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masterofmunson · 2 years

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promises, promises (2)

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your boyfriend, Eddie Munson, accuses you of cheating on him due to your strange behavior. If only you could tell him you were hunting interdimensional monsters instead.

Word Count: 5.7k+

Warnings: language, drugs and alcohol mentioned, SMUT (18+, minors dni i’m serious), unprotected sex, oral (fem), p in v sex, fingering

Author’s Note: Here’s this monster of a part two! Again, thank you so much for all the love on the story so far. Please let me know what you think and please comment/reblog/send asks on content you read!

You wake up to the harsh sound of your doorbell ringing the next morning. Your parents must not be home to answer the door. You groan loudly and kick your comforter off your legs.

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” you shouted as you ran downstairs. You unlock the front door quickly and tear it open. You glare at the two teens standing at your doorstep. “What the hell guys?! Why are you ringing my doorbell like a maniac on a Saturday morning?”

Dustin and Max push past you and enter the foyer of your home. Both their eyes are wide with concern and Dustin begins to pace the length of the hallway. “Did you go see Eddie last night after dinner?” he asked, picking at his nails.

You shake your head. “No, why?”

The two teens share a tense look before Dustin walks further into your home. He squats down in front of the TV and turns it on. He flicks through the channels before it settles on Channel 9 News. The voice of Beverley Moss fills the family room. You watch with rapt intensity, your gaze focused on the background of the screen.

You notice Eddie’s trailer behind the reporter. You’ve been there more times than you could count. If you and Eddie weren’t going on dates or driving around in his van, you were at the trailer. Police move in and out of his home and sirens flash off screen.

Blood rushes to your head as you listen and watch the screen. A student was found dead in Eddie’s trailer. No other details are being released at this time. You feel like puking. Eddie would never hurt anyone. He talks a big game in order to keep from getting hurt. It was why he wore Eddie “The Freak” Munson as a badge of honor, but you know him.

You know Eddie better than he knows himself. You know that his dad leaving and mom dying scarred him in ways you don’t understand. You know that despite the amazing relationship he has with his uncle, he fears Wayne will leave too. He’s insecure and hides behind his long, unruly hair and heavy metal music.

It’s why, upon further reflection, that you’re not surprised Eddie thought you were cheating on him. When you first started dating last summer it took a lot for Eddie to open up to you. You just graduated and were nannying full-time when you ran into Eddie at the local bookstore. He caught you browsing the Dungeons and Dragons display.

“I didn’t know the star soccer player of Hawkins High enjoyed the Devil’s Game,” he smirked, standing alongside you. You nearly jumped out of your skin and knocked a number of boxes over as a result.

You turned and glared at Eddie, clutching your chest. “Jesus Christ, Eddie!” you hissed. “You scared me. You can’t just come up to people like that! What if I hit you?”

He grinned, squatting down and helping you pick up the boxes you knocked over. “Sorry,” he laughed, fixing the boxes on the display before turning to you. “I saw you staring at the display for the last five minutes and came over to help. You look lost and as the Dungeon Master of Hellfire Club, it’s my duty and solum oath to guide those new on their D&D journeys.”

You laughed softly and tugged a loose strand of hair that had fallen out of your ponytail behind your ear. “I regret to inform you that I’m not looking for me. The girl I nanny is obsessed and her birthday is coming up. She’s been asking for more supplemental materials and I don’t know what I’m supposed to get,” you sighed, staring at the large display. “I should’ve brought her brother with me, but he can’t keep secrets.”

Eddie clapped his hands together before pointing out everything you should buy. In the end, you bought a set of new character sheets, dice, and an updated handbook on all the rules and procedures as of June 1985. You thanked him profusely as he walked with you to your car.

You always thought Eddie was attractive. Robin and Steve teased you for it, but they never made fun of you. You enjoyed his loud, theatrical rants during lunch period even if his rants targeted any of the groups you belonged to while you were in high school. Now, all of that was behind you. Your social reputation won’t suffer if you’re kind to Eddie Munson on a random Friday in a local parking lot.

“You’re not what I thought you’d be, Munson,” you teased lightly, leaning against the hood of your car. A bright smile and soft laugh cover your face.

Eddie gasps playfully and hides behind his hair. “What? Mean and scary?” he teased as you nodded in replied. “Who me? Never! I honestly didn’t think you knew who I was,” he said, twirling a strand of his hair between his ring-clad fingers.

“Eddie, c’mon,” you laughed shaking your head at him. “Just because we were in different social circles in high school doesn’t mean I didn’t know who you were. We’ve had several classes together since I was in 7th grade. We were paired together for Ms. Braun’s theater and arts project, remember?”

“How could I forget?! We aced it because of you!”

You rolled your eyes then and shake your head again. A beat of silence falls between the two of you and Eddie rocks back on his shoes. “Even though you were a jock, you were always nice to me, even when I probably didn’t deserve it. I thank you for that,” he murmured quietly with tinted cheeks. You grinned at his sudden shyness.

“Everyone deserves kindness, Eddie,” you replied with equal softness, “even the self-proclaimed freak of Hawkins High.”

You saw Eddie several times after that and always made sure to say hi. It wasn’t until after Starcourt that Eddie built up enough courage to ask you out on a date which you happily (and eagerly) accepted. You had to remind him that none of what happened in high school (while you were there) mattered to you anymore. Over time, Eddie was able to accept your warmth and affections without doubt pressing into his mind.

Eddie’s soft and gentle. Eddie is the epitome of warmth. He’s a perfect summer day: a light breeze with the bright sun shining down with no clouds in the sky. He always asks before he kisses you and takes every excuse to hold your hand. Eddie is the perfect gentleman. He would never hurt anyone. You couldn’t believe what you were seeing. You felt like fainting.

Dustin and Max grab you by the arms and carefully set you down on the sofa as you stare mindlessly at the TV. “I don’t…. I don’t understand,” you whispered. “What’s going on? Why is there a dead body in Eddie’s trailer? They don’t think Eddie has anything to do with this, right? He would never hurt anyone.”

Max mutters your name and you tear your eyes away from the screen to look at her. Tears threaten to spill over your cheeks and she gingerly takes your hand and squeezes it. “I saw Chrissy Cunningham walk into Eddie’s trailer last night,” she said.

Your heart squeezes tightly at the mention of a prettier, more popular girl entering Eddie’s home. Did not saying anything in the first place solidify your relationship status? Did Eddie think you broke up with him so he was free to fuck whomever now? It made you sick just thinking about it.

If he did, he wasn’t the one to blame. You were. Eddie hadn’t technically cheated on you, if that were if fact the case. Your relationship was never complicated until a week ago, and now you might’ve messed up the best thing to happen to you.

“Have you told the cops?” you asked, pushing past the inner turmoil you feel.

“No.”

“Why?”

Max sighs and plays with her fingers. “After I saw them go into the trailer… something else happened. The TV went out and the lights flashed like crazy. At first, I thought it was nothing because it happens all the time, but then I saw Eddie’s face as he left. He was scared… really scared because… because…”

“Because something else killed her?” you finished quietly and she nods.

“Which is impossible, right?”

Your eyes meet Dustin’s and suddenly all the sleuthing and research and hiding out you’ve done over the last month starts to come to fruition. Your gut hadn’t been wrong. Something was happening in Hawkins, but you were too early. You had nothing to go on except the one lone nightmare you had. Now someone was dead. You should’ve done more, maybe if you had Chrissy wouldn’t be dead.

“I don’t know. The only person who knows what happened is Eddie. We have to find him before the police do. They’ll probably want to question me, so we have to hurry. Let me go get dressed and we can go,” you said, standing up from your spot on the couch.

You run upstairs and get dressed quickly. You dress in a pair of dark washed jeans, a loose, lilac t-shirt, and a blue windbreaker. Pulling your duffle bag out of your closet, you stuff one of the t-shirts Eddie gave you into the bag. You throw an extra toothbrush and travel sized toothpaste, deodorant, and shampoo in as well. You dig the nail bat out from the back of your closet and the walkie talkie that sat a top your dresser.

Hurrying downstairs, you run into the kitchen and drop both the bag and the bat at the front door. You pull the box of Cheez-It’s from the shelf along with the box of Cheerios. You grab a handful of granola bars and water bottles before throwing them in a plastic bag.

“What are you doing?” Dustin asked from the kitchen counter.

“Gathering food for Eddie. He’s probably starving,” you said, swinging your bag over your shoulder and holding the bat by the stem. “Let’s go.”

Grabbing your keys and wallet from the table, you follow Dustin and Max out the front door. Locking it behind you, you jog to your car. Opening the trunk, you toss your duffle bag inside before climbing into the driver’s seat.

“Do you have any idea where Eddie might be?” Dustin asked as you drove down the street towards Family Video.

Your fingers tighten around the steering wheel. “No. He has to be somewhere no one knows about since the cops haven’t found him yet. We’re going to have to call all his friends to see if they have any idea where he might be.”

“Then why are we at Family Video?” Max asked as you parked the car.

“The store has more than one phone,” you answered exiting the car. You walk into the store and stand in front of the counter. You find Robin and Steve organizing VCR tapes. Dustin hurries in after you and jumps over the counter. Both your friends yell at the young teen.

“Listen, we need to use your phones to call all of Eddie’s friends,” Dustin said, typing away at the computer.

“Your new best friend, Eddie?” Steve asked petulantly, standing over his shoulder.

“What, is calling all of Eddie’s friends an emergency?” Robin bit back, fixing the pile of movies Dustin knocked over.

“Yes,” you answered for him.

Steve sighed your name and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re the last person I would expect to entertain Dustin’s ridiculous ideas. If it were any other day, it would be fine, but it’s Saturday!”

You sighed in return and fill your friends in with the information Max gave you and let her fill in when appropriate. You tell them how your monster hunting over the last month and a half hadn’t been in vain, you just had barely anything to go off of and now you did. You beg your two best friends to help you find your boyfriend and they both hesitantly agree.

You watch Dustin write down all the phone numbers of Eddie’s friends as Robin walks into the back off to grab the extra phone. You, Max, and Dustin spend the next hour calling his friends. Every person you called led to the same answer: no one knew where Eddie was.

You hung the phone up and groan in frustration. You lean against the counter and watch Max pace the small length of the counter as she talks on the phone before hanging up. “I think I have a lead. He maybe at Reefer Rick’s. The guy I talked to said Eddie goes there because Rick’s his supplier and he crashes there sometimes.”

No wonder you didn’t know where Eddie was. Eddie never told you where he got the drugs that he sold in Hawkins. He was more than happy to smoke with you, but that’s all he shared. He wouldn’t let you get involved even if you wanted to. He mentioned Reefer Rick once, but didn’t share any other details with you.

“Could we find his address if he had an account here?” You asked.

Robin shrugged, “Yeah, probably. We would be guessing which one he is based on the movies he rents.”

It takes five minutes to find the Rick you’re looking for. Rick’s house is just off the shore at Lover’s Lake. It’s the perfect place to hide. You run out of the store and return to your car. Robin locks the store behind her and the kids climb into your car while Robin goes to Steve’s car.

Pulling out of the parking lot, you sped down the street to the edge of town. Turning down Holland Road, you park in front of Rick’s house. The yard is unkept and weeds grow up the porch steps. Running towards the door, you pace along the porch as Dustin frantically rings the door bell and bangs on the door. Your heart beats wildly against your chest as you wait. You play with your fingers and bite the inside of your cheek.

“Hey, guys!” Max shouted from behind you.

You hurry over to her and stare at what she’s looking at. A boatshed stands just before the shoreline. A lone light is on over the shed door. You run down the slight hill and quickly push the door open. “Eddie?” you whispered into the shed as your friends yelled after you.

“Are you crazy?!” Steve hissed, grabbing you by the arm. “What if Eddie’s not here? We don’t know if this Reefer Rick guy is dangerous or not!”

“Oh, relax Steve,” you sighed with an eyeroll.

“Considering we’ve been close to dying about a hundred times, I rather not.”

You watch him grab an oar from the wall and poke at the inside of the boat in the center of the shed. You tiptoe around the rest of the shed, noticing a pile of junk food wrappers and empty beer bottles on a nearby table. Someone had been in the boatshed recently.

You move your flashlight around the rest of the room. Besides the trash on the table, there were no other signs that someone had been inside. You sigh dejectedly. If Eddie wasn’t here, where could he be?

There’s a sudden crash on the other side of the shed and you run around the dock to find Eddie pinning Steve against the wall of the shed with a broken piece of glass held against his neck. The four of you scream and Steve drops the oar.

“Eddie!” you shouted his name, pushing between the kids with your hands raised. “It’s me, honey. Everything’s okay.”

He turns his head at the sound of your voice. Eddie’s brown eyes are dark and wild, like he can’t believe you’re standing there. He blinks twice and the grip he has on the shred of glass tightens. It’s as if he thinks you’re a desert mirage, that you’re not actually standing in front of him. You wonder if Eddie thinks that his mind is playing tricks on him. He’s had a rough 24 hours and the last thing he needs is another bad thing happening to him.

“Baby,” you plea, taking another step towards him, “we’re here to help you, I’m here to help you. Please let Steve go.”

Eddie’s harsh breaths mix with the sound of soft waves hitting against the dock. He murmurs your name like he can’t believe it’s you standing in front of him in this beat up boatshed. He’s in utter disbelief. It’s like you’ve grown two heads with the way he looks at you.

His grip on Steve’s jacket loosens and he drops the shard of glass. You take two long strides to get to him and he nearly collapses in your embrace. His arms wrap protectively around your torso. Eddie sobs into your neck and clings to you. Your fingers gently card through his hair.

You could barely believe that you were hugging in this circumstance. You broke his heart a week ago and now Eddie was holding on to you like a boat to an anchor. Tears pool at the corners of your eyes as you held your broken boyfriend. You’ve only seen him like this one other time, and it was on the anniversary of his mother’s death. It scared you to think about.

“Eddie, it’s okay,” you whispered into his hairline, kissing the side of his head as you held back tears. “You’re okay. We’re here to help you, okay? Tell me what happened, baby.”

Eddie pulls away from the nape of your neck and holds your face in his hands as the two of you slowly fall to the floor. You brush your fingers through his hair and gently tuck it behind his ears before wiping the tears staining his cheeks. He swallows hard and shakes his head.

“You won’t believe me,” he cried.

Your chest physically aches at his reply and a few tears slip past. You hold his face delicately in your hands. “Try me, Eddie, please.”

His warm eyes search yours as he watches you take one of his hands and slips your fingers between his. You squeeze it gently and kiss the back of his hand. He lets out a shaky breath and relents. He tells you everything, his eyes never leaving yours.

Chrissy went to his trailer to buy drugs, and when he returned from his room to give them to her, she was floating in the air. Eddie described how her bones snapped in different directions and how her eyes were a soft white, void of any color. It was as if something was inside Chrissy’s head, pulling her apart from the inside out.

“I didn’t know what to do so I just… I ran away… I left her there,” he sniffed as he explained what happened.

There’s a beat of silence as you digest what happened. In the end, you were right. Something was going on in Hawkins, and Chrissy Cunningham just happened to be the first casualty. You tried to figure out what was going on, but you were too late, or rather, too early. You didn’t want anyone else to die because of the Upside Down, but it wasn’t possible. Chrissy wasn’t the only victim. Eddie was too. It broke your heart that Eddie felt he had to deal with it on his own.

“You must think I’m crazy,” he muttered, pulling away from you and looking out into the lake.

You shake your head vehemently and gently tug on his chin so he’s forced to look at you. “No, Eddie. I don’t think you’re crazy.”

“Don’t bullshit me! I know how this sounds!” he shouted as another wave of tears escape the corners of his eyes.

“We believe you, Eddie,” Robin murmured, taking a step closer to the two of you.

Dustin joins you on the floor and both you and Eddie turn to look at him. His voice is soft and gentle as he spoke. “What I’m about to tell you may be a little difficult to take…” there’s a soft pause before he continues.

Dustin tells Eddie everything about the Upside Down and the monsters that sneak through the dimension and plague Hawkins. He listens intently and doesn’t ask any questions. Eddie squeezes your hand tightly as the group listens. You don’t add anything. You’ll have time to tell the rest to him later.

When Dustin’s finished, Eddie looks to you. “Is this why you’ve been acting so weird lately?” he asked. “Because you’ve been hunting monsters and shit? Not because you’re cheating on me?”

You can’t help but laugh. Out of all the questions you thought he would ask, that wasn’t one of them. You wipe away the last of your tears and nod. “Yeah, this is why I’ve been acting so weird,” you confirmed with a small smile.

Eddie pulls you into his chest for another tight hug. You take a deep breath and breathe him in. He still smelled the same: hints of a warm, deep musk with remnants of the weed he smokes no matter how old it is. His fingers squeeze the fabric of your windbreaker and you feel a soft kiss to the side of your head.

He helps you to your feet and you watch your friends head to the door. Dustin turns around expectantly, waiting for you to join them.

“You should go,” he muttered quietly. “Come back in the morning.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you said, turning to meet his gaze. “I’m not leaving you. I’ll leave when they come back tomorrow.”

Eddie sighs and wraps his arms around you, pressing a gentle kiss to your neck.

“I have stuff in my trunk for you,” you said after a beat of silence as you watched your friends climb up the small hill to the street. “Can you figure out how to get into the house while I go grab it?”

He nods against your skin and leaves another kiss.

You hurry out of the boatshed and run up to your car. Unlocking it quickly, you open the trunk and grab your duffle bag and nail bat. You lock the car again before running to the back porch of the house where Eddie was waiting with the door unlocked.

Eddie pushes the door open just enough for you to slip inside before following behind you. He’s quick to lock the door as you pull the blinds shut and curtains closed for good measure. Eddie takes your hand and drags you along to the master bedroom.

Eddie turns on the bedside lamp and soft light fills the room. To your surprise, the room is nice and clean. The bed is made and the floor is clear. No one had been in the room for a while.

Dropping your bag to the floor, you open it up and grab the toiletries you packed for Eddie. “Do you want to take a shower and brush your teeth?” you asked as you watched him plop down on the bed.

He nods slowly and you take the toiletries inside the bathroom and turn the light on. Eddie trails behind you and stands in front of the bathroom counter as you hand him the toothbrush and toothpaste you brought for him. Eddie brushes his teeth wordlessly as you set the shampoo and bodywash you brought inside the shower.

“Will you… will you shower with me?” Eddie whispered as you turned on the shower. You turn to look at him and a light pink dusts his cheeks. “I just don’t want to be alone.”

Your heart breaks at his admission. Although Eddie hasn’t seen you naked yet, you’re more than happy to appease him. Eddie needs you. He’s needed you for a while. The emotional distance you caused put a strain on your relationship. You don’t want it to happen again.

“Of course, Eds,” you whispered.

Eddie undresses slowly as you do the same. You tug your windbreaker off and toss it in the corner along with the rest of your clothes. You step into the shower after Eddie and the warm water cascades down your back.

You don’t have it in you to feel shy or embarrassed that Eddie’s seeing you naked for the first time. He needs you and you’re more than happy to oblige.

Eddie’s hands settle on your bare hips. His wet hair covers his face and you gently pull it away from his eyes. The sound of your soft breaths mixes with the water as you stare at each other. Eddie’s fingers trail up your body and brush against the scarred flesh along your arm and shoulder. Despite the warmth the water provides, goosebumps litter your skin at his gentle touch.

“What happened here?” Eddie asked, staring at the raised flesh on your body. It makes you shiver as you reach for the shampoo and squeeze some into your hand. You reach up and gently lather the soap into Eddie’s hair.

“One of the monsters got to me last summer,” you answered with equal softness as you scratched at his scalp. “It was heading towards Steve and I pushed him out of the way. The monster’s teeth tore through my flesh and left me with this.”

“Is this why we haven’t had sex yet? Were you scared that I would judge you for something out of your control?”

Your silence is deafening and Eddie frowns. He reaches to hold your face in his hands while yours rest against his chest. Tears pool at the corners of your eyes and you let out a soft sigh. “It’s not that I was scared you would judge me because of the scars. I was scared you would look at me differently. They’re ugly and—”

“Hey, don’t say that,” he chastised quietly, tugging your chin up so you’re forced to look at him. “They’re not ugly. They’re a part of you and I love you, every piece of you.”

Your heart jumps inside your throat. Eddie loves you. Eddie loves you. The man you love loves you back, even after everything you put him through. You’re going to burst and your eyes search his. Eddie’s eyes widen at his admission and he starts to stutter an apology when you gently press a finger to his lips.

“I love you too, Eddie,” you whispered. “I’ve been dying to tell you for a while now.”

Eddie grins and the warmth in his eyes returns. His nose brushes against yours. “Can I kiss you?”

You nod eagerly and Eddie presses his mouth to yours. You smile into the kiss and his lips kiss your teeth. The warm water fills the space between you and Eddie carefully presses you into the shower wall. Your fingers thread through his hair and a breathy sigh escapes your throat as Eddie kissed along the column of your throat down to your shoulder where the scarring began. He kissed and nibbled his way across your skin as you sighed again and again.

Your fingers squeeze his chest as his hands trailed down your torso and settled on your ass.

“Eddie,” you murmured. He pulls away and stares at you. His lips are flushed and his face is a warm pink from kissing you. You gently hold his face in your hands and brush his wet hair out of his face. “I want to apologize. I’m sorry for being distant and not telling you the truth. I never want to make you feel like that again. I love you and I hope you can forgive me.”

Eddie grins and presses another kiss to your mouth. “Of course, I forgive you, sweetheart. Now I understand why. We’re okay, I promise. Can I go back to kissing you?”

Your laugh echoes in the shower and you grin. “I was thinking we could move this to the bedroom?”

Eddie’s eyes widen and his face grows an even deeper shade of pink. “Are you… are you sure? We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. I don’t want to pressure you into doing anything if you’re not ready.”

“I’m sure, Eddie. I trust you. I’ll tell you if I want you to stop, okay?”

Eddie nods eagerly and turns off the shower. He steps out and takes you by the hand. Eddie reaches for a towel and is quick to dry himself off before handing it off to you. It makes you laugh with how eager he is.

When you’re done drying off, Eddie drags you into the bedroom. You climb to the top of the bed and Eddie’s quick to join you. He grins and kisses you hard into the mattress. His bare chest rubs up against yours and a soft moan leaves your throat. Eddie groans into your mouth.

“So pretty, baby,” he uttered into your mouth. It makes you tingle with want and desire. Eddie pulls away and drags his mouth down your body. His fingers play with your nipples before his mouth wraps around your left breast. He nips and sucks and it makes you dizzy. “I could do this all night. Your tits are perfect.”

You moan again and grab at his damp curls. Eddie laughs against your skin as he slides further and further down your body. Your breath quickens and your heart beats wildly against your chest at the feeling of Eddie’s hands between your thighs. His fingers run along the length of your thighs to your knees and back up again.

“Eddie,” you sighed blissfully, “please.”

He chuckles into your skin and kisses the inside of your thigh before teasing his fingers around your folds. Your hips jerk up and Eddie kisses your knee. He pressed his thumb against your clit, gathering your slick between his fingers. “Is this what you wanted, baby?” he smirked, slipping a finger inside you.

“More, I need more,” you begged.

Eddie gently places your legs over his shoulders and your knees squeeze his head. Eddie laughs again and pulls your thighs apart. “You’re soaked and I’ve barely touched you,” he murmured, sinking his tongue between your folds.

A scream rips past your throat as Eddie laps at your center. His ring clad fingers dig into your hips and pin you to the bed. Your fingers card through his hair and tug harshly. His nose brushes against your clit and you squeeze your eyes shut. He laps greedily at your center, kissing and sucking every inch his mouth could reach. It sends jolts of pleasure through your entire body.

Eddie slips a finger inside of you, the cool metal of his rings brush against your folds as he fingers you. You cry out and tighten your grip in his hair again. Your body is on fire. White, hot pleasure runs through you as the coil in your stomach grows tighter and tighter.

“Eddie, I’m—” you cried desperately, bucking your hips to meet his mouth and the strokes of his fingers.

“I got you, baby,” he muttered into your skin, “let go.”

You cum with a cry of his name as he coaxes you through your orgasm. Your legs shake as you come down from your high. You pant hard as Eddie laps up your juices before pulling away and climbing up to kiss you. You hold the side of his face as you taste yourself on his tongue. His mouth slips inside yours and swallows your moans.

“Think you can go again?” he whispered into your mouth before biting your neck. His teeth are gentle as he leaves a warm hickie in his wake.

You nod. “Yeah, yeah, I can. I can go again,” you answered quietly.

Eddie grins against your hot skin before kneeling back on his legs. Your fingers brush against the tattoo against his chest and the necklace hanging from his neck. Eddie pulls your hips closer and carefully takes himself in his hand and lines up at your entrance.

He pushes in slowly and it has you gasping and squeezing his shoulder. Eddie’s thick and fills you to the brim until he bottoms out. He doesn’t move for several, long, antagonizing seconds. You feel your heart in your throat with ever twitch beneath you.

“You’re so tight, sweet girl,” he moaned in your ear, leaning back before slowly pushing back in. His hand wraps your leg around his waist and he presses further into you. Eddie takes your free hand and slips his fingers through yours. You squeeze his hand tightly and let out a soft moan. You clench around him and he groans.

“Faster, Eddie,” you moaned. “Please, go faster.”

His warm laughter fills the already hot room. Eddie captures your lips in a kiss and whispers against your mouth, “Only because you asked so nicely.”

Eddie’s thrusts grow fast and deep. With your legs wrapped around him, he hits the furthest part of you. You scream and beg and moan Eddie’s name. The same white-hot pleasure you felt before returns with equal intensity. Eddie’s skilled fingers toy with your clit with every thrust. Eddie’s lips find yours as he swallows each moan and gasp from your lips. He buries his face into the crease of your neck and sucks a number of hickies into your throat.

“You almost there, baby?” he panted as his thrusts began to grow sloppy as he neared his peak. You nod into his neck and Eddie’s fingers play with your folds.

You scream Eddie’s name and your back arches off the bed as you cum. Eddie grunts your name and guides you through your own orgasm before pulling out and releasing on your stomach. Eddie collapses on your chest and your fingers rub up and down his back as you catch your breath.

Eddie gently turns your head and kisses you sweetly before climbing out of bed and scurrying to the bathroom. He hurries back with a wet cloth and wordlessly cleans the mess he made on your stomach and thighs before using it on himself. Tossing it on the floor, he climbs back into bed and pulls you against his chest. You turn to face him and rest a hand on his face, brushing his hair out of his eyes.

“We’ll figure this out together, okay?” you whispered, kissing him gently.

“I know,” he said, holding your hand in his as he fell into a restless sleep with you by his side.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson imagines #eddie x reader #eddie imagine #eddie imagines #stranger things #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #stranger things imagines #my writing

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makapatag · 5 months

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Tactical Combat, Violence Dice and Missing Your Attacks in Gubat Banwa

In this post I talk about game feel and decision points when it comes to the "To-Hit Roll" and the "Damage Roll" in relation to Gubat Banwa's design, the Violence Die.

Let's lay down some groundwork: this post assumes that the reader is familiar and has played with the D&D style of wargame combat common nowadays in TTRPGs, brought about no doubt by the market dominance of a game like D&D. It situates its arguments within that context, because much of new-school design makes these things mostly non-problems. (See: the paradigmatic shift required to play a Powered by the Apocalypse game, that completely changes how combat mechanics are interpreted).

With that done, let's specify even more: D&D 5e and 4e are the forerunners of this kind of game--the tactical grid game that prefers a battlemat. 5e's absolute dominance means that there's a 90% chance that you have played the kind of combat I'll be referring to in this post. The one where you roll a d20, add the relevant modifiers, and try to roll equal to or higher than a Target Number to actually hit. Then when you do hit, you roll dice to deal damage. This has been the way of things since OD&D, and has been a staple of many TTRPG combat systems. It's easy to grasp, and has behemoth cultural momentum. Each 1 on a d20 is a 5% chance, so you can essentially do a d100 with smaller increments and thus easier math (smaller numbers are easier to math than larger numbers, generally).

This is how LANCER works, this is how ICON works, this is how SHADOW OF THE DEMON LORD works, this is how TRESPASSER works, this is how WYRDWOOD WAND works, this is how VALIANT QUEST works, etc. etc. It's a tried and true formula, every D&D player has a d20, it's emblematic of the hobby.

There's been a lot more critical discussion lately on D&D's conventions, especially due to the OGL. Many past D&D only people are branching out of the bubble and into the rest of the TTRPG hobby. It's not a new phenomenon--it's happened before. Back in the 2010s, when Apocalypse World came out while D&D was in its 4th Edition, grappling with Pathfinder. Grappling with its stringent GSL License (funny how circular this all is).

Anyway, all of that is just to put in the groundwork. My problem with D&D Violence (particularly, of the 3e, 4e, and 5e version) is that it's a violence that arises from "default fantasy". Default Fantasy is what comes to mind when you say fantasy: dragons, kings, medieval castles, knights, goblins, trolls. It's that fantasy cultivated by people who's played D&D and thus informs D&D. There is much to be said about the majority of this being an American Samsaric Cycle, and it being tied to the greater commodification agenda of Capitalism, but we won't go into that right now. Anyway, D&D Violence is boring. It thinks of fights in HITS and MISSES and DAMAGE PER SECOND.

A Difference Of Paradigm and Philosophies

I believe this is because it stems from D&D still having one foot in the "grungy dungeon crawler" genre it wants to be and the "combat encounter balance MMO" it also wants to be. What ends up happening is that players play it like an immersive sim, finding ways to "cheese" encounters with spells, instead of interacting with the game as the fiction intended. This is exemplified in something like Baldur's Gate 3 for example: a lot of the strats that people love about it includes cheesing, shooting things before they have the chance to react, instead of doing an in-fiction brawl or fight to the death. It's a pragmatist way of approaching the game, and the mechanics of the game kind of reinforce it. People enjoy that approach, so that's good. I don't. Wuxia and Asian Martial Dramas aren't like that, for the most part.

It must be said that this is my paradigm: that the rules and mechanics of the game is what makes the fiction (that shared collective imagination that binds us, penetrates us) arise. A fiction that arises from a set of mechanics is dependent on those mechanics. There is no fiction that arises independently. This is why I commonly say that the mechanics are the narrative. Even if you try to play a game that completely ignores the rules--as is the case in many OSR games where rules elide--your fiction is still arising from shared cultural tropes, shared ideas, shared interests and consumed media.

So for Gubat Banwa, the philosophy was this: when you spend a resource, something happens. This changes the entire battle state--thus changing the mechanics, thus changing the fiction. In a tactical game, very often, the mechanics are the fiction, barring the moments that you or your Umalagad (or both of you!) have honed creativity enough to take advantage of the fiction without mechanical crutches (ie., trying to justify that cold soup on the table can douse the flames on your Kadungganan if he runs across the table).

The other philosophy was this: we're designing fights that feel like kinetic high flying exchanges between fabled heroes and dirty fighters. In these genres, in these fictions, there was no "he attacked thrice, and one of these attacks missed". Every attack was a move forward.

So Gubat Banwa removed itself from the To-Hit/Damage roll dichotomy. It sought to put itself outside of that paradigm, use game conventions and cultural rituals that exist outside of the current West-dominated space. For combat, I looked to Japanese RPGs for mechanical inspiration: in FINAL FANTASY TACTICS and TACTICS OGRE, missing was rare, and when you did miss it was because you didn't take advantage of your battlefield positioning or was using a kind of weapon that didn't work well against the target's armor. It existed as a fail state to encourage positioning and movement. In wuxia and silat films, fighters are constantly running across the environment and battlefield, trying to find good positioning so that they're not overwhelmed or so that they could have a hand up against the target.

The Violence Die: the Visceral Attacking Roll

Gubat Banwa has THE VIOLENCE DIE: this is the initial die or dice that you roll as part of a specific offensive technique.

In the above example, the Inflict Violence that belongs to the HEAVENSPEAR Discipline, the d8 is the Violence Die. When you roll this die, it can be modified by effects that affect the Violence Die specifically. This becomes an accuracy effect: the more accurate your attack, the more damage you deal against your target's Posture. Mas asintado, mas mapinsala.

You compare your Violence Die roll to your target's EVADE [EVD]. If you rolled equal to or lower than the target's EVD, they avoid that attack completely. There: we keep the tacticality of having to make sure your attack doesn't miss, but also EVD values are very low: often they're just 1, or 2. 4 is very often the highest it can go, and that's with significant investment.

If you rolled higher than that? Then you ignore EVD completely. If you rolled a 3 and the target's EVD was 2, then you deal 3 DMG + relevant modifiers to the DMG. When I wrote this, I had no conception of "removing the To-Hit Roll" or "Just rolling Damage Dice". To me this was the ATTACK, and all attacks wore down your target's capacity to defend themselves until they're completely open to a significant wound. In most fights, a single wound is more than enough to spell certain doom and put you out of the fight, which is the most important distinction here.

In the Thundering Spear example, that targets PARRY [PAR], representing it being blocked by physical means of acuity and quickness. Any damage brought about by the attack is directly reduced by the target's PAR. A means for the target to stay in the fight, actively defending.

But if the attack isn't outright EVADED, then they still suffer its effects. So the target of a Thundering Spear might have reduced the damage of an attack to just 1 (1 is minimum damage), they would still be thrown up to 3 tiles away. It matches that sort of, anime combat thing: they strike Goku, but Goku is still flung back. The game keeps going, the fight keeps going.

On Mechanical Weight

When you miss, the mechanical complexity immediately stops--if you miss, you don't do anything else. Move on. To the next Beat, the next Riff, the next Resound, think about where you could go to better your chances next time.

Otherwise, the attack's other parts are a lot more mechanically involved. If you don't miss: roll add your Attacking Prowess, add extra dice from buffs, roll an extra amount of dice representing battlefield positioning or perhaps other attacks you make, apply the effects of your attack, the statuses connected to your attack. It keeps going, and missing is rare, especially once you've learned the systematic intricacies of Gubat Banwa's THUNDERING TACTICS BATTLE SYSTEM.

So there was a lot of setup in the beginning of this post just to sort of contextualize what I was trying to say here. Gubat Banwa inherently arises from those traditions--as a 4e fan, I would be remiss to ignore that. However, the conclusion I wanted to come up to here is the fact that Gubat Banwa tries to step outside of the many conventions of that design due to that design inherently servicing the deliverance of a specific kind of combat fiction, one that isn't 100% conducive to the constantly exchanging attacks that Gubat Banwa tries to make arise in the imagination.

#gubat banwa #ttrpg #filipino #fantasy #gamedev #writing #rpg #dnd #southeast asia #d&d #d&d 5e #d&d 4e #i will say #that part of the decision away from a d20 (because gb alpha used one)#is sheer hater energy on my part #like i just didn't want to #because its used by all these other games by white people and especially because its used by dnd #there is like #4 instances where you use d20s in this game

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artsavi · 1 year

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god. uh. myhouse.wad, huh? I have, frankly, way too many thoughts about this entire mod. Please bear with me as I try to ramble my way through them, I ended up going off under the read more.

I’m going to be honest, this game felt like an extended, emotional fetch quest for me until this point. Don’t get me wrong, I knew that all the items had emotional and memorial impact, but...this one got to me. This moment hit me like a fucking truck.

For those of you who don’t play Dungeon and Dragons, sessions get long. On average they can run anywhere between 4-6 hours, but I myself have played longer, with the longest taking the cake at almost a half day, or roughly 11 hours. A lot can happen in a session, and most of it is just...joking around. The phrase “roll for intercourse” is a reference to an age-old running gag of players trying to seduce an NPC for whatever reason. It’s funny. It happens so often it’s a meme.

But finding it here...it really hit me. This isn’t just a reference to a well-known meme. Tom and Steve sat down and played D&D together, spending multiple hours in a day to play sessions, likely with other players but always with each other. And this phrase? It stuck out, it’s a moment that stuck with Steve for one reason or another, and my only guess is to say it’s because it‘d become an inside joke. And...you can’t help but wonder what it was. If Steve had been DMing, or if he’d been the one trying to seduce the NPC much to Tom’s chagrin, or...what.

And that at the core is the devastating part of myhouse.wad. The more I sit and think about it, the more I think about it, the more I realize this map is chock full of inside jokes, and we as players will never understand them. Because it’s not meant for us. These are things we’ll never have context for because one of the people involved is gone now. And the more I think about it, the more the realization hit that this entire map is not a game and really, truly is a memorial.

Do you remember when we played with Legos together? Do you remember when we played video games? Drinking milkshakes in the basement, sharing a pop? Our inside jokes? Roll for intercourse. Pumpkin Rick. Shrek chasing after you. Do you remember when we got married? I do. The house does. The house loves you. I love you. I miss you.

This map reads like a conversation, someone reaching out to someone else. You can’t help but wonder who is reaching out to who, though.

You know, I was talking to some friends on Discord about this map, and one of them brought up something interesting that I agree with. myhouse.wad draws clear inspiration from House of Leaves, but there’s a distinct difference between them. They both have heavy themes of grief and closure, but where House of Leaves is mysterious because of the layers and layers of unreliable narrators, myhouse.wad is mysterious because of you’re only ever hearing one side of the conversation. House of Leaves makes me feel like I’m intruding on something that no human should ever know. myhouse.wad makes me feel like I’m hearing part of a conversation through a wall.

Either way, there is one thing that both works share: This is not for you. It never was.

You know, I kind of wonder what their D&D campaign was about, if this moment was enough to stick out as an inside joke. I wonder what their sessions were like. I hope they had fun.

#myhouse #myhouse.wad #myhouse.pk3 #house of leaves #hol #doom #doom ii #doom 2 #fanart #artsavi #digital art

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art · 2 years

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OC Intros: @lemongrace

Hi everyone, Lemongrace here! I’m an EU-based hobby artist from Poland with a great love for drawing and designing characters from a variety of games. I started out with World of Warcraft, only to branch out to the universes of FFXIV and D&D, and it’s been quite the fun journey!! Besides art and gaming, I’m also interested in history (partly due to my heritage) and learning new languages.

Who/what was the inspiration behind your original character?

Icatia was born out of the idea of a magical girl trope meeting Dungeons and Dragons. I’ve wanted an unapologetically cute character that would remain a beacon of hope in a world full of adversity, finding strength in her own softness. She’s a homage to the childhood heroines such as Usagi from Sailor Moon or Ichigo from Tokyo Mew Mew.

What made you want to create your own original character?

My friend was running a D&D game, and the previous character I made for the game didn’t click with me—so I turned to something I knew from previous RP ventures! Someone less abrasive and a little more wide-eyed in the big world.

Are there any similarities between you and your OC?

While I’d call us opposites for the most part, both me and Icatia are very much into indulging ourselves when an opportunity arises haha (only difference here being that she’s a rich fantasy noble, and I’m a freelance-hobby artist OTL).

Thanks for sharing your OC with us, Lemongrace! Check out more of their work here.

#oc intros #artists on tumblr #art #oc #lemongrace

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livingfree207 · 1 year

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TOP 5 THINGS to NEVER do as a Beginner D&D Player

#youtube #dungeons and dragons #gaming DnD D&D #entertainment fun share

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theedoctorb · 1 year

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Dungeons & Dragons Content Creators Summit and Being a Corporate "Shill"

I was invited to attend the Dungeon & Dragons (D&D) Creator Summit in early April, and I happily accepted. I initially wasn’t going to publicly say anything about attending because I didn’t see any need. However, in the last week, numerous conversations on various internet platforms have both tacitly and overtly accused anyone in attendance of being a Wizards of the Coast (WotC) “shill” or “clout chaser” who will agree with anything WotC says because they:

Paid for attendees’ travel.

Included a per diem to cover meals and incidentals while traveling.

Have given past promotional materials to many of the people in attendance.

May offer us further financial opportunities in exchange for refusing to challenge currently proposed ideas and materials.

This is not only reductive, but further divides a community still reeling in the wake of the recent uproar over the leaked, proposed Open Gaming License (OGL) revisions which resulted in targeted harassment of individual studio employees and content creators, especially those of marginalized identities, despite the fact that most of those who were harassed had no authority over the business decisions which caused the initial uproar.

What is a Summit?

Summits are opportunities to have open dialogues and share opinions towards a common goal. They’re common in academia and politics. Good summits are about synthesizing new ideas and challenging old ones. They’re often heavily structured and moderated with specific strategic goals, and the good ones deliberately invite people with vastly different perspectives on a topic.

To put it mildly, summits aren’t something to organize if you want people to pat you on the head and tell you that you’re doing just great! They’re often extremely heated because people passionately and vehemently advocate for their perspectives and priorities which may be in direct opposition to others’.

What’s different about this summit is that it ostensibly possesses a level of transparency which I haven’t experienced before. Summits are often closed-door conversations, so that the people in attendance can speak candidly about topics or strategies currently in the planning stages.

My invitation email specifically stated that the goals of the D&D Content Creator Summit are:

To gather feedback on how the D&D team can improve the experience of making D&D content.

To gather feedback on upcoming products such as the D&D Rules Update and D&D VTT.

For content creators to have more opportunities to interact with D&D staff in-person.

The email invitation specifically stated that this summit is based on consistent feedback WotC has gathered since PAX Unplugged 2022, and that this is a “first step.” Additionally, no one in attendance will be expected to create any content regarding the summit, WotC will not be taking any footage, photos, or recordings of the summit for any purpose, and any information shared with attendees may be shared with the community. That last part is notable, because it means that people in attendance – all of whom have platforms of varying sizes – can frankly offer feedback now and in the future on what is discussed, as well as how D&D incorporates the feedback.

Who is Going? Why Were They Invited?

I don’t fully know who is going. I also don’t know why certain people were invited and others weren’t. No one I know of – outside the organizers and those who helped them – does, and anyone else is likely acting on various degrees of speculation. I strongly suspect questions about inclusion and exclusion criteria will be some of the first things asked at the summit. I’m especially curious about this criteria, given that content creation isn’t my primary job – consultation and education on mental health are, though that role sometimes extends to matters of content creation.

Some creators announced their attendance publicly out of excitement at being included or with the intent of gathering questions from their communities. Some creators kept their attendance privately known only among industry members and friends. Of those I know who have kept their attendance private, the fear of being the target of harassment is a commonly cited reason, but an even more common reason was a desire to attend and push for change.

Many of the people I know who plan on attending are staunch advocates for various topics such as inclusion, accessibility, and representation of marginalized individuals in D&D and other tabletop roleplaying games (TTRPGs). Some of them have directly consulted with WotC before and offered frank feedback as part of their consultant role. Other attendees built their platforms on advocacy and haven’t been shy about calling out perceived missteps. In short, they’re not people who are afraid to voice their opinions.

It’s worth noting that – of the attendees I know – nearly every single one is marginalized in one or multiple ways, whether it’s ethnicity, gender identity, orientation, neurotype, medical/disability status, or a variety of other identities. Nevertheless, who is and who isn’t in attendance is absolutely worth noting, once we have all the facts. Who has a seat at the table is always poignant and important feedback.

Isn’t Your Objectivity Compromised by Receiving Compensation for Attendance? Coercive Rewards and Role Clarity

Some of the online discourse supposes that those of us in attendance will kowtow to WotC’s efforts because they paid for travel, offered a per diem, and many of us have received promotional materials in the past on which we’ve built content. Is that true? Is our objectivity compromised? Probably not, and here’s why. In the psychology field, there are two concepts we talk about frequently: coercive rewards and role clarity. Coercive rewards are often discussed in terms of psychology research. Participants in research are generally compensated in some way for their participation, but the compensation cannot be so great as to compel or coerce them into saying yes when they might otherwise refuse. To give some perspective on the level of compensation, I live in the same geographical region as WotC headquarters, so travel costs aren’t covered for me. I am still receiving a per diem for food and incidentals during the summit. However, I’m taking two days away from both my day job and my private practice. While I can reschedule some of my clients, I won’t be able to reschedule all of them, so I’m going to end up losing money by attending, and I’ll have to make up other work at my day job. To put it bluntly, per diem and travel costs (if I were traveling), and occasional promotional material are not enough to coerce an endorsement from me, especially if I think something is actively harmful and the goal of the summit is to offer critical feedback.

Instead, my attendance is driven by my love of the D&D community, what it’s meant to me, and my desire to help improve that community and help it thrive by bringing as many people to the table as possible. Most of the people I know planning to attend are in similar situations and of similar mindsets – taking time off from work and essentially losing money because the goals of this summit are important to them. The travel compensation and per diem simply help to minimize losses for some people.

One summit attendee I spoke with noted that there is also an equity issue at play. Without offering compensation for travel and a per diem, it limits attendance to those of a certain socioeconomic level. That negates the possibility of wider community feedback. Also, how many memes and Twitter threads exist about creators being “paid” in exposure? Offering compensation hints to me that WotC takes this feedback seriously and is willing to treat everyone in attendance like a professional.

Beyond pure dollars and cents, many of the summit attendees are either immunocompromised or have family members who are. They are literally taking health risks to attend because they believe in the purpose of this summit and improving the D&D community as a whole. If that’s not a sign of how dedicated some of the attendees are to improving the community, then I don’t know what is. Now let’s talk about role clarity. There are a lot of different jobs in psychology, just like there are in games and content creation. In psychology, a person might be a therapist, evaluator, expert witness, consultant, teacher, researcher, or any number of other roles. To perform any of these roles effectively, they must be crystal clear on what that role entails and what is outside its scope. It’s the same thing here with the summit. Based on the invitation email, it seems that the role is similar to one of a consultant – to critically evaluate what is presented and offer feedback based on one’s experience and expertise. Thankfully, this is a role in which many of the attendees I know have a wealth of experience.

Some readers might retort with, “But you might get other jobs by being there!” Yes. Yes, we might. This is a professional invitation with an expected, professional role, and if we perform that role well, we might get future professional opportunities. That’s what should happen when one performs their job well, and it should be true regardless of the industry and context. However, the reality is that those jobs are both hypothetical and not likely to happen overnight. It's more likely that these jobs would be one-off consultations, collaborations, or the like.

While jobs like that are appreciated and welcome, they are not steady employment. Summits are not generally real-life versions of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory whereby the one attendee who is most skilled and virtuous will be given control of WotC. Anyone who plans on attending with the fantasy that they will be instantly rewarded with their dream job is probably going to be disappointed.

Is This Summit Solely to Do Public Relations Damage Control?

Ignoring the fact that a lot of the people attending this summit are generous with their opinions, for good or ill, some in the community have asserted that the D&D Content Creator Summit is simply WotC’s attempt to repair damage to the D&D brand in the wake of the bad business decisions during the recent OGL controversy. Events like this summit take a long time to organize, so I actually believe the email I received when they said that this is based on feedback they’ve received from as far back as late November/early December 2022.

At the same time, WotC would be foolish to avoid using this as a step towards what they pledged they would do at the tail-end of the OGL controversy: obtain and incorporate direct, community feedback. After all, the ability to follow through on proposed behavior changes is what we want when we have problems with people and companies, right? If the goal is to simply do damage control after a public relations nightmare, inviting a bunch of opinionated people with platforms to give feedback isn’t great if one doesn’t intend to actually listen.

No one attending has forgotten the OGL situation, regardless of where they stood on it. If WotC is doing things well, they’ll learn that from the feedback. If WotC is going in a direction that irks folks at the summit, they’re going to learn that too, and if it’s the latter, that’s not going to help WotC, because the folks in attendance have platforms and haven’t signed any non-disclosure agreements.

Final Thoughts

All in all, what is the D&D Content Creator Summit going to be, and what is going to come out of it? I don’t know. I don’t think anyone does.

Much like in D&D, we can’t know the outcome of things before the action. That said, there are going to be a lot of talented, caring, observant, insightful content creators present asking hard questions and offering critical feedback. Content creators, especially advocates like those I know are going, work damn hard to produce what they do, and it cheapens their hard work, especially the advocacy work, to call them corporate shills and assume that they’re going to agree with anything presented. Agreement isn’t the assignment. Neither is the assignment for us to listen to WotC. The assignment is for WotC to listen to us.

If we want to see change from people and companies, we have to be willing to note when they take steps to change, even if it’s just the first step. That’s not to say we can’t be critical at the same time. We should be critical, in fact, but critical isn’t the same as unyielding vitriol, universal condemnation, and us-versus-them. Critical means noting both mistakes and successes and pushing for constant improvement. No person or company is going to go from badly messing up to doing everything perfectly.

As far as I know, WotC is trying something new with this summit, and it represents a shift in how they produce their products. I don’t know if it’s going to lead to sustained changes, but I’m willing to see if it does. I hope it does. More than that, I hope it’s exactly what they said it is: the “first step” in a new strategy of involving the community. My biggest fear is that if they see overwhelming, unflinching condemnation of anything they attempt, especially when it’s violence and threats from the community they’re trying to get input from, then they may stop trying to engage at all, and then we’re left with only anger and unfulfilled hopes.

#ttrpg #content creation #wizards of the coast #dungeons and dragons

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txttletale · 10 months

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I just wanted to let you know that I just found your tumblr within the past week and you have immediately become my 2nd favorite tumblr, being only behind Blogatog. Love your ttrpg takes.

Anywho, you said to ask about flags, so what is your biggest/are your biggest red flags when it comes to ttrpg design?

thank you! i'm glad you enjoy my silly little posts. anyways i think my biggest red flag is unintentionality--the feeling that the writer of a TTRPG has done something by 'default', the inability to put myself in their shoes and understand (or even better, be told by the text itself) the reason why a particular decision has been made.

one of the biggest places this rears its head is in terms of tone and voice. let me quote jay dragon's really good the storyteller technique:

Another advantage of getting to know the narrator of your RPG is that it helps mitigate unconscious bias in your design. Dungeons & Dragons has a notably anthropological narrative voice, explaining other cultures and creatures like a scientist in the field. The language of D&D mimics the writing style of mid-century scientists traveling to “exotic” locations and cataloging non-Western experiences as part of a documentation of the Other. It’s easy for newer designers to want to “write a game like D&D” without regard for how even the narrative voice of Dungeons & Dragons carries unintended political baggage. Is a bird’s-eye and judgemental perspective really the energy you want to bring to your whimsical fantasy world? Or is there another perspective within your world that can be more useful, and allow you to find new perspectives on the world you’ve created.

narrative tone is a choice--the attempt to use a 'neutral' tone for rules text and description is also a choice, how formal and how informal you get with it is a choice, and when i read a text that seems to have made that choice thoughtlessly it imo bodes very poorly for the rest of the game.

other examples of this kind of unintentionality are games that have a comabt system despite not being about combat in any way--games with equipment rules despite them not setting out to tell the sort of story where which sword or gun a character has matters--games that measure themselves in exact distances without actually using a battlemap--&c.

while most of this unintentionality takes the form of 'falling back onto what DND does' because DND is the market leader and many people's first TTRPG, so imitating it without purpose is something that both cynical market-share chasers & unexperienced designers without a wide range of expereicne can do--it's absolutely not unique to it. one form of unintentionality i see a lot in indie TTRPG circles is creating far more Moves for your PBtA game than necessary--clearly more out of a sense that 'AW/MotW/Masks has a Move for this' than any specific understanding of what that move will do in your game

in game design--as in any art--there is no such thing as a 'neutral' choice or a non-choice. there are only choices, and how much someone's thought about these choices is important!

#ask #aork14 #nicey ask :)#ttrpg

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munson-blurbs · 1 year

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Chapter 2: Don't Know What You've Got Till it's Gone

Collaboration with the Dustin to my Suzie, @corroded-hellfire 💚

Series Summary: Based on the Jonas Brothers song of the same name. You and Eddie share a hospital room in the wake of Hawkins' turmoil, striking up an unlikely friendship that could lead to much more.

Chapter Summary: You and Eddie are getting closer, and his friends can't help but notice something between you two. But when you receive devastating news, the pressure of being his upbeat, optimistic Sunshine becomes too much to handle.

Warnings: eventual smut (18+ only, minors DNI!), Eddie survives the Upside Down, hospital, mentions of surgery, description of Eddie's scars, controlled use of pain medication, angst

WC: 6.6k

Divider credit to @firefly-graphics

“Yeah, well, next time I tell you not to be a hero, you’d better listen to me.” A man’s voice stirs you from your sleep. You gently roll over onto your side and see fuzzy shadows behind the curtain that separates you and Eddie.

“Hold on, Harrington,” Eddie pushes himself up slightly, an edge to his voice. “What do you mean by next time?”

“He’s still out there,” a younger voice pipes up. “We wounded him, but—” He stops abruptly, turning his stocky frame towards the curtain. “Hey, can your roommate hear us?”

“She can!” you chirp, and utterances of shit and shut up fill the room. “Don’t worry; I won’t tell anyone about your nerdy D&D secrets.” Eddie had spent the better part of the last few days explaining the ins and outs of the game, taking far too much pride in his Dungeon Master status for a man pushing 20.

“Good morning, Sunshine,” Eddie calls out. “You decent? Want you to meet my friends.”

“Sorry, did we wake you?” A girl asks, but your view of her is obstructed by the curtain. “We have a tendency to be a little…”

“Loud?” The older of the guys offers. “Obnoxious? Grating?”

The boy shrugs. “That’s just the way we roll, man.”

“What do you mean ‘we?’” The first guy retorts.

“I’m all good, Eddie,” you say. Now that you’ve given the all clear, the older boy tugs back the curtain. You recognize him as Steve Harrington, who graduated with you last year.

“Steve,” he says, sticking out his hand for you to shake. “And, FYI, I do not play Dungeons & Dragons.”

You can’t help but let out a snort of laughter as you shake his hand and introduce yourself. “A shame. Eddie makes it seem like such fun.” At your sarcastic tone, Eddie flips you off, but you ignore him and continue. “We, uh, actually graduated together.”

“Yeah?” Steve asks, eyebrows shooting up so high they almost blend into his perfectly coiffed hair. “Huh. You think I’d remember that.”

“I mean, it’s understandable you’d forget,” you say with a shrug. “You had just lost the last basketball game of the season.”

“Ouch,” Steve says, holding a hand over his heart. “But that doesn’t excuse the four years we were in the same class.”

Wincing, you give Steve another shrug. “More like seven. We went to middle school together, too.”

“Well, shit,” Steve says, running a hand over his face. “Yeah, I was a douchebag.”

“Was?” a feminine voice chimes in. Steve rolls his eyes and turns to the side to reveal the younger guy and a girl your age that are sitting next to Eddie’s bed.

“Robin, right?” you ask. She perks up in her seat, seeming pleasantly surprised that you know her name.

“Yeah,” she says.

“You’re in band, right? I’m friends with Vickie, and I know she’s mentioned you a few times,” you explain.

“R-Really?” Robin asks, eyes widening.

“Mhmm,” you hum in confirmation, watching an unmistakable grin grow from cheek to cheek. You’ll have to follow up on that another time if you have a moment alone with her. “And you are…?” you start, turning towards the curly haired boy hoisting himself up on crutches, braces adorning his teeth.

“Dustin Henderson,” he affirms. “Artificer: Master Inventor and future Hawkins High valedictorian.” You shake his hand, giggling as the three older friends roll their eyes in unison at his introduction.

“Don’t forget ladies’ man,” Robin taunts, and Dustin hoists up two middle fingers in response, fumbling to keep the crutches secured under his arms.

“Sunshine here is a ballet dancer,” Eddie says, trying to steer the conversation away from the topic of love. You watch as Steve and Robin exchange an amused glance, with the former mouthing Sunshine and the latter just shrugging. “She does, um, pointe?” He looks at you hopefully.

You nod. “Yup! I’ll be right back at it as soon as this bad boy heals up.” You gently pat your leg, grimacing as even the lightest touch sends sharp pains down to your toes.

You talk with the group for a few more minutes, swapping gossip about people from your graduating class, until Mandy knocks on the door. “It’s time for your appointment with the surgeon,” she says politely.

“Surgeon?” Eddie asks, brows crinkling in confusion.

“Y-Yeah,” you stammer, leaning on the nurse as you maneuver into the wheelchair. “Just, um, protocol with this kind of injury. Make sure everything’s good and all that.” He seems to buy this answer, and you breathe a silent sigh of relief. “It was nice talking with you all!”

Once you’re out of the room, Dustin turns to Eddie. “So,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows. “Sunshine?”

“Shut up, Henderson,” Eddie grumbles, throwing a pillow at the boy.

“Yeah, be nice to him,” Robin teases. “That nurse just took his sunshine away!”

“So, are you involved with this sunshine?” Steve asks, an amused expression written all across his face.

“No, not like that,” Eddie says, suddenly finding the hem of his scratchy blanket fascinating. “Just friends.”

“You guys get along well,” Robin says, more statement than a question.

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees.

“And she’s beautiful, yeah?” Robin asks, raising her eyebrows at Eddie.

“Well, yeah,” Eddie says.

“So, what seems to be the problem?” she asks.

Eddie groans, dropping his head back against his pillow. Never mind the fact that Steve “ladies man” Harrington–an actual ladies’ man, not like Henderson–is in the room, but Eddie’s never been particularly comfortable talking about his experience—or rather lack thereof—with girls. There’s also the fact that he was literally attacked by bats from an alternate dimension, barely escaping hell with his life intact. And you’re so bright and sunny and the total opposite of what Eddie brings to the table.

“It’s just that she… I mean, I… you see, we—.”

“Oh, cut the bullshit, Munson. Stop playing games. We all see the spark,” Steve says, crossing his arms over his chest indignantly.

“There’s a spark?” Eddie asks quietly, lifting his head from the pillow and infinitesimal amount.

“I knew it!” Dustin exclaims loudly, earning an angry shush from someone passing through the hallway. “Look at the stupid grin on his face! Eddie wuvs his Sunshine!” He leans over to pinch Eddie’s cheek, but gets his hand slapped away.

“I don’t love her!” Eddie hisses. “Now, if you idiots could stop bothering me about this, and we can talk about anything else.”

“Okay, we’ll stop,” Robin agrees, but the mischievous smirk on her face says otherwise, “when you look me in the eyes and can tell me you don’t have feelings for her.”

Eddie lays back down and pulls the covers up over his head. “Goodnight and goodbye,” he mutters, despite the fact that it’s only 10 AM.

Steve yanks the covers back down, laughing when he sees his new friend scowling. “Calm down, man,” he says, sitting down on the starchy blanket, careful not to bump into Eddie. “We’re just messing with you. We’ll behave now.” He shoots Dustin and Robin a warning look, and the two grumble their apologies.

“‘S fine,” Eddie mumbles. “I’m tired anyway, so…” He lets his gaze fall to the doorway.

“Yeah, of course,” Robin says with a small smile. “We’ll visit soon.”

“Get well soon, buddy,” Dustin lowers his voice as quietly as he can—which isn’t saying much, given his normal volume. “The kids of the future are counting on more of your sadistic campaigns.”

As Eddie slips into a medicated slumber, he makes a silent prayer for sweet dreams. Your image appears in his mind, and he can’t deny the warmth it brings him.

Shit, he thinks. Those morons were right. I have a thing for Sunshine. He hopes that he’ll dream of you now that he’s admitted his crush.

No such luck.

The skies are red and gray, strange bursts of some sort of lightning fill the air. Weird shrill squeals fill the dead air. Eddie’s body is full of pain, searing and bleeding wounds making it difficult to breathe. Quick gasps leave his lips, his hands clutching at the ripped shreds of his shirt.

“Eddie! Shit!” Dustin’s voice rings around Eddie. The shorter boy is somewhere in the distance, not too far. “Steve! SOS! SOS!”

Soon, two pairs of hands are on Eddie’s body, trying to help, but only making the pain worse. He tries to steal himself against it, but it’s no use. The tears come, hot and thick as they build up in his eyes. The fear, the desperation, the pain. It’s all too much.

“Eddie?”

It’s not Steve or Dustin’s voice that Eddie hears above it all. It’s yours. But what are you doing in this God awful place? It’s the very last place that Eddie wants you.

“Eddie!”

The darkness in the sky fades, a subtle light beginning to shine through. Then, the next thing he knows, Eddie is blinking his eyes open in the bright hospital room, his face sticky with the trail of tears. He rubs at his eyes with the heels of his hands. Once his vision is cleared, he sees you being wheeled into the room in the wheelchair you were brought out in. Your face is pinched in concern and it takes Eddie a moment to realize you’re concerned for him.

“Can you wheel me over to Eddie’s bed instead? Thanks,” you say to the transporter, who does as you request. Eddie scoots over and pulls down his blankets, silently offering you the space next to him. Biting your lip, you look around as if you’re debating, before pushing yourself up onto your good leg and holding out your arms for balance. Immediately, Eddie reaches over and takes your hand so you can use him to steady yourself. Shooting him a grateful smile, you’re able to situate yourself on the edge of his bed.

The transporter looks like he doesn’t know if he should be allowing this or not, so he quickly puts his head down and leaves the room with the wheelchair. Eddie helps you get situated next to him before he pulls the blankets up over both of you.

“Another bad dream?” you ask once you’re comfortable.

“Yeah,” Eddie sighs.

“Was it as bad as the first time?”

“At first. But I heard you calling me a lot earlier this time. Got all nice and light again before I opened my eyes. How’d it go with the surgeon?”

“Oh,” you say, averting your eyes. “Nothing special. Just going over X-rays and tests and stuff, ya know?” You clear your throat, anxious to have the subject changed. “You know when you’re getting out of here?”

“Not yet,” Eddie says, sinking back against his pillows.

“What’s the first thing you’re gonna do when you get out?” you ask.

“Honestly? Get a fucking cheeseburger. This hospital food is shit. I mean, come on. What a man gotta do to get something better than gray mashed potatoes and lime Jell-O?”

“Okay,” you say with a giggle. “After you get some good food, what are you gonna do?”

“I dunno,” Eddie says with a shrug. “Haven’t really thought about it.”

“Oh, come on,” you say. “What’s Eddie Munson’s big dream? Be a big rock star? World tours? Opening for Ozzy? No—Ozzy opening for you.”

Eddie scoffs, gently nudging your shoulder with his. “Before all…this…happened, I was thinking about moving to Indianapolis after graduation. Get involved in the music scene there.”

“Indianapolis?” You wrinkle your nose. “That’s honestly super boring. You survived an earthquake and you’re only gonna go to the state capital?”

“Fine,” he whines exaggeratedly, smiling as he does it. “How about…Australia? I can be, like, a kangaroo farmer.”

“Is that even a thing?”

“It is now.” His loose, tangled curls brush up against the part of your shoulder left exposed by the pale blue hospital gown. “What about you? New York City? Maybe dance on Broadway, or be one of those…Christmas, kicking girls?”

You snort out a laugh. “A Rockette?”

“Yeah.”

“Eh,” you shrug, pushing away the thoughts of the news you’d just received from the surgeon. “New York’s nice to visit, but I need someplace warm. I’m thinking of going to California.”

“Just don’t forget about me when you’re a big Hollywood star,” Eddie teases, though there’s a hint of seriousness in his voice. “And if the movie you’re dancing in needs a band, you know who to recommend.”

“Of course. But do you really think I could get Tears for Fears to play?” His shove is a bit harder this time, making both of you groan as you laugh. “Kidding, kidding. You know Corroded Coffin will be at the top of my list. If you’re not too busy with your own gigs.”

Never too busy for my Sunshine, Eddie nearly blurts out, but he says instead, “will do.” He’s silent for a bit before asking, “Why didn’t you go to California?”

“Huh?”

“Why are you going to college in Indiana and not California?” Eddie tries again. “I mean, you said it yourself: the entertainment scene is much better there than here.” He scrunches up his nose. “Actually, why are you even in college?”

You bark out a laugh at the bluntness of his question. “Um, because that’s what people do after high school?”

“You don’t have to, though,” he quips. “Think about it, Sunshine. College will always be there, but if you wanna pursue dance, you’ve gotta do it while you’re young and, uh, limber.” His cheeks blush a delicious shade of pink.

“Yeah, well.” The truth comes tumbling out before you can stop it. “My parents didn’t think it was a good idea. Just dancing. They wanted me to go to get my degree; build a ‘solid foundation’ or whatever.” You trace invisible spirals into the blanket as you speak. “My dad told me that he could never tell his friends that I danced for a living, because they would, and I quote, ‘think that his daughter was a stripper with daddy issues.’”

Now it’s Eddie’s turn to laugh. “First of all, stripping is a noble profession, and I do not approve of any stripper slander in my home.”

“We’re not in your home,” you point out.

“I do not approve of any stripper slander in my hospital room,” he amends, flicking your forehead with his thumb and middle finger. “And, second, do not tell me that you made a decision about your future based on the opinions of your dad’s old-ass friends.” He groans when you remain quiet. “Seriously?”

“I just didn’t want to upset them,” you mumble. “The only reason they allowed me to study dance is because I’m also majoring in education. I could be a dance teacher.”

“Do you wanna be a dance teacher?”

“Someday,” you admit. “I taught some classes at my studio for the little kids, and I really liked it.” You gnaw at your lower lip.

“But?” Eddie presses, letting his thumb graze against yours.

“But it’s not what I want to do now,” you relent. “Right now, I want to go on auditions and maybe get cast in a play or a cheesy music video or a goddamn commercial and…and dance.”

Eddie gives your hand a quick squeeze before pulling back, not wanting to cross a boundary when you’re so vulnerable. “Then you’re gonna dance,” he murmurs. “We’ll get outta here and move to Cali, and you’re gonna dance.”

A month ago, the prospect of dropping out of school to dance professionally would have you downright terrified. Terrified of failure, of your parents’ inevitable disappointment, of finding out you’re not good enough. But now it only fills you with regret, because that dream became impossible with just the shifting of some rogue tectonic plates.

“Okay,” you say softly, once again wearing your hopeful façade. “Sounds like a plan.” A plan you’ll both easily forget once you’re back out in the real world, faced with the problems you’ve been shielded from within the hospital walls.

The two of you lay there talking about your futures until sleep overtakes you both. Eddie’s the first to drift off; you stay awake for a bit, consumed by echoes of today’s appointment with Dr. Sanoj. What was supposed to be a brief meeting about scheduling your surgery turned into something much more devastating. You rest your head on Eddie’s chest, only allowing yourself to unravel when you hear his soft snores. The combination of the energy expended by crying and the drowsiness from your meds allows you to sleep, still hiccuping from tears as you fall into a dreamless slumber.

Neither of you hear the soft click of crutches as Dustin hobbles back into the room. “Forgot my—son of a bitch, I knew it!” he whispers, slinging his left-behind jacket over his shoulder. “Steve and Robin are gonna lose their shit!”

The next morning, Mandy arrives with breakfast and medication. In front of each of you, she places a plate of runny scrambled eggs, fruit that is described as “fresh” but most certainly is not, and a small carton of orange juice. It’s strangely domestic, and you can’t help but imagine you and Eddie eating together in your shared home. You’re making pancakes or waffles or frittatas—anything better than the food in front of you. Eddie’s frying up bacon, wearing an apron that says Kiss the Chef, and you do, over and over and—

The rattle of your pill cup snaps you from your fantasy, and you dutifully swallow the pastel tablets with a swig of juice.

Eddie grins when Mandy gives him his meds. “Hello, beautiful,” he croons, making grabby motions with his calloused hands.

“Sorry to disappoint, Mr. Munson; no more painkillers in this batch,” Mandy says, laughing at his pout despite herself. “Dr. Franklin wants to speak with you; he’ll be making his rounds in a few minutes.”

“Oooh, Eddie’s in trooouble!” you sing-song, flashing a grin at him.

Rolling his eyes at you, Eddie downs his pills and leans back against his pillow. “Would be used to it. Was in Higgin’s office enough.”

“Oh, Eddie,” you say with a sigh. “Did you go down to the cafeteria while I was asleep and make some big dramatic speech on one of the tables? At least tell me that someone videotaped it for me.”

“You’re hilarious,” he says, tossing his empty paper cup at you. The giggle you let out has his stomach feeling tingly, and he’s sure it’s not from the medications.

There’s a knock on the open door to your room and an older man steps inside, a clipboard tucked under his arm. “Hey, Eddie. How are you feeling?”

“Better. Thanks, doc,” Eddie answers. “What’s the word?”

“Well, glad to say everything looks good. All lab results are normal and you’re healing up nicely. Of course, some injuries still have a ways to go, but there’s no reason you can’t be home for that.”

Eddie’s immediately thrilled. Finally, being able to get out of the hospital where he’s been poked and prodded and it’s impossible to get a good night’s sleep because of all the beeping equipment and nurses constantly checking on you. But as soon as the excitement came, it went. Because leaving the hospital also meant not spending most of the hours in the day by your side. No waking up to your laughter as he tells shitty jokes over your shitty breakfasts. No more saying, “I told you so” when Shelby confesses to the other twin, “I’m still in love with you” on your daily soap opera binges. No more constant sunshine.

“That’s great,” Eddie tells the doctor, his heart not behind the words. “When am I sprung?”

“Should be good to go tomorrow morning. I’m just gonna head back to my office, dot the i’s, cross the t’s, put my name on the X. You know, all that official mumbo jumbo. I’ll have Mandy get everything together. Your prescriptions, your discharge papers, and whatever else you’ll need.”

“Sounds good,” Eddie says, nails scratching at the blanket in his lap.

“Any questions for me?” The doctor asks. When Eddie shakes his head, the doctor gives him a smile and pats Eddie’s leg.

“Oh, I have one,” you say, raising your hand from where you’re tucked up in bed. “When is he cleared to shower? It’s like sharing a room with a donkey.”

The doctor lets out a small chuckle. “Eddie, you are officially cleared to take a shower. If you think of any questions, just tell Mandy. She’ll make sure I get the message.”

“Will do. Thanks.” Eddie nods his head at the man as he steps out of the room. Eddie turns his head to see you grinning at him. While it’s a beautiful sight, it now gives him a melancholy feeling.

“You’re being freed!” you call. “You can go get that cheeseburger tomorrow!”

“Should I sneak one into you?” Eddie asks, his smirk not packing its usual punch.

“Oh, please do,” you say. “God, I can practically taste it.”

“Or smell it? Like, how apparently you’re smelling me?” Eddie asks, raising an eyebrow. Part of him is a little embarrassed because the two of you were sitting so close together just last night.

“You’re not that bad,” you tell him. “I probably smell vile.”

Not a chance, Eddie thinks. “All right, well, I guess I’ll go take a shower then.” He stands up from the bed and over to the small pile of clothes Wayne had brought him the other day. Just some old t-shirts and comfortable pajama pants to sleep in, but it was still nice to have a touch of home.

Once Eddie has closed the bathroom door behind him, Mandy comes in to check your vitals.

“Heard the good news,” she says as she reads the numbers of your blood pressure. “Gonna be weird having a room to yourself? You guys have been inseparable.”

Your face heats at her words and you look down at your lap as she scribbles something into your chart. “S’fine,” you say with a shrug. Mandy looks down at you, a knowing smile on her lips.

“Uh huh,” she says as she clicks her pen. “Well, all your numbers are good. They stay this way, you’ll be headed to the operating room before you know it. Need anything?”

“No,” you say, downcast eyes on your blanket.

A bang from the en suite bathroom has both you and Mandy craning your heads in that direction.

“I’m good!” Eddie shouts. “Just dropped the shampoo!”

It makes you chuckle and Mandy shakes her head, fondly. You think she’s going to miss him, too.

“I’ll see you soon, I’m sure,” you say to Mandy as she heads out the door. Sighing to yourself, you cuddle up in your blankets and decide to have a five minute pity party. Not only are you facing multiple surgeries over the foreseeable future, but Eddie won’t be here by your side to keep your spirits up. Sure, maybe he calls you his sunshine, but you’re positive he isn’t aware of how much he brightens your days too. The water turns off in the bathroom and you quickly wipe your hands over your cheeks, trying to catch any pesky tears that may have slipped free.

The curtain in the middle of the room is opened—it’s only ever closed anymore if a doctor or nurse needs it to be for some reason. It allows you to see the bathroom door open, but before you see him, you can hear Eddie mumbling to himself.

“Man knows how to do laundry. What the hell is this? A fucking toddler shirt?” When you finally see him, your breath is caught in your chest—for two reasons. One, the teenage girl in you can’t help but respond this way to seeing the guy you have a crush on without his shirt. Two, you’d never really heard the whole story of why Eddie had to come to the hospital, and seeing the puckered and pulled flesh of his chest makes your heart ache. There’s bruising leaving purple and brown spots on top of red and pink gashes that are healing. It looks painful and searing against his otherwise pale white skin.

You know better than to stare. Obviously he’d assume you’re just staring at the scars, not admiring the small but sculpted muscles beneath them. It takes a Herculean effort to pull your gaze from his body and look down in your lap.

“Shit,” Eddie mumbles as he stomps over to his pile of clothes. He rummages through them until he finds another shirt. He’s quick in slipping it on, then turns towards your bed. Taking the few steps over in your direction, he sits down on the bottom corner of your bed. When you look up, there’s half a smile on his face as he plays with a small white cloth in his hands. “Believe it or not, this used to be a shirt that fit me.” He holds the cloth up and you see it’s a Guns N’ Roses shirt that’s been shrunk until only a child could fit into it. “My uncle must’ve shrunk it. Guess that’s payback for all the times I turned his white shirts pink because I left a pair of red boxers in the washer.”

“Led Zeppelin is better anyway,” you say, gesturing to the shirt he’s currently wearing.

“So, uh,” Eddie says, looking down at his lap and fidgeting with the too-small tee. “You saw the scars, huh?”

“I did,” you say in a quiet voice. His cheeks turn red and it breaks your heart. “No, please don’t be embarrassed, Eddie. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Shutting it again, Eddie shakes his head. “I, um… they just. They’re—what I mean…”

“Eddie, take a breath. It’s okay.” You go to reach for his hand, but you can’t bend enough due to your injured leg. Eddie shifts so he’s facing you and leans the rest of the way so you can take his hand. “There’s no scar you could have that would make me think any less of you. Plus, you haven’t seen my leg. It looks pretty gnarly.”

“Gnarly?” Eddie asks, looking up at you underneath his eyelashes, the tiniest smile on his lips.

“Yeah, I’m preparing for that California life,” you tease him. “Gotta fit in with the surfer dudes.”

Eddie laughs, shaking his head. “As soon as you get the OK, I’m booking our tickets.” He shoves the pillow out of the way and sits on top of the blanket. “I can’t afford first-class, so coach will have to do.”

“Lucky for you, I’m not a diva—yet,” you add, excited to play along with the fantasy game he has going on. “I can handle a few hours with the common folk.”

“And we thank you for gracing us with your presence.” Eddie’s eyes flit back to your leg. “When do you think you’ll be good to go?”

Dr. Sanoj told you that between surgeries and recovery, it’ll be at least six weeks, but you bite back that information. “Any day now,” you lie. “Just waiting on those discharge papers. But you know how that can be, with all the sign offs. Everyone’s gotta cross their t’s and dot their i’s.” Good God, shut up, you think.

“Cool,” Eddie nods. He looks deep in thought, tongue poking out in concentration. “Yeah, all right. I can make it work.”

You smile, rolling your eyes playfully at his commitment to the bit. Your pain meds start to kick in, and you drift off into a hazy sleep.

While you’re passed out, there’s a soft knock on the door.

“Oh, she’s asleep,” Eddie hears a woman’s voice softly murmur. There’s a slight creak as she sits in the chair next to your bed. “My sweet girl. Mom’s here.”

Your mom. Eddie uses his elbows to push himself up, pulling the curtain back a few inches.

“Um, hi,” he says, not realizing how nervous he is until he actually starts talking. “Are you Sunshine’s mom?”

The woman’s brow crinkles. “Sunshine?”

Eddie’s cheeks tinge pink. “Yeah, I, uh, I call her Sunshine,” he stammers, nodding in your direction.

“Then, yes, I’m Sunshine’s mom.”

“She, um, she’s—I call her Sunshine because she brightens up my day. Probably the only person in this building who doesn’t hate my guts, let alone like me.” He wants to stop talking, but he can’t. “I have these nightmares, y’know? From the, uh, earthquake thing. And she always pulls me outta them. I don’t know what I’m gonna do when I go home tomorrow.”

Your mom gives Eddie a sympathetic smile, gently stroking your hand, minding the needle poking into it. “Well, she’s always telling me how much you make her laugh. Lord knows she could use some happiness in her life.” She sighs. “I just hope her new roommate is as kind as you.”

“At least she’s getting outta here soon,” Eddie offers, “so even if she has a shi—bad roommate, it won’t be for long.”

“Six weeks isn’t exactly ‘soon,’” your mom says. Her gaze doesn’t leave your face, so peaceful in your sleep.

“Wait, six weeks?” Eddie nearly chokes on his own tongue in surprise. “No, she told me that the doctor should clear her in the next coupla days.”

Your mom shakes her head. “She’s got three surgeries to fix that broken femur, plus recovery time. The reason it’s only six weeks is because she’s young and healthy.”

Eddie feels like he’s been punched in the stomach. Why would you lie to him? Get him pumped up about the prospect of moving to California, living out your dreams together, for it to all be bullshit?

Tears prick at his eyes. Maybe this was all just a joke, a stupid prank on your part. Make the Freak think that someone actually cared about him, laughing behind his back the whole time.

Maybe it’s best that he’s leaving tomorrow. Then he won’t have to listen to you drag him along for your own sick entertainment.

You wake up around dinnertime, stretching your limbs as much as your limited mobility allows. It’s a far cry from your usual limber exercises, but it’s enough to get the blood flowing through your body.

An episode of Wheel of Fortune plays from the TV in the corner, but it’s blocked by the curtain. Eddie probably closed it while I slept, you think. That’s pretty much the only time you two keep the room divided; every now and then, you forget and wake up to the sight of Eddie Munson sleeping next to you.

“Eds? You awake?”

“Yup,” is his terse reply, with no enthusiasm behind it.

You open the curtain with a grin. “Are you grumpy because your novelas aren’t on?”

“Nope.” He keeps his arms crossed over his chest, left ankle draped over his right.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, frowning. “Did something happen while I was sleeping?”

“Yeah, actually.” Eddie finally allows his gaze to meet yours. His usual friendly doe eyes are clouded with anger. “Your mom stopped by.”

Your eyebrows pinch together in confusion. “Did she say something that upset you? I told her that all the murderer stuff wasn’t true, and she believed me—believed you.”

“Actually, we talked a bit about you.” The acid in his tone is enough to burn.

“What about me?” you ask, only becoming further confused by this conversation.

Eddie huffs out a humorless chuckle and licks his tongue across his teeth. “Really thought you had me, didn’t you? Think you could pretend to be all buddy buddy with me just to mess with me? Get in my head?”

“What? Who’s in your head?” Part of you wonders if this is all some medicine-induced stress dream. “Eddie.” You push yourself up as best you can, leg aching and body suffering from general soreness from being cramped in the bed for so long. “What are you talking about? What did my mom say to you?”

This time when his eyes cut to you, there’s more than anger there. There’s fury, pain. The sight makes your heart ache, and the fact that this look is directed at you is making your head spin.

“Just a couple of days, huh?” Eddie pushes himself to the edge of his bed so his legs hang off the side. His glare burns your skin and you feel yourself wanting to shrink down and out of sight. “That’s how long til the doctor will clear ya?”

Part of the puzzle of why Eddie was mad was starting to kick into place. Shit, you think. Mom must’ve said something about the surgeries.

“Eddie, I—.”

“Lied? Yeah, you did. But what’s that matter when you’re lying to The Freak?”

Guilt gives way to anger in your gut as he throws this accusation at you. Not once, whether in high school with him or after, did you think of Eddie as a freak. You’ve never agreed with those who called him names and treated him as lesser than.

“I didn’t lie to you because I think you're a freak, Eddie.” It comes out strangled between all the emotions vying to be expressed through your voice.

“You sure about that?” Eddie narrows his eyes at you, and it’s hard to see a trace of the laughing and smiling Eddie you’ve become so close with.

“Yes, I’m sure,” you grit out. “I lied becau—.”

“Well, what possible other motive could there have been?” Eddie questions. His hands are gripping the sheets beneath him, his knuckles turning almost as white as the linens.

“If you would just listen to me!”

“So you can lie some more?” Eddie scoffs and shakes his head. “Well, screw California.”

Confusion is suddenly back in your mixture of emotions. California? Why bring up that joke now? Unless…

“Wait,” you say, holding up a hand. “You were actually serious about going to California?”

“What?” he practically barks out. “You weren’t?”

“Eddie, I thought that was a joke,” you say with a disbelieving laugh. “Some made up fantasy to get us through spending all our time in these four plain-as-fuck walls.”

“Of course you weren’t really going to do that with me,” Eddie says, a sneer curling his lip.

“Because I didn’t know it was real!” you try to explain.

Eddie throws up his arms, grimacing as it tugs on his stitches. “Why wouldn’t it be real? Is me having a future that unbelievable?”

“What the hell are you on?” you hiss. “Eddie, you need to finish high school. And I need to get my bachelor’s degree. We can’t just be fucking off to California like it’s no big deal!”

Eddie bites his thumbnail before responding. “Let me get this straight. We narrowly escape death during this…earthquake…and you wanna just go back to our normal lives? Like we weren’t given a second chance to live?” He’s pacing around the room now. “My neighbor? Max Mayfield? Harrington told me that she’s blind now. She’s fucking blind and in a full body cast!”

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly, but he continues frantically walking back and forth without acknowledging you.

“And Jason Carver. Jason fucking Carver! I hated that son of a bitch, and now he’s dead. All those times he was a piece of shit to me and I wished something would happen to him, and now it did.”

“That’s not your fault,” you try. “You didn’t cause the earthquake.”

Eddie shakes his head. “That’s all I thought about: death and sadness. And then I met you.” His eyes are shiny with tears. “Someone who liked spending time with me, who believed in me, who had these crazy dreams just like I did. A…a friend.” He wipes at his face clumsily, embarrassed to be crying. “But you’re just like the rest of them, huh?”

“That’s not fair—”

“Y’know what’s real fuckin’ funny?” Eddie smacks his hand on his bedside table. “The other day, Harrington said that we—you and I—had some kinda ‘spark’ between us.” He scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Guess he’s just as full of shit as you are, Sunshine.” When he says the nickname now, it’s full of venom; there’s no trace of the sweet, goofy guy you’ve gotten to know.

“Eddie, if you would just let me—” But yet again, Eddie doesn’t let you attempt to explain any of the situation. The fact that a part of you somewhere deep inside is fluttery because Steve saw a spark between you and Eddie is something you have to put away to examine at a better time.

“Good luck with your surgery,” Eddie says. “Too bad the doctors can’t cure bitch.”

It feels like a punch to the gut, the air being knocked out of you. Your mouth opens and your lips move, but no sound comes out. There’s a crack in your heart, but it quickly feels like it’s been soldered closed with the anger bubbling up inside of you. Your lungs reinflate, the blood pumps heavily through your veins, and your fists clench where they rest in your lap. The urge to lash out is strong. And at this moment, you’re so very weak.

“You know what, Eddie? Fuck you. And hey, good luck getting to California with those murder charges on your record.” The moment the words tumble out of your mouth you wish you could take them back. Eddie stepped over the line, but you ran right past him. “Shit, I didn’t—.”

Suddenly you’re not looking at Eddie anymore. He’s pulled the curtain closed, the last glimpse you get of him is a raging fury in his eyes. And you can hardly blame him. The only thing that stares back at you is the gauzy white curtain still swaying from the forceful yank.

“Eddie…” The television volume gets turned up to an ungodly volume, making you cover your ears and impossible to have a conversation over.

You spend the rest of the night with your ear pressed to the pillow in an attempt to drown out the baseball game he’s watching. Given his penchant for yelling about the absurdity of sports, you doubt he’s even paying attention to it, but the broadcasters’ monologues about fastballs and strikes curtails any attempt to speak to him. You barely touch your dinner, and Mandy tuts at you worriedly, but you insist you feel fine.

In reality, you feel nauseated. You said a horrible thing to a wonderful person, and you really hurt his feelings.

Maybe we can talk it through in the morning, you think, trying not to get your hopes up. Maybe we can apologize and move on.

When you wake up the next morning, his bed has been slept in, left unmade while he’s probably in the bathroom. The curtain is pulled back; an excellent sign that he’s ready to hear your apology, and possibly forgive you. As soon as he comes back, you’ll give it a shot.

“Gonna be quiet around here for a bit without your buddy, huh?” Mandy says from the doorway. She walks over to Eddie’s bed and starts stripping the sheets. “You get to say goodbye?”

“Not yet,” you admit. “I’ll have to catch him before he leaves.”

Mandy’s brows furrow in confusion. “Honey, his uncle came and got him an hour ago.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “He didn’t tell you?”

All you can do is shake your head.

“Probably didn’t wanna wake you. I’m sure he’ll stop by and visit.” Mandy curls the sheets into a ball and tucks them under her arm. “I’ll be back with breakfast and meds.”

As soon as she’s gone, you burst into tears. Eddie left without saying goodbye. He left thinking you don’t care about him or believe in him. He left without his Sunshine.

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