#What happens in Mordor stays in Mordor | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ass-deep-in-demons · 4 months

Note

Can I please get a headcanon of Boromir having a crush on Gandalfs apprentice who looks after the hobbits like their mum? Boromir is kinda their dad/cool uncle so they both grow close together.

Also Boromir, apprentice and hobbits falling to sleep in a big cuddle puddle 👌🏻👌🏻👌🏻

Girl (gn) thank you so much for this awesome ask! I get the feeling that you had something slightly different in mind, but I suffer from a plotter's disease and I created an entire plotline in these headcanons and also two mini-fics. There's some angst, but there is CUDDLES, as requested :D Hope you will like it :)

Boromir x Gandalf's Apprentice

headcanons and two ficlets

Found Family, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with Happy Ending, rated G, 4250 words, she/her pronouns for OC, TW: canon Moria events & aftermath

I ✦ The Pupil ✦

Gandalf has been around for thousands of years. The peoples of Middle Earth tell different stories about him, but in every corner of the known (and unknown) World one of his many names has been heard.

During his travels, nobody knows exactly when or where, Gandalf finds a young one with magical talent. He does not know what strange anomaly might have caused a child to be born with arcane affinity, normally reserved for the Ainur such as himself, but… stranger things have happened on Arda. Perhaps the Illuvatar himself willed it. If so, it would be unwise to leave the child to its own fate.

At first he visits her home from time to time and shows her his fireworks and his pipe smoke magics. Her caretakers find him strange, but he pays them no heed, comes and goes as he pleases.

His suspicions are confirmed - the child can be taught to replicate some of his simple tricks, proving she is able to tune in to the Song of the Ainur. Her power is not great, barely a wisp of magic compared to Gandalf’s own, but still, it is worth cultivating. Gandalf deems it his duty to take the fledgeling under his wing and make her his pupil.

Gandalf tells his Pupil about his travels and about the secrets of Middle Earth. In time, as she grows, she starts yearning to leave her home and go exploring with the Wizard.

When the Pupil is old enough, Gandalf takes her with him on a journey. They spend years travelling together. Keeping up with Gandalf is not easy for the Pupil, but she perseveres.

With the Grey Wizard, the Pupil visits the Western Kingdoms, the Elven Realms, and Eriador. She helps Gandalf with his quests and meets many new people.

Later, when she is more experienced, Gandalf deems her ready to spread her wings and have her own adventures. She travels doing errands and fulfilling quests that her Master assigns her.

She spends some time studying under Saruman - from him she learns the basics of arcane knowledge. However, Saruman fails to appreciate her quiet, subtle talent. He is not pleased with her progress, nor is she with his teaching methods, and they part ways on non-too-amicable terms.

Her stay in Mirkwood is much more fruitful. From the Silvan Elves, she picks up the basics of scouting and learns how to read the signs of the Forest. She is fascinated with Radagast, and dedicates time to assist him in his tasks as the Guardian of the Woods - learning about the powers that lie dormant in the ancient trees. Radagast teaches her how to care for animals and heal what is broken. Nurturing and patient by nature, the Pupil responds well to the Brown Wizard’s tutelage.

The Pupil is present in Mirkwood when Aragorn brings Gollum there for safeguarding, and later when Gandalf comes to question him. She learns of the Ring and of Sauron’s return.

Gandalf assigns her a mission to go to Erebor, to enlist the help of the Dwarves. She arrives at Rivendell with Gloin, Gimli and the rest of the Dwarven deputation.

She is not deemed important enough to join the Council of Elrond, and besides, Gandalf has other plans for her. He sends her forth to scout the gap of Rohan, in case they need to pass there on their way to Mordor.

After the Council and the period of preparations, the Fellowship sets off. The Pupil finds them on the trail further South. She is able to clear any doubts for them: the Gap of Rohan is overrun with Saruman’s spies, and so the passage is closed to them.

They decide to go through the Redhorn Gate. Gandalf orders his Pupil to return to Rivendell, but to his surprise, for the first time since he took her as his ppprentice, she defies him. She wants to travel with the Fellowship, intent on helping her Master in any way she can.

Faced with her obstinacy, Gandalf finds a task in which she can indeed be of use. He’s been growing more and more irritated with the Hobbits’ mischief. They are loud, impish, and unused to living in the wilderness. “So long as you keep the Hobbits from pestering me, you may travel with us. But don’t say I didn’t warn you, my stubborn Pupil,” he grumbles.

The Pupil, who is of a gentle and giving nature, but also stern when she needs to be, quickly forms a familial bond with not only the Hobbits, but the entire Fellowship.

She has met Aragorn during her earlier travels with Gandalf. The Ranger knows he can rely on her scouting, and is relieved to have someone beside himself and Legolas who knows their way around the woods. She helps Aragorn gather herbs and imbues his mixtures with her subtle healing spells.

Though she’s met Legolas in passing during her Mirkwood days, she only becomes better acquainted with him during the Fellowship’s trek south. Legolas is glad to know someone who is well acquainted with his home, and shares his love for the woods.

Because of her earlier mission to Erebor, and the shared journey from the Lonely Mountain to Rivendell, she is well acquainted with Gimli. The dwarf teases her for being “too elfy” and a “tree lover”, but he is very grateful for her kindness and her efforts to ease tensions within the Fellowship.

Frodo has long known her as Gandalf’s Apprentice, and the rest of the Hobbits warm up to her quickly. They are delighted to be around someone, who, like themselves, isn’t so strongly focused on the topics of warfare and survival. Istead, they bond over their shared appreciation for a good meal and a good laugh. Tasked with keeping them out of trouble, she often mother-hens them, especially Merry and Pippin, who are the youngest.

Boromir is the only one who, not knowing her prior to their meeting on the trail, has some trouble trusting her at first. He is generally suspicious of magic users, and also a little bit jealous of how quickly she builds good rapport with the Hobbits (though he will not admit it).

That being said, he might not be so immune to her caring touch as he thinks…

II ✦ Soup for the Soul ✦

I should not let them fall asleep like that. True although it was, this realisation came to Boromir rather late.

After their failed excursion through the Redhorn Pass, the Fellowship had descended to once again take shelter under the canopy of the woodlands of Eriador. They now had only one route open, through the Mines of Moria, and all save for the Dwarf did not take well to that prospect. They were travelling South, slowly and reluctantly, still recovering from the snowstorm that cut their path.

Earlier today, once they had set up camp, Boromir had organised a fencing lesson for Merry and Pippin. He had hoped that some light exercise would speed their recovery and help them regain some of their lost strength. Even Frodo had joined on this occasion, which gladdened Boromir. Their journey had not lasted long, but the first signs of wear and discouragement could be already seen on the young Baggins.

After their sword practice (sword being a generous word for the dirks that the Hobbits carried), they all sat down under a tree to sharpen their blades. Pippin had trouble with maintaining the angle, and asked Boromir to show him how it’s done. As Boromir expertly whetted the dagger, the three hobbits leaned in on him, supposedly to better observe and learn. Boromir was none the wiser, and only Meriadoc’s loud snore made him finally realise that the three Halflings had fallen asleep, using his padded shoulders and arms as pillows. Now he was stuck under them, not wanting to disturb their sleep - not when Frodo was peaceful at last, after several nights during which Boromir had heard the Hobbit toss and turn.

Tired and hungry, Boromir resigned himself to his fate. As he could not move without waking the little ones, and it was gradually getting dark, he quietly observed the Fellowship’s campfire from a distance. Gandalf was sitting on a log by the fire and smoking his pipe, clearly content to have some peace and quiet. Samwise was busy cleaning after the meal - a stew which Boromir did not have the chance to taste yet, and probably wouldn’t now, not while it was hot at least. Gimli had been assigned with securing the perimeter - it was his turn to scout the surrounding forest and make sure they were safe for the night. Aragorn and Legolas were seated together some distance away from the campfire and discussing something in hushed tones - likely their strategy for approaching the Gates of Moria. Boromir was rarely included in their talks, which sat ill with him. Not for the first time he regretted their less-than-optimal introduction during the Council in Imladris.

There remained one more member of their party - the woman who everyone except Boromir seemed to already know. They called her the Pupil, likely because of Mithrandir. My young Pupil this, my clever Pupil that, my stubborn Pupil, my silly Pupil... - the Wizard would always say, and it stuck. Boromir could not tell her age - she looked neither old nor young. She did bear elven nor dwarven features, nor orcish for that matter… and yet he could not be sure she was wholly of the race of Men. Boromir did not know what to make of her.

Right now she was crouching next to the campfire, her back turned to Boromir, so he could not see what she was doing. He had not trusted her, at first. She hadn’t been part of their original team. She did not seem proficient in combat, nor very sturdy. He had been angry when she had declared they couldn’t travel through the Gap of Rohan, as he himself would have preferred that route to any other. And yet her intel had proved correct. She was also useful in other ways. During the snowstorm atop Caradhras, he had witnessed her magic - not flashy, like the Wizard’s fireworks, but rather slow and subtle. Mithrandir refused to light a fire for fear of drawing the wrong kind of attention, but she had used her quiet talent to keep the little ones from freezing with potions. She had imbued Boromir’s leather grieves with some sort of a warming spell, too, even though it had seemed to sap at her strength. He had to assume she was loyal to the Grey Pilgrim, and so, by extension, loyal to the Ringbearer’s mission.

He noticed that she stood up, then. Instead of addressing the Wizard, she turned around to face Boromir, and he noticed a bowl in her hands. He then guessed what her purpose by the fire had been: she was heating up the leftovers of the stew. Slowly, carefully, so as not to spill anything, she approached Boromir and the Hobbits’ resting place under the tree.

She kneeled and set the steaming stew on the forest floor beside them. Then, once their eyes met, she touched her lips with her finger signalling him to remain quiet. That he could do. She noiselessly stood up and scampered off back to the campfire, leaving Boromir once again. The smell of the stew reached his nostrils and he cursed quietly. Some help she was, leaving him to smell the meal, but without the means to taste it! Not without disturbing the Hobbits, at least.

But he was not left to pine after the stew for long. Soon she returned to him, carrying a bundle that she then unfolded to reveal a chunky warm blanket. She covered them with it, Boromir and the three sleeping hobbits, tucking the edges in gently. It did help to ward off the evening chill, Boromir admitted.

Then she plopped down to the forest floor next to Boromir, sat cross legged and picked up the bowl once again. Is she going to make me watch her eat it? Boromir thought and felt a surge of irritation at her inconsiderate behaviour. She scooped up a hearty portion of the stew with a spoon, but, to Boromir’s alarm, she did not bring it to her mouth. Instead, she directed the spoon surely and smoothly to Boromir’s own lips.

In that moment, Boromir would sooner open his mouth from sheer shock than for the sake of any sort of cooperation. He was a Man grown! It has been… nigh to four decades since he had let anyone spoon-feed him last. He turned his head away firmly. The Pupil, however, would not give up so easily. She reached out with her free hand and gently swept Boromir’s hair away from his face.

The gesture made him flustered. It has been… quite some time since any woman has touched his face. He was thankful for the shroud of dusk. He had nowhere to run however, and he felt her nudge his lips with the spoon, urging him to open his mouth. He was forced to meet her gaze once again.

What he found on her face was not amusement, nor condescension, but rather... gentle pleading. She really was only trying to help.

"Let me", she mouthed silently.

He shook his head and pursed his lips even tighter.

Then, as if his own body wanted to play tricks on him, they both heard his traitorous stomach give out a loud growl.

The Pupil raised her eyebrow at Boromir.

Well? Are you going to deny that you’re hungry now? her expression seemed to demand.

He rolled his eyes as a universal way of saying whatever, I care not, and finally opened his mouth.

A spoonful of warm stew finally landed on his tongue, and he felt the most delightful warmth spread through his body. He had to fight an urge to growl at the pleasant sensation.

The Pupil smiled.

There. That wasn’t so hard, Boromir read from her content face.

This was a good idea, after all, he thought after the second spoon. He had been ravenous, he realised, and the stew was doing wonders for his mood. It was surprisingly nice to have someone take care of him that way. For too long a time he had been only attending to the needs of others, not accepting any help for himself.

He met her concentrated gaze, as she continued to feed him the stew, restoring his strength with each spoonful.

“You did good,” she mouthed silently and Boromir furrowed his brows, confused. “With the little ones,” she added, and vaguely indicated the sleeping Hobbits with her head. Oh, she means the sword-practice, he thought, and felt no small satisfaction from her compliment.

He was reminded of how taking care of Faramir was always a duty that filled him with joy and pride. This was not dissimilar, he realised, and it was nicer still to have someone help him and share some of that responsibility. He felt contentment at what they’d accomplished together: Pippin breathing deeply, with his head resting on Boromir’s arm, Meriadoc snoring quietly slumped against his friend, and Frodo - looking strengthened and at ease, sleeping soundly propped against the tree on Boromir’s other side.

Is this how being a father feels like? What if I had a child of my own one day? he asked himself. But this thought of parenthood that came to him, perhaps for the first time in his life, was so strange and foreign, and so surprising, that he dared not dwell on it any longer. Instead he resigned himself to the gentle care of the strange woman, who turned out to be… not so strange, after all.

III ✦ Picking up the Pieces ✦

Boromir was sure he would never forget the moment Gandalf fell.

He remembered the unearthly heat and the fumes of sulphur that wafted from the hellish chasm. He remembered Mithrandir’s white knuckles, holding on to the collapsed bridge’s edge, and the Wizard’s desperate last message to the Fellowship: Fly, you fools!

But what he remembered the most, and what was was going to forever haunt him, was the cry of Gandalf’s devoted Pupil. Her broken, desperate wail, the kind that a mortally wounded animal might give out, as if her very heart was rent out of her chest and thrown into the fiery pit.

She wanted to jump in after her Master, and would have, but for Boromir’s interference. Unmoved by her screams of protest, he had hoisted her up over his shoulder and heeded the Wizard’s last bidding. He ran.

He ran after the others, despite the army of orcs upon their tail and despite her angry trashing in his grip. He ran to the open sky and to safety, so that they both could live to fight another day.

But right now it did not look like she had any fight left in her. They were, all of the Fellowship, cooped up on the border of Caras Galadhorn, the elven realm of Lothlorien. Aragorn and Legolas were currently negotiating their safe passage through the woodlands with the elven Marchwardens. It was a heated dispute in Sindarin, of which Boromir could catch only certain words, but he understood enough to know they were not likely to face a warm welcome.

The rest of the Fellowship had been allowed to rest. They were, all of them, in foul spirits. Gimli had been quiet ever since he had learned of the tragic fate of Balin’s Kingdom, and Boromir could only surmise that the Dwarf needed his space to fully take in the bad news. He was loath to intrude upon his friend’s quiet contemplation. Frodo and Pippin were weeping openly and Sam was trying to offer them whatever comfort he could, mostly by wiping their wet cheeks and noses time after time.

The state of Gandalf’s Pupil worried Boromir the most. Since he had carried her away from the danger, once she stopped resisting the rescue, she went completely still and quiet, her eyes unseeing. She had not spoken a word, not responded to any attempts at conversation. He could only suspect she was in some sort of shock. He’d seen it on the battlefield enough times to recognize the signs. It made sense; as Boromir understood it, Mithrandir had been a father figure to the woman, someone she considered family. In a way, with the Wizard, her entire life had fallen down that chasm. He felt helpless; he wanted to console her, but the sheer magnitude of her loss left him overwhelmed.

He felt a tug at his gambeson and looked down. It was Meriadoc.

“Go to her,” the Hobbit whispered.

“I… I would not presume. I do not know what to say to her,” Boromir confessed, dejected.

“Then do not say anything,” Merry insisted. “Just go there and hold her,” he added. “Trust me, it will help.”

Boromir took a hesitant step in her direction. Then another. He spared a thought to his appearance… he was bone-tired, aching and covered in goblin ichor head to toe. Not exactly conducive to physical intimacy. Then again, she was in a similar state, and, really, vanity was the least of their concerns.

Tentatively, he sat next to her on the wooden platform. Up close he could see that, although she was sitting motionless and staring ahead, her eyes were damp. The tears had washed away the dust from her face, forming clean streaks down her cheeks.

He had long since stopped regarding her as merely Gandalf’s Apprentice, or just an ally in a dangerous quest. Instead, upon seeing the state she was in, his heart wept with her…

Gone.

Her mind could not comprehend it. Everything she had learned about the Wizard during their life together contradicted this truth. Her Master could not die, he was simply too powerful, too wise, too… godly, for the mundane laws of life and death to apply to him. And yet, what had happened - happened. She’d seen it with her own eyes and his fall would now play out in her mind again and again, each time shattering the ground that she had built her life on.

Such kindness, such wealth of knowledge as her Master’s would never again grace Middle Earth, she was sure of it. And now that light was gone. Extinguished forever with a mere flick of a monster’s whip.

What shall I do now? Wherever shall I go? she wondered. Was she even welcome in the Fellowship anymore? Ever since she could remember, she had been Gandalf’s Pupil. And now that there was no Gandalf, who was she? A nobody. Aragorn and Frodo likely had no use for a nobody. But such thoughts were too painful to bear in her current state. So, instead she let them go and simply drifted in the darkness of her inner world, that was now forever marred by grief. She did not know where she was, or how much time had passed. A million years wouldn’t be enough to mourn her Master.

The first thing, the first sensation that managed to break through the dark shroud that surrounded her consciousness, was that of the warmth of another. Someone’s arm was on her back, rubbing gentle, soothing circles. Then that very same arm encircled her form and drew her into a hug. She had no wish to be consoled, she didn’t want any comfort. She wanted to cry, to wail and to tear at her clothing… But then she felt Boromir’s familiar presence. Him, she could let close. He had been a comfort to her during their travels many a time. She relaxed gradually and let her head fall back to find support against him.

Slowly but surely, his steadying touch made her come back to her senses and to the present moment. She was seated on the forest floor, she noted, in Lothlorien most likely, if her geographical knowledge had not failed her. Boromir was seated next to her, his back propped against one of the giant trees. He was also holding her in his arms, close to his chest and stroking her shoulder soothingly. His cheek rested atop her head. She had no strength nor care left in her to wonder what this closeness could mean for the two of them. She was just… immensely relieved and thankful for the comfort that his arms offered. She was at her lowest and most wretched, and yet he was willing to share that moment with her. For that, she would be forever thankful.

Boromir’s compassion moved her and tears spilled down her cheeks once again. Against her wishes she started sobbing. She felt the Man next to her stir. For a moment, she thought he would let go of her and leave her to her sorrow. Instead, Boromir tightened his embrace. Then he gently but surely pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

“...mise me you’ll never do that again.” She realised he was whispering something to her halfway through his sentence.

“Never do what?” she asked.

“You… Back at the Bridge… at Khazad-dum,” he said quietly, “you wanted to jump after him, didn’t you?” This was no question. “I couldn’t bear it,” he said simply. “Promise me you’ll live.”

“What reason to live do I have left?” she asked. There was no bite to her words, just a simple statement of the facts, as they appeared to her.

“I could help you find a new purpose, if you would but let me,” he whispered to her ear and held her fast in his embrace. Against her better judgement, and despite their tragic circumstances, her heart did a flip.

“Boromir, I…” she began, but her sentence was cut short when she felt a firm shove upon her side.

“Oi! Move!” a voice sounded from behind her. She turned around and saw the four Hobbits standing next to the tree. “Make some space for us! We all need a hug, and you’re hoarding all the best cuddles to yourself,” said Pippin and sniffed.

She regarded the Halflings: their red, puffy eyes and their wet cheeks. They were grieving too, no less than she was. Even so, Pippin was making an attempt at levity. For her sake, to help her bear the pain, she realised. The little ones had the gift of laughter, and it would not fail them even in their darkest hour.

Suddenly, her purpose became clear to her anew: Gandalf had bid her to take care of the Hobbits. And so she would continue to do that. Her Master might be gone, but his legacy yet lived. It lived through her, through the Fellowship, and their quest. She would not abandon them now.

“Of course, Master Peregrin,” she said, her voice creaky from all the crying. “There is cuddles enough for everyone.” And so Meriadoc weaselled his way between her and Boromir, and the rest of the Hobbits piled up atop them like hens on the roost.

“Do you think we ought to wake them?” asked Legolas. The Elf and Aragorn were back from their negotiations with the Marchwardens. The Lady of the Golden Forest had intervened on their behalf, and so not only the passage was now open to them, they would be provided rest and comfort in Caras Galadhorn. What the Elf and the Ranger did not expect was the sight of all their companions, even the Dwarf Gimli, passed out from grief and exhaustion atop one another in one giant group hug.

“Let them rest a while,” said Aragorn gently. “After what we've all been through, I’ve half the mind to join them myself.”

[fanfiction masterpost]

#lord of the rings fanfiction #lotr fanfiction #lotr headcanons #boromir #boromir x oc #gandalf #[arda]#ass deep in demons #ass deep in asks

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crazyintheeast · 2 years

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Sauron in Rings of Power

Sauron: Ok so I have been hiding in the cold cold north trying to create a new kind of power for the last thousand years. Things are not going well and I think the orcs might be a bit unhappy but they obey me so nothing can happen

Sauron: What the fuck? Did I just get shanked by a fucking orc!?!? I can't believe this shit. They would have never tried such a move with Morgoth. The sheer disrespect. Now I have to get a new body. Ugh being a spirit sucks Sauron: Ok so I have the body of a human now and orcs clearly suck so I should go to Numenor. They were always dumbasses and I bet I can corrupt them and get them to serve me. They would make way better minions then orcs. If I pose as a king I bet they would take me in Sauron: Holy shit is that Galadriel with the good hair? Damn I am so lucky. Numenor loves Elves. I bet they would immediately embrace me if I save her Sauron: Ok good news and bad news. Numenor doesn't like elves anymore which would make corrupting them easier. Bad news Galadriel is an anti social nightmare (which is REALLY hot) who pisses everyone off and people are pissed off at me by association Sauron: Ok as much I want to stay in Numenor Galdriel outed me as "King" so everyone will think I am a pussy if I stay. Plus I might get to kill that goddamn orc who shanked me Sauron: Oh my god that little shit actually hijacked my plan and is building Mordor himself. And my stupid goddamn body got injured as well. Ugh I hate it here. I swear to Eru if I have to find another body.... Sauron: Holy shit not only did Galdriel save me but she brought me to Celebrimbor who is nearly finished with MY RESEARCH! Oh my Eru things couldn't be better Sauron: It's ready . It's finally here. My research is finally complete. I will make a ring for me and for Galdriel and we will rule Middle Earth together.Everything's Coming Up Sauron! Sauron: Ok so Galadriel turned you down and she was so mean about it. But that's ok you don't need her . You are a strong self sufficient Maia and your feelings are not hurt. Let's just go to Mordor where she can't hurt your anymore.

#rings of power #the rings of power #lotr #sauron

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eddieschains · 8 months

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TW// blood and death

just thinking about being in the upside down with eddie. you’ve only been dating for a few months but when everything started happening, you knew he couldn’t have done it.

you were the one to tell his friends he was missing and you practically led the campaign to find him. once you find him in that boathouse, you don’t leave his side. you sleep there with him, bringing some of your blankets and pillows from home to make that creaky old boat a little more comfortable for the both of you.

you hold him as he falls asleep, playing with his hair and whispering that you’re gonna fix it, it’s all gonna be okay, he’s gonna be okay. they’re gonna defeat vecna, and he’ll finally be safe. and for the first time in days, he believes it.

when everyone decides to go in the upside down to fight vecna, eddie begs you to stay behind. but of course you don’t listen. you’ve been his protector since all of this happened and you sure as hell aren’t giving that up now.

once the bats start to attack, you help dustin up the rope as eddie helps you. you look down to see the look in his eyes, knowing exactly what he’s about to do. you scream out for him to climb back up, but before you know it, he cuts the rope and runs off. you and dustin are both screaming out for him before jumping down.

you look to see the bats attacking him, biting him and wrapping their tails around him. you and dustin are hysterical. running towards him and screaming for him to come back. but it’s too late.

as he lays on the ground, breathless and bleeding out, dustin holds his head in his lap as you hold his hand.

“stay with me. eddie… please stay with me. i can’t lose you.” you cry as you start to see the life being sucked out of him.

he slowly moves his shaky hand up underneath your eye, wiping your tears and giving one last weak eddie smirk.

“don’t cry, sweetheart. just promise me you’ll take care of them. take care of my little sheep.” you see a single tear fall down his face, his eyes never leaving yours.

“no, no. you’re gonna take care of them. you’re gonna make it and you’re gonna take care of them yourself.” your vision is getting blurry from the tears as you grip onto his wrist.

“no, baby. no i’m not. we both know that. just promise me you’ll take care of them, okay? i love you.” you close your eyes and lean into his touch, gripping his wrist even harder than before. it’s the first time he’s said it, and it’ll be the last.

dustin cries as he wraps his arms around him, you laying your head on his chest. you shut his eyes for him, allowing him to move on peacefully.

“to mordor and back.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader

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sgiandubh · 7 months

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Why is it that it *urks* me S so easily plays the narrative with these porn loving young girls?! All he works for and accomplishes, he disrespects himself allowing his reputation to be linked to those kind of very young women. How can it be okay for him to let people believe he is a *man whore* (as the group of so called haters say)? It's not like they could still play the narrative with a beautiful woman that does not post her body parts all over social media!! I just feel like everytime they link him with one of those women, I lose a little more respect for him. For me, it also takes away from the love I've always seen between him and C. Ugh! I feel crazy for it bothering me! Am I the only one?!

Dear Bothered Anon,

I am sorry for the substantial delay. Flu happened still, and I wanted to have a clearer and rested mind in order to properly answer your question.

I shall again be brutally honest and say I really don't care at this point what brought you here: sincerity or elicitation of shippers' reactions on this very meh week-end. It doesn't really matter, either: but since Mordor is regularly accusing us of spoliation of evidence, I thought your submission deserved a careful answer. I know that annoys the shit out of them, too - not gonna lie, I am always pleased to oblige.

For our readers that have a normal life and were not here for Marple's midnight stalking session, here goes a summing-up of the facts (I hope you don't mind):

A video snippet of what is probably a more extended FaceTime conversation between S and Amanda Tutschek ( https://paintedpeachla.com/), a topless artist and painting tutor (100 USD/hour/class) from Vancouver, BC (but currently active in Venice Beach, Ca.) surfaced on Marple's account, supposedly dropped in her DMs by a good Samaritan. It is a nine second snippet ("... yeah...I was gonna put this one up here... but so funny... I was literally doing this yesterday and I was thinking about you...") with the comment: "Pimping out @samheughan's walls in Ireland (IE flag emoji)". It stayed on Tutschek's Instagram account for about four hours and then was promptly erased.

You start by telling me "S is playing the narrative with" the #silly calendar girls crowd. Is he, in this instance and if so, how can you (or anybody) be so sure?

Two scenarios are at play here:

First scenario: S/his people leaked this on purpose. Therefore, S is a troll.

Second scenario: Tutschek posted it as an Instastory on purpose. Therefore, S is a victim.

If S is trolling the fandom and I believe he is (only not now and not like this), why would he leak this on purpose? To emphatically let us know they're 'obviously not together'? To stir the pot between Queen *urv and Marple? To consolidate his man whore image, just when he was taking part in a critically important event in New York? I can understand the Lord of the Rings rigmarole (grinned for days), but assuming he is behind this strange snippet would be stretching the fabric of facts a bit too much, to my taste.

Also, despite *urv's delirious opinion ("he had a bedroom voice"), I think he just sounded tired and vaguely friendly: yes, I do think it's his voice. Not earlier than Friday evening, I received a video call on Fb from M, a (Taurus, hehe) former high school mate and one of my best friends. She always makes a point of telling me stuff like "I was buying grapes at the farmer's market and thought about you, how you absolutely hate them, so I called"/"I am at the Opera with Professor So-and-So, I told him about my brilliant friend in Athens, wanna say hi ?" That doesn't mean M wants me, the woman is happily married with two teenage boys. But she is a kind soul, with a superb understanding about what a friend really means (including being candidly obnoxious and immediately forgiven for it).

If Tutschek posted it out of her own accord on Insta, the reason would be simple: coat-tailing for clicks, shits and giggles. The insistent Ireland reference would point to that: I mean, the woman scrolled all the way down to the flag emojis to make sure we got the point (and in the process, more innuendo, mayhap). That would also explain why she promptly took it down: either because she realized somehow she pushed things a smidge too far or because she was strongly encouraged to cut the crap.

Seriously, whatever. This is just another episode of low-cost fuckery, irrespective of the two possibilities I just discussed. Her art is not as memorable as the bosom she generously shares with the world. It is borderline depressing and nothing to write home about, if you ask me. And the fact that the fandom quickly placed her in the same social circle with Quarantein Gia and Paparazzi Clarke, well... another major eyeroll, just here. The expected effect was exactly the one you described: to quietly gnaw at people's respect of S and also to chip a bit more of the fairytale.

This will happen only if you let them. These people, whoever they are, cannot challenge your reason, because there is nothing interesting or even logical about idiotic tidbits like this one. But they can and they are challenging and playing with your emotions, in order to instill doubt, insecurity, fear or disgust. I will not discuss Marple's editorial policy here (like her legally disingenuous use of someone else's material), simply because I do not want to give that derailed jukebox further space on my page. It is my sensible choice not to let these people in my world more than they deserve to be (very little). Maybe you should try it too, Anon. It could work for you as it did for me, once I came to terms with it.

I am not even sorry about the length of this answer. Haters gonna hate. I could not care less. Thanks for dropping by.

#Anon

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cauliflowertree · 1 year

Text

faramir - kiss me like you want to be loved.

summary: a long-awaited confession.

word count: 2.4k

fanfic no. 041

a/n: boromir lives because i say so.

it was a difficult farewell between the close brothers of gondor. but both were optimistic they would reunite not too far in the future—both were astute and praised warriors, trained from the day each of them could hold a sword upright.

between you and faramir, the cautious goodbye was somewhat tainted in awkwardness. neither of you were brave enough at the present moment to admit the feelings that plagued you both, effecting judgement, sleep and the completion of even minor tasks for many years now.

“farewell, y/n,” he spoke softly, a hitch in his breath, hesitantly raising an arm, wondering if he was crossing the delicate line of propriety.

“farewell, faramir,” you replied, abandoning predetermined notions of decorum as you finished what he had started, pulling him into a quick embrace, the first you had ever shared. and perhaps the last.

when you released him from your hold, his gaze was fixed upon you, awestruck from the emotions that arose within him from such a simple gesture, beginning to regret that he could not take his brothers place and curse the father that did not trust him with the task. with his mouth agape, and eyes almost sleepy, and heart in torment, he watched you back away from him, stepping into line with his older brother.

he was the last citizen of gondor to remain at the city’s uppermost region, watching you and his brother ride off into the horizon. as such, he felt an abyss form within his stomach, guilt rousing it all the more from the words he left unspoken. he had waved his brother off jeopardy, but of his life he was not as concerned as he was with yours. all his youth and adulthood, he had admired you from afar, shadowed you everywhere you ventured, unstable when he was not near you.

and now, you crossed middle earth without him, courage and bravery in your heart as you promised to fight for those who could not, if the task should fall to you. he had failed to seize the opportunity to reveal to you the object of his desires. and now, as you disappeared into the distance, he feared it was too late for another opportunity to present itself.

he may see no tomorrow, what with the armies of mordor inching closer to minas tirith, each time leaving gondor with fewer men to defend its borders.

but he hoped, he let himself hope.

｡+ﾟ☆ﾟ+｡★｡+ﾟ☆ﾟ+｡★｡+ﾟ☆ﾟ+｡★｡+ﾟ☆ﾟ+｡

the trials of the fellowship had taken much of your spirit, only to be stressed by the fall of gandalf the grey. the elderly wizard had provided you with much wisdom and a perfected skillset, and his absence was dearly felt, but by no one more than yourself, someone he might have considered his family.

frodo and sam had begun the disbandment of your company, leaving you behind to pursue a trickier path, but one they must face alone. boromir had been seriously injured, almost fatally, enough that merry and pippin had been captured by an orc pack. but they had now returned, safe and sound where they belonged. though, dear pippin could not stay out of trouble for long.

and gandalf, it seemed, could not stay fallen for long.

“what’s going to happen to me?” asked pippin gloomily, kicking pieces of hay in the barn as you waited for gandalf.

“nothing is going to happen to you, dear pippin. you are safe from sauron if you remain with me and gandalf,” you assured him, ruffling his loose, curly locks.

“how long have you known gandalf?” asked pippin curiously.

“oh! a long time now—since my infancy. he took me under his wing long ago, and i have much to be grateful for,” you smiled fondly.

“i don’t think he likes me,” pippin frowned. “but then, i suppose, i am very accident prone.”

“i think sometimes you do without thinking. but you are young, and gandalf knows this. but he has lived many years, and can sometimes forget what ails the youth, such as yourself,” you explained, and added: “he cares for your safety, otherwise he would not get so angry.”

pippin seemed to accept this truth with a sunny disposition, his mood greatly improving upon hearing your explanation, taking it for nothing but the truth.

“merry!” he cried, rushing off to greet his friend.

“y/n,” called boromir, offering you a full water canister, in addition to your own. “do send my brother my well wishes.”

“of course, boromir. i am sure he will be delighted to hear of you.”

boromir laughed lightly. “yes, a brother’s bond is strong. though, i am sure he will be much more inclined to be delighted with your return.”

you smiled bashfully, turning away as heat crept into your cheeks. a hearty laugh sounded from behind you, and boromir clapped your back. “i see much,” he reminded you. "safe journey!" he called as he exited the barn in search of aragorn.

with a weepy send off between merry and pippin, you, gandalf and pippin set off for minas tirith. a flutter in your heart arose at the chance of seeing faramir again, barely entertaining the thought that he had fallen to an orc’s sword or axe. faramir was the best of his ranks, no doubt he was alive and well. and boromir’s encouragement did little to settle your nerves—the thought of reciprocation was almost too much to bear.

three day’s ride felt like nothing, despite the tribulations you’d been through these past months, for faramir awaited at the end of your journey. as the white city peeked above the distant horizon, shaded with hues of pink and orange, you pushed faster through the expanse that kept you from your destination.

pippin slept against gandalf’s chest, somehow unbothered by the erratic journey. and before long, your two horses were climbing the streets of minas tirith, warning passersby of your coming. the white tree in pippin's vision stood strong, undead—a ray of hope remained for frodo and sam.

you were home.

some hours had passed in gondor, no faramir in sight, and within that time the steward had made perfectly clear he would not call for aide, nor would he accept the ranger as king. but it all temporarily came to naught as the cries of nazgûl sounded from beyond the city walls.

hundreds of horses raced from osgaliath across the grassy expanse, fleeing from the fight they could not win against such forces. the winged beasts took them from above, grasping several men and horses between their talons and launching them through the air.

your sank through your chest, palms instantly bearing sweat as you feared for faramir’s safe return. he was, quite clearly, outnumbered by many, though he had proved to make a rational decision in the midst of war by ordering his men to fall back. still, the terror that gripped you was all-consuming, almost enough to bring you to your knees, for you could scarcely bear to watch.

you turned to gandalf in silent, desperate worry, and he understood the urge you felt to flee the castle walls and help in some way if you could, if it meant they would be saved.

you and gandalf rode out. a light from gandalf’s staff, bright and unrelenting forced the nazgûl away and brought the army of men to safety, faramir included. you could see him, almost clearly in the ranks of his men, riding fast to the city gate. he dared to turn and meet your gaze. the fear had subsided, though the adrenaline remained, and you breathed a heavy sigh of relief, closing your eyes and letting the wind whip through your hair as you silently thanked silent forces for this fortune.

when the danger had slipped away, faramir dismounted his horse and wasted no time in approaching you. he was breathless, tired, but alert. it was a quick, silent moment you thought he might break with a laugh or a welcoming embrace, but instead, questioned you of his brother, to which you informed him of his safety and health. he turned to pippin with a start next, filling you and gandalf with unbridled hope as he revealed he had seen two halflings alive and well not so long ago.

and afterwards, with as much decorum between the two of you as distant strangers, he walked with you and gandalf to meet his father. quietly, he fell back in line with you, conversing with you rather formally, despite that not ten minutes before he almost deserted decency to embrace you without hesitation. but he restrained himself, for what reason he could not quite remember.

entering the castle, feeling, finally, much safer now that he was deep within the city, he let himself look at you. you seemed well, and he hoped that was how you truly felt too. he thought of you often in your absence, though over time, little details and intricacies of your features had slipped away from memory. but now that they were before him again, he smiled familiarly, admiring you for all that you were.

“i must replenish myself,” faramir informed you, hoping you might follow him so he would be blessed with a moment alone with you.

“yes, of course,” was your meek response.

he hesitated slightly, unaware if you had caught onto his subtle indication and were politely refusing or whether it had passed over your head completely. and so he left without another word, jaw clenched and shaking his head at the fool he had made himself look.

“well, aren’t you going to follow him?” asked pippin in disbelief when he was far enough away that his little comment would go unheard.

“whatever do you mean, little one?” you asked with a scoff.

“that is clearly a man who wishes to be followed!”

you trailed his gaze, catching faramir looking behind, but laughed it off instantly. “i- no. you’re mistaken.”

“i am not!” replied pippin, looking to gandalf for approval.

you looked to the old wizard yourself too, hoping for assurance on your behalf, but found nothing of the sort as he smirked at pippin and raised his eyebrows. with nothing leaving his lips, you understood perfectly the meaning of his silence.

most embarrassed by the scene, you hurried off in pursuit of the gentlemen who had left you behind in the hopes that you would follow. but for all your desires that he might wish for you the way you wished for him, catching the signs of this reciprocation was much more complicated than you might have imagined.

you turned down many passages, walked through several corridors, completely in the dark as to where he might have gone. you were so caught up in looking for him, in fact, that you missed him completely, and only found yourself face to face with the man when he called you back.

he had been staring at an old piece of art in the castle, one he must have seen and admired a dozen times before, but had needed something with which to occupy himself as he waited and hoped to see you.

“i was looking for you,” was all you spoke, unsure of how to begin.

“you found me, it seems,” he laughed. “with a little aid.”

he let his smile fade slowly, searching for the words in his crowded mind so that he might perfectly convey all that he thought in regards to his feelings for you. he gestured to an empty bench before the painting that hung tall, sitting close beside you.

“i have been meaning, for some time now, to tell you that which i have kept from you,” he began, keeping you on the edge of your seat. “from our youth, though i did not know it then, i have felt for you something i have never felt for another. and…” his breath was trembling, his eyes fixed to his hands. you took them warmly into yours, and this forced him to meet your eyes, where he found the utmost encouragement. “and when you left those weeks ago, i have regretted every moment since that i did not tell you then exactly how i felt.”

“and how do you feel?” you asked him, needing to hear it after so long.

“i feel…i feel as if- as if you- no. when i am in battle,” said he, “and my sword is kicked from my grasp, the enemy bearing down upon me, it is not, though perhaps it should be, for my men that i find the strength to stand again, to fight with my bare hands if i must. it is not for the approval of my father, nor even for my brother. when i am an inch from death, i find my strength in you, i find my courage in you. my hope, in the thought that i would see you again.”

“faramir,” you whispered through a breath of disbelief, that an honourable man such as he would care for you so deeply, a wayward soul under the influence of a wandering wizard. “i could not wish for a better man to have said these words to me. you are the best i could hope for, and truly i did hope for you,” you laughed through your tears, struggling to find breath under the weight of this joyous revelation.

“my y/n,” he chuckled, his teary eyes following the down-turn of your head as you pulled his hands up to your lips.

cupping your jaw delicately, he raised your eye-line to meet his, gazing upon you like a revered work of art. softly, he brushed your tears away with the pad of his thumb, leaning in cautiously but eagerly for something which the both of you had craved for an eternity. his mouth brushed yours tentatively, opening your lips to accommodate his own. and the pair of you were set ablaze, suddenly and feverishly reaching for each other as if you were not close enough already—his tunic gripped between your fingers, your hand over his neck while his arm snuck around your waist and fingers tangled into your hair.

distantly, he heard his father’s bellows, and it pulled him from you reluctantly. resting his forehead against yours, he regained much of the breath he had lost in your shared embrace, taking a moment to recover.

“i must go,” he said lowly, the baritone in his voice causing you to shiver.

“come and find me when you are done.”

“i would not think to do anything else,” he whispered, kissing the crown of your head before stoically marching towards his father’s inevitable disapproval.

though his approval, in comparison to yours, was trivial.

🏷 @velvetcloxds @entishramblings

#faramir x reader #faramir x you #faramir imagine #faramir of gondor #faramir fic #faramir #lotr faramir #lotr fanfic #lotr fic #lotr imagine #lord of the rings x reader #lord of the rings fic #lord of the rings fanfiction

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tamurilofrivendell · 1 year

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With My Life | Elrond x Reader

one shot using this prompt

read on ao3

pairing: Elrond x Reader

summary: you think Elrond doesn’t trust you to fight despite your skill but it turns out the real reason he is loath to let you is a little different.

You had lived in Rivendell for a fairly long time by this point, coming here seeking safety and solace. You had been travelling alone for a long time, facing many hardships and even dangers on the road, but Imladris had been good to you. The Lord of Rivendell had taken you in without a question, as he always did with weary travellers, those seeking a safe place to rest their heads. You had not planned to stay quite as long as you actually had but the valley had become something of a home to you, just as the Lord of it had become someone you were proud to call a friend.

However, it was not all a wonderful dream. Darkness had been creeping back into the world and, as war approached and skirmishes broke out all over, you were forced to pick up your trusty sword once more, going out on border patrols with the others. You wouldn’t feel right sitting pretty in Rivendell while everybody else risked themselves defending this refuge from the forces of Mordor. You were happy to help and happy to have an excuse to leave Rivendell for a time, something you had grown to enjoy over your time here. You had always had a bit of a habit of leaving the safety of the Halls and crossing the river or exploring the surrounding wilderness. You had always had a wanderers heart and exploring had simply become a part of you after all these years.

Trouble was, with the world becoming more dangerous, you found yourself getting into more scrapes and problems than before. You were almost eaten by a couple of trolls. A warg stalked your scent and chased you all the way to the river. A stray band of orcs waylaid you in the woods, which you got away from with minor injuries - this one got you in the most trouble with Elrond, though he didn’t say a word. The way he looked at you while he tended to your wounds was enough.

As time passed and things continued to only become more and more dangerous, you found yourself in a situation you had not been in before.

Elrond started to say no to you.

It began with a wave of his hand, telling you there were enough numbers in a partcular patrol to deal with the issue they were facing. It continued with an angry look the likes of which he hadn’t given you before when you tried to press the situation and force your way back into the midst of things. Elrond only continued to outright deny you, eventually going so far as to completely remove your weapon from your possession as you slept.

When you woke and realised it was missing, you were furious, and you had finally had enough. What had changed between the two of you, you did not know, but you had reached your limit. Try as you might, you could not seem to stop disappointing him and you were desperate to know what you had done to upset him, to change the way he viewed and treated you.

“Don’t you trust me?” You cried out in frustration, bursting into his room as he was readying to leave with his patrol to hunt yet another band of orcs that had dared to come too close to the border for comfort.

Elrond turned to look at you, brows furrowed with confusion as he wondered how you could even ask such a question. How you could even think such a thing. He realised that things had not been the same as they had been but he could no longer allow you to waltz around in the wild beyond Rivendell, where anything could happen to you, where things had already happened. You were reckless with yourself and it frightened him, especially that last time when the orcs had gotten too close and hurt you - you were seriously lucky that it was not more serious and he had spent all that night unable to rest due to his anxiety over what might happen the next time.

The next time, you may not be so lucky.

How had he allowed these thoughts to enter your mind? How had he not seen it? He had been trying to keep you safe and in doing so he realised that he had pushed you away and made you feel like he did not value you. “I trust you with my life.” He said emphatically, covering the distance between you both in two long strides. Elrond reached out to take hold of your hands gently in his own, looking you directly in the eyes with a tenderness he had been hiding from you for the past few months. “I’m not so sure I trust you with yours.”

You blinked back at him as you allowed his words to sink in. He was quiet, patient, as your mind worked over the meaning behind what he had said. His thumbs brushed softly across the skin of your hands, sending a light shiver through you. Your gaze softened slightly as you looked back at him and he smiled. His smile began to fade away when you pulled your hands from his but returned when your arms moved to circle his neck, pulling him into a hug. His own arms moved around your waist as he returned the gesture and the two of you stayed that way for a few moments, content in this moment to at least be on the same page once more.

#elrond x reader #elrond x you #elrond fanfiction #elrond fanfic #lotr x reader #lotr fanfiction #lotr fanfic

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somebirdortheother · 1 year

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Mysteries of the Mechanical Wonder - Chapter 3 - My Door is Always Open to Friends - By Yours Truly :)

Chapter 3 is up!

Our Steampunk Galadriel tries to keep things professional... While I give a special thank-you to the one and only @coraleethroughthelookingglass for that mood board of my dreams.

If asked later, Galadriel would vehemently deny that she’d ever agreed to get on the minuscule airship dubbed Mairon in ornate gold-toned lettering on its side on account of Halbrand the Greatest delivering a look so innocent that it belonged more to a lost, helpless puppy seeking her praise, than to a fully-formed man, the expression that pierced straight through her jacket and into the snug confines of her corset. No, that never happened - this morning, she agreed to get on Mairon because her research took priority.

P.S., I have started a handy map of Mordor City and will continue updating it as the universe grows.

#trop fanfic #rings of power #steampunk au #trop steampunk au #human halbrand defence squad #galadriel x halbrand #somebird #haladriel #ao3 writer #What happens in Mordor City stays in Mordor City #Now featuring some raft I guess

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bizaar · 10 months

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Cruel Summer Part 13

First - Previous - Next

pairings: Eddie Munson x fem!reader

summary: After breaking up, you and Eddie do your best to soldier on with your lives, but you slowly begin to discover that there is a stronger line of connection keeping you together than just history…

word count: 11.5k

warnings: swearing, descriptions of violence/the Demogorgon ate Barb, angst, fluff

A.N.: Happy Birthday to me and a very merry unbirthday to all of you! Thank you to everyone who sent such nice comments and asks after the last chapter, I really hope you all enjoy the update!!! if you see typos, no you don't :D

Dustin can’t decide who hates this plan more, Eddie or himself.

They’ll split into three teams, one at the Creel House to draw Vecna’s attention on this side, and two in the Upsidedown, one to lure the bats away from the house and hold them, and one to send the bastard to kingdom come while his guard is down.

Simple and more or less straightforward… until a very frustrating though decidedly no less valid question is raised: how do you know the plan is even going to work?

Which is to say, how are you going to make sure the bats will do what they’re supposed to and leave the house unguarded when Team Distraction turns the volume up?

Because if Dustin and Eddie can’t guarantee that their distraction will lure the bats — all of the bats — then Steve, Nancy, and Robin won’t be able to get into the house, and if they can’t get in the house, then they’re dead in the water before they’ve even begun.

As so often happens when the dark storm cloud of sobering truth rolls in on the horizon, they all come to the same simultaneous conclusion.

It strikes like a bolt of lightning in the distance — a brief purpling flash that is so sudden you can’t be sure it was even there until its presence is validated by the staggered clap of thunder following dutifully behind.

That’s what the realization feels like. Loud, pervasive, numbing. It leaves Dustin’s ears ringing in the hollowness it leaves behind.

One of you is going to have to get out there and do something to lure the bats away — one of you is going to have to be bait.

Naturally, nobody is exactly eager to throw their name into the running for that prestigious task, least of all Dustin, who is under no delusions about being an athlete of any capacity.

He’s a Hawkins Middle AV club alumnus for Christ’s sake, not exactly the picture of physical prowess.

The notion itself is enough to set something cold and heavy settling in the pit of his stomach, like something out of a stress-induced nightmare — he knows no one is going to ask him to be the bait, but there is still that nagging pressure of worry.

He can’t imagine what he’ll do if the task falls to him, he can’t imagine what any of you will do. More to the point, he can’t imagine any of you being stupid enough to willingly go and put your life on the line like that.

Only that is not expressly true. Steve would do something that stupid, and he doesn’t even have to imagine it as the older boy steps bravely forward into their Socratic huddle.

“I’ll do it,” He says, nodding solemnly like he’s just presented himself to steward the one ring to Mordor … though probably not, because Steve wouldn’t get that reference in the first place.

He’s not Frodo Baggins, he’s just a big brave dog too stupid to know when to stay quiet and save his own life.

Thankfully, the suggestion goes over more or less like a lead balloon.

“That’s not gonna work, Steve,” Nancy says, a messy halo of curls dancing about her features as she shakes her head, pursing her lips.

The sting of her rejection is immediately evident across Steve’s face, and Dustin has to wonder just how much of that bravery is actually just plain, old fashioned peacocking to try and impress her.

Even if it isn't, there is not much of an argument to be made against the refusal of his offer, considering the general consensus of the room is more or less in agreement with her.

It leaves him visibly deflated.

Dustin doesn’t fault him for suggesting he be the one to do it. It is nothing less than entirely on brand for Steve — big damn hero that he is — but in this specific case, it’s more of bonehead thinking rather than the noble gesture he imagines he thinks it is.

“Why not?” Steve presses, speaking to Nancy more than anyone else in the room, “I’ll lead them away and double back — it’ll take ten minutes tops.”

He makes a show of dusting his hands of imaginary grime before presenting her with his empty palms, impressing absolutely no one, Nancy especially.

“Yeaaaah…” Eddie says through his teeth, stretching the word like he knows he’s got something to say that Steve won’t thank him for, “Only that didn’t work so good for you last time, did it, Bud?”

His head lolls left to press his ear to his shoulder as he levels him with a knowing look, squinting at him and scrunching his features in a way that could almost be misconstrued as apologetic.

And he’s right, Steve does not thank Eddie for so graciously pointing out the shortcomings of his last expedition to the Upsidedown.

“Last time I wasn’t running away, Bud.” Steve deadpans, hurling the pet name back at him with perhaps a tad too much vitriol. “They caught me off guard, I’ll be ready for them this time.”

It does nothing to breathe any confidence into their group as a dissenting murmur passes through the cabin of the RV.

Dustin thinks deep down they all know they probably should let Steve do it, despite their misgivings.

He’s really the only one among them with the prerequisite skills for the job – all those sports he played – but there is still a glaringly obvious issue with that plan because Steve has already assigned himself a pivotal role, one Robin is all too happy to remind him of.

“Listen, Stevie.” She starts, “We all know you’re super impressive or whatever, but this is one thing we don’t need you Galahading yourself over — you’re supposed to be running point up at the house so Nancy can light Vecna’s ass up, remember?”

“Well, I don’t see anyone else volunteering.” He snaps, crossing his arms over his chest and making a point to scan the room in an expectant glare, suddenly towering over them like some kind of angry lighthouse sweeping the shoreline for signs of life.

Dustin does his best to shrink out of his line of sight when it passes over him.

He’s got no business volunteering for something like this, and even if he did, he’s already got his own job with Eddie, acting as his roadie of sorts — at least he thinks so, that’s how Eddie had described it and for his lack of expertise on the matter all he can do is agree.

If he had to pick someone, Lucas is probably the best substitute for Steve, but he’s got to stay with Max on this side just in case Vecna’s hold grows a little too tight and a musical intervention is needed.

It’s a moot point, anyway, because they’ve already left that group at the Creel House, and Dustin can’t feasibly see doubling back for them just because the plan has changed.

As far as he can tell, Steve is right, and there’s no one else left to be the bait.

“I can do it.” You offer then, speaking in a small, tentative voice from where you’ve tucked yourself in at the other side of the camper.

There is a shift in the group as everyone moves at once to find the source of the voice, staring in an almost stunned silence like they’d forgotten you were there.

Dustin feels his heart seize in his chest in a violent spasm that has his intestines responding accordingly.

Oh, God!

His eyes go wide as he whips around to regard you with something that can only stem from the gut-wrenching, pants-shitting terror he is suddenly gripped in.

Not you, anyone but you!

Beside you, Eddie mirrors the motion, head snapping up so quickly Dustin is half surprised it doesn’t roll right off his shoulders and across the length of the RV.

Under such tense scrutiny, you wilt ever so slightly, glancing nervously around the room, looking for any kind of a reaction.

And nobody outright rejects the suggestion like they had with Steve, much to Dustin’s abject horror.

“I’ll do it.” You say again, this time with a little more confidence, giving a subtle nod as if to punctuate the affirmation.

Dustin, of course, is ardently against it, but has found that he has been rendered suddenly and woefully mute by the complete and total shock of your suggestion.

Eddie is thankfully not caught in those doldrums, and he is all too happy to tell you exactly how he feels.

“Like hell you will,” He gawps.

For the lack of any higher functioning brain power, all Dustin can manage is a stupid, emphatic nodding, and when the initial shock begins to fade and more of his brain starts to switch on again, he searches the room for the naysayers of the earlier moment.

He waits for the dissenting murmur, the interjections from prevailing cooler heads going on to explain exactly why you cannot, in fact, be the bait, but they never come.

It’s just Eddie, telling you you’re crazy if you think he’s gonna let you get out there, and Dustin frantically nodding along like a goddamn bobblehead.

“Why not?” You demand, sounding almost offended that he would disagree.

“Because it’s a suicide mission.” Eddie presses, putting harsh emphasis on the last two words.

You narrow your eyes.

“Oh, please,” you start, but he doesn’t let you finish.

“Babe,” the pet name causes Dustin’s skin to prickle uncomfortably, Eddie doesn’t seem to notice, “You weren’t there, okay? You don’t know what’s down there–”

“Giant vampire bats?” You deadpan, quirking a brow.

He wires his jaw shut and glares at you.

“And a whole network of vines and tentacles and creepy crawlies that report directly back to the fucker himself,” He presses, only he doesn’t know the half of it.

“Not to mention the Demogorgon,” Dustin says.

The room reacts appropriately at the mention of the foe of their past.

You remain unimpressed where you stand, but Eddie twists slowly to regard Dustin with a highly suspicious look.

“...I’m sorry…” He begins slowly, “The what?”

Steve answers for him, dismissing the question with a vague gesture.

“It’s like I told you, Munson,” he says, “We’ve been through all this before,”

“Only this time, we don’t have the benefit of having a girl with—” Robin starts, but Eddie cuts her off.

“Superpowers, yeah, you mentioned — can we just circle back to that Demogorgon thing?”

“…that’s what happened to Barb.” Nancy says then, getting this strange, haunted look in her eyes as she speaks – the color drains from her face, “… what really happened…”

The room goes eerily silent, leaving Eddie fumbling to understand what such a cryptic comment could possibly mean.

He looks from face to face, confusion etching itself deeper and deeper into his features as he waits for someone to elaborate.

“What do you mean what really happened?” He finally demands.

They don’t have to say it, their silence speaks volumes — Barbara Holland’s disappearance had been big news for almost a year — almost bigger than Will’s disappearance, death, and subsequent resurrection.

An honor student ups and skips town out of the blue? Not a chance in hell, not Barb, at least.

As far as Dustin can tell from the hushed conversations he’d overheard his mother having, most people didn’t outright believe it, even if only quietly so.

They preferred to keep their heads in the sand and keep the horrific alternative to themselves: that something terrible had happened to Barb right there in their sleepy little town, and she was never coming back.

It's no wonder the good people of Hawkins had grown progressively more wary of things that didn’t expressly fit their happy little narrative over the last couple of years.

If only they knew just how right they were to be afraid.

Eddie blanches as it dawns on him – the bats aren’t the only thing down there that can and will eat you alive if you’re caught.

“Oh, shit.” He mumbles.

Then, like you hadn’t heard a thing they’d just said about the bestiary of horrors waiting for them on the other side, you shake your head.

“I don’t care what’s down there –” You scoff, dismissing the truth of Barb’s horrific and untimely demise with a flippant gesture.

Eddie whips back around to level you with an incredulous look – eyes out on stalks and as big as dinner plates.

“You gotta be kidding,” He stresses, “Didn’t you hear what they said? Something down there ate Barb.”

“Nobody said that.” You snap.

“Henderson—!” Eddie practically shouts, whipping around to glare at Dustin, though he hardly thinks the look is meant for him, especially with the way Eddie thrusts an accusatory finger back at you, “Tell her!”

“The Demogorgon ate Barb.” Dustin drawls.

Somewhere to his left, Nancy flinches and he can’t help but feel a pang of regret for putting it in such crass terms, but it is very important to him that you understand the ramifications of what you were about to do. The danger you are putting yourself in.

You roll your eyes in that same maddening way you always do that lets Dustin know exactly what you’re thinking – that this is all nothing more than D&D bullshit and that they’re blowing it out of proportion to try and scare you out of volunteering. He wishes it were as simple as all that.

He wishes that he wasn’t stuck thinking about the faceless horror that has haunted his dreams since that night in 1983 back at Hawkins Middle.

And then he feels eyes on him, boring holes into the side of his face. Dustin turns to find Eddie staring at him, brows pulled tight over his eyes, still wide and fearful as the question he doesn’t want to ask forms on the tip of his tongue.

It hadn’t occurred to Dustin that Eddie didn’t actually expect him to back him up like that, that he didn’t really believe that’s what happened. He was just being dramatic, like always, how was he supposed to know he was right on the money?

It’s visibly sobering, and Eddie clenches his jaw as the urge to ask about it escapes him, and he levels Dustin with a knowing look, nodding curtly.

Yes, the Demogorgon had, in fact, eaten Barbara Holland, as plain and simple and horrific a fact as that. Nothing more need be said about it.

And honestly, a lot more could be said, because that’s not even the worst thing that has happened since the Upsidedown came crashing up into their world, but somehow Dustin knows that nothing he says is going to be enough to deter you.

“Look, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m the only one who doesn’t have a part to play in this.” You huff.

You bet your ass you don’t.

You had, in fact, been excluded by design, because that’s the way Eddie wanted it, and Dustin was only happy to agree with him, much to your patent dismay.

Every single one of your arguments had come with just as many explanations as to why you couldn’t go — the least of which were that, despite the new bandages Karen Wheeler had wrapped your hand in, you’re still injured, just as you had stressed on the shore of Lover’s Lake the night before.

“So what?” Dustin huffs.

“So, it’s not fair.” You grouse, halfway to whining about it before Eddie shuts you down.

“Life’s not fair, Sweetheart,” He says. “The sooner you realize that the better.”

Harsh but true, Dustin thinks.

Anyway, what you said is not expressly true – you do have a job. An important job that keeps you very far removed from danger of any kind — you’re supposed to guard the gate in Eddie’s living room from this side in the unlikely event someone comes snooping, and you’re extremely unhappy about it.

Normally, that would fill Dustin with some sort of gut-wrenching guilt, but as far as he can tell he doesn’t give a shit about how you feel right now.

He only cares about keeping you safe.

You’d already sat arguing about it back in the field when the details of the plan were laid out, nearly spoiling what was just about the closest thing Dustin has experienced to a perfect moment with you in months — running around and playing in the grass in a fit of euphoric, childlike whimsy. It was almost enough to make him forget that there was anything wrong in the world.

That all came crashing down the moment Steve called you back to the camper.

“We really should have someone standing by in case the cops come poking around,” Dustin had tried to explain to your angry, pacing form after they’d broken the news that you were not invited to cross the gate with them. “A-and since you’re so good at thinking on your feet—”

It did nothing to soften the blow of rejection. You’d silenced him with an angry look and spent the next half hour quietly fuming in the furthest corner of the RV you could squeeze yourself into.

And now you’re volunteering to smear yourself in blood and go willingly into the lion’s den, and no one is disagreeing that it should be you. If that isn’t some form of cosmic justice…

That’s perhaps what distresses Dustin the most, that you’ve volunteered to go and die, and everyone is just going to let you do it.

In a shocking turn of events, suddenly he and Eddie are the only sane ones among you.

“This is ridiculous , you guys–”

“No, you’re not doing it.” Eddie says, slicing the air in a clipped gesture, “End of story. Harrington? Tell her.”

You scoff and open your mouth to protest the supposed finality of the statement, and by extension what Dustin can only imagine is a healthy dose of outrage over any kind of decision involving you being left up to Steve of all people, but he is quick to jump in before you can say anything.

“Steve!” He stresses, “Tell her!”

It catches him woefully off guard and Dustin watches as something a little closer to panic than he is comfortable with flashes across Steve’s features. Like being unexpectedly called on in class when you haven’t been paying attention.

Thick brows shoot up toward that immaculate hairline before bouncing back to furrow over Steve’s eyes.

He flexes his jaw and breathes in deeply through his nose, and after a moment’s hesitation, he finally opens his mouth to say… nothing. Dustin can’t believe it.

He could scream.

In all the time he’s known him, Steve has never been caught without some kind of a smooth one-liner, a witty comeback. Of all the time Dustin has known him, he has never once been rendered speechless.

There’s a first time for everything, sure, but why on God’s green Earth did it have to be now? It’s just bad timing.

Steve stands there, working his jaw like a gaping fish for another agonizing moment of deafening silence, even turning to Robin and Nancy for some kind of support – they have nothing to offer but incredulous stares – but it’s no use, he well and truly has no idea what to say.

You’ve started in again before he can get much more out than a bitten-off “Uuuuhhh….”

“I’m not just gonna wait around babysitting a hole in the ceiling while you all put your lives on the line,” You bite, and somehow Dustin can’t help but get the sense that even though you’re addressing the room, you’re speaking directly to him – to Eddie, who has spent the duration of your spiel violently shaking his head in outright rejection.

He hardly lets you finish before he makes a harsh sound of incredulous disbelief.

“No.”

“Eddie–”

“No!”

“Will you shut up and let me do this?” You shout, “I’ll lead the bats away from the house and make them chase me back here–”

Eddie barks out a bitter laugh that has you clamping your jaw shut with enough force that Dustin hears your teeth click together.

“Right, just like you led Jason and those fuckers away from Rick’s place?” He snaps, his words dripping with disdain, “How’s the hand, by the way? Still hurts?”

Despite their united front, Dustin can’t help the stirring sense of injustice Eddie’s tone kicks up in his chest, rattling around like embers in his ribcage.

He’s not the enemy here, regardless of what his guts are trying to tell him, but the urge to defend you has long since been stronger than any of Dustin’s natural instincts.

Of course, you don’t need him to come running to your rescue – you never have, and he’s starting to suspect that you never will. Some small part of him aches with the grief of that realization. He doesn’t know why, but it feels like a loss.

Suddenly it’s like you don’t even know he’s there anymore, with the way you’re looking at Eddie. Glaring at him like you’re the only two people in the room. It’s strangely charged, almost intimate, and it makes Dustin’s insides go squirmy like he’s witnessing something torrid.

Somehow it feels like the scene playing out before them is not for their eyes, and Dustin wonders briefly if they ought to leave the room, leave the two of you to this moment.

He watches you bristle, sees your gaze turn to white hot steel, and feels his insides clench for it.

His concern swings hard away from you to land on Eddie’s shoulders, then. Under the molten heat of your anger, he is surely about to whither and melt down to the bone.

Dustin thinks he ought to do something to try and protect him from that, but he doesn’t dare put himself in your line of site. Eddie is made of much stronger stuff than he is, he doesn’t need his help.

“Don’t be an asshole,” You warn him through your teeth.

Eddie throws up his hands and offers you a sarcastic smile, tilting his head ever so slightly like this is all just good, harmless fun.

“Babygirl, I’ll be whatever I need to be to stop you from doing this.” He says, “Because this is a stupid fucking plan, you’re gonna get yourself killed and when you do, I’m gonna say I told you so.”

Each point is punctuated by a sharp poke to your shoulder with his index and middle finger, firm enough to jostle you each time he hits home – you slap his hand away before he can poke you again.

“And here I thought chivalry was dead.” You hum, a harsh, clipped thing oozing with disdain.

Thankfully, before either of you can really start to fight about it, Robin interjects.

“Children – enough!” She shouts, breaking the spell - you both shrink away from the moment, settling back with arms crossed tightly over your chests, doing your utmost to avoid looking at one another.

Robin continues.

“We don’t have time to sit around and watch you two go another ten rounds, okay? We’re on a ticking clock here so both of you need to grow up or go in the back and bang out whatever the hell is going on here. Get it out of your system.”

A momentary if not bone-crushing silence falls over the cabin as Robin’s words hang heavy in the air.

It does nothing to help the awkwardness of the moment when Eddie perks up, brows jumping toward his hairline as he gestures toward the pullout haphazardly folded up at the back of the RV.

You roll your eyes, and Dustin pulls a disgusted face.

He looks to Steve for some kind of commiseration only to find him and Nancy fidgeting awkwardly and trying to avoid looking at each other.

Robin looks decidedly pleased with herself as she continues, evidently more than happy to have made the moment exceedingly more awkward than need be.

“Now,” She says, “Everyone is making valid points on both sides. Is this gonna be dangerous? Yes. Is she more than likely going to get seriously injured if not violently dismembered attempting this? Absolutely, but that doesn’t make it an excessively bad plan—”

“It doesn’t?” Eddie scoffs, which only serves to draw Robin’s attention as she sticks him to the spot with a very pointed look.

“Eddie...” she drawls.

He squares his shoulders and levels her with an expectant if not uninterested look, hugging himself that much tighter like he’s bracing for whatever it is she’s bound to hurl his way.

Robin continues, gesturing to you as she speaks.

“She’s a grown woman – fully consenting – if she wants to get out there and get her ass eaten, that’s her decision to make, not yours.”

Dustin doesn't realize there’s any sort of innuendo behind the words, intended or otherwise, until Eddie makes a harsh, choked sound in the back of his throat.

Almost immediately, his hand drifts up like he means to clap it over his mouth but switches gears at the last moment to rub at the faint hint of stubble shadowing his jawline, trying his damnedest to hide a less-than-subtle smile.

“Jesus – that’s one way of putting it.” He says, pulling his lower lip in past his teeth.

“Eddie.” You say then, voice lilting in a gently critical tone as your brows come down over your eyes.

The tension of the previous moment evaporated in an instant, and Dustin doesn’t understand why everyone is suddenly fidgeting and rolling their eyes.

Nancy makes a soft sound of disapproval in the back of her throat, and suddenly he feels like something has flown right over his head.

He hates being the only one not in on the joke. Max might have been able to explain it to him if not entirely unwilling, maybe even Lucas, but on his own he is hopelessly lost among this group of older kids.

“What?” He can’t help himself from asking, looking from face to face as everyone quickly avoids his gaze, “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing.” You say immediately, “I’ll tell you when you’re older.”

Dustin still doesn’t get it, but there’s no air in the conversation to ask what exactly he’s missing before Robin addresses you in turn.

There is the faintest pink tinge to her cheeks as she says your name in a commanding if not entirely sheepish way.

You lean over to smack Eddie’s quivering shoulder as he continues to fight the losing battle against the fit of giggles still threatening to overtake him.

Before Robin can speak, Steve swoops in, taking her by the arm and literally tugging her back from the center of the huddle.

She wrenches her arm out of his grasp and levels him in a harsh glare.

“Come on, Rob, give it a rest–” He starts, but Nancy quickly cuts him off.

“No, she’s right,” She says, then turns to you, “You ought to know what you’re volunteering for”

You, in turn, tilt your head to the right to press your ear to your shoulder.

“Running like hell and hoping they’ll try to make a meal out of me, right?” You deadpan, quirking a brow.

Like cracking a window at forty thousand feet, all the air is immediately sucked out of the room, taking any sense of levity with it as your words hang heavy in the air.

Dustin can’t stand it.

“Oh, come on… come on! There’s gotta be another way.” He presses, “Somebody has got to have a better idea than this.”

A heavy silence falls over the room, one that leaves a hollow ringing in Dustin’s ears as he waits for someone – anyone to speak.

Somebody has got to have something in the back pocket, some kind of last-ditch hair-brained scheme that doesn’t require anyone to make prey out of themselves.

It’s so quiet he’s half surprised he doesn’t hear the telltale chirping of crickets.

“Seriously?” He demands, “Nobody?”

When Dustin looks to Eddie for help, even he has suddenly become far too interested in his sneakers, hanging his head until his features are obscured by a frizzy curtain of hair.

It’s madness. It’s got to be some kind of spontaneous contagious insanity that only he is immune to, Dustin can’t think of what else could have such a hold on your tiny group that they’re actually genuinely considering letting you do this.

Steve rolls his neck in a halfhearted shrug, like this time he’s the one with something to say that is going to be hard to swallow.

“It’s the closest thing to a guarantee we have,” He mumbles, rubbing sheepishly at the back of his neck. “And she’s the only one here freed up to do it…”

“No way!” Dustin says, whirling around to level you with a horrified look, “You know this is crazy, right? You’re gonna get yourself killed!”

“We’re all gonna get ourselves killed.” You argue. “But if I can buy us a little time before that happens and make sure we take Vecna with us…?”

He shakes his head violently back and forth, hard enough that it just about dislodges the cap from his head.

“Let Steve do it.” He begs, “Steve, tell her you’ll do it–”

He knows he’s whining, he sounds like a petulant child who has just been told something they don’t want to hear – totally uncool – but he doesn’t really care.

He wants to grab you by the shoulders and shake you until it knocks this parasitic idea loose from your brain and you see reason again.

“Steve’s gotta make sure Nancy gets to Vecna.” You snap.

It drives him to the desperate edge, and before he even realizes what he’s doing, Dustin hurls himself out after you into the abyss.

“Then I’ll do it.”

There, finally, comes that dissenting murmur again, snatching him back from the precipice and placing him gently back on the ledge. It’s a rescue that comes too little too late and for the wrong person because you’re still freefalling.

The room fills with a dull discordant roar as all of a sudden everyone seems to have something to say, admonishing him for even suggesting the notion.

On one side he’s got Steve already halfway through a lecture about what will happen to him if he lets Dustin go and do something that stupid, meanwhile, Eddie is reminding him that just because he can do something in D&D it doesn’t qualify him to do the same thing in real life.

Everyone talking at once is at best, mildly overwhelming, and at worst, giving Dustin a headache, but at least everyone is focusing on him rather than agreeing to let you offer yourself up in the Upsidedown.

It feels almost like a chance, like maybe somehow he can grab you and whisk you away from all of this while everyone is distracted.

Maybe he’ll be the one to save you this time – if no one else will do it, he has to save you.

He should know better not to hope for things like that.

“Enough,” You snap, silencing everyone with the sharp utterance of the word – you level Dustin with a look that has him wilting under its heat, “This is happening. It’s gonna be me whether you like it or not. It has to be me.”

There’s no arguing with you because there’s never any point in it when you get like this. You are a mountain and he is the wind, and no matter how he gusts and howls and rants and raves, you will not be moved … a big stupid, stubborn mountain, and that’s that.

As quickly as it began, the debate fizzles out, and the decision is made. Everyone quietly moves to take their places in the RV again.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The sun is setting when you arrive, fiery claw marks cut the horizon to ribbons and set it ablaze with oranges and pinks and the faintest smear of purple. It sends a strange chill running down your spine, despite how relatively safe you still are on this side. The danger isn’t here, it’s lurking just below your feet.

For obvious reasons, you leave the RV parked among the trees and cross the threshold back into the Forest Hills trailer park on foot. You move silently, single file like good little ducklings weaving in and out of the trailers, broken down lawn furniture, and laundry lines.

It’s strangely abandoned, eerily so.

The only sound other than the gentle hum of the odd generator or the quiet murmuring of a television is the crunch of yellowing grass underfoot. Every step is like breaking glass and you have to work to remind yourself to breathe.

You’re leading the way, which is not something you would have typically volunteered for, but among the lot of you, you’ve got the most experience sneaking around the trailer park (besides Eddie of course, but he’s not exactly the ideal candidate to go playing Percy Faucet) so it’s you, just like you’d told Dustin back in the RV.

It has to be you.

He’s actively ignoring you now, which is not something you’re sure you’ve ever experienced.

Sure, he’s been mad at you for one reason or another over the years, it would be hard to spend so much time as an authority figure in his life and not have some kind of disagreement crop up between you eventually.

But this time he’s pissed at you for good reason and you can’t rightly blame him for feeling so.

There’s nothing to be done about it. The plan needs bait and you need to feel included, one way or another – you know he’s got to understand that, even if he refuses to admit it.

Even Eddie is resigned to the fact that you’re the only person for this job, as much as you know it’s eating him up inside.

You arrive at the Munson trailer in no time at all and hold the door as you usher your companions inside – Eddie first.

His mattress remains where you left it, along with the cascading fall of bedsheets knotted together, standing in suspended animation. You do your best not to look at it, or anything else you don’t expressly have to as you follow the last of your party through the door and shut it tightly behind you.

You tell yourself that you’re not going to look at the hole in the ceiling again until you have absolutely no other choice, which is to say until you’re crossing through it.

A shudder passes through your body at the thought, grinding through you like the crunch of tectonic plates – you’re still not entirely convinced the thing isn’t going to sprout teeth and snap shut on you before you can slip through to the other side.

You’re also not entirely sure you even want to go to the other side, the place where bats had nearly liberated Steve’s head from his body and where Barbara Holland had evidently been dragged screaming into an untimely, violent death – but what choice do you have?

You have to go, especially after the fuss you’d kicked up in the RV.

Before you can get very far down the line of trying to decide whether or not you’ve made a terrible mistake, Eddie is there, pressed to your side and snaking his hand down to link fingers with you.

You’re close enough that when you turn to look at him, your noses are nearly touching, and all your senses are flooded with him.

The rough pads of his scarred fingers brushing against your skin, the smell of his sweat intermingling with tobacco and something earthier. Some small part of you is worried it’s too intimate for the company you keep, but the way his presence soothes the fearful fluttering of your heart won’t let you protest the proximity.

He pacifies your worries with just a touch and suddenly you don’t care about the hole in the ceiling or the lapse in gravity or the monsters on the other side or anything else threatening to break your brain, all you think is Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

“Come with me.” He says quietly and pulls you back through the kitchenette.

You follow, and for half a moment, you think he may be leading you back toward the bedroom.

Your numbers make for tight quarters in the trailer, especially with everyone trying to maneuver the mattress laid out in the middle of the floor, you imagine if Eddie needed a private moment with you, there isn’t a better place to find one than the bedroom.

Before you can make it too far down the hall, however, he pivots left and twists the handle of the side door leading to the porch.

An interesting development – you are suddenly gripped in the vice of curiosity and feel the gentle pattering of your heart as a hundred different possibilities race through you.

“Where are you going?” Dustin calls from where he’d been sulking somewhere behind you, and when Eddie ignores him, he raises his voice, “Eddie! Where are you going?”

He’s already halfway out the door when he pauses, hardly turning to acknowledge Dustin as he speaks.

“We’ll be right back,” Eddie says.

You’re almost relieved when Dustin’s eyes flit over to you, silently gesturing at you in the expectation that you’ll give him some sort of answer you don’t have.

All you can do is shrug as Eddie pulls you through the door with a gentle tug.

Your unexpected departure kicks up about as much fuss as you expect it would.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me!” Steve grouses, nearly stumbling over the coffee table in his hurried attempt to follow you to the door. “What now?”

“We shouldn’t split up, you guys,” Nancy calls, following Steve, “Not when things are so close.”

Eddie pays them no mind as he heads for the rickety staircase, half rotten from disuse as much as years under the elements.

You’ve never known him to use it, opting always to leap down from the elevated porch instead, garnering many a twisted ankle in his day. You wonder if it’s only his insistence on playing follow the leader that has him taking the safer route for once.

“Don’t worry about it,” Eddie assures them.

“I am worried about it!” Steve snaps, “Eddie – you’re the most wanted person in Roane County and you guys are just gonna… what, you‘re gonna run off and find a quiet spot to … hash things out real quick?”

“What’s the problem, Steve?” You sigh, stopping short on the top step and holding Eddie firm to the spot below you.

You don’t have time for an argument, particularly out in the open air where any one of his neighbors could take a peek out the window and spy him standing there.

Steve is right, but you don’t have to let him know that. As always, he’s all too happy to spell his point out for you.

“The problem is they’re out there looking for him.” Steve drawls, aggressively stretching the words like he thinks you’re stupid or something. “What part of this seems like a good idea?”

Eddie levels him with a poisonous look.

“Hey Man, this is your stupid plan–” He bites, “You’re the one who said we need the goddamn bait, so we’re going out there and we’re gonna walk the route as many times as it takes for her to memorize it.”

If that’s true, it’s news to you and you can’t say you’re expressly pleased to hear it.

You’d always done your utmost to avoid the Creel House, considering its reputation for being haunted. That doesn’t mean you don’t know exactly where it is from anywhere you’ve spent a decent amount of time in the duration of your life in Hawkins, if only to make damn sure you steer as clear as you possibly can.

You don’t need Eddie to walk the route with you, but you’re also not going to contradict him when he’s in a mood like this.

Steve, unfortunately, is not clued in enough to pick up on the venom coursing through Eddie’s veins.

“It’s a straight shot through the woods from here to there, what’s to memorize?” His tone is oozing with sarcasm, but you refuse to let him ruffle your feathers.

Whatever this is is important enough to Eddie to risk exposure, so you’ll humor him, and in the meantime, you’ll play nice with Steve so that he’ll let you go without a fight.

You shake your head and offer him a lopsided shrug.

“It’s like you said,” You say innocently, “It’s a straight shot, so that means we’ll be back in no time.”

Robin appears in the doorway beside him then and pokes her head out, looking curiously between the standoff.

Your eyes meet.

“How long did he say it would take him?” You ask, “Ten minutes tops?”

Ten minutes running, maybe, much closer to twenty-five at a walk, hurried as it is sure to be. Still, she snorts out a burst of undainty laughter.

“You did say that, Steve-o.” She hums, elbowing Steve in the side when he doesn’t respond.

A thought flashes briefly across your mind, and you make quick work of undoing your tattered watchband.

“Here,” you say, tossing it to him, “You can even time us if you want.”

Steve catches the watch with the ease of a lifelong athlete and turns the thing over in his hands, staring down at it and evidently weighing the pros and cons of letting the two of you slip off to God knows where – you could not have told him if your life depended on it.

For all you know, you’re on your way out of town, getting out of Dodge before the shit can well and truly hit the fan.

Yesterday, you might have jumped at the chance, but there are bigger things on the horizon now than the promise you’d made to Wayne out on the road between the trailer park and Benny’s.

Whether you like it or not, you’ve both suddenly got a big part to play in all this. The window of opportunity to just slip away has long since slammed shut.

After a moment of chewing the inside of his lip, Steve finally relents, heaving a long-suffering sigh and running a hand through those perfectly stunning bouncy tresses.

“Fine.” He says, “Whatever, but you two better come right back. We’re short on time as it is, we don’t need any unexpected variables —” which is to say they don’t need to stage a rescue mission in the event that someone catches you out in the open.

He snaps his fingers into a point and aims the unbelievably smooth gesture at Eddie, “One time out and back, no detours.”

His shoulders drop as a little bit of the tension brimming there visibly goes out of him, and he gives a curt nod.

When Steve turns his pointing on you, you give him an enthusiastic if not ever so slightly sarcastic thumbs up.

“10-4, Good Buddy.” You say.

Eddie wastes no time after that leading you down the steps and across the park into the nearest copse of woodland, stealing away from the prying eyes of the neighborhood like a couple of horny teenagers sneaking off to fool around.

Somehow you don’t think you’ll get that lucky.

The sun is nearly gone by now, and despite the way it still holds the park in the warm luminescence of golden hour, the woods are steeped in deep blue shadow.

Eddie doesn’t say a word as you walk, he just holds tight to your hand and pulls you along. You do your best to keep up, but his legs are longer than yours and he’s like a man on a mission, cutting through the trees at such a pace.

Had you been paying any kind of attention to where you were walking, you would have very quickly noticed that your route is not angled toward the Creel House as he’d suggested, but you’re not focused on anything but the silent walking wall that is Eddie.

Staring at the broad stretch of his back, you can’t help but feel shut out. You wonder if he’s mad at you, but you swallow the urge to ask him about it. You know you’d only sound pathetic and whiny if you did.

Still, he’s giving you extremely conflicting signals, speaking so softly to you the way he had back at the trailer, holding your hand with such a gentle reverence, but pulling you along behind him to wherever you’re going with no sense of tenderness, all the while actively ignoring you.

Of course he’s mad, you tell yourself.

He’d been under the impression that this saga would come to an end without you taking part in it, far removed from danger, but he should know better that you won’t be content to just sit on the couch and wait this out while everyone puts their lives on the line.

A misplaced twinge of annoyance bites at your insides at the thought that Eddie could actually be angry at you over this, that he would be pig-headed enough to think you wouldn’t put up a fight over being so summarily benched.

You know he knows you better than that, which means he’s sticking his head in the sand and being stubborn for stubbornness' sake.

You might have laid into him about gender roles in situations of peril, the same you would have had it been you and Dustin out here in the woods, but you’re tired of fighting, so you bite your tongue and trudge along in silence, doing your best to match his gait.

The further you go, the darker it gets as the sun disappears from the world and night sets in. You have no idea how long you’ve been walking before the trees part – much longer than ten minutes, you’re sure.

When you finally reach a break in the woods, you realize with a start that you are not standing in front of the Creel House.

It’s the highway.

A lonely stretch of road somewhere nearer to the fairgrounds than the spooky Victorian, if you had to guess.

It is abandoned, pitch black save for the cosmos wheeling overhead. Hawkins has always suffered from an inexplicable excess of backwood roads completely lacking in streetlights of any kind, making for a rare lack of light pollution in this modern world.

Good for stargazing, but bad for walking anywhere after dark.

Where normally you curse the powers that be for its shoddy infrastructure, you’re thankful for the oversight now as you step out onto the shoulder, confident that in the shadows, you will remain blissfully hidden from sight.

Eddie hangs back as you pad carefully to the road and take a good long look in both directions. No impending cars, so far so good.

Once you’re satisfied that you’re alone, you twist back around to look curiously at him.

“What is this?” you ask.

He’s fidgeting with his rings, twisting the burnished pig’s head back and forth over his middle finger, and you get the sense that he’s not as mad as you’d thought he was. Much more anxious than anything else.

Suddenly you feel rather foolish for being angry at him for nothing at all.

“Remember back in ‘83?” He begins quietly, sounding almost shy, “When you were driving me around ‘cause the van died and I couldn’t afford to get it fixed?”

You nod, because of course, you do. You cherish those days.

Those first few tentative weeks you spent driving around with Eddie Munson in your passenger seat, flipping through your cassettes, messing with your rearview mirror, trading a hundred and one inane questions in an attempt to get to know each other better — you remember the thrill of scandal, how anyone could have looked in and seen the two of you together, going along almost conspiratorially.

You know for certain that you would have been the talk of the town had anyone cared to notice, but the good thing about being more or less an invisible person was how you could get away with something like quietly falling into step with Eddie Munson without anyone batting an eye.

By the time someone thought to check in on you, the two of you were already attached at the hip, and there was nothing to be done about it.

You wouldn’t have it any other way.

Eddie gestures to the spot at the side of the road.

“Time’s stuck down there. It’s still November ‘83,”

You pull a face, wondering idly if he can even see you at this distance.

“Yeah, I’m still having trouble with that one.” You tease, skipping back across the gravel to close the gap between you and Eddie.

He remains unamused by the levity of your mood – contrary to what you’d almost fooled yourself into believing, this is, in fact, not a romantic jaunt in the moonlight, and Serious Eddie has come out to play.

“Pay attention,” He presses, “This is important.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes – where had you heard that before?

“Important like that story about the raccoon?” Your attempt at humor falls flat and Eddie gives you a stony look – Serious Eddie is no fun, but you relent and raise your hands defensively, “Okay, you’re right, I’m sorry… so, time’s stuck. What does that mean exactly?”

It’s a subtle change, but you watch his shoulders drop as a little bit more of that lingering tension from back in the RV eases out of him.

“It means,” He says, “That the van’s gonna be sitting right here,”

You follow the motion when he points you back to the shoulder of the road, and you stand trying to imagine the big-bodied vehicle sitting there like a crouching beast, the way you’ve seen hundreds of times before.

“…and?” You prompt, stretching the word lyrically as you turn on your heel to face him again, gently urging him to get to the point.

It’s nearly pitch black now, and the others will be expecting you back. The last thing you need is Steve getting his panties in a twist and sending out a search party.

“And… if something happens – if things go wrong and you can’t make it back, I want you to go for the van.” Eddie says solemnly, reaching down and taking your hand, “Shut the doors and barricade yourself inside. You’ll be safe there until I can come and get you.”

You feel your face pull into a frown.

“That’s not part of the plan.” You tell him, gently admonishing him for trying to change things in secret.

Eddie heaves another one of those world weary sighs and shakes his head, messy curls dancing silver in the moonlight across the broad stretch of his shoulders.

“Fuck the plan.” He bites. “It’s a stupid plan.”

You open your mouth to protest such a dismissal — it’s the only plan you’ve got — but he’s quick to continue before you can get a word in edgewise.

“Look, I’m not gonna sit here and try to convince you not to do this – you’re so goddamn stubborn, we’ll be here all night – but I am gonna do everything I can to make sure you’ll be safe when things go wrong.”

“None of us can afford that luxury…”

He shakes his head.

“I don’t want to fight about it. Steve’s right. We’ve gotta make sure we’ve got our bases covered, including but not limited to the worst-case scenario.”

Which is to say in the event that everything goes horribly wrong and the monsters eat you alive and Vecna destroys the world.

Or maybe just in case the inevitability that you realize you’re not a track star and this being an impossible thing you’re trying to accomplish catches up to you.

How fast can you run? More importantly, how long can you keep up a sprint like that?

The answer is not something you’re expressly sure you’re ready to consider, but of course Eddie has to consider those possibilities — he’s a cynic.

Bad news first, always. Lucky for the both of you, you’ve always been more of an optimist.

“It’s a little over a mile from the Creel place to home,” Eddie says, and you glance reflexively down at your watch, conveniently forgetting that you’d given it to Steve before you left.

You give a lopsided shrug to try and mask the motion.

“Steve said ten minutes… I can totally do that.”

Eddie frowns.

“You think so?”

No, you really don’t, but you’re not about to let him know that because if you do you’ll never hear the end of it. So instead, you offer a vague gesture that you hope is at least half as casual as you mean for it to be. It doesn’t feel like a successful move.

“Yeah,” You say, your voice squeaks out an octave higher than normal, and you press your lips into a tight line against how scared you suddenly sound, “Sure, why not?”

Because you’re not a track star? Because you’d nearly killed yourself just jogging across town less than three days ago and now you’re out here pretending like you’re some kind of Olympic gold medalist preparing for the hundred-yard dash?

Eddie gives you a hard, indiscernible look that makes your insides squirm. Somehow you know he can see right through the bullshit coating to your gooey, terrified center.

You watch as he searches your face for the answer to an unknowable question, and you see a quick flash of the feeling you’d only just managed to suppress. It’s brief, but it’s clear as day, illuminating his features like a bolt of lightning in the distance.

Doubt.

You know he’d never say so, but he clearly doesn’t think you can do this. Usually that would have been enough to stir up some kind of violent indignation in you, but suddenly you’re not entirely sure you can do this either.

Sure, you’d done your fair share of sprints in gym class, but this isn’t jogging a twelve-minute mile just to scrape by with a passing grade, this isn’t even making a mad dash from the boat house to the woods to try and escape Jason and the others – which had failed miserably, as Eddie had so graciously pointed out to you.

This is running as hard and fast as you can until your body is pumping battery acid and your legs threaten to buckle beneath you. It’s running for your goddamn life and the lives of everyone else involved.

If you don’t make it, no one does, so no pressure, right?

“How far did you say it was?” You squeak, swallowing hard to try and conceal the tremble in your voice.

“A mile…” Eddie says, “Maybe closer to two.”

Well, shit.

Still, you scoff and dismiss the notion with a wave.

“Easy peasy–” You lie.

He shakes his head and chides your flippancy with a gravelly utterance of your name, which you candidly ignore.

“–lemon squeezy.”

Eddie says your name again, harsher this time, and grabs you by the arm in an effort to try and bring you back down to earth from the cloud of your delusions, but a sudden flash of lights stops your arguing before it can begin again.

Headlights on the road warn you of the car coming around the bend and send your heart rocketing up into your throat.

Eddie swears harshly under his breath and takes your hand as you scramble back toward the treeline.

He pulls you down into the underbrush and you don’t even mind the way your hip lights up in pain as you land awkwardly, holding your breath as you watch the pickup come into view.

It rolls down the road at a glacial pace, adorned with four angry floodlights that illuminate your little copse of woods and briefly blind you.

Through the spots and colors dancing across your vision, you can only just make out the handful of bodies stuffed into the cab, two more kneeling in the truck bed with roving flashlights in one hand and guns in the other.

Christ, they’ve got guns…

You sink a little lower and move instinctually closer to Eddie as if somehow you’ll be able to shield him from them if it comes to it. As if your fragile, fleshy visage would do anything to protect him if they came out guns blazing.

Smarter than trying to make a human shield out of yourself would be to run, but could either of you really outrun a truck if your lives depended on it?

Not likely.

It makes you wonder how you ever expect to outrun these supposed giant vampire bats…

You suddenly feel trapped, like a rabbit, crouched and shaking in the underbrush under the threat of baying hounds, watching with wide unblinking eyes until the truck has passed on and the crunch and pop of tires on pavement fades into the night.

When it’s finally gone, you do your best to breathe deep against the stinging adrenaline coursing through your veins like a swarm of angry hornets, but suddenly your chest feels impossibly tight.

Steve was right, this was not a very smart thing for you to do and it's well past time you ought to be getting back.

Before you can think to say something, you feel Eddie’s touch as he guides you to look at him with a kind pressure on your jaw. You let him turn you and as you stare back into those big, sad eyes of his, you can’t help but feel a cold wave of doubt bleed into you.

How the hell are you going to do this? How could you be stupid enough to volunteer in the first place and why’d you put up such a fight about it?

What’s going to happen when you let everyone down?

You’re all going to get yourselves killed, that’s what.

For a moment, it’s all you can do to keep yourself together as you surge forward without thinking, nestling into the crook of his neck and his welcoming embrace. You sigh under the press of his arms as he pulls you close.

You take a handful of deep, staccato breaths, breathing him in and filling your head with the heady musk of everything that is wholly Eddie — sweat and smoke and sandalwood.

It takes you half a minute to stop shaking, and half a minute more before you feel whole enough to emerge. You offer him a weak smile when you do.

Eddie tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear and grips your shoulders firm enough that you’re half inclined to think you might bruise.

“Listen to me. Nobody needs you to be the hero here, okay?” he tells you, giving you a gentle shake for good measure. “You’ve already done enough, you don’t have to do this,”

You, in turn, reach up to bracket his face. He leans into it in a way you must think is instinctual at this point, and when your grip slides down to frame his neck, gracing the columns of his throat, you think for a moment you might kiss him, and if you don’t he’ll certainly kiss you.

Oh, how you wish he would.

Your eyes dart southward to regard the pillowy softness of his lips, cracked and chapped as they are, and you try to believe his words, despite how patently untrue they are — he still needs you.

“Everybody’s counting on me, Eds.” You hum, then tear your gaze up and away to meet his.

You watch as something flashes across his eyes, an indiscernible look that is tinged with an unmistakable sadness.

“Then promise me you’ll go for the van if you don’t think you’re gonna make it, okay?… Sweetheart, please… just do this one thing for me.”

You don’t answer, because you’re not entirely sure you can make that promise.

His expression softens and he breathes out a shaky, uneven breath, shoulders sagging as he tilts forward and presses his forehead to yours.

“What you said back at Rick’s goes both ways, you know?” He murmurs, “…I can’t lose you either… Not again.”

Your heart swells and thumps heavily against your ribs.

“What are you getting at, Munson?” You tease, because it’s all you can do to keep your emotions from bubbling up. “Spit it out.”

Eddie shakes his head, looking positively miserable as he speaks.

“I love you.” He says, “More than anything – more than everything, and I can’t … Jesus Christ, I’m so scared something’s going to happen and I won’t be there to save you…”

The sound tumbles out over your lips before you’re even aware of it bubbling up inside of you.

You giggle, and Eddie jerks back from you like the sound had jumped out and snapped at him.

You can’t help it, but it doesn’t make you feel any less guilty to see the hurt look he gives you, like a freshly kicked puppy.

You’re not laughing at him, per se, but you can understand how it might seem like you are. Nobody likes to be reminded of their shortcomings, so you’re quick to correct yourself.

“Oh, Eddie…” you sigh, smiling sweetly at him in the hopes it will ease the sting of what you’re about to say, “I love you, but this isn't the kind of thing you can save me from.”

It shouldn’t be startling, because it’s true. He'd said it himself, this is a suicide mission at its very best.

What is startling is the way Eddie reacts to hearing you say it, physically recoiling like you’d reached out with the sentiment and slapped him across the face.

“What did you just say?” Eddie gasps.

Suddenly he’s as serious as a heart attack and you’re worried you’ve misread the room. It leaves you reeling.

“...You can't save me?” You squeak out, half afraid of the hurt the statement is going to cause him if you ram it down his throat, despite how maddeningly true it is.

If things go as bad as he expects them to — which, to be quite honest, they very likely will — you don't expect Eddie is going to be able to pull you out of the frying pan, or the fire that follows, no matter how badly he wants to.

Still, his eyes grow bright and he shakes his head violently, sending his curls flying out in all directions.

His voice is tiny as he speaks.

“No ... before that." He says. "... you said you love me."

You blink back at him in a way you imagine must look owlish and quite stupid, and you watch as he grows strangely shy.

It only serves to deepen your confusion.

"...Did you mean that?" Eddie asks tentatively.

You don't answer right away, though not because you don't, only because the question is startling and you don't expressly know what to say.

The silence that hangs between you is charged and infinite, and suddenly you’ve left the question unanswered too long.

You watch as something akin to disappointment shadows his features. He sighs and pushes up from your hiding spot in the underbrush, and stalks away out toward the road.

It occurs to you much too late that a stunned silence was perhaps not the best way to answer that question, but it had been jarring at worst and deeply confusing at best.

Of course you love him. You feel it so fully with every particle of your being that at times you feel like it’s going to tear you apart, even now after all this time when things ought to have evened out between you.

You’ve certainly told him as much often enough that you’ve worried in the past that the words are losing meaning … how could he think that you don’t?

When was the last time you told him? Surely, out in the field? …No? Well, you definitely told him back in the clearing in the woods after he told you that stupid story and set your hand? Then again maybe not… Back at Rick’s place? No, that was him…

Your heart drops into your stomach as the truth dawns on you.

Oh shit... you haven’t told him.

How could you have not told him?

You scramble to your feet and nearly topple over in your mad attempt to get through the underbrush to follow him.

“Eddie, wait–” You start, taking clumsy steps toward him before he staves off your progress with a wave of his hand.

“Look, it’s fine, okay? I know you don’t feel the same way, but I don’t want you to say it if it’s not true.” He says, "I don't need you placating me just so I won't have hurt feelings or something—"

“Who says I don’t?” You demand.

It stops him in his tracks.

"What's that mean?" Eddie asks moodily.

"Who says I don't feel the same way?" You say a little slower, putting precise diction into each word, and spelling it out for him on the off chance that there has been a sudden and rapid decrease in IQs out here on the road.

The effect misses its mark. He just stares back at you, bewilderment etching a mask into his features so deep, you wonder idly if you’re ever going to see him make another expression again.

A sticky silence bleeds between you as you both wait for the other to speak.

Finally, you throw up your hands in frustration as you realize that between the two of you, you're the one who has suddenly become exceedingly goddamn stupid.

How could you have let Eddie go on thinking you didn't love him? What were you thinking? Nothing at all, apparently. You are a mean and foolish girl, and you cannot believe how incredibly careless you've been.

“I love you, Eddie," You start, "I’ve always loved you, from the moment I met you. That didn’t stop just because you got in your head and decided you weren’t good enough for me or whatever it was… I loved you even when I hated you … I mean — God — I always thought we were gonna get out of Hawkins and get a little place somewhere together... I thought we were gonna…" You roll your eyes and suppress the urge to hide your face then, gesturing vaguely to try and cover the color creeping up your neck, “...you know… get married and stuff…”

You try to imagine how your old friends would have reacted to hear you admit that. How stunned they would have been to find you when you still belonged to them, already daydreaming about wedding bells and little chapels, secretly scrawling your name sandwiched between Mrs. Munson all over your notebooks.

It’s embarrassing, but it doesn’t make it any less true.

It’s part of what had made the breakup so goddamn hard — you hadn’t seen it coming, you’d fully expected to spend the rest of your lives together.

Eddie makes a choked sound that is somewhere caught halfway between a scoff and something harsher. He blinks back the wetness suddenly brimming in his eyes as he reaches up to rub a calloused hand at the back of his neck.

“Guess I really went and fucked that up for you, huh?” He sniffs.

You shrug.

“Who says?” You ask, and when Eddie rolls his eyes, you double down, “Nothing’s changed, Eds—”

“Everything’s changed.” He stresses, stalking back across the clearing to close the gap between you, "How can you say that after all the shit I said ... everything I did? Everything is changed."

Suddenly you’re standing toe to toe, just like you had all those months back in front of the trailer, last summer.

Somehow the roles feel reversed now as you meet his watery gaze and feel the looming threat of the same choice hanging above your head like a guillotine.

He's right. Everything has changed, but who says you have to accept that? You know he would take it back if he could — the terrible choice he’d made — so who says you have to make the same mistake here and now?

You know better.

You shake your head and watch something akin to terror flash briefly across Eddie’s face at the prospective rejection.

How pleased you are to be able to prove him wrong.

“Not for me,” You say matter-of-factly, “I still love you.”

Like breaking the surface, he breathes out harshly through his nose and his shoulders sag under the effort of it.

“...You do?” Eddie asks, painfully hopeful, boyish even.

You can’t help the way your face begins to split into a slow, delighted grin. Finally, you get to mend something that is broken rather than being the one who broke it in the first place.

You nod.

“I do.”

“...Say it again.” He pleads, eyes flashing with strange and wild desperation, despite the way he’s begun to mirror your smile even before you say it.

You love him and he knows it, he has to know it.

“I love you,” You repeat, reaching up to curl your fingers around his biceps and giving him a gentle shake for good measure, “Even though you’re a big stupid jerk.”

He breathes out a wet, shaky laugh and suddenly he looks so fragile you can’t help but pull him a little closer.

Before you can admonish him for being so foolish as to think anything otherwise, his hands come up to frame your face, and he presses a searing kiss to your lips. It steals your breath and your eyes roll shut without your prompting.

You barely have time to process that you really ought not to be doing this so exposed, as chaste as the little kisses he’s begun peppering your face with are. He kisses you again and again, like he physically could not stop himself from kissing you if he tried.

You don’t think he’s trying very hard.

You’re in danger of being seen, standing so close to the road like this. Still, each gentle press of his lips is punctuated with a shaky utterance of his gratitude, blessing you for the reciprocation of the feeling, like he’s been holding his breath just waiting to hear you say it.

He pulls back a moment to stare reverently at you, searching your features like he's trying to commit them to memory.

You don't let him go very far, clinging to him like you're afraid you'll lose him if you let him go.

"You love me?" he says breathlessly, less a question than a statement of fact.

He nods slowly to prompt you to do the same, and you obey, but he hardly lets you.

Any need to hear you say it again is evidently superseded by the need to keep kissing you, this time it is a hard, wet thing pressed so forcefully to your lips you can hardly move against it.

A peal of joyful laughter bubbles up out of you and you love, love, love.

You feel the curl of his mouth as Eddie kisses you again, muffling the sound with his lips and pulling you that much tighter against him, tight enough that you finally feel him slip back into place to fill the hole he’d left in you last summer, and for the first time in almost a year, everything is right. It fills you with joy.

Blinding, unadulterated, stupefying joy.

It’s almost enough to make you forget the danger looming, and how once you turn around and head back to rejoin the others, you’ll very likely be going to your deaths…

#cruel summer fic #eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #stranger things fic #eddie munson fanfic #joseph quinn eddie munson #joseph quinn fic

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scorphargrove · 2 years

Text

I’m gonna say it.

Eddie Munson’s character (even though, while I admittedly did not want to, I do love him) could’ve been Billy Hargrove.

Say Billy has survived the mall incident. By a number of reasons we’ve all considered. The best scientists in the world bringing him back? The bite that took El’s powers then the bite that could’ve put them into Billy? Truly the list goes on and on.

The “Satanic Panic” still would’ve happened - Billy probably would’ve had scars all over his body, could’ve become a recluse and people could’ve questioned why he was the only one at Starcourt that night who sustained such an insane amount injuries but survived. The deaths could’ve easily have been blamed on him for these reasons and so many more (I’m thinking maybe Billy stumbling upon Chrissy and relating to her struggles even, before she dies) Coming from California when the residents just started to truly suspect something wrong in town. His car, his music, beating the shit out of Steve (because it’s Hawkins - everyone would’ve known), plus the way he could’ve shut himself off from the world and possibly even been considered generally scary/disturbed by the residents. The people in Hawkins could’ve blamed him and the which hunt could’ve been the same.

I mean, come on. Throwing away what arguably could’ve been the most complex character in this show, who could’ve had a redemption arc to rival even Steve Harrington’s had they written him to put in the work with the kids as he’s recovering...... for a storyline of Billy dead, a Billy “copy”, Steve wanting Nancy back, who cheated on him and dropped him like he was nothing and who weren’t even friends in S3 (not to mention he said openly that he didn’t love her anymore) (ALSO not to mention that Nancy has never even apologized, yet alone even 30% of the character growth that Steve has). Neil getting off the hook and not being able to stay in Hawkins without Billy after being abusive Billy’s whole life...and for Steve being jealous of Dustin’s high school friend?

I mean. Can you imagine them hiding Billy at Steve’s house. Can you imagine Billy bonding with Dustin in the Mordor scene. Can you imagine Billy diving in when Steve gets pulled through the gate. Can you imagine the hilarious Robin/Billy banter we’d get. Can you imagine Billy thinking Nancy is a priss and being shocked when he finds out he’s not. Can you imagine Billy fighting monsters. Can you imagine Max and Billy getting close in the year of him recovering, only really trusting Max in the beginning. Can you imagine Billy’s protectiveness and determination to kill Vecna when he curses Max (traumatized over what she saw in the mall and almost watching her brother die). Can you imagine Billy and Steve’s conversation in the woods about the Ozzy moment. Can you imagine ANY of their interactions - talking about the fight, bonding over growing out of the high school bullshit, talking about how monsters make everything like popularity seem so unimportant, Billy hating his scars and how he feels like a monster after all he did, Billy’s guilt over hurting Steve when he was trying to protect Max. I could go on for hours.

They had so much in common. They could’ve at least become great friends. The Nancy, Robin, Billy & Steve dynamic would’ve been absolutely killer.

It should’ve been Billy. I’m sorry, but I’m not sorry. Fix it fic coming very soon.

#s4 stranger things #st4 spoilers #s4 stranger things spoilers #stranger things spoilers #billy hargrove #ILL REWRITE IT MYSELF #COME ON DUFFERS

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feyhunter78 · 1 year

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Hiii would you be able to do hcs for Elrond on his wedding day? I just went to a wedding tonight and I’m feeling very 💓 at the thought of him just being so happy and in love while preparing to spend the rest of his life with his s/o skdjsksk thanks so much!!

I'm so glad you had a good time at that wedding anon, I loveee weddings!!!! Here's my take on your request!

Elrond Wedding HCs

A wedding is a big deal for Elrond. To have found someone he wishes to spend his life with, who accepts and cares for him to such depth that they are willing to bind their soul to his, is something he’s longed for since he was a child.

He loves love and loves the idea of having someone by his side forever. He’s been left so many times and the fact that you’ve stayed, despite all the obstacles, no matter what happened, he’s just so grateful.

Of course, you’re grateful, too. Elrond is a wonderful partner who cares so deeply for you, and when he asked you to marry him, it was such an easy choice. You loved him with your whole being, and knew he felt the same.

You honestly don’t do much of the planning, Elrond is so on top of it. Of course, he’s always asking for your opinion, but he gets so “in the zone” that you really only have to focus on what you want to wear. This at first was a little odd to you, but you were so busy with your own work that you didn’t mind. If Elrond wanted to do it, then you were going to let him.

He just wants everything to be perfect for you, and honestly wears himself a bit thin. So, you end up having to pull him aside and remind him that you are more than capable of helping—that you would love to help, and that you want him to be able to enjoy the wedding as well.

He finally relents and you both spend time together planning, looking at flowers, tasting cakes, and just generally enjoying each other’s company. It’s these little things that made him fall in love with you, and it’s his dedication to your happiness that made it so easy for you to say yes to him.

Celebrimbor definitely made y’all’s rings, and he helped Elrond figure out what he’s going to wear. It’s an adorable sight to see your future husband so dazzled over (one of) his hero(es) so invested in your wedding. Elrond is taken so aback by how much the other people in his life want to be involved.

Speaking of outfits, dress, pantsuit, robe, whatever you wear, Elrond is going to cry. He already thinks you look absolutely beautiful even when you’re a complete mess, so seeing you all dressed up, walking towards him with such a radiant smile on your face? He can’t wipe the tears away fast enough. You end up having to do it for him, which makes him fall even deeper in love with you.

He's just so happy to have you, he could get married in the ruins of Mordor and still be the most joyful being in Middle Earth. And obviously that didn’t happen, you got married in Lindon in a beautiful ceremony that Gil-galad officiated, surrounded by your friends and family. It was a whirlwind and of course some drama occurred, but as long as you’re there holding his hand, Elrond is content.

Tag list: @nyctophilic0vitnir, @elronds-pointy-ears, @elrondscalaquendi, @dilf-superiority, @jesticace

#meg's writing #anon request #thanks for the request!#i hope you like it!!!!#elrond headcanons #rop elrond #elrond rop #young elrond #elrond x reader #elrond x you #elrond x y/n #elrond peredhel #young!elrond #young elrond fanfic #rop fanfiction #rop

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frodo-cinnamonroll · 1 year

Text

Until Morning Comes Again

Request/plot: (from @almost-gabrielle) Frodo returns to the Shire and has a lot of nightmares about the quest. His lovely girlfriend, y/n (who was with him during the adventure), helps him calm down and is the only one who can get him to go back to sleep.

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: fluff and more fluff

✧✧✧✧✧

Two hours. For about two hours you sat in silence, a mug of tea in your hands, listening to the ticking of the clock on the mantle. You hadn’t been able to sleep very much that night since Frodo had been tossing and turning. It had been almost four months since the Quest of the Fellowship of the Ring had ended (and ten since the journey had started) and you, Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin had returned to the Shire. At first, it was strange living in peace again, not having anywhere to go. Because of this, you and Frodo often took walks around the Shire together since it didn’t feel right if your feet didn’t venture anywhere after so much walking. Slowly, though, you all were adjusting. You and Frodo lived with Sam and Rosie Gamgee in a cozy hobbit hole not far from Bag End that was just right for the four of you.

Now, you sat in a plushy armchair, facing the low fire you had kindled to brew some tea. You had looked over Frodo’s book that the two of you, with some help from Sam, were finishing. It was part of Bilbo’s book There and Back Again. You were sitting now in the armchair, thinking of some of the events that had taken place during the Quest. You thought of the members of the Fellowship and wondered what they were doing then. How were King Aragorn and Queen Arwen? Had Legolas and Gimli visited Fangorn yet? What was Gandalf up to? You smiled, thinking of them all, wishing you could see them again. Then you thought of Gollum. You shivered. The creature was a horrid one that had guided you, Frodo, and Sam to Mordor. You often had unpleasant dreams where Gollum was sneaking up to Frodo and you tried to warn Frodo of his coming but you couldn’t move or speak. You always woke up in tears when this happened. Occasionally, Shelob would appear in your dreams too, making them even worse. Although you had unpleasant dreams quite often, Frodo had them more so. Almost every five nights to a week he would tell you of an unpleasant dream that troubled him. Since you were more of a lighter sleeper, you usually awoke when he had these.

You glanced at the door to your bedroom which you had left slightly ajar just in case. Every now and then you would hear Frodo moan in his sleep, so you knew this was going to be one of those nights. You were always hesitant and reluctant to wake him, though. You stood now, setting your mug on the small end table between the armchair and the sofa. Softly, you stepped towards the door and peeked in the room. There was just enough light from the fire for you to see inside. Frodo lay on the right side of the bed, his back facing you. You walked around the foot of the bed and knelt in front of Frodo, placing your hand on his right one. You could see his face a little in the moonlight that slipped through the curtains behind you. His face looked troubled and his breath was somewhat rapid. His eyebrows were furrowed and he was mumbling something.

“Frodo,” you whispered, stroking his forehead with the back of your hand. He was sweating.

“No,” Frodo murmured. “No. Don’t.”

“Frodo,” you said again. “Frodo it’s me.”

“Please no,” Frodo said, his voice shaking. “Stay back. Back! Aiya Eärendil Elenion Ancalima!”

“Frodo wake up,” you said, not wanting him to see anymore of whatever nightmare was torturing him. “Frodo.”

“No. No. No!” With a cry Frodo sat up. His eyes were wide and his right hand clutched where the Nazgûl had stabbed him all that time ago. He saw you now and shrank back, fear filling his eyes. A few tears streaked his face.

“Frodo,” you said softly. You stood slowly then sat in front of him, holding his hand again.

The fear left Frodo’s features and he sighed, looking down. “I’m sorry,” he said so weakly it broke your heart. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t say that,” you said, wrapping your arms around him. You could feel Frodo still trembling. “There is nothing to be sorry for.” You stroked his head and kissed it multiple times.

“I woke you, didn’t I?”

“I was already awake. My mind would not be still once my eyes opened.”

Frodo said nothing and leaned into your embrace. You could feel his pounding heart which was slowly eased as you held each other. You knew Frodo hardly ever fell back asleep right away if he had a nightmare. He usually wanted to stay up a bit and though he always tried to convince you to go to bed, you always refused.

“Are you alright?” you asked at last, looking Frodo over.

“As well as I can be,” Frodo said softly.

“How about some tea? Perhaps that will make you feel a little better.” You stood and Frodo followed without a word, his head hanging.

You made him sit down on the sofa and grabbed one of Sam’s special herbal teas, chamomile. Sam had said it was good for helping you sleep and had calming properties. You put some new wood in the fire and put some water in a kettle. Frodo watched you, a sadness in his eyes and when you glanced at him, he looked away. When you put the kettle over the fire, you heard Sam and Rosie’s bedroom door open and the two of them walked out hand in hand, drowsy-looking but smiling.

“Up again, aren’t we?” Sam said.

Frodo said nothing, watching the fire as you sat down next to him. Sam and Rosie sat facing the two of you.

“What was it about this time?” you asked. Frodo didn’t answer right away. “It’ll be better if you talk about it.”

Frodo sighed. “It was similar to all the other nights, I guess. I was walking in . . . in Shelob’s lair. She was chasing me, then the Nine appeared and cornered me so she could get at me. I fought her off a bit but my arms were weak and I dropped Sting. I tried to use the Light of Eärendil but it went out. Then I woke up.” Frodo looked at you now. His eyes were watery.

“Oh, Frodo,” you said, rubbing his arm.

The tea kettle started whistling and Sam got up and took care of it. He went to the kitchen and prepared four cups. He came back soon after, and handed one to each of you.

“I put some lavender in, Mr. Frodo,” Sam said. “It should help a bit more.”

Frodo nodded, taking a sip. His hands were still shaking and he had a bit of a hard time with it at first. Finally, he set the cup and saucer down in defeat. You looked at Frodo who glanced at you tearfully. He couldn’t hold the tears back, or didn’t try, and they ran down his face.

“Frodo,” you said gently, sitting down again. “Frodo what is it?”

“I’m sorry,” he said, looking at all of you with guilt. “I’m sorry I am such a burden. I do not mean to be but I am. None of you have to do a thing for me. Don’t feel like you have to. If I burden you too much please tell me. Just tell me to get out of the way or ignore me or something other if you must. I will make it up to you all if I can. At least I will try, so please forgive me now.”

“Frodo!” you said, cupping his face in your hands and wiping his tears. “You are not a burden in any way. You are burdened, yes, but you yourself are not a problem.”

“Mr. Frodo,” Sam said, “you have to understand. We don’t dislike you being here, Rosie and I, not in the slightest. And if we did I’d have to go all the way back to Mount Doom and throw myself in! All of us have some things we have to deal with for the rest of our lives from that journey, but you have got the most. You had it the hardest, Mr. Frodo, if you understand me. You were the bravest, Mr. Frodo, taking the Ring and all. You took the biggest risks and it took the biggest toll on you. You had the worst of it and there ain’t no reason for you to be ashamed of it because you saved the world.”

“Exactly,” you said. “Frodo, I know you doubt yourself, even after the Quest, and it hurts my heart. And maybe you shan’t believe this, but you are the most precious person in the world. I like to call you such, precious, that is, but since Gollum ruined the word, I try not to. But know this, Gollum ruined the word for sure, but you Frodo, you bring it back to its original meaning: wonderful and cherished. And you always shall be. You are what the word really means, and quite beyond it, I dare say.” You smiled now and it seemed as if a weight lifted off Frodo’s shoulders. He looked up at you and smiled.

“Thank you,” he said, through the remainder of his tears, embracing you in one of his wonderful, tight, warm hugs.

Sam and Rosie stood now in silence, smiles on their faces, and gathered the tea cups and kettle.

“Well,” Sam said, his arm around Rosie’s shoulder, “I guess we’ll be going back to bed. Let us know if you need anything. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” you and Frodo said.

You and Frodo watched them walk back to their bedroom and close the door. Frodo yawned and rested his head on yours.

“Do you think you can sleep now?” you asked.

“You can go to bed,” Frodo said, stroking your cheek. “You do not have to wait on me.”

“No, I can’t,” you said. “I can’t sleep knowing you are sitting out here awake.”

“But you are tired. I can see it. Go ahead.”

“No. Not without you. You are tired too, you know.”

“Yes,” Frodo said, and his voice grew quieter, “but I . . . I fear what may appear in my dreams again.”

“You don’t need to,” you said. “I do not think you have ever had one after waking up. And if you do, we can walk outside together and look at the stars until morning comes. I just want to be there for you, Frodo. Even if I am losing sleep, I would rather be with you than anywhere else in Middle-earth.”

Frodo smiled and looked down. “Alright then. You win.”

You stood, grabbed a blanket from your room, and covered the both of you in it. You talked a bit and decided to look at the book you were working on in the candlelight. After talking a bit more, you put the book away and were silent. The fire in the living room was still burning well, and you watched it, a gentle smile on your face. So cozy and peaceful it was with Frodo. Just as you had said, there was nowhere else you would rather be.

“I am glad you are here with me always,” Frodo said at last.

You looked at Frodo. “It isn’t because I pity you that I am. It is because I love you for who you are, burdened or no. If I didn’t love you after the Quest, then I didn’t deserve you before it. Not that you are better or worse before or after, but it is different now. It is harder, but that doesn’t mean it is worse. I hope you understand that.”

To your surprise, instead of casting his glance to the fire in wistful memory, Frodo looked at you and grinned. “I do understand it. I always have, in a way. You have always been there when I have needed you. You have always done your best to make me smile and let me know that you love me. I don’t think I have always done the best telling you that I love you more than anything, not as well as you at least.”

“I do not need poetry or fancy words, Frodo, to know that you love me,” you said, “but I love to hear it nonetheless. But enough talk, you are supposed to be asleep right now.”

Frodo pulled the blanket up to his chin and laid his head on your shoulder. He placidly fingered a strand of your hair. Frodo’s left hand lay on your arm, and you took it in your hands, rubbing your thumb over the stub of Frodo’s forefinger where he had lost it. Frodo was never really comfortable with talking about it to anyone other than you, Sam, Merry and Pippin. Sometimes, a curious little kid would ask why he was missing a finger, but Frodo never really answered, and if he did it was vague such as “It was an accident.” Frodo was quite comfortable with you, and sometimes you would call him Frodo of the Nine Fingers as Sam had and he’d smile. You kissed his forehead and closed your eyes, listening to Frodo’s gentle breaths.

“I love you,” Frodo whispered.

“And I love you,” you whispered back.

As you sat there, you watched Frodo and after about twenty minutes or so, his eyes began to grow heavy. Every now and then he would start a little, trying to keep awake, but it wasn’t long before his eyes began to close again. You were running your fingers through his curly hair when his head finally drooped and lay on your chest. You kept as still as possible, so as not to wake him, still holding his hand. Soon, you began to feel sleepy yourself and couldn’t stop yawning. Then your eyes closed and you drifted off in undisturbed rest.

✧✧✧✧✧

Sam and Rosie hadn’t really gone to bed all that fast either. Sam couldn’t seem to fall asleep, since he still was a little worried about Frodo, and wondering if Y/N or Frodo would get any sleep at all. Finally, after about an hour, Sam slipped out of bed, and quietly eased his bedroom door open. Peeking out, he could see Y/N and Frodo bundled in a blanket on the couch. The fire was getting low and there was just enough light to see in. Sam tip-toed out of the room and watched them for a minute. Frodo’s head lay on Y/N’s chest, and was rising and falling ever so gently. Y/N was holding Frodo’s hand and some of her hair fell over Frodo’s face. Their faces looked peaceful.

“Two lovebirds if I’ve ever seen one,” Sam whispered, shaking his head and smiling. “Ah, they’re so perfect for each other. That I know.” Then he went back to bed, leaving the two of them in peace until morning came again.

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