#some good calibration for the googles

[kalevalaknights]

Do you think Darkiplier ever tests the Googles...

Like. They're destroy all humanity. Yes. Obviously.

But what happens when they're given a basketful of like. Kittens. Kittens aren't humanity. How do the Googles process it. Green and Red are obviously slightly more suited to it but what happens with Yellow?

I think they’d all be generally pretty well with an animal if the task is simply to take care of it.

However you’d find them a bit envious of their nature. They’ve already managed to capture the hearts of humans and mastered how to manipulate them. Unfortunately, the googles aren’t cute or small, so they need to figure out their own means.

Good thing they are not swayed the same way humans are. They’ll talk to the kittens in regular voices. Pick them up and place them down where they don’t cause trouble, if they do, it’s sorted right away. Dark comes back to check on them and the room is dead silent. Yellow is on the floor, covered in cats. He explains that there’s a rule where you don’t move if an animal is resting on you.

Somehow, they have been sorted by coat colour by the end of the day. One of them has gone offline because they prioritised the task over their battery. Blue is somewhere else unbothered.

[belokhvostikova]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐎𝐮𝐭

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 | Your secret fling with Eddie Munson hadn't gone entirely under wraps, particularly to the know-it-all, Dustin Henderson. With the help of Robin and Steve, the three conspire to reveal the truth, resulting in two of the most awkward people going on a date together...

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | Swearing, slight crying, alcohol consumption, awkwardness, insecurities, closeted sexuality, implied coming out, secret relationship, and some explicit sexual content: fondling, mention of porn, mention of oral, and unprotected vaginal sex (fairly minor, not the focal point).

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 | This piece has literally been sitting in my Google Docs since June 26th, because when rewatching Friends, I though it would be a cute idea for a fic, so you'll see a lot of lines and parallels from the episode (season 5, episode 14). It's devastatingly unfortunate Matthew Perry passed when I was finishing this up. So, in memory of him and a toast to friendship, here is this fic. Be safe, appreciate life, and enjoy <3 I love you all.

𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬, 𝐃𝐨 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭.

“Did you guys see that?!” A pointed finger of accusation was targeted against Eddie Munson, completely oblivious to his knowledge. 

Steve Harrington had grimaced at the mush that was once a solid cheeseburger residing inside the slobbery mouth of Dustin Henderson, as the kid spoke with such urgency, clearly unperturbed by his lack of food etiquette and social decorum. But such skills could not be expected much from Dustin Henderson. That is unless, of course, an actual adult of authority had been in the presence, to which a gummy smile was expected to assuage whatever insulting comment about the need for manners that “The Hair” would proffer in disgust. 

It was the second Saturday in a row that Steve’s been bombarded by the abuse of the children to let his residence be used for a pool party. He doesn’t understand how exactly he lost the backbone to say no to four teenagers, but the phenomenon had manifested into reality, and at the very least, a compromise was made for the young adults—of whatever weird mesh of a friend group this was between older teens, younger teens, crossover shebang—to tag along for a hot afternoon of relaxation.

“Yeah, Eddie’s hair totally looks like a wet mop.” Max Mayfield snickered between her sips of a twisty-straw-in-lemonade action. In truth, seeing lushes locks of black stick to his face and neck was quite amusing, especially when made worse as the metalhead re-calibrated like a dog, shaking his hair as a means of getting rid of the chlorine water that weighed down his head. One that could always get a good chuckle out of anyone. 

“No! Not that! That!” The ghost trail that was of Eddie Munson walking inside the Harrington villa, as pointed to by Dustin as a means of evidence, did little to provide any context of support to whatever it was he was avowing about this time. In many instances, those close to him knew to just let his diatribes continue without interference. The kid’s standards were impossibly high; people’s mistakes of simple wrongdoings were always criticized by his superiority. ‘“Oh, I’m just gonna head to the bathroom real quick.’” Dustin mimicked, mocking the voice of his Dungeon Master with dramatic gestures of flailing arms. A testament surely to get his character killed in next week’s campaign, should he have been caught by the man. 

“Yeah, Dustin, that’s kinda, like, a natural occurrence in life.” Mike Wheeler deadpanned with a patronizing voice to annoy, as it’d been known to exasperate his friend. It’d even gained a couple laughs from the lounging bodies strewn about in the breadth of the gardened backyard. 

Lucas Sinclair had jumped at the opportunity to prod further, barking a deafening cackle. “Yeah, remember that bomb you dropped after the school’s attempt to serve enchiladas?” He slapped his knee with joy. “You had the janitor running from the stalls!”

That one really got a good laugh out of everyone. But before Max could even venture at an attempt to cater for further details, Dustin struck on offense to defend his honor from the sharings of his intimate privacy, definitively emphasized with an agitated tone of vexation. “No, no! You pinky swore that you’d never speak of it! Do I need to tell everyone what Erica found under your bed?!” Old reliable; blackmail, the bargain of a lifetime.

“The hell is under your bed, man?” Steve pondered, flipping a seared patty with a slab of American cheese ready to go. If it was anything like what was under his bed, he’d surely want no one to know.

“Nothing!”

“What I thought.” Dustin muttered with a glare, as Lucas shrunk in his chair to evade any potential threats of further questions that lay on the tips of his friends’ nosy tongues. “But again, that is not what I am talking about.”  

Always the civil one out of the Wheeler clan, Nancy reassuringly stepped up to support her brother’s friend in need, settling everyone down. “We’re sorry, Dustin, go ahead.” It was to be expected she’d gain a heartfelt thank you from Dustin Henderson, himself, once the debacle simmered and the turbulence had passed. Nancy Wheeler always did have a special place in the kid’s big heart, particularly after the caring gesture of the 1984 Hawkins Middle’s Snow Ball Dance. 

“How can you all be so blind?!” Dustin seethed. “You’re telling me none of you find it even a little suspicious that Eddie just so happened to go to the 'bathroom' right after Y/N’s excuse of wanting to 'change,' like, hello?!” He huffed. “They’re totally screwing!”

Dustin Henderson felt devastatingly vanquished when a unanimous vote of disbelieving what’s hurtled his way with no mercy. He felt useless- undermined. Like the bag of Fritos left behind when children would rather fight over Doritos or Sour Cream n’ Onion Lays, rather than appreciate the artistry of a simple corn chip, left alone and forgotten until a last resort when moms took too long to make dinner; never to be cherished in the dark corner of the bulk size box of Frito-Lays. Of course, they wouldn’t believe him. They didn’t witness what he had to tragically witness. He heard it so vividly. So hauntingly vivid. Sometimes, it kept the poor boy up at night. Last week- last Friday- Hellfire’s Friday, such an exhilarating night now befouled by the auditory version of what he learned in the ninth grade compulsory course of sexual education. 

How naive of him to believe your actions stemmed from the kindness of your heart; offering your chauffeuring abilities to pick up the freshman after their campaigns, sauntering inside with a sickeningly sweet smile to pair with your tender greetings, and always wanting to lend a helping hand to the Dungeon Master, because “it just seems like so much to clean.” Puh-lease! The signs had been flashing in his face. The ulterior motives screaming in his ear. What sane person deliberately chooses to waste their time picking up three boys revved up with excitement and sweat after the thrills of Dungeons and Dragon? Jesus, shit, it was Friday night, don’t you have any plans?! Yeah, plans to stick your tongue down their Dungeon Master’s throat. Tainting the sanctity of Hellfire with your debauchery. 

Dustin Henderson had forgotten his dice. Sometimes, he wishes he would have just let the damn things go. 

“God, baby, a quickie- let’s just do it right here real quick.” Eddie’s begging voice vibrated behind the closed door of the drama department, seeping through the open cracks beneath the door, all for Dustin’s ears to hear. 

And he tried to give him the benefit of the doubt- the kid really did. Pet names were far from unusual by use of Eddie Munson. The one instance the Byers dropped back into Hawkins during Spring Break, it was no doubt Will the Wise had to get a taste of the new man running the show, and when Eddie had given Byers the innocent compliment of being such a sweetheart, the kid blushed into oblivion, stuttering a thank you in return. Hell, not to mention the infamous “big boy” that followed Steve Harrington around wherever the man took on motherly duties. So, Dustin brushed it off. But the moment had quickly transpired into something cringe worthy to the fourteen-year-old who didn’t know better. It should have been his cue to run, but the fiery design of his dice cost him six bucks of his chores earning, and they weren’t about to be discarded, as if the sweat of his forehead meant nothing from an afternoon of bending over the mop bucket to clean the kitchen floors. 

There are moments at night when he speculates if this is the doings of the heavenly man above that his beloved, Suzie Bingham, always mentioned; punishing Dustin in consequence of eavesdropping on a private matter that surely was not intended to be heard. But can you really call it eavesdropping when you were merely trying to retrieve your dice? No! You can’t!

“They’re already waiting for me in the car.” You whined against his lips. The figurine that was poking your hip was the last thing accounted for in your mind, as Eddie had showcased you onto the wooden table of the prop room. Lips smeared against yours, his hand had squeezed a chunk of your meaty thigh, bringing you forth to keep you in close company. “We can’t.” Can’t what, huh? Find the dignity to do it outside of school grounds?! Freaks!

“Little shits.” Dustin had appallingly gasped at the insult, feeling the stabbing wound of betrayal hit him in the chest as you laughed along, hand clutched over his heart to appease the pain of such affliction. The dramatics. “Come to my place after.” Eddie delicately kissed loving pecks to your lips. “That way,” his finger trailed up your thigh, “we can have our alone time, and I can finally get a taste of that pretty pu-”

Dustin Henderson knew to run away at that point. Safe to say, the kid never got his dice back.

“Are you insane?!” Motherly hand on the hip, Dustin didn’t appreciate Steve’s disciplinary tone of voice, sounding too much like his mother, Ms. Claudia Henderson, for his liking, as everyone agreed with Harrington’s proclaimed delusion against the boy. “Munson doesn’t have the skills to screw, let alone someone as hot as her.” He chuckled in disbelief.

Oh, boy, was he wrong.

“Mm, j-just like that, uh!” Your pelvis pummeled into the sink, tainting the precisely picked pristine porcelain by Mrs. Harrington, herself, as Eddie rutted his hips into the dampness that was your bikini bottoms to chase a release that was on the brink of snapping.

It was your fault he claimed; prancing in a top and bottom that left little to the imagination. Accusations of your outfit being chosen to taunt him were thrown your way, and your faux innocence only cemented it further. “Fuck- fucking take it—ugh, s-shit—take this fucking cock!” How could this ever be seen as a punishment when your boyfriend was lighting your body on fire with the ecstasy of abusing your g-spot?

Perhaps having sex in the bathroom of your mutual friend was far from the ethical rules of friendship, but the act of secrecy had bred a burning excitement that neither of you could contain. And, given the fact that four weeks ago, Steve had poked fun at Eddie’s singleness—not that Steve had any room to joke, though, at least, “The King” was relishing in the funness of meaningless hookups, something Eddie surely didn’t partake in, he lovingly had you—so seeking revenge in fucking his hot girlfriend in his friend’s bathroom had stirred something menacing in Eddie’s head to truly not give a single care in what he was doing was wrong. 

“Yes! Yes! I’m gonna cum, fuck!” Fingers tightening on the edge of the sink, your heart soared watching the reflection of Eddie’s mouth panting with want, as he fucked your pussy, ready to release his load deep inside. His hands had snaked to grab handfuls of your bouncing tits, groaning as he felt your nipples poke through the coldness of your wet bikini top.  

His hips harshly snapped against your rippling ass. “Cum all over my cock- shit! C’mon, pretty girl, fucking soak me- take all o’ me!” It barely felt as though he was pulling out, merely drilling in deeper and deeper. “I’m gonna cum- fuck, fuck, fuck, fu-”

“They are totally screwing!” The curls of Dustin Henderson’s head were on the verge of being ripped out in frustration; all that work he so earnestly dedicated night and day to maintain the silky bounce was about to be all for nothing. “They are! I heard them!”

Wrong choice of words. “You were listening to them screw?!” Robin gagged, triggering an onslaught of ew’s and perv’s- well, really, Max Mayfield had been the only one calling her friend a perv, doing it in the relaxation of her lounging chair, teasing behind her newly gifted heart-shaped sunglasses. 

“No! No!” Dustin shouted in clarification. “I wasn’t listening! I heard them talking about it!” He agonized. “They’ve been doing it for at least a week! Behind our backs!”

“Oh!” Max ventured. “Let’s bet, I say they’ve been engaged for four months, and are pregnant!” She heckled, now clearly just taking the piss out of him. 

“Has the water gone from your ears to your brain?” Robin laughed in his face. Surely the kid was mistaken, right? Aside from her personal himbo—Steve hated the nickname—you and Nancy Wheeler had become her newfound best friends. You know, a united front against the boys, girl talk, the whole shebang about girl code? Secrets weren’t a thing between your three! Granted, Robin, herself, was harboring a pretty large secret that only her himbo knew of, but that was different! Boys were nothing, she would gladly hear about all her friends’ boy problems, indulging in the drama of long distance or whatever the hell there was to complain about, but girls?! Yeah, that was, uh, that was just something- a topic still unbreached… at least, until she was ready.

“Fine!” The boy heaved, bailing out on defending his stance any further. “You guys don’t wanna believe, that’s just fine.” He snided. “But when they come back, and Y/N hasn’t changed out of her bathing suit, you won’t be laughing now!” Dustin Henderson ended his tirade with an embittered bite to his burger, dramatically dropping into his pool chair. 

They’d all learn soon, and bow down to him. 

So now, everyone waited. Waited for the fateful moment that would either prove Dustin Henderson right or wrong. And unfortunately- for you and Eddie, at least, your steamy escapade on the sink of the Harrington bathroom had left you too dazed and forgetful in the post-orgasmic bliss that was heavy breaths and loving touches of aftercare to keep up with the said excuse of “changing out of wet clothes” that got you alone with Eddie Munson in the first place. So when you marched out, glowing and relaxed—exactly two minutes and thirty-four seconds after Eddie’s “bathroom break” (so thoughtfully executed)—in the same damp bikini that had your secret boyfriend riled up to begin with, everyone gasped. 

“What?” You looked around confused. 

Unbeknownst to you, Dustin Henderson took a cheesy bite of his burger, loudly sipping a carbonated gulp of his cold Coke, ready to snap his fingers for another round of meals for his peasant friends to fetch. 

He was right. 

-

Robin Buckley confirmed it next. 

That Monday to come, Robin was staggering over the words of Dustin Henderson, and trying to piece the evidence presented to understand what was transpiring in your double life. The events after your return from “changing” left you confused by the jarring stares of six pairs of eyes testing you. Nancy, with the softest approach, had questioned you on the lack of new clothes on your body, to which your knight in shining armor—or accomplice—stepped up to save you from the army of prodding friends. “A knot in my hair, yeah, I distracted her to help me get a knot out of my hair.” Sure, Eddie, sure. 

During the uproarious minutes of lunchtime, you’d been ready to get an afternoon break from school to fork through Hawkins High’s poor excuse as to what constitutes consumable food, when the sudden scrutiny from Robin Buckley began. And, my god, was she persistent. 

In the comical marching band she suited, Robin Buckley had rushed her attempt to the first approach. “Hey, Robs. You think I can borrow your notes for Civics, I-”

“So, I hear Jonathan’s coming back from California next week!” Something about rashly eating the served cut peaches seemed to play up to the normal act Robin was going for, but truthfully, it just made you eye her strange behavior weirdly.

“Oh.” You accepted the out-of-nowhere information. Maybe you won’t do so good on Mr. Vortroski’s test on Supreme Court cases as you originally thought. “That’s great for Nance-”

“Isn’t it?!” The enthusiasm she was exerting was truly taking it over the top. But Robin Buckley had a heart for caring, and perhaps the excitement for her friend was really bubbling up today. “Nancy said they’ve been planning, like, a lot of dates, you know, to catch up on lost time?” You casually nodded along. “Single dates, double dates… and then I was thinking, hey!” She perked. “Y/N’s young and good looking! She’s probably seeing someone! So are you, I don’t know, seeing someone? Anyone? Tall, dark hair? Anyone?”

“Uh…” Yeah, maybe the hastiness of Robin’s impetuous nature wasn’t the best route to go with. “No, um, no I’m not seeing anyone.” You gave a tight-lipped smile. “Nance and Jonathan are gonna have to find someone else to double date with- oh, maybe Steve! What’s that girl's name he’s been seeing, Brenda? Beatrice? Actually, you know what, it’ll probably be really awkward to ask your ex-boyfriend on a double date with your current bo-”

“You’re seriously not seeing anyone?!” Robin’s brows furrowed with frustration. You were lying to her face- you were lying straight to your best friend’s face! “Nobody? No one?” You begrudgingly shook your head. “No thing?”

“Robin,” you chuckled, “is there something you want to tell me?” There were lots of things Robin Buckley wanted to tell you. Like, for starters, the newfound revelation that she likes how she looks with mascara, after you left yours on the dresser of her bedroom during your sleepover two weeks ago. She had no plans of returning it back to you, either. Or, possibly the fact that Bridget—the actual name of Steve’s newest lover—stole his Farrah Fawcett hairspray- or the fact that Steve uses Farrah Fawcett hairspray. Maybe the other thing, as in the strange occurrence that happens to her heartbeat whenever Vickie from chemistry happens to be around. Or, the other other thing, like the fact that she spent an obscene amount of minutes staring at cover of “Scissoring with Seduction” starring Roxie Rockett and Viola Diamond, after organizing the adult films section at Family Video- actually, scratch that, she’d never tell a soul about that, not even Steve Harrington. 

“Is there something you want to tell me?” She shot back with fervency. 

“No…?” Your questioning answer had your friend igniting her dramatic flare, slumping in her seat with a defeated huff. Dustin Henderson would surely be owed a duly apology. At this point, you’d like to say this weirded you out, but you lived in Hawkins, Indiana. You’ve seen weirder. 

Evidently not sufficed with your response, your friend sat up onto perched elbows. “Y/N, you know you can tell me anything, right?” A sincere approach. Undoubtedly better. “Like, you don’t have to be afraid to tell me stuff. I won’t judge or anything.” Robin solemnly smiled at you. 

Your tender hand squeezed her arm. “I know.” You beamed. “I hope you know that the same goes for you, Robs. If you ever have anything you need to tell me, I’ll always be here to listen to you. Probably give you way better advice than Stevie.” You both chuckled at the expense of Steve Harrington. Robin Buckley understood the feeling of not being ready for the world to know, because knowing would change the dynamics of life, and having the world suddenly perceive you in a way they never have before was scary. 

Having the world hate you for the tender love you caressed your partner with was terrifying. 

You’d tell her when you were ready, just as she would with you. 

With a nod to her head, she patted your hand. “You know, I asked Steve once on tips to upgrade my look, and he legit told me to do my eyebrows like Pamela Anderson.” 

“The himbo, himself, is too unknowledgeable to know that Miss Anderson is the only one capable of pulling off the blonde bombshell look. Though, I would love to see him with pencil brows and blue eyeshadow.” You both laughed, before you reached over to pinch her chin. “Plus, your beautiful self doesn’t need any changing, Robs. Anyone would be lucky to wake up next to it.”

Yeah, she’d simply tell you when she was ready, just as you would with her.

By three o’clock, Robin Buckley had been worn down by the insufferable compulsion that was Mr. Heizer’s fifth period calculus class. With the last day of school being around the corner, Robin wondered what warranted Heizer’s balding head to be so miserable that he felt the need to subject his students with the abuse of derivatives. Trudging her feet against the pavement of the Hawkins High parking lot, Steve Harrington had came into view, where he brandished himself atop the hood of his car. Not the most irregular of sights, given the systemic routine of drop off and pick-up that had been structured for Monday through Friday, though today, Dustin Henderson had managed to find Steve’s BMW through the array of parked cars, and was found yapping his ear off. 

So sorely critical-looking, Robin couldn’t help but tiredly chuckle. “What’s with the wrinkles, kid?” She approached.

Dustin huffed, letting his arms dramatically drop to his side in desperation. “Steve won’t go along with my plan!”

“What are you even doing here, Dustin, isn’t your mother, like, first in line at the car riders pick-up?” She laughed. 

Steve exasperated. “He waved off his poor mother, like the lunatic he is, just to track me down and tell her I was giving him a ride!” He answered, propelling Dustin to gasp with a snide.

“So we can talk about the plan!” Dustin provoked the Italian—that he probably didn’t actually have—within him, as his loose fist shook in Steve’s vicinity. 

“What plan?” Robin interjected. 

“The plan to expose Y/N and Eddie!” Dustin stressed. 

“Eddie and Y/N are not screwing.” Steve deadpanned. “What happened Saturday was just… some fluke coincidence, not proof to anything, okay? So let it go, Dustin. Just face it, you were wrong.” He chuckled a very much unappreciated chuckle in Dustin’s face. 

“I am not wrong! I know what I heard! How many times do I have to be right on the money for you all to just trust me?!” Neither Steve or Robin appreciated the numerous stares the freshman was gathering from leaving classmates and faculty. 

“Okay, just calm down, alright.” Robin shushed. “You're right-”

“Ha!”

“But I don’t think we should do anything.” Dustin heaved, scowling at Robin as if she just committed sacrilege. 

“Are you crazy? Of course, we should totally do something!” Dustin retorted. “This is big news! Two of our best friends are dating! You know what this means?! I could have parents, Robin, and you know I don’t have a dad, do you really want to be the reason I never have a dad?” A pointed finger targeted her. 

Her hand worked swiftly to smack his accusing finger away. “Eddie is not your dad, Christ, he’s not dating your mom.” She annoyingly sighed.

“Yeah, and also, I’ve known you for way longer. If anyone’s gonna be your dad, it’s gonna be me, not Munson.” Steve exhorted with ire. 

Dustin mockingly laughed. “Please, you and mother have the same hips.” 

Robin Buckley and Dustin Henderson were too engrossed in their conversation to bring any of their attention to Steve Harrington’s insulted gasp. “Look, Dustin, I already tried asking Y/N about it, and she’s just not ready to talk about it.” She explained. “Let’s just drop it until they’re ready to tell us.”

“Okay, but we can help them talk about it.” The kid returned with retaliation. “You know how great it was to see Nancy and Jonathan finally get together?”

“Which came at my expense, by the way.” Steve scoffed. “Don’t know why that brings you such joy.”

“Well, this is Y/N and Eddie, it’s even bigger!” Dustin smiled. “Look, all I’m saying is that a little encouragement never hurt anybody.” Call the boy annoying, he already knew that, but his intentions were coming from good faith. The notion of helping his friends find love- or more so express it, had him bubbling with excitement. “And the only way to get this love story rolling is if we get them to crack.”

Steve groaned. “Meaning?”

“Meaning, we have to make them break first.” Dustin was beginning to get his crazy eyes, something about conspiring a plan had him menacingly smirking his enthusiastic grin. “You know, trick them into telling us.”

Robin sighed, drilling the palm of her hands into her eyes. “Okay, you know what? Do whatever you like, Dustin, but I will not be a part of this plan.”

“Of course, you will!” Dustin implored with desperate hands grabbing at her arms to shake with emphasis. “You’re the one who’s gonna have to flirt with Eddie.”

Robin and Steve blurted in disbelief. “What?!”

“Well, Steve can’t flirt with Y/N, she’ll never go for it.” Dustin rationalized. 

“Woah, woah, wait a second, what makes you think she wouldn’t go for me?” Steve plowed on, his ego taking an obvious hit by a child six years his age. “I’m a total catch, the ladies love me!” He argued. “And Robin, she can’t flirt with Eddie, she’s… uh, well, she- she just can’t!” He stepped up to try to help his friend, much to Robin’s appreciation.

Dustin sighed, placing a tender hand upon Steve’s shoulder. “Look, Steve, you gotta get over this crush you have on Robin-”

“I do not have a crush on Robin!” Steve flung Dustin’s arm away. “And back to this ‘Y/N not going for me’ thing, I can totally flirt with her to get her to crack!”

Dustin sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, as though he was the adult in this situation. “Steve, c’mon, she calls you himbo behind your back, she probably thinks you have no personality.” 

“I have personality!”

“No, you have hair!” 

In the midst of the commotion, Eddie Munson had sauntered his way out of the double doors, cigarette in hand to relinquish the stress brought upon him throughout the day. Despite the matter that his van had been haphazardly parked on the west end of the parking lot for reasons being that your pretty self always used the end doors for the less crowded purposes—sue him, he loved the view—there was always something about Steve Harrington and Dustin Henderson arguing that always brought happy entertainment for the metalhead. 

“Trouble in paradise?” His croaking voice startled the group, as they all looked at him stunned. “Jesus Christ, what’s with the faces?” Eddie laughed, as his cigarette scraped along the wetness of lips. 

“N-Nothing.” Robin awkwardly had to offer, forcing Eddie to raise a brow at her.

And then he spoke. Dustin fucking Henderson spoke. “Actually! Uh, R-Robin what were you saying about Eddie just now?” She snapped a deadly glare back at him, to which he gladly challenged with a grating smile that had Steve quietly laughing in the back.  

“You talkin’ about me behind my back, Buckley? C’mon, I thought we were friends.” Eddie lightly jabbed, as he paid more attention to his lighter, which was taking multiple rounds of clicks until it ignited. 

“Nothing.” She assured. “I said nothing.”

“No, no, you were saying something about his outfit.” Dustin encouraged. God, how ethical was it to beat up a child? “About how he… looks nice.” 

Robin sighed, as Eddie gave her a lighthearted smile. “Thanks, Rob, I’m really liking those patches.” He pointed to her sweater, finding nothing but the innocence of friendship in her supposed compliment. 

“A-And something about his large muscles.” A curl of his hair was absentmindedly twirled as to appear uninvolved in the scheme of his mischief, and right as Eddie’s eyes left Dustin with a confused stare, the kid’s arm shoved Robin’s back to coach her further. 

So, Robin Buckley, simply accepted. Though, tapping into her retired career of one year in drama club when she got the gracious role of playing Mrs. Soames in last year's production of Our Town proved to lack any skills training, when attempting to flirt with Eddie Munson had her stuttering like a child learning to speak. Then again, playing Mrs. Soames in Our Town didn’t exactly require her to flirt with her friend’s secret boyfriend who was a man!

“Y-Yeah, Eddie, uh, that m-material.” Robin bunglingly smiled, as a stiff hand touched the leather of his coat. “O-Oh, well, hello, Mr. B-Bicep.” She mentally prepared herself for the moment Steve Harrington would belittle her to death for her lack of flirting skills whenever this mess was over.  “You’ve been, uh, working out?” 

Attempting to give her the benefit of the doubt, Eddie chose to assuage the painful discomfiture with his casual sarcasm. “Ah, well, I try to, y’know, squeeze things.” Eddie recoiled at her over-the-top laugh that appeared too similar to that of Heidi Wilson’s, when she ran into him and Steve in the food court of Starcourt Mall last week, looking to allure his friend with whatever screech that was. “You okay?”

“Uh-”

“She’s just having guy problems.” Dustin interjected, much to Robin’s dismay. Never. Never in a million years would Robin Buckley ever have guy problems. “Go on, tell him.” 

Yeah, Dustin Henderson wouldn’t see the age sixteen. “Well, uh, you know how you’re s-sometimes just looking for something, a-and don’t even realize that it’s, um, right there in front of you... s-smoking a cigarette?”

Eddie looked down at the lit cigarette in his mouth, and quickly stepped back in panic, all while Steve Harrington’s cheeks puffed with laughter, as his sealed lips worked overtime to not guffaw out loud. “U-Um, yeah, okay, I’m gonna go.” Eddie could only spare a quick glance to Robin, before throwing everyone a small wave goodbye. 

Robin Buckley watched him walk away for two seconds, before slowly turning to Dustin Henderson, where he was met with her twitching eye. “You have five seconds to run.”

His mouth fell gape. “But wait, Steve’s my ride-”

“Five!” 

That Monday afternoon, Dustin Henderson spent forty-five grueling minutes walking the three mile hike to his home, as punishment per Robin Buckley’s request. And yes, she did wave him goodbye, when Steve Harrington’s BMW swiftly passed him on the way over. 

-

Steve Harrington confirmed it next. 

And maybe was a little asshole about it. 

Benny’s Burger had become the choice of dinner for the mundane Monday night he was currently enduring, because Eddie Munson refused to hit up the bar, despite the common courtesy that buying beers had become for the twenty-year-old men. At the very least, greasy burgers with a cigarette to follow would be the accommodation Eddie Munson could offer, since Steve Harrington had lost his weekly hookup, because his personal wingman decided to fall into a secret relationship- presumably. Steve was choosing to balance on the fence of whether or not to believe the words of a fourteen-year-old, mostly because if he did, Steve Harrington would become subjected to the sanctimonious behavior of a cocky teenager. 

And who would want that? 

“Lemme do a double cheeseburger with extra pickles, uh, no tomatoes, please. Ooh, with a side of cheese fries, a strawberry shake, and I’ll get that with a Coke, too. Thanks, Benny.” Steve eyed his friend. God, that man could eat. The bustling fan that chilled Benny’s sweaty neck had proffered a wonderful alternative to the sweltering humidity that tinted the large windows with fog. Aside from the burly trucker consuming the two cups of coffee to keep him awake for the night, Steve had all respective authority to slyly grill his buddy on whatever friends-with-benefits-slash-potential-boyfriend-girlfriend dynamic he shared with you. 

Fuck it. “Uh, might as well do the same, Ben, what he said.” The laminated menu went unskimmed, closed off, and collected for the owner to take. 

Assuring the boys their meals would follow out quickly, they met Benny with gracious thank you’s for the service, and Steve Harrington rashly followed the movements of the older gentleman, until his being was out of ear shot, promptly snapping his head back to his friend. “Why didn’t you wanna go to the bar tonight?!” If a sign as to why Robin Buckley and Steve Harrington were soulmates, for whatever reason, needed to be clearer than it already was, the incaution- not so subtle “subtle” approach was reason enough. 

“Uh,” Eddie hummed, forcing Steve’s eyes to narrow in return, “I dunno, just didn’t wanna go for drinks tonight.” He shrugged, flicking at a sugar packet he had no intentions of using. 

Steve raised a brow. “Really?”

The incredulous tone was quite too bitchy for Eddie’s liking, who merely scoffed. “Can’t a guy care about his liver?”

“Ed, there’s a pack of cigarettes hangin’ in your pocket.” Steve deadpanned. “Think organ functionality is the least of your worries.” Unwelcoming to the implied suspicion of accusation behind Steve’s comment, Eddie simply chose to stay silent, finding more interest playing with the provided condiments as trinkets for his entertainment. Steve rolled his eyes. “Y’know, I saw Myra at the laundromat not too long ago.” He scratched his clean shaven chin, playing into his nonchalant bit, that only left Eddie to raise his eyebrows in confusion as to where this was going. “She looked nice; got her hair done, these pretty, little braids, y’know, with the gold cuffs and whatnot.” 

Eddie’s head lolled, enjoying the simple task of his finger tracing the obscured lines of the faux granite table top, when the ketchup label had been read to its entirety. “So?”

“So,” Steve emphasized, “you coulda called her up, y’know, tell her to meet you tonight. How long has it been since you’ve seen her- or any girl for that matter?” He slyly asked. 

“Not interested.” Blunt and suffice, surely enough to ward off anymore of Steve’s prodding questions. 

But Steve merely scoffed. “What, in girls anymore?” 

And in true Eddie Munson fashion, a shit-eating grin consumed his face, devious smile lines and all, as he leaned on perched forearms to invade Steve’s space. “Aw, why? You interested, big boy?”

Yeah, this conversation would be going nowhere. 

As the sparing minutes filled to meaningless conversations, their full course dinners made the quick arrival, and Steve pondered at the various ways a confession could be pummeled out of Eddie Munson’s mouth, which was currently being stuffed to the brim with mushing bites of each food group—minus the vegetables, this was Benny’s Diner after all. There was the ex-fling route, but clearly Eddie wasn’t looking to explore that again; good news for you, at least. That is if anything Henderson claimed was actually true. Little shit-

But wait a minute, that was it! What would Dustin Henderson do?!

He could still hear his grating voice. "Well, Steve can’t flirt with Y/N, she’ll never go for it." As if. Steve Harrington could get you- hell, Steve Harrington could get anyone. Graduating out of the social hierarchy of high school totally hasn’t affected his game… totally. But digressing, if Dustin Henderson could scheme up a plan with no substance, Steve Harrington could, too. If anything, this would make so much more sense, given that Robin doesn’t even like boys. Dustin Henderson didn’t know anything, but Steve, yeah Steve Harrington was way more cunning than some snappy child with no regard for people’s business. Yeah, Steve Harrington could totally do this…

Eddie’s chewing slowed, brows cinched, as he wondered why the hell Steve Harrington had been silently smiling to himself for the past minute. And people saw him as a freak? Fucking weirdo. 

“Hey, uh,” Steve cleared his throat, presumably back to being normal, allowing Eddie to continue to shove his face with a strawberry milkshake covered cheese fry, unperturbed by Steve’s judgemental grimace, “I’m thinkin’ of askin’ out Y/N.”

Suddenly caught in his throat, Eddie began coughing up the fry he just downed, as Steve smiled with such amusement at the torment he just caused his friend. Maybe Henderson was right. “W-What? You wanna what?”

“Yeah, been thinkin’ about it, and y’know, I’m really feeling her.” Steve cocked a smirk that had Eddie’s face scrunching with agitation. “Very smart, funny, really fucking pretty, so…”

“I d-don’t, um- you really think that’s a g-good idea?” Eddie adjusted in his seat, composing the bubbling feeling that stirred terribly with the monstrosity he had just eaten.

Taking a large bite from his burger, Steve grinned happily. “Why wouldn’t it be?” Hunger and entertainment wonderfully satiated on this peaceful, late Monday night. 

Eddie shrugged, sulkingly throwing a stray pickle in his mouth. “I dunno, you’re just friends n’ all.” He mumbled. 

“Oh!” Steve’s eyes gleamed with laughter behind them. “You don’t think friends should date-”

“No, no, no, no!” God, the last thing Eddie was about to do was inadvertently claim your relationship was some end all be all cataclysm, but did it really have to come at the expense of encouraging his friend to date his secret girlfriend?! “I-I mean, like, some friends c-can date, like, um, good friends-”

“So, me and Y/N?” Steve quietly chuckled to himself, as he watched Eddie fret with frustration. 

“No- I mean, I dunno!” He exasperated, as Steve relished in his greasy food with a smile on his face. Eddie’s heart began sinking into his stomach. He understood how demeaning it would be to conclude you as the type to jump into Steve’s arms once he’d make the “inevitable” move. God, for once in his life someone with care to proffer promised him fundamental security, and there was no denying it, he felt. Felt it in your caressing hands, your saccharine words, your devoted kisses, your gentle touches- you touched with such love… at least, that's what it felt like. Does Eddie Munson even know love? He swallowed thickly. “D-Do you even think she would go for you-”

“I have personality!” Steve proclaimed, finger pointed and all, forcing Eddie to shove back in surrenderance, hands in the air, and a confused look to pair. 

“Okay, I’m not sayin’ you don’t, geez.” Eddie clarified, as Steve huffed, raking a harsh hand through his Farrah Fawcett hairsprayed perfection. “J-Just maybe don’t. Like, um, i-if it doesn’t work out, it could get really bad between you two, a-and it would be fucking horrible not to have her in your life at all, you can’t lose her, man.” 

Voice so small and eyes so distant, there was a deep inkling that perhaps Eddie was speaking his fears aloud. Because even in the greatness that was having the privilege of calling you his girlfriend, there was a world full of Steve Harringtons that could provide you with more than what any Eddie Munson ever could. Late at night, when the world could finally offer you both the peace to just be, entangled in arms and legs, Eddie would just stare at you and… know. Know that there is a feeling that scares the living shit out of him that he can’t feel for anyone else. A different type of feeling from the camaraderie of his club, who triumph against the evil of the universe. A different type of feeling from the shoulders he’s cried on of his uncle, because Eddie truly cannot thank him enough. You, you were a different type of feeling. One that left him just wanting to look at you, smell you, touch you, think of you all day. 

This wasn’t just infatuation, god, it felt like pure fucking lo- shit, what would he know. Eddie Munson didn’t know love. 

A sudden wave of regret washed over Steve, as he realized the saddened roundness of his buddy’s eyes. “Nah, man, that’s not gonna happen.” His calm voiced reassured. “I mean, it’s Y/N, why would she ever allow that to happen? Y’know, so what, things don’t work out between… me and her,” he explicated, “doesn’t mean your- I mean, our friendship has to change.” Steve watched, as Eddie nodded along, shoulders slumping in relaxation. “We talk it out, we understand each other, and we move on as friends. Together. We’ll still love each other like that. And, hey, at least we’ll both get a hot hookup out of it.” Okay, maybe he was still being a little shit, but he was only channeling his inner Henderson. Plus, the snapping glare from Eddie was quite priceless. 

“Are you really gonna make a move on Y/N?” His jaw ticked with clenched teeth. 

“I dunno.” Steve smiled, before snapping his fingers with a brilliant revelation, “Y’know what, I saw Robin flirting with you earlier today, how ‘bout we go on a double date?” Yeah, now he was definitely just teasing. “Hell, make it a triple one once Byers and Wheeler head back into town.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Robin was not flirting with me, she was just being… weird.” He pondered it for a second. What the hell was that that happened this afternoon? There’s no way she actually- no, impossible. Could she? No, that didn’t feel right. Well, maybe-

“Hey, do you actually think I have personality?” Oh, Stevie. 

-

On Tuesday evening, the Family Video store saw the little customers it was regularly accustomed to; Mr. Fredrickson, only to be accounted for, slowly roamed the documentary section, particularly interested in the historical segment for his afternoon leisure.

The nub of his cane poked an indent into the carpeted floors, as his supported weight allowed for close inspection of the bolded titles that plastered in an array of colors. Luckily, the lens of his glasses were thick enough to provide him the ability of sight to read what was on display for night, leaving you to mindlessly thumb through this month's issue of Cosmopolitan. “Hm.” Mr. Fredrickson gruffed. “What d’ya make of the Franco-Prussian War, darlin’?”

The Proven Personal Approach to Permanent Weight Loss. An Incredible Shrinking Woman Tells How She did it! Christ. You found more interest flipping back to the written Cosmo’s quiz determining what kind of husband your current rendezvous would make. 

“Uh…” Your back was beginning to ache from finding all support on your perched elbow digging into the counter, letting your cheek fall to your palm. “You did the Napoleonic Wars last time, no? Why don’t you give the French a break?” You skimmed the printed words of the glossy pages.

His wrinkled pointer finger shakingly racked through the tapes, as he took your word of advice. Your eyes were hanging onto the last bit of energy they were enduring to stay awake, but the weight of eyelids inevitably began to win, and it surely didn’t help that the liveliness of your thriving life was partaking in conversations with an elderly man who found amusement in learning about wars. 

But before a potential write up—Keith never found the actual courage to do so, loved to threaten it, though—for sleeping on the job could be scolded, the welcoming bell of the front door rang loudly enough to alert some life back into your body. 

“Welcome to Family Vide-euuawghh.” A guttural yawn ripped out of you, slurring your standardized greeting into an embarrassing mush of sounds. 

With watery eyes scrunched from tiredness, a rushed apology to your incoming customer had proved to fall unnecessary, as a familiar chuckle addressed you back. “Aw, such rigorous labor, working my baby to death, huh?” Eddie Munson, himself, teased, as he leaned to hover over the counter and close to your sluggish face. 

“Don’t tease me.” Your mouth jutted in offense, as you rubbed your eyes to the clear sight of being welcomed by Eddie’s bourbon eyes and a smug curl to his lips. 

His rough-tipped thumb caressed the hairs of your brow to ease. “How can I not when it gets you to make that cute pout at me, hm?”

You piqued with giddiness. “Because I’m your girlfriend.” A label you quickly learned to adore. “And you shouldn’t be mean to your girlfriend.”

Eddie smiled a breathy chuckle, as he peered at your lips. “Yeah, you are my girlfriend, huh?” He proudly verbalized with a husk to his tone. His mouth was itching to say more, pour out all he felt for the girl standing before him, but a counter the size of the world divided the union between two beating hearts of devotion. And manifesting his words of love paved the way for the potential loss of you. But not doing so also did the same. Because he’s learned good things don’t last for Eddie Munson. And what a unless world it would be to lose the profoundness of you. 

God, he wanted to punch Steve Harrington for last night.

Eddie took a deep breath. His bangs landed against your forehead, and scrunched under your nod of confirmation. You are his girlfriend. “Where’re the other two stooges?” He whispered, his breath fanning across your face. 

“In the back doing inventory.” You gladly answered the words Eddie wanted to hear. He bashfully leaned in, though before his mouth could meet yours, you pulled back with furrowed brows. “Wait, ‘other two stooges,’ am I the third?” 

Eddie barked out a boyish laugh, as he watched your faux face of aversion and shock. His large hands made your face feel small as he cupped your cheeks and brought you forth. “God, you’re so pretty.” 

His lips crashing upon yours had wiped your expression of any annoyance you tried to playfully brat out. His mouth moved against yours so languidly, it had you falling limp to his kiss, as he expressed all that he felt with the touch of his lips. Eddie pulled away slowly, leaving you to quietly hum in retaliation and chasing his lips. 

“Sorry.” He chuckled, providing you with one more loving peck. “But, hey, y’know, speaking of the other stooges, uh, Robin and Steve,” he cleared his throat, “you notice anything weird about ‘em, like lately?”

The cafeteria. “Um, yeah, actually.” You contemplated on the thought. “Why, did they say something?”

Nausea hit him like a truck, wondering if "The Hair’s" attempts to get at you were already happening quicker than expected. “S-Steve, he, uh, he said something to you?” Eddie felt his throat dry up.

“Steve? No, Steve’s been Steve, but I was mostly talking about Robin.” Jesus Christ, did you bring peace to his world. 

“Oh, yeah,” He puffed a breath of relief, “um, weirdest thing happened after school yesterday, but I think Robin was hitting on me.” Confusion had been written all over your face, as you pulled back from the counter. “She was, like, totally into me.”

“What?” You chuckled. “No, not possible.”

“Okay, ow.” Eddie playfully rolled his eyes, as you laughed, rubbing a soothing hand down his arm in apology. 

“I’m sorry, didn’t mean it like that” you giggled, “but I’m sure you probably just misread things, you know? Robin finds you charming in a platonic way, like with Steve.”

Eddie straightened up. “No, I’m telling you, sweetheart, she was all over me.” He persisted. “I mean, for crying out loud, she was touching my bicep.”

A smug smile took over your face, as you arched your brow at him. “This bicep?” You teasingly squeezed his soft arm.

Eddie scoffed. “Well, it’s not flexed right now.” 

The back storage unit of Family Video had been littered with an influx of tapes, both coated in dust to be long forgotten and pristine with the newest release of what Hollywood had to offer. This year’s box office hit Top Gun starring Nancy Wheeler’s poster boy, Tom Cruise, or the fourteen-year-old The Ruling Class with the musical humor following a priest’s death due to his autoerotic asphyxiation kink? Robin Buckley laughed. Always the latter. 

“God, can’t believe Keith expects us to organize this junk.” Steve huffed, swiping his palms against each other, only to scowl at the specks of dust that floated into the air under the beaming sunlight. “I should be seeing Bridget right now, or Heidi, or taking out Linda, maybe Jeanie, haven’t talked to her in a minute.” Robin rolled her eyes at the endless sex-capades that was Steve Harrington’s love life. Christ, she couldn’t even get a clear sign that Vickie from chemistry wasn’t standing so straight. “Or-or maybe Y/N.” He chuckled to himself. 

“What?” Robin prodded. 

“Oh, yeah, I forgot to tell you, last night I was completely bugging out Munson, and told him I was planning on askin’ out Y/N.” Steve laughed, briefly coughing as dust particles blew off the VHS tapes. 

Robin was only left deadpanning in disappointment. “You did what now?” She scoffed. “You’re supposed to be on my side, I thought we were supposed to let it go?”

“You’re the one flirting with your friend’s boyfriend.” He argued. 

“Because that little twerp forced me to!” The Ruling Class came hurdling to his chest, as she chucked it. 

Shoving old movies aside, Steve grappled onto the box of new releases to shove into Robin’s arms, as he handled the second load. “Look, it doesn’t matter anymore, there are no sides, as much as I hate to admit it, Henderson was right about those two screwing.” Steve enthused. “You should’ve seen the look on Eddie’s face when I told him I was gonna make a move on Y/N.”

Robin huffed. “Okay, so let’s just leave it at that and let them screw in peace- or, even better yet, let’s just tell them we know, so they can have the freedom to do what they want.” 

“Aw, but where’s the fun in that?” Steve whined. 

Robin laughed at his childish mewl. “And, unless Munson gets rid of the thing in his pants and learns to grow a cup or two, I am not flirting with him again.” She playfully gagged, while reminiscing on yesterday’s events. 

“Please,” Steve derided, “you can’t even look Vickie in the eye, I highly doubt if Munson suddenly grew some tits you’d become some sort of Casanova.” He snorted, opening the door. “Mr. Bicep?” 

Before Robin’s sneaker could step foot back into the main lobby of Family Video, Steve’s grasp onto the collar of her shirt flung her back into the storage room, with a slam to the door. “Are you inane?!” She chastised, while attempting to find her balance with a ten pound box of VHS tapes. 

“Munson’s out there!” He whisper-yelled into her face. 

“Okay, so?” 

“So, we gotta get in there, and stir the pot a little.” His brows danced impishly against his forehead.

Robin’s face dropped vacantly. “What about anything that I literally just said didn’t click for you?” A smack against his head from her hand had him reeling back in defense. 

“Ow, okay, I get it, Munson doesn’t have boobs.” Steve huffed, rubbing out the dulling pain. “But, look, Dustin wasn’t that far off, a little encouragement doesn’t harm anyone. He thinks that you like him and that I like her, you’re telling me this isn’t even a little funny to you?” My god, did Steve Harrington have a charming way of flaunting that stupid smirk that had Robin hold back a chuckle. Because in retrospect, Eddie Munson believing his lesbian friend had a crush on him, while her partner in crime, her himbo, had a supposed liking to his secret girlfriend was quite funny. Funny like a priest dying from his autoerotic asphyxiation kink. 

She sighed, giving him a pointed glare. “One time, Harrington. This is the one and only time I will ever flirt with a man again.” 

Steve threw his hands up in defense, as a smile lingered on his face. “Highly doubt there will ever be a time in which I ask you to do that again.” He laughed, while slinging the door open. “Plus, it’s Munson. I’m sure his cynicism won’t even count it as flirting.” 

“Well, Y/N's flirting surely worked.” She joked, as they stepped out. 

“You think it’s because he has personality or nice hair?” Steve interrogated. “Because I sure as hell have way better hair than him.” 

Despite your alluring face, Eddie caught a glimpse of Steve and Robin making their way over while looking past your shoulder, forcing him to make the regretful decision to back away from you. “Ed.” Your tiny pout of confusion made it all that harder, until Steve’s voice boomed out. 

“Hey, y’know, as a customer, you’re supposed to actually rent something!” Him and Robin joined you both at the counters, where they sat the boxes of movies. “Or, you could, y’know, stock shelves with us.” 

Eddie flipped him the bird, as he smiled. “Actually, I was just stoppin’ by to ask if Halloween is still rented out.” He turned to look down at you with a smirk. “Is it?”

“I can go check that for you.” Your sweet customer service voice had him biting back a grin, as you stepped away to the computer. 

As Steve and Robin began displacing films from the boxes, his elbow nudged her side to grab her attention away from organizing. “Just keep it casual.” He whispered, as she rolled her eyes. “Look, I’m sure if you unfocus your eyes, the five o’clock shadow will go away, and he’ll totally look just like Vickie.” And he huffed right back when Robin rightfully scoffed at him. “What? They have the same eyes… just, y’know, different color… and shape.” 

Robin waved him off before anything further could come out of his mouth. With The Fly nestled in her grasp, Steve threw her a nod of encouragement, before scurrying to the shelves with a small laugh escaping his lips. 

“Sorry, Eds.” You clicked off the computer. “Landon K. beat you to it; no Halloween.” 

“Should totally check out The Fly.” Robin slyly imposed, as she handed him the film. “Can never go wrong with some Cronenberg, right?” Eddie inspected the film with a shrug. “Sure, better than taking movie suggestions from Harrington.” 

There came the inordinate laugh from Robin that had Eddie throwing you a knowing glance, and Robin, herself, internally dying inside. “Ha! Always so funny!” She clumsily fist-bumped his arm. “Uh- anyway! Better get back to work.” A large smile flashed both your ways.. “I, uh, I’ll see you later… handsome.” And following in the footsteps of her grandmother when she wasn’t screaming something batshit crazy, Robin Buckley pinched Eddie Munson’s cheek before running away to Steve Harrington. 

“You pinched his cheek?!” Steve contemptuously chortled in her frazzled face that burned with embarrassment. 

Robin’s hands smack her face, dragging the skin down, as she groaned. “Well, I don’t know how to do the whole flirting thing!” Her fist came smacking down at his chest.

Steve bent at the waist with a cramping stomach of laughter “Okay, yeah, but he’s not a baby!”

Your eyes followed Robin’s running figure until she disappeared into the maze of shelves, and you incredulously turned to your stunned boyfriend. With his mouth wide, and eyes bulging, Eddie fretfully spoke. “Okay, did you see that?! With the compliment, and the pinching?!” 

You bewilderedly settled at the realization. “Actually, I did.” You couldn’t believe it. Your best friend was flirting with you boyfriend- well, technically, she had no clue he was your boyfriend, but still- Eddie? Not to sell your boyfriend short, god, he was perfect in every way, but Robin? Robin and Eddie?!

“Okay, so now do you believe that she’s attracted to me?” He persisted. 

You thought for a second, and Eddie Munson watched your face drop with concern, as your hand clutched your chest. “Oh, my god! Oh, my god! She knows about us!” You cautiously warbled, as you began pacing about behind the counter. 

Eddie’s face scrunched with distress. “Are you serious?” 

“Robin knows, and she’s just trying to freak us out!” You belabored, anxiously looking back to where Steve and Robin could no longer be seen. Your hands dramatically dropped at the revelation. “That’s the only explanation for it!”

Eddie vacillated at the unwarranted insult. “Okay, but what about my pinchable face and bulging biceps?” He confidently pointed to his arm, before the lacking muscle of scrawiness suddenly hit him like a truck. “She knows!” 

Your hand comically slapped the counter, as you chuckled in disbelief at her attempt to fool you. “Oh, man, she probably thinks she’s so slick for messing with us.” Eddie joined in, frenziedly laughing, completely feeling stupefied, though giving props to the mastermind, nonetheless. Impressed he was. “But, hey, you know what? She doesn’t know we know she knows, so…” 

“Ah, yes!” Eddie piqued with interest. “The messers become the messees!” 

-

“You sure you kids are alright?” Shrugging on his utility jacket for the night, the aging lines of Wayne Munson’s forehead scrunched with suspicion for the nightly activity his nephew and his supposed “friend” were going to be up to. 

Sure, the sight of you over at his trailer wasn’t something peculiar, in fact, for the past months, you, in particular, were the only one of Eddie’s buddies who made a regular appearance to their humble abode. Why? Well that was a question that still went unanswered whenever Wayne tried to prod into the life of his nephew. But the way Eddie would blush, while simultaneously attempting to quickly change the subject, made Wayne’s throat tickle with a chuckle. 

Who the hell were you two fooling?

But now, with much concern from Wayne, it seemed as though Eddie’s oddities had begun rubbing off on you, as you both strangely huddled around the yellow home phone, clearly waiting for the second Wayne would close the door behind, as he left for the graveyard shift. 

Attempting to “casually” lean against the paneling of the wall, Eddie’s head was quick to snap up and down in return. “Yeah, yeah.” He rushed. “Better get goin’, don’t wanna be late for the bosses.” He threw an overcompensating smile, as you sat at the kitchen table, merely following suit to that of your “friend.” Wayne Munson couldn’t care less about the bosses. 

“Alright then.” The old man huffed, picking up the keys of his pick-up truck, letting the humid spring breeze waft through the front door. “Get ‘er some dinner if you’re makin’ ‘er stay late.”

“As always.” Eddie threw you a sly wink, as Wayne left with a quick exchange of goodbye thrown from both parties, until the front door finally closed. 

At the click, you sprung from your chair, snatching the phone out of the receiver to hand to Eddie, to which he happily grabbed with a maniacal snicker. “You sure she’s over at Steve’s?” 

Your fingers were fervent with the harsh press to the buttons, dialing the numbers to phone the Harrington residence. “Uh huh, something about watching Fast Times with Robin.” The second your finger pressed down on the last digit, you were quick to maneuver the phone against Eddie’s ear. “Okay, just stick to the script.”

Eddie scoffed, flipping his hair back. “Sweetheart, please, I was able to get you, I sure as hell can get Robin.” Your hand met his chest with a chastising slap. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding.” He laughed. 

Up the road, on the secluded sector of Cornwallis Street, Robin Buckley was anxiously plowing through a bowl of popcorn, as the fifty-second minute was fastly approaching, and suddenly Phoebe Cates was climbing out of the pool with the detrimental ambience of teenage horniness. 

“Here it comes, here it comes!” Steve snickered, as he absentmindedly chewed on a licorice piece. 

Robin’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “God, Steve, you don’t have to point out the obvious!” But after forcing her friend to endure two hours and thirty-four minutes of the satirical musical critique of institutional religion that was The Ruling Class, Steve decided to return the torture by subjection of… boobies. 

“What I’m point out is the fact that Vickie lived through this exact moment, meaning she was staring at boobies, meaning-”

“Don’t say it!”

“Vickie likes boobies!” Steve implored, the largest grin on his face, as he watched Robin slap her hands onto her face at a brutal attempt to shield herself from the mortifying experience that was having Steve Harrington as a friend. 

But, in slow motion, as Phoebe Cates’ fingers clutched onto the center hook of her bikini bra, the phone shrilled, allowing Robin to exhale a “thank god,” as Steve’s attention begrudgingly turned to the incoming call. 

Swiftly jumping to the end table, Steve picked up the brick phone. “Yeah, hello?” He spoke, munching on another rope of his candy, surely missing the quick glances Robin was making back at the TV. Steve’s brows piqued at the static voice. “Oh! Yeah, she’s right here!” Turning to Robin, his hand cupped over the speaker, as he giddily shoved the phone to her. “It’s Eddie, he’s probably gonna cave in.” He whispered. 

Rolling her eyes, Robin cleared her throat from any stray popcorn kernel, ready to end this once and for all. “Hello?” 

Back at Forest Hills, your toes pressed against the linoleum tiling of the kitchen floor to push yourself up to his height, smushing your ear against the other side of the phone, as mischievous smiles consumed both your faces. “Hello, Robin… I’ve been thinkin’ about you all day.” Eddie channeled his most suave voice, forcing you to bite back a laugh, suppressing your mouth into his shoulder. 

“Huh?!” Devious as ever, both you and Eddie almost broke at her considerable shock. 

Steve raised a questioning brow, attempting to scoot closer, only for Robin to preserve her personal bubble and shove him back. Much to his nosey dismay. “Well, y’know that thing you said before, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t intrigued.” Eddie teased, as you nodded your head along to show your proudness for your boyfriend flirting with your friend. 

Yeah, things in Hawkins, Indiana surely were weird. 

“R-Really?” Robin choked, as the popcorn in her stomach suddenly turned at the uneasiness of male attention. Gross. 

Ever the villain, Eddie smiled triumphantly. “Yeah, listen my uncle isn’t gonna be here tonight, so why don’t you come over, and I’ll let you, uh, feel my bicep… or maybe more.” You quietly chuckled. God, what a cute loser.

Robin grimaced, stuttering with concern. “Uh, you know, I-I’ll have to get b-back to you on that, uh, okay, bye!” She was quick to hang up the phone, while you and Eddie intimately celebrated in the lonesome of his kitchen with silly squeals and tiny jumps. “Oh, my god! He wants me to come over to feel his bicep and more!” 

Steve Harrington was left speechless at Robin’s panicked announcement, as his mouth hung wide. “Are you kidding?!”

“No!” She gagged. “I know what I heard!” 

Steve felt incredulously at the scumminess of his friend. “I cannot believe he would do that to… wait a second.” His brows furrowed. Eddie Munson nearly launched at the chance to shut down any ideas of Steve dating you, why on Earth would he suddenly- oh, shit. “They know!”

“What?!” 

“They know that we know!” Steve clarified, as the gears in Robin’s head turned, until her face was enlightened with the fact of the matter which was that her best friend was trying to deceive her right back!

She gasped. “I can’t believe those two!” Instantaneously, any reservations Robin initially had for Steve and Dustin’s plan had left, as all she felt was dramatic offense at the idea of trying to be demeaned. 

“They thought that they could mess with us?!” Steve proclaimed.

“They’re trying to mess with us?!” In disbelief, both friends chuckled with bewilderment at the unexpected slyness coming from you two. That was, until Robin Buckley schemed with realization. “They don’t know we know they know we know!” 

Steve’s face scrunched with confusion, though nonetheless a team player, he nodded along, giggling at Robin’s wicked implication. Suddenly, a call to the Henderson household was in need. 

Dustin Henderson’s calves burned under the rigorous strain of bike riding from the northern end of Cornwallis street to reach Steve’s house. Haphazardly disposing his bicycle in the driveway, Dustin had barged in with no warning, coming face-to-face with Robin Buckley, resident polyglot band geek, wearing Mrs. Harrington’s blue cocktail dress, as Steve Harrington, retired king of Hawkins High, played makeup artist with his mother’s newly bought red lipstick in hand. 

It was undeniable at this point, Hawkins, Indiana was most definitely weird. 

“Would you just quit moving, so I can put this on you?!” The vein on Steve’s forehead became pronounced under the immense pressure he felt. Being a makeup artist surely wasn’t easy, especially when your client was nagging about the intense blush placement of his work. 

“Enough with the makeup, it’s Eddie for Christ sake!” Robin complained, enduring the endeavor of trying to shove Mrs. Harrington’s shoes onto her feet. God, why was the woman’s shoe size so small?!

“Really Steve?!” Robin and Steve jumped at the intruding voice of Dustin, as the kid stood with his hands on his hips, imitating the signature pose of the man before him. “That’s totally not her color, you’re making her look like a clown!”

Both parties scoffed, rightfully offended. 

Robin pushed Steve away, rubbing her cheeks harshly to blend out the monstrosity that was Steve’s makeup skills. “Okay, this is plenty!” She stressed. “We’re gonna call him, we’re gonna get that date, and we’re gonna win!” 

The boys cheered, Dustin more so heavily appreciative of this new Buckley mentality, as they circled around her when she reached for the phone. “Mm! You better grab a spring roll before I eat ‘em all.” Eddie’s crowded mouth of mashed vegetables spoke. Chinese had been delivered in the wake of your celebration, congratulating both of you for your—mostly Eddie—duplicitously clever work. 

In the midst of diving into your tangled lo mein, the phone shrilled, which had Eddie springing from the couch. “Probably calling back to surrender!” You cheered, as Eddie snickered, sliding his socked feet into the kitchen. “Good job on creeping her out, babe!” 

Eddie bowed, accepting whatever weird kind of praise that was, before answering the phone with a muffled mouth of spring rolls. “Hello?”

“Be sexy.” Steve encouraged, eliciting a scoff from Robin, as she turned her focus onto the phone call. 

“Hi!” Both terribly displeased with her lack of commitment, Robin was met with strict glares from Dustin and Steve to amp it up… so, she did. Clearing her throat, she dropped an octave to obtain the sultriness of what she could only assume Roxie Rockett and Viola Diamond to sound like. “Uh, I mean, hey, you.” Robin Buckley wanted to puke. “So, Eddie, I’d love to come over tonight.”

A piece of pork was hacked from Eddie’s throat, as he choked on his food. “R-Really?!”

Watching his face drop, you stood with concern wondering what was going on on the other line. “Oh, absolutely. Should we say around nine?” Eddie checked his clock. In fifteen fucking minutes?! 

But Eddie Munson wasn’t going to back down. Eddie Munson, Dungeon Master of the great Hellfire, who’s pushed his men to prevail against the nefarious dark lords of villages and towns alike, was not going to be defeated by Trumpet Girl. The man glared his eyes. “Yes.” He tested. 

Robin Buckley accepted his challenge. “Good.” She smiled, as she watched Steve motion for her to crank it up a notch. “Uh, I’m really looking forward to you and I h-having sexual intercourse.” The phone hung up and flung from her hands the second the words left her mouth. 

Eddie Munson’s face dropped. Dustin Henderson gagged. Steve Harrington laughed. And Robin Buckley wanted to crawl into a hole to forever perish in the depths of torturous hell. 

Because that’s what it felt like to flirt with a man. 

-

“Okay, showtime!” Dustin applauded from the backseat of Steve’s car, where Robin scrambled to effortlessly scrunch her hair around. 

“Here’s the perfume.” Steve pushed down the nozzle of the stolen fragrance of his mother’s collection—thanking god for the moment that she wasn’t here—where his finger spritzed numerous doses against Robin, causing the car to invade with the nauseating scent of strong, overpowering flowers. 

Robin coughed. “Alright, quit it! The kid has allergies.”

“I have allergies!” Dustin sneezed. 

Steve huffed in annoyance, watching as Robin unbuckled from her seat. The beaming headlights that had once reflected off the vinyl-covered walls of the trailer had been switched off for stake-out purposes, as Steve’s car parked in the open area of the Munson home in the quiet night. 

“Hand over the wine, Henderson.” Buckled next to the seat of Dustin’s—for protective measures—a bottle of his parent's stolen chardonnay rested like a passenger on board; Steve’s, ever the romantic, suggestion for the authenticity of a real date. 

“Is this really necessary?” Robin truly had no room to talk, she most definitely hadn’t experienced the polarizing events of the dating scene, let alone ones of heterosexual realms (thankfully).  

Scoffing, Steve was galled by the dig at his—for once—knowledgeable expertise of life phenomena. “Are you kidding, chicks go for this shit.” Surely, Bridget, Heidi, Linda, and Jeanie can attest to his opinion. 

“Yeah, well, Munson’s definitely not a chick… unfortunately.” She mumbled. 

“Huh?” Dustin asked. 

Robin was quick to shut up in a panic. “Nothing!” 

“Look, just get in there, and do your thing, alright?” Whatever attempt at a pep talk this was from Steve Harrington devastatingly fell short, as the last thing Robin Buckley expected to do on her Tuesday night was go out on a date with a man, who so happened to be her best friend’s boyfriend. Thing?! What thing?! She couldn’t even stare her crush in the eye for Christ sake, Steven! Robin Buckley has no thing! And Eddie Munson unfortunately does- the repulsing (to her) kinda thing that Robin Buckley doesn’t even like! She huffed. “Just take it easy. The second Munson lets you in, we’ll sneak up to the door, and hear through there.” 

On the edge of his bed, Eddie Munson let your hands wander about, until his appearance was up to your liking; voluminous hair, controlled friz, straightened shirt, and a bottle of minty mouth spray that he coughed at, but necessary for the prevention of spring roll breath. “Okay, you’re gonna be great!” You motivated him with the words of encouragement, as you brushed away his stray hairs. “You just make her think you want to have sex with her, and it’ll totally freak her out.”

Eddie straightened up, shaking his body from any jitters, and stretching as if a marathon was in place. “Okay, so how far am I exactly supposed to go with her?” His face etched with concern. 

You waved him off. “Relax, alright, she’s gonna give in way before you do!” If there was anything you learned about Robin Buckley in your months of friendship, it was the blatantly obvious fact that she would shrivel up in awkwardness before anything further took place. 

Eddie Munson freaked at your sudden certainty. “How do you even know?!”

“Because you’re on my team!” You stressed. “And my team always wins!” 

His face scrunched with fret. “At this?!”

Tentative knocking against the front door pulled you both away from the conversation. It was game time. “Eddie,” his head whipped back to you, “you’re the Dungeon Master, okay? This, this is nothing in comparison to dark lord wizard thingies.” God, he knew for certain you didn’t fully understand his interest in Dungeons and Dragon, but the time you took to support him was making his heart beat faster than any fake date with your best friend could ever make him feel. 

You make him feel such incredible things. 

“You’re the master here, you’re in control, you got this!” Jesus Christ, the corny shit your competitiveness was making you say was too fucking cute. “Just go get some!” You finished him with a quick kiss that had him yearning for more, but your body quickly scurried away to the bathroom. 

Eddie Munson sighed. Cracking his neck, he rolling his shoulder. “I’m the Dungeon Master. I’m in control.”

Steve clutched a heavy hand on his steering wheel, as both him and Dustin peered through the windows. “Okay, just wait for it… wait for it… wait- get down!” The boys dropped their heads the second Eddie’s front door opened with a dramatic swing. 

And there she was. Eddie cocked an eyebrow for whatever reason it was Robin Buckley chose to show up overly dressed like a middle-aged woman, and with an awkward smile to taint her image. But Eddie Munson was right there to follow suit with a strange grin to greet her. 

“Robin.”

“Eddie.”

“Come on in.”

“I was going to.” 

As the trailer door closed shut, Steve and Dustin silently crawled their way out of the car with their utmost quietest attempts of closing the doors shut behind them. With crouched stances like detectives on duty, the pair scampered their way to the top of Eddie’s cemented stairs, where their heads pressed against the front door to hear the muffled conversation from the other side. 

“I, uh, brought some wine.” Robin held up the bottle, as Eddie was slightly taken aback. What the hell kinda teenager brings wine to a date? Probably the kind who’s a lesbian, and going out with her best friend’s boyfriend out of competition. “Would you like some?”

“Oh, uh, sure.” Making their way to the kitchen, Eddie secured two cups, as Robin popped off the protruding cork top, and suddenly she felt entirely even more stupid than the fact that she was on a “date” with a man, when Eddie proffered matching Garfield and Odie mugs for glasses of chardonnay. 

The dreadful silence began to take over, and Eddie could only manage to fill it with thorny chuckles, as Robin filled the mugs. “So, uh,” she sighed, “here we are. Nervous?”

“Me? No. You?” He skeptically questioned.  

But Robin Buckley was there to provoke him. “No, I want this to happen.” 

“So do I.” Eddie cleared his throat, before their glasses clicked with a toast, and Robin and Eddie found themselves chugging down the mug-fulls of alcohol to hopefully forget the disturbing night they were about to endure. When cups fell empty, Eddie sighed and turned to the radio that rested atop of the washing machine. “Why don’t I, uh, play some music; set the mood a little.”

Call her inexperience, whatever, but Robin knew there was no way in hell the screeching voices of Slayer attested to “setting the mood” during date night. God, she felt bad for you- for straight women. “Maybe-maybe I’ll, uh, dance for you.” She dared right back. 

Where Robin could judge Eddie on his music taste, Eddie could return the favor in her lack of mobility, as her body began clumsily swaying about in his kitchen, off rhythm to the already undanceable sounds to thrashing metal. Her contorting ankles in kitten heels paired with her jutting hips allowed her to mortifyingly saunter her way over to an uncomfortable Eddie, who was wielding the willpower to not bark a laugh in her face. 

But Robin Buckley was not going to win this. Not when Eddie Munson’s pride stood in the way. “Mm, you look good.” He spoke so stiffly, as he defied back with a taunting grin. 

“Why, thank you.” She forced out a laugh. “Y-You know, when you say things l-like that, it makes me wanna, um, rip that… Weird Al t-shirt right off.” Jesus Christ, Dustin made him get matching ones. 

“Okay,” he cleared his throat, “well, uh, why don’t we move this to the bedroom then?” His brows pointed, eyes glared. 

Robin immediately stopped her bizarre dancing. “Really?” Her panic settled in. 

“Oh!” Eddie quickly stepped back with an impeding smile. “Do you not want to?” He urged. 

“No, no.” Robin composed herself, waving him off with faux confidence. “I just, um, you know, first, I wanna t-take off all my clothes, and have you r-rub lotion all over me.” Is that what straight people do before sex?!

Eddie’s throat constricted with little air, and a tightening hand of embarrassment. “Well, that would be nice.” His voice raised a cracking octave. “I’ll, uh, go get the lotion.” Before Robin could respond, Eddie was already running away to the bathroom. Your gnawing teeth had bitten through your nail when Eddie came bustling through the door. “Okay, this is totally getting out of hand.”  He fretfully groused, as he crowded your area in the small room. “She wants me to put lotion on her!” Eddie dramatically snarled. 

You rebuffed his dread. “She’s bluffing!”

Eddie huffed. “Look, she’s not backing down. Jesus, shit, she went like this!” He suddenly gyrated his stiff hips harshly against you to mimic her dancing. 

A couple feet away at the front door of Eddie’s trailer, Robin was in consternation, frantically rambling to Steve and Dustin. “He is not backing down! He went to get lotion!”

“You aren’t done yet?” Dustin heaved. “You’re supposed to be on my team, he should be cracking right now!” 

Her angry finger flicked against his forehead, despite his insistent cries of pain. “This is all your fault to begin with!”

“Okay, will everybody just calm down for a second?” Steve hushed, where his hands found the relaxing perch against his hips, as if his motherly duties were calling. “Think of it this way, the sooner you get Eddie to break, the sooner this can all be over with.”

“Ooh, I like that.” Robin nodded along. 

“Just amp the flirting, alright?” Steve coached. “Look, it took him weeks to actually approach a girl at the bar, he used to get totally flustered whenever he’d play wingman for me. How the hell managed to get Y/N? I don’t know, but all I do know is that just like you, Eddie Munson is a total dud when it comes to flirting.”

Her mouth fell agape at the insult that stung too much from the utter reality of the statement. It didn’t make her feel any better when Dustin shoved that patronizing look in her face. “Yeah, Robin, sweetie, you are not doing a good job right now.”

“How would you know? You’re fourteen!” She bellowed. 

“And yet, which one of us is in a loving, committed relationship?” The kid snided.

Steve shushed Dustin away before a catfight could break out on the doorstep of Eddie’s home. “Look, you got this. Just make Munson uncomfortable! You’re a girl, you got this!”

“He’s a boy, he makes me uncomfortable!” She spat. 

Ransacking his bathroom cabinets for a bottle of lotion, you hastily shoved the bottle into his grasp, and clutched onto his shoulders. “You go back in there, and you seduce her till she cracks!” Never in a million years did you think you’d encourage your boyfriend to do that. Though with this much commitment, he should really get you into Dungeons and Dragons.

“Okay, just give me a second.” He took a deep breath for composure, just as he got a good glimpse of his bathroom. “Did you clean up in here?!” Your eyes rolled, before grappling onto the doorknob, and pushing Eddie out of the bathroom. He slowly approached the kitchen, where his nervousness eased at the sight of Robin at the door. “Oh, you’re, uh… you’re going!” He smiled.

Steve Harrington's voice replayed in her head, and Robin cleared her throat to pull out the sultry crisp she was needing to flirt. “Um, not without you, lover.”

Eddie flashed her a tight-lipped smile, as he released a big sigh. “Well, uh, come here.” He beckoned. “I’m very happy we’re gonna have all the sex.” 

Robin ignored the disgust in her belly to test him. “Y-You should be.” She smirked. “I’m very bendy.” Eddie’s eyebrows pulled with fright, as she stepped closer. “I’m going to k-kiss you now.”

And Eddie bothered her right back. “Not if I, um, kiss you first!” With a foot apart, Robin Buckley made her first move on a man, as her stiff hand latched uncomfortably to Eddie’s waist. Devastatingly following in line, Eddie’s fingertips barely grazed her skin, as they lightly rested onto her shoulder, neither party urging anyone to come closer. “Well, I-I guess there’s nothing left for us to do than to kiss.”

“Here it comes.” With rigid lips tucked inward, and tense bodies hesitantly pulling together, Eddie Munson genuinely began to realize how much of a idiotic idea all this was. A nauseating feeling struck him, as he understood what a lousy world it’d be to live in if he had to continue to disguise his feelings for you. I mean, going on a date with your best friend? This is the lengths he’s going to to hide something so perfect? And Robin. For the love of god, if picturing Joan Jett over Eddie’s face was needed to make this experience slightly less miserable, then, yeah, maybe this plan was stupid all along. 

“Okay, okay, okay! Fine, you win!” Eddie pulled away, as Robin’s face astounded. “I will not have sex with you!” He huffed with exhaustion. 

“And why not?” Robin smiled, as the victory was coming her way.

“Because I’m in love with Y/N!” 

“You’re-you’re what?” The front door jolted open, as Steve Harrington and Dustin Henderson hurdled their way in, but Eddie took no notice of the peculiarity in that. Not when he heard the bathroom door open behind him. 

“Love her!” He proclaimed at the top of lungs. “That’s right! I love her!” Eddie pointed to you, as you made your way closer. “I love her! I’m in love with her!” And suddenly, the reality of you actually standing in front of him hit him, and Eddie realized the weight of what he just admitted to you… and his friends. Eddie took a deep breath, as he solemnly stared down at you, and in an instant, he felt his body calm at the sight of your smile. “I love you, Y/N.” 

His hands took solace against your warm cheeks, where you stared up at with adoration in your eyes. “I love you, Eddie.” Your arms circled around his neck, as his desperate hands clung to your shirt to pull you into an intoxicating kiss that had you both mewling with tenderness. This was it. Eddie Munson knew love.

That was until Robin spoke. “Oh, my god, you guys! We thought you were just doing it, we didn’t know you were in love!” She gushed. 

Steve shyly smiled from the back. “Dude!” He effused. 

“Aha!” And then there was Dustin Henderson. “I told you! I told all of you! And none of you wanted to believe me! I was right and you were wrong!” He pompously smiled, before turning to you and Eddie. “By the way, I was the first to know! I’ve been knowing for a week after you freaks forced me to lose my dice!” 

Eddie chuckled, as his hands stayed secured around you. “Actually, Dustin, Max was kinda the first to know. She found out four months ago, when she caught Y/N leaving my place at night.” He admitted. “Been blackmailed ever since; spent $20 on some damn heart-shaped sunglasses.” 

“Are you kidding me!” Dustin felt gobsmacked, betrayed and abandoned, like those damn Fritos. 

“Hey, but, uh, hats off to you, Robin.” Eddie smiled, offering a hand of congratulation. “Quite the competitor.” And she shook it proudly, another notch in whatever weird belt this was. 

“I still can’t believe you never told me.” Dustin gasped. “I mean, seriously, Max out of all people.” Dustin Henderson, Steve Harrington, and Eddie Munson’s voices eventually faded into the background, as you managed to slip away from your boyfriend’s grasp to hold onto the hand of your best friend, while you whisked her away to the quiet corner of the living room. 

“Hey, so I just wanted to apologize to you real quick.” You softly smiled at Robin. “I mean, going through all this just because I kept this from you,” you sighed, “I’m just really sorry you were forced to date my boyfriend.” 

Robin laughed, as she squeezed your hand. “I’m sorry you’re forced to date him everyday.” She joked. “No, but seriously, you don’t have to apologize at all.” Her throat began to sting with the heftiness of her feelings, but she felt the warmth of fingers against hers, and Robin Buckley took her deep breath. “I understand why you did it- why you felt the need to hide.” 

“You do?”

“Yeah.” She tearfully smiled. “I feel the same way, just a little different. I just, um, I know what it’s like to want to keep something to yourself, because having to come out as something you know the world isn’t going to love is scary. It’s really scary, Y/N.” Her hand tightened, as her voice cracked. 

But in true Buckley style, that beautiful smile never left her face, as she told you her biggest fear. But what a shame it was that the world made her biggest fear her truest self. Your arms wrapped around her in a suffocating hug, where she let out a shaky sigh against your shoulder. “Robin,” you whispered into her hair, “I love you.” You implored. “Eddie does. Steve does. I hope you know that this town isn't worth being scared of.” You felt her shudder against you, as your hand soothed down her back. “Not when you’re so goddamn perfect.” Robin laughed, as she pulled away, clearing her eyes from any unspilled tears that threatened to stain her cheeks. “I know it’s easier said than done, but genuinely, don't waste your perfect self on what the world wants.” She digested your words, flashing you a thankful grin, as she steady to jumping nerves. “I mean, take it from the man himself, your date tonight, who’s univocally himself.”

You both turned to the kitchen, where Steve and Eddie had Dustin pinned, with a spring roll in hand, trying to shove it down the defiant kid’s mouth. “Jesus, I really am sorry you have to date him.” 

You both laughed, as you watched the commotion take place. And you looked at Eddie Munson, how effortlessly beautiful he was, and how comfortable those around him came to be in his accepting presence. “He’s not too bad.” You smiled. “Now, c’mon, we have Chinese and chardonnay to celebrate!” 

Finally letting the child go, Steve snagged the spring roll with a monumental bite of pleasure, before closely crowding into Eddie’s bubble. “No, but seriously, dude, how the hell did you do it?” Steve Harrington pointed to you, as Eddie Munson smiled.

[hinge]

Hinge presents an anthology of love stories almost never told. Read more on https://no-ordinary-love.co

[in-love-with-remus-lupin]

✨ Remadora✨ FanFiction Archive

Hey, fellow✨Remadora✨lovers!

I’ve recently updated my Google Drive with all the Remadora fanfics I’ve collected over the years — and it has turned into a massive archive!

I'm sharing it because I know how hard it can be to track down good fics, especially ones that disappear over time. Hope this helps our 🤏 tiny fandom! 💜🐺💜

Most are organized by author, while some are grouped together. Everything is in EPUB format, so you can easily read them on Calibre, Apple Books, Kindle, or your favorite e-reader app.

🌟 Bonus: I’ve also created a separate folder for the Classics and the Best of the Best — the ones I absolutely love and always go back to. These are beautifully written, deeply in-character, and just hit all the right notes. Of course, they’re also sorted by author!

Whether you're revisiting old favorites or diving into new ones, I hope this archive makes it easier to enjoy our favorite chaotic metamorphmagus and her brooding werewolf.

Here is the link

📎 ✨ Remadora FanFiction Archive ✨

Feel free to reblog and share with other Remadora fans, so gets a short at finding their favourite fic! 🙌 And if you find a new fave in there, let me know — I love talking fic 💕

[rav1377]

Yankee 7

Nikolai x fem!reader

tw:smutty utty! helicopter sex, big Russian man, interrupted sex, kissing, breeding kink, handjob, uh idk, etc etc etc use of davochka as “girl”had to google more terms bc I don’t speak Russian

Nikolai’s got you pinned on the floor of the helicopter. it’d been a slow day today, him tinkering on the machine, trying to make it better than it was. so when you walked over to check on him, he couldn’t resist the urge to have you beneath him. you just looked so pretty! he’d been in the cockpit, tinkering with some calibration panel when you climbed into the helicopter, leaning on the entry door to the cockpit. “everything going okay?” you asked, sweet voice cutting through the sound of his tools and grunts of frustration. he’d turned his head only to see you, standing in a sweet little white dress, spaghetti straps struggling to hold it all together. he stood and nodded, coming to press a kiss to your cheek. he sighed something heavy before his hands came to rest on your hips. you felt his tongue drag over your neck as he nipped at the skin there.

you reached up to curl your arms around his neck, and his hands tighten. “come on milaya, don’t tease me.” he murmurs playfully against your neck. you grin and pull him by his hair to catch his lips in yours. his eyes are lidded and if you don’t know what that means you don’t know the grass is green and the sky is blue. his hands drift down to creep under your skirt, feeling your bare thighs. you purposely didn’t put your knickers on this morning, knowing he’d want something like this. he’s picking you up, perfectly sitting on his waist as he drops to his knees slowly, mouth never leaving yours. you find the zipper of his flight suit, pulling it down below his crotch.

he’s already hard as you fumble for him, trying to get your dress up. he tuts and brings his hands to your shoulders before laying you on your back and moving your knees apart. when his hand creeps up to rub your clit, you’re already soaked. “you touched yourself?” he purrs into your ear. you nod and blush, trying to turn away from him. he’s rough though, pulling your head up to him so he can kiss your neck as he spreads the slick over your folds. “guess you don’t need another one from my fingers if you beat me to it.” he grins, watching your eyes widen as he pulls himself out of his boxer shorts before lining up. “no! Nik please come on…” you whine, trying to push him away, but he’s relentless. you gasp as he pushes in, the intrusion hurting you slightly. the feeling of him bottoming out, flush against your body has you groaning. “no, you must have not wanted my fingers if you used yours.” he states, moving his hips that sit on top of yours at a slow agonizing pace. “Nik.” you say, trying to keep your voice stern. “what.” he growls out, groaning as your wrapped around him so tight. he thinks he could stay here forever, your wet cunt keeping him trapped. “Nik please-i need more.” you beg, trying to move your hips under his weight. his head snaps up from your neck and he grips your hair to force you to look at him. “say it right.” he says, eyes hard. “Nikolai please give me more. need you so bad. just want you to fuck me please.” you get out, trying to get him to move. Nik smirks. “was that hard?” he asks, pinching your cheek lovingly before thrusting into you harshly. you gasp and shake your head. “no! thankyounikthankyou” your words are slurring as he pushes against your g-spot every time. a groan is heard against your ear and you close your legs around his waist to give him better leverage.

you’ve always loved just how vocal Nik is. you like knowing that you’ve pleased him, made feel good like he always does to you. he always takes care of you so well, leaving you pliant and worn-out after each release he gives you. his hips pump into you harsher now, hitting that sweet spongy spot. little grunts and whimpers leave your lips, heavy breaths in between. you feel something tighten in you, that returning feeling like you need to let go. whining, you grip Niks biceps. “Nik….” he nods into your chest, pulling away. your skin is covered with drool, panting as he kisses the hickey he just planted under your collarbone. “Nik!” you yelp after a particularly harsh thrust. “almost there?” he grunts. you’re sure you look like a bobble head, your nodding so much. noises continue to escape you, jaw slack open as you head rests on the cool metal beneath you. “come on sweet girl, come on me.” he groans, feeling you finally release. he keeps moving though, your walls spasm around the sensation. “nghh-Nik too much” you say, tugging at his hair. he nods and pulls out abruptly. you whine at that. you wanted him to slow down, not stop! then he flips you over on your stomach, forcing your body up. he’s back inside you in seconds, and you struggle to keep your hands planted with every movement. your pretty white dress has grime and oil on it from the helicopter floor but you don’t care. Nikolai shoves up the skirt, keeping it pushed over your hips so he can see his cock disappearing with each snap of his hips. at least he’s being nice, letting you come down from your high with slow movements that fill you up.

“better?” he asks, petting hair away from your shoulders and face, opting to hold it for you behind your nape. “mhm.” your knees feel shaky and hurt against the cold metal, but that doesn’t matter when your husband picks up the speed again. you cry out, feeling it’s all getting to you. the past two wore you out, and your mind starts to slip away from you. drool drips out of your mouth and onto the metal below as Nik is relentless. “making you feel good, huh?” he asks, pulling your head up by the hair before holding your neck with his hand. his motions never stop and you swear you might pass you. drool seeps down your chin and you nod. “yes-ah! shit so good Nik” you say before crying out. “watch that pretty mouth of yours devochka.” he growls. his hand drops your head and comes down to your clit, rubbing quick circles on it in an effort to get you closer. it’s works, it’s not long before your clenching on him again, release catching you off guard. your arms become weak and your front drops to rest on your forearms as he holds your hips up.

“fuck.” he groans, working you through the aftershocks. “you can give me one more, right milaya? make your papochka fill you up?” he asks, shifting again. you nod, letting him pick you up. he’s placing you on one of the seats by the door, chest resting on the harsh canvas. your hands grip the sides and you peek back at him. he stands tall, member in hand. he’s dripping with pre, tip ruddy and wet. you groan and do your best to push yourself up for him. he smirks and palms your ass before slipping in. the stretch feels good now, you’re so full. the ache in your lower stomach is already forming, anticipating what’s coming. he’s mumbling nonsense in your ear as his chest is flush with your back. “going to fill you up right, milaya. promise. ngh-gonna look so pretty with my come dripping out of you.” you whine and push your hips back into him. “that’s right, you want that, don’t you.” he groans. “want to be filled up by me. get all round with my child?” he asks, biting your shoulder softly. your breaths come out ragged and gasping. you lift your head and nod again. “yesyesyesnikplease!” his hips never lose their pace and sweat beads on his forehead. “ah! gon-gonna come Nik.” you say, mind going blank as you do, fully sucking him inside you. he groans again, pinching his base as his hips stutter. your body is limp against the chair as he continues to wreck you. “hm one more?” he asks, pinching your ass. you’re unresponsive except for twitching fingers. “milaya.” he barks out with a harsh thrust. your head jolts up at that. “yes!” you gasp out. how the hell hasn’t he come. is the only thought in your mind, and you’re unsure you can take any more.

static crackles over the helicopters intercom.

a rough British voice on the radio. “Yankee 7, Yankee 7, come in.” Nik’s eyes widen and he freezes, chest panting against yours. “Yankee 7, do you read us?” the voice cuts through again and Niks eyes screw shut. “Nik. go answer it.” you say, words slurred. he groans behind you, but stumbles away and to the cockpit. “da. this is Yankee 7. i read you.” he says, hitting the radio button. you slide off the chair, tucking your dress under your bottom before sitting on the metal ground. “Yankee 7 we need emergency exfil immediately, we’re 20 clicks north of your pos. can you get us?” the voice is yelling now, noise rings out of the intercom before going silent. Nik curses low in Russian and starts up the engine. he turns to you and you stand on wobbly legs before yanking you into the cockpit and pushing you into a chair. Nik zips up his suit and hits a button to close the side doors. the helicopter takes off into the air and he cranks the speed up towards John’s location. you sigh and look over at him. “i could’ve stayed back.” you offer. Nik shakes his hand and pulls on a pair of headphones, prompting you to do the same. his voice is clear and rumbles in your head. “wanted you to come.” he says. you nod and smooth your dress over your legs. Nikolai flips a switch and static is a background of the headphones. “this is Yankee 7, can you read us?” he asks. John’s voice cuts through. “loud and clear! sending you our pos now.” you turn to a screen to your right and see the transmission. following what Nik has taught you to do, you punch the cordinates in and they flash on the dash of the old helicopter. Nik looks over at them and nods. “we’re en route. comms are on.” Nik says before guiding the copter to the location. it’s in the city, that you know for sure. some mission must’ve just gone down, gone askew and they needed exfil. looking over at Nik, you can still see his prominent bulge through the leather flight suit.

oh you just got a bad idea.

leaning over, you run a hand over his thigh, applying pressure. Nik stiffens, but doesn’t move. your delicate hand runs up his chest to unzip the suit to where you could squeeze your hand through. his skin is so warm as you go beneath his boxers to touch him. his lips part and eyes glance down to where your hand is, before looking back up and clenching his hands on the wheel. you continue your actions, rubbing over his fat tip with your thumb before moving your hand up and down his shaft. he grits his teeth and pursues his lips, trying to stop the noises. you smile and lean over to press a soft kiss to his lips, and he struggles to keep his eyes ahead of him. you pull away and his eyes flit to yours, desperate. you nod at him and reach your other hand down to cup his balls and you squeeze. he shudders and his eyes flutter shut, but to his credit, he doesn’t let a sound leave his throat. his come paints your hand and you pull out of his suit, licking the stray liquid from your fingers as he eyes open and breaths leave his mouth is short bursts. his pupils are blown wide as you slowly zip his suit up again, patting his shoulder before sitting back in your seat.

just like you thought, the boys are in a city. John’s yelling through the mic at the boys as the helicopter hovers over a platform, waiting for them. Gaz is our first, scanning the rooftop with his weapon before Soap follows. Ghost and John are next, side by side as they sprint in. the doors are opened and a rush of wind blows in as they climb inside. Nik takes off as soon as John’s in and everyone breathes a sigh of relief. “thanks mate.” John calls, leaning into the cockpit before slapping Nikolai on the shoulder. “anytime my brother.” he replies, smirking. John peers over at you. “bringing the missus on these now?” he asks, reaching over to give you a half hug, hand over your right shoulder. you smile and pat his hand. “this is not my wife, this is my copilot. completely certified!” Nik jokes, smiling. Johnnys voice rings out. “ye brought the missus!” he yells, pawing at John to get out of the way so he can press a kiss to your cheek. “lass ye really ought to get certified, that way we have a pretty face to come to instead o’ Nik’s.” he says sarcastically before walking off. “sure she’d do better than you, Nik!” Simon’s gruff voice cuts through and you laugh. Nikolai’s eyes narrow. “i do have control of this aircraft.” he says coolly. “yea let’s not piss off the one flying the thing that could kill us!” Gaz calls. Johnny retreats to the belly of the copter while John stays up front with you and Nik, watching through the glass as you make your way back to the hanger. “yknow. you were breathing a little heavy back there Nik. wonder what that’s about.” John’s low voice cuts through and Nik looks up at John, smirking. “ah. thanks to my copilot im sure.” he says, smiling at you. Johns blue eyes focus on yours and you flush, looking at your lap. his eyes inspect your dirtied dress, the a little too loose straps, your messy hair. “well, good to know she finished the job.” he remarks, holding the nape of your neck.

“how long are you in town for?” Nik asks.

oh no. you’re screwed.

Note: had fun writing this!!! definitely was floating around in my head bc that man and his flight suit do some things to me! yall got any thoughts/requests with Nikolai please let me know!!!

-cass💕:D

[omegastation]

Here comes my review (mostly writing & lore) of the Mass Effect Official Cocktail Book. I also included a list of all characters named with all page numbers related to their mentions.

I’m including this for our Andromeda Appreciation Week because the last part of the book is Andromeda-related :)

Introduction:

Cassandra Reeder is the recipe developer and Jim Festante is the writer.

The book is written by two writers in-universe. The first one is an asari calling herself “Ambree T’Sia” who is a lot like Gossip Girl (“you won’t guess and I’ll never tell” is an actual line in the book). We have to guess her identity but she doesn’t mind spreading a lot of stories about people and their drinks. 

The second writer is an angara called Roa who decided to add recipes to T’Sia’s existing ones, but more adapted to the Andromeda Galaxy. Roa dreams of a better world for everyone. He’s friend with Dutch and Anan from the Vortex.

Each writer presents drinks based on locations: bars and spots in the two galaxies. There also some snacks recipes as well.

Review: 

It’s hard for me to say anything about the recipes, though I will say it seems like there are different ingredients so a bit of everything for everyone. The difficulty can be adjusted: I thought some drinks looked really complicated to make (and some use other drinks in the books as base), but if you want to do a simple cocktail/mocktail, there are at least 10 good options.

Some recipes are directly named after characters or inspired by characters, so it might be fun to try some based on your favs. 

One drink seems weird to me, and that’s the N7 Shooter (mostly because of the mix of ingredients). If you try it, tell me what you think. 

Regarding American measurement: if you want to be precise, I would wait for a translation. Otherwise, I would get a cup and google some stuff before making it.

The drinks I'll try at some point, in a mocktail version only:

Tuchanka Sunset - 22

Perfection - 54

Tupari Blast - 61

Denorian Beer Granita - 64

Tequila Se’lai - 70

Shadowbrokertini - 74

The Mindfish - 83

Calibration Cooler - 95

Pink Marble - 130

Marljeh - 142

Kadara Sunrise - 143

So that’s pretty much it for the food & drinks, sorry!

My review is more about the lore and the writing.

I found the witty tone enjoyable. I like that there’s a distinction between how T’Sia writes and how Roa writes at the end of the book. T’Sia gossips a lot but there’s no malice. Roa is very earnest and seems quite adorable to me.

You’ll see I wrote down all the characters named and the pages, sometimes it says something about the writer, sometimes not.  A good example: Samantha is mentioned 5 times by T’Sia. She finds her charming and young, and mostly links her to drinks and other people (a full EDI/Traynor-like drink is in there). Meanwhile, Drack is mentioned 4 times, Vetra 3 times, but Roa has an entire page about how fascinated he is by Vetra.

Regarding what we learn, lore-wise: not a whole lot. It mostly plays on what we already know. 

What we do learn has to do with some characters. Without being too spoilery, it’s very light and fun for the most part - like Joker and Steve having a challenge, Vega seducing T’Sia, characters loving specific drinks (like Traynor), etc. Some characters (like Kaidan and Miranda) are sharing their woes or backstory. Roa, in the later part of the book, talks a lot about Dutch and their meeting is very very cute.

My favorite anecdote is that Liam’s movie night spreads to the Nexus and becomes a tradition :)

Some characters are very absent while others are more present. I would say it’s logical in a way, but it’s one thing to be aware of. If you’re a fan of Jaal, there are no mentions in the book. Though, like I said, a mention doesn’t always mean a lot: Peebee is mentioned once but we learn nothing new.  I also found it a bit sad that Ashley is not in the book. Obviously, I’m happy to have Kaidan there, but Ashley would have been a wonderful character for fun anecdotes here.

Characters named and pages:

Note: if you find that I forgot a mention, drop me a DM. I’ll add the page and/or character!

Joker - 12, 98

Sel Vass - 14

Solem Dal’serah - 21

Karin Chakwas - 25

Padok Wiks and and Urp - 26

Wrex - 26, 65, 106

Aria - 19, 27

Oleg Petrovsky - 27

James Vega -29, 46, 112

Shepard - 33, 30, 41, 93

Garrus - 37, 38, 95

Samantha - 42, 43, 73, 97, 106

Kaidan - 49, 106, 116

Miranda - 54

Kasumi - 55

Doran - 59, 60, 61

Grunt - 66

Fist - 69

Anderson - 71

Elijah Khan - 81, 88

Emily Wong - 93

Jack - 94

EDI - 97, 106, 

Steve - 98, 120

Tali - 101

Aethyta - 51, 57, 106

Dutch smith - 123, 126, 127, 131, 156

Anan T’Mari - 123, 127, 131, 156

Ryder - 123, 128, 133, 135

Drack - 133, 134, 137, 152

Umi Henon - 133, 134, 135, 138

Vetra - 137, 144, 154

Peebee - 137

Sloane - 138

Lexi - 138

Khan Dagher - 141, 143, 147

Kesh - 150

Suvi - 154

Buxil - 156

Niilj - 156

[cuprohastes]

The Story (Re-Write)

Because so many people wanted to read the story, I had to explain a few times… It's gone. It's lost — I can't find it on Live journal or the Wayback Machine. I suspect it might have been on Google+…

Anyway, several people asked for it to be re-written. Between now and the past, a lot's happened, much of which makes for juicy plot points: And, so I'm serialising it… But only because if I tried to write it in one sitting, my brain would melt. So here's Chapter 1:

Trouble sleeping

Didn't Shakespeare write something about sleep? “Shut me in a nutshell, and I'll be hella good if I can get skibidi sleep?” 

Something like that. 

Larry was not getting sleep, or not enough. Every time he started to sink into the cloud of free association and relaxation, something skittered or whispered to him and jerked him back awake.

In an earlier time, he'd have blamed it on spirits or demons. More recently, maybe the effects of stress and mental health. His parents would have gone to therapy about it.

Larry, a modern person, brought up by Memers and soaked in tech his entire life, didn't have to guess.

It was the fucking wallpaper.

It'd sounded great when he put the first payment down for it. The installers had shown up, ground sixty years of Landlord Paint off the walls, leaving chunks of off-white Fordite all over the floor, and mounted the data-mesh.

Then they'd rolled the rubbery panels down over it, cutting them to fit, letting the test images calibrate and line up.

The first thing Larry put up was an immersive view of some idealised forest. Lush green ferns, a spritz of mist and shafts of smoky golden sun reaching through the trunks.

A week later, the first adverts popped up across the mars-scape he'd switched to. A can of SelZa sitting on a rock that developed a halo of text about how great drinking your pizza would be: Would you like to order now?

The Amazon link popped right up, and Larry had to look away before it took a casual look as an invitation to send him fizzy pizza water.

Soon the animated avatars of other brands were sauntering out from behind rocks to tempt him with Keto Water, Fréch Breeze (Guaranteed fresh air: No microplastics, with Extra Oxygen and Caffeine — Take a Breath of Fréche Air™), frozen pizza, and about a dozen competing Kombucha fermenters.

Larry thought he could live with it.

He was wrong.

Soon his soothing landscapes and themed views were plated in adverts, coruscating and blinking to get his attention. 

Phantom people stared in at him, vamping with designer goods and clothes.

Ad gremlins scampered around, making him twitch as the motion caught the periphery of his vision.

And the WindoWall had audio: The big panels vibrating to act as speakers, and picking up video through camera arrays, listening via a hundred microphones that could pinpoint him within the room.

Just part of life, he told himself.

But then he went to bed. 

The WindoWall darkened and spread an Aurora across one wall, a sprinkle of glittering stars. The audio changed to cancel traffic sounds — A soft chorus of frogs and pattering rain started to play — One wall developed a brazier of softly glowing coals…

Larry backflipped into relaxed unconsciousness hard.

… for ten minutes.

Larry woke, squinting at the sudden brightness:

An advert for SleepyTime Choc Hotlet tried to sing him a lullaby as a cartoon capybara with a fucking lamp demonstrated the sleep he could be getting if they hadn't woken him up to tell him how much better he'd be sleeping if he just bought some SleepTime Choc hotlet to drink!

The Capybara winked and turned off the light. Larry tried to get back to sleep. Fireflies danced gently around the room… and formed up to spell out the name of a mattress company.

Larry rolled over and closed his eyes.

An adorable gnome giggled at him and had a whispered, though perfectly audible conversation with a delightful bunny about how before bed she always used Freshens. Whatever they were.

Larry commando rolled out of bed, mashed his toe on something, screamed in pain, was offered three brands of slipper, four over-the counter painkillers and seven offers to sue someone for personal injury.

All of which were ignored as Larry pulled up the WindoWall app and pushed the brightness and volume to minimum — The glassy matte of the wall panels becoming black in the room lit only by the tablet screen.

Then Larry took some Ibuprofen and went back to bed.

45 minutes later he twitched and woke up to find the room lit by wall panels of text and still images for sleep aids fading in and out, and a soft sussurtion - Quiet Ad Reads that Larry suspected were supposed to subconsciously bias him to buying... Sleep Underwear?

In short succession, Larry found out that he couldn't sleep with an eyemask because the WindoWall started cranking the audio up now he wasn't looking.

And that ear plugs improvised from rolled tissue got him a volume increase and some recommendations about the mildest softest tissues — And he could save 15% if he subscribed!

And that was bad enough: Larry called up the WindoWall Customer Support after a sleepless night.

Customer Support turned out to be an AI avatar who appeared on the wall, using the built-in camera array to track Larry.

“Where are all these adverts coming from?” He asked. Starting simple.

The Face of WindoWall did a polite look of curiosity then, in rich, friendly terms, said “'Adverts' is short for Advertisements: a Method of promoting products....”

Typical answerbot, grabbing a definition from Wiki — But not resolving the query. Larry immediately asked for a real human being.

The Face argued that the chatbot could help, or else it could open the Support Pages for Larry. 

Larry insisted on a human and eventually hit on the correct keywords: “I want to talk to a human being - This is a complaint, please escalate.” And the Face went into an idle animation, repeating, “Our support staff are currently busy with other requests – Please wait. In the meantime you can use our AI responder or the support website” every minute or so.

Larry, familiar with the under-staffed human support departments, picked up a tablet and opened his current book-in-progress while he waited. 

Thumbing past a motion graphic for the series of re-writes of Terry Pratchett by an AI to add 50% extra hilarity and extended scenes, he opened Virtual Investigations: A Max Ransom Adventure...

She walked into my office feed like bad news wrapped in a pretty bow. No way she was real: A dame like that doesn't walk into a virtual office like mine. The wings wouldn't fit through the door. The angel looked at me with golden eyes and hair the colour of mocha - Like the mocha on my desk provided by CoffeeCourier™ – Roast and vacuum packed for freshness according to the quick personality quiz that matched me to the perfect coffee for my busy lifestyle. And you too can enjoy a cup of Mental-Fresh Mocha using code DETECTIVE10 “What's an avatar like you doing in my office?” I asked. In reality I was renting a VR space with a fold down bed and access to three busted washer-dryers in the basement. Online my virtual office was classy, just like you'd expect from a CubeSpace Virtual Site - CubeSpace use real scans to decorate your virtual space for the best in class work sites. Use DETECTIVE10 to get 10% off your own virtual office site for the lifetime of your subscription... She looked at me a moment then said “As an LLM I don't have a philosophy of mind to answer with. I'm here because you have 4.6 stars on Amazon Business Listings as a Detective.” I do. It'd be higher, but some people don't give you a good rating when you chase them for payment. Maybe I should stop showing up with a bill and a threat to post about thier broke asses on the Socials. “I will pay you for your services as a detective to locate my user.” She continued. I looked at her with fresh eyes. So, not someone with an angel kink – An actual House Assistant looking for it's user... the case just got interesting!

Larry was interrupted by the Face clearing its throat, now puppeted by a support worker. The Face's shirt turned green and developed a name badge saying “obj.user.name_1”

“Hello, my name is Shimonne, I'll be assisting you today. The uh notes say you want to know what adverts are...?” It said in the same voice – Corporate robbing its staff of even their own voice.

“Uh no,” said Larry, “I asked where all these adverts came from? Did the video stream get hacked?”

The Face paused and did a canned animation of looking at a tablet.

“Ah, as per the contract, WindoWall reserve the right to show adverts from...” a soft, tired sigh, “Select partners, to provide you with enhanced opportunities to discover carefully curated products” - Said in an equally tired monotone.

Somewhere, Larry assumed, Shimonne was getting dinged for non-compliant tone. But Larry appreciated the little bit of empathy.

A pop-up survey asking how the interaction was progressing slid up, invisible to the Face. Larry tapped a 5 for style and actual empathy. Fuck the Corporate Tone.

“Ok...” said Larry, “But that wasn't how it was sold to me.”

“I understand.” Shimonne said through the Face. “It is in the EULA.” They added, pronouncing it with a deliciously melodic ripple of vowels that even the Face's vocoder couldn't stamp into the carefully selected Midwest accent the marketing team for VirtuAgent had pushed.

So of course Larry asked, “How do I turn them off?”

And that's how Larry got upsold on the Premium Ad-Free tier.

Of course... He didn't read the EULA for that either.

------

OK now a bit about the story. It's very like a couple of Black Mirror Episodes. Even some Farenheit 451, Idocracy, Midnight Burger, Feed, a spritz of Snowcrash... a whole bunch of other stuff. Some of this I've read or watched, some I haven't. But I don't live in a void: Whatever's in here definitely 100% was isnpired in whole or in part by other works, or even current events, shitposts on Social media, memes on Imgur, even things on Tumblr: @marlynnofmany writes fantastic stories and pops up some seriously interesting questions about what day to day life would be like in a world where you can have a starship full of non-human intelligences deliver your packages. So if you're thinking 'This reminds me of..." the answer is probably "yeah that's right." :)

And now a snitch post for some people who wanted to be notified if the story ever showed up:

@ravencromwell @rocinantescoffeestop @vtothefun @call-me-b-please-and-thank-you @msimpossibility @museumofinefarts @faeriesaurus @starlo-official

[sgiandubh]

What about Grandma then? In recent days, that Barbour issue has been discussed in several corners of this fandon, as you said. Well, the day before yesterday Garance was posting stories showing off his Barbour coats...Obviously those two also follow the topics discussed on Tumblr. 🤷‍♀️

Dear Garance Anon,

You will have to forgive me for the very, very late answer. I wanted to give it my full, undivided attention, because I believe we never spoke seriously about Mrs. Mariline Fiori, aka Garance Doré.

The short answer to your comment is 'oh, but we know they do, as we know they are not the only ones'. Unlike S&C, though, the McGrandmas might see us as a free, useful toolbox of sorts, where readily available ideas congregate. Remember they have deliberately calibrated their public couple personas on exactly what SC are unable and/or unwilling to give/show this fandom. To some extent, it works and, as any good Frenchwoman, Garance understood she was savvy to play the atout charme joker card. Which is exactly what she does - also, being French, she knows exactly what type of European public is instantly attracted to the Barbour reference: a public whose wallets she needs.

But as I just said, your post made me think about Mrs. Doré. Who is she, really? So, sorry, Anon, if I use you as a springboard for my musings.

She was, as I said, born Mariline Fiori, on May 1st (same day as JAMMF, LOL) 1977, in Ajaccio, Corsica's main town and birthplace of Napoleon Bonaparte. Not a Corsican, though (same as Napoleon, LOL): Italian father, French/Algerian mom. People who left Algeria when it became independent, after the Evian Peace Accords, and whom the metropolitan French still call, to these day, 'pieds-noirs' (literally and quite derogatorily, 'black feet'). Her family's social status is, however, a bit unclear, as Mrs. Fiori successively played with her personal story in interviews, in what the French also sarcastically call 'des petits arrangements avec la vérité'/ a bit of tinkering with the truth.

In this 2019 interview to Elle UK, for example, her parents are described as owning a restaurant in Corsica (https://www.elle.com/uk/life-and-culture/a29758314/garance-dore-original-influencer/):

But in another 2013 interview to The Talks, her mother was a shrink (https://the-talks.com/interview/garance-dore/):

Also, for the sake of clarity:

Oh, well: different country, different crowd/market, different agenda and perhaps older and wiser when talking to Elle UK, you would think?

Not necessarily and still a divisive figure for the international press/blogosphere. People did not appreciate her frequent flying and luxury travels during COVID, for example, along with her 'white, bourgeois woman entitlement'. Both in New Zealand...

(Source: https://www.ensemblemagazine.co.nz/articles/garance-dore-new-zealand - I think you should read the entire article, as it is absolutely enlightening, also something I wouldn't go polemic about, you make up your own mind, really).

...and in France, where they apparently are not very fond of her 'cult of personality' approach to social media, to say the least:

(Source: https://www.madmoizelle.com/a-t-on-vraiment-besoin-de-preter-attention-aux-conseils-antivax-des-influenceuses-1145916 Non Francophones could use Google Translate, but considerably lose in doing so the ferocity of the writing - but then, again, the French press is particularly sarcastic & ferocious, when set against someone or something. I love them to bits.)

The translation is clear, and I deliberately did not insist on the political stance of the article, whose title gives a straightforward idea: 'Do we really have to pay attention to the influencers' antivax advice?':

'This influencer cannot singlehandedly convert a part of her fans to antivaxing, via Instagram, but this comforts those who already thought so and keeps them even more hooked. This is because Instagram is a social media whose model heavily relies on shared affinities, meaning that it congregates likeminded people and creates bubble phenomena, of which GD is a good example.

GD, who built an empire around her handle which she turned into a brand and transformed her own lifestyle into her best product might very well turn her cult of personality into an economic model. Many celebrities already do so and are perfectly entitled to. But in her case, we are not talking about sending a birthday personalized cameo, we are talking about dispensing health advice during a pandemic.'

Truly, Ha-wa-wee 2.0 sounds like kindergarten compared to the above and never made it so far and wide in the international press. But hey, don't we know, double standard is the law of this land.

But to cut the story short, because it's 5 AM in here and we'd be talking about Mrs. McGrandma until tomorrow evening, do we really imagine someone so well versed in the ways and means of social media not following Tumblr?

Yeah, thought so, too.

[some-creep]

Here's my longer than anticipated prototype Falke fic. I'll reblog this later with an AO3 link but right now I can't get any of the formatting to stay because it's on Google drive and I'm on mobile

She awakens to a blinding white light. Her body is stiff and feels foreign as she tries to work out how her limbs work. It is with remarkable difficulty that she manages to push her body upright, only to double over at the unexpected weight of her frame. She gives a moment of pause, trying to make sense of her surroundings as her head threatens to split in two at every errant thought. Her stomach, which she suspects to be empty, still threatens to spill its contents all over her lap. Long before her eyes have the chance to focus, she hears a new sound over the mechanical buzzing that persists throughout the room. Voices. Unfamiliar. Then, an unknown force guiding her to lay back down which she does not fight. Her ears strain to listen, but the words do not make sense.

“I knew it. I told you I had a good feeling about this one, didn't I?”

“You did, but just because she's woken up doesn't mean she'll–”

“She will. If not, she can be molded like all the others.”

“Yes, but her neural pattern is highly unpredictable given the donor. Not to mention the experimental bioresonance module that–”

“Enough.”

The voices fall silent. She can only wonder what they were discussing, though she has no time to dwell on the specifics. Someone begins to stroke her hair, causing her eyes to flutter back open. They are nothing more than a fuzzy gray shape looming over her, and no matter how many times she blinks, her eyes refuse to focus.

“Can you see me? Adjust the calibration on her eyes.”

They wait for a moment before her vision begins to clear through a means she cannot understand. She is staring up at a dark haired woman she does not recognize, her outline haloed by the bright overhead light.

“Good morning, Falke.” Her face beams with pride but the name that falls from her lips sparks no recognition.

She can only lay there, trying to study her face in hopes that doing so can grant her the knowledge she desires. It seems, she thinks, like she is meant to respond, but she does not know what to say or how to say it. She furrows her brow in confusion, hoping it will suffice for an answer.

“You're going to do great things for us. Do you know that? You're very special.”

She manages to tilt her head to the side just enough to make it clear she's still confused. The woman above her doesn't seem surprised by this fact. She doesn't know what makes her special or what great things she is going to do. In fact, she isn't even sure how she knows anything and why there are gaps in what knowledge she does have.

She has no memory of a moment before this one, yet, in a general sense, she understands the world around her. The woman speaking to her appears to be middle aged, head adorned with a golden laurel crown. She is laying on some sort of bed. The room she is in is overly bright which further accentuates the sterile white ceiling and walls. Yet she does not know who she is. The woman had called her ‘Falke’ but the name means nothing to her. That is the name of an animal. A bird of prey. And she is not an animal.

Then…what is she?

She accepts her name as Falke for she knows of no alternative. The woman does not share with her her own name at that moment, a fact Falke simply does not question as it is of little concern to her compared to everything else. Something feels off. Everything feels wrong. The dark haired woman looks small in a way she doesn't understand. Her body fills out the bed to an unusual degree, and the sensation of touch is distant.

The woman excuses herself with a promise to return later. Falke does not watch her leave but listens to her footsteps, long, confident strides, across the tile floor. She hears a mechanical door glide open then shut again, leaving her alone with whoever else she had heard speaking before.

“Okay, Falke,” the voice, male, her mind tells her, begins to speak, “I'm going to ask you to do a few simple things for me so we can make sure everything is in working order, sound good?”

Falke nods her head slowly and begins to follow along with the basic instructions being given to her. Follow this with your eyes, move your head, wiggle your fingers, good job, now lift your right arm, your left, can you sit up for me?

The instructions are easy to follow, but there is an undeniable disconnect between her mind and body. She feels as if she is controlling a puppet rather than her own physical form, yet she sees her arms move with her own two eyes. But they do not look correct. Falke does not know what her arms should look like, but the sleek black casing does not register as being her skin. As she stares at her hands, pressing her mechanically jointed thumb and forefinger together, she feels them touch with the faintest tap of plastic on plastic.

Falke wonders if this body is able to cry. The desire is overwhelming, but her expression never changes.

Führungskommando-Leiteinheit-Replika: FKLR. Affectionately referred to as simply Falke amongst the Gestalts who monitor her. It is not a title she understands, but she hopes one day it will become clearer.

Until that time comes, her days are filled with tests and experiments to assess her current functional capacity. She is finally used to walking after several days of stumbling around helplessly and falling into walls. She no longer feels nauseous looking down from her unimaginable height. Her body still feels too heavy, but the scientists tell her it is common with larger Replikas and she will gradually stop noticing it. She is even becoming used to her dull sense of touch as she learns how to properly gauge the information her body is giving her and what it means in context to the world around her. The scientists always tell her they are proud of her, and she finds she enjoys this a great deal.

Falke is not like the people around her. They are small and made of flesh and bone. One of the first things they made sure she knew was that she is capable of great destruction, but that she is a good girl who listens well, so she will be mindful not to harm those around her. She does not have a reason to disagree with this assessment of her. They have not lied to her yet. They are kind to her. They make sure all her needs are met.

Falke enjoys spending time in her room; the room she had been moved into once she was capable of maneuvering independently. It has the same sterile white walls as the rest of the facility she calls home, but it is adorned with Nation paraphernalia. The first time she had seen the room, decorated with flags and portraits of the Nation’s Leaders, she had felt uneasy and out of place, but now she finds great comfort in the iconography. It adds a sense of warmth to her world, she thinks, to know she is being watched over and cared for by the Leaders.

It is the Great Revolutionary that she met when she first woke up. She visits Falke as often as her schedule permits to check on her progress. Falke wishes she would stay longer to talk to her instead of her overseers, but she is a very busy woman, and so she understands the aversion to idle chatter.

She spends the majority of her free time reading the books they have provided for her, or watching the films left for her. She is moved by the stories of how the Nation's people have struggled under the unjust rule of the Empire, and she hopes one day she will be able to assist in some way. She is promised that this will be the case.

Falke wonders why she was made to look like the Great Revolutionary and her daughter. She takes the photos off of the wall to study them from time to time. Their gazes are stern and commanding, and she wishes her expression could match. She has seen her own face and she cannot stand to look at it. She does not recognize the woman who stares sadly back at her.

It is lonely, she finds, being an experimental Replika. The people around her have little interest in talking to her about anything besides her progress. She is making great strides in utilizing her bioresonant abilities, and the scientists always talk excitedly about each new milestone she reaches.

She is able to look into the minds of volunteers placed before her, and tell her overseers whatever information they ask her to retrieve. The Gestalts who volunteer always seem frightened of her, and she never sees the same one twice, but they reassure her it is just a test. If she encountered the same person again, she would not be facing a new, potentially more challenging mind.

Today, as she stands at the far end of a custom built firing range, hurling objects at targets with only her mind, she thinks to try talking to the scientist tasked with observing her. She, like all Gestalts who work in close proximity to Falke, was given a special implant to ensure Falke could not manipulate her outside the scope of any test.

“Does it hurt still, doctor?” She asks, not turning her attention away from her work.

The woman does not immediately answer, though she unconsciously raises her hand to the stitches on the side of her half shaved head.

“I hope you aren't mad at me over it.”

“Mad?” She repeats, and her voice startles Falke. Responses of any kind are rare if they fall outside of work related discussions.

“You were assigned to me, and because of that, precautions had to be taken. I…hope you do not blame me for this.”

She is quiet for a moment longer before she speaks again, voice unsure. “No, Falke, I don't blame…you. Now focus on your task.”

Falke smiles sadly to herself, lowering her head for a moment. She does not look up as she casts the final projectile, a metal ball, through the remaining wooden target, showering the firing range with splinters before the ball impacts with the floor. The sharp sound fills the largely empty room before fading away to silence once more. Falke stands and waits for further instructions as she watches the ball roll back and forth until finally ceasing all movement.

“It still hurts.”

“...Hm-?”

“My head. You asked me before if it still hurt.”

Falke turns slowly to look at her. She's learned by now sudden movements make her Gestalt overseers nervous, so she takes great care not to worry them.

The woman is not looking at her, though she does not appear to actually be writing anything in her notes, simply fidgeting about.

“I'm sorry to hear that. I wish there was something I could do.” Falke decides to sink down to her knees in hopes it will make her a little less intimidating. She doesn't want to scare off the closest thing she's ever made to a connection. She owes it to the scientist to be as accommodating as possible, given the state she was in because of Falke.

“What are you doing?”

“It's easier to talk if we're at the same level, doctor. I thought you might appreciate it.” She tries to smile but worries there's no point to the gesture. Falke notices the Gestalt glance back at her, and can only assume she sees.

“We aren't supposed to be talking at all,” she says, though she is making no attempts to stop the conversation.

Falke chuckles, nodding. “If I wasn't meant to talk to people, then why was I given the ability to speak? Surely, speech is unnecessary if I am able to influence those around me with only my mind.”

“That's an interesting point. One I don't have an answer for.” She looks up to see Falke still smiling, eyes brighter than normal. She thinks for a moment, taking a deep breath. “You're lonely,” she observes.

Falke nods. She is a sentient being with little in the way of interactions with others. It has started to gnaw at her more and more each day.

“I'll discuss this at my next meeting and see what can be done about that. You're dismissed.”

Administration-Datenverarbeitung-Logistik-Replika: ADLR. That is how they introduce her to the Replika they've brought in from another facility. They tell her it will be a good way to test their compatibility. He is not a new model like her, last generation, but there had always been speculation he could perform better with proper Replika guidance. No such person had existed…until now.

They tell her she will get along well with him. That, mentally, he should be easily influenced by her, and that if she wants someone to interact with, this will be how she gets it. She is told there are no other options because once she is Commander, she will not have time for friends and other such nonsense as that. Seeing him for the first time makes her regret ever bringing up the issue at all. There's no reason for it. He's a perfectly unremarkable Replika standing no taller than the average Gestalt and offering little else but his presence.

The way he looks at her makes her uncomfortable, but she can't put her finger on why that is. None of the Gestalts look at her with the same level of wonder. No, it's more than wonder, it is as if he is enamored with her. Love at first sight. The Gestalt scientists seem pleased by this development and decide this is a sufficient cure for Falke's loneliness, giving her no time to protest.

She no longer has any personal time to herself. Adler’s only purpose is to serve her, which means following her at all hours of the day. It also means sleeping in her room as there is no other space set aside for him. Falke tells herself she must adapt to this because, after all, isn't this what she asked for? Companionship in her off hours?

He does not understand personal space in a way she would prefer, but she finds it difficult to verbalize her wants. It is not a situation she has ever been in before, so more often than not, she is silent. She knows the scientists told her that Adler would be easy to manipulate with her abilities, but she is well trained, and only uses her powers when it is asked of her. It seems rude, she thinks, to exert her influence over someone for no good reason. She fears repercussions for misuse of her powers.

So instead, she pushes down her concerns and accepts this is her life now. She ignores the fact she knows he watches her sleep, and she ignores the thoughts she hears on accident. Sometimes it is difficult to not read people's minds now that the ability comes naturally to her. He thinks about her body a great deal, but since he has not done anything wrong, Falke does all she can to ignore it.

She feels nothing in return. She doesn't know what she is supposed to feel about him, but every conversation she forces her way through leaves her feeling empty. She tells herself she just isn't used to being around other Replikas yet, and in time, it will get easier like so many other things have for her. But she wishes it would happen faster.

He is sitting too close to her as usual, on her bed, and Falke is trying her hardest to simply ignore him. She misses her privacy so very, very much…

Adler says something to her, for which she only hums in response, hoping it will be enough to express her disinterest. It never is.

FKLR units will be judged on their actions, not by their words. These words echo in her mind as she stares vacantly forward. Her duty is to serve the Nation. Serving the Nation will require sacrifice. It will require moments of action that might seem overly cruel, but they are for the greater good. Her creator had made sure she understood this, that there would be times she would be asked to do things she might find questionable, but to trust she was doing the right thing. And nothing was off limits.

Training dummies do not bleed. They do not beg and apologize to an uncaring attacker. Falke has dismantled many in her brief time alive, and this feels no different. But she does not know why she does it; she cannot say what set her off. Was it a thought? A comment? A brief moment of unwanted contact? She does not feel any guilt as she looks at the thing laying crumpled on her floor. It is of no more interest to her than a discarded mannequin covered in red paint. Falke looks at her hand and realizes she is clutching soaked wires in her fist, though where she'd yanked them from she could not begin to guess.

She wipes her hands on her legs and crawls back into bed. For the first time since Adler had arrived, her room is quiet again, and she finally feels comfortable enough to sleep.

Falke is scolded for the mess and made to clean it up herself. She finds it surprising that she is not punished for what she did, simply for the aftermath of her actions. She helps the scientists who come to collect the body place it into a bodybag before it is removed. They ask no questions about the mangled figure and only leave cleaning supplies when they go.

She sets to work cleaning up the sticky, half dried puddle of coolant that leaked across the entire floor during the night. There is so much, spread across the tile and under her bed, that she feels like she is only able to smear it around with the rags she was provided with. Even so, she considers herself lucky that this is all that is expected of her.

As she scrubs diligently on her hands and knees, she notices unidentifiable flesh caught between the joints of her fingers. Falke knows it will be difficult to properly clean up, maybe even impossible without help from a technician. She tries to push the thought aside as she hears the door to her room open once more.

Someone steps inside, tracking footprints all over the half cleaned floor. Falke bites back the impulse to say anything, and she is glad for this when the person speaks.

“Falke,” the voice says, quick and sharp. It is her creator, the Great Revolutionary herself.

Falke flinches and keeps her head bowed low, suddenly ashamed of her behavior. “Good morning,” she manages, before adding, “ma'am.”

“I hear you broke your new toy.” She shifts her weight as she speaks. Falke suspects she's crossed her arms.

“It was…” calling it an accident might not be a complete lie, she hadn't meant to do it, after all, but it was far too brutal of a scene to suggest there was no intent whatsoever. “I'm sorry. I know everyone worked very hard to get a companion for –”

“Look at people when you're talking to them,” she barks, bringing her boot hard against Falke's shoulder and keeping it there.

Falke is considerably larger than her, but as she is now, groveling before her master, she is no more powerful than anyone else would be. She looks up at the woman for whom she shares a likeness, muttering an apology as she meets her eye.

“You made my shoes filthy with your little mess. Clean them,” she orders, twisting her foot back and forth before pulling back to let Falke sit up.

Falke carefully moves off of her knees and sits back, legs crossed. She is made painfully aware of her unusual stature once more, but instead of finding comfort in the protection it brings, she just feels awkward and out of place under the Great Revolutionary’s gaze.

The woman, without a word, places her boot on Falke's thigh and waits. Falke takes one of the few still clean rags and dunks it in her bucket of soapy water, ringing it out with one hand. She places her other hand against the woman's calf to steady her as she begins to spot clean as much of the sole as she can manage from their positions.

While she suspects the display is all for show, Falke sheepishly speaks up and says, “you might be more comfortable if you sat on my bed.”

She ponders the suggestion for only a moment, and, seeming pleased with Falke's desire to be obedient, moves to sit on the edge of the bed. She crosses one leg over the other, inviting Falke to continue with the faintest hint of a smirk on her face.

Falke doesn't think she's ever seen her creator smile before, especially not at her. The expression, however distant, spurs her on. She edges closer to the bed, taking her ankle once more before she continues to clean every tread free of dirt and blood. Her work is meticulous and loving as she thinks to herself no one has ever had the honor of tending to the Great Revolutionary like this before.

When she feels a hand on her head, she hesitates, glancing upwards. It is a nice feeling, one she's rarely experienced, but one she would like to earn again. She is not wearing gloves, as is often the case when other Gestalts touch her. It is simply wordless praise for her efforts.

But the moment cannot last long. Soon, her creator is rising to her feet and heading back out the door, leaving her with only one final order. “Hurry up and finish cleaning. We haven't got all day.”

“Hello, Ara. It's nice to meet you.” Falke smiles at the old Replika model. She tells herself she will do better this time around with her companions. She likes this one better than the last anyway, she thinks. Ara has an exceptionally quiet mind, and what thoughts Falke does pick up on are quite regular. She thinks of work and of her hobbies, quietly tending to plants in secluded areas of the facility. This particular unit has been working here for longer than Falke has been alive.

Like many others, she is, of course, impressed by Falke's stature. She is confused as to why she was relocated here at all, but ultimately she is relieved the person she was placed with seems to be nice enough. That thought Falke finds peculiar; that a Replika might be so concerned with how nice someone is.

“I'm sorry they didn't tell me what I was supposed to do with you. If… I had to guess, you're meant to replace my previous…” Falke hesitates on the last word, unsure what she should call the late Adler. Finally, she settles on, “assistant.”

Ara only nods, offering up a simple, “oh” in response. It is clear she has never been an assistant before, nor has she ever been separated from others like herself. Because of this, it becomes obvious she isn't interested in talking.

Falke finds it strange they'd be so quick to replace Adler after what she'd done to him, but she sees no point in questioning it. It has been a few days since the incident, and maybe they have decided it is worth giving her a second chance. She had proven herself with her creator immediately following the incident, so it makes a kind of sense.

“You have tools?” she asks, noticing the belt around her waist.

Ara nods.

“Do you know how to fix Replikas?”

She shrugs.

“Do you think you could help me clean the joints in my fingers? It's difficult to do it yourself. I'd ask the Gestalt technician but I'm afraid she'd be mad at me.”

Ara nods once more before Falke leads them off somewhere quiet where she may work undisturbed. It is a simple enough procedure, and her hands are larger than average, which she hopes will make them easier to work with.

Maintenance is an odd thing for Replikas. To be so vulnerable around another is a difficult task at the best of times. Any time she is operated on, it leaves her feeling strange afterwards. Lonely, almost. Empty. The technician usually just ignores her the entire time and is firm about not letting her linger afterwards. Ara, she thinks, isn't likely to do that.

Falke lays her hands on a table as she kneels on the floor, offering them up with no resistance. Ara says nothing as she begins to examine each joint to understand how she is put together. She will not need to remove any casing, figuring the wires inside will provide enough slack to clean between each segment without the need to disconnect any internals.

Ara does not comment on the gunk she scrapes out of her fingers, and Falke appreciates this small mercy. In fact, Ara doesn't even seem interested in its origin at all as she works. Falke can only watch her in a sort of awe as she expertly disassembles and reassembles each digit. Her expression does not change as she works, holding Falke's hand to better manipulate it as she sees fit.

Falke is almost disappointed when she finishes the procedure, but to her surprise, Ara does not move. Instead, she looks up at Falke, cocking her head to the side.

“Better?” She asks.

“Better," Falke replies, taking a shaky breath. “Thank you.”

Ara remains seated as she lets Falke take her hand. She does not pull away, nor does she comment on the gesture.

Falke looks away, muttering an apology. She knows better than to behave this way. She has been chastised countless times before for trying to overstep boundaries like this. But Ara seems to think nothing of it.

“It's normal,” she says.

“It…is?”

“Yes.”

“No one’s ever told me that.”

“They never do.”

Falke furrows her brow, wondering why her Gestalt masters would neglect to explain a normal Replika reaction to her. She tries not to think about it as Ara gently squeezes her hand in return, all the while expression never changing.

She soon finds she much prefers the company of Ara to anyone else in her life. Unlike Adler, her thoughts are easier to handle. She is respectful of boundaries without needing to be told. And, above all else, she is knowledgeable about Replika life. Overtime, she grows comfortable enough to talk and length, and she tells Falke about different unit types she has met over the years that Falke has only read about in passing. Of EULR, and STCR, and STAR units. How, despite what they are told, some units are nicer than others. Some she could be friends with and others she tried to avoid.

She speaks of relationships and how Replikas form bonds with one another that fall outside of expected parameters. Sometimes they are ignored, other times punished. In rare cases, they are encouraged for enhanced unit performance. ARAR units are encouraged to befriend EULR units because EULR units can read their emotions better than anyone else. Falke jokes that she is also very good at that, thanks to her bioresonance.

Ara sleeps in her room the same as Adler before her, and follows her around during the day. She finds herself wishing that Ara would follow a little closer. That she wouldn't sleep so far away at night. When they watch movies, Ara always does so from the floor. She says she doesn't mind, and Falke knows she is telling the truth, but she wishes she was not.

The scientists do not like Ara. Or, perhaps more accurately, they do not like her relationship with their beloved FKLR unit. They see Ara as beneath her, and cannot understand why *this* one is who Falke has chosen to keep around. ARAR units are worthless to the Nation, holding no more value than materials used to build them. They are meant to do hard labor and to be disposed of when they break. Ara is able to ignore the constant remarks, but they begin to grate on Falke's nerves.

She cannot read their minds, but she does not need to when they speak their hatred so openly. She cannot exert her will over them, but she does not need to when she can exert her strength.

A comment is made, one day, as she and Ara are sitting by one of the rare windows in the facility, looking out at the dull landscape of rock and concrete, bathed in bright, artificial light.

“You were supposed to have killed this one by now.”

She knows the comment hurts Ara, who still manages to avoid a visible reaction. But Falke knows what she's thinking. How uncomfortable the idea is that she is a sacrifice given to their new pet as a plaything to break.

Falke can no longer stomach it. With a flick of her wrist she sends the Gestalt backwards through the air and into a nearby wall. She hears a bone snap on impact, an arm, she figures, by the way their thoughts shift to the pain they're trying to make sense of. She rises, placing her hand on Ara's back to guide her back to their room before she takes things further and does something truly regrettable. Falke keeps her close the entire time with no resistance.

“It's not fair,” she whispers, maybe more to herself than to Ara as they step back into their room together. “The way they treat you. The things they say. You don't deserve it…”

She moves to give Ara her space, but finds the shaken Replika stopping her from parting. And so Falke lingers. She pulls Ara to sit on her bed, and then to lay by her side.

“I'm sorry,” she says, pressing her head against the side of Ara's who is looking up at the ceiling. Her hair smells of machine oil even after all this time away from her old post. “I know I shouldn't have done that. But it's not fair.” She emphasizes the word as if it will better prove her point. Ara does not often think about what is fair and what is not, only focusing on the way things are in the moment.

“Thank you,” Ara says after a while. She turns to lean her head against Falke's.

Falke wants to say more but does not allow herself to speak. She wraps her arm around her companion's waist, closing her eyes. There is much she could still say. Promises she could make but never really keep. Plans they could make to do…what? There was nothing left but to pray for mercy and enjoy what peace still lingered between them.

“Falke, please don't make this any harder than it needs to be. I don't like this anymore than you do.” The large metal collar hangs over the scientist’s hands as she stares back at him in disbelief. There is no reason to obey in the moment, but she suspects a worse punishment awaits if she does not. Her gaze shifts from confusion to hatred as she willingly sinks to her knees, still a head taller than the man even like this, as she allows herself to be restrained.

He apologizes again, but Falke does not answer as a heavy chain is hooked to her collar with the other end fed through a small hole in the wall. She does not know where it leads, but soon, the chain catches and pulls through the wall with a slow mechanical grind muffled on the other side. She is unceremoniously yanked backwards until her back nearly touches the wall. She cannot stand nor can she fully sit, leaving her to fumble about trying to right her body with little success.

The man looks at her once more before turning away. She thinks his expression is that of pity, but it is too brief to be certain. He closes the door behind him, sealing her in darkness.

She does not know if this room was designed for her, or simply repurposed because of her. It is barely more than a closet, able to comfortably hold four normal sized Gestalts, she guesses. It is a pointless train of thought, but she has nothing to do but think.

Falke was not told how long she will be held here, but she suspects her punishment will last long enough to make her beg for freedom. She is meant to be prideful, but even she must have her limits. What better way to test them than this?

And so she sits and thinks. She thinks of her behavior leading up to this moment. She thinks of the betrayal she feels in being chained up like an animal. She thinks of her creator, and how she will feel seeing her like this. Falke is like family to her, is she not? They share a likeness, and for Gestalts, that is important. It means nothing between Replikas but she is no common Replika, and therefore it is something to hold on to.

She dreams of a life that is not her own. Of places she's never been and of languages she does not understand. She is a woman of great power but she has no reflection to speak of, and no name is ever uttered. People serve her, and she leads them with everything she has. But she is not Falke in those moments.

Sometimes she dreams of Ara, and every time she wakes wishing she hadn't. The loneliness she feels when she wakes up hurts more than the awkward angle she is forced into. In her dreams, they are happy. They are together. And they are safe. Falke wakes in her old bed with Ara at her side, and she enjoys the briefest moment of joy as she is convinced it is all a bad dream. They exchange words she will not allow herself to hear and then she opens her eyes to darkness. She does not know what happened to Ara and does not dwell on it, happier in her ignorance.

Days pass in her confinement, and it becomes difficult to tell if she is awake or asleep. She can no longer feel her legs, and she is certain the joints have locked up entirely. Sometimes she thinks she feels other people nearby, but even if she tries to speak to them, nothing ever comes of it. They are nothing but shadows lingering in front of her unfocused eyes.

Falke entertains the idea that she might die in this room. Punished for a crime she's all but forgotten, likely observed by some hidden camera as she rots away. Alone. She hopes the overseers are amused by what they see. Delighted to watch her sit and whither away as her body's systems desperately inform her something is wrong and she needs immediate care which is not coming.

A sudden electric shock rushes through her skull, jolting her head upright with a hoarse yelp. The pain forcibly reconnects her mind to her body as she becomes keenly aware of all her senses at once.

“Well, it seems that works after all.”

Her creator stands before her, holding a small black device in her hand. Falke reaches towards her with one feeble hand before she is hit with another painful jolt.

“You're an embarrassment. Look at you. You had so much promise and you were going to throw it all away. And for what?” She reaches out, grabbing Falke by the hair to yank her head upright.

It does not register as pain amongst everything else her body is experiencing. She blinks a few times as if it will help the ache in her head.

“You represent the Nation. You represent me. Do you know how bad you made me look? Hmmm?” She pulls Falke's hair again. “What kind of superweapon are you? You were really going to throw everything I've given you away for some…some worthless piece of machinery?”

Ara, she thinks as her chest tightens. She will not ask. She already knows.

“I'm sorry. I'm sorry, ma'am.” Falke forces the words out in hopes they will spare her from further misery.

“I should have you decommissioned. There's no reason not to. You're a failure. Just like all the others.”

“No, no I'm… I am not a failure. I won't let you down again. I promise.”

The Great Revolutionary thinks for a moment before she slips her arms around Falke's neck. The brief embrace is cut short as she unlocks Falke's collar only for her body to collapse under its own weight as days of strain catch up to her all at once.

“See to it that you don't.”

Falke finally understands what it means to be a Commander. The people she controls are tools to be exploited for the good of the Nation. If she will not be afforded special treatment, why should they? Compassion is weakness. It causes one to behave in unexpected and dangerous ways. Ruthlessness is rewarded. Violence. Cruelty. Her only purpose is to function as a weapon, and to see to it those below her do the same.

She is given a small troop of Replika soldiers to command, and she does so mercilessly. Though they are only meant to run drills, Falke punishes any failure as seriously as if it were the real thing. Her overseers are pleased by this development, and they tell her they have enough data to begin production on her line.

Atop her head, she is now adorned with the same laurel crown as her creator. A symbol of her status as leader. But it is nothing but a cruel facade. Made of metal and welded into her skull, it connects to a device now to be standard in all FKLR units. Each delicately carved golden petal helps to carry an electric current through her brain and down her spinal cord. A shock collar for minor infractions. A killswitch when they grew tired of her.

Ara is never mentioned around her again, and the only evidence she ever existed at all are Falke's fading memories of her. In the end, she was nothing but a sacrifice, killed by Falke’s impulsive, violent nature. Something she is rewarded for when it is properly directed. At her underlings. At her enemies. No, the Nation's enemies. She is just their means to an end.

There is no fanfare in it as all the pieces fall into place. This had always been the goal. The Replikas that serve her are terrified of what she is capable of and quickly fall in line. They look at her with fear and awe, and she looks back with disdain. Their deaths will mean nothing to her. And they will die. Pointless, violent deaths in a bid for control against the Empire, an already waning power. Few Replikas still serve the Empire, and those that do are first and second generation. Nothing more than worthless machinery. In many ways, weaker than the Gestalts they die for. She feels no pity for them when she is shown images from Vineta, a planet of great interest to both states. Their deaths are necessary. Her death will not be.

“You've come a long way, Falke.” The Great Revolutionary smiles up at Falke, but she does not return the expression.

Her gaze is stern now, all of the time. Every interaction she has with other people is not a syllable longer than it needs to be. She stands and waits for her to continue speaking or to finish the conversation, and this fact seems to please the Gestalt.

“I wanted to show you something now that you've officially been deemed a success.”

“Oh?” She raises an eyebrow, but offers no further reaction.

Her creator chuckles, amused at how alike they've become in such a short span of time. That had always been the point. “Come,” she orders, leading Falke away.

She was born here. She ‘grew up’ here, but there are still many areas she has not seen. Most of the facility is a mystery to her, and one she no longer cares to understand. The things she is meant to know, she is told, all else is a waste of her time.

They walk in silence down several near identical gray hallways before descending down an elevator Falke barely fits in. She no longer makes comment on the fact the world is not meant for someone like her. She slouches over as always until they reach a sub basement. It is noticeably colder this far down, but neither comment on it as they approach an unassuming metal door.

Her creator swipes an identification card through a panel at the side of the door before opening it. Freezing cold air spills out into the empty hallway as the woman steps inside and flicks the light switch on. Falke waits until she is invited instead, ducking under the doorframe and pausing to observe her surroundings.

The walls are lined with several large machines, each with a small window at approximately eye level with Falke. They are humming in quiet unison with a purpose unknown to her. In a way, they resemble coffins the longer she looks, though she dare not approach one to see what lay inside.

“Your predecessors,” her creator says as she gestures towards the machines. Falke remains silent, so she continues. “Such is the case with all Replikas. Though, other Replikas aren't permitted access to information such as this. But you're different. You're special.”

“Are they dead?”

“Most of them,” she says, watching Falke cautiously approach the wall to peer inside at one of her failed siblings.

They all looked the same to her. Frowning, she asks, “why keep them?”

“For reference. We always hold on to our failures until we stop making them. After that, they are disposed of to make room for the next creation.”

“Why are you showing me this?”

“Because,” she clicks her tongue, “you are to know everything about those you command. Including all of the unsavory parts they don't know about. And what better way than this?”

Falke brushes her hand over a pane of glass to clear the fog from it to better stare at her sleeping reflection inside. “You said,” she pauses, “you said most…of them are dead. What about the others?”

That had been the right question to ask, it seems. The Gestalt nods. “How observant of you.”

Falke watches as she approaches a pod to input a code on a small keypad. She steps back as it hisses to life, followed by the distinct mechanical thunk of several mechanisms clicking into place before, finally, a door swings open.

The FKLR unit inside falls forward, trailed by dozens of wires connecting her to the device behind her. She is dazed, but gradually, she seems to be coming to her senses as she looks around the room. She sees Falke first, and makes a weak attempt at crawling towards her.

“Are you… are you here to help…me? They told me it would just be for…just a little bit. Can you hear me?” Her own voice says to her, trembling, pathetic. Her expression is almost childlike in its naive desperation as she looks up at an uncaring mirror.

“Pitiful thing, isn't it?” Their creator says, placing her boot on the FKLR unit’s back. “Take care of her.”

Falke frowns once more as she realizes she is being offered a firearm, one she does not take immediately.

“I know you've fired a gun before. Prove to me you can do this.”

She listens to herself whimpering on the floor, begging for a different outcome. The FKLR unit is promising to be a good girl this time. She will listen. She will work harder. She will do all of the things she should have done when she had the chance but failed to do. Her crying is cut short by a single gunshot.

Falke says nothing as she returns the gun.

“Well done. I'm proud of you, Commander Falke.”

[sirfrogsworth]

So, the new lens is great. It takes beautiful pictures. And I am still brought to tears when I think about what an amazing gift this is. From a complete stranger, no less.

But there was some unexpected lens drama that kind of tarnished the excitement of this wonderful gift.

When I opened the lens initially, I noticed it was not in a retail box. It was still wrapped in plastic and that made it seem like it was new, but then I noticed there was no warranty card. Two red flags. Things that would be easily missed by a lot of people.

I was worried it was "gray market" which is a lens meant for another country. These can be imported cheaper but they will not have any warranty and if you try to get them repaired outside the intended country, manufacturers will often refuse to work on them.

I hooked up the lens to my computer so I could update the firmware. I also copied the serial number and sent it to Sigma to see if they had any info about the lens and if it was under warranty.

It was not gray market... but it was used.

Sigma's records show it being sold in 2018. Used lenses are fine. And they can be repaired in-country. But my gift giver did not pay for a used lens. Also, I wanted to get the lens focus calibrated. Sigma will calibrate the lens to my camera for free under warranty. Out of warranty, it would cost $100.

Maybe it was a mistake. They sent a used lens by accident perhaps. But then I found this review of the seller.

A pattern of behavior.

So this 3rd party Amazon seller basically committed fraud.

And this really upset me.

Amazon wouldn't let me message them directly due to it being a gift order. So I spent days talking to Amazon customer service and trying to figure out what to do. They asked if I wanted to file a complaint, but I told them no. I wanted to keep that option as leverage.

After some google-fu, I found the store's customer service email and wrote them a sternly worded message. I told them I wanted them to exchange the used lens for a new copy. I wanted them to promise never to sell anything used as new again. And if they did not comply, I would file a complaint and leave a 1 star review warning people not to do business with them.

That finally got their attention and I was emailed back promptly. They asked for pictures proving my claims. I sent them photos of the generic packaging and also this screen capture of my email from Sigma.

The good news... they agreed to exchange the lens.

But they did not acknowledge any wrongdoing and did not say they would no longer sell used lenses as new.

In any case, the matter should be resolved as long as they keep their word. But this all really bummed me out. I just wanted this one bit of joy to tide me over until I started feeling better. And I will have that joy soon. But all of the effort required to reclaim that joy is frustrating.

[ofduskanddreams]

How I download fics and give them covers before sending them to my Kindle.

Hi all, I've been considering making a post about this for a while and now seems as good a time as any. I'm not an expert, and there is more than one way you can do this; I'm just going to show you my process using "Call It What You Want To" by @separatist-apologist as an example. [This will only work on computers FYI.]

Part One — Getting Started

Download Calibre (it's free.) Calibre for PC. Calibre for Mac. They also have it for Linux but idk if that's still relevant.

Follow the program's setup instructions, and then those for wirelessly connecting Calibre with your Kindle account. Alternatively, you can connect your Kindle/e-reader to your computer with a cable and transfer files manually or download the file to your hard drive and share it another way. I highly recommend taking a few extra minutes to set up the wireless sharing as I think it's far more convenient.

Create a folder in which to store fanfiction downloads so that you can be an organized human.

Part Two — The Fanfiction

Find the fic you want to download on ao3 and click it so that you're on the fic's first page.

Above the box of metadata (ratings, warning, tags, etc.) on the far right click the "download" option. When prompted to select a file type, choose "MOBI."

Note: Though ao3 has an "EPUB" option I've noticed a bug that removes the chapter navigation from the fic when downloading the EPUB directly from ao3. If you enjoy the "x minutes left in this chapter/book" feature on your e-reader, you will want to download "MOBI" and we will be converting it later in Calibre.

Save the file to the folder you created.

Launch Calibre if it isn't already running.

In Calibre, click "add books" on the toolbar at the top of the screen.

Navigate to the folder you saved the fic in, select the fic, then click "open." Calibre will import the MOBI file to your library.

Now as you can see, "Call It What You Want To" already has a cover when we imported it to the library. That is because the cover image is embedded in the fic on the archive. Some fics will already have covers embedded such as this one.

Calibre is not a genius. If there are multiple images in the fic it will usually take the first one and default it to the cover. In the next section, I will go over how to add/change the cover of a fic in Calibre and how I like to create them.

Note: Even if the fic doesn't have embedded images, covers may have been made by readers and linked to the fic either in the notes or related works sections so it's worth checking if a cover already exists. If a fic is popular enough, a Google search of the fic's title + "cover" or "cover art" will show you if there have been covers already created for it.

Part Three — Making The Cover (I use Canva)

On the Canva homepage click "create a design" then select the "custom size" option. Canva does have a book cover template but I've found that it's awkwardly tall compared to the default size for Kindle books so I make my own.

I set the dimensions of the design to be 1024 pixels wide, and 1600 pixels tall, then click "create new design."

This is where you can get creative, make whatever you want. These basic steps are shown in a gif at the bottom of the section:

One: Choose a background image (you'll want to make sure it's a high enough quality that it won't be pixelated.) I used an image I had already uploaded into Canva, but you can use whatever you would like.

Two: On the sidebar, select "elements" and then "rectangle."

Three: Make sure the rectangle covers the whole design, then change the color. I like using the colors from the photo that Canva suggests and then making them a darker shade. Once you have the color that you want, reduce the transparency of the rectangle to anywhere between 40-50%. (This step ensures that the text we put on top of the image is easily legible, play around with it a bit.)

Four: On the sidebar, select "text" and then "add a text box." Then type in the author's username and change the font, the color, and the size until you like it. Repeat the same steps for the fic's title. I like to center the title on the page and put the author toward the bottom but that's just my preference.

Once your cover looks the way you want it to, click "share" at the top right and follow the steps to download the file as a PNG. I usually just save the image to my desktop so I can grab it easily once I'm in Calibre.

Part Four — Adding the Cover in Calibre

In your Calibre library, hover over the fic and right-click. Then hover over "edit metadata" and click "edit metadata individually."

On the "edit metadata" screen, find the section that says "change cover" and click "browse."

When the file upload dialog box appears, navigate to the PNG you just saved from Canva, select it, and click "open." This will add your cover to the fic. You can use these same steps to add any cover image that you've saved to your computer.

Make sure to click "ok" at the bottom of the screen to save your new cover and navigate back to the library page.

Part Five — Converting to EPUB

In your Calibre library, select the fic and then click "convert books" on the toolbar. At the top right of the converting screen, set the "output format" to "EPUB."

Now, the following steps are unnecessary little things I do to make my reading experience more seamless.

Click "Look & Feel" on the left sidebar. Under the "fonts" tab, I embed the "Georgia" font family. I do this because I prefer reading in Georgia which is not a default option on my PaperWhite*. I have my Calibre conversion settings in place to do this automatically. You can embed any font that you have on your computer.

*It might just be me, but when opening a downloaded fic (following the methods in this post) for the first time on my Kindle the font is always weird. The trick to fix it is to go and change the font from whatever is selected (Baskerville in my case) to "publisher's font" and then I've found that switching it back to "Baskerville" on the font selection screen activates the embedded Georgia... even though it will say that it's Baskerville? Idk why this is, I just wanted to let you know how I fix it.

Calibre defaults to a justified text alignment unless you change the default settings. This appears as "original" in the alignment options. The random too-large spaces between words of a justified alignment give me the ick so to make everything left aligned, I stay on the "look & feel" page but move to the "text" tab where I can change the alignment.

Staying on "look & feel," move to the "layout" tab. To ensure even paragraph spacing regardless of how it appeared on the archive, I select both the "remove spaces between paragraphs" and "insert blank line between paragraphs" options.

On this page, you can also change the indent size of the first line of every paragraph (highlighted pink,) and the size of the blank lines Calibre will insert between paragraphs upon conversion (highlighted green.) I set the indent to 0.0 and leave the line size 0.5 which is the default.

The last thing I do is go to "EPUB output" on the left sidebar and check the box labeled "insert inline table of contents." This just means that Calibre will add a table of contents to the beginning of the EPUB. (By default it puts the TOC at the end which I don't like.)

When everything is set as you'd like it, click "ok" on the bottom right and Calibre will convert the MOBI file you downloaded from ao3 to an EPUB containing the settings we just changed. Both file types will appear in your library when you click on the fic and scroll within the right-side window. I usually delete the MOBI format after I have the EPUB because I don't need it any longer.

And you've done it! Now all you have to do is either right-click and share it to your Kindle, or you can "save to disk" and download the EPUB file to transfer to your e-reader by a method of your choosing.

I hope someone finds this marginally helpful. In truth, I was just bored so I made this post but in light of the recent DDoS attacks against ao3, I think everyone should look into downloading their favorites so that you're never left out in the cold again.

Happy fanfic downloading <3

[emo-gremlin]

I think it’s time. Headcannons for Lolzhax x reader adopting a puppy (breed of your choice).

Lolzhax x Reader getting a puppy!!

(Based off this lil cutie I found on google!)

🌌 You two had lived on earth for a while now, Lolzhax was finally done calibrating to the atmosphere and oxygen levels of the planet.

🌌 You were at work when he sent you a text.

Lolz<3: I got a surprise for you! Wanted to celebrate my calibration completion! 😶‍🌫️🤐

🌌 You loved the robot to death, but man he couldn't use emojis properly for shit.

🌌 The house was covered in mud and soap suds when you got home.

🌌"THERE YOU ARE YOU RASCAL! YOU'RE CORNERED! YOU'RE GONNA GET BACK IN THAT BATHTUB AND GET NICE AND CLEAN BEFORE-"

🌌 The wet ball of fluff ran through his legs, bumping into you.

🌌 At your feet was a puppy, happily wagging his tail and looking up at you.

🌌 "I'm so sorry! I took him on a walk and he played in some mud! I wanted him to be clean before you met him!" Lolzhax explained.

🌌 Your eyes teared up, making the puppy look at you with its head tilted to the side.

🌌 "I love him. I love you." You ran into Lolzhax's arms, covering his screen in kisses. The puppy barked, lacing itself between you two.

🌌 Lolzhax sighed in relief. "Good. I know you wanted a pet, and when this lil guy looked at me in the shelter, I couldn't leave without him."

🌌 "You went to a shelter to get him?" You asked.

🌌 "Well, I did some research, and from my discoveries, I concluded going to a breeder would be unethical. Quality of life for the dog may not be as good as getting a mixed breed from a shelter. When I went to the shelter, I asked about it. The employee agreed and showed me this little guy. Apparently he came from a hoarders house."

🌌 The fact he'd done so much ahead of time warmed your heart. "I know how much you love animals, and I didn't want my inexperience with them to hinder you from living a life you love. All I ask is that we only have this lil guy for now, just so I can learn to care for and cohabitate with earth animals better."

🌌 You smiled, eyes tearing up a little. "I think I can live with that. Did they say what breed he was?"

🌌 "A Saymoed-Shiba mix." He replied.

🌌 "Babe. You know he's gonna end up huge, right?"

🌌 A look of fear came across his face. "What"

🌌 "Saymoeds are huge, fluffy dogs, and Shibas aren't far behind in size either."

🌌 "Oh no."

🌌 The puppy whimpered, wanting attention.

🌌 You picked him up, "Well, Rascal, we should get you cleaned up, hm? And then we gotta clean up the apartment."

🌌 "HOW BIG IS HE GONNA GET?!" Lolzhax shouted, following you.

Enjoy!

[hinge]

Hinge presents an anthology of love stories almost never told. Read more on https://no-ordinary-love.co

[catsncheesensushi]

Sparkling Hill resort

@888 Sparkling Pi, Vernon

Price range varies per person, event, retreat, escape and stay time,

C$468 - C$890 (Based on Average Rates for a Standard Room)

Pet friendly rooms are available at the resort! Two pets maximum per room.

This resort runs 24 hours every day. They have saunas, spas, massage centres, pools, hot tub, wellness retreats, and yoga/Pilates studio! This is for people who want to relax, have an escape from their chaotic life and for couples or friend groups who want to grow closer! The age restriction is 16 and older. Only guests 19 years or older are permitted to stay in a room. Any guests between 16 and 19 years of age must be accompanied by an adult and have a valid government issued photo ID.

Additional amenities include:

Daily complimentary à la carte breakfast at PeakFine

Locker rooms

Complimentary high-speed Wi-Fi & Google Chromecast

Valet parking – One vehicle per room

Fine dining

Room cleaning and service

KurSpa Inclusions:

Uniquely themed Steams & Saunas

Nature-themed Experience Showers

Heated outdoor Infinity Pool

Indoor Serenity Pool and Hot Pool

Kneipp Hydrotherapy

Tea and Serenity Relaxation Rooms

Fitness Studio with state-of-the-art Keiser equipment

Movement Studio

(Included with all stays)

There are two "escape" options:

Spring into Serenity: "Spring into brighter, calmer days with our special rate for stays in March & April. This offer includes a $100 dining credit for our new PeakFine Restaurant, and cherry blossom bath salts for a relaxing, end-of-day soak. This offer is available for midweek stays (Sundays – Thursdays), for selected dates."*

Spring into Serenity (local, Thompson-Okanagan residents): "Thompson-Okanagan residents, spring into brighter, calmer days with our local rate for midweek stays. This offer includes a $100 dining credit for our new PeakFine Restaurant, and cherry blossom bath salts for a relaxing, end-of-day soak. This offer is available for Sunday – Thursday arrivals, for selected dates in March & April."*

Retreats:

Be The Best You (Weight loss and fitness)

FOCUSed Relationship Retreat (Couples retreat, relationship foucused)

Pamper Me Endless (Wellness, spa and complementary gifts)

800 Shades of Sparkle (This luxurious 5-night stay includes in KurSpa, unlimited activity classes)

Getaways:

Couples Escape

Introductory Wellness Getaway

Canadian Residents Rate (stay-cation)

Girls Getaway

Sparkling Hill has been rewarded/declared a Luxury 4 diamond resort 💎💎💎💎

They also have a wellness "architect" who wants to help people to reach their greatest potential in their wellness. He has a PH.D in psychiatry/psychology and has decades of experiences in the psychology and mental wellness field.

Accessibility: The rooms are wheelchair accessible, as well as the rooms and amenities.

Insurance and payment: They do not provide insurance receipts, payment and special offers vary.

Reviews and success stories:

4.0 on tripadvisor

⭐⭐ ⭐⭐⭐ January 2025 (review on the food)

"We are so fortunate to have a resort of this calibre in our midst, so close to Vernon. I had the pleasure of staying for the week following their annual maintenance closure with a group of friends. The new “chef James inspired” dream menu is just that. I was especially impressed with the emphasis on seafood. From the deliciously prepared and delightful presentation of the “seafood tower” (complete with crab legs, oysters on the shell, jumbo prawns, tuna tataki) to the tender and perfectly seasoned calamari, cedar plank steelhead trout, and variations of Ahi tuna all were delightfully delicious. "

⭐⭐ ⭐⭐⭐ Anniversary getaway

"We enjoyed our 30th anniversary here! Four nights of relaxation and peace. We love the saunas and the pools. Breakfast was good, with some gluten-free options We enjoyed Gerni's farmhouse for dinner. They do gluten free schnitzel! The Java place also had gluten free desserts. All staff were courteous and helpful."

⭐⭐ ⭐⭐⭐ All the sparkle

"Can't believe this gem (literally) is so close to home. We did the couples package so it was a real treat to enjoy 3 course meals and get spa treatments. But it’s also lovely to float in the heated outdoor pool, use the steam and saunas, and look out at the glorious views."

Partnerships:

"Sparkling Hill is proud to partner with other BC resorts, local attractions and tourism associations to ensure our guests receive the best of the Okanagan. We support our preferred partners to make it easier for you to experience local attractions during your stay at our wellness oasis including incredible BC golf, wine tours and helicopter packages."*-Sparkling hill partnership page

Sparkling hill are partners with:

Tourism Vernon

Predator ridge

Trails Capital of BC

Kelowna Dream Car Rentals

Elite mile

Avalon Event Rentals

Valhalla Helicopters

Bush, Babes & bros trail running

Purple Rhino Events

You should come to this location one time at minimum to see desired results, such as:

A relaxing vacation, catch-up time with your friends, embracing your wellness/fitness or getting closer to a significant other. It is recommended to come back to the resorts multiple times in your life. This give your something to look forward to and can enhance the wellness in your life!

Quoted from the Sparkling Hill website*

[random-thought-depository]

I am curious what percentage of the population fits Jacopo-Belbo's definition of a functional adult (or, at least, the part of their definition they communicate in that post).

Jacopo-Belbo's declared standard for functional adulthood, in case you don't want to click the link (I'm not reblogging their post or tagging them on this because I judge it likely they'd be annoyed by that):

Re: ongoing first aid kit discourse, if you don’t have the following you’re not a functional adult: in-person Stop The Bleed training (USA, I don’t know about equivalent training in other countries, Google is free, stop asking me), NAR combat application tourniquets, Celox z-fold gauze, TacMed OLAES pressure dressing, NAR chest seals, and an annoying little bag to carry it all around in.

My offhand guess is that most people are not "functional adults" by this standard, so "if you don’t have the following you’re not a functional adult" here is roughly equivalent to "if you're a good person you wouldn't eat meat"; you can't really prove it wrong because of the inherent subjectivity of moral statements, but you can correctly point out that it's detached from the material conditions and normal standards of the society it was made in (and the person who made it probably knows that, and the statement reflects their belief in the superiority of their own standards over the normative ones of their society) and that lots of people who aren't "functional adults" by Jacopo-Belbo's definition are functional in the sense that they're getting by.

I don't actually have much data to back up that guess though, just some observations and inferences from my own experiences. So I decided to take advantage of Tumblr's new poll function to make a little calibration test of my intuitions. Also, that post does seem to have a lot of notes, and I'm curious how much of that is full agreement vs. reblogging to spread around the links and partial agreement but not fully endorsing it, and I think this poll might give me some sense of the probable rough breakdown of that.

I know Tumblr polls can be pretty unrepresentative because of social network effects, but I think this matter is probably going to be pretty orthogonal to the ways people who read my blog are likely to be unrepresentative of the general population.

Of course, one possible biasing factor is the post this is responding to stigmatizes not having this sort of preparation, and my poll question reproduces their framing for brevity. If it helps, a quick Google search says votes in Tumblr polls are anonymous, so you need not worry about being embarrassed, and you are completely free to reject Jacopo-Belbo's moral judgment about what answering "no" would say about you as a person (your thoughts are your own, after all). I'm not particularly interested in having a discussion about the reasonableness of their standards (which is why I haven't given my "take" on that question here), but I will note that at least in the richer and more stable countries nowadays most people will never have to treat a serious wound without assistance from medical professionals and this sort of wound-care training and supplies is one of those things where you'll probably never use it, but it's better to have it and not need it than to encounter a situation where you need it and don't have it. I'll also note that I suspect that post has an element of staking out a maximal position in response to maximal positions in the opposite direction (original discussion is here, here, and here if anyone wants to review it, I confess I have not done so because... well, look at the note count on the first one) and I'm not sure whether it's fully unironically endorsed by its own maker (the last criteria seems a little tongue-in-cheek).

Please note that I do not intend this post as an incitement to send internet hate mail to anyone; if you disagree with one of the participants in the linked threads and want to express your disagreement directly to them that's your right, but, like, I'm not encouraging that and if I wanted to start an argument with someone here I'd have reblogged or @ them. You do have my permission and encouragement to reblog this post to increase the sample size of my poll, though I'd prefer if this didn't get spread around too much.

I might pin this to the top of my Tumblr for a little while, to increase my sample size.

I think I forgot to switch the poll duration from 1 day to 1 week in my previous version of this post and I can't edit the poll once I've posted it, so I deleted and reposted with a 1 week limit. Sorry! However, @aurpiment already responded to my first version of this post, so I preserve their reply here:

Oh that’s my mutual! They were using hyperbolic language in frustration with another post on which there was discourseabout whether it’s reasonable to expect a household to have a first aid kit. Some people on that post thought first aid in general was unnecessary. I think you’re rather focused on the functional adult terminology. The spirit of their post is “of course you should know basic first aid, are you kidding me? It saves lives. It’s embarrassing to say first aid isn’t important. Go learn first aid for serious physical trauma.”

[rukafais]

Hi! I saw you mention in an ask recently that you have copies of the Drizzt books on your hard drive. I've been trying to find good quality ebooks of them for ages but every copy I get my hands on is filled with typos. :\ Would you mind sharing where you've found yours?

Some of them are from buying them online (usually through google play) and then converting them through Calibre so I can save them without DRM. There was a site that used to have good ones but it's gone now, sadly. Usually I just snag the ones I haven't bought from OceanPDF which kinda goes up and down in quality but they tend to be fairly solid.

[kitchenbrandstore]

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A regular fan consumes 80–85W, while a BLDC fan consumes just 35–45W. In a country like India, where fans run for 12–18 hours a day in summer, the savings can exceed ₹1400–1500/year per fan.

 Key Terms You Should Know Before Buying

 Sweep Size

The diameter of the circle formed by rotating blades.

Common sizes: 600mm to 1400mm

1200mm (48”) is the most popular in India

Ideal for rooms between 75–150 sq. ft.

Ensure 1.5 to 3 feet clearance from walls for good airflow

 Rod Length (Downrod)

The rod connecting the motor to the ceiling.

Higher ceilings = Longer downrods

Lower ceilings = Shorter downrods

False ceiling? Consider an extended rod

 Fan Types Based on Mounting

Ceiling Fans – Most common, suitable for most rooms

Wall Fans – Great for kitchens or areas with limited ceiling height

Table Fans / Pedestal Fans – Portable and ideal for temporary use

 Important Performance Specs

 Air Delivery (CFM)

Measured in cubic feet per minute. More CFM = Better cooling Look for: High air delivery with low energy usage for efficiency

 Air Flow Efficiency

Air moved per watt consumed BLDC fans are 2x more efficient than regular ones

 Number of Blades

3-blade fans: Modern, sleek, fast airflow

4 or 5-blade fans: Quieter, more balanced airflow, decorative appeal

 Noise Levels

BLDC fans: 30–40 dB

Conventional fans: 60+ dB Ideal for bedrooms, study rooms, offices

 Smart Control Features

 Remote Control

Most BLDC fans include RF remotes by default

Handy for elders or night use

Better than IR remotes (works without line of sight)

 App Control

Control via smartphone

Adjust speed, set timers, switch light colors (if available)

Ideal for tech-savvy homes

 Voice Control

Compatible with Alexa, Google Assistant

Great for smart homes

Convenient for people with limited mobility

 Regulator Control

Some models still support traditional wall regulators—great for those who prefer manual speed control

 Extra Smart Features

ON/OFF Timer – Auto turn-off during cooler mornings or when drying clothes

Speed Calibration – Precise linear speed adjustment

Night Mode – Dimmed light + lower speed operation

 Fan with Lights

If your room lacks adequate lighting, fans with built-in LED lights or night lamps can solve two problems at once. Decorative fan-lights add elegance to modern homes.

Types:

Downlights (LED or Lamps)

Ambient Night Lights

 Ease of Cleaning & Maintenance

Smooth blades = Easy to wipe

Avoid fans with intricate designs unless decorative purpose is high

Anti-dust / anti-rust coatings are mostly marketing—regular cleaning is key

 Don’t Forget the Cotter Pin!

This small component keeps your fan blades securely attached to the shaft. A loose cotter pin = Dangerous wobble Always ensure it's installed and checked during maintenance

 Installation Tips

Hire a licensed electrician

BLDC fans often require trained technicians from the brand

Ensure proper ceiling height and structural support

A ceiling fan is more than just a cooling device—it’s a long-term investment. And in 2023, BLDC technology is the future. It’s smarter, quieter, and better for your wallet and the environment.

Whether you’re upgrading an old fan or setting up a new space, use this guide to make a confident choice. Visit Kitchen Brand Store online or in-store for a wide variety of energy-efficient and stylish ceiling fans to beat the heat this summer.

 Installation Support: 1800 266 1880

 WhatsApp Dealer Support: 987 366 1880

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Why Your PPC Campaign Isn’t Converting And How to Fix It

In the speedy world of digital advertisement, PPC campaigns are often talked about as the quickest way to generate that lead. And many a marketer may wonder why their meticulously prepared ads don't get conversions. They may well be churning out the clicks, and the impressions are high, so what about conversions?

So where is the fault?

Whenever a PPC campaign is performing poorly, then it is time for one to check out everything with a little more depth. There may be mismatches in targeting, along with unimportant landing pages, or any other number of things causing your potential buyers to slip through your fingers. Good news for you: There exists a solution for each problem.

1. Poor Targeting and Audience Mismatch

Poor targeting is one of the most common mistakes. Just because your ad is up and running, it does not mean it is reaching the right people. Many campaigns fail to convert because they are showing their ads to people who are not interested in buying—or are not even ready to make an actual purchase.

How to fix it:

Use detailed audience segmentation. Platforms like Google Ads and Facebook Ads allow it to be targeted with granularity-age, location, behavior, interests, or device usage. Don't just stop at broad keywords; rather ensure that your targeting is consistent with the profile of your ideal buyer!

2. Weak Ad Copy That Doesn’t Resonate

Ad copy is clear-reference to the so-called magic-that can make or break a sale. Perhaps being offered is a good service, but poor copy will not grab the client's attention by hitting his pain points and emotions, and he just swipes on by. To make it worse, the use of a vague CTA like "Click Here" offers no motivation at all.

How to fix it:

Keep ad copy sharp, focused on benefits, and scoped to user intent. Where applicable, touch an emotional core or highlight some positive aspects for the user. Effective CTAs include "Get Your Free Quote Today" or "Download Your Guide Now."

3. Irrelevant or Slow Landing Pages

A click was finally achieved for your ad. What happens next? If the landing page is not in tune with what the message of the ad is or if it takes too long to load, the bounce first rate of users skyrockets. A landing page that is cluttered, non-mobile-friendly, or lacking a clear CTA is a conversion killer.

How to fix it:

A landing page should load within two seconds, should give good faith to what the message of the ad intends, and steer the visitor toward performing a single clear action. Also, use compelling headlines, include good trust signals such as testimonials and certifications, and proceed with any mobile-responsive design. Keep off from distractions, such as unnecessary menus or external linking.

4. Lack of A/B Testing and Data Analysis

Make way for a wonderful calibrated PPC success; the victory never happens the very first time. Not doing any continuous testing and analysis is then like shooting in the dark. Many businesses tend to set up their campaigns and forget them, thus forgoing the precious data that could be used to fine-tune their strategy.

How to fix it:

A/B test everything from headlines and CTAs to landing page designs, even the placement of ads. Track your campaign metrics-bounce rates, CTRs, conversion rates, costs per conversion. Google Analytics and Google Ads forums have great insights to scientific analyses. The data ought to be used for ongoing optimization of the campaign.

Where Digital Strategy Meets Smart Execution

Many companies, due to their incompetence in generating working PPC campaigns, believe that PPC as such is the root of the problem-wrong execution. A high-performing campaign is one that entails a fair share of creative elements, crunching analysis, and technical nitty-gritty. Every particular must count-from keyword research and competitor analysis to ad extensions and retargeting.

This is where experienced digital professionals can make a huge impact. Rather than balancing campaign management with your core business activities, think about hiring experts living and breathing performance marketing.

The Role of Experts Like Globosoft

Being in Kerala's hectic digital market, especially when it comes to marketing in Cochin, the company—including Globosoft—can really make a difference. Globosoft stands tall as the reputed digital marketing agency making sure that PPC campaigns for business are planned and executed to the conversion phase.

Globosoft, with their team of highly-oriented marketers and SEO experts, combine their deep technical knowledge in the field with industry-first mentality. PPC services include everything from behavior-based targeting, dynamic ad creation, and well-optimized landing page development to constant campaign monitoring... all to ensure that clients earn ROI. Their approach is data-driven and specifically catered to each client's indicators versus the one cap fits all approach.

Conclusion

If your PPC campaign isn’t converting, the process shouldn’t be treated as lost; rather, accommodation should be made to rethink the plan. Proper targeting, compelling copywriting, landing pages that convert, and data-based decision making can flip the script. For expert assistance in Digital Marketing in Cochin, Globosoft possesses the tools, team, and proven track record that would help your PPC campaigns not just survive but thrive.