#no physical description

[cambria-writes]

happy all hallow's eve! i hope everyone's had a good weekend! i'm excited for tomorrow; since pretty much everyone but the four people (myself included) in our office are out for a few days my coworkers and i are gonna dress up. cross your fingers that my costume still fits because i'm having my dad bring it with him (we work together) when he picks me up in the morning.

i have proofread this a massive two (2) times so if i've missed anything please lmk!

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader rating: M, each chapter rated individually warnings: mention of guns, minor injuries, nancy gets Free Trauma, she/her reader without physical description, reader might be turning into a mary-sue but who cares? not me!, eddie growls in this one word count: 4,503 Previous Next Masterlist

𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕰𝖑𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖓: 𝔇𝔦𝔳𝔦𝔫𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫

Running through the woods had been bad enough and left you with burning lungs. You did not expect having to steal a bike from Nancy Wheeler’s neighbour and booking it back to Forest Hills. (Though you’re pretty sure it’s not really stealing, considering there isn’t really anyone around to own it in the first place. Not here.)

Though you nearly crash your purloined bike a few times on the way, the lot of you manage to make it back to the Munson trailer… relatively intact. Robin leans against you at the bottom of the trailer’s steps, heaving just about as much as you. 

“This wasn’t supposed to be,” Robin starts, one arm on your shoulder and one on her knee as she doubles over to catch her breath. “This isn’t supposed to be gym class.” 

“Fuck, tell me about it,” you whine, opting to lean your head back and clasping your hands behind your neck. “This is torture, I hate this.” 

“Cheer up,” Steve says, a little too jovially for someone red in the face from exertion. “We’re almost out of here. C’mon.” He claps Robin on the back in passing and nearly knocks her off her feet. 

“Hey, you gonna be alright?” Eddie asks, coming up behind you to rest a hand on your other shoulder. Robin clears her throat loudly and skitters after Steve. You frown at her, but turn to Eddie to shake your head. 

“Yeah, no, I’m fine,” you huff, swallowing loudly and trying to measure your breathing. “Being a librarian isn’t like, a super active job. Not used to this anymore.”

Eddie snorts and squeezes your shoulder for a second before letting go. 

“Just. Lemme know if you need anything?” It’s your turn to snort when you walk past him up the steps, heeding an impatient Steve gesturing at you both to hurry up. 

“I know this song and dance already, big guy,” you say over your shoulder. 

Inside, flashlights pointed up at the ceiling, Steve is the first to speak up. 

“God damn.” 

“That’s,” Eddie starts, and you don’t have to look back at him to know you don’t like the expression on his face. “That’s where Chrissy died. Like, right where she died.”

“I don’t see why you’re surprised,” you frown, leaning forward to look at Steve. “Didn’t you guys like, come through one of these? Where Patrick died?” 

“Yeah, but it’s like, it’s actually here, y’know?” Robin whispers, taking a cautious step forward before roughly being pulled back by Steve. 

“Woah, wait a sec,” he says, taking a step forward instead and squinting at the gate. Behind you, Eddie grabs both your arms like he’s worried you’re about to topple over. “What’s—”

Something punches through the gate with a disgusting, slimy-cunchy sound, and in fact if it hadn’t been for Eddie holding you still behind you, your jolt might’ve actually knocked you on your ass. You instinctively grab for the gun tucked into your waistband. Whatever it is wiggles around and… seems to clear the way? 

Though Steve is the first one to try and approach the gate, you grab him by the wrist and place the Beretta in his hand. He nods quickly before making his way closer, keeping the gun aimed up at the ceiling as he does. His arm quickly goes down though, and when you hear him utter ‘no way’, you quickly make your way to him and look up.

And there are the kids, all safe and accounted for. Dustin’s nearly cackling as he waves up—down?—at you from the trailer’s living room. 

“Well holy shit,” you whisper, feeling your face split into a grin. 

“Hi there!” Dustin greets, and you can’t help but slap Eddie excitedly in the arm. 

He’s met with a chorus of tired but enthused greetings

“Bada bada boom!”

“Please tell me he didn’t get that from you,” you whisper to Eddie, turning to look up at him. 

“Absolutely the hell not.” You huff out a short laugh before Steve and Nancy start directing the kids through the gate. 

Quickly enough, there’s a rope made out of the blankets Dustin and Erica can find throughout the trailer, and Lucas and Max unceremoniously throw a mattress down on the floor beneath the portal. With several quirked eyebrows directed at him, Eddie shrugs his shoulders and clears his throat. 

“Those stains are, uh,” he starts, frowning before shrugging again. “I dunno what those stains are.” 

“I’m showering after this,” Robin says quietly, and you can’t help but hum in agreement despite the elbow in the ribs you get in retaliation. 

When the makeshift rope falls through the ceiling, you can’t help but move to grab it. Dustin urges you to give it a good tug. When it stays put, you swallow what was sure to be a cackle and, once you’ve got a good grip, let yourself swing.

You don’t even try to stop the laughter that bubbles up your throat when you feel Eddie pull you down and away, arms tight around your stomach. He swivels around to drop you back on the ground. 

“Yeah no we’re trying to be serious here,” Eddie says, and though he’s probably trying to reprimand you for being a little too carefree, you can still hear the smile in his voice. 

“I’m absolutely being serious! I was testing to see if it would hold my weight!” 

“Sure dude,” he scoffs. Eventually, when Dustin voices his impatience, Eddie squares his shoulders and gives the rope a solid tug. “No objections to my going first?” 

“None here, have at it,” Steve answers, crossing his arms and taking a step back. 

“Just warn us if you start feeling woozy or like you’re being pulled apart by magic invisible hands,” Robin throws in, and you can’t help but worry at the skin of your lips. 

There’s… no chance you’ll get dismembered going through, right? The blanket’s perfectly fine, you reason with yourself, watching as Eddie pulls himself closer to the ceiling. You hold your breath until he lands with a thump on the mattress on the other side. 

“Thank fuck,” you sigh, taking a step back and motioning for Robin to go ahead when she puts her hand on the rope. When she makes it through equally unscathed and thrilled, you turn to look at Nancy and Steve in turn. 

“I’ll go last,” Steve says, a gentle hand on her shoulder pushing Nancy towards the rope. 

“Not really gonna object to that,” you say in turn, pulling the gun from your waistband. After flipping  the safety off and making sure it’s cocked, you pass it over to Steve, holding the barrel down. You open your mouth to say something when it feels like something, all at once, is trying to force your brian out of your eyes. 

The sound around you feels like it’s being filtered through cotton, and though you can make out Eddie and the kids shouting from the other sides, you can more clearly make out the fact that Steve is calling Nancy’s name. 

From where you’re crouched, nearly doubled over, on the ground, you crack open a sore eyelid to see Nancy stood stock still, eyes rolled back. You’re sure you make some kind of frustrated sound while you clench your jaw and force yourself to stand. You stumble forward to brace yourself against Steve’s shoulder, blindly reaching out for Nancy. Steve doesn’t say anything when he grabs your hand and puts it against her shoulder. 

And while the relief is immediate and you no longer feel like someone is trying to use your skull as a tube of toothpaste, you also lose all bearing and sense of space. One second you see a house with a beautiful stained glass window, the next it’s spiders, and then it’s the intensely loud, overwhelming buzzing of what you know is a tattoo gun. There’s nothing for you to do, like this; you barely feel your body at all. 

You can’t move. Much less speak. 

You can’t speak, but you can think, at least. And you’re pretty sure that you’ve still got your hand on Nancy’s shoulders. So, with what little focus and energy you have left, praying that no one’s decided to step on the mattress, you try to ignore the sights and sounds around you and focus on Eddie’s trailer.

You’re almost relieved when you feel your stomach drop, and when you start to feel Nancy’s knit sweater under your fingers, you think you grip it so tightly it might rip. 

You’re knocked out before you even hit the ground.

You’re dreaming.

That’s the first thought that runs through your head.

Everything is black around you, as far as you can see. There’s water lapping at your feet, barely an inch deep. You kick your right foot up, then your left. You put your hands up in front of you and look at them. Flex your fingers slowly, one by one, before turning your hands over to look at your palms. You make fists as tightly as you can before releasing the tension and letting your hands fall back down to your sides.

It’s quiet here. Nice. Calm. You could stay here a while, you think.

So you sit down on the water-covered ground and pull your knees up to your chest. You tap your toes in the water. It’s not cold, you don’t think. If anything, it’s the exact same temperature as the air around you. The only real indication that you’re in water is the vague cooling sensation you get when it starts evaporating from your skin, and when it seeps up into your clothes. 

There isn’t even any ringing in your ears, you notice. 

It’s completely quiet. 

You find yourself wishing there was music, and no sooner do you think it does a small tape deck appear in front of you. In the time it took you to blink, it was just… there. You can almost feel all the muscles in your face when you frown. You can tell there’s already a cassette in there. Uncurling yourself,you slowly crawl a few feet forward and reach out to hit the play button. The familiar opening of Burnin’ For You fills the empty void you’re sitting in, and just the sound feels like a warm blanket around you. 

There’s a brief moment where you think you can hear another voice, just under the music. But you’re quick to ignore it; you’re comfortable here. No pain, no pressure, no obligation, nothing at all, in fact. Except for you, and music, and comfortable lukewarm water.

The obvious and discordant sound of a busy dial tone makes you sigh. You stab at the stop button with a little too much force, but the sudden silence lets you hear someone gasp behind you. 

You nearly trip and land face first in your hurry to get up. And when you turn around, water splashing around you, there’s a scream stuck in your throat. You shuffle back a few steps and put your hands down from where you had thrown them up in front of you .

“Are… Eleven?” 

She’s taller, obviously, and her hair’s buzzed short instead of the length you’d dreamt of it being at Starcourt. But there’s something about her expression that makes it almost impossible to mistake who she is. 

She frowns and turns to look behind her. When she does, it’s like wisps of smoke appear out of nowhere and rapidly coalesce into the inside of someone’s trailer. Or, part of it, at least. You’re not entirely sure how, but you get the impression that it’s Max’s. You can see the TV set and the couch, you can see the wall, and everyone gathered around Nancy.

Fear forgotten in lieu of concern and curiosity, to walk up next to Eleven and stare on at the scene in front of you. 

“What is this place?” 

“In between,” Eleven says, turning to look at you instead. “How are you here?” 

“I don’t know,” you answer quietly, turning to look at her as well. “I’ve never—this hasn’t happened before. Is it because of you?” 

Eleven doesn’t answer in favour of heading off towards everyone, walking briskly behind the couch Dustin is standing next to. She’s next to the television and looking around, confused, when she points at everyone. 

“You. Where are you?” 

“Wha-what do you mean, where am I? I’m right here.” 

“No,” Eleven says, with an edge of frustration in her voice. “There, with them. Where are you?”

You frown and open your mouth in realization. She’s… you assume she’s right in thinking you should be around there, in the trailer, somewhere. You turn around on yourself once, trying to see if anything else will just suddenly materialize in front of you, but there’s nothing. 

“Eddie’s not there either, so he’s probably with me,” you say in a hurry, walking over to Eleven. “Do you know who he is? Mike probably told you, right? Long hair, about this tall—”

You move to put your hand up, but Eleven quickly grabs your hand and pulls you along with her with a nod. She pulls you back through the living room and, you imagine, through the trailer hallway, and just like magic, wisps of smoke appear again. And there you are, laid down on a bed, with Eddie cradling your head and pressing something to the back of your neck.

“That’s… really fucking weird,” you mutter, reaching up to touch the back of your neck when you feel something cool there. “In between… is this like, some kind of limbo? Are we having an out of body experience right now?” 

“Kind of, I guess,” Eleven says almost airly, moving to crouch next to your unconscious body on the bed. “What happened to you?” 

“I guess I passed out after I plane shifted.” 

“What’s… plane shifting?” 

You let out an amused huff and lower yourself to the ground next to Eleven. “I can go back and forth between home and the Upside Down by myself. I can just think about it and then… poof.”

“Poof,” she repeats quietly, reaching out for your body’s hand on the bed. You grab her wrist before she can touch you. 

“Wait, I can’t wake up yet.” You let her go when Eleven pulls her hand back into her lap. “What do you know about what’s happening right now? Do you know about Vecna?” 

“Henry.” 

“I’m sorry what?” 

“His name is Henry,” she clarified, holding out her forearm to you. You gingerly let your fingers rest below the 011 tattoo. “He’s number One.” 

“Fuck me,” you breathe, pulling your hand away in favour of running it through your hair. “So he’s like you? From the lab?” 

Eleven frowns but nods. “How do you know?” 

“I’ve dreamt about you. About everything that’s happened since…” You trail off and swallow thickly. “Since, uh. Since Will went missing. When you opened the gate.”

Though she turns to look away from you, you have a feeling you know what kind of expression is on her face. You clear your throat and wring your hands in your lap. 

“So what.. Did you hear anything they were talking about back there?” 

A nod. “They want to kill him. Kill Henry, when he’s trying to kill Max.” 

“I’m sorry what?” 

“She’s going to stop the music and make him hunt her,” Eleven continues, and you hear the same anger beginning to bubble up in her voice as you’re feeling in your chest. “When he’s alone in the attic, they’re going to kill him.”

“That’s insane!” you shout, standing up and motioning wildly behind you. “They’ll get themselves killed! There’s no way he’s not going to know they’re coming after him!”

“I know,” Eleven says curtly, getting up and turning to you, grabbing at your wrist. “But hey won’t be alone. I’ll get out. I can help.” 

“Get out?” You repeat,using your free hand to grab at her shoulder. “Get out of where? Where are you?”

“I don’t have time,” Eleven says, turning her head to look at the scene behind her that’s slowly starting to fade away. “I don’t have time,” she repeats more urgently, and pulls at your wrist when she turns back to look at you. “But you do. You need to help them. You need to hide them.” 

“What—man, you don’t make sense, how am I supposed to hide four grown ass—”

“I have to go,” Eleven cuts you off, releasing your wrist and stepping away. “Tell them when you wake up. Tell them I’m coming. Please. Hide them. Hide.” 

You’re gasping for breath when you wake up like you’d been unable to breathe for the past few minutes. You don’t bother opening your eyes. You reach out and wave your hand around for a second before it finds and lands on Eddie’s face, effectively shutting him up, and push him away. 

“Quiet, nerd, I’m processing,” you croak, pulling the cold washcloth from beneath your neck and covering your eyes with your free arm. 

“Processing?” Eddie parrots incredulously, swatting your hand away and out of his face. “The hell does that mean?”

You sigh wearily and groan as you try to sit up. When your arms buckle and before you can fall back down, Eddie’s sat down on the side of the bed and throws an arm around your shoulders and a hand beneath your collarbones to help prop you up. 

“How long have I been out?” 

“Literally hours, dude, it’s already morning.”

You swear under your breath and gesture wildly at Eddie to get off the bed. When he does, you swing your legs over the side and, with a deep breath, get up and hold onto his shoulder for dear life. 

“Oh boy, being conscious doesn’t feel good,” you groan, wrapping your free arm around your stomach and swallowing down the nausea. “They got anything to eat? I need food before I rip Max a new one.”

With his arm now under yours, Eddie half-drags you to the kitchen counter, which you immediately slump against. He’s rummaging through the cupboard, and it’s only when you have your hand deep in a half-empty box of cheerios that you realize it’s eerily quiet in the trailer. 

You look up to find everyone doing their best to pretend they hadn’t been staring very intently at you just a second earlier. You slowly resume your crunchy chewing and swallow loudly before waving at the small crowd in front of you.

“I’m fine, you may resume your commiserating until I’ve eaten enough to bitch about how fucking stupid your plan is.”

Your comment is greeted with a cacophony of arguments—”It’s not stupid!” and “Do you have a better idea?” and, your favourite, “We don’t have our witch so what else can we do?”

You finish your second handful of cheerios and nod quietly, trying to untangle each upset voice from each other and clear your throat. 

“You don’t physically have your witch,” you specify, digging back into the box of cheerios. Eddie helpfully passes you a bottle of something to wash it down. Though you hope it’s beer, a quick sniff of it reveals that it’s just boring root beer. 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Steve asks, arms crossed from his place on the couch. “El’s literally not here.”

“Physically, no, you’re right,” you start, passing the box over to Eddie who eagerly shoves his hands in it with a quiet thank you. “We talked. She’s gonna—”

“You talked?” Dustin cuts you off, incredulously, holding a hand out to make you pause. “You talked. To Eleven. You were just gonna move right on past that?”

“Yeah, Henderson, we talked. Shut up and listen,” you grumble, and with a grunt of effort, pull yourself up to sit on the counter. “She doesn’t like the idea of you,” you start, staring intently at Max. “Using yourself as bait. And honestly? I hate the idea too, it’s way too dangerous. Y’all seem to have forgotten that we don’t just have a couple bloodthirsty, hormonal sportsball players after us. It’s the whole god damn town. Anyone finds any one of us and we’re screwed. Nevermind literally anything finding us in the Upside Down.”

“No one’s looking for me or Robin, or even Steve,” Nancy retorts, almost too quietly for you to hear. She glances around at the other two and they both nod eagerly. 

“Yeah,” Robin chimes in. “I fly under everyone’s radar, no one’s gonna be looking for me.”

You shake your head and cross your arms. “Won’t matter, if you’re seen with any of the rest of us, you’re done. Right? Cause you kids got yourselves arrested?”

Lucas, Dustin and Max have the decency to look down or away when you look at them. 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” You sigh and throw your head back, looking up at the ceiling like it’ll offer some kind of reassurance or encouragement. Though it doesn’t come from the ceiling, you do feel a warm hand gently rest on your knee. You run your tongue along your teeth when you bring your head back and look at Eddie.

“You got a plan in there, Cleric?” He asks, turning to put the now-empty box of cheerios in the sink. 

“Eleven said she’s coming,” you start slowly, looking down at your socked feet as you swing them. “I don’t know where she is, she just said she’d ‘get out’, whatever that means.” 

“She’s in trouble,” Lucas says, looking over at Dustin. “That's probably why no one’s picking up the phone. No way Mike would just sit there and do nothing.” 

“And if Mike’s gone, so’s Will.” Dustin adds, and there’s a dawning look of realization creeping into everyone’s face. 

“And where Will goes—” Robin starts, looking over to Nancy. 

“...Jonathan follows.”

“Shit,” Dustin whispers, bringing both hands up to his head and turning away. 

“So I’m guessing that this is like, a really bad thing.” Eddie looks nervously back and forth between everyone, until his eyes land back on you. “Anything else?” 

“Well, I know Vecna is Henry,” you start, and Dustin and Lucas both say ‘One’ at the same time. “Right, whatever, Miscellaneous TK Asshole. Doesn’t matter. Point is that he’s just another lab kid like Eleven.”

“Absolutely not just like Eleven,” Steve grumps. 

“No, she’s right,” Dustin says. “We literally just talked about this.”

“Yeah and the conclusion of that conversation was fucking stupid,” you reiterate, and don’t miss how Eddie’s fingers grip your knee justa bit tighter. “It’s reckless. If any of us get interrupted at any point, or if someone so much as spots us, we’re done for.”

“We haven’t figured out the distraction either,” Eddie adds, and you frown as you turn to look at him. 

“What distraction?” 

“One team goes to kill Vecna in the Upside Down and one team distracts the demobats,” Steve explains quickly, though it sounds like he’s starting to realize that yeah, it does sound like a dumb plan, actually. 

“Demobats, alright,” you mutter, rubbing your face with both hands before letting them fall into your lap. “The whole killing Vecna thing is the only good part about that. Using Max as bait is too risky. Using people as a distraction is also fucking stupid. Do none of you remember—”

The lump in your throat forces you to stop talking. You lick your lips nervously and look back up to the ceiling to try and dry your misty eyes. 

“...she’s not wrong,” Nancy speaks up, a little bit louder this time. “There’s already enough people dead. We don’t need to be taking unnecessary risks.”

You’re pinching the bridge of your nose to attempt to get your lacrimal glands back under control when it hits you. Hide them, she said. You start to snap your fingers and point to Eddie and Dustin in turn. 

“Uhhh, quick, uh, the uh, the cleric spell list, prevents evil damage or something.”

Dustin and Eddie both flounder for a second before Lucas is the one to answer. 

“P-protection from evil!”

“That’s the bitch!” You shout, hopping off the counter and bouncing off your feet. “For all intents and purposes, TK Asshole is a lich, right? I can just ‘Protection From Evil’ you before you go find Vecna and you’ll be good!” 

“That’s assuming you can even do that,” Steve points out, uncrossing his arms to gesture vaguely at you. “You can go to the Upside Down and apparently prevent someone from like, telepathically communicating with you, but that doesn’t mean you can do anything else.” 

You huff through your nose and, in an act of defiance, screw your eyes shut. 

This unleashes a wave of panicked screaming and you’re backed up into the counter by Eddie, whose hands have a vice grip on your shoulders and whose eyes are nearly wild with fear. 

“Do not,” he growls, actually growls, out at you. You put your hands up in surrender with a quiet whimper. He keeps you in place for a few more seconds as the room quiets down, but gives you a small shake before letting go. “Don’t.” You nod mutely before the room’s attention is drawn back to Lucas. 

“If he does work like a lich,” he starts, looking from Dustin to Erica before his eyes land on Eddie. “He’s gonna have a phylactery.”

“Please make sense,” Robin pleads from her place on the floor. 

“A phylactery is kind of like, a genie’s bottle, I guess?” You try to explain, looking over to Eddie for help. 

“Basically it won’t matter if we kill him if he has an object his life essence is tied to. He’ll just keep coming back.” 

“How do we know he even has one of those things?” Steve asks. 

“It’s actually not all that crazy,” Dustin says, motioning to you. “Everything she can do matches the cleric spell list. So far, almost everything we’ve encountered works just like some kind of DND mechanic.”

“Which is absolutely weird and insane.”

“Thank you, Robin, that is weird and insane,” Steve huffs, frowning. “What if it’s just a coincidence?” 

“Yeah, I mean, you can’t even use Cure Light Wounds,” Erica throws in, and you scoff and hold up your palms. She quirks a brow and looks at you like you grew another head. 

“I kind of crash landed and busted my hands when I plane shifted to find you bozos,” you explain, nodding over at Nancy, Steve and Robin. “I didn’t want to risk it on Steve, so I tried it on myself when we were walking to the Wheelers’ house. It didn’t really do anything on the spot, but,” and you shake your hands to bring the attention back to the smooth, unmarred skin of your palms. “It kicked in at some point. So yeah, I absolutely can use Cure Light Wounds, thank you.”

You’re getting really tired of the room’s decibel count obnoxiously rising almost every other time you open your mouth.

𝓣𝓪𝓰𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽

@anothermunsonsimp @doratheignora @storiesbyrhi @alovesongshewrote

let me know if you want to be tagged in future updates!

[cy-cyborg]

People on the internet: they can't hire actors who are actually in wheelchairs to play wheelchair users in movies! What if there's a scene where they need to stand up? A wheelchair user can't do that!

Robert Rodriguez: hold my beer

This is a scene from spy kids 3 - a movie in a series famous for its shoe-string budgets, where Ricardo Montalbán's character is in a wheelchair, but spends most of his screen time in a digital reality where he doesn't need it. Ricardo Montalbán was actually in a wheelchair though in real life, so they just used a combination of VFX and camera tricks (and a dolly for a few shots) to film those scenes. Also if I remember correctly the movie ends with him back in the real world, fighting a mech with his jet-pack wheelchair lmao.

The disability rep is dated (as is the VFX lol) and does fall into a lot of tropes I personally dont like, but it's so earnest in their attempts, and the visible effort behind the scenes to include a real, disabled actor outweighs it for me - even as a kid who wasnt fully aware of why.

Bigger studios have no excuse.

I've linked the video I got these screenshots from, they talk a lot about how they handled Ricardo Montalbán's character being out of his wheelchair there. If if you like behind the scenes stuff for campy old movies, I highly recommend it!

[ID 1: a screenshot of the movie Spy kids 3D, showing Juni, the main character in a suit of yellow power armour, talking to his grandfather, who towers over him in red power armour. his grandfather is kneeling so he can be at eye level with him.

the caption underneath reads "where he kneels down and talks to Juni" /end ID 1]

[ID 2: a photo of the same shot but without the effects. Grandpa is shown to be in a wheelchair, and is being held at the needed height by a moveable platform his wheelchair is sitting on. Juni is wearing the armour, grandpa is not, and there are green screens behind them.

the caption underneath reads "but we just had him lowered in a dolly" /end ID 2]

[bluastro-yellow]

Kurvitz stresses that Kim doesn't actually have a character sheet hidden in Disco Elysium's code. Imagining that Lieutenant Kitsuragi has only one natural attribute point in Motorics helps the ZA/UM team to understand the depth of his character beyond what's referenced in the game's dialogue. "We just came up with this stuff for coherency," says Kurvitz. "And because we're nerds."

"I like to think Kim has a Thought Cabinet project called Revolutionary Aerostatic Brigades that he's worked on since he was a teenager," Kurvitz says. "This raises the learning caps for his Reaction Speed and Interfacing."

Kim's high Volition skill makes him impervious to prying, Kurvitz says, as the detective can find out on occasions being met with Kim's brick-wall resolve. Kim often chastises these whims of the detective's, but will occasionally play along. The Lieutenant finds his new partner funny, says Kurvitz.

Kim is naturally shit at Motorics and thinks Harry is funny source

[incendavery]

splish splash

[blackkatdraws2]

Whenever Stanley closes his eyes, he can feel the older man's aura surrounding him. [Blank Scripts AU]

[wakkass]

Katara's Lightning: waterbending technique

Part 2

By a happy coincidence, one firebender who just knows how to redirect lightning joined the Gaang. You have no idea how excited I was when I realized the potential for Zuko and Katara's interaction in this concept.

Two benders of opposing elements turn to each other's elements to master one phenomenon: lightning. She's a waterbender who creates this lightning, and he's a firebender who repels it. One draws these skills from the other's martial art: lightning redirection is based on the concept of waterbending, while lightning is a firebending technique.

This is not just a combination of elements, it's their unification into something whole. Mix water and fire! It would seem impossible, but Katara and Zuko are people who have always gone beyond human capabilities to achieve their goals. If they can't do it, no one can.

Thus, by blurring the boundaries between fire and water, they destroy the illusion of difference between peoples (if you remember, this topic was raised by Guru Pathik in book 2). People of water and fire can work together, help and even complement each other.

After all, in fact, each of them makes up for the lack of the other. Katara can't control the lightning, and Zuko can't create it to further deflect it. They need each other for the balance of power. Like Yin and Yang, like day and night, like the sun and moon. How beautiful it is, I can’t.

I think the whole idea of Katara personifying anger would have continued with Zuko joining the team. When he appeared, she found nothing better than to center her rage on him. He betrayed her, this is justified anger. He's the prince of the nation that started the war, he is responsible for these horrors. He's the son of the one who ordered her mother killed.

However, Zuko did something that no one expected, especially Katara: he allowed her to let go of the anger of her life. He achieved this by redirecting the power of her rage to the real culprit of all Katara's worries - the murderer of her mother. And the reprisal against him gave her inner peace and a solution to a problem that seemed unsolvable.

Her anger was just like lightning, which was eager to strike at least someone, just to throw out the accumulated energy. Righteous, but throwing itself at everyone. Zuko didn't hide it, didn't calm it down, but redirected it to where it was needed, finding the necessary target.

This is another metaphorical aspect of their joint technique. He learned to channel her lightning not just through training, but through interaction and strengthening their personal connection. And the result was that understanding at a glance, which formed the basis of their fighting style. I don't know about you, but I thought this summed up their relationship perfectly.

Thus, from now on, she can rely on Zuko and trust him not only with the emotional burden, but also with their lives in the midst of a storm, both metaphorical and literal. After all, she knows that he will always deflect lightning from innocent...

Remember this moment? Zuko and Katara fight back to back, showing their shared trust in each other and cooperation as warriors. But imagine if, on top of everything else, they trained a joint technique for generating lightning and then directing it. It looks so cool in my head, it’s a pity I’m not an animator and/or storyboard artist, I don’t know how to stage scenes (((

And then, when lightning seemingly brought Zuko and Katara together, it ended up nearly tearing them apart, taking his life.

Because Zuko will always deflect lightning from Katara…

< Part 1

[uncanny-tranny]

You know, I don't necessarily buy into the idea of "you die twice; once when your heart stops beating, and the second when you are forgotten" because I don't think we're truly forgotten.

Throughout history, we've found proof of people existing, well after their death, well after they've been forgotten by their community and time. Even if we do not have names for these people, we know they were alive. We touch their bones, and we internalize their lives. We learn how they lived through the stories we interpret from their bones, and then we tell others about them. They haven't been forgotten, and it's not unlikely that you won't be forgotten.

Why is it that we only "count" if we are immortalized in the history books, if we scar time to the point nothing would be the same if we were forgotten?

And, anyway, look at this cat, who died so long ago, but whose memory is still remembered:

[thedisablednaturalist]

"It is illegal for an employer to discriminate based upon disability! So if you have no excuse if you are unemployed!"

Employers:

[ID: Snippets of job requirements. By bromantically]

1. "This position requires the individual to drive either a company car, rental car or his/her own car in the course of performing their job from time to time. Employee must be able to perform the physical functions of operating a motor vehicle, including use of eyes, ears, arms, hands, legs, and feet. Employee must be able to prove that he/she has a current, valid driver’s with no restrictions." The part that says, "Employee must be able to perform the physical functions of operating a motor vehicle, including use of eyes, ears, arms, hands, legs, and feet." has been highlighted.

2. "Ability to repetitively stoop, crawl, bend at the knees and waist, squat and lift 50 lbs; includes body weight, equipment, tools and boxes, in addition to ability to stand for long periods of time on varied surfaces. Must be able to stand up to five hours at a time." End ID.]

[maladaptiveobsession]

yandere valentino headcanons

contains: nsfw themes, noncon, heavy abuse (manipulation, physical violence, sexual exploitation), dehumanization, orgasm control, mind break, dacryphilia, fellatio, sadomasochism, rough sex

yandere valentino

who’s affections are destructive and suffocating; to this egomaniacal mack, you’re no better than his contracted whores. from his hands that paint your skin deep purples and blues to his lips that steal your breath, nothing about val is gentle. yet, even when he sharply pulls your hair and degrades you, you find yourself entranced by him.

who’s malicious and cruel; you’re an object, his personal toy—a fact he won’t let you forget. you eat, sleep, and fuck on his command. he’ll remind you of your place if you so much as blink without his permission. perhaps he’ll have you roughed up a bit by his patrons. they’re sure to fuck some sense into you.

who rewards good behavior with praise and affection. you know you’ve done well when he guides you to your knees, lascivious grin encouraging you to open wide. your stomach twisting in knots when he calls you his good girl while roughly pulling you closer by the hair. dance around his cock with your tongue like he trained you and he may even feel generous enough to return the favor. be careful though, no good deed goes unpunished. he’ll push you to your breaking point, tease you till you’re begging for release only to force climax after climax out of you.

who’s unpredictable; his temper has you feeling unsteady, as if you’re walking on eggshells and broken glass. one moment you’re his treasured toy and the next he has you on the ground, begging for forgiveness as his boots violently meet your sides. you’ll scramble to keep his affections, never having felt so worthless without them. though you are his treasured toy, he’ll never let you forget that toys are replaceable—something that can be broken or thrown away at his discretion. of course, what makes yandere val unique compared to his normal counterpart is that he would never give you away or damage you beyond what can be repaired. his words are empty threats to keep you in line; you’re far more precious than he lets on.

who is vehemenemously possessive; you’re his, don’t forget it. keep your eyes on him unless you want a reminder of what he does to disobedient brats.

who’s merciless; this man relishes in your torment and gets off on your fear. nothing gets him harder than your pained tears as he fucks you too roughly. he delights in your cracked pleas for him to slow down and your fearful shudder as he traces your skin with his teeth. he especially loves provoking you to act out and then punishing you for it. eventually, the pain will become a familiar constant, it may even grow into a guilty pleasure. broken down and reshaped into the perfect toy, he’ll never grow bored of you; you’re stuck as his beloved stress toy for all of eternity.

[ilgaksu]

some slides from that one time i made a dmbj powerpoint; wu xie, pingxie and iron triangle edition

[acewitch-writes]

OC Fanon Remus is just an untagged AU version of him that is part giant since y'all insist on portraying him as this 6-foot-7 monstrosity with the physique of a professional bodybuilder next to his fun-sized twink boyfriend who is teeny enough to travel around in his pocket.

I will never understand how the canon description of Remus as worn, thin, shabby, half-dead looking, greying, and pallid turned into this.

[corpsentry]

breaking the law and outing myself on the internet because i'm showcasing my senior dance thesis on april 28 at 6:30 and 8:30 pm Eastern Standard Time and i want You to see it

we don't have a livestream link yet but we will. in the meantime look at these cool posters and this cool blurb. ok now save the date SEE YOU SOON

[padfootastic]

i just want to put it out there that sirius black is scary as fuck from a purely physical point of view.

he’s tall as shit, has been since fifth year when he got his growth spurt, and he has tendency to loom over most people.

there’s also the matter of his poker face—it’s impeccable, untouchable. can make anyone feel like him stuck to the bottom of his shoe. he learnt it from the best in house black and it’s his default. there’s a reason people are afraid of approaching him, and are slightly awed by james’ ability to unconditionally do so at all times.

his magic is ridiculously sentient. it swirls around him at all times, often feeling suffocating to those near him. he doesn’t even notice how it swells with his emotions, rising in his defence without him having to call it. at times, it can feel like a brick wall, that’s how powerful it is. and it’s cold. people have been known to shiver and turn into metaphorical icicles around him.

and he’s also just intimidating in a—social capital way ykno? so much money, training, and status. it shows. he could be dressed in a potato sack and he’d still reek of royalty. which is essentially what the blacks are.

and this is it u don’t take padfoot into account. this fuckoff huge Grim who’s literally an omen of death, easily twice the size of any human around him, just bounding around with sharp canines on display and malice in his eyes. it’s the easiest thing to piss ur pants when u come into contact w him.

[pratchettquotes]

Ponder knew he should have never let Ridcully look at the invisible writings. Wasn't it a basic principle never to let your employer know what it is you actually do all day?

But no matter what precautions you took, sooner or later the boss was bound to come in and poke around and say things like, "Is this where you work, then?" and "I thought I sent a memo out about people bringing in potted plants," and "What d'you call that thing with the keyboard?"

And this had been particularly problematical for Ponder, because reading the invisible writings was a delicate and meticulous job, suited to the kind of temperament that follows Grand Prix Continental Drift and keeps bonsai mountains as a hobby or even drives a Volvo. It needed painstaking care. It needed a mind that could enjoy doing jigsaw puzzles in a dark room. It did not need Mustrum Ridcully.

Terry Pratchett, The Last Continent

[eyeofthenewt1]

Welcome Sam, cant wait for you to experience The Horrors.

[describe-things]

"it's not an accessibility problem or a symptom of systemic ableism if the OP doesn't add the image description to the original post, people can just reblog it from you if they want to. Asking people to add the ID to their post is rude and self-absorbed"

the only people who think this way are ableists.

You know all the Mickey Mouse art I hurt my wrist frantically writing image descriptions for?

Yeah, a lot of it is being reblogged without any image description now with thousands of notes, because people only see the original post, they don't bother to check the notes to see that there's an ID right there that I took the time to write.

Tumblr encourages you to reblog a post as soon as you see it, and people who don't make a conscious effort to stop and try to be accessible do not take the time to stop and check the notes for an ID before rebloggging.

Adding an image description to your original post, and any important reblogs, is the most accessible thing you can do, second only to writing the post with an image description in the first place.

If you actually care about disabled people (or disabled people other than yourself and a select few family members), then when someone takes the time to write an image description for your art, add it to the original post or reblog. I don't care how many notes the post has, if you care about disabled people and care about accessibility, do it.

Especially if you're ablebodied. Many people have said it before me, but it's absolutely evil how most of the people on this site who write image descriptions are physically disabled, the people who have to put in the most amount of effort to do so, at the highest cost to ourselves.

It's been 4 days since I hurt my wrist typing so many image descriptions. It's probably going to continue hurting for another few days at best.

If you are physically abled and will not be put in literal physical pain from writing image descriptions, then you need to start writing them. It shouldn't always be left to disabled people to do all the heavy lifting for accessibility. If you call yourself a leftist or a communist or an anarchist but won't even write an image description for your art or memes or even edit it into your original post, then just stop pretending you care about disabled people, because you clearly don't.

See this post for tips on writing image descriptions.

If you do nothing else please start checking the notes for an image description before you reblog undescribed art. It's the absolute bare minimum.