#world's largest baseball bat
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World's Largest Baseball Bat, Louisville, Kentucky, 1995
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actually here's my local moodboard. for culture
#i think about WHERE BLEAK MEETS HOPELESSNESS literally all the time.#also thats the worlds largest baseball bat.#bottom one is pope lick goatman email i got a while back#and thats jack harlow in there. louisvilles own himbo apparently? idk he seems nice.
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Bat, Please!
Pairing: Eddie Munson x reader
Word Count: 1,992
Summary: You want something and Eddie does it best to make it happen!
Author's Note: I couldn't have a proper Kinktober celebration without adding some Eddie and although this is mostly soft and fun I just love him so! Thank you bunches to @blackwidownat2814 my lovely Nat for sharing some super fun Eddie coded tik toks that always help to inspire. Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @wannabehamlet thank you sweets! 🥰
Warnings: cute and fun fluff, softness, some sp-ic-y fun
Eddie Munson Masterlist
Kinktober 2023 Masterlist
“Eddie?”
You continue to comb your fingers through his curls, separating them and fixing them as you go.
“Hm?” he answers sleepily.
“I want to get a bat.”
As you wait for his response you warm some product between your hands.
“Well?” you ask when he doesn’t say anything.
Just when you reach for his curls again he turns his head and looks at you with big brown eyes.
“A bat?” he asks. “Like a fuzzy bat or a baseball bat…cause these are two very different things. I’m sure Steve has a bat we can use but a fuzzy flying bat is a whole….”
He trails off and makes wild gestures with his hands, flapping them this way and that and making weird bat sounds.
“One of those,” you giggle and then turn his head back around so you can smooth the product into his hair.
“A bat,” he repeats.
“Yeah. A fuzzy, flying, fruit eating, hanging upside down cute as hell bat.”
After his hair is properly styled for his show tonight he leaps to his feet and leans over you as you sit on the edge of the bed.
“Where are we getting this bat?” he asks.
You shrug and slide backwards to give him room. He sits cross legged in front of you and stares.
“Look,” you start and grab the book lying on the bed.
“What is that?”
“A book,” you deadpan.
He narrows his eyes and tilts his head.
You smile and roll your eyes. “I got it at the library yesterday. LOOK HOW CUTE!”
You flip open to a page with a picture of a flying fox bat and point, sticking it in his face.
“EDDIE LOOK!” you squeal again.
He looks from you to the picture and back to you.
“It’s SO CUTE!” he screeches.
“I KNOWWWWWW!”
You scoot closer to him and he uncrosses his legs, spreading them so you can sit between them. His arms wrap around your waist and he takes the book from your hands, laying it on your lap so he can flip through it.
“What kind is this?” he asks when you get to a picture of a large bat with a huge wing span.
“The giant golden-crowned flying fox,” you read. “the largest bat in the world with a wing span up to five feet!”
“Jesus Christ,” he says. “I think maybe the little guys are better.”
“IS THAT A YES!??!”
“Sweetheart,” he murmurs as his head dips to your neck. “We can’t really get a bat.”
His kiss momentarily distracts you but when his words sink in you turn in his arms and give him a sad look.
“Oh come on angel, don’t do that!” he whines. “I hate when you’re sad.”
“But, but…look.” Your words are quiet and soft as you hold up another picture of one of the smaller bats. A fruit bat eating a mango.
“Little fuckers really are adorable,” he muses. “But I’m pretty sure we don’t have those kind of bats here in Hawkins.”
“Maybe we can rescue one?”
He studies you for a moment, several emotions contorting his features as he clearly tries to think of a way to make this happen for you.
You sigh and slump into his body, leaning your head along his shoulder and taking one of his curls to twirl around your finger.
“I’ll dress up as a bat for Halloween,” he offers with a sweet smile.
Your eyes light up at the thought of it but you quickly remind him you already have your costumes ready.
“I’ll figure something out,” he promises.
You snuggle closer and nuzzle his neck. “Do you want me to do your eyeliner for tonight?”
“Sure sweetheart, thanks.”
“Ok, lemme just get changed first so I’m ready to go.”
He reluctantly releases you and falls flat on your bed, spreading out like a star fish.
After you’re changed you find him in the same position, eyes closed and his breathing steady with his curls spread out wildly on the pillow.
“Eddie?” you say softly as you sit on the bed.
He stirs and blinks open an eye.
“Hmm must have fallen asleep,” he mumbles as he starts to sit up.
He rubs his hand over his face and gives his cheek a soft slap to wake up and once he is fully present he looks you over, his eyes nearly bulging out of his head when he sees your outfit.
“Good heavens!” he squeaks when his eyes drop to your chest.
You snort laugh and give him a look.
“Are you for real right now?” you ask.
His eyes stay glued to your cleavage and he licks his lips. “Are you for real right now?”
“You don’t like my shirt?”
You run your fingers lightly across your collarbone and arch your back.
“Angel…come on, I mean…you can’t go out like that.”
He grabs one of his girls and starts to mindlessly chew on it, still staring.
“What does that mean?” you fire back.
“It means! My dick is already hard and I haven’t even touched you yet. You expect me to sing and play guitar while staring at those?!?!?!”
You smirk and climb into his lap, straddling his waist.
“Oh,” you breathe out when you feel him beneath you.
“Yeah,” he hums, lifting his fingers and wiggling them in anticipation.
He traces the swell of your breasts with his calloused fingertips. “Fuck,” he hisses.
“I have to do your liner,” you whisper.
“Ok.” He audibly swallows and tries to focus on your face.
You grab the pen. “Close your eyes.”
His gaze drops again and you give him a pointed look.
“Eddie,” you scold. “Close ‘em.”
He sighs dramatically and closes his eyes. You start to apply the liner but his hands start to wander, feeling around the air to make a grab.
“If you don’t behave I’m going to either poke your eye out or stab you with his eye liner pencil.”
He concedes with another intense huff and drops his hands to the bed, curling his fingers into the soft comforter.
After you line the bottom you check your work and give him a thumbs up.
“Hot,” you state.
Without warning he takes the liner from between your fingers and then grabs you, flipping you onto your back and settling his weight on top of you.
His lips hover just above yours as his fingertips dance along your stomach and his curls tickle your skin.
“We’re gonna be late Eddie.”
“But, but….but!”
With a rock of his hips he grazes his knuckles along your skin, his rings teasing every inch he touches.
“You need time to set up…”
Your eyes start to flutter closed.
“But…” he whispers against your lips.
“Look we both want things we can’t have right now,” you sigh as you press your hands to his chest.
“What?” he asks, clearly confused and still staring at your boobs.
“I want a bat and you want boobs.”
“Just your boobs.”
“Of course,” you acknowledge.
“And I kinda want a bat too,” he adds.
“I’ll throw your flannel on for now.”
“I didn’t say to do that,” he whines.
“Ok then I won’t but let’s go! We’re going to be late.”
You slide off the bed and grab your shoes, bending down to put them on. His muttered curses draw your attention and you catch him staring again.
Before you can respond he grabs his flannel and throws it in your direction. “Just put it on so I don’t have to go on stage with a boner.”
“Fine,” you say and blow him a kiss. “But I can’t promise I’ll leave it on the whole time.”
“Fine,” he shoots back. “And I can’t promise I won’t take you to the back room and fuck your brains out after the show.”
“Fine!”
“Fine!”
“That was amazing!” you yell, still hyped up from Eddie and Corroded Coffin’s music.
“You know what’s amazing sweetheart,” Eddie murmurs as he drags you back stage. “You.”
“Eddie,” you giggle.
His lips on yours silence any other words and when he kicks the door of the back room shut and presses you against it you grab for his vest and start to tug it off his shoulders.
He pulls away and you chase his lips, whining out his name.
“Nuh uh angel,” he smirks.
He gathers your wrists between his fingers and slowly lifts your arms over your head, pressing your hands to the door.
“Eddie,” you gasp.
He runs his nose along the length of your neck, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear when he whispers, “I’m going to worship you.”
By the time you get home the early morning sun is brightening the horizon in soft hues of pink and orange.
You and Eddie collapse into bed and fall asleep in a tangle of limbs and bare skin. It isn’t until you start to feel a slight chill that you shift and search for the blanket, only to find the other half of the bed empty.
“Eddie?” you mumble as you crack open an eye.
His leather jacket is missing from the floor and his keys aren’t on the dresser.
You search for a note, spotting a small, ripped piece of paper sitting under a die on his pillow.
“Ran out for a minute angel, be back soon. Stay in bed xoxo <3.”
With a smile you press the paper to your chest and curl back up, pulling the covers tightly around you.
“Hey sweetheart,” Eddie whispers, lightly shaking your shoulder.
You stir and whine out something incoherent but he catches his name and it makes him laugh.
“I have something for you…Sweetheart.”
He removes his shoes and takes off his jacket then slides into bed and starts to place soft kisses along your bare shoulder.
Your lips turn up in a smile and you whisper, “you’re back.”
“And I have a surprise for you!”
You lift your head and rest it on your elbow, blinking several times before focusing on Eddie and his excited smile.
“Ready???”
“YES EDDIE WHAT IS IT!” you squeal, now fully awake. “SHOW MEEEEEEEE!”
He keeps the surprise behind his back even as you grab at him and plead, until finally he kisses you.
Once you’re breathless and melting into the bed he stops and slowly reveals what he’s been hiding.
It’s small but not too small and black and soft and has sparkly wings and little fangs and big round eyes and It’s perfect.
“You got me a bat,” you say softly and take it from his hands. “He’s so ridiculously cute and perfect.”
You smush the stuffed bat to your chest and squeeze it hard before launching yourself at Eddie.
He catches you in his arms and lays you back down, curling you into his chest and covering you all with the blanket.
“I know he isn’t a real bat…”
“He’s just the cutest. Where did you find him?” you ask.
“I went to Starcourt this morning.”
You go still in his embrace and your eyes get wide.
“You went…to the mall?!?”
“Yeah…and it wasn’t that bad…I guess. I went. I saw. I conquered!”
He waggles his eyebrows and you let out a peel of laughter before your expression softens and you snuggle closer.
“You really are the best; you know that Eddie.”
“Anything to make you happy angel,” he coos. “What are you gonna name him?”
“Well my first thought was Eddie of course but then I thought…Dio?”
His eyes light up. “DIO!” he shouts, taking the bat and looking him over. “He looks like a Dio.”
“He does right?” you reflect. “What about Dio Edward Munson?”
“Edward huh?” he smirks.
“Yeah. He’s a distinguished bat,” you state proudly.
“Well, it’s official. Welcome to the family Dio Edward Munson.”
Eddie kisses the top of Dio’s head then slides his thumb across your cheek, pulling you in for a kiss of your own.
@buckysdollforlife @goldylions @hiddles-rose
#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x female reader#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson stranger things#eddie munson fanfiction#eddie munson imagine#eddie munson fanfic#joseph quinn#joseph quinn x reader#stranger things#kinktober 2023
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The tiger shark is a species of ground shark, and the only extant member of the genus Galeocerdo and family Galeocerdonidae. It is a highly nomadic species which inhabits tropical and subtropical waters world wide up to 3,000ft (900m) in depth, and is often found in coastal waters with particular abundance in the gulf of mexico, Caribbean sea, Indian ocean, and western pacific. Tiger sharks are often call the garbage cans of the sea and have reputation for eating almost anything. As such there diet is wide and heavily varied an is known to regularly include: small fish, jellyfish, crustaceans, cephalopods and other mollusks, rays, skates, sawfish, sea birds, sea snakes, sea turtles, other sharks, dolphins, seals, sea lions, dugongs, manatees, crocodilians, porpoises, and sick or injured whales. When near islands or coastlines they have been known to eat sheep, goats, dogs, pigs, rats, horses, deer, cattle, cats, camels, monkeys, inland birds, bats, lizards and inedible objects, such as license plates, cans, tires, books, boat oars, soccerballs and baseball bats. Tiger sharks are themselves occasionally preyed upon by orcas, great whites, and saltwater crocodiles. The tiger shark commonly reaches 10.5-14ft (3.2 -4.26m) in length and 385- 1400lbs (175 – 635kg) in weight, with the largest recorded reaching 18ft (5.5m) long and 3360lbs (1525kg). This ranks the tiger shark amongst the largest extant sharks on earth only being surpassed by the whale, basking, great white, pacific sleeper, Greenland, and blunt nosed sixgill sharks. They have a broad snout and stocky body with proportionally large fins and a long upper tail. Tiger shark teeth are unique with very sharp, pronounced serrations and an unmistakable sideways-pointing tip. Such dentition has developed to slice through flesh, bone, and other tough substances such as turtle shells. In the northern hemisphere the mating season takes place from march to may and the southern hemisphere from November to January, with males breeding every year while females breed once every 3 years. After a year long pregnancy mother tiger sharks give birth to 10 to 80 pups. Under ideal conditions a tiger shark may live upwards of 12 years.
#pleistocene#pleistocene pride#pliestocene pride#pliestocene#fish#shark#shark week#tiger#tiger shark
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you know what I'm tired of?? People from OUTSIDE America, telling American's they're stupid.
Not all of us are.
I'm also pretty damn tired of people from OUTSIDE of lower Appalachia, telling us we're stupid.
We fucking know. We know all to well. And no matter how hard we try to fix it, we are met with constant resistance from the government on every single damn level. My high school put all of it's funding into it's MALE sports programs. Womens sports didn't have shit. Our women's softball team didn't even have a damn field. While our Men's baseball team had fully climate controlled, video-capable, shower holding field houses and batting cages. The color guard has one small closet for all of their stuff + their teaching materials. The football team has the largest stadium in a 3 county radius. And it's a damn good stadium too. The performing arts? No funding. Academics? No funding. STEM and Women in STEM? Less than no funding, we lost resources yearly. We are stupid because we literally have no other choice. Many of us are cut off from the outside world, because we can't afford or literally can't cut through the terrain well enough to build power lines and internet routes. I know people who grew up without running water and electricity. I know people who were only able to go to school because their family illegally grew weed and sold it because it's the only way some people could afford to make a living, because there aren't any jobs. Because the government doesn't care. They forget we're here. They forget about Eastern Kentucky and Tennessee, they forget about West Virginia, they forget we're here. And when we ask for help, when we beg for them to shut down the paper mill that has been poisoning our crops and water for over 60 years? They only listen when it benefits them, not us. And when we work to find new jobs? We are punished, and our rightly needed government aid is taken the second we breach the poverty barrier. All but 1 of my childhood friends were so far below the poverty line that they couldn't buy clothes and had to get them from the school. If you really want to help these places, then go see what they're like. Go to Newport, or Cocke County, or any of the small run down towns in this region of the US. We need the help, we need the aid, we need our public libraries, we need our schools, we need help. And most of us are too stupid to know it.
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Lady Thunder
For the ThunderPride asks:
@onereyofstarlight asked:
Scott and Brains and number 13 - Tell you how they'd celebrate Pride?
So I answered with a fic. Perhaps answers for one character more than the other, but there is alway room for more fic :D Many thanks to @onereyofstarlight for the reassurance :D
Just a scene, really, but more than I've written for weeks.
-o-o-o-
Scott yawned, drawing in breath enough to kickstart his brain again. A hand through his hair, he stood up from his desk and slapped the holoprojector off.
He arched his back until it cracked. Damn, he’d been sitting there far too long.
His watch declared it to be four in the afternoon. Honestly, he knew it from the angle of the sun hitting the villa, but whatever.
That watch also sprouted a tiny holographic version of Virgil. The recording of his younger brother was listing things on his fingers on what not to forget for their celebration in Auckland.
Scott rolled his eyes. Virgil was such a nanny nag at times.
Yes, yes, he could remember to dress correctly. No, he wasn’t going to bring a date this year. Of course he would bring a spare pair of shoes for Gordon, it was standard.
And yes, he would drag Brains out of his…
Scott blinked. He had Brains duty? Virgil usually did that. How the hell had Scott ended up with Brains duty.
He grit his teeth.
Grandma. Only Grandma would be able to manhandle their heavy lifter into doing this.
The guilty expression on tiny Virgil’s face was mixed with sympathy.
Yeah, so much for that comment on Grandma’s oatmeal cookies. For goodness sake, they had been hardtack. He was only being honest.
So she wrangled Brains duty onto him.
Scott wasn’t sure who he should be sorrier for, himself or Brains.
He sighed and let his arm drop, leaving tiny Virgil nattering away, hanging sideways off his wrist.
Brains duty.
Scott was a military veteran, in charge of one of the world’s largest companies, and commander of an elite rescue team.
He could do this.
Yeah.
Right.
But he was also one to look a challenge in the face and beat it with a baseball bat. So he strode off to the elevator to begin the search for his victim.
Perhaps ‘victim’ was probably too strong a word. He loved Brains like a brother and would put his life on the line for their genius without thought, but the last time he had Brains duty, he ended up with lipstick stains on his favourite suit and glitter everywhere.
Everywhere! He was still finding the sparkly stuff in One. Three rescuees just this last year had complained about the glitter on their clothes. He just couldn’t get rid of it. Even Virgil had tried.
Scott secretly thought that perhaps Virgil could keep Two cleaner than One simply because of Two’s lack of velocity. One mached the glitter into her infrastructure and the sparkly shit could never be removed.
Another slow blink as he stepped onto the elevator.
Maybe he had read too many reports today. The insanity had climbed into his brain.
Brains.
He hit the number for the man’s residence and let the elevator take him there.
This was a special time of the year for their friend. Pride was something that was supported by every Tracy and not just because it was the right thing to do. They had friends and family who were involved with the movement, but he had to admit that one Doctor Hiram Hackenbacker was particularly special.
In oh so many ways.
Scott had to admit that, their father meeting Brains for the first time? Had nothing to do with Thunderbirds.
More Thunderpride than anything else.
The entrance to Hiram’s home was as simple as was to be expected. The sticker slapped on the door by a much younger Gordon declared ‘Genius onboard’. It was partly torn at one corner where someone had obviously tried to pry it off with little success.
But the painting on the wall beside the door hinted at more of Brain’s personality than anything else. Half gears and construction, half pink and purple rainbows, Virgil certainly knew how to communicate with his brush.
Scott knocked on the door.
Beyond the wood, he could hear muttering and footsteps and the general chaos he had been expecting. When the door failed to open, he knocked a little harder.
“Brains, are you ready?”
“Scott?” More muttering and fussing behind the door before it was flung open. “You’re here?”
“Ah, yes, that I am.”
“Why aren’t you dressed?” Long false eyelashes darted up and down as Brains looked him over.
“Need to wear the uniform to fly. I’ll get dressed in Parnell.” And glitter, so much glitter. Brains had it on his cheekbones, in his hair and even in his nail polish. One suit down, Scott wasn’t going to trash another any time soon. His IR uniform was able to be incinerated if necessary. “You need any help?”
His friend stepped back. “How do I look?”
Scott’s eyes widened as he looked beyond the glitter. “Wow, you’ve really done it this year.”
“You think?” Hiram, or more correctly, Lady Thunder, twirled on the spot. Heels sparkled in the light beneath layers of taffeta and silk skirts, all in shades of startling pink and purple, sharpening to lightning whites and stormy darks. Full length sleeves disappeared into white gloves to contrast the voluminous dark curls on her head. Purple lipstick, pink eyeshadow and lightning bolts clinging to her earlobes wrapped her up in a dazzling display of personal power.
Scott couldn’t help but stare, his brain caught in admiration. Lady Thunder truly was a freedom for Brains. Joking about glitter aside, this was the one time of the year that it was obvious that their friend could be who he wanted to be. It was as if his costume removed all the pressures of his upbringing, academia, and life in general. Not that the Tracys had ever put any demands on their friend beyond the needs of occupational health and safety. He could be whomever he wanted to be, wherever and whenever as far as the brothers were concerned. But this one time of the year? Lady Thunder was truly let loose. They would fly into Auckland, to their chosen venue and maintain the mystery of who Lady Thunder actually was, and watch her sing on stage, dance, and really just enjoy herself.
It was a glorious sight to see. The world loved her, and really loved the mystery as well.
Honestly, Scott found it a true privilege to be one of the few who did know Hiram for who he and she was.
Really, pretty damned amazing on all fronts.
Despite the glitter.
The blasted glitter.
“Ready to fly?”
“Yes, yes, give me one more moment.” Lady Thunder disappeared into the depths of her rooms hunting something down.
There was no stutter when Lady Thunder spoke. Never a hesitation, never a founder, and honestly that said the most of all.
Scott’s lips curled a little to one side as the Lady darted muttering from one room to another.
He really was honoured to know the both of them.
-o-o-o-
#thunderbirds are go#thunderbirds#thunderbirds fanfiction#scott tracy#hiram hackenbacker#thunderpride#thunderpride 2023#nuttyfic#yay for new fic
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I Know The End: Chapter One, Over And Out.
(Pairing: Robin Buckley x fem!reader, stranger things rewrite)
(Word Count: 3.7k)
(AN: Would anyone be interested in a tag list? This is my first story and I plan to start a series as I haven't seen many for Robin Buckley, and she deserves the world oml- thanks for reading!!)
Series Warnings: swearing, fear of abandonment, era-relevant homophobia, etc.
More warnings included in future chapters.
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29/06/1985 - Cerebro's Hill
Dustin Henderson was a boy with large ideas.
When he was five years old, he waddled around his mother's house mumbling on about space, time, and the monsters that hid beneath the bed. They crawled and infested the wooden frame beneath him, squirming when he shone a flashlight directly at them. This happened because he happened to catch an image of a shadow from the corner of his eye (which turned out to be a coat rack, but he wouldn't figure that out until he was seven,) and refused to sleep in his room for a week.
He still found himself afraid of the dark some nights.
When he was eight, his mother purchased his very own D&D manual, and the boy was convinced that the woods were haunted. In his mind, creatures from Fei to Celestials roamed the forests, and the boy spent three weeks attempting to lure out a unicorn. His friends joined him, Michael Wheeler, Lucas Sinclair and Will Byers disregarding even the thought of schoolwork for 22 days and six hours.
Despite never finding a unicorn, the boy remained just as invested in the fantasy game as the day he was introduced. He held a figurine in the shape of a horse with wings as a reminder of his larger-than-most imagination, slowly coated in dust and left alone on his windowsill.
He never told anyone.
When he was thirteen, Dustin Henderson found a slimy, writhing creature that he quickly tried to identify as an aquatic pollywog in his trash. However, after finding out faster than he would've liked that it wasn't, in fact, a pollywog, but a creature from an alternative shadow universe; heart beating below his beloved town of Hawkins, the idea that terrifying things walked among him began to truly sink in. He had faced the issues regarding Will Byer's disappearance and possession, but was never truly able to fathom the danger he was in for simply existing until Steve Harrington made his way to the boy's side. He never assumed that Steve Harrington, former King of Hawkins High would ever willingly help him out, but was quickly proven wrong when he found the older boy dragging buckets of bait down a set of train tracks for monster-hunting.
Somehow, the largest truth he had to face up until that point was that Steve Harrington might not have been the complete and utter dick that Mike Wheeler described him to be. Instead, he was ruthlessly swinging his baseball bat from years prior (now adorned with rusty nails and a fresh coat of crimson,) to defend the hoard of kids gathered in an old school-bus.
So, when Dustin Henderson returned from camp and was faced with a terrifying Russian translation, he wasn't as fast to dismiss its existence. The idea that Russian soldiers may have been trying to contact the cursed town of Hawkins was not as unfathomable as it had been years before.
This, of course, was how you came into the picture. Dustin Henderson had never been more grateful that the rusted walkie-talkie you had gifted him for his ninth birthday still worked. He held the button for hours sat on top of the grassy hill, begging for just a moment to speak with you.
It was rather difficult, considering the pair of the walkie-talkie that you owned remained stuffed inside a drawer at the bottom of your desk. Buzzing at nothing, Henderson's angry voice echoing against four wooden walls.
"Come in! Jones, come in!" He begged, breath hitching in the back of his throat as the nickname slipped past his lips. The boys had been known as ghostbusters, code names rattling off of their own devices, long before you became involved in the joke. By then, there were few interesting characters in the franchise left, so you had become the next best alternative. Indiana Jones, in fact, certified treasure-hunter from one of the most iconic films of your time. It was purely coincidental that the name had been decided during one of your babysitting sessions with the young boy rather than the time you and he fought on an actual adventure.
"Jones, please-" He tried again, tears gathering in the corner of his eyes as he attempted to push through everything. The emotions from the day were already running high, feeling more than abandoned by the remainder of his friends as they ditched him, leaving him to call for his girlfriend on his own. It was disappointing that they refused to believe him, but leaving on his first day back in Hawkins?
Truly unfair.
It was no surprise to the boy that he was beginning to worry, thoughts of the Upside-down seeping into his head without permission. In the silence, he remembered the stretched face of Will Byers as he was forced to burn the Mind Flayer out of him. He remembered how the second he was certain that the events were over, he rushed to his house and rocked himself to sleep in your arms. He was frightened, and currently, there was no-one else to turn to.
"Short?" His nickname in your voice echoed back, crackling out of the plastic device. The boy was so happy, he swears he could've cried.
"Jones! Oh thank god, you need to unlock your house, right now-" He begged, rambling and struggling to get the words out.
"Hey! Hey, kid, breathe- is everything alright?" Your voice was hushed, a relaxing tone despite the static coating it. He shook his head, realising that you weren't a psychic like El, and wouldn't be able to see him, before repeating his issue.
"No, Jones, everything's wrong." He muttered, hanging his head and packing up his belongings.
"Okay, are you alright? That's the most important thing, Henderson." Your voice was certain, strong despite the emotional turmoil the boy was facing.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. I'll be over in ten?" He questioned, silently wincing as he realised he might've been intruding on an important night.
" 'Course, kid. You know you're always welcome at my place. You need Harrington, too?"
"No!" The boy exclaimed, quickly muttering reassurances while you sat in confusion, trying to piece together his uncertainty.
"No, not Harrington, just you tonight. I just- I just need you and movies, please. I'm really scared." He croaked out the last part, hoping you'd come to your senses and realise the urgency of the situation before he cracked.
One second of silence, and then another, before your voice returned, calming as ever.
"Okay, kid. I'll set Indiana up and grab some leftover snacks from before you left, is that okay?"
His smile widened, hands rushing to wipe the tears from his eyes.
"Yeah, sounds great Jones. I'll be over in ten. Over and out." He clicked a red button on the corner of the device, shoving it deep into his bag as he packed up the remainder of Cerebro. He had recorded the message, just in case, pondering over the words as he willed his heart to stop racing.
The mind flayer was gone, he was safe. The upside-down wasn't coming back.
He reassured himself, running through the affirmations Hopper had set him after the fallout of 1984. He began to lug his bike down the hill, returning Cerebro to its rightful place in his garage before making the treacherous bike to Steve Harrington's street. You lived three doors down from him, parents absent the majority of the year. The only proof of them having existed at all was cash thrown onto the side hurriedly before every visit.
It was more than enough to last you a while, and whilst you tried not to spend when you could avoid it, you figured ordering a pizza for you and the kid you used to babysit couldn't be deemed an unreasonable cause.
You quickly recognised the repetitive knock at the door, pattern familiar from the times he'd ambushed you over the years. Christmas parties, birthday parties, random visits from him and the boys, Dustin Henderson would always use the same knock. Three fast knocks, three slow knocks, three fast knocks. Morse code, in case something were to ever happen to either of you.
You would greet him in the same manner, because if an alternate dimension wasn't off the table, then neither was kidnapping. You rushed to the door, throwing him a small smile before the boy flung himself into your arms, burying his face in your shirt.
"Hey! Hey, whoa, kid, are you alright?" You mumbled quickly, pulling him closer to provide him the reassurance he needed.
"What happened?" You questioned, leading him to the large sofa in the abandoned living room.
"I'd rather just show you." He hung his head, pulling an old recording device from his pocket that blared angrily, Russian grunts and groans through almost unintelligible words.
The syllables slurred together as a confused expression plastered itself on your face, frowning as you glared at the device.
"Where did you find this, Henderson?"
"I was trying to contact Suzie after the others ditched me," he began to ramble, moving quickly and disregarding the look of shock on your face at his previous sentence, "and then all of a sudden the channel wasn't working and there was Russian, I think, and now I don't know what to do because I don't speak languages and what if the upside down is back?" He blurted out, panting and attempting to catch his breath.
The curly-haired boy slumped forward, straightening his cap and staring up at you as you processed his words.
"They ditched you?" The words slipped from your lips as you tossed the boy a pitied expression, attempting to make sense of his rant.
He only nodded, basking in the silence.
"And you found a Russian translation?"
Another nod.
"Russians are trying to contact Hawkins?"
A final nod, and a deep intake of breath from you.
"Right," you started, blinking slowly and trying to piece the words together.
"I tell you what we're going to do. Tomorrow, we're going to go find Harrington, we're going to get this whole thing cleared up, and then I'm gonna go yell at the others for ditching your ass, sound good?" You offered him a small smile and he chuckled, a look of relief painting itself across his features. He nodded eagerly, hugging you again, interrupted by the blaring of a doorbell.
"Pizza?" He exclaimed, widening his eyes and almost vibrating with excitement, the previous topic and worries slipping further and further out of his grasp with each passing second.
You nodded, rushing to greet the man at the door. He was grimy, sweat dripping from his forehead as he threw you a shameless wink and tried to slide his number into your hands, with you quickly crumpling the note up and tossing it into the nearest bin.
Dustin Henderson was less worried, now. He was safe, in the house that the boy practically grew up in after his father left, with you. You led sprawled out across the sofa, mindlessly picking at the edges of the pizza as numbing sound blared from the nearest radio.
"You upset they ditched you?" A small sentence, but one that stopped Dustin Henderson in his tracks. He glanced up at you, risking a short breath before looking away, hanging his head in shame.
He didn't want to be disappointed. He was worried enough earlier that they had forgotten him, replaced him with someone better. He had begun to think that maybe you had forgotten him, too.
Now, obviously, the thought wasn't even a possibility, but he hadn't confronted the gnawing feeling in his stomach when the boy's friends were mentioned.
"...yeah." He whispered out, finally admitting it. He knew that his words wouldn't leave your house, and so he let them go. Let the secret linger, like an ancient prophecy or a foreboding message, because he knew you would comfort him.
He knew you would understand.
"Oh kid." You muttered, shaking your head before pulling the boy closer, wrapping him in another hug as he began to spill his guts.
He told you about Suzie, and how disappointed he was when they had dismissed the possibility of him finding one so easily, how betrayed he felt when they had turned their backs on him. How worried he was that he was going to be replaced, having been out of the loop for so long.
"I'm just- I don't know, the summer was great, and we were fine, and now it's all coming back." He practically whimpered, shaking slightly in your arms. You grabbed a blanket, wrapping it around the boy as quickly as you could, running a hand through his curls.
"I know. Believe me, I know- but tomorrow, we're going to find Steve, figure out what's wrong, and it's gonna be fine, okay?" You questioned, glancing him over to check that tears were no longer streaming aimlessly from his eyes. He nodded his head, wrapping his arms around you once more, curling into your side.
"So, this Suzie girl, she seems pretty special, huh?" He blushed at your words, launching into a rant about how intoxicating his girl was, and how everyone else paled in comparison to Suzie Bingham. He had failed to notice the way your eyes lit up when he spoke about her, genuinely happy for the boy. He was far too engrossed with a story about how they'd won a contest at Camp Know-Where for the largest functional rocket, or the tallest solar panel built from scraps.
You simply nodded along, mind subconsciously drifting to another girl. One with brown hair, most recently seen wearing a sailor's outfit at Starcourt Mall. To say that your summer had been wildly different was putting it simply, your mind filled to the brim with thoughts about Robin Buckley and her insatiable laugh.
If someone had asked you how long you'd known her, you would be unable to give them an answer. Only that one day, she appeared, slumped at a History desk in the corner of the room with her eyes trained on Tammy Thompson. She had been there the day before, and the day before that, and many, many days before that, but she had only struck your radar two years ago. Maybe that was due to the fact that suddenly Steve Harrington had disappeared from your life, seen dancing around the corridors with a girl by the name of Nancy Wheeler, or to do with the fact that you hadn't been entirely sure who you were. A trip to a far-away summer camp filled to the brim with other girls harbouring tainted thoughts about one another had sorted that out quickly. Your parents hadn't approved, of course. Maybe that was the reason why they spent so much time away.
Ashamed.
And so you bit your tongue, finding any and every reason to talk to her during school hours, but avoiding her like the plague when you caught a glimpse of her around Hawkins. Slipping into dark alleyways, jumping into bushes; you had become acquainted quickly with hiding in Hawkins. It was a talent, a skill. An art, if you will.
You had successfully managed to evade Robin Buckley's radar for over two years, and were fully intent on continuing that streak until monsters crawled from the depths of hell into Hawkins, bringing Steve Harrington rushing back into your life. He had demanded your help to appease his thoughts about Nancy and Jonathon after the cinema incident, and you had slapped him.
Quickly, painfully, across the face with no time to think about it. Screamed at him for hours, demanding what was he thinking?
How he could treat her like that was beyond you, and so he was swiftly forced to apologise. Hand wrapped around a bouquet of roses before being violently abducted by the loudmouth himself, Dustin Henderson.
Still, you had managed to avoid the likeness of the brunette, and that was enough for you.
Until he began working with her, of course.
That created an issue.
A few issues, really.
Firstly: It reminded you how painfully head-over-heels you were for the girl. How although she had managed to evade your sight, the image of her was forever imprinted in your mind and the second you saw her in that white and blue polo, the pit in the bottom of your stomach grew. Your face flushed red as you willed it away, hands nervously tapping against the side of your jeans as you attempted to make casual conversation.
You nearly had a heart attack on the spot when she asked you how you wanted her.
It, she foolishly corrected herself. How did you want it?
She chuckled, utterly and entirely clueless as to the affect she'd had on you. You simply stood there flushed red, finding a sudden interest in the floor, wondering as to what caused the slip up. Of course, Tammy Thompson was in her peripheral vision and so the girl couldn't be held accountable for any actions whatsoever, especially flustering a clueless stranger in an ice cream shop.
Secondly: It meant that you couldn't see Steve. You had to actively avoid the man for no reason whatsoever, and you couldn't tell him why. You had to suck up a visit to Scoops whenever you felt like you could stomach it, but would then avoid him until you were in the for most of either of your homes. Hangouts were rare, rarer than they were over the summer and the gnawing in your stomach was only growing.
And finally: you were convinced that Steve Harrington was growing closer to the girl. Steve Harrington, your childhood friend with an irresistible smile, thousands of friends and the reputation of a God, was all over Robin Buckley. Like white on rice, except that white on rice didn't make your stomach churn when you saw it.
Instead, you threw yourself into your studies. Into your own job at the arcade where the boys had met Max, and into caring for the party themselves. You spent weeknights planning campaigns with them and any free time was immediately pushed into late nights out with everyone and anyone you could find. Unlike Robin Buckley, you didn't have music. Music didn't float through your veins the way it did hers, and the nerves still bubbled up when you saw her, only soothed with the buzz of a few drinks.
In fact, the only reason that you had even considered letting Steve Harrington back into your life again was due to the Halloween party, in which you drove the boy home and allowed him to weep shamelessly into your shoulder over the loss of Nancy Wheeler. It was a rough night, for both of you. You cried with him, and he seemed in awe of your talent to empathise and feel the heartbreak seeping through his blood, when in reality, you just wanted someone to cry to.
Someone to hold you as you sobbed over the brunette that had infested your thoughts and wormed her way into the cracks of your heart. You were perfectly aware that the last person to accept you would be the man who called Jonathon Byers a 'queer,' but it was nice to pretend that he might care.
Even a little.
So, you got to pretend, for the night, and wrap yourself in his embrace. Weeping into each other's arms, sprawled in his living room; a tangle of limbs illuminated by the streetlamps outside.
You had drunk, and drank some more, and you kept drinking until the night was a blur and you woke up throwing up into Steve Harrington's bathroom, a place you hadn't been to since you were a child. You had scrambled out the door, before being questioned by the man himself as to why you were in such a hurry.
"I uh- I don't actually know." You had said, eyes narrowed and attempting to recall Steve Harrington's downfalls over the past few years. He had dug himself a rather large grave, but was slowly, and surely, burrowing his way out. Step by step.
It didn't, however, make up for the way he'd spoken to you.
You cooked him breakfast, you ate in silence, and he left without a second glance.
As if nothing had happened.
"Jones?" The timid voice of Dustin Henderson broke you from your thoughts, staring intently up at you as to gauge your reaction.
"Hm?" You responded, eyes heavy and words hushed, pulling the boy closer to your chest.
"You believe me, don't you?"
"About Suzie?"
"Yeah." He whispered, almost afraid of the answer he might receive.
"Yeah, of course I believe you, kid. She sounds amazing." A small smile grew on his face, lips quirked upwards as he clung to your side on the sofa.
"C'mon, let's get you to bed. It'll kill your back."
He chuckled, standing and grabbing a blanket and a mountain of pillows, heaving them up to your room. He wouldn't use any of the spare bedrooms, he had stayed over far too much for that. Not tonight. Not on a night like this.
Instead, he launched himself at the double bed sitting in the centre of your room, facing a large set of windows. The blinds were drawn, and a pile of his clothes sat strewn over your desk. They had been from months prior, the last sleepover he'd insisted on as he helped figure out his most recent campaign before he left for camp.
"Get some rest, and we'll go bother Harrington in the morning, 'kay?" You muttered, crawling into bed next to him as he clung to a random pillow.
"Thank you." He whispered, sleep coming for him swiftly after that. Your eye caught a book resting on the edge of the table, one that a certain brunette had snagged from the library a year ago. The first time you had run into her outside of school hours, as she tossed you a dazzling smile while rambling on about the uselessness of Mrs. O'Donnel's English class that the both of you happened to share.
The Woman In Black, Susan Hill.
The girl had scribbled in the margins when she had returned it, and you had stolen the book for yourself. The slightest of self indulgence, given that you were unlikely to receive anything like it again. It was a small reminder of the girl, and of the reason you stayed in Hawkins.
Your thoughts were accompanied by Henderson's gentle snores, and you could relax knowing that you were alright, and Dustin Henderson was safe.
Dustin Henderson would always be safe, left to his large ideas and moments of comfort, if you were around. That was all that mattered.
You'd make sure of it.
#robin buckley x reader#robin buckley#robin x reader#stranger things reader insert#stranger things x reader#stranger things rewrite#st3#st4 vol1#st4 vol2#dustin henderson#steve harrington#tammy thompson#gay#new fic#chapter 1#I know the end
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A list of WTTT headcanons, in no order whatsoever.
• North Carolina and Ohio both fly private, personal planes— specifically two Cessna Skyhawks. Ohio was the one to introduce NC to the aircraft, and it’s probably the *only* time you’ll ever see them get along.
• Austin / Texas’s guitar is coated in stickers from different states— mainly California and Floridas bullshit. It’s become a fun game to see how many you can stick on there before he notices. He dosent like to admit he appreciates the..unwarranted..decoration however.
• Virginia loves boating— it’s his favourite way of visiting his friends down ( or up ) the coast. Norfolk is the worlds largest naval base, and he prides himself on it. Sometimes Virginia can be seen sitting on the coast and watching all the boats be constructed from the pier. He also owns a sailboat with his flags colours.
• Illinois and New York have a Saturday schedule of ordering their respective pizza preferences, a couple sodas and turning on either baseball or football depending on the season. It gives them both something to look forward too..and a reason to fight to the death about college sports. Who would blame them, Baseball bats are multipurpose!
• Speaking of sports, the entire downstairs of the statehouse works as a gym/mancave. It is plastered in some of the most patriotic and obsessive sports merch you will find— from signed jerseys to Super Bowl football’s, cases of beer on beer and multiple couches for all of the states to sit and watch sports on. It has a pool table, a bar and multiple fridges aswell.
• Alaskas garage room doubles as a place for all the states to store their things when their own rooms get crowded. Trinkets, instruments, cards, old photographs and more. Alaska dosent mind much, he spends most of his day cleaning his shotgun and sleeping in his bed to care.
• California has a entire wall dedicated to storing movies. From every time period and decade, to every medium, genre— good or bad, he has it. It’s free for all the states to browse as long as they return them at one point ( speaking of which..all those Wild West cowboy movies seem to be missing for awhile now. )
• Oregon and Idaho have engagement rings made with their state gemstone. Oregon’s is a sunstone, while Idaho’s is the Star Garnet.
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The world's largest baseball bat. Louisville Slugger Museum & Factory. Louisville, Kentucky
By Mobilis in mobili
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My cricket bat is cracked - what should I do?
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⭐ ⏩⏩⏩️ DOWNLOAD LINK 🔥🔥🔥 Bat Crack | FBI controlled. 13 subscribers. View in Telegram · Preview channel. If you have Telegram, you can view and join. Bat Crack | FBI controlled. The Bat PRO - популярный почтовый клиент TheBat! desktop email client скачать бесплатно / free download The Bat Pro + crack (key). Check out Bat Crack Remix by The Bats from the Pyramids of Egypt on Amazon Music. Stream ad-free or purchase CD's and MP3s now on I'm gonna crack the bat on your face all night long. by Hatchetjuggalo June 8, Flag · Get the crack the bat mug. More random definitions. The Bat Professional Crack bit is a secure email client software, built to protect your correspondence against third parties. So, The very. The Cracked Professional Edition Bat includes strong message base encryption. Apart from encrypting email visitors. These email buyers protect your data via. Crack of the Bat, Garner, North Carolina। ਪਸੰਦਾਂ · 68 ਇਹਦੇ ਬਾਰੇ ਗੱਲ ਕਰ ਰਹੇ ਹਨ · ਇੱਥੇ ਸਨ।. Crack of the Bat, Garner, North Carolina. likes · talking about this · were here. % owned by former VWU standout, Kevin Doepp, Johnston. A bat that has severe damage cannot be fixed but those small cracks can still be fixed. Let's take a look at how to fix a cracked bat? Listen to Crack of the Bat on Spotify. Rubber Band Gun · Song · The Bat Professional Crack is the best software ever introduced by the company. It is very famous due to its user friendly. This is a completely normal part of the game and shouldn't be a cause for concern. Cracks and dents are not manufacturing faults and will not affect the. Read reviews from the world's largest community for readers. Stories of Baseball. At the Crack of the Bat book. Read 2 reviews from the world's largest community for readers. Noted poet and anthologist Lillian Morrison has gathered poe. Cricket Bat Repair & Maintenance by James Laver develop further by soaking superglue into the crack repeatedly until the crack has filled and hardened. Crack of the Bat. A History of Baseball on the Radio. Foreword by Pat Hughes. pages 26 photographs, 8 tables. Look inside the Book. The sheet is a self adhesive tape that comfortably sticks to your bat. It can be easily applied to the bat without much hassle. This Quinergys Ant scuff Sheet.
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The Bat PRO скачать бесплатно.
Telegram: Contact @bat_crack
Urban Dictionary: crack the bat
My cricket bat is cracked - what should I do?
Urban Dictionary: crack the bat
Telegram: Contact @bat_crack
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The Bat PRO скачать бесплатно.
My cricket bat is cracked - what should I do?
Availability - Spotify
Crack of the Bat : Nebraska Press
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Cracks on Cricket Bat - How to Repair a Cricket Bat Crack?
Crack of the Bat by Phyllis R. Fenner
Bat Maintenance » Laver & Wood
At the Crack of the Bat: Baseball Poems by Lillian Morrison | Goodreads
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Bat Maintenance » Laver & Wood
⭐ ⏩⏩⏩️ DOWNLOAD LINK 🔥🔥🔥 Bat Crack | FBI controlled. 13 subscribers. View in Telegram · Preview channel. If you have Telegram, you can view and join. Bat Crack | FBI controlled. The Bat PRO - популярный почтовый клиент TheBat! desktop email client скачать бесплатно / free download The Bat Pro + crack (key). Check out Bat Crack Remix by The Bats from the Pyramids of Egypt on Amazon Music. Stream ad-free or purchase CD's and MP3s now on I'm gonna crack the bat on your face all night long. by Hatchetjuggalo June 8, Flag · Get the crack the bat mug. More random definitions. The Bat Professional Crack bit is a secure email client software, built to protect your correspondence against third parties. So, The very. The Cracked Professional Edition Bat includes strong message base encryption. Apart from encrypting email visitors. These email buyers protect your data via. Crack of the Bat, Garner, North Carolina। ਪਸੰਦਾਂ · 68 ਇਹਦੇ ਬਾਰੇ ਗੱਲ ਕਰ ਰਹੇ ਹਨ · ਇੱਥੇ ਸਨ।. Crack of the Bat, Garner, North Carolina. likes · talking about this · were here. % owned by former VWU standout, Kevin Doepp, Johnston. A bat that has severe damage cannot be fixed but those small cracks can still be fixed. Let's take a look at how to fix a cracked bat? Listen to Crack of the Bat on Spotify. Rubber Band Gun · Song · The Bat Professional Crack is the best software ever introduced by the company. It is very famous due to its user friendly. This is a completely normal part of the game and shouldn't be a cause for concern. Cracks and dents are not manufacturing faults and will not affect the. Read reviews from the world's largest community for readers. Stories of Baseball. At the Crack of the Bat book. Read 2 reviews from the world's largest community for readers. Noted poet and anthologist Lillian Morrison has gathered poe. Cricket Bat Repair & Maintenance by James Laver develop further by soaking superglue into the crack repeatedly until the crack has filled and hardened. Crack of the Bat. A History of Baseball on the Radio. Foreword by Pat Hughes. pages 26 photographs, 8 tables. Look inside the Book. The sheet is a self adhesive tape that comfortably sticks to your bat. It can be easily applied to the bat without much hassle. This Quinergys Ant scuff Sheet.
The Bat Professional Crack With Serial Key Free Download
The Bat PRO скачать бесплатно.
Telegram: Contact @bat_crack
Urban Dictionary: crack the bat
My cricket bat is cracked - what should I do?
Urban Dictionary: crack the bat
Telegram: Contact @bat_crack
The Bat Professional Crack With Serial Key Free Download
The Bat PRO скачать бесплатно.
My cricket bat is cracked - what should I do?
Availability - Spotify
Crack of the Bat : Nebraska Press
The Bat Professional Crack Download - Free Download 4 Paid Software
Cracks on Cricket Bat - How to Repair a Cricket Bat Crack?
Crack of the Bat by Phyllis R. Fenner
Bat Maintenance » Laver & Wood
At the Crack of the Bat: Baseball Poems by Lillian Morrison | Goodreads
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Availability - Spotify
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planning visit to a friend and thinking abt when Sylvia came down a few years ago and we went to the slugger museum and they got to experience the constant summertime terror of bands of youths roving downtown swinging miniature baseball bats recklessly. and we took selfies in front of the world's largest bat
#i think i have a very normal life but sometimes anecdotes do sound really crazy if you dont know like.#the place where they make louisville sluggers as you might know from that one song#they hand out mini bats to anyone who takes a tour. and i used to work not too far from it#i have mine somewhere i think. rite of passage#peter posts
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Val + Fighting = A Bad Time
So anyway because the topic came up: Valerie is a bitch and a half to fight and you will lose 99% of the time.
Given she’s partially meta aware, and shopkeepers in all games are by default, difficult or nigh impossible to kill, Valerie already has fighting skills from being a protective delinquent.
It started with literally beating back bullies on the playground for Vera. First it started rather tame because a child can’t do too much harm, even with claws. You get into middle school and kids are more cruel. So Valerie responded accordingly: beat the shit out of them to teach a lesson. No one messed with an Oberlin and she was going to make damn sure of it. This lead her to many out of school suspensions, but she often snuck back into school grounds just to make sure her sister was okay. She learned how to keep ahead of school work so she couldn’t be held back a grade for her behaviour. It all stemmed from wanting to keep Vera safe.
After school for when you were a solo renegade that beat the crap out of the school bullies was a lawless landscape. Valerie got tough through being gained up on several times, but given her pension for having a wrathful temper, she never actually lost those fights. She considered them all victories for being able to survive ten or so kids who thought they were hot shit, especially with their tail between their legs. Broken bones and cuts were common but she healed afterwards. Valerie lets the adrenaline of a fight get to her head and she just forgets she’s being injured. She shrugs off the pain until it’s all said and done, like she is someone with nothing left to lose.
In Val’s early young adulthood when she was given the freedoms to be out late at night, that is when her fighting skill became somewhat of a legend. Watching out for people in the seedy bars, tossing the low lives out of places trying to be decent lead to street fights. Valerie isn’t afraid to use whatever tactic to win a fight; the real world doesn’t care about rules, it cares if you’re alive or dead. Val always fights some level of dirty, but the dirtier she does, the more she’s aiming to kill. People started to recognize her capabilities and rallied behind her instead of against her; if they were smart.
She is much stronger than she looks. Natural agility and nimbleness come with just being a cat, but she earned her deceptively strong muscles and can wrestle the entire Wolfpack if she so needs to. Her favourite weapon of choice is modified baseball bats, and you can’t swing heads off of shoulders with weak arms. Valerie also keeps herself strong so that she can maintain her duty as the city’s largest gang leader and show she can keep the title. Turf wars she fights in herself and will break bones bare handed with the literal skeletons come out. She will get her hands bloody and dirty, then wash it off in the sink afterwards as a job well done.
Essentially, don’t fuck around and find out with Valerie Oberlin.
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