Judd Nelson In The Breakfast Club Walked

Indiana Snow

an: We've just had our first snow of winter and everything looks so pretty! In honor of the first snow, here's a winter Eddie one-shot, a product of my boredom! Hope you enjoy it! (NOT related to 'The time before')

blurb: Andrea Emerson is back from college, but not even a week into her winter break, Hawkins receives a freak blizzard. Her brother, Gareth, has recently suffered an injury and calls in his bandmate to aid Andrea.

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The snow was coming down in small, sticky clumps when I woke up on a chilly morning in the middle of December. I could feel the blistering cold through my socks as I walked down the creaky stairs, trying my hardest to not wake the rest of the house up. I made my way into the frightfully cold kitchen, where a note taped to the fridge caught my eye.

Wanted to get out before the snow started. There are sandwich materials in the pantry. Josie's food is in the fridge. Love, Mom

Right on cue, I could hear my sister's tiny footsteps padding down the stairs. She came around the corner into the kitchen, her hair sticking out in every direction while she rubbed her eyes. "Hi, bubby," I said, picking her up and kissing her on the cheek. She was only two but had recently figured out how to climb out of the crib. "Hi, Andy," She sighed and laid her head on my shoulder sleepily.

Josie and I spent the rest of the morning making breakfast and coffee while watching the snow out the window.

Eventually, Gareth came downstairs, befuddled by sleep, and had breakfast. He glanced out the window, immediately refusing to shovel any snow. He sprained his ankle a week ago anyway, so I wasn't planning on him doing much. "I will take Josie out to play, though," he exclaimed, his statement punctuated by an excited squeal from Josie. I sighed heavily, marching to get my boots and coat on.

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What a great way to start winter break. Not even three days back from college, and already freezing my butt off while shoveling snow. I wasn't making any good progress either, barely getting the steps clear enough to get out of the house without falling over.

About half an hour into shoveling, I heard a voice behind me. "Hey, stranger." I turned to see Eddie, clad in a winter jacket, holding a snow shovel. The snow whipped around us, leaving snowflakes in his hair, which was held back in a ponytail. He looks like an angel, I thought. The idea bounced around in my mind briefly before I banished it. "What are you doing here?" I asked. "I came to help," He said, motioning to the shovel.

"You guys sure did get a lot more snow than we did at the trailer park. That probably has to do with how many cars drive up and down those roads. It's so much... prettier here." He said, looking out in our yard. Our house was nothing to look out for, nothing notable. It was small, with barely enough space for all of us. I made a slight noise of agreement before getting back to shoveling, Eddie following close behind. "Jesus, this snow is packed. I think what you need for Christmas is a snowblower," he exclaimed. I laughed mildly, watching a grin break out across his face.

"Can I ask you something?" I said, heaving snow to the left of me. "Shoot," He replied. "Were you actually 'In the neighborhood' and just happened upon me?" I asked. He let a few moments pass before heaving out a long sigh. "Not really," He finally answered. "Your brother called me." Bingo. "Oh." Even I could hear the disappointment bubbling in my voice. I'm gonna kill that brat.

"But I'm happy to do it. What other day do I get to spend with a college girl?" He grinned at me. "Shut up," I said, trying not to let him see me smile at such a stupid joke. "Well, tell me about it. How is college going?" He asked. I sighed. "It's good. I like it; it's just so... much. The schedule is really intense." I explained. "Geez. Sounds rough," he said. I was also tempted to ask him about school, but I knew there wouldn't be much to say. I could tell he took a hit on his self-esteem each time he had to repeat senior year.

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"Well, it looks like we're about done here," I said. After almost two hours in the snow, we had finally cleared the driveway and the sidewalk. He held his hand up for a high five, which I missed by about a mile. We both let out awkward laughter, eye contact slipping away. There was another minute of awkward silence. "Hey, I think we've got some hot chocolate inside," I suggested in a singsongy tone. "Hell yeah. I'm freezing my balls off," he said, letting out a chuckle of laughter. I walked past him, smiling, and let us into the house.

We shed our coats, boots, and scarves by the front door and entered the kitchen. Eddie followed me as I went through the cabinets, grabbing various supplies. Josie came running over, and I picked her up, cradling her in my arm while the other stirred cocoa powder into a few mugs. "Josie, you remember Eddie," I said, turning her to face Eddie, leaning against the counter next to me. He waved to her. "Can you say 'Hi'?" I prompted. She waited a few minutes while smiling at him and then said a slow 'hi.' He shot her a grin and returned the greeting. She giggled and hid her face in my neck. Me too, girl. Me too.

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The following afternoon was very calm, with Eddie and Gareth escaping to the basement to practice a little one-on-one. We drank our hot chocolate at the kitchen table, laughing the whole time as Eddie or Gareth cracked a joke.

"Why in God's name would you call Eddie, of all people?" I asked while shutting the door behind the cold. "Well... um.... I thought he would be the most willing?" He said, scratching his head. "And why is that?" I asked, crossing my arms in front of my chest. "Because the guy loves you! I mean, do you really not see it?" He exclaimed. I scoffed. "Come on. Is there any other guy in this town who would subject himself to a day of manual labor just so he could spend time with you? He was practically begging me to give him an in like this." My heart thumped in my chest, and I could feel my cheeks blooming with heat. "Shut up. He does not," I said, walking down the hallway back into the kitchen. "Seriously. He doesn't shut up about it. It's a little weird, sometimes, to hear the kind of shit he says about my sister," He said. I focused on doing the dishes, pretending not to hear him. He sighed and finally gave up, walking down the hallway.

My mind continued to race in all different directions. He likes me? How is that even possible? I mean, we never even talked to each other, even though he was best friends with my brother, and we were originally supposed to be in the same year. It was all just... weird. Besides, I've been away at college for the past year! Sure, he was cute in high school and possibly even cuter now, but why would he ever have feelings for me?

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I used to work for a trade book reviewer where I got paid to review people's books, and one of the rules of that review company is one that I think is just super useful to media analysis as a whole, and that is, we were told never to critique media for what it didn't do but only for what it did.

So, for instance, I couldn't say "this book didn't give its characters strong agency or goals". I instead had to say, "the characters in this book acted in ways that often felt misaligned with their characterization as if they were being pulled by the plot."

I think this is really important because a lot of "critiques" people give, if subverted to address what the book does instead of what it doesn't do, actually read pretty nonsensical. For instance, "none of the characters were unique" becomes "all of the characters read like other characters that exist in other media", which like... okay? That's not really a critique. It's just how fiction works. Or "none of the characters were likeable" becomes "all of the characters, at some point or another, did things that I found disagreeable or annoying" which is literally how every book works?

It also keeps you from holding a book to a standard it never sought to meet. "The world building in this book simply wasn't complex enough" becomes "The world building in this book was very simple", which, yes, good, that can actually be a good thing. Many books aspire to this. It's not actually a negative critique. Or "The stakes weren't very high and the climax didn't really offer any major plot twists or turns" becomes "The stakes were low and and the ending was quite predictable", which, if this is a cute romcom is exactly what I'm looking for.

Not to mention, I think this really helps to deconstruct a lot of the biases we carry into fiction. Characters not having strong agency isn't inherently bad. Characters who react to their surroundings can make a good story, so saying "the characters didn't have enough agency" is kind of weak, but when you flip it to say "the characters acted misaligned from their characterization" we can now see that the *real* problem here isn't that they lacked agency but that this lack of agency is inconsistent with the type of character that they are. a character this strong-willed *should* have more agency even if a weak-willed character might not.

So it's just a really simple way of framing the way I critique books that I think has really helped to show the difference between "this book is bad" and "this book didn't meet my personal preferences", but also, as someone talking about books, I think it helps give other people a clearer idea of what the book actually looks like so they can decide for themselves if it's worth their time.

Update: This is literally just a thought exercise to help you be more intentional with how you critique media. I'm not enforcing this as some divine rule that must be followed any time you have an opinion on fiction, and I'm definitely not saying that you have to structure every single sentence in a review to contain zero negative phrases. I'm just saying that I repurposed a rule we had at that specific reviewer to be a helpful tool to check myself when writing critiques now. If you don't want to use the tool, literally no one (especially not me) can or wants to force you to use it. As with all advice, it is a totally reasonable and normal thing to not have use for every piece of it that exists from random strangers on the internet. Use it to whatever extent it helps you or not at all.

Mr. Linden's Library

short story i wrote for an english class that i was told was not good. anyways, figured it might reach the right people on here. enjoy!

word count: 801

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It was dreadfully cold at Three o’clock on the morning of January Third when Mr. Linden woke, hearing a loud crash. Drenched in sweat, he sat up in bed and grasped the comforter next to him but, alas, clutched only onto air. “Clara!” he called. He got out of bed and quickly dressed in his bed jacket. Before he left his chambers, he took his lantern, making off with haste into the hallway and down the two flights of stairs that led to the basement.

“Clara!” He called into the darkness of the floor below. “Clara?” But no reply was made. He slowly illuminated it with his lantern, casting a soft glow about the room. He produced a set of keys from his pocket and made his way over to a small door. In his haste, it took him many failed attempts to unlock and open the door before he let himself in.

“Clara!” He called once more into darkness. He finally opened the door, pushing the lantern through. The light produced from it danced over the many bookshelves that covered the room’s walls, some books with shiny title fonts reflecting the dim glow.

This room, which he referred to as his study, was filled with shelves upon shelves of books, each stocked full and on the verge of overflowing. Every wall was hidden by a massive, looming bookcase except for the north wall, which housed his carved oak desk. Placed meticulously behind the desk was a brown leather swiveling chair that was always perfectly spotless and polished. In the far corner of the room lived an ugly green cloth armchair, which had perfected the art of both becoming an eyesore and collecting dust. He never used it; he could never even remember the last time he had sat in it. He only sat at his desk, often in a very official manner, looking over papers, contracts, and the like. He did not have time to read his books, nor did he want to.

Now, as he rushed into the room, he squinted, searching for any sign of human life. He walked along every wall, scanning the bookshelves for anything that looked amiss, until he reached the southern wall. He checked the shelf and noticed that one of his books was missing. To his horror, only a space remained where the book had once been placed. He had not taken the book out yesterday, and had he; it would have been returned to its rightful place on the shelf. He had learned too well what would happen when you left a book out all night.

He was terrified. Now frantic in his alarm, he turned round and round in the center of the room, calling out desperately, “Clara! Clara!” as his eyes grew large with fear.

He finally gathered himself enough to stumble to a doorway in between two bookcases on the east wall. Fumbling for the doorknob, he realized with great trepidation that it had already been opened. “Clara!” He wailed. He yanked the door open, pulling himself through it before he could bear to look around.

Behind this door was the other half of his study, which always remained locked. Inside was a wooden worktable pushed against one wall covered in beakers, baubles, and other scientific ornaments. Two large bookcases flanked either end of the table, and a bench in front. Now, however, the room was all but ripped to shreds. The bookcases had been smashed; their contents spilled over the floor. The worktable was flipped onto its side, all the embellishments broken on the floor, and strange liquids drained out of them.

The only thing undisturbed in the middle of the room was the bench, now pushed away from the table. Across the bench lay a young woman, seeming to sleep in a vision of picturesque womanhood, with a book settled upon her lap.

Upon seeing her, Mr. Linden walked over to the bench and sank to his knees, grasping the young woman’s hand. “Clara! Clara. I knew this was what would become of my horrible habit, but I have prayed that it would be me that they would take. Not you. Never you. Oh, Clara, what have I done?” He howled as sobs racked his figure.

After a moment, he removed the book from her lap, only to reveal a mass of spiders dripping from the book’s pages. Without a moment of hesitation, he placed the book upon his chest, laid down on the floor, the woman’s hand still held within his own, and declared, “If they demand one of us, I will give them both.”

Within the hour, he stopped breathing, the venom of the spiders plaguing his bloodstream, with the hope of being reunited with his sweet Clara once more, if not on this earth.

I wish my book boyfriends were real 😭

the patrick verona to eddie munson pipeline is SO real

my anger levels normally : 📈📉

my anger levels when ryle called atlas a "homeless guy who lily pity-fucked" : 📈📈📈📈📈📈📈📈📈📈📈📈📈📈📈📈📈📈📈📈📈📈📈

The Time Before - Eddie's Movies

260 words

an: hey!!! life's been pretty crazy with exams and everything, and since I haven't posted in a while, here's a little fluff for you all! I've been obsessed with all the Godzilla and Kong movies recently, and wanted to put something in here because I think it fits Eddie so well! Hope you enjoy!

cw: fluff, slight mentions of child abuse

================================================Eddie had never gotten the chance to watch many movies at his former house; when his father was home, he would hog the tv, caring only to watch football games. The second time Eddie was placed in Wayne's care, Wayne decided to rent as many movies as he could that seemed like they would interest his nephew. Wayne laid them all on the shelf below the coffee table in careful piles.

Eddie had been quiet so far into his stay, much like the first time he was brought to Wayne, only much more enclosed, enveloped in himself. Wayne barely saw him leave his room, seeing it as a protective barrier from his brother's actions.

After they had finished dinner one night three weeks into Eddie's stay, Wayne suggested they put on a movie. "You go pick. They're all underneath the coffee table," he suggested. Eddie walked into the living room and picked the first one on the stack. He wasn't very interested at first, but once the opening scene of Godzilla vs. Megalon started, he was sucked in.

Practically attached to the movies, he spent the next two days watching every movie he could find. Godzilla, King Kong, and the Universal Monsters became his companions over the warm summer when his hair finally started to grow back out. Boris Karloff was his idol, and he even received a poster that has been tacked on his wall since his 12th birthday.

He wouldn't admit it until years later, but he cried at Kong's death at the end of King Kong (1976).

iii];)'

slash’s instagram posts are NOT for the weak

I’ve seen a couple before but I’m surprised Eddie Van Halen & Valerie Bertinelli’s pics aren’t used for Eddie Munson more. They’re perfect, a literal goldmine, she was living the y/n life before it was even a thing!