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hauntedhowlett-writes · 2 years ago

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the satanic rites of eddie munson (chapter 3)

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

Pairing: Eddie Munson/Female Cheerleader!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+, MDNI)

Read on AO3

Summary:

Eddie was just trying to have a normal Thursday when some band from out of town decides he’d make an excellent virgin sacrifice for their get-famous-quick plan.

Except he’s not a virgin, and the ritual unleashes something much more sinister that lives in him now, hungry for flesh and possessive of you, the pretty cheerleader he’s always been drawn to.

Which means anyone that touches you? Needs to die.

Inspired by the movie Jennifer's Body.

Additional tags: graphic depictions of blood and violence, gore, other demon activities, making out, dirty talk, pet names, dry humping

Eddie struggles against the rope binding him to the tree as the absolute nutcase in front of him takes a step closer.

“We found this book, right? Old as shit, practically falling apart, but it’s got a really interesting section on wish fulfillment,” he says, crouching so that he’s eye level with Eddie. He places the tip of the dagger beneath his chin. “All we gotta do is spill the blood of a virgin on a full moon and all our dreams will come true.”

Eddie pauses in his struggle. “What makes you think I’m a virgin?”

“You spent twenty minutes going on about your stupid little board game. It doesn’t take a genius.”

“But—“

“Shut up.” The tip of the blade digs deeper into Eddie’s throat. “Mike, start the incantation.”

________

This has arguably been the best few days of Eddie’s life. He’s given you a ride home from school every day, relishing in the opportunity to spend time with you outside of the five to ten minutes he gets before the first period bell. He’s introduced you to Metallica and Dio and Black Sabbath, and now when you get in his van your first task is switching his tapes around for the one you want. He learns you’re an avid reader and love romantic comedies. You’re a cheerleader at your mom’s insistence. You want to major in nursing when you graduate and go to college. You have a garden at home that you like to spend time in, though you haven’t really gotten the hang of growing much besides one thriving basil plant.

Of course everything has to inevitably come crashing down.

By the following Monday, the hunger is back, a sharp pain in his abdomen that can’t be mitigated by anything, no matter how much he eats. His teeth and jaw ache with the need to rip and maim and kill. His skin feels too tight for his skeleton. His eyes burn and the shadows beneath them are more prominent.

You start to notice around Thursday. In class, you give him a concerned glance every time he shifts in his seat, unable to sit still. When he bounces his foot, you place a warm palm on his knee to stop him. The brief touch centers him, at least for the rest of class.

But once you’re out of his sight, the agitation returns ten fold.

In the halls and at lunch, he seeks you out. A brush of your shoulder, a smile from you when you catch him staring - anything to quiet that grating voice in his head telling him it’s time to feed.

At lunch on Friday, he watches you stand up from your table and throw away your trash. He expects you to sit back down, since there’s nearly twenty minutes left in the lunch period, but you surprise him by leaving, backpack slung over your shoulder as you push through the heavy metal doors.

With little thought, he’s out of his seat and following after you. He vaguely registers Jeff calling out for him but chooses to ignore it as he leaves the noise of the cafeteria for the blessed quiet of the empty school halls.

Your footsteps echo on the linoleum and Eddie follows the sound. You lead him to the library and he watches you walk past the old librarian, Mrs. Lewis, with a sweet smile. Students aren’t supposed to be in the library during lunch period, but it doesn’t surprise him that you’ve got the batty old woman wrapped around your finger.

Eddie, on the other hand, probably has a lifetime ban from her and a WANTED poster with his picture hanging in her office. He’s going to need a bit more finesse to get inside.

He waits patiently, watching the circulation desk. After what feels like ages, Mrs. Lewis stands with her coffee cup in hand and heads to her office for an afternoon pick-me-up.

Eddie opens the door quietly and darts inside, heading deeper into the stacks to look for you. The act of searching for you appeals to this darker side of his brain, the one that wants to hunt you down as you run through the trees, your fear rolling off of you in waves like the sweetest scent.

A shiver runs down his spine at the thought.

He’s glancing down every aisle until he finally spots you, up on the tips of your toes trying to reach a book on a higher shelf. Your little cheerleading skirt rides up with the movement, exposing more of your thighs and as you stretch your arms, your top lifts to show a tantalizing strip of your stomach.

When you notice him at the end of the aisle, you flash him a bright smile that spurs him into motion. He steps up behind you, pressing closer than what’s absolutely necessary, and reaching above you to grab the spine of the book your fingers had been unable to reach.

“The Encyclopedia of Wild Cats,” Eddie reads from the cover. “Just a bit of light reading?”

You blush, holding a hand out for the book. “Just….getting ahead in biology this semester.”

Eddie tilts his head. “You’re in chemistry this semester. Not biology.”

“Right,” you reply lamely, staring at the book in your hands. “Okay, fine, I was just looking up the migration patterns of mountain lions. It’s just…it feels like they’re not looking into all the possibilities. I mean, we don’t have mountain lions here, much less mountain lion attacks.”

“I think you’re just feeling a little paranoid, sweetheart,” Eddie whispers teasingly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. He fails to mention that the very thing you should be most afraid of is standing right in front of you.

Your eyes go wide. “You really think so?”

“Let the good ol’ boys over at Hawkins police department worry about it,” he urges, pulling the book back from your grasp and sliding it into place on the shelf. You nod, eyes flicking between the book and Eddie’s face.

“Okay,” you whisper back.

________

Eddie steps closer, the movement urging you back until you’re pressed against the stack of books behind you. He lifts his arm, placing his hand on one of the shelves above your head, effectively caging you in. This close, you can see how bloodshot his eyes are, how dark the circles beneath them have become. How pale he looks.

“Eddie, are you okay?” You ask. He smirks.

“Never been better,” he whispers.

You swear his gaze lingers on your lips. Your heart hammers in your chest as he stands there, pressed so close to you yet not nearly close enough. You swipe your tongue across your bottom lip and watch as his eyes darken following the motion.

His head tilts closer still, and you swear that this time maybe he’ll kiss you. Your eyes flutter shut in anticipation.

Then the bell rings.

The sudden noise startles you so much that you jump against the bookcase, rattling the contents. Eddie places a hand on your shoulder to steady you, the heat of it on your exposed skin feeling like a brand.

You can’t look away from Eddie’s deep brown eyes. You can hear students entering the library for their free period, but it feels like you’re in your own little world with him staring at you like this.

You swallow nervously. “I gotta—“

“Right, yeah,” Eddie murmurs, stepping back. You slip past him, ready to head to your next class, but he calls out your name. “Would you…wanna hang out? Sometime?”

“I’d like that,” you reply. He smiles, his face lighting up with it and temporarily washing away that bone deep exhaustion that’s been painting his features for the past couple of days. “Tonight? They canceled the game with everything going on.”

“I’m free tonight,” he confirms.

“Great!” You reply, a bit too enthusiastically. The warning bell rings, breaking your attention from Eddie. “I should—“

“Get to class, princess. I’ll see you after school,” he tells you.

With one last lingering look at him, you turn to leave, a little extra sway in your hips and bounce in your step.

________

Eddie sits on the toilet in the boy’s bathroom, rolling papers and freshly ground weed balanced on his knee. He’s skipping his last period, rolling himself a joint in the hopes that it might take the edge off of this pain in his gut.

The door bursts open, and a familiar pompous voice echoes in the tiled room. “Did you get the stuff?” Jason asks.

Eddie quietly lifts his feet from the floor to keep them out of sight as a second voice responds, “Yeah, man. Got a bottle of whiskey my old man won’t miss. And my brother left me a six pack last time he visited.”

“One bottle of whiskey and a six pack is not enough for a fucking party, Alex,” Jason snaps. “We need a keg.”

“Bruce will get one for us,” the third person says, his voice soothing like he’s calming a wild animal. “He’s never failed us before.”

“Good, good,” Jason replies. “Tell Bruce to drop it off at the diner.”

Eddie tilts his head in interest. The diner in question, Benny’s Burgers, has been abandoned since it closed down last year. It’s since been claimed for parties by the Hawkins High elite. He’s been to a few gatherings there, mostly to empty out his lunchbox of party favors and pad his wallet with some spending money.

But the other thing about the old diner is that it’s near the edge of town, surrounded by woods.

Eddie smiles.

________

Eddie drops you off at home after school, just as he has every day for the last week. This time before you open the door of the van, you ask, “So, you’ll come pick me up later, right?”

He nods. “What time, sweetheart?”

“Best to wait until my parents go to sleep. How about nine? They usually head to bed around 8:30.”

“I’ll be here.” He leans across you, his arm brushing against your chest as he pulls the latch to your door. Your breath stutters as he draws back, that same arm purposely dragging across the hard points of your nipples. “See you soon.”

With a nervous swallow, you hop out of the van.

________

Eddie parks his van at the edge of the woods near Benny’s Diner. He kills the engine and gets out, assessing. Distantly, he can hear the sound of Jason’s voice and those of his friends replying to him, but it doesn’t sound like the party is in full swing yet. Likely won’t be for a couple more hours.

He creeps closer through the trees until he can spot Jason and his two lackeys from earlier. A fourth man wheels a silver keg into the dilapidated building before accepting cash from Jason with a grunt.

“Did one of you get cups?” Jason asks. The two jocks glance at each other. “Seriously? Do I have to do everything myself for it to get done right?”

Eddie rolls his eyes. Jason needs to get off his fucking high horse.

Good thing he plans to knock him down.

Jason orders the two idiots to go get supplies while he gets the keg tapped and ready. Eddie watches them get into the car parked in the overgrown parking lot, speeding away with a blast of music from the stereo.

Eddie walks out from the tree line, hands shoved in his pockets. Jason must hear the crunch of gravel beneath his sneakers because he glances over his shoulder, smile dropping when he takes in Eddie. He drops the keg hose and turns to face him.

“The fuck are you doing here?” Jason demands.

“Heard there was a party. Doesn’t seem like it, though. All your little friends busy?” Eddie teases. He watches with glee as Jason’s face begins to turn red. “You know, you got a real anger issue, Jason. Bet I got something that could help that.”

The blonde’s fists tighten, jaw tensing. Eddie steps closer.

“Might even got something to keep you from shootin’ off too fast. You know that’s the number one cause of failed relationships, right? Sexual frustration.”

That must hit the mark. Jason launches forward, fists swinging, one colliding with Eddie’s cheek and sending a jolt of pain through his jaw. Blood drips hot down the side of his face. He dodges the next swing, diving for Jason’s midsection and tackling him to the ground.

He wrestles with him until the blonde is pinned him. Eddie wraps a hand around his throat, leaning his weight into it. Jason’s legs flail behind him and his fingers claw into the leather of his jacket. He leans closer.

“I can smell your fear, Jason,” Eddie says casually. Jason’s eyes go wide and he struggles to gasp for air. “I’ve been so patient waiting for my meal. I thought it would have been more…rewarding. Maybe I should let you fight just a little bit more, huh?”

Eddie releases his hold on Jason’s throat. He gasps, coughing on the sudden lungful of air before shifting his weight and scrambling from beneath Eddie.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Jason snaps.

“Less questions, more running. Come on now, I’ve got a date I’m late for,” Eddie replies. Jason takes a couple stumbling steps backward, tripping over his feet in his haste.

Eddie waits until Jason disappears from view through the trees before walking at a leisurely pace in the same direction. He whistles casually as he follows the panicked breaths of his prey.

He checks his watch. It’s nearing 9:30, which means he’s already late to pick you up and people are bound to be showing up and expecting a party soon.

A twig snaps nearby and Eddie turns to follow the sound. A body collides with his, sending him rolling across the forest floor. Another punch lands to the side of his eye, making him hiss.

“Motherfucker,” he snaps, grappling until he’s out from beneath Jason. The blonde dives forward with another punch.

But he sees it coming this time.

Eddie grabs Jason’s outstretched arm, tugging until he hears the sick pop of bone leaving socket. He collapses with a shout, holding his disabled arm to his body defensively. Eddie kicks at his injured shoulder to leave him flat on his back.

He crouches beside the writhing man. “Do you know why this is happening, Jason?”

“F-fuck you, you freak ,” Jason spits.

“It’s because you touched something that belongs to me. And I don’t like to share.” Eddie’s jaw clicks as his teeth sharpen to dangerous points. He swipes a clawed hand across Jason’s abdomen, ripping through skin and muscle and fat like paper. A scream lodges in the boy’s throat, replaced by the gurgle of blood as he chokes.

Eddie’s hand slides up behind his rib cage, fingers curling around the faintly beating organ and tearing it out. The light goes out from Jason’s eyes, his body going limp as blood continues to pool around him.

Eddie sinks his teeth into his heart, blood dripping down his chin as he feasts.

And feasts.

_________

You glance at the clock, biting at the skin of your thumb in annoyance. It’s past ten, making Eddie over an hour late to your plans. Your parents are fast asleep, the house quiet save for the hum of the air conditioning as it kicks on.

You’re annoyed, bordering on angry, with a side of worry. Part of you wants to chew him out for ditching you but a bigger part wants to make sure nothing bad has happened to him, be it this mysterious mountain lion or something else.

You leave your room with quiet footsteps, slipping out of the front door with a soft click. You follow the shadows around the back of the house to the bike your mom uses for her weekly group rides with her fitness pals.

Rolling it out to the sidewalk, you hop on once you’re a greater distance from your home. You know Eddie lives in the Forest Hills trailer park with his Uncle Wayne. He’s mentioned it a couple of times during your rides together. You don’t have a plan, exactly. You’re fueled by feminine rage and fear, not logic.

You slow your pedaling as you make it past the front sign marking the start of the trailer park. It’s dark, but a few of the homes have porch lights on that help you see. It’s not long before you spot a familiar van parked outside a worn down trailer.

Okay. You’re officially fueled more by rage than fear.

You toss the bike in the grass and stomp up the steps, banging on the door with your fist. “Eddie! Open the door!”

“Shut up!” A woman’s rough voice calls out.

“Make me!” You snap back right as the door opens, your fist colliding with a shirtless chest rather than a metal door.

You look up and gasp. Eddie’s gripping the doorframe, knuckles bruised in a shade of purple that matches the mottled skin around his right eye. There’s a small cut on his jaw and blood has collected in the corner of his lip.

“Sweetheart, now’s not a good—“

“Oh my god! What happened to you?” You shove your way past him into the trailer despite his objections. Your fingers skim the bruise around his eyes.

“You should see the other guy,” Eddie jokes, tilting his head slightly into your palm.

“Do you have a first aid kit or something?”

“Under the kitchen sink.”

You spot the kitchen behind him and head for the sink, kneeling on the cracked linoleum to open the laminate cabinet door. There’s a bottle of bleach, a mouse trap, and the promised first aid kit amongst the contents. You grab the box and stand, shaking it at Eddie.

“Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.” As if knowing arguing won’t work, Eddie surrenders, leading you to the back of the trailer into what you assume is his room. It’s messy and cluttered, but so very Eddie.

There’s posters lining most of the wall, along with a handmade Corroded Coffin flag pinned above a dresser. He has a guitar hanging on the wall, as well as an acoustic one set in a stand in the corner. The bed is messy and rumpled, pillows smooshed against the wall and blankets balled up across the surface.

“Sorry, would have cleaned if I’d known I’d be having company,” Eddie comments quietly.

“No, I like it. It’s very you.” You set the box of supplies on a clear patch of desk.

“Messy?”

“More like…subversive. Now sit,” you command, rifling through the contents of the box. There’s a bottle of rubbing alcohol and some gauze, a few band aids, and some butterfly stitches.

Eddie laughs as he takes a seat. “Subversive?”

“Yeah, you know, it’s all yours. It’s not pristine. You don’t have the same blue plaid bedspread as all the other guys.” You pour some alcohol onto a gauze pad, patting it gently to the cut on his jaw. He leans away with a hiss.

“Seen a lot of blue plaid bedspreads, then?” He grabs your waist with both hands, fingers wrapping into the grooves of your ribs as you continue to clean his wounds. “Because I don’t know if I like that.”

“Like what?”

He stares up at you with those big brown eyes, and for a moment you wonder if that bruise has already faded some. His hands slide to your hips, squeezing, pulling you closer between his spread legs.

You’re suddenly hyper aware of how close you are and how much of him is on display. Your own hands land on his bare shoulders to steady yourself. The heat of him is nearly stifling.

“I don’t think I like the idea of you seeing a lot of other bedspreads,” Eddie rumbles, voice rough, sending a shiver down your spine.

“I uh…haven’t. My mom just…gets a lot of Macy’s catalogs,” you reply breathlessly.

He grins. He urges you forward, slipping a hand on the back of your thigh and lifting slightly to fold you into his lap. Your breath leaves you at the contact, the hard length of him unmistakable where it presses against your core.

He leans forward, lips ghosting over your neck. Your hips flex at the gentle touch and he groans, his breath hot against you as his mouth grows more insistent, teeth nipping and lips dragging deliciously.

“Eddie,” you whimper. His head lifts and he brings a hand to your jaw, gripping your chin to pull your mouth to his.

Christ. Christ. You’ve been kissed before, sure, but never like this . He controls everything, tilting your head with his hand and urging your mouth open with his tongue. The cold metal of his rings is a sharp contrast to his heat and you groan as his tongue tangles with yours.

His free hand slips beneath the waist of your jeans, fingers gripping roughly onto your ass and grinding you harder, faster against him. Your breath is coming in short pants as he drives you higher, a low growl rumbling through his chest. You can feel your muscles tightening, winding tighter in anticipation of your release.

And like he knows, like he’s more in tune with your body than you are, his hand leaves your jaw and tangles in your hair, pulling your head back with a sharp tug.

“That’s it, baby, let me see you,” Eddie says. “Let me see that pretty face when you cum.”

“Oh god,” you cry out, fingernails digging into Eddie’s shoulders and legs pressing tightly to his as you cum.

“No god here, princess,” Eddie says with a smirk. “Just me.”

“Just you? Christ, Eddie,” you reply breathlessly, giggling as you bury your head against his neck. “Did you—?”

“Don’t worry about me,” He shifts you gently from his lap, laying you back onto the mattress before pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I’m gonna clean up real quick. Don’t go anywhere.”

You nod, burrowing into the blankets that smell like Eddie with a contented sigh.

_______

Eddie locks the bathroom door behind him and inspects his face in the mirror. The cut you’d been tending to is nothing more than a faint pink line. The bruise around his eye is more yellow than black and blue. He’s not sure how he’ll explain that if you ask.

He turns the water on and rubs a thumb against the corner of his lip to clean off the dried blood stuck there.

Then he gets to work scrubbing the rest of blood from beneath his fingernails while you wait for him.

#eddie munson #no use of y/n #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x reader smut #eddie munson x you #eddie stranger things #demon eddie munson #inspired by jennifer’s body

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sambot2000xp · 5 months ago

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ummmmmmmm hi new intro hi tumblr hi

my name is hal like hal 9000

i use it/he pronouns and any neopronouns also she is we are extremely close

i love robots I relate to robots i am alterkin robotkin and dogkin

i fictionkin data soong and william murderface. i am fine with “doubles” as they say but please do not talk about it with me.

my special interest is star trek

some of my other interests include: metalocalypse, creepypasta,, horror movies, the old web, internet culture in general, architecture, and computers

some things i have a passive interest in are: philosophy (feel free to strike up a debate with me there are topics i am very passionate about), social studies, food, and anarchist theory

this must be boring so here is. A rainbow here here here

*rainbow*

yayyyyyy

here is my thingy thing thing:

if you are too lazy to click that link i do not blame you basically i am an agender boygirl , i use it/its pronouns mostly. please refer to me with masculine terms if you do not know me or preferably, do not refer to me at all!!!!

oh i also have a strange fascination with wojaks so here is some of my collection:

here is a list of character i relate to:

data soong (obviously)

murderface (also obviously)

hal 9000

roy batty

dirk strider

robot jones

wheatley

sorry this post is dry i am usually much more excited but i have been #goingthroughit!!!

here is a photo of a cat on a computer to send you on your way!

OH WAIT!!!!!!

i must add that i will interact with both fandom posts, agere posts, and idk whatever posts i take interest in.

also i have a nocities site i coded myself it is:

https://halcantdothat.neocities.org

it does not look good on mobile.

anyways bye

goodbye blue monday

#intro post #blog intro #introduction #pinned post #pinned intro #fandom tumblr #agere community #:3 #Spotify

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siconetribal · 1 year ago

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Put It On My Tab: Chapter 7

Pairing: Jason Todd x Fem!reader

Tag: @vbecker10 @wordsfromshona @harlequin-hangout @harpy-space @tild3ath @gone-batty-fics @princessbl0ss0m @dakotali

Warning: Jason is in BIG trouble now, Y/N has decided on who she is strangling, Gotham's greatest detectives at work, RIP mop

Summary:

Everyone deserves time off, and the vigilantes of Gotham are no exception to the rule. The boys decide to take a weekend to let loose. Who knew a few drinks would lead to a stranger in bed?

Author Note:

A huge thank you and shout out to @harlequin-hangout for the amazing banners you made for me.

If you’re new to the story, here is a link to the other parts:

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6

Citlalli noticed the slight droop in her friend’s shoulders. She looked defeated, something rare and it hurt. There was no time to comfort her though, the line of customers growing. The two of them ran back and forth between the register and machines, cranking out the orders as best they could. Jason’s name was one of the first few called, so he made his way over to the pick up station and grabbed the complicated order topped with whip cream and colored foam. Wrinkling his nose at it, he called out a small thanks before making his way back to his seat. The gazes of the other customers hardly bothered him. He was used to being looked at, either out of attraction as Jason Todd or fear as the infamous Red Hood.

Where do I find IAmBatman? She logs in at night at that lounge, but who knows what time she’ll actually get there? I have to go out on patrol tonight too. Even if I was free, what’s my plan? Sit here all day drinking coffee until they close? I didn’t bring my laptop, I can’t log in myself to see when she logs in. There’s no way I’m sitting in that lounge all day! I game, but I’m not going to sit there like some creepy stalker loser jumping at the chime of the door. They’d call the cops on me for sure. He glared at his cup, slowly turning it in place. There had to be something he could do. Something he was missing. It has to be right in front of me, I’m just not seeing it. He sighed, ruffling the front of his hair before taking another sip. “I hate to say it, but I should probably ask Grayson for some advice. He came up with the IP idea and that at least got me closer.” He muttered and slouched in his seat. Leaning his head back, he closed his eyes for a brief moment to shut out the world around him. You’re one step closer, Todd, one step closer. Even if I did see her, what did I plan on doing or saying? I’ll come back on a night when I'm free.

Finishing the last of his drink, he tossed the cup and grabbed the two others. He gave a small wave to Citlalli and a nod to Y/N on his way out, thanking them again. The two responded in unison to his gratitude as they continued to crank out the orders. When there was much wanted lull in customers, the two flopped onto their stools and let out a heavy sigh of relief and exhaustion. Midway through the rush, two other employees had clocked in and came to their rescue.

“Damn, we should’ve paid attention to the time. I didn’t realize it was time for the school to let out! Ai, my poor, poor feet!” Citlalli rolled her ankles.

“We should have some sort of alarm system set up that goes off every Monday to Friday that warns of the teenie bopper tidal wave.” Y/N rubbed her lower back. In all the running back and forth, she had nearly slipped more times than she could count, but there was no time to stop. If there was even one complaint and it just so happened to reach their boss, she shuddered at the thought. I’d never hear the end of it! We’d been stuck here until our next shift!

“You think Mr. B would let us?”

“Doubt it,” Y/N rolled her eyes. “It’d cramp the aesthetic,” she emphasized with air quotes. “Not like we’d have some blaring five alarm bell that would freak the customers out. It’d be something for us back here so we aren’t caught off guard by so many orders at once.”

“Not to mention those stupid mobile orders, custom orders, and don’t even get me started on those bullshit “top secret” menu orders that all those de mierda influencers go on and on about online!” Citlalli fumed, once again falling into rapid Spanish as she cursed the bloggers, vloggers, and internet gurus for coming up with the crazy concoctions that sounded horrendously disgusting at times.

“I know, Cici, I know.” Y/N handed her a glass of cold water to help distract her from the thought. If there was one thing Citlalli hated, it was the obnoxious younger generation that thought the world owed them. She could easily go on for hours about the overly privileged rich kids that were taking over and how ungrateful and undisciplined they were, demanding things to be done right away and perfectly perfect every time. Y/N was no fan of the snobby majority either, but these brats were what paid the bills. If these caffeine addicted wannabe famous elites were what kept the water running, she would just put up with the convoluted orders. Especially now that I have that 4k bill on top of it all. She sighed again. How many tortuous and agonizing drinks would it take to finally start making a dent in that bill?

“Oh, you actually got it! You know, for all your tough guy “I’m not mister nice guy”, you do nice things quite often.” Barbara grinned at his eyebrow twitching in response. “Am I wrong?” She raised one of her own eyebrows before tipping the fancy beverage in his direction as a thanks before leaving the room with a sense of victory while Jason stood there grumbling and muttering under his breath.

“I’m not a nice guy,” he insisted to himself.

“Of course, Master Jason, there is nothing nice about standing in one’s way while they are trying to enter the room.” Alfred’s voice caught him by surprise. It was no surprise that Alfred was a highly capable individual, but to be able to sneak up on any of them and so consistently was unheard of. Not for Alfred Pennyworth.

“Sorry Alfred,” he lightly shook his head and stepped aside.

“Not at all, though there must be something more on your mind to be unable to hear me call for you so many times.” The famous Wayne butler walked into the room, going about his usual tasks.

“Ah, nothing that important.” He rubbed at the back of his neck. “Just some dumb shit. Is Grayson home?”

“Master Richard,” Alfred stopped what he was doing and stared at Jason with the same unreadable expression he always had. “Master Richard stepped out for the moment, I am not certain when he will be returning, but he did state that he would be in time for dinner. Shall I set your place for dinner tonight?” Jason’s initial reaction was to refuse, but he hesitated. He really needed to speak with Dick, and this was the only way to assure that he at least got a hold of the older Robin somehow.

“Yeah, why not? I didn’t have any plans set or food anyway. Thanks, Alfred,” Jason nodded his head.

“But of course, Master Jason. If you’ll excuse me, I have to make sure the right number of seats are prepared.” He lightly bowed his head before exiting the room before Jason. The infamous Red Hood let out a heavy sigh, tousling his hair. This was becoming more and more of a handful with each passing day.

But I’ll get it done, dammit! I’m fucking Red Hood! I track down and capture the most notorious and difficult to capture villains on the daily! Finding one average civilian should not be this difficult!

It was now a proven fact. There was not a single shred of doubt left in Y/N’s mind. That tall, dark, and handsome stranger was a walking debt machine. A walking, talking withdrawal demon in human skin that was sent from the deepest pits of financial hell to make sure she would never see light outside the slums of Gotham. Satan, himself, must be cringing in sympathy at this cruel and unusual torture she was being put through. What made her so sure? Well, a certain cleaning instrument had been sacrificed in the urgent need to warn Citlalli and their boss, who was due to come in today, had become aware of said hecatomb. He was not pleased with this unscheduled offering, and the bill for its replacement would be removed from her paycheck.

I’m going to kill him. This is going on his tab, I’m going to make him pay me back for said dues, and then I’m going to wring his neck until I’m satisfied! She imagined her fingers wrapping around his throat, it would obviously require both from how strong it looked; and shook him violently as his face slowly drained of any color as he begged for her forgiveness.

Citlalli saw the malicious smile that curled on her best friend’s lips and noted how it was creeping out the customers. Not wanting her to get in any more trouble, she firmly slapped her on the back. “Get it together, chica! You’re still on the clock and your batshit crazy look is going to get them complaining to the slave driver!�� She hissed in her ear, snapping Y/N out of her little daze.

“Owww, didn’t have to hit me that hard.” She scowled in response, attempting to rub the spot, but of course it was just out of reach for her to self soothe. Just my luck, she glared at her best friend one last time before taking the next ticket. She carefully crafted the complex drink, triple checking the instructions to make sure she had it right before bring it to the pickup counter. “Large iced matcha latte with oat milk, brown sugar, white mocha, and strawberry purée in the sweet cream cold foam for…Paizleigh.” Y/N stared at the order and the customer’s name for a moment. Yup and nope, she looked up at those lingering nearby. “Large iced matcha latte with oat milk for Paizleigh.” She called again before placing the cup down in the area marked for O to R names.

“Hey, is that my drink?” A male customer walked up to the counter.

“This is a large iced matcha latte with oat milk for Paizleigh.” She repeated the information and watched as the gears turned in the teenager’s head. Oh boy, not today. Please, not today!

“OK, but is it mine?” And there was the million-dollar question.

“Is your name Paizleigh?” She asked.

“Uh, no,” he scoffed.

“Then how could it possibly be yours? Are the ears on your head just for show? Did you not just hear me when I said, for the third time, expressly to you, that it’s for someone named Paizleigh?”

“Woah, I was just asking-,”

“Just asking one of the stupidest questions you could ever be asking right now because I literally called this drink out three times, and you know your name is not Paizleigh! Better yet, what was your order, hm? Was it even anywhere close to as complex as this one?”

“Uh, I uh, I just order a medium hot coffee with cream and sugar.”

“Like I thought, nowhere near this,” she pointed to the long ticket sticker with detailed instructions on how to layer all add-ons. “Now that we’ve established just how stupid you are, and I’ve wasted enough time on this, shut up and get back in line until we call your name, which is?”

“So, is it my drink?” The sudden question shattered the little daydream where Y/N was forced to grit her teeth and smile. She let out a heavy sigh. If only she could be so bold. But alas, that would be the day she really wanted to lose this job, which was better than some others she has had.

“What’s your name again?”

“Kevin,” her eyebrow twitched.

“Right, Kevin, this drink is for Paizleigh. So, no, it is not your drink. I’m sure one of the other baristas are working on it right now, and it’ll be out shortly. Thank you for your patience.” She forced herself to let go of the cup before she ended up crushing it, and turned to pull her next ticket. And look at that, the golden Kevin ticket. This is all skunk head’s doing, he’s the living embodiment of the four horsemen of the apocalypse, but just for me.

The quiet dinner that Jason had hoped for was dashed with all the children present with Bruce. It was not unheard of to have dinner as a whole family, but it was pretty uncommon since someone was always busy, namely him. And the one time he decided to show up voluntarily is clearly the day everyone made sure to attend. If this was intentional to spend time, it was heartwarming, but the annoyance easily outweighed the small warm and fuzzy feeling.

I needed to talk to Grayson about the girl, but fucking everyone and their father showed up! Literally our father! He growled in annoyance, beating out his frustration into the crook he caught harassing some pedestrians. At least there are idiots out and active today, I need to vent. He dragged the now unconscious body to a place where the police would spot it before disappearing into the shadows once more. Sitting up on the ledge of his favorite building, Red Hood looked at Magnus. “I know, I know, I need to get it done! It ain’t easy!” It was easier said than done. Since that dinner a few weeks back, it was nearly impossible to find time alone to meet with the first Robin.

“Talking to Mildred again? Are you sure you don’t need to see someone about that?” Nightwing chuckled, appearing from behind the gargoyle.

“The name is Magnus, get it right.”

“Woah, there, I didn’t mean to offend!” The blue crusader put his hands up in surrender. “So, how’d it go?” He grinned, taking a seat beside his younger brother.

“Horrible,” he bluntly answered. “That IP address led me to a gaming lounge! How the hell am I supposed to find her in the middle of the day when she games at night?”

“Seriously, damn, did not see that coming.” The elder Robin muttered, resting his chine on his hand as he considered this new information. “She could be coming into town from anywhere and if she’s really big on gaming, she might be willing to go the extra mile of traveling a longer distance just to play.”

“That just takes me back to fucking square one all over again! I’ll have to stake out the place on a night we’re supposed to game just to see who comes and goes.” Red Hood hung his head.

“You just might have to, that sucks. I was certain the IP address would’ve been a hit! Who knew she was using a gaming lounge.” Nightwing shook his head, feeling sympathetic for his younger brother, when some commotion down below caught their attention. They quickly jumped into action, fighting the criminals that were robbing the jewelry store below.

“Yeah, who would’ve thought they’d have such a place here. I’m surprised it hasn’t been hit by thieves yet. Though, it looks like they’re trying to spruce the place up a bit.” He grunted as he took a hit and swing at his assailant, knocking him flat onto his feet.

“Yeah, there’s been quite a bit of that going on with the new people in office. Can’t say it won’t get dirty.” Nightwing responded as he dodged a hit and landed a kick.“Does it ever stay clean?” Red Hood scoffed. “At least there’s a decent coffee shop where I can keep an eye on the place from. By the way, they’ve got some real interesting staff there. This one employee was really,” Red Hood was cut off by a rather big guy tackling him into the brick wall. The sudden blow jolted his memory a bit, and his mind quickly connected two very obvious dots. Holy shit, she was the barista at the counter!

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blindmagdalena · 11 months ago

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💐 once you receive this lovely bouquet of flowers you have to mention five things you love, publicly, and send it to 10 of your favorite followers if you want. SPREAD POSITIVITY! ⛅️ (also thank you for the love on Gloria's intro post!)

awww thank you, battie!! you're so very welcome!

dungeons and dragons! i've been playing since early 2018. i've completed several campaigns and even more short adventures.

pokemon! my first pokemon game was yellow when i was 7 or 8, and it's been a constant ever since.

collecting! i'm a maximalist. a trinket goblin. i especially love to collect physical media. books, movies, video games, cds, vinyls—you name it. i'm very resistant to the push towards streaming/digital media.

perfume! last year i got really into perfume as sort of a hobby. my current favorite is 'monday' from arielle shoshana. it smells like a london fog when i mix it with vanilla lotion or perfume 🖤

anime! inuyasha was my first big fandom. i started cosplaying and reading fic on quizilla and then eventually writing and roleplaying as well. that's my origin story as a fic writer. 😂 i've slowed down on anime since, but i still enjoy a few series'.

#ask and you shall receive #life posting #thanks battie!#it's all weeb stuff lmao but i was tryin to name less obvious things that might not appear on my blog

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cartoonkitten · 3 months ago

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throwback thursday (monday) cause i just remembered this random au i had before s2 was announced that i miiightve vaguely talked about

for context— i honestly really expected them to turn batty back into a person/weredog. it just seemed so plausible and obvious to me that they would, ya know? since it was such an important thing in the first season. so with that, i thought after she would turn back into a person (after like, much experimentation) she would start to feel a little weirdly disconnected from her mom since she’s just a normal dog and didn’t know if duchess felt weird about her being a weredog either after awhile. but in time, duchess would decide to fang herself so they could be on the same level with eachother and more connected while still holding onto their lineage. and batty and co would have to teach her how to be a human and it would be silly and fun. but also with the new capabilities of re-fanging getting out amongst the werefolk community it might also lead to some not-so-great events where like, say, ex pack members that were defanged would try to get their hands on that new advancement. or something. idk, this is just some old prediction/au lol

#100% wolf #100 percent wolf #griffin speaks

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dollarbin · 8 months ago

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Dollar Bin #35:

Van Morrison's Veedon Fleece

To date I've put off writing about two of my favorite 60s/70s artists, Van Morrison and Joni Mitchell. This requires some explanation, as leaving either of them out of the Dollar Bin is like leaving rice and beans off your shopping list; life is better when you have these staples available at all times, yes?

In the case of Joni, I'm continuing to procrastinate because what the hell could I really say that's either of interest, insight or humor about her classic records? Um, they're classic; you should get your act together if you don't have them all memorized.

And when it comes to everything after Hejira, where do you even start? Um, well, they're less good. But you should still listen to them. What the hell else are you going to listen to right now? Your kids, you say? Your spouse? Tell them to simmer down and stand aside because it's time to crank Dancin' Clown loud in the living room.

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Yep, that's Billy Idol doing his obnoxious thing in the track; apparently Tom Petty's involved too but he's smart enough to stay in the background. Yikes, this is not Joni's great hit.

Even so, I always plead with the student DJ's at my high school school's (that's where I work whenever I climb out of the Dollar Bin) dance's to slip this pop chestnut, along with the B-52's Love Shack, into the Winter Formal mix. I long for the terribly awkward, you see. (To be clear: I'm not a big Dancin' Fool fan. But Love Shack? That's my jam.) Happily, the students never listen to me. If they did I'd feel obligated to get down on my own like a Dancin' Clown.

Anyway, we'll all drink a case of Joni together at some point soon; maybe Mitchell Mondays will be a thing when Shakey Sundays start to wind down (which, at Neil's pace of releasing records should be around 2045). Thanks for your patience Joni!

I've been putting off Van for some of the same reasons I guess. He's not on Joni's level for me, but I recognize that every one of his records are either stone cold classics or have greatness within them up until the mid 70's. But then he hit a brick wall and, frankly, I've never taken the time to survey a lot of the wreckage. If you ask me How Long Has This Been Going On? (the self congratulatory name of Van's mid-90's record) I'll tell you, "beats the hell outta me; I don't listen to Morrison after Feel the Music."

After all, who wants to hear synthesizers mingling with old white man jazz moves, all of it fronted by back up singing ladies and Van's grumpy indifference? And don't even get me started on his recent anti-vax crusade; were I to meet Van today I'd mask up and tell him to get a goddamn life.

Yes, it's true: my buddy Greg, who's reading this right now and freaking out, tells me that No Guru, No Teacher, No Method, No Pizza, or whatever it's called, is a good record, and I'm sure he's right. But I have never found the energy to really listen to it.

Don't get me wrong: I hear Van about gurus; I don't have one either, and Dylan's song about working on one is terrible. But I am a teacher, so I don't appreciate Van trying to get me fired. And I tend to employ methods of all kinds, except while I'm pumping out this nonsense. Finally, I enjoy pizza. And Van apparently doesn't want me to have any. Damn it, Van: give me slice!

But I'm hear to tell you that Veedon Fleece is a Dollar Bin classic: it's soulful, weird, relaxing and elegant; plus, it's just about the last will and testament of Van the Man before he became No Plan Van.

I resisted this album for a long time, not giving it a chance until my late 20's. Why? Well, for one thing, I'm not that into domesticated animals - my cat Batty should be named Compromise, Surrender or Capitulate. Because that's what I did when we got her.

Just look at this beast, busy trying to block out the last 45 years of Morrison's career:

Van appears with giant dogs on the cover of Veedon Fleece, and that fact alone made me pass on this record in the Dollar Bin until around 2003.

The dogs on its cover look far too much like the drooling, child-eating ones my famous brother and I cowered before at ages 6 and 3 respectively at some babysitting co-op lady's house. There we stood, 4'1 and 3'nothing, doggie biscuits in hand, supplied by that well intentioned mother who'd sent us outside to greet them. In the face of all that sniffing, shuffling and terrifyingly hairy life-force my famous brother and I did the only reasonable thing at the time: we ate the doggie biscuits ourselves and then got the hell back in the house.

Frankly, I can't think of a single album cover which features domesticated animals and contains good music. Pink Floyd's Animals doesn't count: that pig ain't real. There are no dogs on the cover of Hounds of Love and the cat on Tapestry is benign. Joni's own Dog Eat Dog is majorly mediocre, Elvis / Old King is a grainy footnote to the cover of Everybody Knows this is Nowhere, and I'll be damned if I ever listen to the Alice in Chains' album with a dog on it or this other Van Morrison record which, for all I know, features the same terrifying dogs as Veedon Fleece, only this time they've been shorn and one is muzzled so as to leave the other free to gorge independently upon my flesh:

But somewhere in the early to mid-aught's my buddies Ryan and Ned cranked up the first song on Veedon Fleece's B Side as we rolled out of town, heading for a men's weekend in the desert. During that trip I melted my shoes in our dead yucca tree bonfire while wearing them (it's amazing what can happen under the influence) and fell in love with Veedon Fleece.

Here is that first track on the record's flip side, and it's the closest thing on the record to a pop single:

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The song features just about all the wonderful bits Van had to offer back in the day: he grunts, warbles and shouts whenever he isn't soaring along, plus we've got driving acoustic guitar, chasing bass and drums, pick-me-up piano and complimentary six string riffs.

But the country folk rock of Bulbs, and the stately, epic white blues track that follows, Cul De Sac (which features what may be the greatest scream by a white male in popular music) are outliers on an album which is otherwise concerned with some of the most obscure and introspective music Morrison ever recorded.

Before we get into that truer tale of the record, here's Cul De Sac with its aforementioned scream ready for your pleasure at the 4:56 mark.

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I once had a school-wide tug of war rope snap like gunfire in my hands, instantly shredding four of my fingers, one of which still feels funky ten years later. My scream was just as loud. But it was not musical.

Morrison recorded these two tracks separately from the rest of the record, and it shows. What's more, in true Morrison style, he basically wrote off the whole album afterwards: he's almost never performed any of the songs live and he spent the following few years singing only to his gargantuan hounds.

The other record Morrison has treated with similar disdain is Veedon Fleece's spiritual companion, Astral Weeks. Both records must be too thoughtful, complex and warmly spiritual for his liking. It's like he twice got caught gardening turnips in the nude by his neighbors and decided each time to skip town and bail on the mortgage as a result.

Take a listen to Veedon Fleece's opening track, Fair Play: all his ginormus dogs and lady friends are elsewhere; this is just Van, surrounded by sympathetic peers, searching for deliverance among magpie topics that veer from The Lone Ranger to Transcendentalism and back again.

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Everything else on the record matches this yearning, graceful tone. Often you lose track of just how obscure and particular the lyrics are; indeed I often forget that Morrison is actually singing in a language I know.

The record's second and third songs depict a sensitive, San Fran everyman psychopath who wields a hatchet at human heads and never misses church on Sunday; the last two songs on Side A are is basically Van's own - albeit highly vague and vastly abbreviated - Intro to Major British Authors II course, and they are way better than the course I took by that title as an undergraduate. Every song flows together; every stands on its own; everything is supremely weird and lovely: what could be better?

But it's the record's two final, so-sparse-they-are-barely-there songs that mean the most to me. Come Here My Love is probably the last thing any of Van seventeen ex-wives ever want to hear him say again, but when he sings it you can dig why they all married him in the first place. It's pretty damn sexy, and if I were into 78 year old covid deniers who should never missed an open casting call to play The Penguin in the next Batman movie I'd swipe vigorously left or right or whatever direction indicates heavy interest on Van's Christian Mingle dating profile.

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The album then closes with something even spacier, even sparser, even more astoundingly beautiful. Listen for the ghostly choir emerge way in the backspace, explore the majestic Country Fair:

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There's nothing in his catalog that beats Morrison guiding the dense and stretched melody on this track. While the recorder forrays about on its own, Van leads every other musician, and all of us, on a brooding, Pied Piper ramble through endless green ways and shimmering, summer fields.

Country Fair, and Veedon Fleece as a whole, leave me incredibly sad and wonder struck at once. It's a Dollar Bin journey I'm always so eager to take. I'd even feel safe enough to reach out and pet Van's dogs if I came upon them mid-record. And if I had a dog biscuit in hand at the time I'd split it in three equal parts. Then we'd all enjoy it together.

#van morrison #joni mitchell #batty the cat #veedon fleece

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