#ADRENALIN - OFFICIAL TRAILER

[charles-leclerizz]

FORMULA FOR LOVE

With turns sharper than a Formula one track, Indian, British driver Aisha Patel has embarked on her first ever season in formula one. Join her drama & adrenaline filled races that will have you gripping the edge of your seat !

[@charles-leclerizz is not and never will be, in the forthcoming future, affiliated with Netflix, the FIA or Official FORMULA ONE. All scenarios, character actions, characters and race outcomes are purely fictional and should not be taken seriously.]

Aisha Patel · 🪷

Porsche F1 TEAM · 🪷

The Relationships · 🪷

Challenges · 🪷

⸻ EPISODES:

TRAILER : THE BEGINNING

It's the dawn of a new era.

Upcoming stardome. Streaming only on Netflix

🥭 EPISODE 01 : Start your engine

It's light's off and away we go with newcomer Aisha Patel, the first south-asian female driver in Formula one. Join her in her first ever race in Bahrain and understand the young talent's personality. And see the grid's reaction to the true needle in a haystack.

LENGTH : 51 minutes, 49 seconds

WORD COUNT : 10 K [ 10366 words ]

🥭 EPISODE 02 : Racing Hearts

A few months into the 2024 season Aisha has met someone that ignites her heart like a malfunctioning engine. Will she have to retire from the race, or will she cool off before it's too late?

🥭 EPISODE 03 : Speed of Love

The teams around the paddock are starting to notice Aisha's success, winning race after race, the Indian rookie has impressed and sparked jealousy all around. Will she shatter beneath the pressure, or will she blossom like a lotus?

🥭 EPISODE 04 : Heartbreak Circuit

Icarus has always flown too close to the sun, no matter the rendition. And when too many people have too many opinions, Aisha must realise that a straw can truly break a camel back.

🥭 EPISODE 05 : Victory Lap

Like a phoenix rising from the ashes, Aisha finally collects her flames and moulds herself like glass into a beautiful sculpture that refracts light into beautiful shades for all to bask in.

🥭 EPISODE 06 : Love's pit stop

To accelerate or to take a sharp turn? Aisha is met with odd twists within her heart that she will need to fight to escape from. One will come out victorious whilst another, is left in 11th place.

🥭 EPISODE 07 : Racing against time

A simple sign on the dotted line, and just like Ariel, she had signed her voice away. What trials and tribulations is Aisha forced to face within her personal and professional prison?

🥭 EPISODE 08 : Crossing the finish line

Only a few races away from her greatest win, Aisha needs to tie off some hard to grapple with sailors knots, unless she wants to be floating away into the great blue for eternity.

🥭 EPISODE 09 : Heartfelt Victory

It's the end, the last time the lights go off for the 2025 season and Aisha looks back on her year in formula one. Sticking it to those who doubted her and winning where other's thought impossible.

[NOTE ! There will be smaller epilogues, episodes and fillers in between these. for example, a vogue 20 questions or a "what's in my bag" etc. Just for funsies.]

[NOTE ! The couples made in this series will have their own request-able time period, if you want to see something specific from a certain couple within the show, just let me know.]

[NOTE ! The tracking tag is as follows : [#formulaforlove]]

EVERYTHING WRITTEN CAN/WILL BE SUBJECT TO EDITS, CHANGES ETC.

honourary tags [for special pookies] : @disneyprincemuke

[werepuppy-steve]

a whole lifetime

steddie | E | 1.6k | ao3 link

written for @steddieas-shegoes's birthday! happy birthday, mick! 💙🫂 i hope you enjoy this filth sprinkled amongst all the fluff <3

important tags: rockstar eddie, older steddie, married steddie, birthday sex (full taglist on ao3)

If there was ever a time for Eddie to hate being famous, it was now. Four and a half thousand miles away from home—from his family, from his friends, from his husband—on a tour he’s been against from the moment their label announced it.

And it’s his birthday, for Christ’s sake.

Don’t get him wrong, Barcelona is beautiful and the fans have been great, but between three nights of sold out shows with soundchecks and interviews and one meet and greet thrown in, Eddie is ready to catch the first flight back to Indiana so he can sleep in his own bed.

Performing in front of a crowd of two thousand on his birthday used to give him an adrenaline rush so high, he would still be riding the waves of it the next day. He finds himself longing for the birthdays he spent before the band became famous. The most memorable was the first birthday after Wayne was officially granted custody of him; sitting at the shitty little card table in the trailer kitchen with a slice of Wayne’s infamous blackberry cobbler in front of him, because he knew Eddie didn’t like how dry regular cake was.

Eddie sighs, can feel the exhaustion settle deep in his bones as he slips the keycard into the lock on his hotel room door.

He’s only forty-three, but retirement is starting to sound pretty damn nice.

He kicks off his shoes by the door and lets his leather jacket drop onto the entryway table. Eddie scoffs, he still hasn’t gotten used to staying in five star hotels like this, where the rooms are like houses. The master suite is separate from the common area, and there’s a kitchenette off from that. He pulls a glass down from the fully stocked cabinet and fills it with water, gulping it down with a grateful moan as the cold water soothes his overworked vocal chords.

“Happy birthday, handsome.”

[hookhausenschips]

Episode 1: Arrival in Singapore

Main Menu

Summary: Y/N arrives in Singapore for the F1 Grand Prix, instantly captivated by the city's vibrant energy and the excitement of race week. Exploring the paddock, she interacts with team officials and mechanics. Her conversation with a driver reveals a shared understanding of the racing spirit, whether on the streets of Barbados or the tracks of F1.

WC: 2,014

Warnings: none

• you DO NOT have my permission to copy my work, upload as your own, translate, or repost on any other website •

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The first thing that hit me when I stepped off the plane was the heat. It wasn’t the thick, dry heat I was used to in the Caribbean, though—it was different. The kind that sticks to your skin, clings to your clothes, but somehow feels alive. The entire city seemed to hum with energy, as if the air itself knew what was coming. It was race week in Singapore, and the city was buzzing.

Everything was different here—the sharp, clean scent of the ocean breeze, the lights bouncing off the skyscrapers, and the buzz of excitement in the streets. This place was alive, electric, as if the city itself was waiting for something big to happen. It made me feel like I belonged here, even though I was just visiting.

I grabbed my bag and moved through Changi Airport, letting my eyes take in the sights. Everything was sleek, clean, and high-tech. Even the airport looked like something out of a sci-fi movie. I’d done well for myself back home, but this? This was next-level. But then, that’s what I’d signed up for. I wasn’t here just to watch the Grand Prix. I was here to be in the thick of it, right up close to the action.

I slung my bag over my shoulder, adjusting my curls—waist-length, dark brown, with blonde streaks that always caught the light just right. In this city, where the lights danced off every surface, I could feel them bouncing off me, too.

As I walked through the terminal, my phone buzzed. I glanced down at the message. “Your VIP pass is ready for pickup. Welcome to the F1 world.”

I grinned to myself. VIP access. For someone who grew up racing on the streets, this was surreal. The paddock, the garages, the cars—it was all within reach, closer than it had ever been. I’d been obsessed with racing my entire life. The roar of engines, the smell of burning rubber, the adrenaline coursing through my veins as I pushed my car to its limits. But this… this was Formula 1. The pinnacle of motorsport. The elite.

But who was I kidding? The second I heard the low, throaty growl of a supercar revving in the distance, my pulse quickened. I was a street racer. Fast cars and the thrill of the race were in my blood. Relaxing wasn’t really in my vocabulary.

I had heard about the F1 Grand Prix for years. It wasn’t the same as the streets of Bridgetown back home, but speed was speed. The opportunity to see Formula 1 up close, to be in the middle of all this? That was something I couldn’t pass up.

I hailed a cab, slipping into the backseat as I stared out at the city. The buildings stretched toward the sky, lit up by neon signs and glowing billboards. It felt like a different world. I’d been to big cities before, but there was something about Singapore, especially during Grand Prix week, that made everything feel larger than life. Like I was part of something bigger.

---

After a quick stop at the hotel, I headed straight to the track. My VIP pass dangled from my neck, granting me access to places most fans could only dream of. As I walked through the paddock, I couldn’t help but feel a rush of excitement. This wasn’t just about watching the race. I was getting a look behind the curtain, into the heart of F1.

The paddock was like a bustling little village of its own, full of high-end trailers, team members, and engineers moving between the garages. Celebrities, influencers, and big-money guests wandered around, but I wasn’t here for them. My eyes were locked on the cars, the mechanics, and the drivers who made all of this happen.

I made my way through the paddock, slipping past groups of fans as I found my way to the garages. That’s when I felt it—eyes on me. I glanced around casually, spotting a few drivers and mechanics. I wasn’t sure if they were curious about who I was or why I was there, but I couldn’t blame them. I wasn’t exactly your average F1 fan.

I approached the first garage, catching a glimpse of the pit crew bustling around one of the cars. The smell of petrol and hot rubber filled the air, familiar and intoxicating. It was like the streets back home, only amplified. As I stepped closer, I heard someone call out.

“Excuse me, miss? Are you with someone?” A team official approached, eyeing my VIP pass but still cautious.

I flashed him a smile, holding up my pass. “Just here for the tour. Figured I’d start by seeing the real action.”

He smiled, a little more relaxed now. “You picked the right spot. This is where the magic happens.”

I nodded, stepping a little closer to the car. The sleek design, the vibrant paint job—it was a work of art. But more than that, it was a machine built for speed, for perfection. I could almost feel the power radiating off it.

“You’re a fan of F1?” the official asked, clearly testing the waters to see if I was just another casual onlooker.

I gave him a sideways glance. “I’m a fan of racing. Whether it’s in the streets or on a professional track, speed is speed. You know what I mean?”

His eyebrows lifted slightly, clearly not expecting that. “Ah street racing, huh? Well, you’re in for a treat here. This is the big leagues.”

I smiled again, a little wider this time. “I know.”

---

As I moved from garage to garage, it became clear I wasn’t just another fan. The mechanics I spoke to were surprised by how much I knew—about engines, tires, aerodynamics. I wasn’t just here to admire the shiny cars. I was here to understand them, to see how they compared to the ones I’d driven in Barbados.

“Have you ever worked on a car like this before?” one of the engineers asked as I leaned over to get a closer look at the engine of one of the Red Bull cars.

I shook my head, grinning. “Not exactly like this, but I’ve gotten my hands dirty a few times. Enough to know what makes them tick.”

The engineer laughed, clearly impressed. “Most people just see the glamour. But you… you get it.”

Before I could respond, someone else caught my attention—a driver standing near the garage, helmet in hand, watching me with curiosity. I recognized him instantly. Oscar Piastri, the rookie. He was young, but he had that same intensity I’d seen in all the best racers. The kind that said he didn’t care about fame or fortune—just speed.

He stepped closer, offering a casual smile. “You’re not like the usual VIPs around here.”

I raised an eyebrow. “And what are the usual VIPs like?”

Oscar chuckled, glancing at the car beside us. “They don’t usually know what an aero rake is, for starters.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, well, I’ve spent a lot of time around cars. Racing’s kind of my thing.”

“Street racing?” he asked, tilting his head slightly, like he was piecing it all together.

I raised my eyebrow questioning him, his face turned pink as he scratched the back of his neck, “Might’ve caught some of your conversation with the official earlier.”

I nodded, feeling a little more at ease. “It’s not as different from this as people think. The stakes are high, and the cars have to be perfect. The only real difference is the setting.”

Oscar looked genuinely intrigued. “You know, I’ve always wondered what it’s like racing with no rules. No track limits, no officials telling you what you can and can’t do.”

I shrugged. “It’s freeing, but it’s dangerous. You learn real fast that one wrong move can end it all. But that’s the thrill, right?”

Oscar nodded thoughtfully, a spark of understanding in his eyes. “I get that. I mean, we have rules, but at the end of the day, it’s still about pushing the limits. Every race is a risk.”

We stood there for a moment, both of us understanding the unspoken bond between racers. It didn’t matter if it was on the streets of Barbados or the tracks of Singapore—racing was racing. The rush, the danger, the need to go faster than anyone else—it was all the same.

Oscar glanced over at his car. “You ever driven one of these?”

I shook my head, letting my eyes linger on the sleek machine in front of me. “Not yet.”

He smiled, a playful gleam in his eyes. “Well, maybe we can fix that before you leave.”

He stepped a little closer, his curiosity clearly piqued. “You got a favourite driver, then? Or are you more of a keep-them-guessing type?”

I met his gaze, holding it steady. “I don’t really pick favourites. I’m more interested in how people handle themselves when the pressure’s on.”

He smiled, clearly amused. “Fair enough. Guess that’s what we’re all here for, right?”

Before I could respond, one of the team members called his name, and Oscar gave me a quick nod before heading off. “See you around,” he said over his shoulder.

“Maybe,” I replied, watching him disappear into the garage.

---

As the day wore on, I toured more garages, talked to more people. Every step deeper into the paddock felt like peeling back layers of this world. I learned more about the cars, the drivers, the teams—and I could tell that they were starting to learn more about me, too. Word spread fast in a place like this, and by the time I made my way to the Ferrari garage, I was starting to get a few curious glances.

It was getting later in the afternoon, but the adrenaline from being in this space kept me going. I wandered over to the last garage of the day, watching as the crew finished up work on Charles Leclerc’s car. The Ferrari was a beauty—sleek, red, and built for speed. I leaned against the wall, watching the pit crew work with precision.

As I stood there, someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned to see another familiar face—Carlos Sainz. His easygoing smile put me at ease instantly. “You’ve been making the rounds,” he said, glancing at my VIP pass. “Not bad for a first-timer.”

I shrugged, trying to play it cool. “I like to get a full picture of what I’m dealing with.”

Carlos chuckled. “You talk like a racer.”

I raised an eyebrow. “That’s because I am one.”

He looked surprised for a split second before his grin widened. “Which kind?”

I could feel my lips turn up into a smirk, “What kind of racing do you think I do Mr. Sainz?”

His eyes narrowed as his eyes inspected almost every inch of my being, “I don’t take you for the NASCAR type or rally cars. Maybe something more dangerous and less professional?”

I nodded. “Back home in Barbados. It’s a different kind of track, but the thrill’s the same.”

Carlos crossed his arms, clearly interested. “And what do you think of all this? F1 compared to the streets?”

I glanced over at the Ferrari behind him. “It’s impressive. The precision, the power. But it’s still a machine. At the end of the day, it’s all about the driver.”

Carlos laughed, clearly enjoying my answer. “You should come by again tomorrow. I think the other drivers would love to hear more of your perspective.”

“Maybe I will,” I said with a grin, pushing off the wall. “Thanks for the invite.”

---

As I left the paddock, the neon lights of Singapore flickered above me, casting a glow over everything. The city was alive, and I could feel its pulse in sync with mine. The excitement of the race, the allure of the cars, the connection I felt with the drivers—it was all building.

Taglist: @omgsuperstarg, @evesfile, @ysnhua, @mellowluka, @risu-es

[msbigredmachine]

New To This - Chapter 3

NEW TO THIS MASTERLIST

--------------------

Unbelievable. Truly unbelievable.

It’s been three hours since her first-ever official wrestling match, and Delilah couldn’t stop smiling. It had lasted all of eight minutes, and although she lost, no one could deny that both she and her opponent, Faye, had pulled a showstopper out of thin air. Delilah had only ever attempted a moonsault once in her life, one evening at training when she was feeling adventurous, but tonight, the burst of adrenaline had buoyed her, and it felt so natural being poised on the top rope. To her shock and delight, the crowd had given them a standing ovation when it was over. It was, as far as she could remember, the happiest day of her life. After Andre’s proposal, of course.

She hadn’t been this confident at first, though. She remembered being alone in the tiny, dingy locker room, on the verge of throwing up about fifteen minutes before the match. She remembered the loud cheers as the announcer geared the fans up for the upcoming match. She remembered forcing herself out, walking numbly towards the ring, then looking into the crowd and almost tripping on her own feet in shock at the sight of Jey up in the VIP area with Tank, unable to believe he’d actually showed up to watch her. HER! How she worked through the bundle of nerves and emotions, she would never know. But she did. And it was enough to convince her that she could still pursue her dream. That she wasn’t walking away from this just yet, because there was hope that she was finally going somewhere with wrestling.

Tank and Jey – she still wasn’t comfortable enough to call him Josh – had taken her out to celebrate afterwards. Even after leaving the bar well after midnight, both men didn’t seem willing to go home just yet. And Delilah didn’t mind.

“Your garden’s really nice, uce,” Jey observed the small but neat bed of flowers gracing the sides of the front door.

“Thanks! Andre worked hard on it,” Delilah beamed on behalf of her fiancé, “Dre’s the greatest landscaper in allll of Pensacola, so if you got a lawn that needs spicin’ up, hit him up.” Stepping over the threshold into her home, she winced at the mini warzone that greeted her. “Sorry for the mess,” she murmured sheepishly.

Tank looked around the trailer house and shrugged. “It ain’t that bad today. I’ve seen it in far worse shape,” he commented, lowering his huge self onto the old, worn couch in the center of the small living area.

“Damn, thanks Tank,” Delilah replied with a roll of her eyes. Way to embarrass her in front of Jey.

The man in question had been silent as he looked around the new environment. “Ignore him, Delilah. I like it,” he commented, finally facing her.

The trainee blushed profusely and dumped the bags of takeout they’d bought on the way home on the coffee table. She knew he was only being nice. “Could be better, I know you’re not used to tiny spaces like this,” she rushed defensively, retreating to the kitchen to grab three Bud Lights from the refrigerator. Surely Jey lived in a far more lavish abode, with all the money he was raking in at WWE. The Bentley Continental GT he drove her and Tank around with tonight was solid evidence. He lived large and her place was no doubt shameful compared to his, wherever that was.

Settling down next to Tank, the huge smile was still glued to her face, her right leg bouncing up and down in excitement. “Oh my god, I’m not sure I’m gonna get any sleep tonight! I still can’t believe I wrestled my first real match!”

“Yeah, and we predict it’s gonna be the first of many,” Tank drank from his beer as Delilah nodded enthusiastically, and he jerked his thumb in Jey’s direction. “At least, he thinks so. Right, Uce?”

"Heck yeah," said Jey, observing her over the rim of the silver can of alcohol in his grasp.

Delilah was still in awe that he was here, sitting in her home. It was tough to pretend she wasn’t thoroughly enjoying the attention she’d been getting from him the past two days. “You ain’t sayin’ that just to fuck with me, right?” she asked him blatantly, then cringed at her unwise choice of words.

Something flickered in his eyes. Then, with a low chuckle, he responded, “Baby girl, I ain’t never said shit I don’t mean,” Licking his lips briefly, he stared at the lone female in the room. “Look, we both see how talented you are. It’s about time you did too. That’s probably what’s holding you back. You should believe in yourself more.”

Delilah tilted her head at the use of that inappropriate nickname yet again, and she was torn as to whether she should voice her objection. Before she could make up her mind, a loud ‘thud’ sounded from the direction of the bedroom she shared with her fiancé.

Oh. Shit.

"Aw, shit, someone’s awake,” Tank chuckled and winked at Delilah, propping his feet on top of the coffee table. “Girl, you in troubleee,” he sang teasingly.

Casting her gaze to the amused smirk on Jey’s face, she refocused on the annoyed grumbles and shuffling feet. “Gimme a sec, guys,” she said softly, getting up and hurrying towards her angry fiancé in the hallway. “Hey babe,” she greeted him, forcing a wide smile as she rested a hand on his bare chest.

“What’s with all the fuckin’ racket?” Andre cut her off sharply, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palm.

Looking up into his dark eyes, she rubbed his arm placatingly. “We’ll be more quiet. I promise,” she whispered, “Just go back to bed, okay?”

But Andre was already wide awake and very unhappy about that fact. “For fuck’s sake, Dee, I gotta go to work in…” Pausing, he squinted at the clock in the kitchen. “What time is it?”

“One a.m.,” she answered quietly, her cheeks burning as she lowered her eyes to the floor. “Baby, I’m sorry we woke you. Please go back to bed,” she pleaded.

Shaking his head, Andre glared at his fiancée and gestured towards the two men in the living room. “Hell no. Not until you get ‘em the fuck outta here,” he insisted. When she huffed disbelievingly, he shook his head again. “Woman, I gotta be up in four hours. One of us has to work. Who else gon’ pay for these damn lights you got on?” he spat.

“What the fuck does that mean?” Delilah bit back, crossing her arms angrily, “I made two hundred dollars tonight, F.Y.I.”

When his eyes swept over her wrestling gear, Andre scoffed. “How? Working the pole?” he taunted.

Delilah’s jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”

“Look whatchu wearin’. You couldn’t find more modest attire? Dress like a future wife should dress?”

Watching the entire argument from his seat in the living room, Josh felt his hands ball into fists. He understood the dude being mad for being woken up so late – after all, he’d done some bitching of his own at colleagues who rolled into the hotel at all hours of the morning causing a racket when he was trying to sleep. But he certainly didn’t appreciate the way he was disrespecting Delilah, especially while she was trying to apologize. As much as he wanted to say something to the punk, he did not think it wise to try to step in between the rowing couple. Yet.

“Look, tonight was the most thrilling night of my life, okay?” Delilah was saying, “I got a standing ovation after my match! Unfortunately you couldn’t see it, cuz you weren’t there even though you promised you would,” she made sure to add. “And if I wanna celebrate with my friends for doing so awesome, I’ll do it. God knows you and your friends have kept me up at night enough times in the past!”

“Nah, you not gon’ pull that bullshit on me right now,” Andre rolled his shoulders angrily and glared over her head at the two huge men who had now risen to their feet. “And if you don’t wanna kick your so-called friends out of my house, then I fuckin’ will.” Brushing past his fiancée, he stomped down the hall. He didn’t quite care if they were both built like brick walls and could probably kill him with their bare hands. This was his house and he was the one in charge here. “Ay, Tank, I let you have my girl for the night. It’s time I got her back,” he said.

Acutely aware that both Tank and Jey were about to give Andre a piece of their minds, Delilah quickly stepped between them before anything could go down. “Thank y’all so much for tonight, guys,” she cut in, meeting Tank’s eyes, “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she added, giving him a look that told him how sorry she was for Andre’s unbecoming behavior.

With a nod, Tank patted her shoulder. “You know what, Parrish? Why don’t you take tomorrow night off. You’ll need your rest after tonight, trust me.”

She nodded gratefully and turned toward Jey, totally embarrassed to look at him after he’d borne witness to her humiliation at the hands of her fiancé. Honestly, she’d desperately wanted him to think she was a tough chick, that she wasn’t just putting on a show for his benefit. And Andre had ruined it all with his antics tonight.

Following the men outside, she was taken by surprise when Josh stopped midway to his car and suddenly turned to face her. Instantly, she avoided his stare again, pushing her hair behind her ear.

“Gimme your phone,” he told her, holding out his hand. 

“What?”

“Trust me. Give it here,” he repeated, waiting until she placed the device in his hand. He tapped in a number of digits and made a call, smiling when his iPhone rang in his back pocket. “We got each other’s numbers now,” he announced, handing her phone back to her. “If you wanna talk about wrestling, life, whatever…Don’t hesitate to call me anytime.”

Staring at the phone, and then back at him, she raised an eyebrow. “Anytime?”

“Anytime,” he repeated, looking her in her striking hazel eyes which he noticed were filled with the unmistakable shine of tears. “For real. A'ight?”

Delilah gave a small smile and tucked her phone back in her pocket. “Okay. Thanks, Jey, I really appreciate it,” she said sincerely. 

“My friends call me Josh,” he insisted.

“Is that what we are? I've only known you a couple of days,” she responded.

“Sometimes, a couple of days is more than enough," he explained, watching her for one long moment before cupping her chin and tilting her face up to meet his. “Keep your head up, baby girl. You a queen. Don’t let nobody make you hide your pretty face.” And with one final wink, he let go of her, turned and made his way towards his car.

Watching them drive off, she willed away the flutter that was filling her insides and trudged back into the house, taking a deep, shaky breath. She had been filled with so much happiness and pride only a few minutes earlier, filled with hope for the future she was trying to create. But the confrontation with her fiancé, in front of Jey Uso for that matter, had snuffed it all out in a heartbeat. She was tempted to abandon Andre and sleep on the couch for the night, not wanting to be anywhere near him. But knowing the aches and pains that would descend on her in the morning, she thought it wiser to be in a bed tonight, no matter how angry she was with him.

Walking slowly to her bedroom, she pushed the door open tentatively, both relieved and annoyed to see that he was back in bed and out like a light. He always was a quick sleeper, unlike her. Shaking her head, she shed her ring gear, showered and found one of Andre’s big t-shirts to wear. She slid into the bed, ensuring to keep her back to him. She didn’t react when Andre’s strong arms wrapped around her a few moments later, didn’t flinch when his hard body pressed against hers from behind, only stared blankly through the darkness at the wall in front of her.

For as long as she had known her husband-to-be, she had been head over heels in love with him. After their first date, she had told her sister that she was going to marry him one day. She would never forget the twinkle in his beautiful dark eyes, or her unbridled joy, on the day he proposed. Back then, both had only harbored the glamorized fairytale version of the idea of marriage. Back then they’d been inseparable; hardly argued, hardly did anything without the other. Neither of them were weighed down by the strain of responsibility or ambition. Things were so different now. For one, she had far more ambition, and she found herself realizing that it was big enough to want to leave his side and do her own thing for the first time in a decade.

Her personal dream and the dream she and Andre had shared for so long hung in the balance, and right now, one was looking far more possible to achieve than the other.

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Thoughts?

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[edupiii]

The other night I went on a tangent to my friends about the music in Murder Drones and how it’s hard to compare the albums since they are each amazing in their own ways. Despite this, my friend insisted that I compare them, so I did. After writing everything out, she said I should post it so that’s what’s happening!

Welcome to an informal essay about the music in Murder Drones

In this essay, I will be going over the 4 albums created by A.J Dispirito and the strengths within each album. This essay is to show that the music between the albums is unable to be compared to one another as they are all astounding and work wonders for the atmosphere of the overall show.

Feel free to disagree with me and let me know your thoughts!

Murder Drones Pilot Mini-Album

The pilots album could be considered the weakest of the 4. It doesn’t have that many tracks that are reused throughout the other episodes. BUT- it is very strong as it has “Murder Brings” which is the trailer song for the pilot and it’s kind of a banger. I find it not as good as “Eternal Dream” “BITE ME” and “FOREVER” but it’s still super fucking good. In the first album we also have “Click”, “Gin Rummy”, “UZI THE DRONE KILLER” and “Goth Girl Anime Lover VS Wholesome Killer Boy” which are all very good songs that get you hyped for fight scenes. There are a few more mellow songs in the pilot’s album, making it not stand out as much. Despite that, it is also the very album that brought us the iconic Murder Drones theme music, which has been a staple in all future songs throughout the series. It’s not looked at as much as the other albums but it worked for the pilot and that’s all it really needed to do. It was good and is still good.

Murder Drones Volume 1

Next is the first official MD album. Once again, it can be overlooked like the pilots soundtrack since it doesn’t have super gut punchy, kick assy music. HOWEVER- it has a very eerie tone to it since it’s going over the second episode (with the Eldritch J monster) and it takes place in Dolls Room which is scary as fuck. It also gives us a few really good adrenaline pumping songs like “Aaaaahhh”. The song Bathtub” is in this album and it is spooky and intense which I love! Classic horror vibes. We also get “Uuugghhh” in this album which is possibly one of my favourites since it keeps going from energetic to spooky and I find that really funny for some reason (also the scenes this song was used for is hilarious). “Get Prommed” and “The Knife Dance” are INCREDIBLY ICONIC and have that addicting saxophone in it along with lots of grove. I really like “Spooky Flashback? oooooo” since it gives us a first look at the Elliot Manor and what kind of music we will be hearing in the 5th episode. Mind you, it’s not as good as the songs in the 5th episode but for foreshadowing, I think it works beautifully as it just gives us a small idea of what the manor was like for N, V and J. I think the first album is often overlooked but just like the pilot album, it has some wicked shit in it that you can’t ignore.

Murder Drones Volume 2

The second album I think might be my favourite because of the music used for the Elliot Manor flashbacks. There’s something so saddening and cold yet cheerful about them that I just cant shake and I adore them. It’s most definitely the soft piano that does it for me. Im a whore for soft piano music. We also have “Falling…For You??”, “Gentle” and “huggie wuggies” which PULL on my heart strings. The mellow music in this album is so well done and make me weep like a small child. DONT GET ME STARTED ON ETERNAL DREAM- I could write an entirely different essay just on that song alone and its relation to V’s entire character, however, I’m pretty sure that has already been done by many more qualified people than myself so you may go read those.

Then we’ve got the scary music in this album, which is a HUGE leap forward compared to the pilots album and the first album. Songs like “Solver Uzi”, “Heh, Nothing Personal Kid”, “SENTINEL 000D”, “…wow…ok THATS Pretty Dark” “literally just noise (your favourite)” and “Earth” are all phenomenal songs that give the spooks and scares. They are eerie and are drenched in anticipation for what is going to happen next. They give so much emphasis on the danger that these characters are in and can make you feel the same way. They freak you out and that is their job. Personal bias to the second album but it is phenomenal. I feel like people might not listen to the softer music in it which I totally understand, but I love it a lot.

Murder Drones Volume 3

And finally, we have the third album.

To start off, this shit goes incredibly hard with its scary stuff. They injected some sort of chemical into this album. I think it might be the chimes and whispers and church music. They added more eerie sounds in this album and I LOVE IT so much. The album starts STRONG with “When you forget to pray” which is so scary and gross and eerie, I love her. It fit the church scene so well and the song itself is disgustingly horrendous with its churchy vibes yet it makes them sound anything but holy. “Callback Ping”, “Absolute Solver” “…Hey guys, just wanted to say what’s up” and “……run” are TERRIFYING! nothing more can be said about those other than that. They scare the shit out of me and I can’t deal with that. Im pretty sure there is screaming in these ones as well, so that adds to the charm of spook. “Die Mad” is a bit spooky but it GOES SO HARD. UNREASONABLY HARD. But then it gets all soft and sad and makes me weep.

Speaking of weeping; “Hang Out?” and “Falling With You” MAKE ME WANNA KILL MYSELF. YHEY LOVE EACH OTHER SO MUCH AND I LOVE THEM SO MUCH AAGUUUUUGHHHH-

And finally, the kick ass shit in this album is probably what defines it from the others. Each album has eeriness to them or a few songs that get you pumped; but this album? We’ve got “Eternal DESTROYER” 3 different versions of “BITE ME”, “…Uzi and N: The Drone Killers”, and “YOU’RE FREAKIN’ GROUNDED” which all are such good fighting songs and get you hyped up. They are the songs that get YOU wanting to kick ass, and I love it.

Like the others, there is a few mellow songs in this album, but not a ton. “FOREVER”, “ur aight”, and “haha yea dude, that’s sick” are all very good songs since they take place during scenes of walking or talking, not really any big action. Despite that they are all chillish and are incredibly catchy, they all still carry that eerie feeling that something isn’t right and that’s perfect for the series since we continuously know that something isn’t right.

In conclusion, all 4 of the albums created for the Murder Drones series are incredible in different ways. They each have strengths as well as songs that stand out. I wouldn’t say that one is better than the other since they all have songs that fit the episodes that they premiered in. A.J Dispirito has been very consistent with the quality of their music produced throughout the shows run time, keeping a balance of action, eerie, sweet and scary. I think that music for this series may be difficult to make since there’s so many jumps from goofy to scary to cute and so on. You can definitely see Dispirito’s improvment in their work throughout the series, but every song they’ve created has been excellent.

[poppibranchlover]

When it comes to watching this trailer, it's packing me with a lot of adrenaline rush!!! 🤩🤩🤩😍😍😍🥰🥰🥰💖💙💖💙💖💙

TROLLS BAND TOGETHER | Official Trailer

♥️♥️♥️♥️❤️❤️❤️❤️

[yumeka-sxf]

Here's my remaining SxF photos from Anime Expo! (I'm back home from the con now and will be sharing pics of my merch haul tomorrow!)

I had a wonderful time and it was great seeing so much SxF love while I was there! However, I have to admit that I'm a little surprised/disappointed that they didn't have any exclusive SxF announcements or sneak peeks at any of the panels (and no, I don't count the Street Fighter collab as that kind of noteworthy announcement, lol). They showed exclusive content and trailer reveals for lots of other anime, some that aren't even scheduled to be released until next year, but nothing for SxF that wasn't already revealed before. Considering how much attention SxF was getting throughout the con, it was weird that they didn't have something - if not a trailer/sneak peek of season 2, then at least an announcement that Crunchyroll has officially licensed it, or dates that they plan to screen the movie outside Japan. The fact that they brought Eguchi as a guest really gave the impression they would show off something exclusive or have some big announcement. Maybe they had planned to, but in the end, Crunchyroll or whoever wasn't able to get permission in time. But besides being a bit bummed about that, everything else was awesome, so I can't complain!

Also, for anyone wondering about my health condition that I mentioned in my first Anime Expo post, thankfully it didn't interfere much with my enjoyment of the con. As I thought, the adrenaline and stimulation kept me going, though I did have bad bouts of constipation (which isn't unusual for me when I'm off my usual eating/sleeping schedule). However, now that I'm no longer distracted by AX, the sickly fatigue I was feeling before is coming back. I'm still taking the antibiotics but I have a feeling they won't fix the issue. I'll very likely be getting a coloscopy soon, if not next week then by the end of the month.

[best-underrated-anime]

[Test Poll] Format #3

This is to test what format would be best for the poll posts during the tournament. The media featured won’t be part of the tournament. They’re just shows I recently watched (and are not necessarily underrated), but please vote as if this were the actual tournament. (I wrote some serious propaganda just to make this test realistic, so pleeease.) I will gather some feedback later. You may also leave feedback in the replies of this post.

Best Underrated Anime – Group C Round 1: #C1 vs #C2

#C1: Good guy pulled into soccer “death game,” turns into your worst nightmare

#C2: Depressed genius detective pulled out of slump by naive police officer

Titles, summaries, propagandas, trailers, and poll under the cut!

#C1: Good guy pulled into soccer “death game,” turns into your worst nightmare

Title: Blue Lock / ブルーロック

Genres: Sports, shounen

Trigger warnings: none

Summary

After reflecting on the current state of Japanese soccer, the Japanese Football Association decides to hire the enigmatic and eccentric coach Jinpachi Ego to achieve their dream of winning the World Cup. Believing that Japan has lacked an egoistic striker hungry for goals, Ego initiates the Blue Lock—a prison-like facility where three hundred talented strikers from high schools all over Japan are isolated and pitted against each other. The sole survivor of Blue Lock will earn the right to become the national team’s striker, and those who are defeated shall be banned from joining the team forever.

Selected to join this risky project is Isagi Yoichi, a striker who failed to bring his high school soccer team to the national tournament. After choosing to pass to a teammate who missed instead of scoring on his own, he could not help but wonder if the results would have been different had he been more selfish. Using this golden opportunity given by the Blue Lock Project, Isagi aims to clear his doubts and chase his ultimate desire—to become the greatest striker in the world and lead Japan to World Cup glory.

(taken from MAL)

Propaganda

It’s different from all other sports anime I’ve watched before in that there is no “power of friendship” and “teamwork makes the dream work” bullshit. Blue Lock only cares about one thing, and that is winning. All those inspirational/comforting messages like “at least we had fun together” are dismissed to mere excuses right from the first episode.

Each episode is also full of hype, and there is no telling what will happen next. It subverts a lot of sports anime tropes, especially in the show’s second arc. I also love how it doesn’t follow typical sports anime arcs. They’re technically not in high school, so we don’t have “Nationals” or special training episodes. Just adrenaline-filled matches all the way through—not official matches, but it sure feels like it because of how high the stakes are (if you lose, your dreams are dead).

I especially enjoy seeing Isagi turn into something like a villain once the game starts. He’s so nice and polite off the field, but on the field he’s everybody’s nightmare. It’s also really refreshing to have a shounen protag revel in the act of breaking other people’s dreams.

But hype aside, it also does not lack on the emotional aspect. Characters are forced to break through their limits and let go of what’s important to them in order to move forward. That important thing could be a long-standing belief, an old dream, or even a friend. And the OST of this show really helps drive home the messages it sends. Some scenes would literally have orchestra music playing in the background, and each plot-relevant character also gets their own cool character soundtrack

Lastly, like all other shounen sports anime, expect some homoerotic stuff. You don’t even have to be a shipper to notice it. It’s really obvious in the second arc.

#C2: Depressed genius detective pulled out of slump by naive police officer

(Admin: I could not find a good trailer on youtube with english subs and none of the audio cut out, so I decided to edit the subs in myself…)

Title: Deranged Detective / Ron Kamonohashi’s Forbidden Deductions/ Ron Kamonohashi: Deranged Detective / Kamonohashi Ron no Kindan Suiri / 鴨乃橋ロンの禁断推理

Genres: Comedy, mystery

Trigger Warnings: Just typical tw’s for a crime show… blood. murder, dead bodies, etc., but nothing extreme

Summary

Despite lacking the skills suited for his role on the Metropolitan Police Department investigative team, Isshiki Totomaru wants to solve murders and help people. Following the advice of one of his seniors, he ventures out to enlist the aid of the reclusive Kamonohashi Ron. Five years ago, Ron was the most promising detective from the illustrious Detective Training Academy Blue; yet for reasons unknown to the public, he sank into obscurity.

Totomaru expects a well-dressed, composed man; but what he gets is a messy-haired and uninhibited eccentric. After years in solitude, Ron barely resembles his former self and he refuses to even hear out the detective. However, as quickly as Ron rebuffs, he flips on a dime and dives headfirst into the current serial murder case.

The true reason Ron withdrew from the detective world was not from lack of desire, but rather from something out of his control—and Totomaru might just be the key for his return to his former calling. Together, the wide-eyed officer and deranged detective tackle each mystery that comes their way.

Propaganda

The anime is currently airing with only a few episodes out as of this moment, so my propaganda will be based more on the manga (which is by Akira Amano, the same person who made Katekyo Hitman Reborn).

The first few eps/chapters of Deranged Detective tackles some basic crimes, but later it will get more complex. Episode formulas are like that in Detective Conan, but they’re made more enjoyable with Ron’s eccentricity and the well-balanced comedy.

The plot is nothing mind-blowing, but it’s definitely solid and well-executed. We have this recluse detective who wants to get back to doing detective work, but then we find out that he’s not supposed to be playing detective. It would literally cost him his life if caught in the act. So now we have some tension as well as an overarching mystery—who wants Ron dead and why?

But Deranged Detective isn’t just about the mystery. It’s also about Ron and Toto. It’s about how Ron, who was depressed for five years, regains his life because of Toto. And it’s how Toto will always believe in him despite all doubts against him. Can’t really blame Ron for being so gay for him.

The animation is clean, and the OST is also good. The opening song is by the same band that made the iconic Kekkai Sensen ending song.

If you enjoy gay detectives, you should definitely check this out.

[bizaar]

Cruel Summer - Part 7

First - Previous - Next

pairings: Eddie Munson x fem!reader

summary: After breaking up, you and Eddie do your best to soldier on with your lives, but you slowly begin to discover that there is a stronger line of connection keeping you together than just history…

word count: 11k (you guys i'm sorry i tried)

warnings: swearing, mentions of violence/death (get Vecna'd), some angst, some fluff

A.N.: Babysitter!reader part seven! The shit has officially hit the fan ...

You silt bolt up in bed from a dead sleep, screaming and shattering the quiet calm of the morning. 

“Eddie!” you cry out, but there is no one is there to hear you.

The sound of your own voice bounces off the walls of your apartment and echoes back to you, and you sit trembling with residual fear as you do all you can to come back to yourself … It was only a dream. A terrible, terrible dream. 

You had only managed a few hours of sleep in the first place, caught in the quagmire of the dreaded closing shift made that much worse by the Hawkins Intramural Boys Basketball team — now apparent state champions — descending upon the diner to celebrate their victory.

They’d trashed the place, and it had taken you the better part of two hours to get the diner anywhere clean enough to call it a day. To his credit, Lucas Sinclair (ever the sweetheart) had begged you to let him stay and help you clean, but considering the fact that he could barely stand for how drunk he was, you’d sent him away with the rest of the Tigers and promised not to tell his mother. 

It was well past midnight by the time you got home. You hadn’t managed to do more than get out of your shoes before you’d slipped into the vice of Morpheus’s grasp, and you were dreaming by the time your head hit the pillow. 

And then your mind swam with visions of Eddie.

You still dream about him most nights in one way or another, and you imagine you will more than likely continue to do so for years to come if not for the rest of your life, but this had been a nightmare, and it had felt so real.

Something terrible had happened, not to him, but with enough proximity to put him in danger, and there was nothing you could do to save him.

I can’t save him.

Of course, as you eventually come back down, you try to rationalize the feeling by telling yourself that it’s not your job to save him, considering how he’d broken your heart, but it is an intrinsic instinct that has proven very hard to unlearn, putting yourself between Eddie and any sort of threat. 

It’s only natural to want to protect the ones you love, and you do still love him, as much as you hate to admit.

It only sends you into a downward spiral of guilt and anger and all the other nasty little emotions you don’t have the presence of mind to dredge up on some random morning in April, running on maybe three hours of sleep and already late for your next shift.

Spring Break, your mind informs you rather unhelpfully. It’s Spring Break. 

Adrenaline has made you dreadfully nauseous, and you breathe a shaky sigh as you press your hands into your eyes until you see colors. 

You suddenly have to work very hard to ignore the terrible sensation it dredges up as your dream fights to make its way to the front of your mind again. 

Lights winking on and off with enough gusto to be seizure-inducing, illuminating the scene of eyes wrenching back from their sockets and limbs twisting up unnaturally, snapping out of place… 

You’re fine, it’s fine, everything is fine… just breathe. 

Somehow you can’t quite convince yourself it’s true.

It is hard to feel anywhere even remotely in the realm of fine when you wake with the sudden and desperate screaming notion to run! 

The feeling only persists as you rise from your bed and try to go about your morning, jumping at every slightest sound.

Run! Your brain tells you, and you have no idea where it is you ought to be running to, except maybe the Forest Hills trailer park, as your irrational mind tells you that you won’t be fine until you know Eddie is fine, and you’re not about to go banging down the door of the Munson trailer just because you had a bad dream. 

That would be wildly embarrassing, even for you. 

It takes you the better part of an hour to banish the residual fear of your dream, showering away the sweat that has dried tacky on your skin, wolfing down a quick breakfast, getting dressed and ready for the day in your scratchy grease-stained work uniform, all the while trying to deafen yourself to the ubiquitous echoes of cracking bones, silently willing yourself to calm down, calm down, calm down. 

It isn’t working.

Even outside the realm of your dreams, you can’t stop thinking about Eddie. Though perhaps more importantly you can’t stop thinking about the fact that it’s spring break, which means it’s been nearly a year since you’d last seen him.

You’re having a very hard time trying to suppress the nagging feeling that wherever he is, Eddie needs you and you’re borderline obsessing over the thought that if you don’t find him, something very bad is going to happen. 

Of course, that line of thinking puts you in a rather awkward position, because you’re still not quite sure you’re physically capable of handling the concept of seeing Eddie again. This is made all the more evident considering the way you’d thrown your telephone across the room like it had jumped up and tried to bite you after having inadvertently found yourself on the phone with him last month. 

It leaves you feeling hopelessly stuck, so to try and distract yourself from the crushing sense of impending doom, you indulge yourself in a little self-harm, recalling how last year you had planned to spend Spring Break road-tripping...

 It took the two of you weeks to plan the trip, mapping out the route, everywhere you would camp, all the roadside attractions you would hit, budgeting your pooled money down to the penny. You would be flat broke by the time you got home, but you had convinced yourselves it would be worth it. 

It was never meant to be.

Beyond the fact that the heavens had decided to open up and dump what you assumed must have been all the rain for the rest of the entire year in one weeklong downpour, the van’s transmission went out the day before you were meant to leave, stranding Eddie and the band on the highway halfway between Hawkins and the next town over, as is always the way. 

So you drove an hour and a half through the torrential downpour to go and rescue him at the random interstate pay phone he'd called you from. He slid into your passenger seat, soaking wet and positively fuming, ranting and raving about the piece of shit van and his stupid friends and the whole goddamn situation as you went and collected the rest of the band, left to sit huddled in the relative warm but most importantly dry van.

Then, with Gareth, Jeff, and Adam crammed like Sardines into the back of your little Toyota, the heater cranked up and the stereo turned down, you’d all sat shivering in relative silence as you followed the tow truck back to Hawkins, taking with it the van and all the money you’d saved for your trip. 

The guys pooled their money to cover the tow, as they came to figure was only fair (with a little prompting from you). The repairs themselves came out to cost a whopping twelve hundred and sixty-seven dollars and thirty-nine cents, quite conveniently the exact amount of money you and Eddie had saved between the two of you, though that price only came to be after the mechanic overheard your hushed conversation about what you could afford — don’t you hate it when that happens? 

So, road-tripping dreams dashed to oblivion, you’d spent Spring Break sitting on Eddie’s couch. You’d assigned yourself the role of his sick nurse, making sure the cold he’d caught while waiting for you in the rain didn’t develop into pneumonia, all the while tirelessly assuring him it was fine that you didn’t get to go, that there was nothing to be sorry about, the road and all its attractions would still be there next year, and no he absolutely was not allowed to pay you back.

“Consider it back-pay for all the gas money I owe you.” You’d told him, brushing his hair back from his clammy forehead as he lay pressed into your side, coughing and sneezing miserably.

 All things considered, it hadn’t been too terrible a way to spend a week off from your last year of school, building a massive blanket fort in the living room in which to marathon movies, play board games, eat your weight in snacks, and fool around once Eddie felt a little better. 

(Funny how he always seemed to be miraculously healed of whatever ailment held him in its clutches at death’s door when sex was on the table.)

It was one last hurrah of adolescent fun, stretching the Endless Summer just a little further before having to face graduation and the impending threshold of adulthood… well, at least for one of you. 

It’s hard to believe it’s been a year since all that. One quick turn around the sun and suddenly it’s Spring Break, and Eddie needs rescuing again – or so insists your subconscious.    

You should go see him, a tiny nagging voice inside of you presses, You should go check on him.

“No, thank you,” you tell the stupid little voice as you snatch up your keys and head out the door of your apartment. 

You’ve got to go to work, and somehow getting verbally abused by the patrons of your shitty waitress job is so much more appealing than the thought of trying to make awkward small talk with Eddie after eight months of nothing. 

You can’t imagine he’d be pleased to see you, considering it all.

You can only just picture yourself standing at the bottom of the steps, trying your best not to look at him while wringing your hands and struggling to explain that you’re standing on his doorstep because of a feeling.

Boy howdy, doesn’t that just sound like the best time a girl could possibly have? 

Still, it feels a little too much like denial, deluding yourself into assuming he’s fine just because you don’t want to go see him. It does nothing to settle your nerves, and by the time you get to work, you’re just about ready to puke for how your insides have twisted themselves into a Gordian knot. 

You bid an absent hello to your co-worker and skirt around the back of the counter to stash your things, ignoring the way she berates you for how she had to finish cleaning up what you had left undone the night before.

She doesn’t like you much anymore since you’d had to tell her you wouldn’t be watching her demonic children, and she is not shy about making it known. 

Normally you would have said something to try and defend yourself, told her to blame the Hawkins Tigers, but you are understandably too preoccupied to consider doing so. 

Maybe Wayne can check on Eddie for you…

“Stop it.” You hiss at no one in particular, biting the inside of your cheek and reminding yourself for the hundredth time in the last half hour that Eddie is still a jerk and that you and Wayne have made a silent agreement not to talk about him.

 It was a very complicated way of simplifying the weird patchwork friendship you’d built up with the elder Munson in the ashes of your relationship with his nephew, but that is how you preferred it remains. 

You are not going to ruin your streak of very successfully avoiding the topic of Eddie by asking Wayne about him just because you had a bad dream. 

A really, really, really bad dream.

Of course, it’s a highly plausible scenario considering Wayne is due in today for your weekly session of catch-up. You could very easily get an indirect report on Eddie’s wellbeing if you really wanted to, but you banish the thought before it can fully form. 

You know if you ask, Wayne is just going to tell you to go see him, and you are not going to go see him. 

You tie your apron tight enough to dig uncomfortably into your sides and clock in and try every mental exercise you can think of to try to stop the constant loop of Eddie Eddie Eddie passing through your brain like a weather report scrolling along the bottom of the television screen during the morning news. 

It is unbearably slow at the diner, just like it is every day, though today there is a patent strangeness to how particularly empty the dining room is. Benny’s has never gotten much traffic to begin with, not even when Benny himself was around, but even the morning regulars seem to be missing today.

It’s wholly bizarre and does nothing to quash your nervous feeling, particularly as the first hour of your shift comes and goes without a single customer.

“Kinda slow, huh?” You hum, hoping a little conversation might aid in distracting you. 

Your coworker stands leaning against the counter, filing her lacquered nails. She gives you an uninterested look. 

“There’s some kinda commotion going on at the trailer park.” She says flatly, “Folks probably all went down to see what’s what. They’ll be here soon enough, don't you worry your pretty little head.” 

You ignore the biting sarcasm dripping from her tone and swallow hard to banish the spike of anxiety that grips your stomach and forces a knot up into your throat. 

Trouble at the trailer park. 

Oh no.

You struggle to keep your voice steady as you speak, almost too afraid to ask yet unable to keep your mouth shut. 

“What kind of commotion?” 

Your coworker shrugs, not bothering to look up from her filing as she answers you. 

“Who knows.” She huffs, and before she can elaborate, the cook, who also happens to be your boss, pipes up from the kitchen.

“Some girl got killed or somethin’,” he calls, and you feel the blood drain from your face.

You dig your nails into your palms to try and ground yourself as you are struck with the hideous feeling of deja-vu. 

Your coworker is apparently less affected by the information. She heaves an angry sigh and throws her hands down, chunky plastic bracelets clacking loudly and sounding much too similar to snapping bones for your liking as she does.

“Now, how in the hell could you possibly know that, Earl?” 

“I got my sources, anyways, I seen them cop cars go roarin’ down the street. They only haul ass like that when there’s a body. Like when they found that Byers kid down in the quarry.” 

You suppress a shudder as once again your dream rushes to the front of your mind. You retreat from it, electing instead to hide in the memory of the night they’d thought they found Will —

—you’d been with Eddie. It was one of the first times you’d really hung out together, not a date, just one on one time in the earliest stages of whatever it was going on between you. More than a friendship, not quite a relationship, back when all you knew was that he was so strangely different than all your friends had warned you, and you had a ridiculous crush on him that you’d hoped beyond hope was mutual.

You’d seen that exact procession of cop cars go whipping past you on the road, and Eddie – who had just been very glad he wasn’t being pulled over – made a flippant comment along the lines of “guess they found that missing kid,”

He hadn’t meant anything by it, and he’d been very chagrined when you called him up later that night after learning they had in fact found Will. You couldn’t have expressly explained why you called Eddie that night, except that your parents weren’t home, it didn’t feel appropriate to be at the Henderson’s right then, and in the mire of your reeling mind, your empty house was suddenly terribly frightening. 

You suppose you called Eddie because he made you feel safe. 

“Do you want me to come over?” He’d asked, quickly and quietly, and when you sheepishly asked if you could go over to his place instead, he’d agreed to come and get you without a moment's hesitation — you could hear his keys in hand before he even hung up, promising to be there in five minutes.

That was how you’d found yourself sitting on your front steps, shivering in your pajamas while you waited for him, making the excuse that it would be easier to lie about where you’d been rather than try to explain what a random boy was doing in your house if your parents happened to come home.

 Of course, that line of thinking suggested that anyone could have stepped in to comfort you that night, and that was just patently untrue.

Even then, you only wanted Eddie, pulling up to your house and driving you back across town to spend the night glued to his side, lying in his bed, whispering back and forth conspiratorially like kids having a sleepover, like you’d known each other for years and were privy to the deepest secrets of each other’s hearts.

You were barely even friends, and yet somehow you knew, from flipping through the yellow pages to find his number to drifting off to the hushed sounds of his voice while he read aloud the first few chapters of some fantasy novel, you would never want anyone else but him.

You are vaguely aware of how you’ve been subtly pinching yourself to try not to think about how, if you were really honest with yourself, that had been the night you’d fallen in love with Eddie — it only makes your chest ache with anxiety as you remember the crushing sense of danger from your dream like suddenly the whole world is bearing down on him. 

I have to find him… 

It is an intrusive thought, new and terrifying as the notion of needing to find Eddie indicates that somehow he is missing. It is enough to move you to panic.

Behind you, your coworkers continue to bicker, but you don’t hear them. You’ve moved to stare out the window, at your car sitting lonely in the lot, watching for any kind of traffic, any sign of things to come … any sign of Eddie… 

The trailer park is not far from here, maybe half a mile at the most, and you rationalize that you could feasibly make the distance in less than five minutes if you ran.

You aren’t sure why your brain decided to deliver that information to you, only that if you were the religious type, you would have been praying to whoever might be listening that whatever trouble is happening down at the trailer park has nothing to do with Eddie. 

I have to find Eddie. Eddie, Eddie Eddie Eddie—

And then, like a part of your brain has clicked off, suddenly all you know is action. 

Somewhere in the very far distance, you think you can hear your boss calling your name, but you don’t hear him, not really. You don’t hear anything but the skipping record of your mind moving you.

You don’t think, you just go.

Out the door and practically sprinting, the hoarse shouting voice of your boss falls on deaf ears as you skirt right past your car and disappear into the woods.

You don’t care about your pride or your hurt feelings, or whether or not Eddie will be happy to see you, all of that nonsense is the furthest thing from your mind as you run. You’ve got to see him, you’ve got to find him, no matter what.

If there are cops at the trailer park, they’re going to be blocking the road, so you convince yourself that you can avoid them by going through the woods, exiting the treeline and making a break for Eddie’s bedroom window. 

Twigs snag the skirt of your dress as you move through the thicket at a pace, the crunching of leaves and detritus is thunderous under your sneakers as you go.

It is only a matter of minutes before you emerge from the first line of trees, flying across the backroad without a second thought for traffic and pushing through the last stretch of the woods until finally, the trailer park opens up before you. 

You pause a moment to catch your breath, doubled over resting on your knees and listening for a hint at whatever lies ahead. 

It’s eerily still, despite how beneath the gentle flapping of laundry on the line and the hum of generators, you can hear the buzz of movement, voices speaking, and crackling radios much closer than you’d accounted for.

You’d never been much for trouble before you met Eddie. Your experience with the Hawkins police begins and ends with distracting them so that he could slip away undetected, and it occurs to you perhaps too late that this could very easily end with you being arrested, which would be at best very inconvenient and at worst?

Your parents don't live in Hawkins anymore, so who would be there to bail you out if that happened? Claudia Henderson? Wayne? How would you make sure Eddie is okay if you’re sitting in a jail cell?   

Still, you can’t let your wariness of trouble stop you now, not after you’ve already come most of the way. 

You would always rather come running to Eddie’s rescue when he doesn’t need you than risk not being there when he does, and it is enough to refill the well of your courage. 

You bite back the same urge to run you’d felt that morning when you woke up and stay low.

Despite having not set foot on these grounds for the better part of a year, you retrace the path through the park with patent expertise, like no time has passed at all. Then again, nothing ever changes down here, and you are sure you could find your way to the Munson trailer in the dark with your eyes closed if you had to, and suddenly there you are.  

The police are there as well, much to your dismay, right on the other side of the trailer, milling about the circular drive at the center of the park, talking amongst themselves and into their radios. 

You know you’ve only got a very brief window of opportunity to slip inside unnoticed, and your heart is hammering in your chest as you rap your knuckles on the glass as sharply as you dare.

The only person you need to hear you is Eddie, though of course that would only be possible if he happens to be in his room, which you’re willing to wager he isn’t, especially with a heavy police presence right on his front step.

If he isn’t the cause of the trouble, you can be damn sure he’s standing on the porch, watching the trouble unfold.

He’s nosy like that.

Disappointingly, your knocking garners no response.

You swallow hard and push up on your toes to grip the windowpane, tugging on it. It takes a few tries before it finally slides open with more than a little resistance. 

You bite your lip against its harsh sound, metal scraping on metal, and quickly brace yourself on the pane to hoist yourself up and over before anyone can investigate and find you there.

Your world briefly goes topsy-turvy as you tumble forward into the room and land with a hard grunt and muffled utterance of “ow – fuck”, sending tapes and other knickknacks tumbling to the ground around you.

In days past when you’d done this exact thing, you would have had the benefit of the bed to break your fall, but of course, in those days you were just as likely to land on top of Eddie as an empty mattress.

As much as he liked it when you snuck over like that, he was not partial to being kicked in the head, and you’d both decided that it was better to knock over a side table and make a mess than it was to risk giving him a concussion, so you’d made the executive decision to move the bed into the position where it rests today, sans Eddie. 

You have to sit for a moment to catch your breath, because beyond the sprinting and the acrobatics you’d just engaged in, it’s been eight months of nothing but memories, and suddenly you’re in his room. 

You hadn’t accounted for how that was going to affect you — strangely it’s like no time has passed. It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust against the relative dark, but it’s easy to see that the room remains unchanged since last you were here, all metal posters and discarded clothes and papers, the two guitars, the amps, the unmade bed.

It smells like weed and tobacco and dirty laundry and the pervasive undertone of something that is so wholly Eddie that you suddenly forget why you are here, sitting where you landed beneath the window. 

You look around the room, surveying the familiar mess, and, unable to help yourself, you reach out and pull a t-shirt from the overstuffed dresser drawer, sitting ajar where it had been forced unsuccessfully back into place.

You hug it to your chest and repeat one of Eddie’s five stupid jokes to yourself. 

“When is a drawer not a drawer?” He would have said, grinning ear to ear like he was about to blow your mind with the oldest joke in the book. 

“When it’s ajar…”

You can’t help the disappointment that lances through your midsection not to have found him there, because as much as you try to convince yourself that it doesn’t expressly mean something terrible has happened to him, part of you had hoped it would be that easy.

You turn the shirt over in your hands and trace the faded script spelling out the name of the band you can barely make out – you think at one point in time it must have said “Misfits” – and without really thinking, you bury your face in the fabric, breathing deep and flooding your senses with him.

 Once again, all you can think is Eddie Eddie Eddie, and before you know it you’re drunk on his smell, familiar as childhood and tugging at your heart. Like being wrapped in a security blanket, you feel a strange sense of calm wash over you, not daring to promise that anything will be okay so much as assuring you that you are on the right track.

You heave a sigh and slump back against the wall, kicking your leg out – your foot collides with something.

There is the corner of a box peeking out from beneath the bed.

Were you in your right mind, you might have thought twice about investigating, considering you know all too well what kinds of things teen boys keep stashed under their beds, what Eddie has had under his bed in days past, but you recognize your own handwriting scribbled across the side of the box and very suddenly you’ve surged forward to pull the box free before you even realize you’d moved. 

It’s all pictures, posters, polaroids, band-tees, memories, and other things you don’t expressly remember packing into that box back in late August.

It’s everything that had been Eddie in your life with the addition of everything that had been you in his, carefully tucked away, miraculously still here — not trashed or burned or even remotely destroyed.

Preserved.

You marvel as you pluck at a long polaroid strip of photos with the Starcourt Mall logo splashed across the top and fail to stifle the water laugh that bubbles up from somewhere inside you.

You turn it over in your trembling hands and see the two ticket stubs for Teen Wolf stapled to the top.

You don’t remember a moment of the movie, but you vividly remember the day, sliding into the booth to take photos, laughing and playing, and pulling at each other while the camera flashed away. 

It’s Eddie giving you bunny ears and you sticking your tongue out, followed by Eddie pretending to bite your face while you laughed, followed by Eddie kissing you, and you kissing Eddie, and Eddie kissing you… 

It’s just a little bit too much, suddenly having photographic evidence of the things you had almost convinced yourself had never actually happened after almost a year of wallowing in self-pity and denial and anger and everything in between. 

It makes you feel a little crazy.

You’re just about ready to come apart at the seams when you hear sounds coming from the front room, the screen door swinging open, heavy footsteps thumping across the floor. 

And of course, because you aren’t in your right mind, you make a leap in logic and ignore your better judgment as you decide who you think it is that just walked through the door. 

“Eddie—” you gasp.

You shove the box haphazardly back beneath the bed and scramble to your feet, absently stuffing the photo reel into your apron pocket as you crawl over the bed and throw open the door.

You fly into the living room without a second thought about who or what you are going to find there.

You are woefully unprepared.

Eddie is not there, only a handful of police officers who you have just given what might have perhaps been the worst scare of their lives had it not been for the mutilated, twisted body of what you think must have very recently been a girl, lying on the floor in front of the open door. 

You stagger and stop and freeze, unable to tear your eyes away as you immediately come to recognize her, despite her ruined state.

Red blonde ponytail tied with a green scrunchie, half wrenched out of place, heavy blue eyeshadow stained and shadowed where her lids droop down into empty eye sockets, ever so slightly crooked front teeth on display where her mouth hangs open in a silent scream. 

It's Chrissy Cunningham.

The police react to you with appropriate alarm, considering the way you’d come hurdling out of the back room and the blood-curdling scream that wrenches itself from the depths of your core, like you were some kind of banshee.

The sound tears itself from your lungs without your consent, but you don’t think you could have stopped yourself from screaming at that moment if your life depended on it.

Suddenly you can see it so clearly — the flashing lights illuminating Chrissy’s body as it rises from the ground, trancelike and trembling, her limbs twisting themselves unnaturally, snapping and cracking before her eyes wrenched themselves back into the depths of her skull. 

This is what you’d dreamt — your nightmare.

Chrissy is dead and Eddie is missing. 

+++

Dustin sits perched on the edge of his seat, eyes glued to the television. He barely hears what the reporter is saying for how loudly the blood is pounding in his ears.

There is a cold lump in his stomach.

Beside him, his mother sniffles as the anchorwoman drones on about another dead girl, and he knows what she’s going to say — it’s too much for her poor nerves, she can’t take it. 

He can’t help the way his mind strays to the terrible possibilities of the moment, what could have happened, who it could be laying dead in the Forest Hills trailer park. 

Dustin fights the urge to look out the front window, to the house across the street where you don’t live anymore. In days past he would have run across the street and pounded on your door, just to make sure you were home safe and not dead on the other end of town, but he tells himself that he’s just being paranoid.

He can almost hear you telling him not to worry about you, but how can he not worry about you when he’s made it his full-time job? 

Dustin sits and silently works out the logistics of what going to check on you would look like and very quickly decides there is no cool or casual way to go about doing that.

He’d have to haul ass all the way into town to your apartment, and even if he did there was no guarantee he’d even find you there.

He tells himself there’s no way he’s going to go check on you just because he saw something on the news. 

You're probably at work anyway — he glances reflexively at the clock on the wall — ten-thirty on a Saturday morning? Yeah, you're definitely at work.

Still, he can’t help but imagine the scenario in which he did, how touched you would be if he came riding in like a knight in shining armor. 

He imagines you smiling big and broad, brows turned up with emotion, and clasping your hands together.

“Oh, Dustin,” you would say, “You came all this way for me? You didn't have to do that, you could have just called—”

He should just call you.

Dustin leaps up from his seat, thoroughly startling his mother as he runs for the phone.

“Dusty what on earth?!” She cries, twisting around to try and see what has put a fire under his ass, “Where are you going?” 

He’s already punching in the last digits of your number as he answers.

“I gotta make a call!”

The phone rings and rings and rings. He stands and listens to the droning sound with mounting anxiety, holding his breath as he waits to see if you will answer.

He hopes beyond hope that you’re just at work, that nothing has gone terribly wrong – they said it was a high school student, but nobody ever accused the Hawkins local news of being accurate when it came to the facts. 

Disappointingly, the phone clicks over to play the message on your answering machine. Your sweet voice rings through the receiver to vibrate against Dustin’s ear, telling him to leave a message after the tone, and he heaves a dejected sigh, when…

BANG BANG BANG

Dustin’s head snaps around as suddenly there is a thunderous pounding at his front door. He slams the phone into the box hard enough to make it chime and flies across the room. 

“I’ll get it I'll get it I'll get it!” He says in a rush, fingers closing on the doorknob before his mother can even think to get up.

He wrenches the door open, half expecting to find you there, and can’t deny how summarily disappointed he is to see Max standing there, looking particularly out of breath.

Her face is flushed, eyes wide, chest and shoulders heaving as she openly pants like she’d just run a great distance.

Rode her bike was more likely the case, Dustin surmises as he glances over her shoulder to see where her bike lays on the lawn, wheels still spinning, clearly having just been thrown down.

He hardly has the opportunity to wonder what’s got her so excited before she's pushing past him to force herself inside

“I need to talk to you,” she says, stalking down the hall toward Dustin's bedroom at a pace.

He follows her, having to jog to keep up, then shuts the door, and listens as Max tells him everything — about Chrissy, about Eddie, about what she’d seen and heard last night and this morning.

It paints a terrible picture, and it horrifies Dustin to hear what Max is suggesting, but he can’t help the wave of relief that floods his body to hear the dead girl isn’t you.

He knows he ought to feel bad about it, but all he can think is Thank God it’s not you – that’s when the confusion sets in.

“Chrissy?”

“Yes.” 

“Chrissy Cunningham...”

“Yes.” 

He folds his arms over his chest and tries to make sense of it, because Chrissy and Eddie? 

“...Are you sure?”

Max furrows her brow and gives him a much more intense version of the same look you would have given him when you thought he was condescending or being sexist or a male chauvinist or whatever you would have called it.

On you it would have been mere admonishment, on Max, it warns him that he is very close to getting punched, so Dustin backs off. 

Still though, the arguable Princess of Hawkins High and the Freak? It doesn’t make sense outside of some kind of cliche Hollywood romance, not in real life though.

He can’t get his head around it. Dustin doesn’t think he’s ever even seen them in the same room – then he remembers. 

He has seen them together. Thursday afternoon. Fifth period.

He’d been on his way back from the bathroom and stopped to get a drink at the water fountain to kill a little bit more time when hushed voices drew his attention.

That’s when Dustin saw them standing together at the far end of the hall.

Eddie and Chrissy.

He couldn’t hear what they were saying, but he could see Chrissy smiling shyly, and he’d been very confused not to see Eddie’s typical manic energy – it’s like he was calm, for once in his life.

If he had to describe it, Dustin would almost say that he thought they were flirting, but that can't be right... because Chrissy Cunningham? And Eddie Munson? How does that math add up?

It had been one of the stranger things Dustin had witnessed in the past few weeks, and he’d fully meant to ask Eddie about it, but with how vicious he’d been over the potentiality of postponing the Cult of Vecna, Dustin had completely forgotten it.

And now Chrissy is dead. 

And Eddie is missing.

His stomach is in knots at the thought. Like the weight of the world is suddenly bearing down on his shoulders, he sinks onto his bed.

He thinks back to the news report, to the trailer sitting in the distance behind the anchorwoman – was that Eddie’s place?

Dustin can’t remember, he’s only been there a handful of times, always in the dark, and he’d never thought to pay much attention to what the facade of the trailer looked like… it could have been Eddie’s place, but it could also have been any number of nearly identical trailers in the park.

Still, he can't shake the sick feeling that is settling in his abdomen.

Christ. Was it Eddie’s though? 

Dustin shakes his head to stop that line of thinking before it can really get going. He can’t go there, he can’t afford to let that seed of doubt plant itself in his mind.  

Everyone is going to blame him, because of course they are – there’s a dead girl in the trailer park and he’s Eddie Munson, the town Freak. 

Dustin can suddenly hear Eddie’s words in his mind, see the persecuted look he’d had on his face that day at the campus phone – I guess that’s enough in this town, huh? 

He has to do something, he has to try and help him. 

“He didn’t do it,” Dustin says immediately. 

Max scoffs.

“We don’t know that…”

It leaves him reeling and suddenly Dustin cannot believe the words coming out of his friend’s mouth. Sure, he supposes Max doesn’t know Eddie like he does, all she has to go on is the facade he puts up, that first day he’d approached them in the lunchroom way back in November.

Even so, he’d never in a million years think she’d just assume he was guilty along with everyone else.

Max should have known better than that. 

"Don't say that!" Dustin gasps.

"Well — we don't."

He’s fully aware of how he is gawping at her, his mouth hanging open, his eyes wide. It makes her uncomfortable and suddenly Max is fidgeting.

She makes a show of throwing up her hands, shrugging her shoulders.

“Dustin… come on,” She says, “I saw him–”

It’s his turn to cut her off then.

“No, you come on. Come on! You don’t know what you saw!” Dustin surprises himself by snapping.

Max’s eyes widen and she recoils, and he immediately begins to backpedal

“...Look, I know you don’t think much of him, but Eddie is –” He sighs, “When we got to school? He was the only one who was nice to us. He’s the only one who gives a shit about losers like me and Mike. Now he’s in trouble and you want to just let that go because you think you saw something? No way. We can’t just sit back and let this happen. They’re gonna tear him apart, we have to do something.”

For a long moment, nobody says anything.

Max rolls her eyes, but to her credit, she is clearly chagrined enough to hang her head in a way that could almost be construed as sheepish. 

Regardless of what she decides to do, Dustin knows he has to save Eddie, find a way to clear his name, he just doesn’t precisely know how to do that — and then something tiny in the back of his mind pipes up with your name. 

Maybe you will know what to do.

It’s like a lightbulb clicking on, and Dustin leaps up from his bed.

“Holy shit.” He says.

"What?"

He's beaming at Max when he answers.

"Lady Midnight!"

The reference goes right over her head and she stares back at him, uncomprehending. She doesn't play D&D with them, she doesn't know, but Dustin does, and more importantly, you would know.

“What – hey!” Max has to jump out of the way to avoid being trampled as Dustin goes tearing down the hall to the phone.

“Holy shit holy shit!” 

Of course, you'll know what to do, you're the purveyor of secrets and forbidden knowledge. You always had creative solutions to seemingly impossible problems.

You'll help them find Eddie, or at least help them approach the situation from a new angle with a fresh set of eyes.

"Dustin, where are you going?" Max calls, her voice lilting with annoyance as she follows him back down the hall.

He doesn’t answer. He’s already halfway through dialing your number again before he remembers that you aren’t home, and he hangs up with an aggravated growl.

More frustrating, he doesn’t know the number for Benny’s off the top of his head.

Adrenaline surges through his body.

“Mom, where are the yellow pages?” He shouts.

His mother, still glued to the television, twists around and gives him a funny look, then her face brightens as she regards Max, like she hadn’t even realized she was there.

“What– oh, hello Max.” She says wetly. 

Max shuffles on her feet and gives an awkward wave, and Dustin makes a harsh sound of annoyance.

They don’t have time for this. 

“Mom! The yellow pages!”

His mother furrows her brow and immediately gets huffy with him.

“Don’t shout, Dusty! They’re right there in the kitchen drawer, for goodness sake!”

Dustin rounds the corner of the kitchen island and rips the drawer open with enough force to tear it off its slide.

Pens, paperclips, rubber bands, and other pieces of clutter go scattering across the linoleum along with the yellow tome listing every registered number in Roane county.

Dustin drops to his knees and begins flipping through the pages like a man possessed while Max stands looking on in a mix of horror and confusion like she is witnessing him have a complete and total breakdown. 

“Who could you possibly be calling?” She demands.

Dustin looks up at her and says your name incredulously like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

It does nothing but deepen the confusion spread across Max’s face, so Dustin goes on to explain.

“She’s probably already at work, so I need to number for Benny’s–”

Max shakes her head.

“She's not there.”

“Well I already tried her at home, and she didn’t answer–”

“No, Dustin, you don’t understand.” Max insists, “I just saw her, she’s at Eddie’s.”

The gravity of her tone is jarring and Dustin immediately forgets the phonebook as he looks up at Max. Suddenly his mind is spinning at Mach-five trying to process all the information that has been fed into it in the last two minutes.

“...What?” He splutters.

First Eddie and Chrissy, somehow together, now you, apparently at the trailer park, at Eddie's place where by all accounts he should be and you should not? Where Chrissy is dead? He can't make heads or tails of it.

“What’s she doing there?”

Max hesitates and bites her lip like she’s not entirely sure she ought to say – Dustin has to prompt her to get her to finally spit it out, and when she does, he feels like he’s going to faint.   

“Honestly? I’m pretty sure she was getting arrested.”

+++

You’re dragged out of the trailer by your elbow, like a naughty child who needs to be disciplined.

It’s then that you finally see Wayne, standing off to the side being interviewed by a number of officers.

You’re half frantic as you call out to him – for help or just relief that he’s there, you can’t quite be sure, but it does nothing to help the crazed energy of the moment. 

“Wayne!”

His eyes widen in alarm to see you, and he makes like he means to move forward, do something to help you, but the officers stop him before he can start.

“Hey– hey leave her be!” He shouts. 

It’s startling. In all the time you’ve known him, you’ve never once heard Wayne raise his voice. 

Chief Powell follows you out, positively fuming as he crosses the small strip of grass that serves as the front lawn. He thrusts an accusatory finger at you as he addresses Wayne.

“Mr. Munson, I do believe you previously told us that nobody was in the house.” 

Wayne nods.

“Yessir, that’s correct,”  

“Explain to me, then, why this girl just came running out of the back bedroom like a bat out of hell?”

All eyes are on you then. You struggle against the hands that hold you and feel your heart palpitate – it’s a very good question, you hate to admit, one you don’t have a great answer for.

Somehow, it seemed like a good idea at the time, just doesn’t seem like it’s going to cut it. 

The Chief is waiting for an answer, and Wayne finally has to just shake his head, because of course, he doesn’t know why you were in Eddie’s room either. 

Powell reels on you then, and your stomach bottoms out. He gives the officers restraining you a harsh look and they release you.

You stagger, struggling to stay upright on your feet and tug on your dress to straighten it. You brush your knuckles across your nose and avert your eyes, shrinking under the Police Chief’s hard gaze.

After what feels like an excruciatingly long time, he finally speaks.

“How long have you been hiding in there?” He demands.

You shrug your shoulders in a way that is perhaps too flippant for the gravity of the situation you have found yourself in.

“Like two minutes.” You sniff, “And I wasn’t hiding, I just came in through the window.”

He gives you an incredulous look. 

“Why?”

“I was looking for…” you trail off and glance over at Wayne, staring at you with his features screwed up in patent confusion.

You begin to fidget with your fingers, twisting at the cheap silver ring you’ve since started wearing to make up for the one you’d packed up with the box of everything else sitting under Eddie's bed.

You clear your throat to try and sound a little less like a whiney child.

“I was looking for Eddie…”

“Eddie Munson?”

You nod.  

Powell stares at you a little longer before he sighs and shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger as he rocks back on his heels.   

“So you don’t know what happened in there?”

You shake your head and try not to glance at the crumpled figure of Chrissy you can still see lying in the doorway. 

Powell sighs again, rests his hands on his hips, casting his gaze down to his feet before looking back up at you.

"And I don't suppose you would know where Eddie is?"

Again you shake your head.

The police chief levels you with another hard stare, like he’s working something over in his head, trying to decide or understand, you can’t be sure. For a long moment, it is all you can do but focus on trying to remember how to breathe as you wait to see if he’s going to put cuffs on you. 

He doesn’t. 

Instead he turns and stalks back across the grass towards Wayne.

“Do you know this girl?” Powell asks.

“Yessir,” Wayne says quickly, then proceeds to rattle off basic information about you, including but not limited to your name and an explanation about how you’re a friend of his nephew’s who he sort of looks after you since your folks moved away.

For some odd reason, your stomach goes tight and fluttery to hear Wayne refer to you as Eddie’s friend.

That’s how he’d addressed you when you’d first met.

“So, you’re a friend of Ed’s, huh?” He’d said. 

You’re suddenly wracked with guilt – this is not how you imagined this scenario going at all.

You’d imagined you were going to be this big hero, swooping in to pull Eddie out of a trouble you’d only known about through some kind of bizarre clairvoyance.

Instead, turns out you’re a stupid fucking idiot who should have taken a moment to think before you went climbing in through windows.    

You force yourself not to look away this time when Powell looks back at you – he stares, you fidget, and then he returns his attention to Wayne. 

You don’t hear what he says, as he’s dropped his voice to a low tenor and you can’t see his face to try and read his lips. 

You watch as Wayne puts up his hands defensively.  

“Listen to me,” He says quietly, “She’s a good girl. I promise you she didn’t have nothin’ to do with this.” and the guilt you feel becomes all-encompassing. 

Stupid girl, more like.    

It’s another few excruciating minutes of back and forth before the tension finally breaks. You are, however, not turned loose, much like you'd expected to be. 

After it’s established that you’re not an immediate threat, standing there in your torn up sneakers and waitress uniform, you’re set to lean against one of the various cop cars parked on the lawn. 

You know Eddie, so they’ve got to interview you, much to your chagrin. 

This is exactly what you’d been trying to avoid by climbing in through the window. 

Great job. 

It’s Officer Callahan, in all his insipid glory, who comes sauntering up to you shortly after, hands resting on his gun belt in a way you suppose is meant to be intimidating. 

It doesn’t come across.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” He starts, fishing his pad of paper from his belt and making a point to loudly click his pen. He uses it to point at you, “You know, you’re in a lot of trouble, Missy.” 

You stare back at him and hope he feels every bit of disdain you hold for him.

Callahan sucks his teeth. “So, what were you doing hiding in the bedroom like that?”

You heave a frustrated sigh. 

“I already told you, I wasn’t hiding. I climbed in through the window to find Eddie.” 

“Right, so you said.” He huffs, glancing up at you from his pad briefly before doing a halfway comical doubletake.

Something like recognition flashes across his face and you have to stop yourself from rolling your eyes because of course this dingus wouldn't recognize you.

You'd always wondered how Clark Kent could get away with disguising himself with a change of clothes, turns out most people are just patently stupid, Officer Callahan included.

“Oh, wait a minute, I know you – you’re Munson’s little girlfriend.”

Bingo. 

Bizarrely, it sets your teeth on edge and your mouth is moving before your brain can catch up.   

“I’m not his girlfriend,” You say perhaps too quickly. 

It draws the attention of everyone within earshot, Chief Powell and Wayne included. 

You shrink under their gaze and kick yourself for how you realize too late that it sounded like a renouncement of Eddie. It was only a knee-jerk reaction, an intrusive thought built up to defend yourself from the random waves of grief that still hit you now and then. You hadn’t meant to say it out loud.   

Officer Callahan side-eyes you and snorts with humorless laughter. 

“Coulda fooled me,” he scoffs. 

You would argue, except suddenly you’re thinking about all the times you’ve been with Eddie when he’s been pulled over and hassled by the Hawkins police. By Officer Callahan and then still Officer Powell specifically.

He’s technically right – just not regarding the current state of affairs – because you had been Eddie’s girlfriend during all those previous incidents.  

Still, you cross your arms over your chest and avert your gaze. 

“Not that it’s any of your business…” You start, confident at first before you second guess yourself and a misplaced sheepishness creeps into your voice, “...but we broke up,”

Officer Callahan scoffs and the reaction leaves you indignant. 

Rude.    

“Okay, so I get it now. You break his heart, and he’s pissed but won’t take it out on you, so he takes it out on poor Chrissy in there, huh?”

Callahan gestures to the open trailer door with his pen, and you can’t help but get a little stuck staring at the body still laying there – you start to wonder why they haven’t covered her up yet, but then he snaps to draw your attention back.

“That sound about right?”

You furrow your brow.  

“…It sounds like you’ve been watching a lot of true crime documentaries.”

He glares at you. 

“It’s motive.”

“It’s bullshit.”

Officer Callahan’s eyebrows jump up from where they’d been previously hidden beneath the thick rim of his glasses.

The brusque nature of your answer seems to stagger him a bit. You’ve never had so much bite behind you in all the times you’ve interacted, electing instead to try and kill them with kindness so as not to get Eddie into any more trouble. 

It leaves him stammering for a response.  

“Hey now—” He begins, thrusting an accusatory finger at you like he means to lecture you.  

“No.” You insist, and when he puts his hands on his hips and glares, you hug your arms tighter around your midsection and double down, “No – he broke up with me, okay? So no motive. Eddie didn’t do this,”

“How do you know?”  

“Because I know him,” 

Callahan rolls his eyes, missing the hateful look you throw his way as he does.

Somehow you know nothing you say is going to matter when it comes to Eddie. They’ve already decided his guilt.   

“Oh, you know him?” Callahan huffs sarcastically, “Okay, fine … since you know him, when’s the last time you saw him?”

Shit. 

You bite the inside of your lip and fidget under his condescending gaze, knowing well enough that your answer is going to do nothing to help your case. 

“… August.” You mumble. 

He chokes a little and shakes his head, blinking rapidly like you’d said something outrageous… and honestly, it was a little outrageous, but you didn’t appreciate the attitude he had about it. 

“Aug- August?” He splutters, “August.”

You breathe out slowly and nod. 

“Yeah…” 

“You’re telling me you haven’t seen him in eight months and you’re trying to — you’ve been broken up … for eight. Months. And you just come running at the first sign of trouble? You expect me to believe that?”

“I do.”

“Why?” 

You stick him to the spot with a dour look. 

“You don’t know much about the human heart do you, Officer Callahan?”

Behind him, you see Chief Powell cough to try and cover the laughter threatening to burst out of him.

He clears his throat when Callahan twists around to glare at him, and you take the opportunity to steal a glance at Wayne. 

He’s like a caged animal, fidgeting, pacing – you assume he must have been the one to put in the 911 call. You can’t even imagine what he must have thought coming home and finding Chrissy like that in his living room, and now he’s got to worry about vouching for you?

Your heart thumps in your chest when your eyes meet and for lack of anything better to do, you offer him a subtle wave. 

He shakes his head – not the time. 

“So, how do I know you’re not just covering for Munson again?” Callahan says, bringing you back to the annoying moment you have found yourself in.

Your eyebrows jump and you feign innocence, gesturing to yourself like you could never imagine doing that two years ago at a party after they’d busted Eddie for possession and you’d made a scene to draw their attention so he could run away. You would never.  

Officer Callahan narrows his eyes and crosses his arms,

“How do I know you’re not involved?”

In spite of yourself, your heart leaps into your throat. It’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever heard, but suddenly your brain is screaming – this is it, this is how we get arrested. 

Luckily, Wayne immediately jumps up from the porch and tries to come to your rescue.

“Hey, no. She’s not—” He begins, but Officer Callahan cuts him off with a wave of his hand and a roll of his eyes. 

“Thank you, Mr. Munson, if we have any further questions for you we will let you know.” He sighs when what he really means is “go away”.

You clench your fist and resist the urge to knock that smug look off his face when he turns back to face you, looking very much like he’s caught you red-handed and is so pleased to have figured it out. 

“So, here’s what I think happened.” Callahan begins,

This should be good.

“You said that Munson kid broke up with you? Okay, fine. So maybe he does, and he gets a new little girlfriend. And you’re jealous. You come to confront him, find her here, things go a little too far, bada-bing-bada-boom, poor Chrissy ends up dead."

You're fully aware of how you're gawping at him.

"I'm sorry, what?"

He continues.

"And since you’re apparently such a good little girl you don’t want to ruin your reputation, so you take steps to make it look like he did it–”

You have to suppress the shudder that threatens to tear through your body at the concept of Officer Callahan referring to you as a “good girl”, even if it is done so under the guise of mocking Wayne.

Luckily your disgust is overwhelmed by the patent hilarity of what he is suggesting: you killed Chrissy and are trying to frame Eddie… yep… way too much true crime in Officer Callahan’s diet.

“Did you even see her?” You ask, “Look at me. How the hell do you suppose I did that?”

Callahan opens his mouth to respond and comes up short. 

“...Forensics will get back to us on the cause of death after the autopsy…” 

“Okay, fine. Riddle me this, Dick Tracy, if I was trying to frame Eddie, why would I be sitting here telling you he didn’t do it?”

Officer Callahan pulls a face.

“How do you know who Dick Tracy is?”

Then it’s your turn to pull a face. You’ve never missed Jim Hopper more than you do at this moment. 

“Can you do me a favor and try to be a little less condescending while you’re accusing me of murder?”

Another cough from the chief of police to cover another laugh, it turns the tips of Officer Callahan’s pink.  

“Alright, smart ass, you got an alibi? Because things aren’t looking so great for you right now. You’ve. Got. Motive,”

Each word is punctuated by his sharp prodding fingers poking you in the shoulder. You breathe out hard through your nose and swallow the rage boiling up from the pit of your stomach.

Trespassing is one thing, mouthing off is another, but you don’t need to be charged with assaulting an officer. 

What follows is a rapid-fire back-and-forth volley of questions and answers, each one more charged than the last as you count the seconds ticking past, time wasted when you could be out there looking for Eddie. 

“Where were you last night?” 

“Benny’s.” 

“Why?” 

“I work there.” You huff, tugging at the skirt of your uniform. 

Officer Callahan gives you a dismissive look, like he wants to argue but expressly cannot because you’re still wearing your nametag and your goddamn apron. He clears his throat and shifts on his feet.    

“Can anyone confirm your presence there?”

It feels incredibly stupid to say, but only because of your crazy stupid luck – yes, there are in fact many people who can confirm your presence at the diner last night.  

“The Hawkins Tigers.”

He gives you an incredulous look.

“The Basketball team?” 

You nod, and very quickly you can feel him losing steam. Every single one of your answers thus far seems to have flummoxed Officer Callahan beyond his ability to comprehend.

He turns from you and crosses the grass to hold a hushed conference with Chief Powell. You watch them, struggling to try and read their lips as you stuff your hands in your apron pocket – you brush the sharp edge of the forgotten polaroid strip stashed there and curl your fingers around it.

You have to find Eddie.    

They make you sit and wait another twenty minutes finally – finally – you hear the words that set you free. 

“She’s just a dumb kid, send her home,” 

You would protest the notion if you weren’t feeling so summarily stupid for this whole endeavor, but you’re just happy that the interrogation is finally ending.

With Powell’s prompting, another officer steps up to escort you out of the trailer park, much to Callahan’s chagrin. You can hear him begin to argue against it.

“Chief, I don’t think it’s such a good idea turning her loose.” He says, “I mean look at her. She probably knows exactly where Munson is hiding.” 

“...No,” Powell says after considering it for a moment, “I don’t think so.” 

Callahan shakes his head, 

“I just think–”

Then the chief cuts him off.  

“Maybe don’t think about it so much. She’s not going anywhere, right?” He says it loud enough for you to hear. 

It’s not a question so much as an order, and he makes a point to stare at you, clearly waiting for your answer. You glance at Wayne, who at this point has moved to sit atop the nearby picnic table, chain-smoking to try and calm his nerves – he glances at you, then looks away.

You don't blame him.

Somehow, this suddenly feels like it’s all your fault, like it all traces back to that terrible night in August. You should have fought a little harder for Eddie, you shouldn’t have stayed away.

You turn your attention back to the officers, then finally you take one last parting glance at what you can see of poor Chrissy, still lying uncovered in the doorway.

There is a cold lump forming in the pit of your stomach, under the hard gaze of so many people, that same sense of impending doom slowly crushing down on you. 

Somehow you manage to shrug. 

“Of course not.” You say, “Where am I gonna go?“

To find Eddie, before anyone else can. 

The officer escorts you off of the trailer park grounds and sends you on your way down the road and around the bend.

You scuff your feet in the dirt as you walk, the sounds from the trailer park steadily fading into the distance. You run your thumb over the sharp edge of the polaroid strip in your pocket until it hurts, using the unpleasant sensation to keep you grounded as your brain spins.

Where in the hell are you meant to start looking? Who might even know where he is? You don't know where Hellfire meets these days, or where the band practices, you don't know even who his friends are anymore. Adam and Gareth maybe? Jeff was always borderline with Eddie, you wouldn't be surprised to hear if they'd had a falling out. Maybe Dustin knows something, he's in Hellfire now, along with Mike and Lucas... but you can't imagine Lucas is even going to know his own name after last night so that rules him out...

It's an insurmountable task, finding Eddie, like trying to find a needle in a haystack that is gunning for said needle, but you don't have the option not to try.

Who else is going to do it if not you? You have to find him first.

A shrill whistle draws your attention and your head snaps up to the person jogging up the path to meet you.

Wayne. 

You slow to a stop to let him catch up with you, half wondering how the cops ever let him follow you – surely that is a conflict of interest, letting witnesses speak to each other, but you barely have the time to give him a proper greeting.  

“You haven't seen him, then?” Wayne asks quickly, his voice is hushed and tight. “You don't know where he is?”

The way he says it makes your chest hurt, like he'd spent a great deal of time and energy hanging all his hopes on the possibility that you might know where Eddie was, that he might even be with you.

Hadn't you been doing the same?

You shake your head, and it breaks your heart a little to have to disappoint him like that.

“No... but I’ll find him.” You say, your insides are knotted and squirming with anxiety — you don’t know how you’re going to find him, you just know that it’s going to be you who does.

It has to be you.

Relief passes over Wayne in a tangible wave as his shoulders drop and he stands a little taller.

You can’t imagine what he must be going through, what it must have been like to come home and discover that waiting for you in your doorway. You suddenly feel very stupid for how precious you’d been all day about having a nightmare while Wayne was living one. 

You know perhaps better than anyone that Eddie is all he has – he can’t afford to lose him any more than you can.  

Wayne sniffs and clears his throat, casting a wary look over his shoulder like he’s worried someone might be listening. 

“Good — good.” He hums, like he’s trying to convince himself that it’s going to be alright, then he leans into you and drops his voice, “When you do, I want you two to go. Just… go. Take him and get out of town.” 

It startles you. You don’t know what you’d expected him to say, but it certainly wasn’t that. You know you must be frowning for the way he doubles down. 

He fishes his wallet from his back pocket and flips it open, pulling a stack of bills from the fold and closing it in your hand. He squeezes your fingers tightly around the money.

“I don’t care where you go,” He says, shaking his head, “California, Timbuktu — it doesn’t matter, send me a postcard when you get there — you just find him and get him as far away from here as possible, you hear?”

It is too much to ask, you know he must know this – he’s asking you to leave your life behind, your apartment, your job, everyone you know.

For all the time you’ve known him, everything he’s ever done for you, Wayne has never asked you for anything, but he’s asking you now — that much you understand – he’s asking you to choose Eddie, in spite of everything. 

It’s an easy decision to make. 

You close your fingers over the money and nod, gritting your teeth to keep yourself steady as you watch Wayne’s eyes shine with tears.

“I will.” 

He breathes a shaky sigh and blinks back the emotion, banishing it as quickly as it arrives.

You’ve never seen him like this — he is so afraid, and whether it is in response to the horror of what has already happened, in his home, to his family, or the uncertainty of what is going to happen, you cannot be sure. 

The Munsons have already lost so much. 

You have to find Eddie, if only so that you never have to see this look on Wayne’s face again.

His hand comes up to grip you by the shoulder then, and your spine stiffens under the directness of his gaze.

“Don’t leave him.” he says quietly. “Promise me you won’t leave him.”

You shake your head in defiance of the thought.

Never, you want to say, you would never leave him.

Why else would you still be here after everything that happened? But of course, he knows this, so you push forward and throw your arms around Wayne’s neck, startling him with the act of hugging him. 

“I promise.” You say against his shoulder. 

He hesitates, tensing ever so slightly. After a moment he pats you awkwardly on the back, and you take it as your signal to let the moment end.  

Eddie always said the Munsons weren’t huggers. 

Wayne sniffs and wipes his knuckles beneath his nose — he coughs.

“Okay,” he says gruffly, “Get going.”

Wayne nods towards the road and you follow his gaze. You know what he means; find Eddie, get out of town, don’t come back, and you can’t decide if the feeling welling up too big in your chest is fear or determination.

Your mind begins to work on its own, drawing a map of all the possible places you might find Eddie.

You can do this, you’re fine, it’s going to be fine.  

When you turn, Wayne has already started back down the road, and you’re hit with the sudden and overwhelming urge to call out, to say something to somehow make things okay.

You wonder briefly if you're ever going to see him again.  

“Wayne —” you call, he turns and glances back at you with big, watery eyes, “…I’m gonna find him.” 

“I know, Sweetheart.” He huffs, “I'm counting on it.” 

So, no pressure, right?

Taglist: @harrys-tittie @r-a-d-i-0-n-0-w-h-e-r-e @itsrainingbisexualfrogs @thicksexxualtensionaltension @ganseysgff @scoopsr0binn @peanutbutter-y-jams @audhd-dragonautagonaut  @clilxlxx  @alexandriaemily20 @averagestudent03 @but-vanessa @cosmictime45 @timelordfreya @forever-war @munsonzzgf @chervbs @irisabrams

[black-arcana]

WITHIN TEMPTATION To Release 'Worlds Collide Tour: Live In Amsterdam' Live Album And DVD/Blu-Ray

Ahead of WITHIN TEMPTATION's upcoming tour, fans can prepare for the spectacle by reliving the adrenaline-pumping excitement of 2022's "Worlds Collide" run from the comfort of their homes, as the band's remarkable show at Ziggo Dome in Amsterdam on November 29, 2022, will be available on vinyl, CD, Blu-ray/DVD and in a special 64-page hardcover artbook on June 21, 2024.

During the "Worlds Collide" tour, WITHIN TEMPTATION played two sold-out shows in their home country at Ziggo Dome. They were their first-ever headlining shows in Ziggo Dome and a total of 30,000 fans were there to witness the occasion. These shows were captured for posterity and now everyone around the world has the chance to immerse themselves in one of the most iconic performances the band has ever done in their home country.

Few collaborations in WITHIN TEMPTATION's career have ignited as much anticipation as their co-headlining tour with EVANESCENCE did, especially having being postponed four times due to COVID.

As soon as the world reopened in 2022, the "Worlds Collide" tour finally took place. Over the course of over four weeks, the tour traversed 17 cities across Europe, delivering a total of 19 performances.

For this tour, WITHIN TEMPTATION and EVANESCENCE saw an amazing amount of over 200,000 tickets sold, 7703 kilometers traveled, eight tour buses serving as mobile homes for the artists and crew, twelve trailers loaded with the gear to fuel the spectacle, and a dedicated team of over 80 experienced individuals whose tireless efforts ensured that every aspect of the tour ran seamlessly.

Experience the audio and visual spectacle that was brought to life in Ziggo Dome on November 29, 2022 now. Preorder your copy in the official WITHIN TEMPTATION music store.

Last month, WITHIN TEMPTATION released the official music video for their newest single, "A Fool's Parade", featuring Ukrainian producer and vocalist Alex Yarmak. All royalties from the new single will be donated to Music Saves UA for the duration of the Russia-Ukraine war.

According to a press release from WITHIN TEMPTATION's publicist, "A Fool's Parade" "showcases the band's commitment to raising awareness of Ukraine's ongoing battle against Russia's invasion. The song itself serves as a condemnation of Russia's deceitful actions and sheds light on the harsh realities faced by Ukraine. WITHIN TEMPTATION remains steadfast in their support for Ukraine, with involvement in initiatives such as the Ukraine Aid OPS foundation, advocating for more much-needed solidarity."

Recorded amidst the streets of Kyiv with renowned Ukrainian video director Indy Hait, the music video for "A Fool's Parade" captures WITHIN TEMPTATION frontwoman Sharon Den Adel at important Ukrainian landmarks.

Released last October, WITHIN TEMPTATION's latest album, "Bleed Out", signifies a bold leap forward for the band. From contemporary, hard-hitting, and djenty riffs to soaring melodies displaying their symphonic roots, WITHIN TEMPTATION has created a sonic journey that fuses diverse musical styles and thought-provoking themes. This is an album that is as epic as it is unflinchingly outspoken, and now more than ever, this is a band who isn't afraid to make a stand on issues the members care about.

Since the start of the war in Ukraine, WITHIN TEMPTATION have shifted their focus from writing about personal emotions and societal subjects to tackling global injustices and reflecting the tumultuous state of the world in a way that other artists seem unable or unwilling to do.

While songs such as "Wireless" and "We Go To War" examine the authoritarian aggression on display in Ukraine and other warzones, the title track itself addresses the plight of women fighting for their rights in Iran after the murder of Mahsa Amini.

The album also grapples with the complex issues around a woman's right to choose in single "Don't Pray For Me" and throughout, this impassioned and political focus is reflected in the intensity and heaviness of the music. Embracing a new era of musical exploration and lyrical depth, WITHIN TEMPTATION have pushed boundaries and showcased their artistic evolution, delivering a fist-in-the-air proclamation of both their moral convictions and their fearless approach to music.

[theconstitutionisgayculture]

ALEX JONES VS NWO

Save the world from the evil globalists’ plot to turn everyone into bug-eating pod-dwelling libtards!

Features

JOIN ALEX AND HIS ALLIES – Every day the deep state sues, lies, defames, and KILLS law-abiding patriots who threaten their power!

DEFEAT BIG TECH CUCKS and MORE – And other anti-American communist bosses throughout this adrenaline-inducing adventure!

PLAY AS ALEX! – For the first time in history, experience the world through Infowars leader Alex Jones’ eyes and see the WAR he fights!

SAVE THE BABIES – It’s no secret the NWO REPTILES are after our children. Play NWO Wars now to help save these innocent victims from these MONSTERS!

THEY ARE TURNING THE FRIGGIN FROGS GAY! – Only Alex Jones can stop this madness and restore balance in the Brain Force

SVGS is the leading free-speech-inspired game development studio, ready to create monumental games for influential figures who tackle serious worldly issues. We battle against the fear of cancel culture, putting privacy first and refusing to deplatform legal content.

Maybe the world isn't such a dark place after all.

[satoshi-mochida]

SPINE ‘Gameplay’ trailer – story-focused action game for PS5, Xbox Series, and PC

Gematsu Source

SPINE, which was first announced as a team-based action game back in 2021, has resurfaced with a new gameplay trailer and direction—it is now a single-player story-focused action game. It will launch for PlayStation 5, Xbox Series, and PC via Steam.

Here is an overview of the game, via its Steam page:

About

SPINE is a single-player story rich action game focused on intense close-quarters gun fights with aesthetics of Gun-fu movies. Boost your reflexes using a Spine augmentation and shoot the bad guys up close, en masse while performing all kinds of choreographic moves with your firearms! Ever wondered what it’s like to be the hero of an action movie? To find yourself in the epicenter of the action, kicking the gun out of your opponent’s hand, or parrying a bullet with your trusty katana? Look no further! SPINE is a cinematic game about close-quarters gunfights. Become the hero of your favorite action movie, grab your guns, enhance your reflexes with a Spine augmentation, and get ready to fight! The game unveils the story of a cyberpunk city in the near future. Have you heard the news that Tensor AI transformed this city into a literal heaven on Earth? Or would you prefer to listen to the whispers of the opposition? Join the fights on the city streets and participate in the global conflict of powerful factions while seeking personal revenge against the system. The environments and situations where you’ll meet your enemies are inspired by our endless love for action movies.

Key Features

Innovative Combat – Enjoy a thrilling fusion of cinematic gunplay and beat ’em up. Dive into the chaos of SPINE’s combat, where every move is a dance between gunfire and raw, close-quarter bullet mayhem. It’s not just a game; it’s an artistic canvas for your own style of destruction.

Movie-Like Experience – Feel the tension of each in-game moment as if you’re the protagonist in your own action movie. Thanks to the unique camerawork and combat choreography set up by actual action movie specialists, SPINE captures the essence of cinematic tension and makes it all yours.

Unrivaled Atmosphere – Dive into an action-packed narrative set against the backdrop of a captivating cyberpunk world. Explore the contrast between the gleaming, utopian facades and the gritty, decaying alleyways, as each location becomes a stage for adrenaline-fueled gunfights.

Gripping Narrative – Embark on a gritty journey into the near-future with Redline, a rebellious street artist, and her combat AI companion, Spine—a combat implant with a mind of its own. Together, they stand against an oppressive AI regime, and every fight they have sends ripples through the streets they navigate, changing the lives of the people they meet.

Cutting-Edge Tech and Graphics – Immerse yourself in the fluidity of combat animations in a detailed cyberpunk environment, brought to life by the cutting-edge graphics of Unreal Engine 5. It’s not just about enjoying the visuals; it’s about stepping into a world where each pixel plays a role in the seamless choreography between humanity and machine, creating an immersive dance of action and technology.

Watch the gameplay trailer below. View a set of screenshots at the gallery. Visit the official website here.

Gameplay Trailer

[spotlight-report]

"Twisters" official Trailer

Universal Pictures on behalf of Warner Bros. released the official trailer for Twisters. About the film The epic studio disaster movie returns with an adrenaline-pumping, seat- gripping, big-screen thrill ride that puts you in direct contact with one of nature’s most wondrous—and destructive—forces. From the producers of the Jurassic, Bourne and Indiana Jones series comes Twisters, a current-day…

[netflix-entertainment]

The Railway Men ｜ Official Trailer ｜ |N TRAILER|

L Unveiling "The Railway Men" Official TrailerGet ready for an adrenaline-fueled journey as "The Railway Men" unveils its official trailer, offering a tantalizing glimpse into the world of high-stakes intrigue and pulse-pounding action. The trailer, a cinematic masterpiece, teases audiences with snippets of the gripping storyline, compelling characters, and breathtaking visuals.As the suspense builds, viewers are treated to a sneak peek of the talented cast in action,

performances that promise to captivate audiences. The carefully crafted trailer provides just enough detail to leave us yearning for more, with its expertly edited sequences and a soundtrack that heightens the anticipation.Fans of suspenseful thrillers and cinematic excellence won't want to miss "The Railway Men." Mark your calendars, as this official trailer sets the stage for what could be the blockbuster of the year. Stay tuned for an unforgettable cinematic experience that will have you on the edge of your seat.

[cinderfeather]

Skeptics of the Force fic trailer!

Skywalker. Do you know who your ancestors are?

I’m still perpetually really close to finishing this, but I made a little 1k fic trailer with excerpts from several of the chapters:

***

“I know you helped me make that shot, but I need some solid proof."

Unclipping his lightsaber, Luke placed it in front of him. Ever since someone at the base told him Jedi could make things float, he tried every day.

He felt the metal casing in his mind, and the blue crystal he had discovered that was in it when he had taken it apart one day. He found it easier to concentrate on, as it played a mournful hum in his mind. He liked to think the crystal was grieving for his father. Or Obi-Wan.

Float upward, he willed. He relaxed his mind, imagining it gliding up to his hand. Forcing it to rise with intense willpower had done nothing but give him a headache the first three days.

The saber wobbled.

Adrenaline coursed through him. Did he do that? Or was it just space-turbulence?

He frowned, watching it again without doing anything. Yes, it did wobble from time to time. Burying his head in his hands, he moaned. This technique was impossible to practise here.

***

“Tell you what,” said Jasper. “They say Jedi can read minds, or know when someone is lying. Play a round of sabacc with us. If you win, we’ll all shut up about not believing you can use the Force.”

“Why is my belief in the Force such a big deal to you?” challenged Luke.

“You’re the Commander on this trip. We’re a little… nervous about someone leading us to our deaths on a misguided hunch.”

Luke frowned. He’d never played sabacc before, but he could absolutely do with getting everyone off his back.

This was his first official mission since the Death Star. He had no idea why that meant he was ready to be a commander, but thinking of tricky situations in the desert he was afraid his team would crumble on this when the stakes were high.

"And if I lose?"

“You stop acting like the Force is real. We make decisions on logic alone.”

Luke sighed. “Deal me in.”

***

“It’s alright, Luke,” Felissia purred, honing in on his frustration. “It’s easy to mistake your skill at reading body language, or a gut feeling for something mystical.” She picked up the two cards of her new hand, and Luke could feel the confidence radiating off her.

“Someone’s got a good hand,” said Jasper. Luke gulped as he saw his remaining chips. He needed to start winning soon.

“I don’t think so,” he said, mustering as much of the Force as he could. “You should fold.” Felissia snapped her eyes at him, drawing a fanged smile against her gleaming white fur.

“Trying a little mind trick, Honey?” she purred. “They aren’t real.”

Luke frowned. “I saw General Kenobi do it. He managed to get us past Imperial Stormtroopers on duty.”

“Well, I published three papers about that. Subjects will respond to a command if they are distracted or not thinking clearly. But they would even respond to a recording, which wouldn’t be using the Force at all.”

Luke frowned, trying to recall his own perception of the event. It was the most irrevocable demonstration of the Force he had. Was it true? Could it be done by anyone, even a recording if the victim was on autopilot?

“Surely other science exists that demonstrates the existence of the Force,” replied Luke.

Cilia straightened up. “Are you talking about midichlorology? The science of midichlorians?”

“Er, what are midichlorians?" asked Luke.

"Ah.” Cilia put her cards to the side and lit up like a beacon, like she'd been waiting for someone to ask her this her whole life.

"The midichlorians are said to be what allows a Jedi to connect to the Force. However, after thirty years of constant research, I have concluded all their claims are bunk. Along with the Force."

“When the Jedi fell, I saw my chance to prove them wrong. The Empire provided me with all the funding I wished. And that was where I met the budding Felissia. Reviewing my evidence in the light of her psychology experiments, we wrote the definitive paper that disproved the existence of the Force once and for all. It has been cited thousands of times ever since.”

Luke scratched his head. "Has anyone met a Jedi?"

“Oh I have,” said Felissia. “When I was a child, they came to Cathar to negotiate a truce for a local dispute. I bumped into them on Coruscant many times since, when I came there to study. But they refused to display their powers whenever I spoke to them.”

“What about Vader?” Luke asked. “Everyone who defected from the Navy whispered stories about how he could choke people without touching them.”

Felissia raised her hand. “Oh, you have me to thank for that. When I worked in COMPNOR, I would exaggerate three-fold any story we got about Vader. Everything is hearsay, I assure you. All he has to do is bribe a couple of officers into playing along with his hand trick. Besides, he’s dead now. He wouldn’t have survived the explosion from the Death Star, thanks to you.”

Luke sighed. Everything he did or said, if it was possible to dismiss as blind luck, they did so. Even if it was in no way probable. Was there any way to convince them? Oh, how he wished he could make his saber float and shut them all up!

***

Felissia made a loud yawning sound. “That all seems like a lot of work to explain why a nice coincidence happens when you shut your eyes and wave your hands about. Calling the times it doesn’t ‘The Will of the Force’, is what we psychologists call a ‘Thought-Terminating-Cliche’.”

“Right,” Luke said to her. “But even if I couldn’t predict how, when, or why an object would float, if I got you to witness one instance of it, would you believe?”

Felissia paused, twitching her whiskers. “No, not necessarily. We met an ex-Jedi on our way to the Alliance. I caught him using magnets to float his com into his hand. I’d need to check any examples of that kind of power under strictly controlled conditions.”

***

“So it’s a way to summon ghosts?” asked Luke. “Like General Kenobi’s? He spoke to me during the Death Star battle.”

Felissia gave him a pitying look. “Luke, sometimes in the heat of the moment, when adrenaline mixes with grief, the mind experiences strange things. While I don’t doubt you heard something, that wouldn’t have been him.”

***

“No, stop! This is a massive archeological find!” Anthea protested. “It should be preserved for future generations.”

“There won’t be any future generations if we don’t stop the Empire,” replied Jasper.

“Wait,” said Luke. “Let me try the summoning crystal first. If it doesn’t work, then I’ll stop bothering you about taking the stones away.”

If this worked, he was going to speak to his father the same way he had spoken with Ben. If it didn’t, his legacy was a lie.

The voice echoed in his mind again.

Skywalker. Do you know who your ancestors are?

[guttcd]

DEJAN BENNANI’S BEACH HUT CONFESSIONAL ➝ EXIT

after getting hauled away by security and getting first aid assistance, the producers were kind enough to remind him that he is contractually obligated to complete the dumped beach hut prompt before leaving  the villa officially and oh my god, this man is fuming. dejan is sat with a clenched jaw and hardened eyes, currently nursing his split lip with his tongue. one of his legs is shaking, impatience and adrenaline still festering in his veins.

𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐝𝐮𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥?

“yah.”

𝐝𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝?

“dunno.”

𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝’𝐯𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞?

“nah.” 

𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝’𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐝?

“eh.”

𝐝𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐚𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐝? 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐧?

“they could all choke for all i care.” 

𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐝𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐯𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐚?

he laughs.

𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐝𝐝 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐯𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐚?

“nah get me the fuck — actually. you know what?”  mid-way through standing up, he plops himself back on the couch. his posture is more upright, a little more intent on actually speaking.  “yeah. let me go through the list um… marcus and romi were clearly a joke. so much for power couple. it didn’t even take a full week to break that up, isn’t that wild? almost makes you think that it’s all bullshit, doesn’t it? marcus is a fucking loser. seeing him whining like a baby gave me the biggest ick of all time. romi’s obsession with him was cute and all but it sure didn’t take them long to move on, did it? maybe they’ll finally start showing their true colors now that they don’t have a boy toy to impress. i thought marcus was her lapdog but now i’m thinking maybe josh is the one deserving of the title. fucking asshole didn’t stop nipping at my ankles until the very end. i hope i see those buck teeth again because i will punch them straight in. maybe someday jenny will grow a backbone and do it herself. that girl has to be dickmatized and i’ve never seen a more unfortunate case of it. she’s down that bad for midsize? that blonde bleach dye must have done a number on her brain cells. speaking of unfortunate, if rhys’ self-respect was half the size of his bobble ass head he probably wouldn’t look so damn sad all the time and he probably would still be partnered up with dylan instead of bash. which, by the way … i think you guys need to do a little more digging on him because i’m 95% sure you all just let a minor enter the villa.  naomi is fake, spoiled and a downright bitch but i pray that dylan takes a note out of her shit-stirring book because that man is about as thrilling as watching paint dry. i wish i could at least say that slutty side of him is fun but it’s not. watch a grown man fumble to figure out what he wants enough times and you start feeling, i don’t know, embarrassed for him. maybe it runs in the family ‘cus callie is hardly any more exciting.   i would love for someone to list one note-worthy thing she’s done aside from getting manhandled by her partner. who apparently eats boogers on the regular back home. seriously, what ‘yippee ki-yay’ trailer park did you all pick frankie up from?  uh, yeah. nana is a wimp for quitting the show. seb gives good head . maddox smells like someone just cracked a whole bunch of pretentious colognes  into an hermes purse. if i’m missing anyone it’s ‘cus they were completely and utterly forgettable. one last thing — ” he leans in, bringing the mic up close to his lips and looking square at the camera. “the décor in here is unbelievably tacky. i never thought neon colors could look so goddamn depressing. who the hell was in charge of restocking the kitchen ‘cus the only spice i ever saw in there was romi and maddox doing their thing on the counter. i’ve seen nicer beds in shows about priso— ” this is where they cut him off lolol