Hi, hello! First of all, your blog is amazing and so helpful and inspiring!
I would like some advice, if it is possible. (no pressure!!) I'm 10k or 20k words into my fantasy novel, in first person POV (dual POV). And... I'm starting to want to write in third person POV now. That scares me tbh, because I'd have to rewrite all of what I've written so far. But it's complicated. Because I like both POVs, so idk what is the right choice. Both of them are "calling" me. What would you recommend? I have to make a drastic decision and it's honestly stressing me so badly. (๑•﹏•)(๑•﹏•)(๑•﹏•)
first person vs third person POV: the eternal struggle (and why it's OKAY to switch mid-draft)
hey anon!! first of all, thank you so much for the kind words about my blog!! your message made my whole day.
okay so. the POV dilemma. the ETERNAL STRUGGLE. i feel this in my BONES.
okay, so the thing about being 10-20k words into a draft and then suddenly wanting to switch POVs... it happens to literally everyone at some point. it's like the writing gods are testing you.
why you're feeling this way (and why it's actually a good sign)
first off, this feeling of being pulled in two directions isn't a problem. it's actually a sign that you're deeply engaged with your story. your brain is actively processing different ways to tell it, which means you CARE about getting it right. that's the mark of a writer who's going to keep improving.
when both POVs are 'calling you,' what's actually happening is your creative brain recognizing different storytelling possibilities. first person gives you that immediate intimacy, that raw emotional connection. (first pov is actually my favorite, and default pov). for third person, it gives you flexibility, narrative distance when needed, and also the ability to show things your protagonist can't see.
the practical reality (let's be real........)
yes, switching means rewriting those 10-20k words. i'm not gonna sugarcoat it... that's a chunk of work. but let me drop some perspective.
20k words is approximately 80 standard manuscript pages
in the context of a full fantasy novel (which is like 80-120k words), that's about 16-25% of your first draft
you're going to rewrite significant portions anyway during revision (sorry not sorry, it's just how writing works.)
the actually useful advice part
instead of making this an either/or decision that's paralyzing you. here's some ideas i came up with on how you can possibly approach this problem:
do a test chapter conversion. literally take ONE chapter of your choice (doesn't need to be chapter one) that you've already written and convert it from first to third person. don't just change pronouns though, REALLY think about how the narrative distance shifts, what new opportunities open up, what intimacy you might lose/gain. this gives you ACTUAL information instead of just anxiety spirals. this is such a good idea, it's literally just like testing a patch of furniture before using a cleaning chemical on the entire furniture. all you're doing is testing it out (and of course do this test chapter in a SEPARATE document, depending on whatever software you use to write your manuscripts.)
identify your WHY. what specifically is making third person call to you? you need to ask yourself this because it can actually give you clarity and also help you determine the pros and cons of using third person in your book. is it: needing to show scenes your POV character isn't present for? (common use for third person) or is it wanting more narrative flexibility or feeling constrained by your character's voice? or is it wanting to show multiple perspectives more seamlessly? another thing to note is dual POV in first person is a bit difficult because you need to create a voice for each character (that's being used in the dual POVs) let's say character A sounds like character B, if character A's dual POV is in chapter 4 and character B's dual POV is in chapter 5, it might be hard for readers to identify the voice if it sounds super similar. so keep that in mind!!
the hybrid draft approach. (this is my personal favorite), so keep writing in third person from where you are now. don't go back and fix the first 20k yet. finish the draft with this weird hybrid POV situation (note: make sure you add some sort of indication separating the two POVs, like add a small note or maybe asterisks on your manuscript letting you know when this hybrid mix happens so when you go back and revise you can easily find it. ex: a note that says "chapter 4, after scene 40 is where i switch from first person to third person") then, when revision time comes, you'll have a much clearer picture of which POV serves the ENTIRE story better.
consider limited third instead of first. third person limited can give you almost the same intimacy as first person while offering more flexibility. it's like the perfect middle ground for many fantasy novels.
the secret that published authors will NOT tell you
you know how many published books started in a completely different POV than they ended up in? SO MANY. like, an embarrassing number. this is normal writer stuff. so please don't feel bad.
my friend's fantasy novel that got a six-figure deal? (she later dropped it tho) it started as first person, finished as third person omniscient, then got revised to third person limited. another writer i know switched POVs 40k words into their first draft and said it was the best decision they ever made.
what i'd do in your shoes
honestly? i'd keep going forward in the third person without rewriting what you have. get to the end of the draft. i mean it's a DRAFT for god sake, it's aloud to be messy and not ready for publishing (obviously). just see how it feels. the worst case scenario is you have a weird frankendraft that needs POV consistency in revision (which you'd literally be doing anyway).
the POV that's right for your story will become clearer as you keep writing. and if it doesn't? that's what beta readers are for. let them read both versions of a chapter and tell you which one pulls them in more.
NO WRITING IS EVER WASTED. even if you end up scrapping those 20k words (which you probably won't.) they taught you about your characters, world, and story. they got you 20k words closer to being the writer who can finish this book, YOUR book.
anyway i really hope this helps, this response was a lot longer than i planned it to be lol. your dual POV fantasy novel sounds amazing and i'm seriously rooting for you! don't let the POV paralysis stop you from moving forward! don't get stuck like how i did. literally i got stuck on a draft with 50k words just because of some writers block and haven't visited it in a year lol. so just know your story deserves to be told. even if it's in first person, third person, or whatever.
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in which stebbins can’t seem to keep his eyes off of you, even after you two had broken up.
꩜ ; no warnings, suggestive stuff implied but isn’t written
Stebbins has long forgotten his cup that’s sitting in his hand.
Not because he doesn’t like the drink, he wouldn’t have picked it if he didn’t. The noise also might be irritating him, but he’s at a party and he can’t complain about somewhere he chose to be.
Not really. He didn’t decide to be here. It was mostly Pete’s idea, claiming it’d be fun, and he should loosen up and do things that aren’t working out and homework. “You’ll meet someone fun!” Words from Harkness, who didn’t even go himself, rang out in his head.
He should’ve made up a shitty excuse like Harkness did.
(But what excuse did he have to make? Working out? What a load of bullshit.)
Something else that’s utter bullshit, was the other thing that was pissing him off.
You. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you.
It was last year when you both broke up. He claimed that the two of you wouldn’t work out, that he was simply too focused on other things to make time for you.
He lied. He lied so much that day that he was certain those hours alone got him a ticket straight to hell. He didn’t think you two wouldn’t work out, he just wanted his father to stop bothering him about it.
And he’s never felt more stupid in his life. Smart. That’s what he’s supposed to be.
He wasn’t irritated about you, to be specific, but to whoever the boy was you were talking to.
He was the type of guy to get too close for comfort, arm on shoulder, and a little too relaxed. If he may add, he’s laughing way too hard, to the point that other people began to stare right with Stebbins. That irritated him even more. Nothing is ever that fucking funny. He thinks.
But he’s not with you. He hasn’t been for a long time.
He just doesn’t understand why he’s so worked up about this. Should he just go home? He doesn’t have to say goodbye to anyone, after all. He doesn’t owe anyone.
But then it clicks, when he squints a little, or looks at you even harder, he notices something.
Uneasiness. You’re clearly uncomfortable with whoever this is, but even as the hand that was on your shoulder roams down to your hip, you keep a small smile on your face. And Stebbins has had just enough. He storms over, the cup in his hand dropping and someone shouting out a “Hey!” that he easily ignores.
And with a swift movement, he grabs the guy by the shoulder roughly, and delivers a punch to his face. Gasps and giggles erupt from all around him, and he sees you turn to him in shock right after. The boy, the stupid boy he corrects in his head, had crashed into the table and knocked a few people over with him. Stebbins could give a shit less. He grabs your arm and aims for the front door.
You knew Stebbins was.. well, violent? Sometimes? He did hockey, for fucks sake.
But in no universe, would you expect him out of all people to make a scene at a party. A place he was already probably not wanting to be at.
Currently, you both were sitting in his car, at a red light, to be specific, it was the one that always took forever. So now it’s just awkward.
“You didn’t have to bring me home.” You say quietly, your voice cracks from not using it, and you honestly feel embarrassed about it. Stebbins huffs, and you think he’s gonna blow out on you too.
“Was the least I could do.” He said, gripping the steering wheel, but he didn’t seem annoyed. Not at all, giddy, maybe. Nervous, even. “Sorry.” He says. It seems forced.
“It’s okay. I should be thanking you, actually. He was creeping me out a little. Touching me.” You blink slowly, and you assume the drinks are actually doing its work, or maybe the fear from the moment made it go away for a bit, and now it’s coming back to bite you.
“You could’ve said something sooner.”
You shrug. “To who? I was there alone.” You say quickly, but instantly regret it when you see him turn to you out of the corner of your eye.
“Alone? Why were you there alone?”
“Why were you?”
“I wasn’t.” He turns away. “I went with Pete, and Ray, and..”
You raise a brow. “And?”
“And no one is important.”
“Ah,” you say, clicking your tongue. “Right. You have time to go out to parties and punch people, find friends important, but not me, right? Never me.” You can’t stop talking, but you can definitely tell the atmosphere has changed. “Never.” You repeat to yourself.
“Can we not do this? Just let me take you to your dorm.” He says, and the light turns green.
“Why?”
“It wasn’t like that.”
You turn to him, slightly irritated. “Then what was it like, Stebbins?”
He blinks slowly, and seems to ponder something before finally spitting his words out. “Fine, you want to know? My dad made me do it. Said he’d kick me out the school if I stayed with you and didn’t focus on hockey. You think I wanted that?”
“You could’ve told me.”
“What, that I was a coward?”
“Why would I care about that of all things? Jeez, you’re a fucking asshole!” You say, and you cross your arms and look out the window instead. Silence falls over the car. You suddenly feel guilty, and close your eyes.
“I’m sorry.” He says, and in a split second, your eyes are back open. This one, this apology, seems genuine. Feels genuine.
“What?” You sputter out.
“I said I’m sorry. For being like that. I know I messed up. I know I..” He trails off, not really knowing what else to say.
He just said everything he needed to, though. Without even saying it.
“It’s okay… Well, not really, but-“
“Yeah.” He cuts you off while giving you a look, then turning back to the road. “Yeah, I get it.”
He seems to think for a second, and before he can say anything, you do.
“Is Harkness there? At your dorm, I mean.”
“No?” He says, extremely confused, before he catches on. “Oh.”
“If you don’t wanna, I mean- What am I saying? I’m sorry. This is so awkwar-“
“No, I want to.” Stebbins cuts you off, he clears his throat. “Spend time with you, and..”
“Mhm. Me too, Stebbins.” You say, and you’re almost about to drift off until you feel the familiar turn of the parking lot.
“Billy.” He corrects. You nod.
“Yeah, okay. Billy.” You repeat to basically yourself.
This story takes place in a post-Season 4 Fix-It AU where everyone survived and the Upside Down is no longer an active threat. Eddie is alive, Corroded Coffin is still playing local gigs, Robin and Steve work at Family Video, and the biggest dangers now are bad hair days and questionable life choices.
WARNING - drug use, cheating (reader emotionally moved on before breakup, but overlap is present), Eddie is a SIMP, language, sexual tension (kissing, straddling, suggestive dialogue, Eddie being completely whipped), humor (chaotic, sometimes inappropriate jokes), mild alcohol reference (party scene), shenanigans in questionable locations, light angst
When Eddie Munson falls headfirst for you - the gorgeous girl who used to date a walking polo shirt named Scotty - he can’t keep it to himself. Not when you’re sneaking into his shows, kissing him breathless in his van, and making him feel like the luckiest guy alive. He’s gotta tell someone.
4.2k words
Family Video had hit that point where it felt like time itself had slowed down. The neon sign flickered lazily, almost as if it was just as bored as Robin and Steve behind the counter. Steve was stacking VHS tapes into what could only be described as a “tower of chaos,” a growing monument to his own frustration, while Robin, equally disinterested, doodled faces on the “Be Kind Rewind” signs.
Then the door slammed open with the kind of force that sent a jolt of panic through both of them.
And there he was: Eddie Munson.
He looked like he’d just escaped from some kind of wild chase. His wild curls bounced with every step as he strode into the shop like a hurricane, wearing that mischievous grin that could make anyone second-guess their life choices.
Robin froze, marker mid-air.
Steve almost knocked over his stupid tower of tapes.
Eddie slammed both hands down onto the counter, practically vibrating with pent-up excitement. “I can’t keep it to myself anymore!” he shouted, wide-eyed. “I’m gonna combust. Right here. Boom. Guts everywhere. You two are gonna have to explain it to the cops.”
Robin blinked, her eyebrows knitting in confusion. “Is this about the fireworks in the mailbox again?”
“That was one time,” Eddie shot back, waving his hand dismissively, clearly unbothered by his past antics. “No, this is bigger. Biblical. You might wanna sit down.”
Steve sighed heavily and leaned against the counter, crossing his arms with a knowing look. “This better be good, Munson.”
Eddie looked around theatrically, like he was about to drop a state secret, checking for government spies. Then he leaned in, voice dropping low. “I’m doing something criminally stupid,” he whispered with gleaming eyes. “And it’s glorious.”
Robin narrowed her eyes. “Eddie, if you robbed a gas station again, I’m not bailing you out.”
“I didn’t do something illegal,” Eddie said with a grin that was more nervous than confident. “I’m doing someone illegal.”
There was a long beat of silence as both Robin and Steve processed that.
Steve squinted at him. “Is… is that even a thing?”
“It is when she’s got a boyfriend,” Eddie said smugly, like he’d just unlocked the secret to the universe.
Robin grimaced. “Ew.”
“Her name’s (Y/N),” Eddie said dreamily. “And technically, her boyfriend’s this guy named Scotty. Plays soccer. Wears polos. Thinks Bon Jovi is ‘heavy metal.’”
Robin made a face of utter disgust.
Steve muttered under his breath, “Sounds like a douche.”
“And the best part is…” Eddie grinned widely, clearly reveling in the drama. “Scotty doesn’t know.”
He slammed his hand down on the counter with exaggerated flair.
Robin and Steve exchanged a look that said everything. They were used to Eddie’s antics, but this? This felt different.
The van’s door creaked open with a groan, the midday sun slicing through the haze inside. The air was thick with heat and the smell of leather seats baking in the sun, mixed with the faint trace of weed Eddie had smoked hours ago and the lingering sharpness of his cheap cologne - the kind you could buy at Bradley’s Pharmacy for five bucks. But to you, it was intoxicating.
You climbed in, letting the heavy door slam shut behind you.
The moment the latch clicked, you tossed your bag into the passenger seat, then turned to face him. Your eyes gleamed with mischief.
Eddie was lounging in the driver’s seat, his messy hair falling into his eyes, legs spread out as though he owned the entire van (which he totally did). He didn’t look up immediately, but his grin was already widening when he finally did - lazy and pleased, like a cat watching its prey get closer.
“You look suspicious,” he said, voice rough with amusement, an eyebrow lifting in teasing challenge.
You leaned toward him without a word, crawling over the center console, your knee bumping into his side as you climbed into his lap.
“Scotty thinks I’m at church,” you whispered against his ear, your voice dripping with faux innocence. “Praying for forgiveness.”
Eddie barked a laugh, his hands immediately settling on your hips like it was second nature.
“Sweetheart,” he murmured, voice low and reverent, “You’re going straight to hell.”
You tilted your head, your smirk turning dangerous. “Only if you’re coming with me.”
And before he could answer, his mouth was on yours. It was messy, all teeth and heat and need, as though he couldn’t wait another second.
You gripped the front of his Hellfire Club shirt, yanking him closer until you could feel the frantic beat of his heart against his chest.
The gear shift jabbed into your thigh, but you didn’t care. You shifted your position, straddling him properly, knees bracketing his hips, your dress riding dangerously high.
Eddie groaned into your mouth, fingers digging into your hips, and whispered against your lips. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”
You smiled wickedly. “Promise?”
You kissed him again, rougher this time, laughter muffled against his lips as he cursed under his breath - hands everywhere, too greedy to be careful.
The windows began to fog over, blurring the parking lot beyond into nothing but a wash of colors. Inside, it was all heat and skin, whispered curses, and the way Eddie’s breath hitched every time your hands wandered lower.
The church bells from downtown chimed in the distance - sweet and pure, completely at odds with the wicked, slow roll of Eddie’s hips underneath you.
It was messy. Reckless. Addictive.
Exactly how you liked it.
Eddie slumped dramatically onto the counter, his arms flopping lifelessly onto the edge. He was halfway between exhaustion and elation, like he’d just run a marathon but couldn’t quite let go of the high.
Robin was still trying to suppress her laughter, shaking her head in disbelief. “You’re whipped, dude,” she gasped between chuckles, wiping the tears from her eyes.
Steve, equally entertained but a little more concerned, leaned over the counter. “Bro, your face is so red. I don’t think I’ve seen you this flustered since… since the whole ‘seducing a dragon in D&D’ fiasco.”
Eddie growled in frustration, burying his face in his hands for a moment. “It’s not funny,” he muttered, but his voice held a distinct edge of pleasure. “She’s gonna ruin me. She’s like… like a goddamn hurricane.”
Robin raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the show. “And you’re what? Some innocent choir boy?”
Eddie flipped her off, but there was no malice in it - only exhaustion. “You don’t get it,” he sighed dramatically. “She’s… she’s like the devil in lipstick, okay? With an entire toolbox full of chaos.”
Steve just shook his head, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “It sounds to me like you’re the one in over your head.”
Eddie glared at him, still a little defensively, but his bravado was wearing thin. He just couldn’t help it; he liked this. He liked the chaos. “I don’t know, man. She could ask me to rob a damn bank, and I’d do it.”
Robin stared at him, eyes wide with mock horror. “Wait… really?”
Eddie didn’t even hesitate. “Two banks. Three if she wore that skirt again.”
He immediately regretted it. The smugness of the confession hung in the air like an awkward fog, and Eddie found himself wishing he could crawl under the counter. But there was no escaping it. His words had come out before he could stop them, and now he had to live with the ridiculousness of it all.
The lights were dim at The Hideout, the kind of place where the sticky floors and neon signs flickered overhead like a forgotten memory. Corroded Coffin’s set was already in full swing, Eddie shredding his guitar like his life depended on it. The crowd was a mix of strangers, drunk and lost in the music, but Eddie’s eyes were locked on one person.
You.
You were standing at the back, arms crossed, watching him with that smirk of yours, the one that made his heart skip every damn time.
And then, just like that, you moved. With the grace of a cat and the confidence of someone who knew exactly what she was doing, you slid to the front of the crowd.
The way you bent down to tie your boot - slow and deliberate, like a show just for him - was enough to make Eddie miss half of his solo. His fingers fumbled on the strings, but he didn’t care. All he could think about was how you looked, how you moved.
And when you finally stood up, grinning at him like a predator, his breath hitched in his chest.
“I am going to hell and it’s gonna be awesome,” Eddie muttered under his breath, watching you intently.
You winked at him, and his heart almost stopped. The crowd around him roared, but none of it mattered. You were the only one in the room.
After the set, Eddie found you backstage, breathless and glowing. Your eyes sparkled like you were in on a secret that only the two of you shared.
You leaned in close, your lips brushing the edge of his ear as you whispered something that made Eddie stagger back, crashing into a nearby drum kit in the process. You giggled, a sound that made his knees go weak.
He barely register the noise of cymbals and drums around him. All he could think about was the burning heat of your breath, your words, and the way you’d left him wanting more.
And then, like a phantom, you disappeared into the crowd before he could reach you.
And all he could think was, “God, I’m so screwed.”
Eddie was far past the point of being embarrassed. He’d accepted that he was deep in the hole. He didn’t need Robin and Steve teasing anymore; it was a fact. He was in deep with you - and there was no turning back now.
The grin on his face was crooked and almost painful, like he couldn’t decide whether he should be excited or terrified. “Yeah, so that happened,” he muttered, dragging a hand over his face. “That whole… show and top thing. That was pretty… intense.”
Robin looked like she might burst out laughing again, but she managed to keep it together. Just barely. “Dude,” she said, shaking her head, “you’re so whipped. I can practically hear you falling head over heels every time you talk about her.”
Eddie rolled his eyes, exasperated but secretly pleased with the attention. “Okay, okay, maybe I’m a little… into her,” he admitted, but his tone was defensive, like he was still trying to keep some of his cool. “But it’s not just that. It’s everything about her. She’s like… like fire, y’know? And I’m just some idiot trying not to get burned.”
Steve leaned in, quirking an eyebrow as if weighing his next words carefully. “You ever think maybe it’s not just about sneaking around, man? Maybe she’s not hiding you. Maybe you’re not her dirty little secret. Maybe you’re the one she actually wants.”
Eddie froze. The thought hit him like a ton of bricks.
You… wanted him?
Not just for the thrill of the forbidden. Not just because you were both caught up in something wild.
But him.
He swallowed hard, staring blankly at Steve for a moment. Was it possible? Could it be true?
Before Eddie could answer, Robin cut in, dragging him back to reality with a smirk. “You know, Eddie, you’re not exactly the patron saint of innocence,” she teased. “Not by a long shot.”
Eddie couldn’t help it. He threw his head back and laughed, not even caring that it sounded just a little bit unhinged. He was a mess, sure, but it was a good kind of mess. “Yeah, well, who needs innocence when you’ve got someone like her?” he replied, almost fondly, despite the chaos.
The Harringtons’ laundry room was an odd place to have a life-changing moment. The sweet smell of detergent lingered in the air, mixing with the heat and tension between the two of you. The sound of the party in the living room seemed miles away, but here, in the laundry room, everything felt so close.
You were pressed up against the dryer, the cold metal behind you nothing compared to the way Eddie was crowding you in. His hands were everywhere - on your waist, you hips, your thighs. It was chaotic, it was messy, but in the best possible way.
The world outside the door was full of noise and laughter, but all Eddie could hear was the pounding of his heart and the soft breath coming from you.
“Eddie,” you whispered against his neck, and he shuddered at the way your voice felt like an electric current running through him. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”
He let out a shaky breath, burying his face in your hair, “You love it,” he murmured, his hands tight on your skin as he pulled you closer.
And then, just as Eddie thought he might lose control, someone called out Scotty’s name from the other room. The sound was a punch to the gut, bringing Eddie back to reality with a jolt.
You grinned wickedly, lips curling in that dangerous smile he couldn’t resist. You whispered a little too sweetly, “Happy birthday, Scotty,” and then kissed him, as if the words would be the last thing to break him.
Eddie’s breath caught in his throat, his hands trembling as he clung to you, desperate and breathless. He lost it - letting out a quiet laugh that he tried to muffle by burying his face in your neck.
Your mouth as a secret. Your kisses, your touch, everything about you was a secret, but Eddie didn’t care. The world could fall apart outside that laundry room door; as far as he was concerned, it didn’t matter.
“I’m going to hell,” Eddie thought. “But I’ll be damned if I’m not enjoying the ride.”
Eddie found himself sitting on the hood of his van outside Family Video, staring up at the bruised purple sky, trying to make sense of what was happening inside his head - and more importantly, inside his heart.
He was supposed to be the bad influence. The reckless one. The guy who never took anything seriously, who laughed in the face of danger and authority alike.
But you… you made him serious. You made him think.
He replayed the stolen moments in the laundry room over and over, like a favorite song he couldn’t stop humming. Your hands. Your mouth. Your voice, soft and teasing in his ear.
And the way you had smiled at him - not like he was a mistake, not like he was a backup plan, but like he was yours.
“God,” Eddie muttered under his breath, dragging a hand through his hair. “I’m so screwed.”
Part of him knew he should walk away. End it before it got too messy. Before too many feelings got tangled up in it.
But the bigger part - the part that was already too far gone - knew he wouldn’t. Couldn’t.
He was in it. All in.
No amount of logical thinking could save him now.
“You wanna get out of here?”
It was after midnight when you found him standing on the porch, a red Solo cup forgotten in his hand, looking for all the world like he didn’t belong.
You slid your fingers into his hand like it was the most natural thing in the world and tugged gently.
“You wanna get out of here?” you asked again, voice low and full of promises Eddie didn’t dare dream about.
He looked at you - really looked - and felt something in his chest break open, raw and aching and real.
He didn’t even think. He just nodded, letting you lead him down the steps, past the groups of laughing strangers, past the noise and chaos, into the night.
It wasn’t about sneaking around anymore. It wasn’t about hiding.
It was about you and him, and the terrifying, thrilling idea that maybe - just maybe - you could be something more than a secret.
As you drove off into the dark, Eddie realized something that scared him more than anything else ever had:
He didn’t just want you.
He was falling for you.
Fast. Hard. Completely.
And there was no going back.
The next afternoon, back inside Family Video, Eddie practically melted across the counter like a soggy waffle, arms splayed out, cheek smushed against the laminate.
Robin was restocking the candy rack half-heartedly, sneaking glances at him.
Steve leaned against the returns cart, arms folded, one eyebrow raised.
They had been watching him for a while now - how he wasn’t bouncing off the walls like usual, how he wasn’t grinning like a man who just pulled off the world’s greatest heist.
Eddie Munson looked… wrecked.
But not the bad kind of wrecked. The dangerously in love kind.
Robin tossed a packet of Twizzlers onto the counter with a snap.
“Okay, you’re being weird, even for you,” she said. “Spill it.”
Eddie groaned into the countertop.
“It’s worse than I thought,” he mumbled, voice muffled by the laminate. “I’m in deep. I’m in so deep I can’t even see daylight anymore.”
Steve frowned. “Deep, like, you caught feelings?”
Eddie just made a noise - something between a whimper and a dying cat - that seemed to confirm it.
Robin straightened, mock-serious. “Wait. You like her? Like, like like?”
Eddie finally lifted his head, eyes wide and a little desperate.
“I think I love her,” he said hoarsely, “Holy shit, I think I’m actually in love with her.”
There was a beat of stunned silence.
Steve looked like someone had just hit him with a frying pan.
Robin immediately started laughing - not at him, but in that shocked, oh my God this is happening kind of way.
“I knew it” she cried. “I freaking knew it! You’re a goner!”
Steve shook his head, dazed. “Dude. Dude.”
“I know!” Eddie wailed. “I’m a goddamn idiot!”
He dropped his head back onto the counter with a dramatic thunk.
Robin leaned over and patted his hair sympathetically.
“You poor, lovesick bastard,” she said.
Steve snorted.
“You gonna tell her?” he asked.
Eddie blinked up at him, looking both terrified and hopeful.
“I don’t know,” he whispered. “I mean… what if she doesn’t feel the same way? What if I’m just… her bad decision?”
Robin rolled her eyes. “Please. I’ve seen the way she looks at you.”
Steve nodded. “Yeah, man. It’s not just sneaking around for her. You’re not just her thrill.”
Eddie swallowed hard, hope curling painfully in his chest.
“You really think so?” he croaked.
Robin smiled.
“We know so.”
And for the first time, Eddie allowed himself to believe it might be true.
Maybe - just maybe - he wasn’t doomed after all.
Later that night, Eddie sat cross-legged on his bed, guitar untouched beside him, as the December wind howled against the trailer walls.
He couldn’t stop thinking about you.
About the way you laughed at his stupid jokes, the way you leaned into him when you were tired, the way you kissed him like you never wanted it to end.
And it wasn’t just the sneaking around anymore. It wasn’t the thrill of doing something reckless behind everyone’s backs.
He missed you when you weren’t around.
He ached for you.
And now you were free - you had broken up with Scotty a few days ago. No drama, no fireworks. Just a quiet conversation behind the gas station where she’d told Eddie afterward, almost bashful, “It was over a long time ago. I just needed to say it out loud.”
No strings.
No barriers.
No excuses.
Eddie squeezed his eyes shut and groaned, flopping back onto his bed.
Tell her, Steve and Robin had said. She feels the same way, they promised.
But it wasn’t that simple, was it?
Because if he told you - really told you - and he was wrong…
He’d lose everything.
Not just the late-night kisses. Not just the secret smiles across crowded rooms. He’d lose you.
The girl who made him want to be better.
The girl who made him feel like maybe - just maybe - he wasn’t doomed to be a cautionary tale.
He stared up at the ceiling, fists clenching the blanket beneath him.
Screw it.
He was Eddie Munson.
He didn’t do half-assed.
He didn’t do cowardly.
If he was gonna fall, he was gonna fall loudly.
He sat up, heart hammering, a wild grin breaking over his face.
He was gonna tell you.
Tomorrow.
He didn’t know how just yet - didn’t know if he was going to write it down or scream it out or just blurt it the second he saw you - but it didn’t matter.
He had to.
Because you were worth it.
Because he was worth it too.
The next afternoon, you found Eddie in his usual spot behind the school - perched on the cracked stone wall, smoking a cigarette like he was posing for the world’s most dramatic yearbook photo.
He looked up as you approached, and for a moment, he just stared - like maybe he thought you weren’t real.
You smiled at him, soft and easy.
“Hey, trouble,” you teased.
Eddie stubbed out his cigarette with shaking fingers.
“Hey,” he croaked.
You frowned, immediately picking up on the weird tension in the air.
“You okay?”
He hopped off the wall, landing with a thud. His hands shoved deep into the pockets of his ripped jeans, shoulders hunched like he was bracing for a fight.
“I gotta tell you something,” he blurted.
You blinked. “Okay…”
He started pacing - three steps to the left, three steps to the right - like a caged animal.
“I’m probably gonna screw this up,” he said, voice tight. “And you might laugh. Or you might run away screaming. Which would suck. A lot. But I gotta say it anyway.”
You stepped closer, heart pounding.
“Eddie -”
“I like you,” he interrupted, voice cracking slightly. “Like… like really fucking like you.”
You froze.
“And not just because it’s fun sneaking around or because you look stupidly hot in my shirts or because you make me feel like my brain short-circuits every time you look at me.” He stopped pacing, running both hands through his hair in frustration. “I like you, okay? Like… all the boring, serious, terrifying stuff. Like holding your hand in public. Like taking you out to stupid diners and buying you ugly stuffed animals at the fair and kissing you without worrying who’s watching.”
He sucked in a shaky breath.
“And if you don’t feel the same way, that’s fine. I’ll still be the idiot who got to kiss the coolest girl on the planet for a little while. But if there’s even a chance you -”
You didn’t let him finish.
You grabbed the front of his jacket, yanked him down, and kissed him so hard he stumbled backward against the wall.
For a second, he didn’t move - just stood there, stunned - and then he kissed you back like the world was ending.
When you finally pulled away, breathing hard, Eddie’s eyes were wide and a little glassy.
“I guess that’s a yes?” he asked, voice rough.
You laughed against his chest.
“It’s a hell yes.”
He let out a shaky laugh, wrapping his arms around you and lifting you clean off the ground, spinning you once before setting you back down.
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, forehead pressed against yours. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”
“Yeah,” you whispered, smiling. “But you’ll love every second.”
And judging by the way Eddie kissed you again - slow and deep and certain - you knew he would.
The next day at lunch, you and Eddie couldn’t stop grinning at each other, sitting impossibly close at the table like a couple of idiots.
Robin noticed first.
She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Okay. What’s going on?”
You shrugged, playing innocent. Eddie just sipped his soda like it wasn’t completely obvious.
Steve dropped his sandwich mid-bite. “Wait. No. No way.”
Robin gasped dramatically. “You guys are finally together, aren’t you?”
You and Eddie exchanged a look - and completely failed to hide your matching, dopey smiles.
Robin let out a squeal so loud half the cafeteria turned to stare.
“I KNEW IT!” she crowed, smacking Steve on the arm. “Pay up, dingus. I told you it would happen before prom.”
Steve groaned, digging a crumpled five-dollar bill out of his pocket and handing it over.
“You two are disgustingly adorable,” he said, but he was smiling too, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe it.
Robin leaned across the table, grinning like the Cheshire Cat.
“You realize this means you’re stuck with us forever now, right?” she said brightly. “Triple dates. Game nights. Probably some super awkward family dinners.”
Eddie slung an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close.
“Bring it on,” he said, kissing the side of your head.
Avoidance turns into confrontation, the older brothers knew that if there was something they could do to fix this they should at least try. Time passed but their feelings didn't, neither of them know how to stop hurting the other.
“You hurt me too, Ira,” he said, voice low. “You don’t get to pretend you didn’t.”
You swallowed hard. “But I wanted to fix it. I wanted to tell you what everything meant. What you meant to me.”
“I know,” he replied. “That’s the worst part.”
#5
-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-
(Lo’ak’s POV)
Neteyam didn’t sit right away.
That’s how I knew this wasn’t going to be quick.
He stood beside me, watching the water the same way I was pretending to—like there was something in it worth staring at. I kept my eyes forward, shoulders tight, prepared.
“You’re doing it again,” he said finally.
I didn’t answer.
“You know,” he continued, calm as ever, “the disappearing act.”
“I’m right here,” I muttered.
He huffed quietly. “You’re here, yeah. You’re just not present.”
That earned him a glance. “You come out here to lecture me?”
“No,” he said. “I came out here because Mey’ira was crying on this same beach last night.”
My breath hitched before I could stop it.
Neteyam noticed. Of course he did.
“She didn’t see me at first,” he added, softer now. “Didn’t even hear Aonung. She was too busy blaming herself.”
I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. “Blaming herself for what.”
“For you,” he said plainly.
I scoffed, forcing a shrug. “That’s not fair.”
“No,” Neteyam agreed. “It isn’t. But that isn’t going to stop her from doing it.”
Silence pressed in around us. The water lapped against the rocks, steady and uncaring.
“She thinks you’re going to court Tsireya,” he said after a moment.
My jaw clenched. “I’m not.”
“I know,” Neteyam replied. “You know. But she doesn’t.”
I exhaled sharply through my nose, frustration burning low in my chest. “Then Tsireya shouldn’t be saying things like that.”
Neteyam tilted his head. “Or you shouldn’t be giving her reasons to.”
That landed harder than I expected.
“I didn’t ask for this,” I said, quieter now.
“No,” Neteyam agreed. “But you’re letting it happen.”
I looked down at my hands. They were shaking—just slightly. I curled them into fists.
I pressed my tongue to the roof of my mouth, breathing through the ache.
“She didn’t even say your name at first,” he added. “Like saying it might make it worse.”
My head snapped up. “She didn’t?”
Neteyam nodded once. “That’s what scared me.”
Silence stretched between us again
-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-
“I don’t know how to fix this,” I admitted finally. My voice felt raw, broken down to something honest. “Every time I’m near her, I want to ask for more than I’m allowed to want.”
Neteyam studied me. “Have you asked her what she’s willing to give?”
I shook my head slowly. “No.”
“Do you really want to fix it, little bro?” he said. “You’re only just assuming that what she wants is less than what you want.”
That thought sat heavy in my chest.
“I didn’t leave because I didn’t care,” I said quietly. “I left because if I stayed, I’d hope.”
Neteyam nodded. “Hope is not your enemy, Lo’ak.”
I laughed softly, bitter. “Feels like it.”
He stood, resting a hand briefly on my shoulder.
He paused, then added, “Waiting hurts, you guys have been waiting for years–searching for a silver lining.
“ Why you guys keep fighting—fighting what is already there, something only the two of you know the answer to.”
He walked away, leaving me staring at the water again.
-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-
(Mey’ira/reader POV)
The days were a complete blur, like the same thing happened every. single. day.
You helped your mother prepare her herbs, helped with the clan’s meals, and played with the younger ones in the water.
It felt as if the pain in your heart was minimizing itself—not fully gone, but way less.
Of course, Lo’ak was still lingering in the back of your mind. He’s your best friend—or was your best friend. So many what ifs take over your mind.
What if you never kissed him?
What if you never had that argument?
What if you never gained feelings for each other?
Constant war in your head.
-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-
The “hangout” that Aonung supposedly planned was dragged longer than it needed to be. You could’ve gone that day he proposed the idea. But every time you brought it up to him he would say,
“Relax baby sis, we have to make sure everything goes smoothly.”
Over and over with that annoyingly smug expression.
That we word. It irked your soul.
Who is we when you aren’t doing anything and it’s him planning this whole thing?
You should just tell him to forget it at this point.
Your patience was wearing thin, but eventually the day came.
No—you weren’t expecting it.
Aonung woke you up before the sun was even up, telling you that you had five minutes to get prepared.
“Come on, crybaby,” he said, shaking you. “You’ve been cooped up all week. Neteyam and I are going out—just a small thing. You’re coming.”
You frowned, turning away from him. “Since when do you invite me to your little hunts?”
“Since I care about your mental wellbeing,” he replied smoothly.
“Okay, Aonung, where are we going?” you asked, half asleep, irritation creeping into your tone.
“Don’t worry. Get ready and once you’re done, come outside,” Aonung whispered.
You hurriedly threw on whatever was next to you, not really caring how you looked.
I mean—it’s only your brother. And Neteyam, you guess.
You threw on some earrings, fluffed your hair out, and pretty soon you were outside.
“I’m done,” you said, walking toward your brother.
“Finally. Taking forever and you don’t even know where you’re going. I could’ve had you picking up trash.”
You gasped sarcastically. “You would never. I am your princess.”
Aonung rolled his eyes as he started walking. “Hurry up. Neteyam is waiting for us.”
-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-
You didn’t speak much on the way there. The air was cool, the path familiar—way too familiar. You realized where you were headed just as your feet slowed on instinct.
“Aonung, why are we here?” you said, your voice strong, emphasizing here.
Aonung kept walking. “Relax. You don’t own the beach.”
You immediately spotted Neteyam stopped near the tree line, adjusting the strap of his bow.
He saw you and Aonung and smiled—before they both quickly walked backward, away.
“We’ll be right back,” he said. “Just checking the traps.”
Both of them turned.
You stared after them, heart thudding. “Aonung?”
No response.
“Neteyam?”
Nothing.
You exhaled sharply, your palm pressing to your forehead as the realization settled heavy in your chest.
They left you.
On purpose.
You turned slowly—and there he was.
Of course.
-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-
“Oh,” you breathed. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
Lo’ak stood near the water’s edge, shoulders tense, eyes fixed on the horizon.
His head turned at the sound of your voice.
For a second—you saw it. Surprise. Relief. Guilt. All flickering across his face before he masked it behind something guarded. You hated how quick you noticed it.
“I didn’t know you’d be here,” he said.
“I had a feeling,” you replied quietly. His jaw tightened.
You stood there, neither of you moving closer.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” you said finally. Softly, as if you were trying not to break at your own words.
He huffed a breath. “You’ve noticed.”
“Hard not to,” you shot back. “You act as if I’m nothing but a stranger.”
He looked at you then. Really looked.
“And you look at me like I ruined your life.”
That stung. “Do you honestly believe that, Lo’ak? That I—out of all people—would ever think that of you?”
Silence fell again, heavier this time.
You stood there, neither of you moving closer. The distance felt unbearable—like if either of you crossed it, something would break. Like always.
Your hands curled at your sides.
-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-
“So what? This is it?” you said. “You just disappear from me and let everyone assume things about you and Tsireya?”
His expression flickered. “Is that what this is about?”
You laughed softly, bitter. “What is this not about, Lo’ak?”
“I didn’t court her,” he said suddenly.
“I’m not going to,” he added. “But you don’t know that—because you won’t talk to me.”
“Lo’ak—oh my—you’re the one that didn’t want to work anything out,” you snapped, frustration filling your voice.
“It was you that got up and disappeared from me. Not me—you. You did that, Lo’ak. A-and for what? Do I mean that little to you?”
Your throat tightened as your eyes filled, but you refused to let the tears win.
“Mey’ira, I was trying not to hurt you.”
“No! Don’t start with that!” you cut him off, heart hammering. “You didn’t try at all. You walked past me like I wasn’t here. Like I didn’t matter. And now you’re standing here, expecting what from me? Forgiveness?”
“I’m not expecting anything! That’s the thing,” he shot back, tension coiling in his jaw. “I was trying to figure myself out—figure out what the fuck this is. You don’t get to blame me for that.”
“You think walking past me, throwing yourself at other girls, pretending I don’t exist isn’t hurting me? You think that’s easier for me?”
His eyes darkened. “I didn’t—I don’t think that Ira. I didn’t say that.”
You hissed, taking a step closer. “Every time you laugh with them, every time your eyes refuse to meet mine, it’s like you’re erasing me, Lo’ak. Like nothing between us matters. Am I such a joke to you?”
He stepped closer. Just one step. Enough to make your breath catch.
“You hurt me too, Ira,” he said, voice low. “You don’t get to pretend you didn’t.”
You swallowed hard. “But I wanted to fix it. I wanted to tell you what everything meant. What you meant to me.”
“I know,” he replied. “That’s the worst part.”
You exhaled, eyes burning. “What does that even mean?”
“Ira…” His voice dropped, dangerous. “You think I don’t feel the same? You think I wanted to be here feeling like this?”
“Then why?” your throat tightened. “Why aren’t we talking? Why aren’t you trying with me, Lo’ak?!”
He ran a hand through his braids, frustration bleeding into every movement. “Because every time I open my mouth, it’s like I’m tiptoeing around glass. You won’t listen. You refuse to let me in!”
“I won’t let you in?” you scoffed. “You walked away. You ran. And now you’re acting like I’m the problem!”
His chest rose and fell sharply. “Mey’ira… you think I don’t care? That I want this—” his breathing fastened, “—all this tension between us?”
“You’re not acting like it!” you snapped. “You’re acting like I’m supposed to just… wait for you to figure out if I matter.”
The silence fell hard, broken only by the crash of the waves.
“I…” you faltered. Your chest burned, tears threatening again. “I’m scared, Lo’ak. I’m scared if I let you in, I’ll fall… and if I fall, you’ll leave. Like last time.”
His lips parted slightly, jaw tight, fists clenched at his sides. That broke him—not your anger, not your words. Your fear.
Footsteps echoed somewhere in the distance.
Too far to help.
Too close to ignore.
Aonung’s laugh carried faintly through the trees.
You sighed, turning your head. “I’m not going to do this again, Lo’ak.”
Your voice dropped. He was looking at you—searching your eyes for something.
“Every time we speak, we argue. We can’t even have a simple conversation.”
You looked down at the ground, hands tangled in your curls.
“We—we aren’t even friends anymore, Lo,” your voice shook.
“What even is this?” you whispered. “How did we get here? When did you become so cold—so ignorant?”
You opened your mouth, wanting to scream, to cry, to throw everything at him—but the words stuck.
A memory flickered. Late nights by the water. His cheering me up after a brutal day–just us indulging in one another.
Him nudging me with a grin, whispering, “Never forget, mama…”
“I got you forever.”
Tears ran down your face uncontrollably.
You swallowed hard, the salt of your tears mixing with the sea breeze.
You needed to leave. Immediately.
You turned on your heel and walked away.
Once more.
For the last time.
-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-
A/N: so I saw a video that said using 'first person pov' lures people away and thats the LAST thing I wanna do. Please lmk if you guys prefer 1st or 2nd person POV!!
He disappeared quietly into the crowd, climbing back onto Nyx after their short rest time—Where he allowed both him and his dragon to breathe, to come down from the high of adrenaline.
Charles locked eyes with him one final time, a flicker of surprise flashing on his features as he watched him fly off.
He should've expected it. In all the months they'd been racing, Max never stuck around long enough to speak post-race—Of course, that frustrated him a little bit, he never even had enough time to congratulate him, or actually try to strike up conversation.
Just standing side-by-side over the crowd, champagne bottles that were far too expensive in hand, eyes shut as the cheer of the crowd echoed through the mountains.
And then he was gone.
A part of him wanted to speak to him more, get a chance to know the man behind the mask.
After all, the only time he'd ever seen him bare-faced was that night on the beach. That night that still stuck with him, that he still thought about when he lied awake at night.
The way his eyes caught the moonlight, making them almost glow, the way his hair was such a mess—Something that you'd expect from the outcasted mystery man.
But it almost mirrored Charles in a way that he couldn't push away.
He still wondered, why was he out there? Was it just coincidence? Fate, perhaps?
No. Charles didn't believe in fate. Not after he was cursed with the life he lived now, never a hint of privacy.
The people of his kingdom said he was destined to be king one day, to be a ruler—But that couldn't have been farther from what he wanted, he yearned for freedom. The ability to do whatever he wanted, without being questioned.
Every night when he'd arrive home late, balancing clumsily on Rubis' wing as he climbed back through his window, always turning to watch the scarlet red dragon disappear into the night, heading to the den within the kingdom.
His father would always ask.
"Where have you been?"
"Why are they talking about you... racing?"
"Where do you keep disappearing to?"
Questions he could never answer without being locked up in the palace again.
He'd experienced it a few times. The first time he had a girlfriend back in elementary school—He was eleven, young and stupid, had no idea what love was.
He snuck out while his father was busy, running through the streets to her place, a bouquet of wilted roses and daisies that he'd pulled out of the palace gardens squeezed in his hand.
He thought he'd been being slick.
He wasn't.
Those actions were what got him introduced to Alexandra. (Side note. I love love LOVE Alex, I'm just using her here for the plot, nothing negative!)
The girl he was told he had to marry in the future. Her family was rich, respectable, and she was the same.
She was gorgeous, funny, intelligent, kind-hearted—All the things Charles should've loved. But all the things that he couldn't bear.
He didn't want to marry somebody his father chose. He didn't want anything to do with royalty at all—Sure, the money was nice. Being able to spend without worrying, but he'd rather live his days without a place to call home than live in a place that was supposed to be his home, all while it never felt like it.
So without further thought, before his better senses kicked in, he scrambled to climb up onto Rubis and followed after the dutchman.
Even as the rain started to fall, seeping through his clothes, making his hair stick to his face.
He had to get answers, one way or another. Even if it made Max hate him more.
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In some rinky-dink town between Manchester and Albany, where the streets are quiet and the population is well below ten thousand, the first thought that crosses Eddie's mind as he pulls up to the makeshift arena is: “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”
Not because the town's small, and not because the arena looks like it's one feeble gust of wind from becoming a pile of sticks, but because just as he pulls up, so does Steve. The same beautiful bastard whom he's tried his damndest to avoid throughout the last month.
Banging his head on the steering wheel hard enough that the drone of Metallica turns into ringing in his ears, Eddie contemplates bludgeoning himself to death on the fucking thing.
🤠🤠🤠
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
CW//small instance that could be viewed as internalized homophobia
(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3)
In the bottom of Steve’s closet is a Nike shoe box. It’s full of a year’s worth of torn notebook pages, paper menus, receipts, envelopes, sticky notes, notepad sheets, invoice carbon copies, discarded things from dnd, and whatever else they could find to write on.
It's this box that contains every bit of Steve’s heart.
✏️✏️✏️✏️
Steve’s at the school to pick up Dustin, Mike and Lucas, but they don’t appear at 9pm on the dot like they promised. Grumbling and annoyed, Steve heads down to the drama club room.
He hears Eddie’s voice even before he walks into the room. The low baritone, all husky and threatening, sends shivers down Steve’s spine.
Steve strides into the room, ready to berate his kids for their tardiness, but he stops literally in his tracks when he sees Eddie. Eddie looming over the table, all that long curly hair framing his face; his expression uncharacteristically dangerous, his eyes flat and promising violence.
He can’t do anything but stare, mouth shocked wide. Eddie lifts his gaze, locks it on Steve. Eddie’s looking at him with such intense command, such focus, that Steve knows he’d drop to his knees for that look, give Eddie anything he asked, everything.
He wants. So hard and so fast it makes him a little nauseous.
Eddie’s gaze flicks away, while Steve reels from the striking clarity of feeling that rewrites the year of their friendship frame-by-frame.
Steve hardly listens, still trying to come to terms with his sudden realization, with how right it is, with how obvious it’s been this whole time. He remembers, after Starcourt, the way Eddie made him feel safe, cared for. The way Eddie calling him baby echoed for hours, days, weeks after.
Of course Eddie doesn’t miss Steve's distraction. He leans into Steve's space, murmuring softly, “You okay, sweetheart? Sorry we ran late. Lost track of time.”
“Just tired, I guess.," he says. And he is distinctly not okay, because Eddie is calling him sweetheart and how did it take him this long to realize how much he loves the pet names?
He tries to tell Eddie. Can’t. Too afraid of losing his friend. He keeps going out with girls; nice girls, pretty girls, but wishes that Eddie was the one sitting beside him in the movie theater, in the passenger side of his car, across from him at the restaurant.
Eddie…I think I really like you
You’re my favorite person in the entire world
Some days you’re the only thing I can think about
I want to wake up in bed with you everyday
I can’t stop thinking about what it would be like to kiss you
Do you like me? Yes or No
✏️✏️✏️✏️
Steve’s in the Wheeler’s basement, leaning against Eddie's shoulder, waiting for the kids to finish up.
“What are they talking about?” He scribbles at the edge of Eddie’s campaign notes.
Eddie scowls at the note placement, responds anyway.
“Halloween costumes.”
“Wanna dress up together, Munson?”
“No way, Harrington, I’m not dressing up as Danny Zuko for you.”
“…obviously you’re Sandy.”
Eddie makes an offended noise.
“I could do end of the movie Sandy. But face it, baby, you’re the pretty, fresh-faced innocent and I’m the bad boy.”
Steve strangles back the sound he wants to make when his brain supplies him with an image of Eddie in those black, skin-tight pants.
“I could be a bad boy.”
Before Eddie can reply, the kids start shouting, and Eddie climbs on the wobbling card table, clapping his hands for attention.
“Jesus, Eds." He grabs Eddie’s ankle to keep him stable.
“I think a trip to the pumpkin patch is in order, what say you?”
There’s a blip where the whole room stills, every single one of them, aside from Eddie, remembering rotted fields and fetid tunnels filled with Upside Down spores and demo dogs.
“Oh, yeah, we don’t go to the pumpkin patch anymore. You know, since the tunnels—”
Steve shoots Dustin the most intense silencing looks he’s ever given anyone, which is really saying something.
They’d agreed, back in July that they would never tell Eddie what really happened at the mall. Eddie is too good, too gentle, brimming with too much pure kindness for Steve to want him anywhere near the Upside Down.
Eddie cackles. “Tunnels, Henderson?”
Lucas laughs, says, “He means the maze. Don’t you remember? They set it up one time a few years ago.”
“We got really lost. Took us hours to find the exit,” Dustin adds.
“Mike cried,” Lucas says.
“Hey! I did not!”
Mike’s anger at fake crying about a made-up crisis is enough to have them all in stitches, even Eddie who doesn’t know it’s a lie.
“What about that apple orchard?” Steve suggests.
Eddie pokes him in the cheek, excited. “Ooh, yes, apple orchard!?”
✏️✏️✏️✏️
The orchard is a mad dash of fighting over wheelbarrows, shrieking sprints into the trees, Steve stressing at the kids throwing themselves across branches with zero regard for personal safety.
Eddie nearly sends him into a coronary at the ripe old age of 19 by walking down a branch like he’s doing a tightrope.
“Munson! Get your ass down from there!”
“I’m fine, Stevie! I’ve got reflexes like a cat.”
“The hell you do!” Steve shouts as Eddie wobbles.
“Don’t worry, baby, I know you’ll always catch me,” Eddie yells back. He winks and Steve blushes about all of it.
“You’ll just get us both hurt,” he says right as Eddie shimmies easily back to the ground.
“You worry too much,” he scolds. “All this beautiful hair is going to go grey,” Eddie shuffles his fingers through the strands.
“You’re a menace,” he growls. Pushes Eddie playfully away.
They pick apples and drink cider and it’s the best time Steve’s had in a while. He kids are spread out around him, Eddie and Robin on the quest for an apple that’s perfectly red, like you could poison Snow White with it, and he’s content. Happy.
He lets himself bask in the moment, but it’s cut short by a familiar whooping yell and the crash of Eddie Munson clinging to his back.
He groans, almost loses his footing, but quickly hoists Eddie’s legs higher against his sides.
He runs and Eddie screams, giggling, and clutches his fists into the fabric of Steve’s sweater.
“Can’t believe you caught me, sweetheart,” Eddie says once Steve slows to a walk.
“I’ll always catch you, Eds,” he promises.
Eddie makes a little noise, almost like a whimper, pressing his cheek against Steve’s.
And for just a second, the barest hint of a moment in time, Steve swears he feels Eddie’s lips pressed against the sensitive skin right beneath his ear.
It’s right then that Steve knows he doesn’t just like Eddie. No, he’s positively, totally, and completely in love with him.
(Part 5)
Thank you all so much for your comments and reblogs and likes! I appreciate it more than I can say and am still so honored that so many people like this little series. Please let me know if I missed you in the tag list, and I'll make sure to get you added for future updates (I think we're looking at 3 more)!
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
A quick look at Thrawn's perspective during Away Mission: Part 1 & 2 of my Rebel!Vader fic! I wrote this up to get a better handle on what was going on behind the scenes while writing Part 2, and figured I might as well post it for you all to enjoy :)
Cool Ranch Vader 2 summary:
Last we saw them, the desperate attempts of Admiral Piett and his allies to hide Lord Vader's defection to the Rebellion had been discovered - by none other than Lord Vader himself!
Now, we come to the fallout of the unfortunate events of "It's Not Easy Being Evil," and continue the shenanigans of the Imperial team. With cameos from the Rebels, of course!
