Sometimes You Need Dialogue Tags And Don't Want To Use The Same Four

while we're all online and memeing the failed assassination of a usamerican fascist please take a second to [donate to save a family in Gaza] and do your [daily click for Palestine]

also wait since we're all here we should all donate to this gofundme. it's for 20 people, mostly kids, in gaza for necessary supplies and to eventually leave if they hit their goal. even if the goal isn't reached it's still useful for food etc. good place to donate!!

✨ dinosaurifies ur kawoshin ✨

Shinji as Dromaeosaurs

Kaworu as Saurornithoides

If you care about us in Gaza,

my family and I need your help. We lost our home and now live in a tent.

Sharing our GoFundMe link or donating could give us hope and a chance to rebuild.

Our campaign is still under $10000.

Please follow my account if you care.

🕊️🕊️❤️❤️🙏🙏🙏🇵🇸🇵🇸

Wishing you well, I pray you reach your goal soon. I'll try to reblog your posts when I notice activity getting high to get as much traction on it as I can.

For anyone seeing this; I've seen people saying the campaign is vetted / verified by nabulsi and, whilst 10k has been raised so far, there's still a long way to go. Anything you can spare is amazing!

gofundme.com

Donate to Helping Ahmed's Family: Escaping War to a New Life, organized by Abdallah Alanqar

Hello,, I'm Abdallah Alanqar, originally from Palestine but cu… Abdallah Alanqar needs your support for Helping Ahmed's Family: Escaping

Okay guys, I'm just gonna say it. Jonathan Byers deserved to have his camera destroyed by Steve in S1. It's taken me nearly 10 years to have the courage to fully say it but there it is. If you knowingly take pervy pictures of a woman undressing from outside her window you deserve to have the girl or her boyfriend break your damn camera.

kind of wanna reinforce this here. because i’ve seen ai writing become so popular on tik tok.

ai writing is not okay.

it’s literally theft. just like how ai art steals, ai writing steals. it’s using authors’ very real work to generate whatever you type in. and this also needs to be said as well.

writing is a form of art. fanfiction is a form of literature.

seeing this all over my fyp is REALLY discouraging. fanfic itself is already a labor of love and we love it when you interact. but please do not use ai writing for your fanfic needs when this writing literally steals from fanfic authors.

genuinely don’t know if this post will go around because my interactions outside of hcs are shit, but i hope it does.

shinji and kaworu edit 🥺🤭, i barely ever try to make edits so it’s not the best 😭 (props to all those amazing editors out there, y’all are cool af bc editing hard as shit 👊💪)

Its a bit different from the content I usually post, but I hope you guys like it 🥺🤗

GET SIRAJ TO 50K IN 2 DAYS!!

If you don't know by now, Siraj Abudayeh is a writer and journalist from Gaza. He is currently fundraising to survive through the genocide. He has a dream of rebuilding his home - this is his resistance against the settler state because he refuses to let the colonizers take over the city, the home, he so loves. Siraj and his family need to live through this difficult time. Everyday is a struggle where his family has to put in herculean efforts to acquire even the basic items of life. No one, who is from outside of Gaza can know how truly hellish these ten months have been. To provide you with just a glimpse of this hell, Siraj has asked me to share this message with you:

"Everyday, my children have to stand in a line to get 10 loaves of bread. You also have young girls, pregnant women, and the elderly. . . They all wait to purchase for their families, but the bakery is a wrestling ring! We quarrel with each other, scream until our throat hurts, and faint from the blazing heat! And the queue does not move while all of this is happening. . . Not even a prayer will save you from this misery!

For 3 straight hours, Muhammad, Siraj’s son, stood, counting on his fingers how many people will it be until it is his turn to receive the bread and return to his family. His turn has finally arrived.

Suddenly, an ear piercing sound slices through the the air!! It is heavier than an exploding F-16 missile: Children fled in fear, the bakery was hastily closed and Muhammad returned with a heavy burden of an empty stomach."

As of writing this $46,268 out $50,000 CAD have been raised. We have $3,732 left to go!

Please don't let it stagnate! As it has been mentioned before, Siraj is supporting more people than ever. He cannot afford the fundraiser to slow down. Every second counts! So please donate and share! Every bit counts!

gofundme.com

Donate to Support Siraj's Family in Rebuilding Their Home, organized by Ahmad Abudayeh

hi, my name is ahmad and I'm raising a fund for my cousin Siraj and thi… Ahmad Abudayeh needs your support for Support Siraj's Family in Reb

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playing match-maker with professor!gojo satoru [prev]

Dr. Gojo Satoru added Prof. Shoko Ieiri to Cupids <3

Dr. Gojo Satoru: Sho where are you taking your lunch today? You: Eat with us in Gojo’s lab!

Prof . Getou Suguru emphasized your message

Prof. Shoko Ieiri: …why? Dr. Gojo Satoru: colleague bonding time! Prof. Shoko Ieiri: what’s the catch? You: Why does there have to be a catch T-T Prof. Getou Suguru: Join us, and we’ll accompany you to that meditation class taught by the cute brunette you’ve been drooling over.

Dr. Gojo Satoru laughed at a message

Prof. Shoko Ieiri: yeah alright

Shoko appears in the doorway of Gojo’s lab shortly after agreeing to join. Her white lab coat flutters as she strides in, a fitted blue shirt tucked into black pin-striped slacks. She plops her brown bag onto the table beside you, tossing her long brown hair over her shoulder, and extracts a sandwich and an apple.

Across from you, Gojo sits perched at his desk, leaning back with his legs crossed atop the surface. His usual smug determination is evident, highlighted by his untouched strawberry cheesecake yogurt. His white turtleneck peeks above the collar of his lab coat, accentuating the icy hue of his hair and brows.

Unfortunately, spending so much time with Gojo means you are beginning to mirror him in subtle (and sometimes regrettable) ways. Today’s shared wavelength is your matching outfits—both of you in white turtlenecks and brown straight-leg slacks. Though, judging by the label on his, the price tags aren’t even close.

Getou, seated on a stool to your other side, shakes his salad container, the silver hem of his cardigan shimmering under the fluorescent light. A stray strand of hair falls across his face, and he tucks it behind his ear before turning to Shoko, who silently munches on her sandwich.

“So,” Getou begins, smirking, “we’re just going to ignore how quickly the promise of getting near your little hippie crush convinced you?”

Gojo snickers and Shoko shoots Getou a glare.

“She’s not a hippie,” Shoko retorts, wiping her mouth. “Meditation is a holistic approach with spiritual and health benefits. What do you guys even want from me? Gojo, you don’t eat lunch on campus—ever. The café staff down the road probably know you better than your students.”

You chime in. “Important business, Shoko. Gojo and I are working on a project requiring the intellectual brilliance of like-minded individuals.”

Getou nods solemnly. Shoko laughs.

“Thank god you entertain him,” she says. “Back when my pre-med lab was next to his, he wouldn’t stop dragging me into his ridiculous schemes. You’ve saved me countless headaches.”

Gojo grabs a stress ball from his desk and lobs it at her. Shoko deflects it with her elbow, the ball bouncing to the floor.

“You’re so mean,” Gojo pouts. “Anyway, you’re here to confirm my theory that first-years Itadori Yuji and Kugisaki Nobara are the ideal match.”

Shoko groans. “Of course I am. Let me guess—you two,” she points at you and Getou, “think Itadori and Fushiguro Megumi are a better match.”

You nod eagerly.

“Well,” she sighs, leaning back, “considering Gojo’s total lack of social awareness, I’d normally side with you two. But…Gojo, are you positive that you can concretely back your theory?”

Gojo stands, pacing dramatically. “Is an atom that’s lost its electron considered positive?”

“I think you’re saying yes?” you guess.

“Exactly!” Gojo snaps his fingers, grinning triumphantly.

Shoko, ever the pragmatist, pulls out her phone. “Fine. This semester, I’m teaching those three in Health & Wellness. Let me show you something.”

She scrolls through her phone and finally finds a video. “Yuji and Nobara worked together on a group project. Watch this.”

00:03 =⬤--------------------------- 01:17 

⇆ㅤ ◁ㅤ❚❚ㅤ▷ㅤ ↻ 

[The video begins, revealing Yuji and Nobara squeezed together in the frame, their smiles radiant. Nobara playfully elbows Yuji, whose eyes widen in mock shock before he starts speaking.]

Yuji: “Hello, Sensei! Nobara and I finished the group assignment together and decided to try something totally out of our comfort zone. Actually, it’s something we’ve joked about before because it sounded ridiculous.”

[He stifles a laugh, running a hand through his pink hair, the short strands standing on end.]

Yuji: “We went to a local teaching farm and did… goat yoga. We’ve seen the posters on campus forever, so we thought, why not? It was a blast! The goats were fun, and hanging out with Nobara was great too!”

Nobara: “Yeah! Honestly, I was kind of nervous at first. It’s not easy convincing a goat to climb on your back during yoga poses. But once they did, their little hooves felt like a mini massage. Here—look!”

[She lifts a photo into the frame, holding it close to the camera. The image comes into focus: Yuji in a shaky downward dog pose on a yoga mat, Nobara beside him coaxing a tiny goat onto his back with a piece of hay. Nobara bursts out laughing and shakes the photo.] 

Nobara: “Haha! Right after this, the goat climbed off Yuji and—get this—it started peeing. Like, it barely missed his pants! He’s so lucky he didn’t get soaked.”

[Yuji yelps, shoving her shoulder while Nobara doubles over, her laughter echoing. Grinning through his embarrassment, Yuji snatches the camera, bringing it close to his face.]

Yuji: “Okay, Sensei, I’m cutting this off. Nobara’s having way too much fun at my expense. But yeah, aside from that one… incident, it was really fun. I’d totally do it again!”

[His hand covers the lens, and the screen fades to black.] 

01:17 =================⬤ 01:17

⇆ㅤ ◁ㅤ❚❚ㅤ▷ㅤ ↻

Shoko lowers her phone, pressing it to her lips as if lost in thought.

“Sorry, you two. After watching that again, I’m siding with Gojo on this. Look at them—they’re glowing. If someone made me laugh and smile like that, I’d be completely done for.”

Getou scoffs, muttering something about how that explains why Shoko’s “so giggly after meditation.”

You shush him, trying to keep things light.

“Alright, that makes it 2-3. But you know who else teaches those three? Professor Haibara. We have to ask him.”

Before long, Haibara Yu strolls into Gojo’s lab, looking as disheveled as ever. His charcoal slacks are slightly wrinkled, his pale pink shirt untucked, and his silver glasses sit crooked on his nose.

“You called—Oh! Everyone’s here! Hi!” he exclaims, spreading his arms wide in greeting.

Getou, ever efficient, disposes of his salad container and slings an arm over Haibara’s shoulder.

“Hey, Yu. Quick question: as their professor, do you think Yuji and Megumi would make a good match?”

Haibara blinks, caught off guard. “As in… romantically?”

When Getou nods, Haibara rubs the back of his neck, thinking.

“Well, they’re in my History of the Samurai class, and let me tell you, they’re my most enthusiastic students. On the first day, I asked what everyone already knew about samurai. Yuji and Megumi practically bolted to the board and started writing a list of skills they’ve practiced together.”

He grabs a marker and writes neatly on the whiteboard:

Samurai Fighting Basics – Megumi & Yuji

• Iaido: Drawing & Sheathing Iaitō • Kenjutsu: Bokken Stances & Striking • Kendo: Shinai Quick Attacks

“They even demonstrated some techniques right there in class,” Haibara says with a grin, his thick bangs falling into his eyes. “It’s obvious they’re close and share so many interests. Honestly, I ship it!”

The room erupts into chaos as everyone starts debating further. The argument rages on until Gojo’s next class begins trickling in, scattering the group with reluctant promises to continue later.

During your own lesson, as your students take turns popcorn-reading poetry, your phone buzzes in your pocket.

Dr. Gojo Satoru: Hey, I just remembered. We’re facilitating that student union meeting today. We can totally ask the upperclassmen for their opinions!

You sigh, typing back a quick response.

You: Fine. Get back to teaching, Gojo.

When you woke up this morning, you definitely didn’t expect to be holed up in an empty classroom, grilling the Student Union’s elite members one by one about your matchmaking drama. Yet here you are, derailing their bi-weekly brainstorming session for fund allocation. To justify your antics, you and Gojo promised them unwavering financial support—if they gave you honest answers.

First up is Vice-President Okkotsu Yuta, his usual warm demeanor making him an ideal candidate for candid feedback. Sitting across from him, you can’t help but notice how he smiles sheepishly, like he’s trying to soften whatever he’s about to say.

“This probably won’t help much,” Yuta begins, rubbing the back of his neck, “but I’m ninety percent sure Maki likes Nobara. I mean, I can really see it, so I propose… NobaMaki.”

You and Gojo exchange a look, equally unimpressed. Without a word, you call in the next person.

Secretary Inumaki Toge is next. Sassy and loyal, he takes his seat across from you with a raised brow, clearly amused by the situation. After you explain the debate, he listens intently before lifting his hands to sign his response.

“I don’t know about Megumi and Yuji,” Toge signs carefully, his fingers precise, “but if you’re suggesting Nobara and Maki, I’ve got news: I’ve heard Maki and Yuta are actually a thing.”

You freeze mid-follow-up, fumbling for the signs to convey “suggest” and “imply.” Gojo swoops in, translating seamlessly. Of course, he’s fluent—he picked up sign language quickly after the two of you agreed to learn for Toge’s sake.

“Well,” you mutter, leaning back in your chair. “That cleared up absolutely nothing.”

Finally, you summon President Zenin Maki. Confident and direct, she strides in with her arms crossed, rectangular glasses reflecting the fluorescent lights. Her thick lashes peek over the frames as she narrows her eyes at you.

“What now?” she snaps, cutting right to the chase. “Me and Yuta? Seriously? Look, you didn’t hear this from me, but since we’re dragging Yuta into this—Toge likes him. So there’s that.”

Maki turns on her heel and marches out, her ponytail swishing with every sharp step.

Gojo groans dramatically and leans his head on your shoulder, the soft tips of his snowy-white hair brushing your cheek.

“This is just getting more ridiculous,” he says, voice muffled against your arm. “Everyone’s in love with someone else. What the fuck?”

Your phone buzzes in your pocket. Careful not to disturb Gojo, who’s still sulking on your shoulder, you retrieve it.

Prof. Nanami Kento Can you return my projector tomorrow morning? I need it for my lesson. Thank you kindly. Also, I hear you and Gojo are still sniffing around where you don’t belong. Just a word of advice: being messy usually leads to more mess. Good luck cleaning it all up.

You sigh, sliding your phone back into your pocket. Nanami’s right, of course. But does that mean you’ll stop? Absolutely not.

insp by @r4yz-4u's comment !

Mama Ricci Knows Best

Part 1 Part 2 AO3

Eddie doesn't know what he'd been expecting. At this point, he knows more about Steve than should probably be allowed. Knows that his favorite color is yellow, that he's terrible with spicy food but always goes for it anyways. Eddie knows that Steve is working towards an education degree out of the city with his best friend (platonic soulmate? whatever that means), should be graduating next year. He's a great swimmer, a huge partier, and apparently an amazing cook.

And really, Steve sounds like an amazing guy, Mama Ricci has done her very best to give the impression that he's as perfect as perfection can be. But that's exactly what makes Eddie skeptical, because, yes Steve sounds great in theory, but it's his grandmother speaking, how accurate can the depiction really be?

Plus if he's being honest, finding a stable relationship is at the bottom of his priority list right now. He's content with his day-to-day routine and social life as it is, doesn't really need more than his hand and the occassional hookup. The single life is pretty chill right now actually.

So yeah, Eddie doesn't care enough to form an expectation, could watch any guy close enough to Mama Ricci's description walk in, and be neither pleased nor disappointed to learn that they're Steve. Surely that kind of open mind would prepare him for whoever he might have to eventually turn down if they happen to be interested. After all, He's too much of a coward to outwardly tell sweet ol' Mama Ricci herself to let up on her matchmaking.

That being said, nothing could have prepared him for the real deal.

For Steve Harrington in the flesh.

"Fuck Chrissy, he's beautiful."

Eddie's eyes are glued onto the hardwood floor, one hand hanging loosely off the side of the couch.

"Like actually gorgeous. I'm talking Vogue cover type shit."

There's a moment of silence that fills the small apartment living room. Then Eddie turns his head and screams–yet again– into the fluffy throw pillow. The sound is muffled but still has enough impact for its intended effect. At least judging by the snort he hears from the kitchen.

"Then quit being a big baby about it and just ask him out. You already have his grandmother's blessing, that's like what? rolling with advantage?"

And as much as Eddie appreciates the cleverly inputed DnD reference– it pleases him more than anything to know Chrissy retains at least some of his out of party campaign rambles– he finds it hard to agree.

"Um. Not necessarily?" Eddie says as he sits up and helps himself to one of the fruit platters Chrissy places on the center table as she drops onto the carpeted floor.

"I mean even if Mama Ricci did tell him all about me, doesn't mean he'd actually be interested yknow? It's his grandma for Christ sake! Guy probably doesn't think much of it."

Chrissy grabs an apple off the platter, bites down on it gracefully like she does everything, a stark contrast to Eddie who is the walking definition of a catastrophe.

"Well? Did he seem interested when he saw you?"

Eddie thinks back to their awfully brief meeting. The smile he'd been greeted with was dazzling, all pearly whites, long lashes over soft brown eyes and tanned features dotted with the prettiest freckles. As much as he loves to imagine that the cheerful greeting was anything more than a polite customer service obligation, it's hard to fully do so when the rest of his stay was met with a standoffish demeanor and a solid poker face.

There had been that one second where he swore he'd seen the guy flush– Eddie can't remember what he'd said though cause his brain had officially logged out of the conversation at that point– but that could easily have been all in his head.

Then again, the moment Eddie had gotten his order, he'd practically scarfed down the meal and ran out. Was it a panicked decision? Yes. But nothing triggers his fight or flight response more than someone that attractive. Like seriously, that shit totally snuck up on him. Thank goodness for his highschool improv classes and fake-it-till-you-make-it mentality, otherwise, he might have walked right back out the moment he'd seen the guy.

"Hard to say." Eddie settles for, and Chrissy hums thoughtfully. He thinks maybe she'll offer some solid advice. Some life changing shit that'll ring true and somehow provide the magical answers he needs to his rather pathetic problems ( it's honestly not that rare of an occurence with her), instead all Chrissy does is shrug and grab another apple slice.

"Whatever happened to 'I know Mama Ricci is sweet Chrissy, but I'm not gonna date her grandson cause of it. That's not how this shit works." Her voice is a lower pitch, meant to imitate Eddie as she throws his own words back at him.

Eddie feels something dangerously close to embarrassment boil at the pit of his stomach from the clear irony. He narrows his eyes at her, debates smacking the back of her head with the pillow, but debunks the idea once he realizes just how comfortable it feels pressed against his cheek.

"Yknow what? I liked you better when you didn't know you were allowed to have a personality."

Chrissy laughs, unaffected by the playful jab–a normalcy for them– at the days she'd spent being nothing more than a dress up doll for her mother.

"Yeah okay freak." She answers and this time fully earns the pillow smack.

Since Chrissy is completely and utterly useless (he's not just going to walk up to a dude that looks like a fucking greek god and ask him out), Eddie chooses to approach the whole thing as casually as possible.

Or in other words, decides not to approach it at all.

Eddie likes to think he can be a pretty smooth dude when he wants to be, but that's only a result of years of bullshitting his way through most of his life. He knows for a fact that if he does that now, he just might–as in definitely will–make an absolute fool of himself.

So Eddie's next few visits are brief, and he spends only a fraction of his usual time conversing with the staff before disappearing.

It's especially easy to keep his visits brief since true to Mama Ricci's words, the restaurant does get busier. There are still the occasional slow days, but the hectic ones are just as frequent now.

Eddie can see that Mama Ricci disapproves of his quicker departures. Even when she's swamped, swerving through a maze of filled tables, she always finds the time to stop by, to place one of her air kisses at the side of his cheek before diving back into the crowd of fussy customers. There's always a little frown on her face whenever he pays and instantly gets up to leave.

But it's good for Eddie because his interactions with Steve are limited to quick professional exchanges– which he definitely does not spend oggling those broad shoulders, pouty lips and that maddeningly perky ass.

Sometimes Steve isn't around and it's just the main 3 and the new handful of summer employers (which fair, the guy probably has a social life outside of the restaurant), and on those days Eddie tries not to appear too disappointed, though he always ends up leaving even earlier.

He thinks he's at least being subtle about it, until the afternoon Max slides him a plate of polenta and apologizes for the absence of Steve on their menu that day. The little brat.

Needless to say, Eddie tries to be more careful with his staring after that. (Especially when he catches one of Mama Ricci's knowing glances while looking around–not for Steve of course..)

But it's a good little routine of avoidance, and things stay that way for a bit.

At least until Mama Ricci intervenes yet again.

It's one of those rare days that start off busy but trickles off as evening approaches. Since the Corroded Coffin gig had been cancelled last minute, Eddie'd figured he'd hop in for a quick meal and be out as quickly as always.

He greets one of the summer employees on their way out, and finds the store empty when he walks in. Max is by one of the window seats scrolling through her phone with her headphones in. She looks up to regard him with a nod but doesn't bother coming over to take his order.

There's Italian bickering from the kitchen, a little muffled behind the curtains, but that's something Eddie's used to hearing at this point. Mrs. Mayfield peeks out, eyes widening slightly when she sees Eddie.

"I thought I heard the bell. Max! Don't just sit th-" But Max isn't listening, still bobbing her head in the corner. Mrs. Mayfield stops mid-sentence, sighs and pulls out her notepad with a weary smile.

"What can I get you Eds?" She asks and Eddie raises a brow as the bickering rises in volume and there's something like a door slam.

"Oh don't mind them." Mrs. Mayfield says. "Those two are always like that. Close but in that way where they'll bicker over literally anything. It's actually scarier when they're in agreement." She explains. Eddie pictures the sharp reprimands he's seen Mama Ricci give some of her workers on occasion, pictures the scowl he'd seen Steve send to a particularly rude customer once. Somehow he can picture how the two as a joined force would be quite intimidating.

"Ah, makes sense." Eddie says, then places his order.

Mama Ricci is the one to serve him, and it's almost amazing how fast the frown on her face morphs into a wide grin when she sees him. He honestly loves her so much.

Eddie doesn't see Steve through his meal, even tries to eat slower so he gets a chance. It's more than a little disappointing when he's done and still doesn't catch a glimpse.

He's tucking his wallet into his back pocket and getting ready to leave. That's when he hears the loud grunt.

Mama Ricci has one hand braced against the wall behind the counter, bending forward slightly. She's massaging her back with slow movements and there's a black bag leaning against her leg. Instantly Eddie frowns and moves forward. He swears he hears Mrs. Mayfield mumble something under her breath behind him, but can't quite make it out.

"Everything okay?" Eddie asks from across the counter and is answered with another quiet groan.

"It's these old bones of mine Eddie." Mama Ricci complains "Can't move around like I used to." Her fingers gesture slightly towards the garbage bag at her feet and Eddie does the only right thing to do in the situation.

He's barely done asking if he can help before Mama Ricci is thanking him, motioning for him to join her behind the counter.

"There's another one inside by the sink. The bin is right outside, just go through the back door and it's on your right." She points through the kitchen and Eddie nods in understanding. He grabs both bags as instructed, and since the space is relatively small, the back door is hard to miss.

It's not exactly the first time Eddie has lended Mama Ricci a hand, but usually the older woman is more opposed to hand outs of any kind. So it feels kind of good– a little odd, but good–that she easily accepts the help this time.

Eddie's swinging the door open with his leg when he sees the sharp jerk of movement. He reels back in surprise, wide eyes snapping up to face equally startled ones.

It's Steve, looking positively cornered as he hides an arm behind his back, lips pressing together for only a second before peeling apart instantly to let out a series of deep coughs. The wave of smoke that leaves with the sound is an instant giveaway.

Eddie waits through the coughs, mostly frozen in place because he definitely had not been prepared for this interaction.

"Shit." He's honestly a little surprised to find that the curse isn't from his own lips.

A few more coughs and Steve finally pulls his arm out to reveal the cigarette stick in his hand.

"Sorry I thought you were my grandma" He explains, pausing momentarily before waving the small burning stick in his hand. "I huh..was gonna quit."

Eddie blinks and finally realizes that being frozen in place probably isn't a great look, no matter how pretty Steve looks with his hair tousled like that and those pink lips curling again around the depleting cigarette.

"I see." Eddie says after clearing his throat. It's his cue to finally lug the two garbage bags out, letting the door shut loudly behind him. He pretends he doesn't feel the way Steve's eyes follow him as he finds the bin in the distance and tosses each bag in.

Eddie doesn't know why he expects Steve to avert his gaze when he turns around, but those brown eyes are still on him when he does.

Steve's leaning against the wall now, cigarette smothered and forgotten, and his expression doesn't betray anything. Considering the fact that it's their first interaction outside of the restaurant, Eddie thinks he's dying a little.

Okay, fuck that. He's dying a lot.

"So." Steve starts, angling his position against the wall so they're fully facing each other. Eddie summons every last bit of false courage he can to sound just as casual when he repeats the word. "So?"

Steve's blank expression doesn't budge, but his full attention is nothing if not overwhelming.

"The famous Eddie Munson."

Eddie grins, looks down at his feet and pushes away the tirade of 'oh my god, oh my god, it's happening.' in his mind. His voice comes out calm enough when he looks back up and leans against the wall opposite Steve.

"You've heard of me?" Eddie asks, voice laced with feigned surprise. He wonders if it's something they'll just skirt around, the clear signs that Mama Ricci wants more for them than just to meet and get along.

"Heard of you is one way of putting it. You've been her favorite sales pitch for like, months now." There's something like exasperation in Steve's tone, but it's exaggerated in a way that makes it playful.

"Trust me. I could say the same. " Eddie answers with a smile that touches on genuine. It shifts to teasing, tilting unevenly to one side in a half smirk as a memory slides to the forefront of his mind.

"Did you really crawl backward as a baby?"

And it's the right thing to ask because Steve stands up straighter, looking positively mortified as a faint flush reaches his ears. It shouldn't feel nearly as good as it does to finally pull a clear reaction out of the guy.

"Christ she told you that?" Steve groans, bringing his hands up to cover his face. Eddie laughs and he feels his nerves calm ever so slightly at the small but significant win.

"Amongst other things."

Steve drops his hands to his side instantly, seems to debate on something before letting out a tired huff. "Y'know what? I don't even wanna know."

And Eddie thinks that's where the conversation will end. They've met now, could probably move up to slightly longer hellos whenever he visits. That counts doe something.

He's pushing himself off the wall to reach for the door when Steve says. "You're nothing like I imagined."

Eddie retracts his hand, wills his heart to relax cause fuck they were still talking. Okay. That's cool. Still talking is good.

"Yeah? What were you imagining?"

Steve seems thoughtful as he crosses his arms across his chest, stature so solid that Eddie has to banish away all thoughts of breaking it down.

"I don't know. She described you like the picture perfect suburban husband. Tucked in shirt, tie, suitcase and everything." Eddie feels an eyebrow quirk, the word husband echoing into the air between them with a weight that makes him stare down at his feet again, heat spreading to his cheek because really, why'd Steve have to say it like that?

He hears Chrissy cackling at the back of his mind, mocking him yet again with a snarky 'I thought you were against the whole settling down bullshit.' which 'fuck you Chrissy', he'd kiss the guy senseless, doesn't mean he wants to marry him. Why is he even having this pointless mental argument again??

"Y'know, works hard but has a big heart, great with kids, always ready to help even when she asks him not to." Steve continues, checking each item off a finger as he recounts it. He's so casual too, as if every compliment doesn't punch at the part of Eddie that is shit at accepting it. "Caring, handsome, the day-to-day kinda superman yknow?"

"Handsome?" Eddie blurts before he can stop himself, having failed to remember that this was just the guy quoting his grandmother. There's a look of amusement on Steve's face, and when his neutral face shifts into a teasing smile Eddie wants to punch something. It has to be illegal to look that good.

"That's seriously all you got outta that?"

Fuck. Eddie curses internally, feels the corner of his confident mask twitch because there's only so much improv he can do, and he definitely did not rehearse for this shit.

He takes the easy way out by waving aside the comment, focuses on the crunch of gravel under his boots as he speaks.

"Well you're right. Wholesome as the description sounds, I'd probably break into hives if I get within a meter of a suit, much less a cubicle. Truly sorry to disappoint though." It's said as a joke, so Eddie doesn't expect the seriousness that settles on Steve's face. A second passes before the guy shrugs.

"I'm not"

Eddie frowns, isn't quite sure what the statement is supposed to mean.

"Disappointed I mean. I'm not disappointed."

And as Steve clarifies, those brown pools track up and down once, soaking in Eddie in a way that's a little too focused to be anything but intense. Something like understanding clicks into place and oh. Oh.

Eddie can feel his smile stretch on its own, knows for sure that he's safe to move in now, to push further. He's envisioning his next words already, something low and suggestive reaching the back of his throat as he takes a step forward.

There's a clack directly behind the door.

It's not loud but it's quiet enough in the back alley to reach their ears.

Both he and Steve snap their heads to the side, brows raising in mirrored surprise before dipping into confusion.

It's Steve who opens the door, and over his shoulder Eddie sees Max first. She's bent over slightly, observing an onion in her hand with too much interest as she..strokes it? Mrs. Mayfield is whisking in a bowl by her side, but Eddie's pretty sure there's nothing in it judging from the metallic sound it's making. And Mama Ricci herself, closest to the door and off to the opposite side, is squinting at her nailbed, but the angle of her body is just a little too awkward for the gesture to appear natural.

The weird moment is interrupted by Steve saying something in Italian. Something that makes Mama Ricci glare up instantly and forces Mrs. Mayfield to look away with shame. Max coughs and walks out of the room wordlessly.

Another second passes then Mama Ricci claps suddenly, sweet smile returning along with a chirpy tone.

"Thank you so much for your help Eddie." She says, entirely ignoring whatever the hell just happened. At his side, Eddie hears Steve scoff.

He's not dumb, Eddie knows they'd all been eavesdropping, watches as Mama Ricci easily lifts a box onto a kitchen counter, old bones seemingly forgotten.

It takes everything in him not to laugh, especially with how thoroughly embarrassed Steve looks staring blankly off into the distance with the reddest flush on his cheeks.

Eddie knows now that he might have a shot, so might as well end the guy's current suffering.

"No worries. I'll be on my way then."

Mama Ricci hugs him once, lets the gesture linger a little longer than usual. There's something like satisfaction on her face when she pulls away.

The moment he steps out of the kitchen, the Italian bickering erupts. Eddie wonders if they know curtains aren't doors, but either way feels completely elated.

He finds Max behind the counter, her old spot now occupied by a small group that's whispering quietly amongst themselves (probably the last customers of the day since they close in less than half an hour).

She gives him a knowing look but doesn't say anything, and when Eddie winks she simply rolls her eyes before turning back down to whatever she's doing on her phone.

Eddie can't help but notice the onion sitting awkwardly by her side, and it's the sight that finally does it for him.

Eddie's still laughing by the time he starts his van.

God he can't wait to tell Chrissy.

_________________________________________

Yeah yeah 3 parts turned into 4. But it's pretty much done so its definitely 4 parts I swear!!! I ended up tagging more people cause im a pushover like that (and yall were too sweet sjsj) but its on A03 now so if you want to be notifed when its updated just subscribe there. I really wont be tagging anyone new on the last part.

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