#tag which cranky expression are you today

[randomrabbidramblings]

While we wait for some news on the DLCs, here's me in a couple of years Rabbid Cranky's concept art.

Reject Rabbid, return to monke.

[harmonictechnicality]

a little follow-up to the steddie bookstore meet cute

Steve lets the storyteller finish reading the chapter before further investigation. He does this for three different reasons: 

The chapters aren’t outrageously lengthy.

Kids get extremely cranky if someone disrupts their story time.

Steve also gets extremely cranky if someone disrupts his unapologetic staring-at-cute-boys time.

He’s worked at this bookstore for 378 days. All walks of life come through this place and he’s seen them all.

Until today.

378 days and countless hours of people-watching, but Steve Harrington has never seen someone like him.

Loud clothes to match his loud voice. Knotted hair and one untied combat boot. Inked-up arms that look deceivingly like shirt sleeves.

Steve scans over his face, counting his piercings. One lip. One nose. One eyebrow. Three in each ear.

Nine piercings and that’s just the visible ones.

But before Steve starts visualizing (fantasizing) about how many more he might have, the kids start clapping. Cheering, even. The man gives a theatrical bow and sneaks past the crowd of children - making a beeline towards Steve.

“I can explain,” the man begins sputtering, hands up defensively. “I picked the wrong chair. Perceptibly cozy. Undoubtedly hard-work.”

Steve just smirks, nodding towards the novel in his ring-clad hand. “You gonna buy that?”

“Uh yeah. I mean, yes.”

Oh, Steve is making him nervous. Huh.

“Come, on.” Steve takes the book from his grasp and motions to the cash register. “You can explain further while I check you out over there.”

Which wasn’t meant to be a line, but he’s not exactly sorry that it came out that way.

“Been looking for this specific copy for years.” The man starts fumbling through his jean pockets, while he continues to babble. “Was scouring second-hand bookstore reviews on Yelp one day and saw this place is a goldmine for rare books. Figured I’d venture out here and see for myself.”

“Glad you could find what you’re looking for,” Steve states smoothly.

“In more ways than one, I hope.” He says it under his breath and not directly to Steve, but it doesn’t matter. Steve is keyed in. He hears every word. Senses fully heightened.

“The little bookworms thought you were amazing.” Steve says while simultaneously thinking, I find you pretty amazing too.

“Yeah? Pretty cool to see kids geeking out over Bilbo Baggins.”

Despite his clumsy movements, he manages to thumb open his wallet and slides Steve a credit card. Steve takes the card and inspects the name: Eddie Munson. Lets the name resonate and marinate in his mind for a brief moment.

“So you’re just passing through then?” Which could be too forward. Steve can get away with Too Forward when picking up girls, but it’s definitely more of a gamble with guys.

“That depends.”

“Depends on what?” Steve swipes the card through, then offers it back to Eddie.

Their fingertips meet in the transfer, but Eddie’s coffee brown eyes stay fixed on Steve’s lips. 

“If there’s anything else worth exploring in this town.” 

Totally worth the gamble. 

Steve bites down on his lower lip, the one that’s become Eddie’s focal point of interest, and tosses the book into a paper bag - sliding it over the register counter.

“Thanks, Steve.” Eddie says causally. Like he’s known him personally for years.

Steve raises his eyebrows.

“Name tag! I saw your name tag.” Eddie’s expression is panicky, losing all remnants of his flirtatious tone. “Shit.”

This guy is a walking contradiction. Fully clothed like he’s preparing for an anarchist uprising, but is actually a blabbering mess. Steve Harrington is just some turtleneck wearing, floppy-haired, college dropout - yet somehow he is the one making the big bad wolf skittish.

It’s honestly adorable.

“Come back anytime, Eddie.” Steve says just as casually.

Now Eddie is the one raising his eyebrow.

“Credit card.” Steve responds. “I saw your credit card.”

“Right.”

“Right.”

There’s no reason that the conversation should continue. Steve shouldn’t waste his time pining after someone that’s just traveling through with low probability of sticking around. Hawkins is practically a ghost town at this point. Nobody ever stays, except for washed-up locals like Steve and Robin.

So he knows he shouldn’t pursue this. Steve knows better not to get involved with dead-end streets leading to eventual heartbreak. But he can’t stop himself from sneaking out his phone the second Eddie leaves the store. His thumb is hovering over the Search button when Robin snatches it from his hand.

“No cellphones during store hours.” She says, inspecting the phone screen. “Oh, come on- seriously?”

“What?” He groans.

She holds the screen in front of his face. “You’re googling him?”

“So?” Steve tries to grab the phone back, but Robin dodges his attempts.

“You’re hopeless, Harrington.” She creates a wide enough gap between them to avoid Steve from taking the phone. “But as your best friend, I am legally obligated to cyberstalk any of your potential love interests.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “And what law says that?”

“The law of every rom-com movie ever made, dingus.” 

Robin taps the screen and begins scrolling, examining the search results. After a few seconds, her mouth drops open.

“No way,” Robin squeals, scrolling faster now. “No fucking way.”

“What’d you find?” Steve rushes behind her, peering over Robin’s shoulder to get a better view. 

“Look.” Robin pinches the glass screen to enlarge the article she’s discovered.

Steve slides on his burgundy reading glasses, lets his eyes adjust to the phone’s brightness. 

And he sees it. The bold letters. The key word. “Eddie hosts a podcast?”

Robin nods. “Not just any podcast.” 

She flips to the bottom of the news article and there’s an image of Eddie. He’s standing in front of a Victorian-style mansion, which Steve recognizes immediately. The Winchester Mystery House. Maybe one of the most famous haunted houses in the United States.

“Holy shit,” Steve blurts out as it finally clicks in his brain. “Eddie hosts a ghost-hunting podcast?”

[aristocratic-otter]

Hey y'all! It's been a busy few weeks, but thank you all who kept tagging me since I last surfaced : @Iamamythologicalcreature, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe, @monbons, @thewholelemon, @cutestkilla, @hushed-chorus, @whatevertheweather, @prettygoododds, @blackberrysummerblog, @thehoneyedhufflepuff, @ivelovedhimthroughworse, @mooncello, @rimeswithpurple, @emeryhall, @wellbelesbian, @bookish-bogwitch, @ic3-que3n, @shrekgogurt, and @cosmicalart 

I've got a bit from everything to share today. Though the snippet from Cupid's Shield has technically been posted now, as of this morning.

And yes, I can count, I know some of these are more than six sentences. Do I care?

No.

Lol, I hope you enjoy!

From Saving Simon Snow: 

Baz is dead to the world when I wake up. The clock on the dresser reads ten a.m., which surprises me a little—I can’t remember the last time I slept past seven (other than in my jail cell, where there were no clocks and sleeping was pretty much the only thing to do). It doesn’t surprise me, however, that Baz is still asleep. He’s always been sluggish and cranky in the morning. Besides, yesterday was…well, yesterday was a lot. 

I’m still processing everything that happened, but my stomach tells me firmly that processing is far less important than eating, so I slip out of bed as quietly as I can, and dig through our suitcases for something to wear that isn’t sweated–through or jizz covered. 

From the Heart in the Well

“Who are you?” I shout, and if there’s a faint tremor in my voice, it’s not enough for Baz or the unknown above to tell. (I hope).

The creature above doesn’t respond, at least not in words. Instead, it shakes its head and lets out a ringing neigh. It’s a horse! I stare, bemused for a second, before I realise that what I’m hearing isn’t a typical animal sound. Instead, the neighing takes on the clearly recognisable tone of…laughter. The fucking thing is laughing at us!

From Snow Fox

Fiona’s radiating pride. “Brave as a lion, just like his mum,” she says. “You’ll show that mangy Snow Fox what it means to take on a Pitch.”

I can’t help but imagine my aunt's reaction to finding out that Simon knows quite well how to take on a Pitch. 

On my knees, whenever possible.

The thought prompts an unholy burst of laughter to try to fight past my lips, but I’m a master at containing my emotions. Even so, my lips twitch, but I manage to turn it into a polite cough. 

From TikTok Dancer: 

Snow paces at my side in silence with a pensive expression on his face, his hands clasped behind his back. 

My curiosity about this man is burning inside me, and it churns sickeningly in my gut with feelings of betrayal and animal lust. I want him. I hate him. And I don’t understand him. 

But the one thing I won’t do is be the first to break the silence. 

From Stars, Flowers, and Children,

He starts breathing again, but doesn’t speak to me. Not at first. Instead, he rushes to pile wood on the fire and then fumbles desperately for his own fire starting kit in the pouch he carries tied ‘round his waist. I’ve turned to watch him, morbidly curious about how he’s going to react to my betrayal. And it was a betrayal, I’m not fooling myself about that. I knew that Simon desperately wanted a ship to come. I knew how much getting off this island meant to him.

And I denied him that. 

From Cupid’s Shield:

I would have known something was wrong regardless from the way his smiles disappeared (even if he’d never smile at me, he smiles constantly at most anyone else, and I soak his happiness up vicariously every chance I get). 

I was so disturbed by his misery that I was tempted to invite him home with me. I didn’t—my family would have eaten him alive—but I wanted to. 

That early winter afternoon, we were all roused from the torpor of pre-holiday ennui by screams coming from the great lawn. I was in our tower room when it happened, and when I looked out to see a dragon strafing the lawn and Simon Snow running to face him…well, I didn’t think, I just acted. 

I raced out of Mummers and climbed to the ramparts.

From my COBB project:

“Snow, what the fuck,” he says, his voice coming out as a wheeze because of the way I’ve got him squeezed under my own bulk. 

“Shut up!” I snap. “You idiot! You nearly broke [redacted]!”

Baz stiffens under me when I call him an idiot, but when I accuse him, his muscles go slack, meaning I sink into him before I can stop myself. I swallow hard at how nice he feels against me, but then I tense up. This is beyond inappropriate. 

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