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diegowife · 1 year

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Guts ( GOLDEN AGE ARC )

Guts As Your Boyfriend SCENARIO

No Warnings

A Bit Yandere ¿

Part 2 ( NOT CONNECTED ): Post-Eclipse

• First of all, his other comrades could gape in disbelief seeing someone like you, kindhearted and gentle, deserve a fierce man like Guts.

• In spite of his intimidating presence, it was difficult for them to accept that he could indeed be your boyfriend as all he does is brandish his sword and ruthlessly slaughter any human that crosses his path on the battlefield.

• PDA is something that Guts despises. Its presence, particularly in public, is something that he would certainly find quite awkward. Unsolicited neck kisses from you are also something that he strongly disapproves of.

• In private, his affectionate nature truly reveals itself. Displaying his profound fondness towards you in the presence of his comrades is not his preference. Nevertheless, it is essential for everyone to be aware that you are exclusively his alone.

• In the forests, the only setting where he feels comfortable showing affection towards you publicly (restricted to just the two of you), he doesn't hesitate to embrace your waist. Occasionally, he enjoys teasing you.

• He also adores clasping your waist and drawing them near.

• In the initial stages of the relationship, the only terms of endearment he utilizes for you exclusively consist of ‘Dumbass’ and ‘Jerk.’ This should come as no unexpected revelation.

• Upon reaching a state of comfort, he consistently addresses you with the customary term while incorporating either ‘Love’ or ‘Babe’ depending on his mood.

• Engaging in his physical touch involves allowing him to place his head on your lap while you delicately run your fingers through his hair. It is also experienced when both of you intimately intertwine your fingers.

• Seeking comfort from your touch is the sole method to alleviate his concerns, which consistently proves effective.

• Before embarking on the mission commanded by Griffith, he adored the gentle and tender quick kisses on your lips.

• “Take care, yeah? I will not be dead, I promise.”

• Other than that, he may display reckless behavior and may not even show concern for offering an apology.

• In every debate, he is swift to lay blame on you and incessantly strives to emerge victorious, even though he is often the one who started the argument.

• Despite his stubborn nature, he refrains from criticizing or belittling you when engaged in an argument. To illustrate this, he does not resort to using derogatory terms such as ‘dumb,’ ‘stupid,’ or ‘fool.’

• “Tch, y'know, I have reached my limit with the nonsense you constantly spew. Don't talk to me again and deal the problems with yourselves this time!”

• However, his words are not intended to be taken seriously; they are simply a dramatic expression because the next day, he would present you with a quantity of fruit collected from a tree and placed in a bucket as an earnest gesture of apology.

• The bestowal of gifts is not a preference for Guts; his offerings consist solely of flowers plucked from the garden or a handcrafted floral crown fashioned only during his leisure moments. Indeed, he does not possess an inclination towards bestowing presents.

• “Dumbass, at least I got a present for you. Why are you even complaining?....”

• In spite of everything, Guts inevitably starts feeling envious when witnessing your increasing intimacy with his allies, especially Griffith. Even though Griffith is Guts' closest companion and depends on him, Guts remains uncertain about allowing you to interact with him.

• Guts becomes aware that both genders exhibit great enthusiasm toward Griffith and regard him with reverence akin to that of a God. Guts has his reasons for discouraging you from spending too much time with Griffith; who can say if you'll end up becoming a devoted fan of Griffith in the future?

• One time, during your conversation with Griffith, Guts unexpectedly approached the two of you and forcefully pushed you aside.

• Noticing Guts becoming sullen and defensive is truly precious. Nevertheless, your genuine displeasure arises due to the fact that you exclusively perceive him as the only person with whom you can communicate.

• “Why the hell are you spending some time with that twink?!!? I'm literally right here!”

• Occasionally, Guts can exhibit rather confusing behavior sometimes. On one occasion, he may display intense passion towards you, while on the following day, he might become perplexed if you attempt to establish more comfortable with him, catching him off guard.

• “Whoa, whoa, what are you doing?”

• “Why did you try to kiss me?!”

• Exist of having a partner or in a relationship seems to slip his mind, almost as if it disappears from his thoughts. It wouldn't be fair to hold him accountable for this oversight; perhaps it's a result of the immense fatigue he experiences while engaged on battlefields, hindering his ability to grasp his thoughts accurately.

• In addition, Guts held a deep concern for your well-being. Take, for example, how Judeau and Corkus extended an invitation for a shared wine drink. However, Guts swiftly confiscated the bottle, forcefully shattering it on the floor.

• “Don't you ever dare to accept anything from what my comrades gave you.”

• He strongly advises against you engaging in any potentially dangerous activities without his knowledge. Ultimately, he fears the consequences that may arise, envisioning a situation where you end up succumbing to intoxication, mirroring the experience of his late father.

• “I don't want you to be as pitiful as my old man back in the days....”

• Guts observe his peculiar sense of pride when Y/n is unexpectedly praised for the noticeable growth of his muscles or when he emerges victorious from a duel. He dismissively chuckles, portraying himself as the utmost embodiment of strength, impressing his partner.

• Demonstrating his biceps and measuring himself against others is his preferred method of flaunting his strength, allowing him to observe your entertained response proudly.

• “Me? Strong? Nah, I ain't really that strong. But keep in mind, I'll be the last man standing on a battlefield!”

• When it comes to sharing food, Guts is highly possessive. He refuses to relinquish the final portion of food to anyone else.

• “Nope, get it yourselves....”

• In order to provoke him, the optimal method and most effective tactic is to approach his fellow companions, such as Pippin and Rickert, and engage in the act of food sharing.

• Upon witnessing Pippin and Rickert tenderly feeding you food as if you were a little girl, an intense surge of anger welled up inside him.

• With a firm approach, Guts would seize your wrist, voicing his frustration, “What on earth are you doing!?” It was as if he had conveniently forgotten his own unwillingness to share food with you.

• On the other hand, if he discovered you crying, he observed as you concealed your face within the depths of your knees. An expression of confusion caused his brows to elevate, prompting him to playfully poke your head multiple times.

• “The hell you cryin' for?”

• Regrettably, he failed to acknowledge that his actions simply exacerbated the situation. With a sense of agitation, he clumsily tousles his hair as he finds himself unfamiliar with the task of comforting others.

• Besides, he never had anyone comforting him, so he's obviously shit at it.

• “Gahh... how do I deal with this...”

• When your head rises, instantly his gaze falls upon your face, where red and swollen eyes meet his sight. Observing you in such a state causes a momentary pause for him; a sense of tranquility overtakes him as he descends and bends down alongside you.

• Witnessing you in such a state inflicts upon him a sensation akin to a sharp blow to the chest. The brewing question in his mind is, what if the fault lies upon his shoulders?

• “Hey, now, I don't like seeing you this way. Tell me exactly what happens.”

• Instead of yelling at him to leave, he anticipates your outburst, yet you continue to sob incessantly.

• Having a lack of aptitude in offering advice, Guts excels in the art of listening. He remains attentive to every expression and release of emotions you convey. Not once did his attentive listening falter, ensuring that your words were never overlooked.

• He'll let you bury your face into his chest and enables you to cry your heart out.

• Therefore, with a heart full of warmth, he will greet you with his most radiant smile while gently patting your head.

• ”Crybaby. Smile; you're adorable when you smile more.”

• In the midst of slumber, Guts will unanticipatedly carry you in a bridal style, gently cradling you in his arms, to an undisclosed destination amidst the woodlands.

• The destination to which he will take you remains uncertain. This gentleman is inclined to lead you up the hills, near the river, or perhaps even closer to the summit of the mountain to instill feelings of fear within you.

• Occasionally, he would drop you off under the tree as you and he sat together, allowing both of you to marvel at the crescent moon illuminating the night sky.

• Throughout the night, a transformation would take place within him, causing him to adopt a gentle demeanor. This shift in behavior can be attributed to the absence of people and the serene night air that envelopes him.

• During cuddle sessions, Guts will softly press his lips against your jawline, all the while gently caressing your cheeks with his thumb. The warmth and comfort of his hugs are undeniable; whenever his tender touch graces your skin, you experience an overwhelming sensation of melting in his presence.

• Murmuring sweet words to you is his habit before dozing off to sleep.

• “Tch, you never fail to steal my heart..”

• “I feel so safe with you; it's embarrassing...”

Thank you so much reading !

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bthump · 2 months

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Do you think that so many berserk fans glaze guts to such an extend that they overlook griffiths feelings ? is the hate griffith receives like a trend hopper thing (on the sense of "Oh everyone hates him now I hate him too) or may it even be that majority of the berserk fans are homophobic?

My guess is the fandom's rampant Griffith hate is due to a combination of factors, including homophobia and peer pressure lol. I wouldn't say it's solely homophobia, especially since the gay stuff in Berserk is subtext - but it can't be denied that it plays a role. I mean that just becomes obvious when you see how so many straight fans talk about Griffith.

But yeah a lot of it is also because so much of fandom hates Griffith and, a lot of people are influenced by general opinion when it comes to forming their own thoughts on a story. Like I'm sure plenty of people start out torn about Griffith or maybe somewhat sympathetic, then they see someone authoritatively describing Griffith as evil and manipulative from the start and everyone in a forum like Skull Knight or Reddit agreeing, and they figure it must be true without really considering the evidence themselves. Considering how often I've seen that happen in real time (eg someone suggesting Griffith cares about Guts because he risked his life for him, getting the 'he only wants to control Guts' explanation, and just agreeing rather than pushing back) I definitely think it's another big factor.

Then there's differing audience expectations between cultures. I don't want to comment on this too in depth because I'm not here for cultural studies and I'm not qualified for that, but I think a reader who's more influenced by, eg, Hollywood tropes, might be more inclined to see Griffith as evil all along because human Griffith hits a lot of Hollywood villain traits (gender nonconforming, introduced antagonistically, opposed to the established social order, ambitious, etc), so despite the narrative not framing him as evil at all, people still see him as evil because of the associated tropes.

And finally black and white moralistic thinking can be blamed for a lot of Griffith hate too. He becomes a villain, therefore for many it's morally easier to believe he was always secretly evil than to believe a "good" person can choose to become evil, or to believe that good and evil are relative and subjective, or useless descriptors entirely. Some people believe good and evil are like, innate personality traits lol, and those people are simply not gonna be able to comprehend Berserk's themes and Griffith as a character, because Berserk takes the opposite stance - that your actions effect and change you rather than reflect your innate "true self."

Anyway yeah, that's my take on the english side of fandom's response to Griffith. Thanks for the ask!

#ask #anonymous #b #theme: fandom

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munson-blurbs · 5 months

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086: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader Series

Chapter 003: We're the Freaks

Summary: You muster up some courage and devise a plan to help Eddie remember the good parts of his life, while the effects of his alternate dimension adventure begin to sink in.

Warnings: dark themes, mostly canon-compliant (Eddie lives), violence, blood, restraint, amnesia, abduction, mention of shock therapy, drug use, the beginnings of mutual pining hehehe

WC: 4.4k

Divider credit to @saradika

October 31, 1984

Eddie sees you before you can even greet him, lips turning upwards in a shy smile. It’s as though he was hoping you’d be at the party, desperate for the opportunity to talk with you. He stops counting the dollar bills clenched in his left hand and casts his eyes down for a second before looking back at you.

“Hey, uh, hi. What can I do ya for?” He bites the inside of his cheek in a silent berating. You can practically hear his brain chastising him for such an awkward opening: ‘What can I do ya for?’ Christ, am I Eddie Munson or Andy Griffith?

You hold out the twenty dollars from Carol. “Can I buy some weed?” If Worst Conversational Skills was an Olympic sport, the two of you could easily win the gold medal. Maybe they’d even create a platinum one for your extraordinary contributions.

Eddie either doesn’t notice the way you cringe at your own question, or he doesn’t care. He only nods, rifling through his tin box. “You want just the flower or pre-rolled?” When he’s met with no answer, he brings his focus to you again. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah.” No. Carol didn’t specify what she wanted; last time, he’d only had flower. Was she happy with that? Did she say anything about wishing it was already neatly rolled into a blunt for her to smoke? Your thumbnail tucks itself between your teeth, a nervous habit. You can practically picture her disdain at your potential mistake. And Heather won’t be able to hide her disappointment; not at your wrong decision, but the way you’re squandering your chance at popularity.

“You sure?” Eddie props one elbow on the counter and gazes directly into your eyes, concern woven into his kind smile. “So you know, it’s not like cutting the wrong wire. Nothing explodes if you choose one over the other.”

Except whatever semblance of a social life you have left. “Totally fine. I’ll go with flower. Thanks.” You show him the crumpled bill again but he waves it off.

“It’s on me.” He pulls out a baggie and gives it to you, the scent of marijuana pungent even through the plastic. “This is some good shit, too. Kinda makes me mad it’ll be wasted on Carol and Tommy.” He laughs when you freeze, caught in the act. “C’mon, you think I didn’t realize that you only bought from me when you started hanging out with them?” He crosses his arms over his chest and leans in slightly, pleased with his discovery. “Do you even smoke?”

You shake your head shamefully, not daring to make eye contact.

“Do you want to?” This grabs your attention. “With me, not them,” he clarifies.

“I shouldn’t…my parents would kill me if I come home high,” you start, but he cuts you off.

“Listen, I’m not trying to pressure you or anything,” he says, latching the locks on the tin box. “Just figured we could hang out or something; y’know, maybe try and figure out how Carol manages to lodge such a huge stick up her ass.”

As if on cue, the person in question shouts your name from across the room, tone thick with impatience. Your middle finger itches to flip her off, but your cowardice wins—as usual. “I gotta get this to her,” you mumble, shoving the money back in your bag. “Thanks again.”

You begin to walk away, but his fingertips gently graze your wrist. An electric current flows between you, a spark that could burn bright if only you’d fan the flame. “Look, I’m not sure why someone as nice as you is hanging out with people like them, but if you ever need a friend—a real friend—just say the word.” The smile he offers this time is not one of amusement, but of empathy. I know what it’s like to mold myself into what people want me to be. “You like to read, right?”

His seemingly random question draws your brows skyward. “Yeah…?”

“Use that,” he juts his chin in the direction of your bag, where you’re storing Carol’s money, “to buy yourself a new book. A hardcover; none of that paperback bullshit.” He punctuates the statement with a wink. The gestures have your stomach in knots; all you want is to take his hand and talk with him for hours, leaving behind the pressures of status quo adherence, but you can’t.

“Um, hello?” Carol’s screeching voice snaps you back into reality, and you shuffle over to her without formally saying good-bye to Eddie.

You have eight months left until you graduate and can get as far away from Hawkins as you possibly can. But until that day arrives, you’re stuck playing the game.

March 31, 1986

“Eighty-six.”

The voice is a whisper, an angel beckoning him towards heaven.

“Eighty-six!” the voice hisses, urgently this time, much more Lucifer than Gabriel.

Eddie jerks awake, wincing when the handcuff clangs against the gurney’s metal bar and digs into his wrist. He’s become accustomed to it while he’s awake, but it still catches him off-guard as he rejoins the land of the living. “Jesus H. Christ, what?” he grumbles, expecting the sinister stare of a white-coated man.

Instead, he sees you in the doorway: fear seeping from every pore, but not an ounce of malice in your eyes.

“Oh, hi,” he says sleepily, ease flooding his bones when he realizes he isn’t being subjected to more unpleasant memories or poking and prodding–yet. He uses his free hand to scratch at the stubble forming along his jawline. “055, right?”

You nod, lip firmly tucked between your teeth. His grogginess means that he’s moving at a pace far too slow for your liking, your heartbeat pulsing in your ears. “Yeah, mhm; that’s me.” You check over your shoulder to ensure no one’s coming, then duck into his room. “The doctors are busy with another patient,” you start, omitting that their busy-ness involves electroconvulsive therapy for “non-compliance,” “so we have a few minutes for me to pull a memory, if you want.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, softly but enthusiastically. A smile tugs at his lips. “Can you do another one with Dustin? But, like, a less, um, terrible one?” He can still taste his own blood in his mouth when he thinks about it.

“I’ll do my best,” you promise, standing in front of him. He looks naked without his signature wild mane; there’s no longer anything for him to hide behind. How many times had you seen him in class, carelessly running his hands through his hair, his rings getting snagged on a rogue curl? All of it–the jewelry included–is now gone. You can’t even reassure him that it’ll grow back, because the doctors will ensure that it’s kept closely shaved.

He assumes the same position as he did the previous day, but with one major difference: he extends his hand, an unmistakable attempt to hold yours.

“Oh, um,” you stammer, simply staring at it. “We don’t…you don’t need to do that for this to work,” you supply.

Eddie withdraws, not only his hand, but his body caves in from the rejection. He gives a quick nod, shoulders gently hunched so he takes up less space.

Immediately, your heart lurches. “I mean, we can if you…if it’ll help you feel better.” If you want to is too loaded a statement to make. “I just wanted you to know that it isn’t, like, required.”

“I know.”

With those two words, you reach out and take his palm in yours, sweat-slicked despite the lab’s perpetual chill. The rough calluses on his fingertips scratch against your skin as his lifelines merge with your own.You remember comparing with Heather back in fourth grade, sitting on a bench during recess while the other kids played dodgeball or fought over the playground's sole tire swing. She swore that she could read some hidden meaning behind them. You’d always thought it was mumbo-jumbo, that there was no way she could obtain that information from etches in your hand or the direction of your fingerprint swirls.

When she’d read her own palm, how long did she say she would live? Was it eighteen years, the age she was on that fateful night?

“You okay?” Eddie’s head is cocked slightly as though examining the gears turning within your skull. “I dunno if this hurts you or anything, but we don’t have to do this,” he says. “I’ll get my memories back another way.”

You shake your head, well-aware that there aren't any other feasible options, especially for happy memories. The scientists only want to see who was with him in the Nether, and from what you’ve gleaned, no part of that experience was pleasant.

“It’s fine,” you mutter, embarrassed that he has to comfort you. “It doesn’t hurt me. You’re the one who’ll end up with a headache,” you point out.

“Fair enough.”

You swallow your nerves, heart beating in your ears. If the doctors find you in here unsupervised and without permission…your mind won’t allow you to consider the consequences. Perhaps you’ll be next in line for Ol’ Shocky. “I need you to think about your friend Dustin. Picture him and bring the image to the forefront of your mind. Try not to let your thoughts wander.”

Eddie nods, mouthing Dustin’s name over and over as you delve deep into his brain, using his sole memory—and your memory of that memory—as guidance.

After what seems like eons, you latch onto one and tug it to the surface triumphantly. You can feel blood trickling down your nose and over your lips, but you do your best to focus on the task at hand.

Hawkins High’s cafeteria is buzzing with excited conversation, the phrases “I missed you!” and “how was your summer?” and “did you hear about what happened at Starcourt?” seem to be constants. A banner hung up in the entryway reads ‘WELCOME BACK, TIGERS!’, complete with an illustration that some poor art club sap was probably volunteered to paint.

Eddie keeps his gaze trained on the tile floor, avoiding anyone and anything. He just needs to get to his table, eat lunch, and repeat every day until—

The sound of a lunch tray clattering to the ground, followed by a cacophony of malicious chuckles, grabs his attention. He watches as a group of seniors gather around a table, laughing hysterically.

“C’mon, seriously?” A kid—Dustin, you both determine from the earlier memory pull—whines at the ruined pizza slice below him.

“What’s that?” One of them sneers. “I don’t speak Mushmouth.”

Dustin rolls his eyes and flips off the older kid. “You’re lucky Steve graduated already, or he’d kick your ass!” he shouts.

The second boy hides his face as though hoping he won’t be their next victim, but his vulnerability makes him a prime target. Down, down, down falls his lunch, followed by one belonging to a scrawny kid who looks like a poster boy for The Gap.

Eddie squeezes his eyes shut, wanting to ignore the situation, but his conscience steers him towards the kids. “Show’s over,” he grumbles, using the strength acquired from lugging amps to break it up. He grabs one of the bullies by the collar—a jock, Andy something-or-other, according to his letterman jacket—and snarls, “get the fuck outta here before I tip off your coach to check your piss.”

Andy just nods, attempting to play it cool, but Eddie can feel him trembling under his grip. He puffs up his chest and walks away, taking his posse with him.

“Thanks,” Scrawny Kid mumbles, haphazardly brushing chocolate milk residue off his clothes. He refuses to make eye contact, thoroughly humiliated on his first day of high school.

“Don’t mention it,” Eddie says casually. “Just, uh, it might help your case if you don’t dress like some prep school wannabe.” He grins, and to his delight, the boys smile with him.

Scrawny Kid shakes his shaggy hair from his eyes. “I’m Mike, and this is Lucas,” he points to the kid who’d tried to make himself invisible, “and Dustin.” The kid branded ‘Mushmouth’ gives a small wave.

Eddie clicks his tongue. “Weird Al, huh?” he laughs, unable to hide his amusement at Dustin’s choice of t-shirt. “Christ, you three are clueless.” He cocks an inquiring eyebrow. There’s one place he can take them under his wing and keep them safe from the moldy jockstraps known as the Hawkins High basketball team.

“You little freaks ever play Dungeons and Dragons?”

The sound of approaching footsteps down the hall pulls you from his psyche, and you blink a few times to clear your vision. “Shit, I’m sorry.” You swipe at the blood under your nose, leaving a crimson stain in its wake. “I gotta go, but we can meet up again tomorrow.” You start towards the door, but his uncuffed hand reaches out and grabs your wrist, drawing you back.

“Wait…before you go.” Fear radiates from his deep brown irises. “I know you’ll have to pull more memories–bad ones–for them.” He swallows thickly, trying to stave off tears. “But if they ask you to do it while I’m sleeping, can you wake me up first?” he asks weakly.

Realization crashes over you; his first returned memory was his near death, watching his friend witness the life draining from his limp body.

“Yes.” The word is firm, confident, though you’re making a promise you’re unsure you can keep.

Eddie manages a small smile, but it emanates gratitude, and you return it. You want to stay, to search for every happy moment in his life and allow him to bask in their joy, even if just for a moment. But both of you risk serious punishment if you’re caught, and so you make your escape as inconspicuous as possible.

Eddie lays back, staring at the fluorescent lights until his eyes start to water. Thoughts swirl through his mind, a roller coaster off of its track. In addition to Dustin, there’s Mike and Lucas. And Dustin had mentioned someone named Steve, which rang the faintest of bells.

It’s a common name, he thinks. Could be anyone. Yet something deep inside nags at him, an instinct that he can’t shake.

Dustin Lucas Mike Steve.

He twists the bed sheet below him until the thin fabric tears with an audible riiiiiip. His life has been reduced to two meager moments: saving three nerds from a jockstrap with an inflated ego, and losing in a battle against some bat-like creatures. Nothing before that, and nothing between.

The after is right now, imprisoned in this room with no evidence of a crime, let alone anything pinning him as a suspect.

Dustin Lucas Mike Steve.

He wills himself to remember any other details. What was it that he said at the memory’s conclusion? Something about Dungeons and Dragons?

“C’mon,” Eddie mutters, eyelids shut tight in concentration. Maybe it would be better to keep them open, like he does when you’re pulling a memory. Since there’s nowhere else to look, he stares down the broken clock, all three hands frozen in place.

Dustin Lucas Mike Steve.

Dustin Lucas Mike—

The hour hand ticks forward.

Eddie shoots up, yanking the cuff along with his body. No, he must be hallucinating. When was the last time he ate something? Or perhaps the ancient batteries had a little kick left in them.

Something implores him to try it again.

His eyes lock onto the clock, channeling all of his anger and confusion to move the hand another centimeter.

There’s a gentle splintering noise, so quiet that he’d be unable to hear it if another person in the room was breathing. It gets louder until the glass frame covering the clock face shatters completely, shards clattering to the floor like rain.

No battery glitch could explain that. And it couldn’t explain his nosebleed, identical to yours when you utilized your powers.

He can’t even clean his face before dizziness overtakes him, and it all goes black.

November 9, 1984

It’s been just over a week since Tina’s Halloween party. The talk of the high school is still Steve and Nancy’s bathroom argument—and subsequent breakup—though new developments about two teachers getting frisky in the staff lounge has taken some of the attention away from them.

“Hey,” Carol says, leaning against the locker next to yours and obnoxiously popping her bubble gum, “that shit you got from The Freak was pretty good.” She raises her eyebrows in amusement and challenge. “If you can score some more, you and Heather should smoke with us.”

Translation: you’ll get more weed, and if you don’t, I’ll tell Heather that you ruined it for everyone. You can picture the look of disappointment on her face, slumped shoulders and dejected frown screaming, you let me down.

“Yeah, I’ll see if he still has any,” you mumble, grabbing your history textbook and slamming the door. You spin the lock’s dial and give it a tug to ensure it’s closed, giving Carol the chance to leave.

She doesn’t.

“Y’know, maybe it’s because Heather’s been vouching for you,” she starts, blowing another watermelon-scented bubble, “but you’re not as much of a drag as I thought you were.” It’s her version of a compliment, and you hesitantly accept it with a nod. “Anyway, eight o’clock. My place.” She flounces off, probably to find and cling to Tommy, leaving you with a churning gut.

The closest you’ve ever been to smoking weed was getting a contact high at the party. Carol and Tommy hadn’t offered to share, and you didn’t certainly volunteer yourself. If you try and end up coughing like a tuberculosis patient, you’ll never live it down. If you decline to smoke with them, you’ll all but solidify your role as the loser, straight-laced outsider and catapult yourself from their inner circle. And if you don’t show up at all? Heather will never forgive you.

You keep your textbook clutched to your chest, making a beeline for class. Goody two-shoes can’t be late. No, she’ll get there early; maybe place a shiny red apple on the teacher’s desk, and sit patiently with her hands folded. Just like she always has; just like she always will.

You’re so intensely focused that you bump into someone, your head snapping up at the sudden collision. The textbook slips from your grip and hits the ground with a thud.

“What’s the big rush?”

Eddie.

You shake your head. “Nothing. Sorry, I should’ve watched where I was going—”

“No worries,” Eddie says with a small laugh, leaning over and picking up the book. He hands it to you and smiles. “See you around?”

Now’s your chance. “Actually, I was hoping we could meet up after school,” you force out the request, not realizing the implication until he cocks his brow. “To buy some more, um…” You look away, unable to finish the sentence in fear that the wrong person will overhear.

Eddie grins, eyes alight with anticipation. “Yeah, of course,” he replies. “After school, during lunch, even right now, if you want. Got it all in here.” He gives his tin box a proud slap.

“After school is fine,” you say hurriedly. There’s that one other favor you need; it hides behind your molars and sticks to your tongue. “Would…could you maybe…show me how?” Your cheeks are so hot that your face may as well be ablaze. “Carol asked me to join them, but I’ve never…and I don’t wanna look like a total moron…” Shut up, shut up, shut up.

His face briefly shifts expressions, something resembling disappointment, though you can’t pinpoint it before his usual shy smile returns. “Sure. Meet me by the picnic benches right after last period.”

“Thanks.” You give your book a squeeze, fingernails digging into the old newspaper you’d repurposed as a book cover. Eddie gives a quick nod before disappearing into the hallway, packed with students. The whole encounter has your head spinning; you’re going to smoke pot in the woods with Eddie Munson. It’s almost distracting enough to make you late to class.

Almost. You’re not risking detention for this.

March 31, 1986

Eddie awakens to the pungent odor of vinegar and something sulphuric, rousing him back to consciousness. His eyes water even after Dr. Snell removes the bundle of smelling salts from under his nose.

“086,” the doctor says stoically, fishing a tiny key from his pocket. His unnerving stare never leaves Eddie as he unlocks the cuff and untangles the chain. “I see you’ve been busy.” He gestures towards the pile of broken glass on the floor, lips twitching with the faintest hint of amusement.

“It was an accident,” Eddie mumbles, flexing his wrist and feeling the blood begin to circulate again.

Dr. Snell chuckles, sending a shiver shooting down Eddie’s spine. “Was it?” He leans over; Eddie hates his confidence that he won’t be attacked. All he wants is to wring the man’s neck like a washcloth, but he recalls your advice to earn their trust. He’ll have to remain calm if he ever wants to learn more about Dustin, Mike, Lucas, or Steve; if he ever wants to learn more about himself.

Eddie nods pathetically. Technically, he’d only been trying to make the hand move again, to see if it was just a fluke, but he’d ended up with a shattered clock instead. “I don’t understand how…”

“Dr. Moseley would like to conduct some tests.” Dr. Snell selects his words carefully. “See what other new skills you’ve acquired during your little adventure.”

“No…” Eddie starts, catching himself before he can protest further. He swallows, throat sore with aridness. “I mean, I don’t think I have any other, um, skills.”

The doctor sneers. “That’s for us to determine, isn’t it?” He tugs on Eddie’s arm, hoisting him from the cot and guiding him down a long, dimly-lit hallway. His torso aches with each step, but when he tries to stop and breathe, Dr. Snell continues pulling him along.

“G-Gimme a sec,” Eddie finally pleads aloud, and the doctor relents with an irritated huff. It’s not from sympathy–Eddie doubts there’s a selfless bone in the man’s ugly body–but likely because he wants to avoid a ripped stitch or another fainting spell. Whatever the reason, he’s grateful for the small break.

The room he’s brought to is white on white; there’s not a stitch of color. He’s seated at a table while doctors attach adhesive-backed electrodes to his temples and forehead, cold and slimy on his skin.

Salt-and-Pepper—Dr. Moseley, he surmises—approaches him with a thin-lipped smile. “Good afternoon, 086.” But there’s nothing good about it, and Eddie can’t even be sure it’s truly the afternoon. “I heard you had a bit of an incident today, yes?”

The doctor already knows the answer, so Eddie doesn’t bother to lie. “Yes. I, um, made the clock hand move and then broke the glass. With my mind,” he adds, as though there was any confusion about the means in which it occurred.

“Excellent.” Dr. Moseley shoos the others out of the room, so he and Eddie are alone. As soon as the door closes, he sits in a chair across from his patient, tapping a pen on a clipboard.

“I’m going to ask you to complete a series of tasks,” he tells him, somehow already marking notes. “Some tasks will be to assess your existing abilities; others will be to strengthen them.” He motions towards a large monitor. “This will detect any changes in brain wave activity with remarkable accuracy.”

In other words, don’t phone it in. You will be caught.

Dr. Moseley grabs a rubber ball off of a shelf, rolling it in between his palms before placing it in front of Eddie. “We’ll start off slow; see where you are.” He clears his throat. “Move this ball–using only your mind–as far as you can manage.”

Eddie nods, clearing every thought except for move. Move move move. He chants it silently, his lips parting but no sound coming out. Maybe if he does this, they’ll be less stringent about memory accession. Maybe you’ll get him to a point where he can begin to connect the dots and remember on his own. Maybe—

“Focus, 086.”

He makes a strangled noise in response. Move move move. Move for Dustin, for Lucas, for—

The ball rolls slightly—not even a full inch—but it’s noticeable enough to draw approval from the doctor.

“Well done, 086. And on your first try.” God, Eddie would love to smack the smirk clean off of his face. “Let’s continue with our assessment, shall we?”

There’s a memorization task next; apparently, his short-term recall is above average, Dr. Moseley reports. After this, the doctor makes drawings on a notepad that Eddie must decipher without physically looking at them. It’s by far the most difficult of the activities. He harnesses all of his energy trying to determine what is being sketched, but he comes up blank each time.

“I-I’m sorry,” he stutters, wiping the blood from his nose. “I can’t do it. I want to,” he adds, not wanting his inability to be misconstrued as disobedience, “but I can’t.”

To his utter shock, Dr. Moseley accepts this, likely because the monitor corroborates his admission. “Not yet. But with continued training, you will.” He detaches the electrodes from Eddie’s head snd motions for him to stand with one crooked finger, and Dr. Snell re-enters at the same time.

“Wait,” Eddie chokes out as the second doctor leads him away, “I noticed something.” He takes a breath, garnering the doctors’ attention. “I was able to break the clock and move the ball when I thought about Dustin—” he stops abruptly, not wanting to give away the secret session you’d had earlier. “I think if 055 finds more memories with them—him—I’ll be able to channel that emotion into doing more tasks.”

The room falls dead silent until Dr. Moseley speaks. “I’ll consider it,” he finally says.

Not a win but not a loss, Eddie thinks as he shuffles back down the hallway, feet sticking to the tile. But I’m not going down without a fight. No way.

tag list (still open):

@munsonmuses @vintagehellfire @chrissymjstan @munsonology @lady-munson @roadkill-writes @randomreader1999 @babez-a-licious @madelynraemunson @the-unforgivenn @nailbatanddungeon @lokis-army-77 @laurenlokirby @american-idiot-jpg @str4ngergirlw0rld @gnrquinn @katethetank @inourtownofhawkins @rorylover71 @kirisuteg0men @tlclick73 @aysheashea

#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #086

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madneywedding · 1 month

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idk if you're still writing the post-cemetry scene fic with pining eddie (idk if i'm describing it right) but i would love to hear more about it/see a snippet or too if you feel so inclined 👀

someone asking about angsty pining fic in the month of our lord april 2024? this was such a lovely surprise 😭 i'm gonna be honest with u anon i'm likely not going to publish 911 fic again BUT because you asked so nicely i'll give you a few older snippets from my draft:

Eddie sighs, breaking the stare. “You have a key, you know,” he says finally. “Feel free to come join me whenever you want.” He turns on his heel and walks back inside to finish his goddamn brownies, leaving Buck standing in the doorway. It’s silent for a few minutes. He’s in the middle of measuring a tablespoon of espresso powder when Buck steps into the kitchen and shuts the door behind him. Eddie feels the weight of Buck’s gaze on him as he folds the powder into his brownie mixture, but he doesn’t turn to meet his eye until Buck speaks. “Is that…” Buck falters. He clears his throat. “Is that my recipe?” “Yeah,” Eddie says gruffly. “Chris asked me to make it. Said he wanted to share it with his friends when they come over tomorrow for their playdate.” Buck snorts. “Man, you can’t call it that. Chris nearly bit my head off last time I tried. Kept reminding me that ‘playdates are for kids, Buck,’ and that he’s not a kid anymore.” Buck emphasizes that last bit with air quotes, and Eddie can’t help but grin at that. But his smile fades instantly, remembering the somber look on Buck’s face when he’d opened the door. He highly doubts that Buck came over just to commiserate about the trials and tribulations of watching Christopher grow up. Eddie bites the bullet. “Why are you here, Buck?” Buck shifts nervously. He shrugs and looks away from Eddie. “I — I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to answer that. You’ve never asked me that before.” Eddie scrubs at his face. “I've never had to ask you that, Buck. Things are different now. You’ve been busy.”

“Wow,” Buck says acidly, all traces of heartbreak gone. “I’ve never heard that one before.” Eddie frowns. “What?” “Really, Eddie?” Buck’s voice cracks on the last syllable. He shakes his head. “Unbelievable. Just — unbelievable.” “Buck — what are you talking about?” “We were just trying to protect you, Evan," Buck mocks. "You were never supposed to find out. We kept it from you because we love you. Any of that sound familiar to you?” Eddie’s breath hitches on the word love, because he doesn’t know, he can’t know, but then — Oh. Fuck.

Buck: We’ll get through this just like everything else. I promise. It’ll be okay. Buck: Eddie, did you eat enough today? Should I come by and bring you some food? Buck: You know you’re still my best friend, right? That’s never going to change, Eddie. Never. He reacts with a thumbs up or a tap-back heart on most of the messages, too exhausted to do anything else. He replies with a thumbs down to the message about food, certain that he wouldn’t be able to handle seeing Buck so soon. He knows he’ll have to face him in person eventually, but his tired, broken heart just wants to postpone it as much as he can. The last one, though, is a balm that both soothes and agitates Eddie’s burning, aching heart, and he taps out a brief, Thank you, you too. Always, in response. It feels like too much and not enough all at once, and Eddie wishes once again that he was a little better at resisting Buck, that he didn’t feel that need to reply to his every message lest Buck worry even more about him. The only one he actually acknowledges is a message that comes in at 2:43 AM on Sunday. As he opens the message, Eddie absentmindedly wonders if Buck’s having a hard time falling asleep for the same reason as him. Probably. It’s a link to a new exhibit at the Griffith Observatory, accompanied by a text that reads: Can I take Christopher here next weekend? Eddie squeezes back tears as he replies with a brief, Of course, and puts his phone down, letting the darkness swallow him again.

Hen beats him to it. “What happened, Buck? I thought you really liked her. Weren’t you planning to introduce her to Maddie and Chimney next week?” “Not anymore,” Buck mutters. “I broke up with her.” “What?” Eddie snaps head snaps up. “Why?” Buck doesn’t meet his gaze, his lip quivering. The rest of their team is watching them, eyes darting back and forth, and Buck blinks hesitantly before swallowing down a sip of coffee. He wipes the cream off of his upper lip and looks Eddie in the eye. “You know why,” Buck whispers.

#i love sad men. also thank u for the ask btw it does mean a lot that someone was still thinking about this fic <3 #rae writes #fic: blue skies #answered #anon

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eff4freddie · 16 days

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'Do you believe in aliens?'

For the @dieterbravobrainrotclub May challenge Words 1.2k (whoops)

Dieter Bravo x AFAB reader

Everyone pisses and moans about them, but you don’t actually mind the industry parties that much. You like to think its your sparkling personality, your natural charisma, that gets you through them. But you know it’s because you’re not in one of the glamour jobs, not an actress, not a director, not even a writer. You just work behind the scenes, balance books and follow the producers around setting up meetings. You’re so far behind the scenes you’re basically in the car park. No one at one of these shindigs is going to harass you for a leg up anywhere.

This one is up in the Hills, the Exec Producer’s place that he secretly rents but tells everyone he owns for the sake of appearances. You and possibly his mistress are the only ones who know, and you only know because he runs his rent arrears through the company as a tax write-off. You think, for a moment holding a plate of free quiches that you’re considering slipping into your bag, that this little piece of knowledge might make you the most powerful person in here. Then you realise the place is getting to you, and you head out to the balcony.

Out here there’s a view of LA almost all the way down to the ocean, at the very least the edge of the Valley. Off to the left is Griffith Observatory and you realise, in your seven and a half years since moving here from buttfuck nowhere, you’ve never actually been. You haven’t done any of the touristy stuff. You’ve just been working.

‘They have so many telescopes in that place,’ a voice says from behind you, and you turn abruptly, nearly spilling your free champagne.

‘Yeah?’ you say, simply. The man behind you is silhouetted against the bright lights of the party behind him. You can just make you his shape: wild, curly hair that, with the light behind him, is framing his face like a halo. What looks like a fluffy cardigan even though it’s nearly 90 degrees at 9:30 PM. He has a cigarette sticking out the side of his mouth, and he’s holding two champagne glasses, and for a crazy second you think he’s brought you one, before you see him swig from both in quick succession.

‘Trying to get sober,’ he says, and even though you can’t see his face you can hear the smirk in it. ‘LA sober,’ he finishes.

You turn back to the view, feel him come up beside you and rest his hands on the railing. When you glance over you can see his triangle tattoo and you realise this is Dieter Bravo. You really want that second champagne.

‘I’ve never been,’ you say, because you want to keep the conversation going, and now that he’s next to you his cologne is drifting over to you, spicey and bright, covering the smell of cigarettes. Your tongue has suddenly become too big for the cavern of your mouth. You swallow, thickly.

‘Me neither,’ he says, drinking again. ‘If you want to see real alien shit, you need to head out to the desert.’

You laugh because you think he’s joking, but you realise he’s gone quiet. You turn to him, see the scant look of hurt in his eyes.

‘Sorry,’ you say, immediately.

‘Do you believe in aliens?’ he asks, like he already knows the answer.

‘I don’t…not believe? I don’t know. I don’t want to not believe simply for the sake of not believing.’

Well. That was quite a sentence.

He turns to you, his whole body now facing you, as you stare out at the city, suddenly worried what will happen if you turn to him, too. He gazes at your profile, and you can feel his eyes on you as he observes.

‘You don’t belong here,’ he says, and your stomach sinks. You were hoping it was less obvious. You feel an unhappy little bubble of shame settle in your throat.

‘Umm…well, I know Pete,’ you start, and he waves a hand at you to stop you. He drops it onto the crook of your elbow and now you turn to him. His hands are warm, despite having just been holding two drinks.

‘I mean, not at the party, just…you’re not an industry type.’

‘What’s an industry type?’

‘Well for one, they would have fuckin’ told me they believed in aliens whether they did or not.’

You consider this. Over his shoulder you can see the big jobs hob-knobbing, what appears to you now not to be an industry event but just an enormous circle-jerk. You don’t want to go in there anymore. Your belly feels sour.

‘I think that might be right,’ you say, quietly.

Dieter nods at this, as if it was a matter of serious debate that has now been settled. He turns back to the valley in front of you, lifts a hand to the observatory, and grins.

‘That’s where we’re going on our first date,’ he says. You realise this man is chaos, that he is a child who has been too used to getting all the toys he wants, throwing them out of the crib on a whim and having them placed gently back for him.

‘To see the aliens?’ you ask. He’s kicking at the railing now, and you think you’re boring him, that he’s getting distracted, looking for his next hit of dopamine. You watch him for a moment, holding the moment still and precious between you. When he looks at you it becomes clearer, the situation suddenly snapping into sharp focus. He’s nervous.

‘Have to take you out to the desert for that,’ he’s saying, but you can feel the false bravado behind it, can see the little kid who’s worried the flow of toys might stop one day, who can’t rely on them being there, throws them out just to make sure they’ll still be put back.

‘I don’t tend to let strange men drag me out to remote places until the third date,’ you say, matter-of-factly.

He breaks out into a grin. You can see the mischief in his eyes, the cheek, and you can see now how he so easily gets everything he wants. He’s about to say something, something flirty if not outright obscene, when an enormous white light suddenly shines on you both. You turn to the sky, grabbing at his arm in fright, as he shields his eyes.

‘Is it them?’ you ask, panicked for a second that the aliens have heard you, have picked you up on their space-agey radars as being a non-believing believer, and have arrived just at the right moment to prove a fucking point. The wind is whipping up around you, the sound of an engine roaring, and you’re trying hard to suck in a breath against it.

‘If it is we’re going together!’ Dieter yells into the noise, as he grabs your face to turn it towards him. You nod, frantically, staring up into his eyes. Yes, OK. If it’s an intergalactic probing you’re in for you can think of no person better equipped to handle it than Dieter Bravo.

The patio door swings open, and a voice calls to Dieter over the roar.

‘Fucks sake Diets, it’s the paps, get inside!’

You turn back to look, holding your hands over your eyes to try and block out the light. It is indeed a helicopter, and you think you can make out a photographer leaning out of the window to get the shot. Without even thinking you raise your right arm, pull all the way back and fling your champagne flute. It travels about fifty feet in a perfectly non-threatening arc, before disappearing into the scrub beneath you. Dieter barks out a laugh, pulls you back inside.

In the morning there’ll be a blurry shot of the two of you, Dieter’s hands on your face as if he’s about to pull you in for a kiss. The caption is something about his mystery new love. The world will never know in that moment you were locked together, preparing for your abduction. They’d never believe it. Neither would you.

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters fanfiction

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where-fading-princesses-live · 11 months

Text

i honestly dont know how i feel about Ethan Slater dating Ariana Grande... i guess im a little sad tbh and i dont usually like to pass judgment on people’s relationships or anything like that but the fact that Ethan was a married man...

he literally said on his IG that his ex-wife Lilly Jay was ‘’My best friend. 4 years married, 10 years together. And this is easily the best (and most *bizarre*) year yet.’’

this was before he was casted on Wicked.

ive been following Ethan since his SpongeBob Musical days and I will always be a fan of his work, but i was so happy for him and his girlfriend when they got married and they have a child together... Wicked is a turning point in his career but i also think it was for the worst.

honestly if he didn’t take the part on Wicked i think he and Lilly would’ve still been together...

Hollywood really does ruin the best of us. im not placing the blame on anyone but i dont see this relationship lasting long... most of Ari’s relationships were shortlived and i just dont see this being a long term thing which is sad considering Ethan ruined a perfectly good marriage/ friendship over a pop star who is clearly not a settling down type and a has a track record of dating people on and off and splitting up with people she made previous commitments to.

yeah idk tbh...

Hollywood hasn’t changed one bit.

you look at stories like Ann-Margret and Elvis Presely having a fling on Viva Las Vegas! even though Presley was married to Priscilla...

EDIT: My bad he wasn’t married to Priscilla yet, but she was living at his Graceland mansion and he promised her marriage. She was absolutely furious when she found out about the affair and that’s why Elvis and Ann-Margret broke up. Elvis almost left Priscilla for Ann-Margret but Ann-Margret felt like Elvis had to fulfill his commitments. Priscilla was barely legal at the time I might add but that’s a topic for another day...

or stories like Andy Griffith having a fling with Aneta Corsaut on The Andy Griffith Show even though he was married and she had a boyfriend with one of the show’s writers...

or Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton having an affair on Cleopatra even though both were married...

most of these relationships ended up in divorce to their current spouses.

and the list goes on.

you think Hollywood would learn by now.

you think people would learn from history but no... the wheel just keeps turning.

im disappointed honestly.

i would be happy for Ethan and Ari if they weren’t promised people but that wasn’t the case and i feel so bad for Lilly...

this makes me less excited for this movie ngl

#personal shit #ethan slater #ariana grande #wicked #wicked film

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terrence-silver · 4 months

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Oh, I so agree with you about the lack of Terry in promos being... unsatisfying. So many things they're playing with this season were set in motion by Terry. Terry mentioned Kim Sung Young first, who they now have cast. Terry wanted to go to the Sekai Taikai. Terry introduced Kim Da Eun. If they can get Kreese out of prison with a box of Jell-o, no way can they keep Terry in jail for more than three hours. If he can spin heading Dynatox into being a green philantropist, he can doctor this. If Kenny still has a major part to play, well who mentored him?

I could have understood it if they wanted to shift away from the Terry storyline and focus on what the show started as, reclaiming your life through karate. But then, it would have made much more sense to keep Kreese in prison, send Chozen and Da Eun home, and not focus so much on Tang Soo Do. But if they're setting that legacy up as the überthreat, it makes no sense for Terry not to be involved. The Sekai Taikai was his baby, moreso than Cobra Kai, even. Maybe the CK brand has been compromised, but so what? Hearsay. Simply rebrand.

Terry completely revitalised a show that had milked everything out of Johnny-Kreese there was to milk, keeps shying away from consequences with Robby and Miguel and would never give Sam and Tory the gay awakening that drives them. To dump him and keep Chozen and Da Eun around makes no damn sense!

Exactly. Precisely.

Terry Silver is the lifeblood that keeps this show running.

Because what else is there to do with this plot?

A lot of storylines got tragically milked to completion seasons ago.

And I don't think for the life of me Da Eun, who quite literally got flown into the plot during the penultimate mid-season is a strong enough character to be the end all-be all final boss villain. She doesn't have the charisma to pull what Thomas Ian Griffith pulled in TKK3. She was just introduced pretty much last minute and our attachment to her is at best nonexistent to miniscule with her only connection to anything going on in the plot at all is through Kreese, Silver and their mutual history with the sport. In the plot itself, girl even seemed like she was begrudgingly in the States in the first place and had to be talked into staying by Terry. To carry the whole endgame conclusion of this show and well over forty years of lore between the characters as the ultimate bad guy? Yeah, nope. Don't see it. There's just no development there. No meat.

As you said. It makes no damn sense.

And I will be in the minority here, which is entirely alright for me, but I really have an abject allergy for fan concoctions like brining back Julie Pierce in Season 6 or having Chozen and Da Eun have a showdown to fill in plot gaps. Shoehorning in Julie Pierce for a random, out of nowhere cameo when the one attachment she had to the plot was vaguely through a character dead for well over forty years just so she could tutor female character x and y for a short period of time is unnecessary at this late stage and I don't think Chozen and Da Eun warrant enough stakes to suddenly become mortal foes that take up space like that in the last season, but hey, that's just me; like, where are these rivalries even coming from? They met like yesterday. Do you two even know each other's full names!? Like!?

Terry Silver, John Kreese and the Sekai Tekai are sole the points of interest left.

After all, show's called Cobra Kai and they are Cobra Kai.

#funnily enough your post gives me hope #that there's no way tig could be left out #and i thank you for that #cobra kai #cobra kai season 6 #terry silver

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she-karev · 2 months

Text

Birth (Andrew DeLuca x Amber Karev Imagine)

Age Rating: 12+

Chapters: Two of Two

Fandom: Grey’s Anatomy

Head canon Ship: Andrew DeLuca x Amber Karev (Alex Karev’s Sister

AN: Here’s the final chapter for the story you guys and I will try to post the next one as soon as I can and until then enjoy and I always appreciate and like and a reblog!

Editors Note: Hey guys so I just learned how to make GIF’s and decided to reblog this beautiful chapter with a GIF I made myself. Let me know what you think.

Summary: Amber gives birth to a girl with Andrew by her side and Dr. Montgomery delivering.

Words: 1441

Simone Griffith stands outside Amber DeLuca’s delivery room peeking through the transom on the closed door. It’s been six hours since she and DeLuca found out Amber was in labor. She was curious on how her chief resident was after her water broke causing Dr. DeLuca to have her close after his surgery and couldn’t help but go up and see how they are.

Also, after witnessing her grandmother have an Alzheimer’s episode, she wanted a reminder that there were good things in this world too, like babies being born. Alex Karev walks down the hall with a welcome home baby girl gift basket from him and Jo to give to Amber. He spots Griffith outside the room and clears his throat causing her to stand back and look at him.

“Dr. Karev hi I-I was just uh-”

“Spying on my sister while she’s trying to bring a new life into this world right this second?”

“…It looks weird, doesn’t it?”

“Yes!” Alex confirms causing her to look down in shame, “Is there a reason you’re doing this very weird thing?”

“I just…I just needed a reminder that there’s good things in this world too. And watching a birth happen in real time works more effectively than faith in humanity videos.”

Alex grins at that understanding where she’s coming from, “Yeah there is something magical about my baby sister becoming a mother.”

“That is all I am saying sir.” He motions for her to step aside and she does so. He walks inside the room to find Amber lying on her side in her bed with Dr. Montgomery behind her inserting the epidural catheter. Andrew is standing by her side and holding her hand as she groans at the needle insertion.

“Hey kid how are we doing?”

“Terrible! You’re lucky your ex-girlfriend knows what she’s doing otherwise I would judge her based on her poor choices from sleeping with you.” Alexs eyes widen at his sister’s knowledge of his and Addison’s past relationship. Andrew looks at him in shock as well just learning about this.

“Is this true or is it the hormones talking?”

Addison finishes the insertion and looks up at Alex in disgust, “You told her?”

“No! I swear I didn’t.”

Amber groans and lays on her back on the bed, “Oh please the nurses keep tabs on your love lives and they love to gush with me. They could write romance best sellers with Alex’s disaster of a love life. I mean I’m still at the Ava/Rebecca chapter and it is a doozy.” She turns to Addison, “For the record you could’ve done way better back then.”

“You know I’m in the room, right?” Alex points out before putting the pink basket on the table.

“I’m gonna check how dilated you are.” Addison sighs and feels the need to clarify to Amber while she does her cervix exam, “And for the record I didn’t date him. I found him attractive, I was horny and he was there. It was one time and I judge myself for it enough as it is.”

“I’m his sister I know how shameful you’d feel sleeping with him when he was an intern and an asshat.”

Addison grins at that and looks back at Alex, “I like her.”

Andrew asks trying to comprehend it, “Wait you slept with your sister’s OB and you didn’t think to mention it?”

“You slept with my sister and I had to find out after the fact.” Alex bitterly points out.

“I didn’t even know she was your sister man.”

“And I didn’t think my ex was gonna be delivering my sister’s baby over ten years later but here we are.”

Amber inhales and exhales in annoyance at their petty squabble, “Hey boys?” They turn to her and she looks disheveled while Addison checks her cervix, “I need you two to read the room because I have enough on my plate right now, I don’t need to mediate an argument between my husband and brother.” They quiet and look at her concerned as she continues, “I am just trying to squeeze a giant Escalada out of a compact FUCKING PARKING SPOT!” The boys look scared by her last exclamation.

“Very good.” Addison calmly says, “Swearing helps a lot, you’re at 7 centimeters.” Addison stands back up covering Amber with a blanket.

“Ugh I hate you tell me when I can start pushing this sucker out. Speaking of suckers exiting, Alex get out.” He looks offended by that as Amber continues, “You dropped off the gift and unless you can transport my daughter out of my body you are useless to me. And do me a favor. Let it be known that the only people allowed in this room are Dr. Montgomery and the people who provided genetic material to this baby otherwise they are gonna be in a world of hurt, now out!” Amber points at the door causing Alex to nod and pat Andrew on the back seeing the road ahead of him.

“God speed.”

Andrew nods, “Yeah.” Alex gets out of the room and closes the door behind him.

TWO HOURS LATER

I scream out loud as the next contraction comes and push per Dr. Montgomery’s instructions. While this happens, Andrew is by my side holding me encouraging me. My lower region is covered by blue tarps with Addison behind the curtain delivering my daughter, out of all of us I think she has the easiest job in the room because Andrew is no doubt in pain from me holding his hand with monster strength that’s coming from being in labor.

“Good Dr. DeLuca! Okay at the next contraction I’m gonna need you to really bear down but not until I tell you.”

I whimper at the never-ending cycle, “Oh god come on! I know my brother rejected you but don’t take it out on me!”

Andrew rubs my arm to soothe me, “It’s gonna be okay, you’re doing great, it’ll be over soon.”

I am too in pain and too mad at him to take in his soothing words, “If you think we’re having sex again after this you got another thing coming Andrew DeLuca!”

He chuckles at that and kisses the top of my head wiping the sweat off my forehead, “I think we’re stalled in the sex department until this kid goes off to college.”

I chuckle lightly at that but then I stop and gasp as I feel another contraction coming, “Oh god not again!” I scream as the pain courses through my body.

“Okay one last push Amber!” Dr. Montgomery instructed me and even though it hurts I do as she says, pushing with all my might. Andrew is holding me and encouraging me to push through my piercing screams. After what seems like forever, I feel relief in my body and slump back down on the bed panting for breath. I hear a baby crying and I felt my heart stop as I look down to see Dr. Montgomery holding our small, wriggling and bloody daughter already crying her lungs out. Addison is smiling and laughing in joy, “There she is!”

I’m so shocked by what’s happening I’m laughing and crying at the same time, “Oh my god.”

I can see Andrew laughing in joy too with tears glistening in his eyes, “Look at her oh my god you did that.”

“You helped.” I remind him. He takes the scissors from Dr. Montgomery and cuts the umbilical cord. After that Addison takes the baby to get her cleaned up and comes back a few moments later with our baby daughter wrapped in a baby blanket. She’s crying on the way until she reaches my arms and I hold her shocked at how tiny she is. I smile down at her still overcome with so much love and awe over this tiny human that made the last eight hours of pain I’ve endured so worth it, “Hi. Oh my god she’s…she’s…”

“She’s perfect.” Andrew finishes and I nod as he smiles. I can see the love in his eyes and grin at him.

“Here let’s go to daddy.” I carefully place the baby in Andrew’s arms and he handles her so carefully, no doubt shocked at how light she is too. He croons at the baby speaking words of affection in Italian cradling her head, “Ciao bambina, sono tua mamma e tuo papà.”

I sniffle and grin at the sight of both of them before cooing at our daughter, “Hi welcome to the world. Right now your the only pure and innocent thing in it at this very moment. And I promise we are gonna name you by the time you come home.” Andrew chuckles at that and we just enjoy this moment together as a family.

#grey's anatomy #greys anatomy #greysanatomyedit #greysedit #amber karev #andrew deluca #alex karev #elizabeth gillies #liz gillies #giacomo gianniotti #headcanon #mine #labor and delivery

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