that pops in right before the change back to the tonic. This Ab turns the bII64 into a dominant 7th chord, which has a few implications. Namely, this chord becomes a secondary dominant into the key of Eb, which is a full tritone away from the original key. We have had a sudden jarring change to the harmony, and now we are about to go as far away from where we started as possible. So what do we do? We go back to the beginning of course! The V7/bV resolves to a I7 chord in a way that would make my old theory professors' skin crawl, but works perfectly.

See, dominant 7th chords like to resolve certain ways. The 7th wants to resolve down by step, the root wants to resolve to its tonic, etc. This chord resolves in such a way as to break those rules and more. Every pitch resolves to A, with the exception of the top voice, which resolves to E. This leads to multiple direct octaves, a phenomenon that occurs when multiple voices resolve to the same pitch across different octaves, which is typically frowned upon because it can sound as though the orchestration has lost voices. Perhaps we can make some connections to a certain main character failing to see his party members as people after a little progression through the story.

Regardless of how we got there, we are back at the beginning of the loop, so onwards we go!

Now that we are retreading old ground, we're gonna primarily focus on the things that have changed. Hey! The supporting friend line has moved to the melody now! Hey! The material that this line was supporting is no longer playing! I'm not sure how I feel about the implications there! Now that the right hand is playing what was in the left hand, there is new material in the left hand: A melancholy descending line with a strong focus on the 7th, which adds a new extension to the tonic that wasn't as pronounced in the first passage. Because the right hand is only playing the figure it took from the original passage, there's a couple measures where this line is able to ring out unimpeded.

First, we hear it as A-G#-C#, a nice way to add the leading tone into the bar to turn the old major tonic chord into something new and interesting. I could belabor the point here and talk further about how putting the leading tone in the first measure of this passage really digs into Siffrin's feelings of wanting to find home with his family, but I think you understand by now. What I really wanna belabor is how in the second measure of this example, the left hand's line changes to G#-E-C#, the triad for the following chord. The music is beginning to anticipate the changes further in the loop. The melody is skipping ahead to complete the motions of the last loop in the hopes of getting something different this time, just as Siffrin returned to the beginning of the loop and used his knowledge of his friends to try and make them stronger, more able to tackle the challenges of the House. But what if things still don't work out this time?

To our surprise, the left hand still plays their supporting line this time! Even when they think they know everything, Siffrin still can show new vulnerability, and their friends will still be with him in support. However, this little joy isn't enough to defeat break the loop. Despite the right hand's best efforts to change the momentum of the line in this second iteration of the ii->bII64, the change still comes. Once the line is forced back into the stepwise motion to Bb, the right hand makes no more effort to continue playing. This isn't how it was supposed to end, so the only option is to go back and try something different.

And oh boy do we go somewhere different! We have accepted that the key change is happening. We are thinking about how if things do not change from their predetermined course, we will end up going as far away as possible from where we want to be (home) (the place we feel safe and secure) (the place where we feel happier than we have ever been before). Hey look! It's the main theme of In Stars and Time making an appearance in the left hand! Hey look! That means the supporting line that I mentioned feels like it's helping the right hand light itself up has been lost! God I love music and its ability to tell you the themes of a story without saying a goddamn word!

What really gets me about this passage is that it feels far more natural than the Bb -> A progression, despite being so far from the previous tonic. It feels less jarring to confront the thoughts than it is to stew in them. This key changes carries such an immense weight because it represents the little voice in the back of Siffrin's mind. (They don't want to see you again.) (They'll go back to their homes, without you) "We're with you!" (But for how long.)

The variations continue in the left hand as we approach the next loop point. Now that we have changed keys, the lines are becoming more chaotic. Previously, the left hand would hold a pitch on the last measure of a 4 bar phrase (other than the first ii->bII64 in measure 12), but this time it is wildly jumping around in contrast to the strange ascending line in the right hand. We have looped many times now, and it is beginning to wear us down. Siffrin is failing to remember his lines, and perhaps in desperation is trying anything new to make headway against the time loops. No such luck yet. I should also note that while i didn't mark it in the example image, the same voice leading errors occurred as in the key of A. Despite all the changes, when we loop back into Eb it carries the same feeling of suddenly being snapped back, rather than any kind of a satisfying end.

Finally, we have reached the end of the piece. I only have 2 things i want to discuss here. First is the circled pitch cluster in the bass. I haven't talked much about the bass in this analysis because after the first loop, it runs as an ostinato for the duration of the piece, until right here. It plodded away exactly as it needed to the entire time, providing a wonderful, grounding figure to help warm up the instrumentation and balance out the harmony as it took us around to the strange places it did. So when I heard this the first time I was a little shocked.

At first, I thought it was an error that managed to slip under the sound team. However, after thinking about the piece, I am confident that this was a 100% intentional choice by Studio Thumpy Puppy. Up to now, "We're With You" has shown a slow, progressive decline in stability to represent Siffrin's growing anxiety about the end of his adventure with the rest of his party. Little things hiding away in a happy, tender piece meant to play when their family is together and enjoy each other's company. While Sif has always shown doubts about how genuinely everyone cares about them, it is undeniable that they have given him their full support and care for their entire time together. So, what if he made a big mistake?

One that really made them withhold their support, if even for a second?

Next, I'd like to talk about the final measures of the piece. We are treated to an unbelievably sparse harmony. All E's, then a lower E in the base, and finally E-B-E to close out before relooping to the very beginning. There is no sudden jerk back to the loop, we have to sit with this empty, transitional feeling.

When I was first learning to play piano, I had a very bad habit. Whenever I would make a mistake during practice, I would always leap back to just before I made the mistake, rather than simply allowing it to happen and moving on. In my frustration, I would end up playing the lead up to where I made the mistake, unbelievably slowly, as though I were trying to grind the failure out of my body.

My mistake was not in redoing a section that I clearly hadn't perfected yet, practice is important after all. My mistake was that I treated it like a blemish. That because I performed incorrectly, there was no point in continuing with the piece until I could perform correctly. The thought of making a mistake in front of those whose opinions of me were so important filled me with dread. This is what goes through my mind when I listen to the very end of "We're With You!" When faced with the prospect of losing their family, Siffrin's reaction is to go back and do it right this time.

Every time.

Only took me a week to get this one out :3 This was a way bigger write-up than I thought it was gonna be! This music has themes in it y'all!

As always, if you haven't supported Studio Thumpy Puppy yet, go do that. They make good music!

And if you haven't played ISAT yet, then uh,,, I warned you at the top about spoilers, go buy it and learn why I love it to death :>

I won't promise a time for the next one, but keep an eye out for my next transcript, stardust :)