#I can see them not becoming VHs

[synthient]

2nd watch, a few new details:

On the first watch, I was like "of course Owen couldn't go with Maddy the first time, her mom had cancer :(". But this time I caught that Maddy went missing "a few weeks" after Owen's mom died. Owen had nothing left to stay for. Maddy probably waited around for those extra weeks, just in case Owen had a change of heart. And yet,

The first time we see the dress flashback, it's through what seems like a relatively objective perspective. The second time we see it (as they walk to the grave), the memory has taken on the vhs-fuzz and aspect ratio of the pink opaque tapes. The real becomes unreal, an impossible fantasy, "kid stuff"

Happened to see a captioned screening this time, and the Tara from the streaming version is described as "Fake Tara."

The tv guide page Owen finds by the electrical field is for "season 6, episode 1: Escape from the Midnight Realm"

Mr. Melancholy and Maddy's ex friend who accused them of dykery ("like a secret agent sent to ruin my life") were the same actor

All the school hallway motivational posters are thematically relevant, but this time I caught the "the only easy day is yesterday" and "courage: without it, no other virtues matter" ones

You can see the emotional shifts between Owen and Narrator Owen in real time (ie, Owen looking distraught as the firefighters surround Maddy's tv, then dropping the expression and looking coolly into the camera as she starts to narrate again)

There's an interesting recurring thing where audio from the near "future" plays over footage from the "past." ie, we hear Maddy's planetarium monologue, while we watch Owen still walking to the school to meet them. Something about time not working right, something about Owen playing back memories that already happened, something about inevitability and walking down a path with a fixed ending

Void High School, or VHS

[beansprean]

WHAT WE CLUE IN THE SHADOWS: A FINALE CONSPIRACY BOARD

So. WWDITS may have the actual balls to do this to us. and I for one am INCREDIBLY excited for the possibility. If you're a WWDITS fan and haven't seen Clue (1985), I highly recommend taking 95 minutes to do so before the finale. Just in case.

Clue is my favorite movie, I have probably seen it upwards of 100 times for real, and I can recite it from memory with 90% accuracy. I also have the pleasure of owning and playing the WWDITS-themed Clue game, which is centered around finding out who stole the witch's skin hat and where in the house they hid it. I don't know if that will play into the finale at all, but it's something to think about.

The thing about Clue (the film), if you aren't aware, is that there are three different endings. On the vhs/dvd, you see all three in a row between 'that's how it could have happened, but what about this?' title cards. In theaters, there were three versions of the movie (labeled A, B, and C) that were dispersed to different theaters, so depending on where and when you went to see it you would see one of 3 endings. (It's kinda unclear which letter corresponded to which originally, so my labels will be assuming a 1:1 comparison between the order of the home version of Clue and the airing order of the WWDITS episodes.) The Clue endings are not all made equal, and on the home version, the final ending is announced as 'what really happened.'

So allow me to take a moment to talk about how the different endings work in context to each other and the film, and how that could translate to three different endings for WWDITS.

CLUE SPOILERS UNDER THE CUT (for real, go watch it)

(last chance to watch Clue go)

Ending#1: "Communism is just a red herring"

In this ending, the first one that plays in the home version, Miss Scarlet is revealed to be the murderer. She is a snarky, sarcastic madam who runs a "hotel and telephone service to provide men with the company of a young lady for a short while" and has policemen on her payroll. This is what I would consider the expected ending, the one that makes sense for most viewers. It's not shocking, but it's funny and well acted and it makes the most sense. Miss Scarlet has the right personality for murder, was in the most convenient area of the house to commit them, and had Yvette (the maid, formerly one of Miss Scarlet's call girls) committing some of the murders at her direction, so she had enough alibis to not make her too obvious. Many people watching this movie for the first time will have her high on their suspect list.

This ending also dismisses the idea of 'dangerous communism' that had been a thread throughout the film (as it is set in 1953 during the second Red Scare) as a misdirection. Miss Scarlet isn't stealing government secrets to betray the US; she's doing it to make money. The real danger all along was capitalism, something that s6 of WWDITS has said repeatedly.

So, to recap, this is the Standard Ending. The Second Best ending. Version B.

Ending #2: "Mrs. Peacock did it all."

This one, played second in the home version, is in my opinion the weakest ending. It reveals Mrs. Peacock, the neurotic, hysterical, and allegedly politically corrupt wife of a senator, as the murderer. She's hilarious and fantastic to watch throughout the whole film and I love her, but this charm drops after the reveal and she becomes cold and drab as she threatens her way to safety. She committed all the murders herself, which would be very difficult to achieve with the tight timing and her position in the basement during the search.

She ends up being caught outside the house by a police inspector, who had earlier shown up disguised as an evangelist telling her to "repent, the kingdom of heaven is at hand." Interestingly, they originally filmed him immediately shooting her dead without provocation, but they thought that was too dark and edited it into an arrest instead (which is why there is such a quick cut after he pulls his gun, and we only hear her rather than see her after that). This is the 'repent for your sins' ending. You do bad things, bad things happen to you.

The obligatory "it's always who you least expect" ending. The Still-Good-But-Not-The-Best Ending. Version C.

Ending #3: "You're Mr. Boddy!"

This is "how it really happened" - the twist ending! The hero was the villain, the villain was just a pawn, and everyone committed a murder in the house to cover their own asses. Prof Plum killed the fake Mr. Boddy, Miss Scarlet killed the cop, Mrs. Peacock killed Mrs. Ho (the cook), Mrs. White killed Yvette, Colonel Mustard killed the motorist, and Wadsworth/Mr. Boddy killed the singing telegram girl.

Mr. Green, who reveals he works for the FBI, kills Wadsworth/Mr. Boddy and arrests the rest of the cast. Understandably the best and most exciting ending (though not without some plot holes) that everyone loves. We get a surprising reveal from two of our main characters that not only changes the context with how you view them, but informs aspects of their character that have been there throughout the film! Now we understand why Wadsworth retained control of the house and the timeline of events, why he was so familiar with the house, and why this entire thing was orchestrated in the first place. We also understand why the cowardly and clumsy Mr. Green was consistently the first to jump to help and defend the other characters, even when it meant putting himself if physical danger. Unfortunately this ending also suggests that he was only pretending to be gay (wouldn't that be a twist for Guillermo lol), but he could also just be in a lavender marriage which is what I choose to believe.

This ending also has the iconic 'flames on the side of my face' scene and repeats 'communism is a red herring', this time in the context of Mr. Boddy's intention to continue blackmailing them all now that they have taken care of anyone who could have pointed the finger at him.

This is the True Ending. The twist you didn't expect but are delighted to find. The 'nothing was as it seemed' endng. The ending that is the most intentional and complete, where everyone gets to shine. Version A.

So what will we be doing in those shadows?

We can assume that e11 will not revolve around finding a murderer, but it does, from what we've seen in the trailer, revolve around making a wife for the monster. Do we get three different wives? Three different actors to play her? Three different superhero identities for Nandor and Guillermo? Three different levels of nandermo: one with a handshake, one with a hug, one with a kiss? Three different explanations for the origin and/or purpose of the documentary? (this is my personal favorite) Or is each ending entirely divorced from the other? Only time will tell.

What I'm leaning toward is that each episode will come up to the same turning point - a decision, a reveal, etc. The first two versions will have reasonable possibilities, the first less surprising but more enjoyable than the second, and the third... The third will be what really happened, and pull a twist no one saw coming. Perhaps even a character will reveal a hidden identity. Maybe, just maybe...we get Simon the Devious.

I only hope the order of the episodes doesn't change between channels or time zones because that will make things very confusing when liveblogging it in the group chat lmao.

[mothhball]

five-finger discount

Pairing | Neil Lewis x Reader

Warnings | 18+ SMUT, DUB-CON, fingering, p in v sex, unprotected sex, blackmail, sex on camera, brief edging, creampie, cheating, cursing, Moth pretends to know anything about movies

Summary | You’ve been trying to make easy money, but you’re not as subtle as you thought. Some lessons need to be learned the hard way.

Words | 4.4k

Notes | FINALLY DONE. and vaguely inspired by 70s porn haha

MINORS DNI

INT. GUMSHOE VIDEO – THRILLER AISLE – DAY

“No, it's not. That's not what she said. Someone is in trouble. Something bad is happening!” squawks a woman from the running TV in the background while your fingers trace over the backs of the VHS as you walk past the shelves.

1 PM on a Wednesday certainly is no rush hour at Gumshoe Video. Even the most annoying film bros don't come here at this time of day to flaunt their knowledge of the craft and subsequent absence of social skills. You're in the clear, pretending to deeply think about your choice in entertainment for the end of the day, even though that couldn't be further from the truth. Throwing a glance over your shoulder, you spot the business owner, entranced by the film that he put on to pass the time, and you can see his plush lips silently mouthing along to the dialog. Cute. And easy to trick.

It's not your first time here. No, you made sure to become familiar with the place over the course of months now, learning where each genre and title has been sorted into its rightful place.

Certain old VHS-tapes can sell for a small fortune online, and for every tape you rent, you take one for free with the plan of selling it to the highest bidder. Currently, you have a stack at home, waiting for you to finally stop procrastinating and open up that damn eBay account.

Your pinky catches on a specific tape. 'A History of Violence', currently estimated to lure an additional 199 bucks into your greedy bank account. Quietly, you pull out the film, leaving a gaping hole in the neatly sorted row as you slip it into your purse.

With nimble hands, you try to rearrange the tapes to make the missing VHS a little less obvious, but in your haste, a few of them escape your clammy grasp and clutter to the ground. A head of silky brunette hair whips around, and you're met with pretty blue eyes as the store owner turns to face you.

You let out a giggle, trying to sound as vapid and innocuous as possible. You’re in character now. The persona you chose? An unassuming, ditzy little thing that’s hot enough to distract him, but stupid enough as to not get suspected of any wrong-doings. You’d say you’re a good actress. A fantastic one, even.

"Sorry," you purr, batting your eyelashes at him. "I'm a little clumsy today." You're already bending over to pick up the tapes when he makes his way over to lend a helping hand, and you make sure to show off your cleavage in an intentionally accidental way. You know he’s into you. You’ve been seeing the heat in his gaze for weeks now, along with the occasional crack in his voice and an almost endearing desire to impress you. It’s his biggest weakness and the reason your plan has been working flawlessly until now.

"Hey, hey, no worries. Uh, gravity wins sometimes. Don't sweat it," he grins at you, brushing his fingers against yours as the two of you work together to put everything back into place.

"What exactly were you looking for anyway?" he suddenly asks, breaking your focus for a second.

"Uh, Moonstruck," you mutter, completely on autopilot. The store owner nods, pursing his lips as he mulls over your answer. You’re aware of your blunder before he even answers.

"Moonstruck? Then you're in the wrong section. You know, with how often you come here, I thought you got the hang of our layout by now." Fuck, he’s got you. Play dumb. Play dumb!

Your poker face almost cracks, but you keep your composure. Or at least you try to. "Huh? Oh - I... right. God, I'm just all over the place today." You giggle again, relieved by the way his grin seems to soften. Hook, line and sinker. He may think he’s detective Sam Spade from ‘The Maltese Falcon’, but you’re Brigid O’Shaughnessy. Or he’s Batman and you’re Catwoman. Or – well, it doesn’t matter. Baseline is, you’re snatching tapes right from underneath his nose while he’s too busy fantasizing about what’s underneath your clothes.

The store owner speaks up again, lazily rubbing the back of his neck as he leans against the shelf, and his free hand wanders and gestures around a bit as if he’s trying to figure out which pose would look the coolest and most effortless.

“Right. Actually, that wasn’t really fair of me.” You tilt your head at him, eyebrows furrowing ever so slightly which prompts him to elaborate. “Some of our tapes went missing. Y’know, some of the oldies and goldies? That’s why I didn’t stock Moonstruck this week.”

Your lips part in surprise, but all you can reply with is a soft ‘oh’. The store owner shrugs, leaning in towards you. There’s something conspiratory about his expression which makes your stomach churn a little. “Yeah. But I do still have it. It’s just in my office.”

There’s a beat of silence as you mull over the unspoken offer. Your plan is built on the one tape you always rent for cheap. No one would think you’re stealing if you’re actually paying for something, right? Despite this, you wonder if you should call it a day and head home with the stolen film hidden in your purse. Alibi be damned.

“I… That’s great. Uh, actually, I was just about to –“ he cuts you off with a casual wave of his hand, and the grin on his face widens once more.

“Don’t worry. I’ll even give you a discount. Just follow me.”

INT. GUMSHOE VIDEO – NEIL LEWIS’ PRIVATE OFFICE – DAY

The private office of Neil Lewis, cinephile and pop culture enthusiast, is decorated with a distinct Film Noir charm, lovingly empathized by leather chairs and a checkered floor. Not to mention the letters on the door. He calls himself a private investigator. A joking title that makes you palms sweat ever so slightly. You notice that he set up a small camera on his desk, but he brushes it off as a regular procedure.

"So... Moonstruck,” he starts, gesturing for you to take a seat. Which you do. “Great pick. Just curious - Why did you go for that one?" The question makes you pause for a second.

"The... the cover spoke to me,” you casually lie, trying to sound somewhat cute, but it doesn’t land. Neil’s expression quickly betrays his skepticism, and his lips part while his narrowed gaze wanders around the room for a minute. "Hm. And what about the other one?"

"What do you mean?" Play dumb, play dumb, play – but he’s not letting you off the hook so easily.

"The other tape."

Silence fills the office, and you swear the VHS in your purse is starting to burn a hole right where it’s settled in your lap.

"Which... other tape? I just picked out this one."

"Ohhh, right. Sorry. My bad. Just… Moonstruck." The way he’s saying this makes it seem like he enjoys the taste of the letters on his tongue. You nod, a little too eager to get this conversation over and done with.

"So you won’t mind me looking through your purse?" Neil leans forward in his seat, folding his hands on top of his desk. Your eyes briefly fall onto the little desk name plate that’s undoubtedly just made out of shiny, golden plastic. But it does the job. It intimidates you. At least to a certain degree.

“No,” you lie through your teeth, trying to shrug off the tension. “I… it’s certainly no problem, Mr. Lewis. None at all.”

Neil lets out an apathetic sigh as he rises from his seat, causing the leather to squeak. His steps seem a little too confident for a video rental owner as he moves around the desk to first walk over to the door and lock it. “Neil is fine. I’m not a big fan of… formalities,” he starts, coming up behind you to set his hands on your shoulders. His hands are gentle but firm, causing your body to warm right down to the deepest layers. To make his control over the situation even more apparent, he splays his hands, tracing your collarbone with his middle finger. It’s subtle enough that he could pass it off as a figment of your imagination if you should choose to speak up. But you don’t. You stay quiet, even as he leans down and you can hear the murmur of his voice right next to your ear.

“Open your purse.”

You bite your tongue, slowly opening your purse to find Cher’s face grinning back at you. It’s Moonstruck. In all of its romantic glory, and it makes both you and Neil freeze for a moment. You lick your dry lips, saying the first thing that comes to mind.

"That's mine."

"Yours?" You wouldn’t know, but his eyebrow twitches upward at your ridiculous claim.

"Yeah. A... personal copy." Great, now you’re doubling down.

"With my name on it?" Silence, yet again. You could basically hear the dramatic music that the producers of any reality TV shows use in the background of any tense scene. But this isn’t scripted. No, all of this is improvised.

"... what are the odds?" you croak, feeling how your throat goes dry in real time. Neil scoffs in reply, shaking his head, and his grip on your shoulders tightens a tad before he lets go entirely. His expression is stern as he steps in front of you, leaning against the desk and crossing his shapely arms over his chest. For a moment, he’s silent, letting his eyes wander all over your form in a slow, appreciative way that makes your palms get sweaty. “You do know I have to call the police, don’t you?”

“What?” Your breath hitches in your lungs, and you blink a few times, almost in an attempt to shake yourself out of this very strange dream. “This… this is just one tape. Isn’t this kind of excessive?”

“Yeah, maybe it’s one tape today. But you’ve been coming here for weeks.” Your jaw drops, but you can’t seem to come up with an appropriate response. You’ve been had. For the past months, you were convinced that he only saw you as a little piece of eye candy wandering through the store, but he’s been seeing right through you all along. Now you definitely don’t feel like Catwoman anymore. When he notices that you’re not going to say anything, Neil continues.

“Did you really think we don’t have security cameras all over the place? Well, I’ve been watching you the entire time, playing along when you pretended to be all ditzy and cute. It’s not just one instance. It’s a whole case, baby. And you’ll go to jail.” That makes you break out of your stupor, and you can feel your pulse speeding up.

“No- wait, no, no, no. Please, can’t we just talk about this for one second?”

“I don’t bargain with thieves.” He’s smug. Too smug for your liking, considering that he’s threatening you with the loss of your precious, precious freedom.

“Please, I’ll do anything,” you plead, fixing him with the biggest puppy dog eyes you can muster in an attempt to appeal to the soft, awkward side of him. And he cracks. At least the tiniest bit.

“Maybe… maybe we can work something out. But I’ll need to search you first. Who knows what else you’re hiding.” He gestures for you to stand, and you get up from your seat, causing the leather cushioning to faintly squeak once again. “Spread your arms. To the side.”

Your expression settles into a pout, but you do as you’re told, much to Neil’s satisfaction. He returns to his previous position behind you and starts by touching your shoulders, slowly trailing his hands down your arms. His fingers leave tingles behind on your skin, and you’re even more aware of how close he’s gotten when you feel his breath on the back of your neck. His cheeky hands continue to wander, making their way down your sides, softly squeezing around your waist before he moves on to your hips. You try to think about it as a TSA search, but it’s a little hard to do when his hands linger for much longer than necessary on your thighs and your calves as he crouches down. Once he’s satisfied, he straightens back up, and you almost think he’s done before he leans in to rasp into your ear.

“You’re gonna have to take your clothes off… so I can search you more thoroughly.”

Your heart skips a beat, and you’re about to protest, but he’s already pulling your top off, tossing it aside before he moves on to your shorts. A sigh escapes him as he pulls them down along with your panties, and he doesn’t give you even a second to recover before he’s gripping and caressing the curves of your body. Leaning his chin on your shoulder, he runs his fingers over your hips, feeling how your skin warms beneath his touch. “Take your bra off.”

“What? There’s no way I could be hiding a tape in there –“ In response, Neil lightly pinches your thigh, causing you to jump a little and let out a soft whine. Seems like there’s no way around it. With shaky hands, you reach behind yourself to unclasp your bra, and Neil leans back ever so slightly to give you the space to move. That is, until your tits are exposed, and his body is glued against yours once more. The feeling of his hardening cock pressing up against your ass sends heat into your core, and you instinctively clench your thighs together. Of course, this catches his attention.

“Ah, so you are hiding something.”

He wraps his arms around you, steering the two of you over to the mirror he hung on the wall next to his ridiculous little costume rack. You watch your own flushed expression as his hand slips between your legs to let his fingers trace over your already wet folds. With a groan, you try to avert your eyes before he corrects you with a rough grope of your breast.

“No. Eyes on yourself. I want you to see the guilt on your face while I search you.”

Reluctantly, your eyes return to the mirror, just in time for him to plunge a finger into your velvety pussy. Your lips part, and as much as you’d like to keep quiet, your resolve crumbles immediately when he finds that sweet spot inside of you. Within minutes, the office fills up with the sounds of your pleasure and the obscene squelching of his fingers in your wet cunt. And he’s thorough in his search, quickly working you up from one finger to three, making your toes curl against the checkered floor. For a moment, he drives you up to that delightful edge, only to pull his fingers out of you at the last second.

You don’t have the capacity to complain when he lifts his hand towards the light, showing off his glistening digits. Both of you are entranced by the sight, and Neil lets out a soft wheeze before he licks his fingers clean.

“Yeah, I made up my mind. Get over to the desk and bend over.”

“I have a boyfriend,” you whine, turning your head to give him your biggest puppy dog eyes.

“Well, you should’ve thought about it before you stole from me. Losing those rare tapes was a financial disaster for me. I’m risking this store. And I’m not gonna do it without something in return.” He finishes his sentence with a light smack to your ass which only manages to get you even more riled up. It’s hard to disagree with him when he knows just how to get you going.

Neil drags you back over to the desk, angling the camera in just the right way before he hurriedly tears his clothes off completely. The sight of his urgency makes your chest fill with butterflies, but you still need to protest. You have to!

“I don’t usually do this… what if my boyfriend finds out?”

“That’s one more reason to behave. You wouldn’t want him to see this little clip, right?” he asks, although the question is entirely rhetorical. You’d love to feel guilty, but you can’t bring yourself to it.

 His hands run from your shoulders down to your hips, kneading your flesh with the attentiveness of a potter crafting a masterpiece, and he leans over you to place open-mouthed kisses down your spine. You shiver, drawing your bottom lip between your teeth to stifle the noises that are threatening to escape your mouth. With a quick movement, Neil reaches under your knee to guide your leg on top of the desk, and you let out a soft sigh when you can feel your arousal rolling down the inside of your thigh as he spreads you open with two fingers.

“You know… nice girls wouldn’t get this wet in situations like these. Then again, you’re a filthy thief, so you’re the furthest thing from a good girl.”

Neil wraps one arm around your waist, pulling you back against his chest so he can latch back onto the side of your neck, sucking and biting while he uses his other hand to guide the tip of his cock against your drooling entrance. His naked skin against yours fills your head with need, and you press up against him a little more to feel him more closely as he slowly pushes inside your velvety cunt. Both of you let out a hiss, and Neil follows it up with a needy whimper as he stills for a moment.

“Fuck… oh fuck,” he breathes, causing your lips to twitch up in subtle amusement. Neil’s hand shakes as he adjusts the camera, making sure to get everything in frame, and in this moment, you clench around him on purpose, causing him to moan right into your ear. “Jesus Christ, don’t do that –”

The slap to your ass is meant to punish you, but it’s doing the exact opposite, and you let him know this by moaning his name. His lips return to your pulse as he pushes his cock deeper into you, stretching you so perfectly that it sends goosebumps over your skin. Or maybe it’s because of his warm breath on your ear. Or his hands diligently kneading your tits. The cocktail of heated touches and sensations is literally making you feel drunk.

“Your cock feels so good,” you whine, causing him to suck in a sharp breath at the praise.

“Yeah?” he chuckles, bottoming out inside of you before he starts to set a slow, sensual rhythm. “You’re such a depraved little slut… getting off on your punishment. If only your boyfriend knew.”

Neil rolls his hips against yours, drawing a moan from both of you that would fit perfectly on the set of a porno. Maybe you’re hamming it up a little to feed his ego. But that isn’t very hard to do when he fills you up so deliciously, making you wetter with every thrust.

You’re already starting to feel breathless when he slowly speeds up, drilling into your dripping pussy with even more fervor. Words are starting to become a little difficult, but you try your best anyway. “You’re better than him. SO much better –“

Your reward is a second smack – aimed at your chest this time.

“You’re damn right I am,” he groans, sucking another hickey into your skin and adding to the little necklace of bruises he’s been placing around your neck. “Suck these for me, will you?”

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion, but it doesn’t last long when he brings his fingers up to your mouth, and you eagerly latch onto his digits, still faintly tasting yourself from earlier. You suck them down to the knuckle, running your tongue in between them in a way that makes him groan and pound your cunt even harder. Once his fingers are sufficiently coated in your saliva, he pulls them free from your lips and reaches between your legs to rub your clit.

The one leg you’ve been standing on threatens to give out immediately, but he holds you up with his other arm, and gently guides your hands into place to better support yourself on the desk. Neil nuzzles his face into your hair, breathing heavily against the shell of your ear.

“If you promise not to steal ever again, I might let you cum on my cock.”

His words are intercepted by quiet grunts and whimpers, and you find yourself agreeing pretty quickly, blabbering out promise after promise.

“I’ll never – never steal again! I swear, I swear, I swear, please! Please, please let me cum –!”

You’re almost not recognizing your own voice due to the desperately needy tone that’s laced through your pleading, but Neil doesn’t mind. Quite the opposite, really, because you can feel his thrusts picking up in intensity. He rewards your obedience by rubbing your clit a little faster, and you have to bite your knuckle as to not cry out his name. Fuck, it’s only noon and you’re approaching your release at breakneck speed.

“Fuck… I – I’m close,” you breathe, turning your head to look at him from over your shoulder. His teeth are back in your neck as he kisses and bites at your skin, and his voice sounds strained as he answers you.

“Go ahead… let go for me. If only your boyfriend knew, hm?”

That’s it. Your orgasm rips through you, and you let out a whine as you claw at the surface beneath you. Neil is generous enough to let you ride out your climax, but you can tell how impatient he is when he suddenly pulls out, swallowing heavily.

 “On your back.” He doesn’t have to tell you twice. It’s a little awkward, but you manage to scramble and reposition yourself, lying back against the desk and looking up at him with flushed cheeks and tousled hair. Neil is in the same state, licking his lips and swallowing dryly as he guides his cock back into your cunt, aided by his thumb on the base of his length.

“Fuck… how can you still be this tight? Shit, FUCK…” He’s cursing and muttering under his breath, having half a brain to readjust the still rolling camera as to not miss a single second. His hands guide your legs around his waist, and he leans over you, staring at you through blown out pupils that clash against the vibrant intensity of his ocean gaze. His pretty face is red, and sweat beads on his forehead, causing his hair to stick to his skin. Without thinking, you reach up to push it back, causing both of you to still for a second before Neil finds his tone again.

“M’gonna fill you up… and send you back home to your boyfriend with a creampie in that pretty cunt. Alright? Alright.”

You can only nod in response, hearing your own racing heartbeat in your ears along with his continued grunts and moans. His hands on you are gentle, but his thrusts definitely aren’t as he pounds you against the desk. Neil’s hips smack against yours, causing every novelty item around the two of you to tremble along to your feverish rhythm. You tilt your head back but he goes after you, finally capturing your lips in a hungry kiss that he’s been trying to hold back from the entire time. But now that he’s rapidly approaching his own climax, the self-restraint is completely out of the window.

Your tongues clash, and you moan into his mouth when his hands find yours, linking your fingers together. Neil’s lips faintly taste of iced coffee as he licks against your tongue, and your grip on his hands tightens when his movements start to become erratic.

Your lips stay locked the entire time, even as he lets out a guttural groan when he finishes inside of you, thrusting into you a few more times to push it in as deep as possible. Finally, he stills and pulls away from you, unable to resist stealing one last peck from your swollen lips. You’re still breathing heavily as his hands roam over your body once more, relishing the feeling of your skin beneath his fingertips. Now that he has material on you and you promised not to steal again, he’s gentle. Almost too gentle, and you have to clear your throat to snap him out of it.

Neil catches himself, blinking down at you with soft eyes while he wipes some sweat off his brow. There’s a subtle twitch in his lips that tells you that he’d love to keep touching you, but he’s aware of the setting you’re in. Almost reluctantly, he pulls out of you to let you retrieve your clothes. While you’re getting dressed, he checks the camera and stops the recording before he speaks up.

“You’re free to go, then. You know what happens if I catch you stealing again, right?”

The question prompts you to nod in response, and you mumble out a “yes” as you pull your top back over your head. Once Neil confiscates the VHS from your purse, you’re free to exit the store on trembling legs, cringing a little at the feeling of your combined fluids leaking into your underwear. But God, this heist was worth it.

INT. YOUR PLACE – LIVING ROOM – DAY

As expected, the house is quiet when you get home, and you let out a deep, satisfied sigh as you throw yourself onto the couch to decompress for a moment.

Not even 20 minutes pass until the front door opens, and you hear familiar footsteps. A lazy smile spreads over your face, and you sit up, watching you boyfriend as he kicks off his shoes and throws his jacket over the coat rack on the wall. He makes his way over, leaning down to press a sweet kiss to your lips, and your vision is filled by ocean eyes and faint freckles. Neil chuckles softly, placing the camera onto the coffee table before he sinks down on the couch next to you and pulls you close. “I’m glad Lucien agreed to take over the rest of the day.” You hum in agreement, closing your eyes when he brushes his fingers through your hair to massage your scalp.

“I think that was our best one yet.”

FIN.

tags: @ellebelleshelby @cilliansprincess @mcumorningstar @x0xomady @mandies24 @detroitbecomevenom @pretty-bluebird @ink5ouls (couldn't tag) @flwrs4aust @vampmary1411 @ashdrinksoatmilk @luvizuku @nnattu @ptolemaniac @kiss-me-cill-me @celebrities-imagines

[jevilowo]

Its been awhile I'm doing another one of These Things

What TV Shows the Mercs would watch

Scout: Baseball. Obviously. He loudly complains about the cartoons Pyro puts on, but never makes a grab for the remote or leaves the room.

Soldier: He's half convinced that the TV uses Communist Technology™ to hypnotise people into becoming hippies and attempts to blow it up every couple of days. He conveniently forgets his beliefs during the superbowl (first aired in 67, he could totally watch it!).

Pyro: Cartoons. Dramatic movies. Anything with fire in it. Horror movies (they giggle and clap gleefully every time someone dies brutally). Has a love-hate relationship with movie musicals.

Demo: Fan of mystery shows, courtroom dramas, and shitty B-Movies. Especially enjoys the (explosive) special effects. It's sad that Highlander and Braveheart weren't sixties movies, considering how many of Demo's weapons, achievements, voicelines and etc reference them.

Heavy: Old lady tv. Cooking shows. Gardening programmes. Watches tv mostly to fall asleep in front of. Has that dad instinct where he can tell if you've changed the channel despite being asleep.

Engie: Documentaries about new technology, mostly. I can see him being the kind of guy who's really into those technicolour musical films. Would probably cry at the end of Wizard of Oz.

Medic: Horror movies! Watches them with Pyro and Demo mostly and complains about the gorey stuff not being medically accurate. Would get overly invested in stupid sitcoms and hate it.

Sniper: Watches nothing but nature documentaries. If the channel is changed he will simply leave the room. What the fuck ever. I like to think he has a large collection of tapes and a vhs player in his van. Falls asleep every movie night without fail.

Spy: Thinks television is mostly beneath him, but doesn't hate movies. Enjoys watching spy movies and mansplaining how he would have done it to anyone who'll listen.

[corroded-hellfire]

Steve having a little sister (who’s like a first-time) senior who has a crush on Eddie. But she’s a cheerleader, her parents expect her to marry an Ivy League, senator’s son or something. She kept her crush a secret until Jason calls him a freak in front of the whole cafeteria- and she punches him.

I had so much fun writing this request! I hope you enjoy what I've come up with, and if you notice the joke I stole from Glee, no you didn't. Reader’s race is not specified and she could be adopted because adoption is a wonderful, amazing thing. Harrington!reader and Eddie 4ever.

Words: 3.1k

“Mr. Munson, late again, I see.” 

Mrs. O’Donnell heaves a disappointed sigh as Eddie gives her an over the top smile.

“Sorry, had a meeting with the principal. He wanted to know why you gave me detention again.”

Mrs. O’Donnell frowns. “I didn’t give you detention.”

“Oh, phew,” Eddie says as he slides into his seat. “Glad to hear it. I’ll try and be on time next time.” 

The class lets out a titter of laughter as Mrs. O’Donnell rolls her eyes and turns back to the board. The dopey grin is stuck on your face as you lean forward in your seat. Resting your upper body on your desk, you bite your bottom lip as you look Eddie up and down. From your vantage point, you can only see the back left side of him, but you’ll stare at that for the entirety of the class period if you can. 

“Miss Harrington?”

Begrudgingly, you tear your gaze away from Eddie’s glorious hair and see Mrs. O’Donnell watching you impatiently. 

“Um, yes?”

“I was wondering if you’d like to enlighten us about the Stamp Act?” the elderly woman says. 

“Uh…” you trail off, mind suddenly blank of everything that isn’t Eddie Munson. “I would not.”

A few people in the class let out snorts of laughter, but Eddie barks out the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard. It makes your stomach fizzle, and your head feel all floaty. Even O’Donnell’s disapproving scowl can’t dampen your giddiness. 

The rest of class, you’re riding on a high. You made Eddie laugh. Out of all the accomplishments in your life, you’re not sure if one has ever meant more to you. Making honor roll? Eh. Becoming a cheerleader? So what? Doesn’t compare to making the cutest guy you’ve ever seen laugh.

Okay, you tell yourself. When class is over, you’re going to talk to him. The bell rings, and you’re scrambling to get your things together. Tossing them into your bag, you sling it over your shoulder and follow Eddie out of the classroom. 

“H-Hey, Eddie?” you manage.

He turns his head to look over his shoulder and gives you a smile that has your heart stuttering.

“Hey, Harrington. What’s up?”

“Did you see A Nightmare on Elm Street Part 2?” you ask, somehow not stumbling over your words. You’d had Steve bring the VHS tape home for you to watch just so you could ask Eddie about it.

“Freddy’s Revenge?” Eddie asks, wrinkling his nose up. “Such a letdown after the first one.”

“Yeah,” you say with a chuckle. “The first one was pretty good. This one made me want to fall asleep.”

“Ironic,” Eddie says with a smirk. He opens the school door for you, and you give him a grateful smile as you step out into the parking lot. You watch as he digs his keys out of his pocket. “See you tomorrow, Harrington.”

“Bye, Eddie.” You’re staring at him as he walks away, and you know you need to stop. But how can you when his ass looks the way it does in his jeans? Once he hops into his van, the trance is broken, and you make your way to your brother waiting in his car at the other end of the parking lot. 

You groan as you yank open the car door and slip inside. Steve looks less than thrilled himself, but it has nothing to do with you. Your parents are forcing the two of you to join them at a company party tonight, which both of you are vehemently against. But Steve was tasked with picking you up from school, taking you home so both of you can get ready, then to the party. 

“Think I can fake an epileptic seizure and get out of this?” Steve asks on the way home.

“You’re not epileptic,” you say.

“That’s why I said ‘fake’ it,” Steve says with a scoff. 

“They’d find a way to make you come anyway,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest. 

The party is just as horrible as you and your older brother imagined it would be. You’re forced into an itchy blue dress and Steve looks like he’s about two seconds away from ripping his tie off. The stuffy guests walk around with their noses in the air, only deigning to talk to those they deem successful enough. You want to throw yourself out of one of the windows as you see your parents approaching you with an older couple that they’ll probably expect you to remember from somewhere. 

“Well, look at you,” the older man says. “All grown up.” The way he says it makes a shiver go down your spine. 

“You must have all the boys chasing after you,” his wife says with a wink. It’s like they’re competing to see who can make you the most uncomfortable. Before you can open your mouth to speak, your mom jumps in.

“Oh, we have high hopes for her,” she says with a chuckle. “Going to go to Yale or Stanford and find her an Ivy League man to settle down with.”

And when exactly did we decide this? you think to yourself. 

“Someone well-to-do,” your father adds. “A senator’s son, maybe. Who knows? We could be raising a future First Lady here.”

You want to gag. Steve must sense your temper rising, because he rests a hand on your shoulder and gives it a reassuring squeeze. 

“Remember us when you’re famous,” the older man says. 

I don’t even remember you right now. The words are on the tip of your tongue, but your dad changes the subject to something about profit reports. 

Steve drives the two of you home before your parents, the two of them insisting they were going to stick around a little longer. The minute you get into your room, you throw your heels towards your closet. Your brother hears you banging around and comes to stand in your doorway, leaning against the doorframe and crossing his arms over his chest. He’s taken his tie off and undone the first few buttons of his white button up shirt. 

“What’s the matter, First Lady? Didn’t like getting signed up for an arranged marriage?”

You whirl on him, practically shoving a finger in his face. “Do not call me that. I am not some prized pig they can sell at the fair.”

“Technically, I think the pigs are judged at the fair, not sold.”

Groaning, you rub your hands down your face. 

“I’m running away,” you say, throwing your hands in the air. “I’m joining the circus. Or a motorcycle gang. Anything! As long as it’s not here.”

“Oh, relax,” Steve says. “When you go off to college you can date whoever you want. They’ll never know.”

“Why do I have to wait until I go off to college?” you demand. “Why can’t I date whoever I want right now?”

“Do you want to date someone right now?” Steve asks, furrowing his brows.

“That’s not the point,” you say, but you feel the heat rising to your cheeks.

“Holy shit, you do,” Steve says with a huff of laughter. He pushes himself off the doorframe. “Who is it?”

“Goodnight, Steve.” You shove him out of your doorway before slamming and locking your bedroom door. 

“The fuck did you say, Freak?”

Jason Carver’s voice grates on your nerves as you make your way down the hall. Unfortunately, there’s only one person the jock douche would be calling that name and it has you seeing red. You were still steamed from your parents’ comments last night, and this is just going to push you over the top.

“Who, me?” 

You walk into the cafeteria to see Eddie grinning at the basketball playing asshole.

“You’re the only freak here,” Jason says.

Your white cheer sneakers squeak to a stop on the linoleum floor, and you drop your bag down by your feet. The clatter has Jason’s gaze shifting to you. Most of the cafeteria’s attention shifts to you, actually. But you don’t notice as you stalk up to the bully. Normally, you might say something snarky to him, but you’re done with words. All your pent up frustration is taken out on Jason’s chin as you serve him a right hook. He stumbles back a few steps and there are gasps around the cafeteria. Your hand is throbbing, but the pain is nothing compared to the satisfaction you feel at shutting that jerk up. The small smear of blood above his upper lip has you smirking.

“Miss Harrington!”

With a groan, your satisfaction wanes when you see Principal Higgins glaring at you. His glasses are perched low on his nose and his hands are high on his hips.

“My office. Now.”

Thankfully, Principal Higgins’s secretary is kind enough to give you some ice to put on your knuckles. Some staffing emergency took precedence, so you’re stuck sitting on a bench outside his office while he deals. 

“You’ve got some arm.”

The voice that you’d know anywhere sounds from above you and your neck cracks from how quickly you look up. Eddie stands there with his hands in his pockets, a sheepish smile on his lips. 

“Oh. T-Thanks,” you say. 

Eddie takes a seat next to you on the bench. He yanks a black bandana out of his back pocket and smooths it out across his lap before folding it lengthwise. 

“May I?” he asks, gesturing to the ice you’re holding against your hand. 

“Sure.” You extend your injured hand out, and Eddie secures the ice against your knuckles with the bandana, then ties it tight enough to keep everything in place.

“How’s that?” he asks. 

“Better. Thank you.” You find it hard to meet his eyes, so you keep your focus on your hand as you bring it back into your lap. 

“So,” Eddie says, turning himself sideways on the bench and making himself comfortable. “What made you punch ol’ Carver? I mean, I know we all want to do it, but no one’s been quite so brave. Not until you, that is. And from a cheerleader? One of his own?”

“I’m not one of his own,” you say, looking up at him. But Eddie has a playful smirk on his lips.

“Nah, I know you’re not. I’m just teasing you. But what did want to make you do that? Couldn’t have been all on my account.”

“Why not?” you ask with a frown.

Eddie lets out a chuckle and shakes his head. “Listen, Harrington. I don’t see you as someone who goes around punching people for the hell of it. You’re one of the nicest people in this hell hole of a town. The jackass must’ve done something to deserve it.”

“He did,” you say. “He called you a freak.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” he says, leaning in towards you with a conspiratorial whisper. “But most people do.”

“Well, they shouldn’t,” you say with a frown. “You’re not. And I hate how Jason always does it in front of a crowd. It’s like he needs to put you down in front of others to prove he’s this king or whatever. So, someone needed to knock him off his throne in front of people, too.”

“My knight in shining cheer skirt,” Eddie teases with a wink. He’s shocked when your face goes red and you’re unable to look him in the eye. “You okay?”

“Y-Yeah,” you say, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. The heat in your face is getting worse by the second and you feel it’s only a matter of time before you crack. 

“You sure? I didn’t make you uncomfortable?”

God, that’s the last thing Eddie could ever make you feel. You immediately shake your head, refusing to let him think those thoughts even for a moment. 

“No, no, not at all. I’m sorry, I guess I’m just an…awkward person,” you say with a wince. 

“Maybe I like awkward,” Eddie says, gently kicking his black boot against your white sneaker. Butterflies erupt in your stomach, and they have plenty of room to buzz about, seeing as you hadn’t gotten to eat your lunch.

“Maybe I like awkward, too,” you say softly. 

Eddie smirks. “Oh, then you must adore me, Harrington.”

“Maybe I do,” you say with a shrug, forcing yourself to maintain eye contact with him. 

“Well, maybe I like sweet, pretty cheerleaders who can sucker punch like Bruce Lee and talk to me about horror movies.”

Your mind stopped listening after Eddie called you “pretty” though. Did he really think that? Or was he just saying it to be nice? 

“Hmm,” you muse. “Guess I should send Hailey Hudson from the team your way to talk about Halloween then, huh?”

Eddie chuckles and the same sensation as when you made him laugh before fills your body. 

“Nightmare on Elm Street is more my cup of tea,” Eddie says. “Plus, talking to any other cheerleader bedsides you doesn’t seem very appealing to me.”

“Miss Harrington,” Principal Higgins says, sticking his head out of his office. “You can come in now.” He steps back inside, and you release a sigh. Of course talking to Eddie would have to come to an end eventually, but why now?

“Well,” you say, standing up from the bench. “Guess it’s time to hear my sentence.”

“Maybe if you get released early for good behavior, we could grab pizza sometime?” Eddie looks nervous, and that alone makes you want to laugh. Why on earth would he be nervous asking if you wanted to hang out? 

“That sounds great,” you say, the euphoric smile unable to stay off your face no matter how hard you try. 

“Yeah?” Eddie asks, seeming shocked. 

“Why do you sound surprised?” you ask with a giggle. Taking courage from the fact that he seems to be getting nervous around you as well, you decide to be a little bolder. “I don’t just throw punches for anyone, you know.”

The most endearing smile grows on Eddie’s face, and he places one of his ring-clad hands over his heart. 

“I am very honored to have the most beautiful girl in school defending my honor.” He outstretches his hand out to you as you begin to walk backwards towards the principal’s office. “I’ll wait for you.” 

You can’t help but giggle. “I’ll have my parole officer contact you.”

“Should be easy since I’m in the phone book.”

“I’ll make sure to let her know. Bye, Munson.”

“See you later, Harrington.” He gives you one last smile before you step into the office.

The worst part isn’t the detention you were given or that you have to apologize to Carver. It’s that you’re told to call your parents to come and get you. Apparently, the school nurse is out for the day, and they can’t have you staying in school with a potentially injured hand. It hardly even hurts anymore, but you’re not going to let them know that. Let them think that you’ll be headed to the hospital for all you care. 

When you pick up the phone from the desk, your finger hovers over the numbers. Principal Higgins is sitting right there, making sure you’re going to tell your parents exactly why you need to be picked up. At the last second though, you dial a different number. 

“Thank you for calling Family Video, this is Steve. How can I help you?”

“Uh, hi, Dad,” you say, gripping at the receiver pressed against your ear. 

“Dad?” you hear Steve ask in confusion. “This is—”

“I-I know,” you say. “I’m just calling, Dad, because I need you to pick me up from school. I’m in Principal Higgins’ office. 

You can tell Steve understands now by the sigh that comes across the line. “What did you do?”

“Well, my hand is injured, and the nurse isn’t on duty today, so they don’t want me staying at school while I’m hurt and no one can check it out.”

“Tell him why it’s injured,” Principal Higgins says.

“Yes, tell me,” Steve echoes, obviously being able to hear his former principal’s words.

“I, um, I punched Jason Carver,” you say.

“You did what?!” Steve all but screams.

“He called Eddie Munson a freak in front of the whole cafeteria.” You say this piece looking Higgins dead in the eye. Are you going to do anything about that? you want to ask. “So, I punched Carver to shut him up.”

“Honestly, I’m impressed,” Steve says. 

“Thanks. So, uh, can you come get me?”

“My shift is over in ten minutes,” Steve says. “I’ll head there as soon as I get out of here.”

“Thanks, St—uh, Dad. I’ll see you soon.” You hang up the phone and Principal Higgins stares at you over the rims of his glasses.

“He on his way?” he asks.

“He’ll be here soon.”

“I can’t believe you punched Jason Carver,” Steve says, shaking his head in amusement as he drives you home. 

“He’s an asshole,” you defend with a shrug. 

“Over Munson, though?” Steve asks incredulously. “Seriously? Couldn’t have picked another hill to die on?”

“Nope,” you say through gritted teeth. Crossing your arms over your chest, you stare out the passenger window. 

“Why Munson, though, I—” Steve cuts himself off with a groan and shakes his head. “Oh, no. Please tell me I’m wrong.” 

“I’d love to,” you reply. “But I need to know what you’re wrong about first.”

“Munson isn’t the guy you want to date, is he?” Steve asks nervously.

Your face gets hot for what feels like the millionth time in the past few days. But that’s all the confirmation your brother needs, because he’s letting out a groan that makes it sound like he’s in agony.

“You really have a thing for the Freak?”

“I have one good fist left,” you say. “Want me to use it on you?”

“I’ll tell Mom and Dad about your detention then,” Steve says with a shrug.

“Then I’d tell them about you moving the dirty magazines from beneath your bed into the air vent,” you counter.

“How do you even know about that?” Steve asks, shooting you a glare before looking back at the road. 

“Your room and mine share the same vent and I can hear the pages rustling when the air is on.”

“You’re the worst,” Steve grumbles. 

“You also have no room to complain with some of the trash you’ve dated,” you point out. 

“Are you and Munson…a thing?” Steve asks, sounding like he hates every syllable of the question.

“No,” you tell him. “But he asked me to go get pizza with him. So, maybe soon.”

“And that will make you happy?” your brother asks.

A smile comes to your face just thinking about it. “It would.”

Steve nods his head and lets out a deep breath as if he’s resigning himself to the fact that you have feelings for Eddie. 

“Okay, but you’re telling Mom and Dad.”

[sammaggs]

4x05 The Ladies’ Man | Details

due South is a show that puts a TON of time and effort into subtle details like set dec, blocking, and framing, which invites us to do close readings of particular scenes in great detail. Let’s examine this scene in Ray’s apartment from The Ladies’ Man with that in mind!

Another thing I find fascinating about this show is its continuity; how significant time can pass between episodes, and it’s up to us to use context clues provided in future episodes in order to piece together what we can about the past; the parts of Fraser’s life that we haven’t been permitted to see. This scene is crammed with context clues.

(It’s worth remembering that John Krizanc, who wrote this episode, is a playwright first and foremost. He basically invented the style of play that would go on to become Sleep No More. The way characters phrase things, where they’re standing when they say them, what they surround themselves with—these things all matter.)

So in order, we learn:

Fraser lets himself in — By this point in Season 4, he has a key to Ray’s apartment.

“You there, Ray?” “Mhm.” — Fraser comes over so often that 1) he doesn’t call ahead, and b) it doesn’t matter if Ray is home or not. Ray doesn’t even feel the need to sit up when Fraser enters, let alone answer with words. This is long-time familiarity.

The Hat - Fraser automatically tosses his hat down on a stool that’s been pulled out from the bar and remains there for this specific purpose. That’s where Fraser’s hat lives when he’s over.

Diefenbaker - The wolf is so comfortable at Ray’s place that he jumps on top of Ray to his usual spot on the couch. Reading Dief as Fraser’s Ego, he bounds into the apartment, directly onto Ray’s LAP before LICKING RAY’S FACE. Okay!

The VCR - Fraser knows how to use Ray’s VCR and his TV remote. Those of us who were alive in the ‘90s know how much practice this would have taken. (Also, hand porn, you’re welcome.)

Seating arrangements — Fraser sits right next to Ray, who sits directly in the center of the couch, between cushions. Cannot be comfortable, but their legs and arms are touching. Their usual spots? Fraser sits ON TOP OF Dief to do this.

“Bark tea?” — Ray immediately starts teasing Fraser about his flirtation with the records gal for information. It’s teasing without intent or malice; Ray knows it was just a front, like Fraser knows Ray’s barbs are just for fun.

“What, I’m a pig?” “No, no, not that.” — This is an old grievance. This is not the first time Ray’s apartment cleanliness has come up. It’s something they’ve bickered about many times before. No, no, not that, not the usual. Something else.

The Turtle - The shot lingers on the overhead here to remind us that the macguffin note is in the VHS case, but also serves to focus in on the turtle sculpture. It’s made to catch your eye, which means we are meant to infer something about it; otherwise, it’s an unimportant, out-of-place distraction from the shot’s real purpose (again, the VHS case). Given what I perceive to be the turtle's Indigenous style, I think this is clearly a gift from Fraser (maybe from the previous Christmas?). He either had it shipped down from a friend up north, or he whittled it himself, and I like to think it’s the latter. Fraser does, after all, think Ray is the world.

TL;DR Fraser is basically living there, oh my god these cops gay, good for them, good for them

[pricelessemotion]

love is kinda crazy (with a spooky little boy like you) | E.M.

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: [2.4k] eddie takes you on that halloween date. it doesn’t go quite like you expected.

warnings: pure fluff, a little awkward date shenanigans, r is described as having frizzy hair and wearing prescription glasses, r also has an (unnamed) sister

a/n: ah! i’ve been dying to write and post a part two for this fic since halloween and i thought there was no better time to post it than now! happy valentine’s day 🖤

masterlist | part one

“There, perfect!” Your sister punctuates the end of her makeover with the snap of her powder compact and the flourish of a makeup brush. 

You turn slowly, the pink cushioned stool a little wobbly under your unsteady frame. Your reflection looks comical, all blurred edges and wavy lines. Without your glasses, the bedroom vanity has turned into a funhouse mirror. 

“What does it matter if I’m going on a date with him if I can barely see him?”

You don’t need glasses to know that she’s rolling her eyes. Even though you can’t quite see her, you can hear her exasperation in the way she’s loudly chewing her gum. “You’re going to the movies, you’re barely gonna be able to see him anyway. Besides, you’ll be able to see him when he’s close enough to kiss and that’s the whole point.”

You blink each eye one at a time, trying to gauge which one is better. Your left eye is slightly clearer, though the difference is negligible. “I think you’re severely overestimating my eyesight.” 

“I think you’re severely underestimating my dating advice.” She blows a bubble, the view of her face becoming a bright pink smudge before it pops and she continues smacking. “Just trust me, it’ll all be fine.”

You do trust her. Even though she has spent the last two hours plucking and primping and preening, you want to take her advice. She’s not doing this to be condescending or controlling. She’s genuinely excited that you have a date, even more so that it’s with a living breathing human boy and not another library book. 

You don’t have much experience. With dating, with seeing someone, with kissing someone. What it means to be dating someone versus what it means to be seeing someone. What you’re supposed to do when you kiss someone. I mean, are your lips supposed to be on top of each other or are they supposed to interlock like the teeth of a zipper? Yeesh, you didn’t even wanna think about how teeth and tongues factor into the equation. 

These types of questions would usually be the kind that you would ask an older sister. You’ve just never had the bravery to say them out loud. Sure, you’ve watched romance movies and rewound and observed so much that you were afraid the tape in the VHS was going to break. And you’ve read enough romance that Ms. Marissa gives you side-eye when you pass the library’s reception desk. But there’s a difference between fiction and real life. A bridge you’ve yet to cross. You’re sure that you’re going to need all the help you can get.  

So, you heed her advice. You let her spray you with enough Aquanet to try to keep the flyaways at bay. You let her paint your lips with a shimmery pink lip gloss that isn’t too sticky and tastes like vanilla. You don’t, however, let her see you sneak the thick frames into your bag for emergencies. If it were up to her, the frames would be set out with Thursday’s garbage and you’d be wearing contacts like everyone else in your age group. 

She drops you off at The Hawk with another smack of her bubblegum and a reassuring pat on the shoulder. She barely waits for you to close the door of the station wagon before she’s speeding away, her Halloween plans including a keg, a pushup bra, and a slightly inebriated Steve Harrington. 

Eddie’s easy to spot. His silhouette sticks out against the brick building, white shirt, black leather, and blue denim against a red background. He lights up when he sees you and it’s the first time you’ve understood the meaning of the phrase. Since you can’t quite see his face clearly, you’re paying extra attention to his body. The way he pushes off the wall to stand tall. The way his shoulders visibly relax. You bet that they could see his smile all way in Indianapolis. 

“I know you’re usually supposed to give flowers on dates, but this is the best I could do.” 

He presents an origami paper flower in the shape of a rose. It’s made from binder paper, evident by the familiar feel of it in your hands. The folds are a bit unsure. There’s evidence of it being undone and folded again with a cleaner precision, you can feel the wear and tear on the paper with your fingertips. You’re dumbfounded. 

“Thank you,” You whisper, twirling the stem between your thumb and forefinger, watching the rosebud spin. “No one’s ever gotten me flowers before.” 

“Never?” He gapes at you in apparent disbelief before he schools his expression. “Well then, I’m glad to be the first.” He offers his arm to you like a real gentleman and you take it. 

The leather in the crook of his elbow is cold to the touch, but being in such close proximity you can feel the body heat radiating off of him. 

“It’s a continuous marathon, so they’re showing movies all night. We can start with any one that you want.” He gestures up to the marquee above the concession stand. When you look up to the sign, the words might as well be written in Cyrillic the way the letters all blur together. 

After a trip to the concessions stand, the two of you eventually settle on The Exorcist, which you had decided to cling to after Eddie’s nervous yet adorable rambling about which movie would be better to start with. 

Horror movies are even scarier when you can’t tell what’s going on. It didn’t occur to you how much you relied on sight to be able to mentally prepare for jump scares. Eddie must think you’re a total wimp the way you practically leap out of your seat at every flash on the silver screen that accompanies a discordant string of violins. 

You jump when you feel a hand brush your bicep, your arms flinging out. It’s much too late when you realize that intimate touch was Eddie trying to figure out if you were alright. The large Coke that Eddie had gotten–two straws because he said he didn’t wanna be presumptuous–the casualty of your fright. The flimsy lid pops off like it has nothing better to do and the dark brown liquid splashes over the arm of the seat right into Eddie’s lap. 

Eddie recoils, half-jumping and half-hovering in his seat because he just got a handful of ice-cold soda in his crotch. The people behind you are jeering, grumbling about the disturbance and Eddie half-whispers fucking shit under his breath, in what you’re sure must be a mixture of disdain and disgust.  

You pull napkins out of your purse and thrust them in Eddie’s direction before rushing out of the theater, chest heaving and eyes stinging. 

It’s a wonder you don’t trip and fall on your way out. You’ve walked these dimly lit halls hundreds of times, so luckily instinct and muscle memory win out and you make it out of the theater mostly unscathed, just with a few bruises on each shoulder. Nothing compared to the mortification of what had happened inside. 

Because it’s October in Indiana and you can’t seem to catch a break, it’s raining. Only every so slightly, but enough that you’d be soaked to the bone if you walked home thanks to your sister’s insistence that you dress for fashion and not function. You huddle close to the payphone, pondering if you have enough change to call around and get your sister to pick you back up because no way are you waking up your parents for this. 

The doors to the theater creak open behind you and suddenly you’re not alone anymore. The biting cold chills you to the bone but it’s Eddie’s presence behind you that sets you on fire. 

“Hey, are you okay?” 

Maybe it’s because you’ve spent the last hour and a half in the dark with your nerves on edge, but the tenderness in Eddie’s voice makes your throat constrict. 

“I’m sorry,” You blubber. “I’m so embarrassed. I just wanted everything to be perfect and I ruined it.” 

“Hey. Hey.” Eddie repeats himself more forcefully when you don’t meet his gaze the first time, “You didn’t ruin anything. It’s just a little soda. I’ll live.” 

His fingers rub the back of your hands in a soothing motion. Back and forth, thumbs caressing the valleys between your knuckles. He’s close enough that his features are almost in focus. You still have to squint. 

“You keep doing that.” He points his fingers toward your furrowed brow before mimicking the action on his own face. The finger is not accusatory, it just seems like Eddie likes to talk with his hands. 

You sigh, a resigned and weary sound. “My sister convinced me that I shouldn’t wear my glasses.” 

Eddie makes a face that you can’t quite discern in the dark before letting out a soft hmph! “Your sister kinda sounds a little mean.” 

“She means well.” You defend, weakly. You love your sister to death but there are times that your differences become much too apparent and that leaves you with nothing to do but suffer the consequences. This is one of those times. 

“Did you bring them with you?” 

“Yeah,” You reach into your bag, finding the frames folded into one of the inner pockets. 

Eddie takes them and puts them on you. “You keep doing that.” You murmur, a repeat of his earlier accusation. Now, though, you both know it’s in reference to him adjusting your glasses not just once but twice. 

“It gives me an excuse to be close to you.” 

You can see him with unrelenting clarity now. The little crinkles next to his eyes as he smiles warmly down at you. The way the slight breeze has carried the miserable drizzle under the theater awning. The way that drizzle clings to his curly hair like dewdrops on morning grass. You almost robbed yourself of all of this, and for what? Eddie knows what you look like. 

“Y’know what I thought when I saw you yesterday?” Yesterday, when you had been wearing a witch hat on top of your frizzy hair and the same Coke bottle glasses that sit on the slope of your nose now. “I thought that you were the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. I thought I made a fool outta myself and that you wouldn’t give me the time of day, not in a million years.” 

“The whole scaredy cat schtick was quite endearing I must say.” 

He nods seriously, just a slight hint of a smirk on his face. “I try my best.” 

You look down at the seat of his pants. Sure enough, there’s a dark stain splashed right across his crotch.“Oh god. I'm so sorry. Again” 

“What did I tell you about apologizing?”

“You didn’t say anything about apologizing.” 

“Well then, this is me saying something. Stop apologizing. You have nothing to apologize for.” 

“It looks like you pissed yourself,” You wail mournfully. 

“Well, that definitely makes me feel better.” Eddie jests before he tugs you into his chest and plants his chin on top of your head. 

You nuzzle your face into his sternum, appreciating the soft hiss he lets out when your cold nose touches his warm skin. You inwardly groan because, quite frankly, there’s nothing more embarrassing than running out of a nearly full movie theater the way that you did. The only thing more embarrassing than that, you think, is going back inside after having embarrassed yourself. You tell Eddie as much, with the reassurance that you don’t want the date to end and if he really wants to, you can go back inside and finish the movie. He’s already tugging you toward his van that’s parked on the other side of the street, saying the six words that make your night:

“I own The Exorcist on VHS.”

You spend the entire time back in the trailer park cuddled up having quiet conversation about gory practical effects over a bowl of microwaved popcorn. The closest he gets to kissing you is when you duck into his chest to hide and his lips brush your temple. He could’ve lived off of that single brush for the rest of his life if he had to. 

When Eddie pulls up to your house later that night, he really does mean to give you an innocent kiss goodnight. The neighborhood is quiet, seeing as it’s probably been an hour since the children of Hawkins had fallen into their sugar-induced comas. He turns the engine off and shifts towards you, his smile both giddy and shy while he tells you that he had a really good time tonight. You mirror his expression and tell him the same. You both lean forward, chests rising and falling in tandem, noses brushing. 

When you finally make it past the front door, your lips are swollen and your glasses are fogged up. You kick off your shoes and pad up the carpeted steps two at a time, racing to your bedroom window. When you turn on your lamp and look out to the tree-lined street, Eddie waves at you, his rings glinting in the streetlight. You wave back, watching the van disappear into the distance. 

“Hey,” Your sister is leaning against the doorframe, smiling like the cat who got the cream.

“How’d it go?” You’re already slightly aware of the answer since she’s standing in front of you with a freshly washed face and hand-me-down pajamas instead of in an empty house in Loch Nora. 

She shrugs noncommittally, “It was a bust.” 

You hum in solemn solidarity, trying to tug the grin on your face into a much more situationally appropriate neutral expression. You feel for her and you don’t want to rub it in her face that you had such a good time, despite her advice. Unfortunately, you do not seem to have as much control over your facial muscles as you think you do. Your sister sees right through you, grabbing the purple throw pillow at the foot of the bed and launching it at your face telling you to shut up. You catch it before it has the chance to hit you, huffing with righteous indignation at her before the two of you collapse onto the bed in muffled laughter. 

“So, how’d it go?” She whispers in your direction, mindful of your sleeping parents down the hall. 

You trace your cupid’s bow, feeling the chapped and swollen skin for the hundredth time that night. You turn your head toward hers, readjusting your glasses when they slide down your nose. 

“It was perfect.” 

likes are appreciated, comments and reblogs are cherished 🖤

[oh-stars]

On a Limb

Love is saying "I love you" even when you're scared

a @steddielovemonth prompt | 2047 words | CW: N/A | Rating: T

--

“You don’t even know if she likes girls,” Robin says, stacking the tapes with a little more force than necessary. 

Steve swipes his hand along the counter, smearing the cleaner across the plastic-like surface. “It’s a gut instinct! And the boobies–”

“Don’t even start with the boobies,” Robin huffs. She turns completely away from him then, pushing the cart toward the stacks. Steve can’t see well enough with the lights dimmed, and thanks to corporate controlling the lights now, they turn off half at exactly closing time. Which means Robin reshelves and straightens up the stacks while Steve counts the tills (thanks to the counter having the most light left) and cleans the remainder of the store. It’s a win-win. It also means it’s easier for Robin to ignore him. 

“C’mon,” Steve says, spraying the counter aggressively over a melted lollipop. “It’s a good theory!”

“A theory!” She practically shouts, turning on her heel to look at him. The tapes she’s holding knock into the shelves as she waves them about with her words. “It’s just a theory, Steve! I’m not about to become the town pariah over a theory!” 

“Eddie says it’s not so bad being a pariah,” Steve adds. “People leave him alone and he can do whatever he wants–” 

“You and I both know that’s a load of horse shit, Steve,” Robin says, and while he can’t see it clearly he knows the face she’s making at him. The one that tells him she’s had enough of the teasing and the games, that she knows Steve’s being an idiot on purpose right now. “He’s purposely hiding all the threats on his life from you, dingus.”

Steve pauses. Threats? He abandons the rag and pushes himself away from the counter to lean against the one closest to her, draping himself along the freshly cleaned surface. “He’s getting threats?” 

He can hear the eyeroll. “Steve,” she says with the rest of her patience, “he’s been accused of murdering some of Hawkins’ brightest and starting a cult from the drama room in the high school. Do you really think that these ignorant assholes think he’s allowed to just walk around and coexist with their children? That they aren’t clutching their pearls and pointing their little witch fingers at him?” 

Robin walks back up to the counter and mirrors him, faces too close. “He knows how much you want to protect him, so he’s keeping it from you so you don’t worry.” 

“But I always worry,” he counters. 

“I know this,” Robin says, “but I don’t think Eddie’s allowed himself to consider that he is, in fact, in your ‘inner circle’ as he put it.” She sighs and bumps their heads together like a cat. “You mean well, I know you do, but I can’t risk dealing with the consequences of people finding out on a hunch,” she whispers. 

Steve presses his temple against hers. “It’s more than a hunch,” he promises. “I see the way she looks at you. Vickie turns into a completely different–” 

Robin covers his hand with hers. “Stop. I love you, but I have to make this decision. This isn’t like you asking out a girl, it’s just not the same no matter how much you want it to be. And that’s not… It’s not something you can really understand until you’re experiencing it. I love how much you’re trying, it means a lot, but I need to do this on my own and until I find out she actually likes girls, I’m not doing anything.” 

He listens, because of course he does, but he doesn’t stop thinking about it. As Robin goes back to the cart, shuffling the crinkling VHS boxes into alphabetical order, Steve finishes up at the counter. He can barely see her when he moves on to vacuuming, but it’s for the best. He doesn’t want to see her sad, accepting smile right now. 

It just… it sucks watching her accept that she’ll never find love because Vickie had a boyfriend – who she dumped three months ago, mind you – and she can’t see how much Vickie is trying to catch her eye. Steve knows how to tell when someone is attracted to you, when they’re trying to get you to notice them or make a move and she’s doing all of it. 

Just like Steve is with Eddie. 

He hasn’t talked to Robin about… that development yet. It’s been something he’s been working through since spring break, the warm and fuzzies Eddie gives him. At first, he thought it was something to do with saving Eddie’s life, of almost losing him all together, but when those feelings only grew with each smoke session and long car rides… He had to come clean with himself. 

It’s been months and Steve’s a mess trying to figure Eddie out, though. 

Eddie’s as clingy as Steve is, they spend nearly all of their free time together, with Robin and Dustin mixed in there too. Eddie makes an effort to learn about Steve’s interests, whether it be learning the lyrics to his favorite albums, listening to the gossip Steve spouts (both local and from pop culture), or going as far as watching and, dare Steve say, playing the occasional game of basketball. And Steve is doing the same, mind you, listening to Eddie’s mixtapes and learning what different terminology means for music and D&D. They watch artsy horror movies and Steve’s reading more, even if it feels impossible, just so they have more to talk about. 

At a certain point, it goes above and beyond normal friendship sacrifices. 

Steve sees the way Eddie holds himself around Steve versus Robin, too. With Robin, he’ll touch and hang all over her with reckless abandon, while still being respectful, but with Steve, there’s always a little hesitation and tension with his movements. Like he’s waiting for Steve to react negatively. 

There’s just… a wall between them, no matter how much Steve tries to tear it down. 

And he has a feeling that the wall Eddie’s put up is a lot like his own, that blocks anyone from seeing how deep his feelings for Eddie really goes. 

Steve looks over to where Robin’s made her way around most of the store. She looks sad, even as she bobs her head to something he can’t hear and her hands move deftly along the tapes. She’s lost in her head over Vickie, something she probably didn’t want to talk about and Steve had needled his way into the conversation. He just wants her to be happy, is all. 

But how can he expect her to take a risk and put herself out there if he’s being a coward too? 

He wraps the cord of the vacuum up as tightly as he can, tucking the machine back into the closet. There’s still more to clean but they’re opening tomorrow anyway, who cares if they didn’t dust the shelves for one night. “Robbie,” Steve calls softly.

She hums, not looking up from the foreign language movies she’s reorganizing. 

Steve moves to sit beside her, knees overlapping. He can’t read the titles, wouldn’t be much help even with the lights, but he can keep her company until she’s done. “I think I know how you feel,” he says slowly, “because I feel that too. With, um.” He clears his throat. 

Robin turns fully to him and in the dim light, Steve can see the way her eyes are bright with curiosity and her brow knits in confusion. “With?” she prompts softly. 

“I love Eddie.” There’s no ‘I think’ or ‘maybe’ about it. He knows he loves him, and would do anything for him. No matter the risk. Steve just wants Eddie in his life and he has a feeling that Eddie, even if Steve’s totally wrong about sharing the same romantic feelings, would never hate him for having said feelings. But he’ll never know unless he does something about it. 

“I love him, too–”

“No,” Steve says, taking Robin’s hand, “I’m in love with Eddie.” 

He hears the little gasp she tries to conceal. “But he’s so muppety.” 

“Like you have room to talk.” 

“Yeah, but Tammy’s a Miss Piggy while Eddie’s a Fozzie Bear–” 

“He’s not Fozzie!” 

“Oh no, my apologies,” Robin says, sitting up as she puts a hand to her chest. “He’s like you stuffed Animal into Fozzie–” 

Steve laughs, pushing at her shoulder. “Will you stop?” 

Robin shrugs, but she’s just as giggly. “How long have you known?” 

“I think for a while,” he admits, “but I wasn’t sure until a few weeks ago.” 

She hums again as she takes his hand. “Thank you for telling me.” 

“I’m scared,” he whispers, “but I also know I can’t… I can’t stand to live without him, but I need to tell him how I feel. I don’t want to harbor these feelings until I die.”

“Are you just saying this so I ask out Vickie?” 

“Sort of.” He shrugs. “But I want this, too.” 

Robin smiles at him. 

They gather their things and head out of Family Video, with Robin locking the door behind them. “When are you telling him?” Robin asks as they climb into the Beemer. 

“Tonight– Ow!” Steve rubs at his arm where Robin’s hand slapped at his bare skin. “The hell was that for?” 

“You just came out to me, admitted you’re in love with Eddie Munson, and now you’re just going to walk over there and confess your feelings?” 

Well. Yeah? 

It must say it on his face since she throws her hands up and mumbles, “Unbelievable.” 

“What?” 

“Nothing!” she huffs. “I love you, Steve, but god, the unwavering confidence of a man is unfathomable.” Robin crosses her arms and slouches in her seat. She pouts until he turns on her street, then she pops up and turns to him. “You will report to me immediately tomorrow morning over pancakes with extra strawberries and whipped cream every single detail of how it goes down. Understood?” 

“I could just call you tonight–” 

“No,” she says, unbuckling, “you’ll be too busy swapping spit with Munson and I’m not staying up until you come up for air. We have to work in the morning and if we’re getting breakfast before, we have to be up extra early. And unlike you, I won’t have the lovey dovey high you’ll have tomorrow to get me through the slog.” 

Steve can only laugh. “Yeah, okay.” 

She pauses once she’s outside of the car and motions for him to roll down her window. He does, only for her to hug him through the space. “Call if it doesn’t go well, though. I’ll keep my window unlocked.” 

“Love you, Rob.” 

“Love you too, dingus.” 

They say their goodbyes and then Steve’s off, driving to Forest Hills to do exactly that. It hits him as he parks outside of the trailer, watching Eddie’s shadow in the curtains, what he’s about to do. But Robin’s waiting on an answer and Steve wasn’t lying when he said he couldn’t keep on like this. 

He turns the ignition off and climbs out of the Beemer on shaky legs. He can do this. 

Steve doesn’t get a chance to knock before Eddie’s popping his head out, grinning as he takes in Steve. Even though his stomach feels like it’s reached Vecna’s corpse in the Upside Down, his heart’s racing faster than a hummingbird as he meets Eddie’s eyes. This could go horribly, he could lose Eddie forever and he’ll be destined to live alone with only Robin as they escape from town to town like the FBI’s Most Wanted, never allowed to settle. 

He takes in a deep breath and holds it. 

“What are you doing here?” Eddie asks, opening the door wider. 

“I’m in love with you,” he says on his exhale. “I don’t need you to love me back, but I need you to know,” he adds just as breathless. 

Eddie’s face falls for all of two seconds before his grin comes back twice as strong. He reaches out and grabs Steve by the shirt collar, dragging him in swiftly just to slam him against the door. Steve doesn’t get a chance to question if he’s about to be hit when Eddie’s lips are on his.

--

Thank you @lady-lostmind!

Ao3 Link

[thefreakandthehair]

weaponized insomnia strikes again, my friends. I wrote this between the hours of 2am-3am so if you see errors, simply ignore. I don't even really know what this is but I just think the idea of Eddie reaching out for Steve is neat. <3

It starts innocently enough— a simple touch of his fingers to Steve’s forearm.

A ghost, a whisper of skin to skin, is all it takes to ignite a fuse that’s been destined to burn since the second Eddie held that bottle to Steve’s throat in a rundown shack. Eddie shouldn’t be surprised that that’s how their story starts, really. What had he expected? Something traditional? Laughable. No, instead, the very tips of his fingers reach for Steve’s arm from the lumpy mattress of his hospital room, surrounded by beeping monitors and sterility, and that’s all it takes. 

When he learns how to walk again, it’s Steve on the other end of the room, an encouraging smile plastered across his face and ready to grab his hands to steady him at even the slightest wobble. 

When he wakes up screaming, it’s Steve at his bedside before even the nurses. They’re ready with sedatives but Steve rubs his shoulder, traces over the scars on his collarbone to quell the phantom burning, and sure, the medications help but he keeps reaching for Steve first anyways. 

When he finally leaves the hospital, flanked by Hopper, Wayne, and Steve to shield him from ignorant townspeople who don’t get the he’s innocent memo, it’s Steve he finds himself reaching for once they’re safely in the backseat of the Hopper’s cruiser. 

It only makes sense, then, that it becomes a habit. Outside of the hospital walls, Eddie keeps reaching and Steve’s always there, reliable as a lighthouse guiding ships to shore. 

It evolves slowly as the fuse sparks, and sure, Steve’s still the one he reaches for when the anxiety sets in, like the time the old clock chimes in the library as he studies for his GED, but he finds himself with his hands on Steve for less dire reasons, too. 

Movie night? Their forearms touch from the cramped quarters of Eddie’s living room, or their thighs line against one another, or Eddie’s arm drapes over the back of the couch so his fingertips graze the soft material of Steve’s Henley. 

Smoking in the back of the van? Eddie knows that Steve can light his own joint, he’s seen him do it hundreds of times at this point, but he can’t help the urge to light it for him, letting his fingertips graze the warm skin of Steve’s knuckles in the process. 

Lugging the kids to and from the arcade? Steve makes a joke about someone’s attitude (the someone depends on the day, honestly, but Dustin’s emerged as the most frequent offender) and Eddie can’t hold himself back from nudging their shoulders together and watching Steve’s smile grow at the touch. Eddie knows he’s reaching for a reason, but he tamps it down the best he can with his metaphorical Rebooks because it’s Steve. He can’t risk losing his tether, his anchor, by fucking it up with feelings. He can ignore it. It’s fine. 

And it is, until one day, Steve reaches for him. 

The movie they’d chosen didn’t warn them before showing a brutal slasher scene and Eddie’s skin crawls at the sights and sounds of the victim being torn apart. Every scar on his body feels like it’s on fire but before he can reach, before he can grip Steve’s arm tight enough for his fingernails to leave little crescent moon marks in the summer-baked tan of his flesh, Steve’s hand is on his thigh. Warm, heavy, and grounding, Eddie stares down where their bodies connect. 

“Not really feeling this one, let’s do Ferris Bueller again?” Steve stops the VHS and sets it to rewind.

Eddie’s still staring at Steve’s hand on his thigh. Even before it was Steve, Eddie’s always been the one reaching. For friends, for comfort, for companionship. He’s reached with his hands, his heart, his words. Hellfire and Corroded Coffin are both tangible expressions of the depth of his reaching but for all of the ways he’s extended olive branches to those he felt deserving, few have reached back— and the ones who had felt nothing like Steve. Steve touches beyond something his skin, touches something buried deep, perhaps a locked chest to which his fingers hold the lone key.

“You alright?” Steve asks, turning his body slightly to face him and leaving his hand in place. 

Eddie finally tears his eyes from his thigh to meet Steve’s gaze. His eyes, green specks and all, watch him with such fondness that it makes him ache. He nods and swallows the lump in his throat. 

“Yeah, yeah I’m good. Thanks.” His voice is barely more than a whisper and Steve’s brows knit together, a little wrinkle appearing between them. 

“You sure? You look, I dunno, off. Wanna talk?” 

It's a loaded question and the facade of it’s fine that Eddie's built up over months shatters like the glass it’s made of. 

“You— I— Steve, please don’t let this fuck up our perfectly good friendship, please—” He’s sure that Steve can hear the clattering in his chest but just ignore it, opting instead to move his hand from Eddie’s thigh up to his shoulder. Soft fingers brush his hair away from his face, rub small circles into his skin over his shirt, settle there like a weighted blanket. So many soft touches, so much reaching, and Eddie doesn’t know what to do with any of it. 

“Take a breath, man. I’m here. What’s up? Was it the movie? You looked fucking tense, I probably should’ve picked up on it soone—” 

“Why? Why should you’ve picked up on it sooner?” Eddie interrupts, turning to face him with wide eyes and hope and terror. 

“Uh, because it’s you? I know your tells, Eddie. I do pay attention.” It’s almost indignant, the way Steve phrases it. I know you, I see you, duh? As if it’s not the first time in his life that’s happened. 

Eddie thinks he’s going absolutely batshit when he hears himself say, “Steve, I like you.” The fuse that’d been lit creeps down to its final thread and Eddie explodes. 

“I like you way more than I should, way more than a friend should like another friend, you know? And, and touching you the way I have been has been enough for me, really, because I’d rather have that than have nothing because those are the obvious two options and I just— fuck, I don’t know why I’m talking or saying any of this but I convinced myself it’d be fine but now you’re touching me and you’re seeing me and I don’t— I don’t know what to do with that?” Eddie stops for a breath and pushes on, talking himself in circles. 

Steve watches with the same raised eyebrows and beguiled expression he gives Robin when she rambles, except the drumming of his heart is a dead giveaway that no, this fondness in his chest is not the same. Finally, his own fuse burning out in tandem with Eddie’s, Steve lets his hand travel from its resting place on Eddie’s shoulder to trace his collarbone, the side of his neck, and landing gently against his cheek. Eddie’s mouth snaps closed mid-sentence and he glances down, trying to see his own cheek and the hand that’s thumbing beneath his cheekbone. 

Silence is a heavy blanket, wrapping them together in the warmth they’ve created on the oversized couch. 

“I’m gonna kiss you, okay?” Steve’s close enough that Eddie can smell the pizza they’d eaten for dinner and feels his breath against his skin. His lips part unconsciously and he nods, the only response he can muster. Steve gently pulls him in and presses their lips together, his other hand gliding across to grip Eddie’s waist while Eddie’s tangle themselves in the front of Steve’s shirt. It’s slow, and it’s patient, and it’s just as wonderfully soft as Eddie’s imagined the many, many times he’s let himself imagine. 

Eddie keeps reaching, and Steve reaches back.  

[herweirdass]

the waitress 2 | vh

part one here!

A few weeks had passed since Vinnie had mustered the courage to ask Y/N out for coffee. What started as a simple hangout had quickly blossomed into something more, something neither of them had quite expected but both had secretly hoped for. Their connection was effortless, and Vinnie found himself looking forward to every text, every phone call, and every chance he had to see her again.

Tonight was no different. Y/N was coming over to Vinnie's place for a laid-back movie night, something they had been doing regularly. As Vinnie prepared the popcorn, he couldn't help but smile at how natural it all felt—how comfortable they'd become with each other. He'd already set up the living room with pillows and blankets scattered across the couch, dim lighting creating a cozy atmosphere.

When Y/N arrived, she greeted him with her usual bright smile, making his heart race the way it always did. She was wearing one of his oversized hoodies, something she'd started doing more often, and he loved it. 

"Hey, you," she said, walking into the kitchen where he was pouring the popcorn into a bowl. She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before stealing a handful of popcorn.

Vinnie chuckled, pulling her closer by the waist. "You always do that," he teased. "I don't even get to eat any before you've taken half of it."

"Well, that's because I'm saving you from yourself," she replied, grinning up at him. "You know you'd finish the whole thing before the movie even starts."

He laughed, loving how playful she was. "Alright, alright. Let's get this movie started before you eat the rest of the snacks."

They settled onto the couch, Y/N curling up beside Vinnie, resting her head on his chest as he draped an arm around her. It felt perfect, like they fit together seamlessly. The movie started, but Vinnie found it hard to focus. Instead, he spent most of the time glancing down at Y/N, marveling at how lucky he was.

She noticed his gaze and smiled softly, tilting her head to look up at him. "You're staring," she pointed out, playfully poking him in the side.

"Can't help it," Vinnie shrugged, tightening his arm around her. "You're kind of hard to look away from."

Y/N rolled her eyes but smiled, snuggling back into him. "Well, don't get too distracted. You promised me we'd watch this one all the way through."

"I'm trying, I swear," he said with a laugh. "But you're just too cute. It's distracting."

She laughed, her fingers tracing lazy circles on his chest. "You're such a sap, you know that?"

Vinnie grinned, knowing it was true. Being with her made him feel soft in a way he hadn't expected. With Y/N, it was easy to let his guard down, to be vulnerable. She never pressured him to be anything other than who he was, and he loved her for that.

Halfway through the movie, Y/N shifted, sitting up a little so she could look at him. Her expression softened, her eyes filled with warmth. "Vinnie, can I tell you something?"

He nodded, his heart skipping a beat at the sudden seriousness in her tone. "Of course. What's up?"

She bit her lip, as if trying to find the right words. "I just... I want you to know how much I appreciate you. Like, for real. You've made me feel so safe, and I've never had that before. Being with you feels... different. In a good way."

Vinnie's chest tightened with emotion as he listened to her. He reached up, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Y/N, you don't know how happy that makes me. I feel the same way. I've never been this comfortable with anyone before. You make everything feel easy, you know? Like... it just works."

She smiled, leaning down to kiss him, this time slower, more meaningful. It wasn't just the sweet, playful kisses they often shared. This one was filled with emotion, like she was pouring her heart into it.

When they finally pulled away, Y/N rested her forehead against his, their noses brushing lightly. "I'm really happy, Vinnie," she whispered.

"Me too," he murmured, his thumb gently brushing her cheek. "I didn't expect this when I walked into the restaurant that night. But now... I can't imagine not having you in my life."

She beamed, her eyes shining as she kissed him again, a little lighter this time. "Well, you're stuck with me now. Hope you're ready for that."

Vinnie chuckled, pulling her back into his arms as they both lay back down on the couch. "I wouldn't want it any other way."

For the rest of the night, the movie played in the background, but neither of them really paid attention. Instead, they talked, laughed, and enjoyed each other's company, wrapped up in their own little world. Vinnie felt a warmth in his chest that hadn't been there before, a sense of peace he hadn't realized he needed until Y/N came into his life.

And as the night went on, with Y/N asleep in his arms, Vinnie couldn't help but think that maybe, just maybe, this was what it felt like to be in love.

The next few months were like a dream for Vinnie and Y/N. Their relationship had deepened into something more than either of them had ever expected. It wasn't just about the excitement of new love anymore—it was the little moments that made them feel like they had found something real and lasting.

One Saturday morning, Vinnie woke up early, sunlight streaming through the window, casting soft golden light across the room. Y/N was still asleep next to him, her face peaceful, her hair slightly tousled. He loved mornings like this, when everything felt quiet and perfect, as if the world had paused just for them.

Unable to resist, he leaned over and kissed her forehead softly, not wanting to wake her just yet. But Y/N stirred, her eyes slowly fluttering open. She smiled sleepily when she saw him.

"Morning," she mumbled, stretching a little before snuggling closer to him.

"Morning," Vinnie replied, his voice gentle. "Did I wake you?"

She shook her head, her arms wrapping around his waist as she rested her head on his chest. "No, but if I'm being honest, I'm glad you did."

He chuckled, running his fingers through her hair. "I was just thinking how perfect this is."

Y/N tilted her head up, her eyes meeting his. "Yeah? What's perfect about it?"

"Everything," he said simply. "Waking up with you, having these quiet moments. It's... I don't know, I've never felt this content before. Like, even the smallest things feel special when you're around."

She blushed slightly, her heart swelling at his words. She reached up to cup his face, her thumb brushing over his cheek. "You're making it really hard not to fall even more for you, you know that?"

He smirked, pulling her closer. "That's the plan."

They lay there for a while longer, wrapped up in each other, neither of them wanting to break the peaceful silence. But eventually, Vinnie's stomach grumbled loudly, breaking the moment.

Y/N laughed, sitting up. "Alright, Mr. Hungry, I guess that's our cue to get out of bed."

"Or," Vinnie said, raising an eyebrow, "we could just stay in bed and order breakfast."

She playfully pushed him. "We can't stay in bed all day, Vinnie!"

"Why not?" he teased, grabbing her hand and pulling her back down next to him. "I don't see the problem."

Y/N rolled her eyes but smiled. "Okay, maybe just a little longer."

They ended up ordering pancakes and bacon from a nearby café, and when it arrived, they sat in bed eating, talking about everything and nothing at all. Vinnie couldn't stop himself from stealing glances at Y/N as she laughed at one of his jokes, her face lighting up the way it always did. Every moment with her felt easy, as if they were perfectly in sync.

As they finished breakfast, Y/N rested her head on his shoulder, letting out a happy sigh. "You know, I think this might be one of my favorite days so far."

Vinnie smiled, his hand finding hers and giving it a gentle squeeze. "Yeah? What makes today so special?"

She looked up at him, her eyes soft. "Just being with you. It's like... I don't need anything else. We could be doing absolutely nothing, and it would still be the best day."

Vinnie's heart swelled at her words, and in that moment, he realized just how deep his feelings for her had grown. He wasn't just falling for her—he was already there.

"I feel the same way," he said, his voice quiet but full of emotion. "You're it for me, Y/N. I've never felt this way about anyone before. I—" He paused, his heart racing. He hadn't planned on saying it, but the words were already on the tip of his tongue.

"I love you."

Y/N's breath caught, her eyes widening slightly as she processed what he had just said. For a moment, she was silent, and Vinnie's stomach dropped, worried that maybe he had said it too soon. But then she smiled, the brightest, happiest smile he'd ever seen.

"I love you too, Vinnie."

Relief washed over him, and without another word, he pulled her into a deep kiss, one that felt like it was sealing the moment between them. When they finally pulled apart, they were both grinning like idiots.

"Wow," Y/N said, her voice a little breathless. "That... that was perfect."

Vinnie chuckled, resting his forehead against hers. "Yeah, it was."

From that moment on, things between them only grew stronger. They spent more time together, their connection deepening in ways that surprised even them. They found comfort in each other's presence, joy in the little things, and love in every shared glance, touch, and word.

Vinnie had never been more sure of anything in his life. Y/N was his person, and he was hers. And as they lay there, tangled up in each other, he couldn't help but think that this—this love, this connection—was exactly what he had been searching for all along.

[ninyard]

Do you have any HCs for Kayleigh?? I always wonder about the pre-AFTG series story (and the big players).

There’s brief stuff in the EC abt Tetsuji & Kayleigh. but other than that it’s pretty blank?

Also the detail abt exy becoming popular partially via a manga ? I want the missing chapter when Tetsuji reacts to that 😭😭

Oh Kayleigh and Tetsuji!!!!!!!! I picture her so clearly in University in Dublin in her final year of Sports Management or whatever course she did, writing her thesis on mixed gender sports or the invention of new sports and sitting down with her thesis lecturer with this idea. Kayleigh finding a mentor in this man, or woman, and saying to them I want to do something bold, something amazing. She's on the Lacrosse team in UCD. She plays on as many of the teams that she can without jeopardising her studies.

Kayleigh moving to Japan for her masters, and meeting Tetsuji, and she sees herself in him, this glint in his eyes that says he needs to be destined for more. Them sitting across from each other in the library with books about sports and the invention of different things and Tetsuji looks at a sport like Lacrosse and says it's missing something. I think it could be better. And they spitball these ideas back and forth. Should it be on ice, bigger teams, smaller teams? Should it be outdoors or indoors? Is it violence? Is it violence that it's missing?

Kayleigh talking to her mom, sending letters to Ireland, making expensive phone calls in the middle of the night all the way across the world, begging her to send her VHS tapes of as many hurling games as she could find - her mother complaining about how expensive they'd be to ship to Japan, but she agrees anyway. Kayleigh finding as many books as she can about Irish sport and the history of it all. It's a couple of weeks before she get the package at her door, and she calls Tetsuji when he's in the middle of a lecture and tells him to come over. There in front of her is four, five, six tapes of All Ireland final matches, and they sit down in front of the TV with their notebooks in front of them.

They don't write anything after the first match, Tetsuji staring at the screen like he's taking it all in, Kayleigh staring at him with a smile on her face like this is what he was waiting to see. 70 minutes go by and she switches the tape out for another one, and then another, and another, and they stay up until the sun rises just taking notes and watching. Brainstorming. Kayleigh explains the rules to him. They draw pictures, and there's a million failed ideas that don't work, like a flat racquet more similar to a hurley than a lacrosse stick, or helmets more similar to a cricket helmet than an american football one. No armor, more armor, too much armor.

Them finding each other after class, and proposing this idea for their dissertation, their master's thesis, their final project, and getting a ridiculous look. Getting shut down, getting told it's ridiculous. So they do what they were supposed to do; make it fucking happen anyway.

They spend all the savings that they have, and Tetsuji contacts his family, and they get things shipped over to Japan - hurling helmets, hockey gear, lacrosse sticks. All these mish-mash element that creates the idea thats been living inside their heads. They have 10 different types of balls, a tennis ball, a cricket ball, a baseball, all these different options, and the two of them find out the schedule of all the pitches and fields and courts on campus and try it everywhere. It's messy, but it's exciting, and invigorating. They have their bulging notebooks on the ground, and every rule and idea they have, every thing that feels right or wrong, they write it down. They're taping weights around the lacrosse sticks to see if it feels better, padding out their gear with cardboard and duct tape. There's something missing, still. They try it on ice, and its too unbalanced and sloppy, but the first time Tetsuji shoots a ball at the plexiglass wall, and it rebounds right into Kayleigh's net, they both look at each other like that's it. That's what we've been missing. They jump on top of each other and get scolded for falling on the ice and screaming in the rink.

They figure out how much it would cost for them to rent out the unused college soccer pitch for the summer, and find ten of their friends and classmates and explain the rules as best they can. It's expensive, buying the gear for them all, figuring out how to surround the soccer pitch in plexiglass that's strong enough to not topple over from the weight of a person. They spend that summer finessing the rules, and finessing the positions, and teaching their friends how to play. By September, Tetsuji invites his family to watch, and Kayleigh invites their lecturers to watch, and there they stand. The first ever game of Exy.

It's not perfect - a goal falls over, the floor of the pitch isn't quite working, because they keep stumbling over their own feet when they run, but it's a brilliant thing to watch; something new, and unique, and never been done before. Kayleigh's team beats Tetsuji's team, and for a while they don't hear much. But their friends keep playing, they keep contacting people, making phonecalls to manufacturers and sports clubs.

I'm just thinking about those first few years where Kayleigh and Tetsuji probably spent every waking moment together just figuring it out. Their dorm rooms or apartments full of crap, different balls and equipment. Her bedroom wall covered in drawing and scraps of paper and ideas. Them spending most of their time on the phone with each other when they're not together in person. Thinking about them creating presentations and pitches and just trying to get their silly little idea of the ground, waiting for someone to take a chance on them, waiting for all the different sports committees and companies to call them back. A million "Sorry, no thank you!" emails and a million "It's just not something we can help you with" letters and phone calls. Until they get that one, then those two, those three words that say fucking go for it. The four words that say I believe in this.

I think about Kayleigh and Tetsuji running off of redbull and adrenaline, and how happy they would've felt when that first game finished and they saw something in each others eyes. Before their passion got killed by the reality, by the Moriyama's, by the world pushing them back again and again and again. But more of their classmates get involved. Somebody asked "What is it that you kids have built on the soccer field?" and then it's in a local paper. It's letters sent back to Ireland signed off in Japanese saying I can't wait to tell you what I've been working on.

Yeah. Yeah I have a lot of thoughts about Kayleigh. I have some images of her and Tetsuji in my head. Just a few!

[milehighmegs]

On the Subject of Fandoms: A Love Letter

So, I'm old. Well, oldER. I haven't entered the twilight of my years by any stretch, but once I entered that midlife wistful state of nostalgia, I knew that I had very likely reached the point at which it would be more past than future. And ya know, that's ok. I made peace with my mortality long ago. I don't fear death, I fear not living before I die.

So what's that got to do with fandoms? you may be asking. Fair enough. Here's what it's got to do with fandoms:

Before it was even a term, before I could do multiplication or write my name in cursive (I told you I'm old), I was part of a fandom and didn't even know it. My parents watched 'Star Trek: The Next Generation' when it was still on primetime; we even recorded the final episode on VHS and had it for years. (I told you, I'M OLD.) It was so incredibly formative for me that it's become part of my identity, part of my moral & ethical code, part of my personality. Is that ridiculous? Dramatic? Maybe even a bit of hubris? Perhaps. But it's true, nonetheless.

I've since joined other fandoms, of movie franchises (namely the MCU), TV shows (like Good Omens), and musicians (I'm a die-hard metalhead) over the course of my life, each of them creating/inhabiting a different part of what makes me ME. Though I've always remained the same basic person at my core (a decent one at least if not a good one, I hope), being a part of these fandoms has shaped the foundations of how I live my life, and how I've LIVED my life.

Being on the proverbial back nine of my earthly existence, looking back at what's come before, at how far I've come and all the things I've fucked up or gotten right, questioned, accepted, regretted, cherished... so much of that is filled with moments like, 'what would Captain Picard do? How would the Avengers handle this? Which Slipknot song would be most comforting right now?' With the explosion of semi-social media sites (like tumblr here, and its gateway drug, Pinterest), I've been able to dive even deeper into the fandom. The fic, the art, the theories & analyses... it turns my appreciation for all these things I love to 11. But it wouldn't be possible without the most critical element: the fans.

Because people have such a love for, and identify so strongly with the stories & characters of their respective fandoms, they go deep into hidden meanings, major themes, & what they imagine these stories would be like if they were able to direct the action. More than anything, what I love about fanfic/fanart is that while yes, we're creating what we want for the characters, it's more a reflection of what we want for ourselves, both in the same situation as the characters and in life in general. For example, I see SO MUCH art/fic of Crowley & Aziraphale being open & free in showing their love for each other. I see so many stories of them making up and living happily ever after. The art ranges from sweet & adorable to... ah... adult-themed, but the vast majority of the latter is passionate, tender, & clearly loving; rarely is it straight-up raunchy. Smutty? Totally. Raunchy? Not so much. And why? Because we know these two are IN LURVE, not just in lust. And we want what they (clearly) have, even if they can't admit it to one another. We, the fans, can live vicariously through these characters and these worlds, and there we can find what we're looking for.

I've had a rollercoaster of a life, emotionally speaking, especially in matters of romantic love, and much of that hasn't been pleasant. I've done so much soul-searching, shadow work, self-care and all that whathaveyou, but none of it- NONE of it- has come anywhere near to being as insightful as the fan-based art & analyses of the relationship between Crowley & Zira. I have spent the vast majority of the last week thinking about it, writing about it, going over & over how it applies to my life & experiences, and I gotta say... none of it would be possible without the remarkable Good Omens fandom. So seriously, thank you. THANK YOU. You've helped to make me a better person. You've helped to make me look back on my life, smile, and turn around... to look forward to what comes next.

Keep up the incredible work, creators. You never know whose life you could be saving.

[oneforthemunny]

silly silly question but do you think that rockstar eddie, once he found out np's plan to digitized their home movies, suggested to her to include their sextape that def they still have on a vhs tape somewhere in his safe lmao

i love silly silly fun questions. my fav kind of questions.

i like to think he’s kinda old and grumpy about technology in a way. very much so “this is the problem these days” and nagging on about it. it was a miracle when he got a cell phone (that he doesn’t use), and an even bigger one when he finally upgraded from a flip phone to an iphone… that he keeps until it breaks and then he wants the exact same one. like he’s not a big tech guy, thinks it’s too complicated and goes on a big rant about how he’s not becoming a phone zombie.

i think he’d digitalize the girls home movies- well, nb does it. he just enjoys it. he gets them made into dvds first and then actually digitalized. but in his basement office, he still has a vhs player and a tv that he keeps because he likes it.

i think he’d keep the numerous (they were bored and horny and someone gave them a video camera like what did you think?) sex tapes on the vhs, just because 1) he wouldn’t want it to somehow get lost in the shuffle and one of the girls find it or something and 2) it just adds to the sexy ambiance of it being on a vhs.

i do think, however, that he decides to record it while it’s playing and keep it on his phone. just pictures older!rockstar!eddie filming it on the tv screen, you 1000% can see his reflection holding the camera while younger him and nb are banging it out on the screen. actually so fucking funny of him and i love it.

nb has it on dvd tho lol. got it converted a few years ago and didn’t tell him.

[minniethemoocherda]

Can I Lay By Your Side?

Summary: In the aftermath of Sinister's attack, Morph struggles to get to sleep, so Logan keeps them company by watching a movie.

A/N: This fic can be read as a sequel to my other Morpherine fic "Loving You is a Losing game" but also works as a stand alone. Also cannot believe I have written two Morpherine fics in two days??? I am going insane right now!! Can't promise that any more fics about these two will be as consistent! Xxxxxx

Ao3

FF.net

Morph sat glued to the living room sofa, unable to make themselves move, terrified to go to bed to face the onslaught of nightmares waiting for them.

Mr Sinister's attack had been an ordeal for all the X-men, especially for the two Jeans and Scott who now had to grieve the loss of their son to the future. Morph's problems felt ridiculous in comparison. Sinister hadn't even controlled them again, not if you counted making Jean do it for him. There wasn't really anything for them to be upset about.

Yet every time they closed their eyes, they could feel the tendrils of Sinister's claws inside them. Morph scratched their arms, skin turning to gloop under their fingernails, digging for the mind control chips they swore they could still feel buried there.

"Pick one."

Logan slammed a box down on the coffee table in front of them, startling their edges back to a solid form.

"Huh?" Morph stammered, having not even heard their friend come in.

"We're watching a movie." Logan stated, pointing at the box.

Morph peeked over the edge to see a pile of rom-coms, their favourite genre.

"Unless you'd rather... talk... about it." Logan said, in a gruff imitation of Morph's offer back in the club. And on any other day, Morph probably would've excepted his offer, if it hadn't been Logan himself that had appeared in their nightmare. And there was no way in hell they were going to be talking to Logan about that.

"And miss the chance to finally make you watch Pretty Woman?" Morph replied, knowing that their attempt at a smile did not reach their eyes.

Thankfully Logan didn't comment on it and instead grabbed the VHS, wound it back with the tip of his claw and placed it in the player below the TV.

Morph was expecting Logan to sit in his usual spot at the other end of the sofa, so was therefore caught off guard when the Canadian sat right next to them.

They deliberately tried not to think about that fact as the opening credits started to roll. As it continued they found themselves becoming more engrossed in the film, admiring all of Julia Robert's iconic outfits, that red dress in particular giving them inspiration for whatever gala the x-men were next invited too. They allowed themselves get lost in the romance of a rags to riches tale as like all rom-coms the main character converged ever closer to a happy ending. The guaranteed happy ending, being the reason why the genre was their favourite in the first place.

The film even managed to get a chuckle out of Logan, which Morph counted as a win as they knew that with the revelation of an additional Jean, he had to be going through his own shit.

And when Morph's attention wavered and the edges of their skin started to droop, Logan placed his arm along the back of the sofa, his hand resting on their shoulder, effectively grounding them back to this reality.

Even if it did made it harder for Morph to as much attention to the movie afterwards.

Too soon the film finished and whilst Morph was feeling more solid, they still weren't ready for the concept of going to sleep yet.

Without even having to ask, Logan picked up the remote and rewound the tape back to the beginning, even though Morph knew that Logan wasn't a fan of films, rom-coms especially so. But he made no complaints as Richard Gere once again fell head over heals for the beautiful Julia Roberts.

Once again, the big ballgown scene played out and it was becoming a battle for Morph to keep their eyes open. Too exhausted to talk themselves out of it, hoping to conserve some of their energy into staying awake, Morph rested their head against Logan's shoulder. Expecting Logan to brush them off or turn it into another joke, they were surprised when he actually pulled them closer, his hand now properly gripping their shoulder as though they could physically shield them from their own nightmares.

And it must have worked as the next time Morph opened their eyes, daylight was flickering in through the living room windows. The first thing they noticed as they slowly came to their senses, was the low volume of the TV as it played the movie for what must've have been the tenth time. The next was that their whole body was pressed against Logan's side and that The Wolverine's hand had moved from their shoulder to their waist, hugging them even tighter.

"Sleep alright?" Logan asked, concern etched in the creases of his face.

Morph nodded, not trusting the words I love you to not tumble out of their mouth.

"Good," Logan said, those creases turning into a smile. "'Cus I can smell Jubilee making pancakes."

Of course that was when Morph finally woke up enough to realise that they were cuddling The Fucking Wolverine.

They practically ejected themselves from the sofa, putting as much distance between them and Logan as physically possible.

"Did you say pancakes?" Morph cried, acting as though their internal mental breakdown was actually just an over enthusiasm for food. "Why didn't you wake me up sooner?"

Not waiting to see Logan's reaction, they sprinted down the corridor to the kitchen, not realising until they were long gone that Logan must have stayed awake to protect them all night.

[cinnamonroll-anon]

Hi! If it's okay to ask/request, could you do TFA Decepticons and Autobots, of your choice with Human Reader? Can be romantic/platonic

Reader's a fan of fnaf-related, from games, books, lores, movie, etc…

A/n: Absolutely Anon, thank you for the request! Sorry for any grammatical errors or making the characters to OOC. Sorry for any misinterpretation of the prompt anon, these can be seen as platonic or romantic (sorry for not including the fnaf movie, i haven't seen it and it wouldn't do justice to write about it, but I'll definitely go back and write the headcanon after i watch it)

TFA Autobots/Decepticons x GN!Fnaf Fan Reader (Platonic/Romantic)

Optimus

At first he would think it was based off of real events, in which you've had to remind him they're not. It's just a videogame

I think he'll find it odd how you could be so interested in something entirely fictional (he's not judging tho, man is a history nerd and he knows it) he may be just a bit concerned in the beginning

But it all shifted when you mentioned the books

That peaked his interest and you give some recommendations on the first ones to read. Obviously reminding him that what happens in the books doesn't happen in the games

I feel like he's a night owl and will definitely be reading them late at night. Sometimes you even join in and it becomes a fun little geeking out session, especially when he has so many questions and you're happy to answer

Ironically more into the horror aspect of fnaf (especially in some of the books because damn, messed up shit do be happening) and he's eating it all up fr (rip matpat mpreg that he read because, you little shit, you'd definitely tell him about it. Man was beyond flabbergasted and also learned about the theory side of fnaf) (definitely one was to make an impression 💀)

I think he's definitely more of a casual fan of fnaf

Bumblebee

Probably the most open to learning about your interests, especially fnaf

He thought it would be something simple like the video games he's played while on earth, boy was he wrong

You've got him hooked on the lore, it confused him at first but you guided him through the most confusing bits, like not canon works like the books, security breach, the peak of the fandom etc.

You guy's definitely watched "An Undeniably Canon Five Nights at Freddy's Timeline" and he was definitely hollering while watching it with you and it helped him understand the lore just a bit better (bonus that y'all watched it like a movie night!)

In absolute awe of the Fnaf songs, each one is a banger

He'll definitely ramble about it with you if it's your hyperfixation and he's always happy to learn more about what makes you happy

Bulkhead

More reluctant on it especially because it's in the horror genre and i don't think he takes it too well

He understands the idea and how it can be interesting but you might need to leave out agony and renment, might frighten him too much

Please don't show him the VHS tapes, that'll certainly scare the color off of him

He listens to the songs and thinks the community is very creative

Definatly likes the more cute and wholesome side of fnaf

Overall he's open to you but be mindful of his heart, he's a softie

Prowl

I feel like he may be the hardest one to introduce to but it's not your fault, it's bumblebee's (He's bothered prowl with videogames and stuff before)

But i think he'd give you a chance, seeing that he cares alot about you and this means alot to you

I think he'd be more intrigued with the horror mechanics of the game, learning how a mix of jumbled sounds and scenes could scare someone

He'd be down to play it/ watch you play it/ watch gameplays

He definitely jumps ip from the jumpscares. In his defense he was caught off guard

Overall he'd be supportive, listening to you explain the convoluted story and all the details

He'd remember just about everything you tell him. It's how he shows he cares, actively listening and remembering things you like

He'd find it cute how you like fnaf so much, reminds him of how focused and happy nature makes him

Ratchet

He at first waves you off, saying that he's to busy or tired to care

But this guy's got a soft spot for you

So he might not take the deep dive into fnaf, but he definitely listens to you

He'll let you ramble while he's working on something. Sometimes you feel like you're being overbearing and stop talking, he notices of course, "I'm still listening, this William guy sure is a piece of work"

He remembers everything you tell him, so you find yourself over the moon when he remembers some reference you said like a month ago

Finds himself pleasantly surprised that it's more interesting than just a horror game, but i feel like he'll deny that (but watch him ask what else happened)

Blurr

He probably is taking this more seriously than what he needs to, but you appreciate it

"So you're telling me that the sorrow he felt for losing his youngest son led him down a desperate path that ended up killing his own daughter on accident, but by then he was so broken he killed Henry's daughter, while also pushing away his eldest son, which would lead up into Micheal vengefully chasing down his father until Henry managed to trap everyone and put an end to Williams torment on all his victims and family?" He'd practically babble almost incoherently fast

Yeah that's practically it

He'd definitely like the more theoretical parts of Fnaf like how William had gotten away with it that long, why they didn't find the body's, etc.(he's practically a police officer as well, this is all up in his alley)

He's a quick learner and basically devours everything you show him, both invested and interested to learn why you love it so much

He found his answer and a hyperfixation!

Megatron

Being on earth for as long as he has, just collecting dust and not being able to go anywhere is pretty crushing... And boring

He'd listen to you ramble on the premise that he's so utterly bored that he'd listen to just about anything

He'd be on the edge of his seat waiting to hear what happens next, he'd be interested if you also showed him just about everything

He'd grow used to it and doesn't sincerely care what anyone else thinks, letting you ramble and just enjoy yourself

He'd be lying if he didn't say he enjoyed that time together

He'll let you sit on his shoulder and just go off

He's basically unfazed by it but enjoying it

Starscream

Probably freaks him out ngl but he'd shake it off under the impression that he couldn't be afraid of such a silly human story

Oh boy wait until he hears about the spring lock failure

But as much as it would freak him out man is invested to know everything

He'd jump up and scream at the jump scares when watching the gameplay. Every. Time.

He'd be in a love-hate relationship with fnaf, loving the complexity but hating the horror aspects

Honestly you rambling about it helps ease him into it, you're calming and so happy when you talk about it

Black Arachnia

Might not be as interested in the beginning, halfheartedly listening until you mention Springtrap

He reminds her of herself, an abomination both organic and technology. Both painful experiences and the agony of never being what they once were

She ends up enjoying listening to you explain how agony and remnant works. It's reminds her of her experiments to return herself to normal

She'd listen to you as she works, using your voice as a way to ground herself as she works

Definitely shocked at the family drama, but she loves the tea

Overall happy to be able to have one more thing to talk to you about.

Blitzwing

He's having a field day

"Such interesting methods of disposing the bodies- Yeah, what a cold hearted killer- Oh! Killer like the music!"

His three sides are all equally interested in it, job well done!

One is analyzing the crime aspects, one is taking the story at face value, and of course the other one is just as/ if not more ecstatic about it

He loves it and loves learning more about it and rambling with you

Will listen to a Fnaf playlist with you happily, especially because it reminds him of you

Idk but something tells me he'd laugh at the jumpscares, thinks the suspense is funny

Lugnut

He's surprised you fan remember so much about Fnaf. Like theres just so much

I feel like he'd boast about how much you know. "Look at the genius before you, they know more about this subject than anyone!"

He's super supportive

He'd drop just about anything he's doing to give you his full undivided attention

If you sometimes forget that you've already told him something and say it again you're doing him a solid. He doesn't have the best memory but hes enthusiastic!

He's proud of you and isn't afraid to show it, as you shouldn't be afraid to share of what you like with him

Shockwave

Man has been working on the clock for ages. I feel like when he'd listen to you introduce him to fnaf he was honestly so overworked and stressed that he just needed a distraction

And indeed it was a distraction

If you're the type to go into long rants for hours, sign him up

Definitely asking questions and just actively indulging with you

It's honestly adorable

If anyone asks what you're doing at his desk, he'll just shoo them off saying that you're a key part of his work

He's interested, hooked and loving it

Show him the music and that's a new guilty pleasure for him. He listens to them while he works quietly, never thought he'd enjoy it so much

Definitely eager to learn about everything; books, games, you name it, he wants to know

Loves spending more time with you, especially bonding over your interest!

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[preservationofnormalcy]

Ok, so I’m writing a novel involving paranormal investigation (no relation to you, takes place in a fictional town) and I’m on my third draft when the main character shows up behind me, grabs and turns me around to tell me of the “inaccuracies to his case”. Now I wrote them down and how I should change them. And when I looked up from my notepad, he was gone.

I want to continue, and most of these I feel like I can implement within the story, but what exactly happened? And if this becomes a series, will he continue to pop up, or was it one of those “one in a blue moon scenarios”?

And what do I do if it isn’t?

Hey Norm...

Hmm? Didn't you do a PSA about this exact subject in the nineties?

Oh, uh, sure. When I first started. Around '99. It's waaay outdated, now, you know, with the internet and everything, it's better to not even look it up. I don't think it was even digitized, really. I have no idea what happened to it.

Oh, Norm, don't worry! If there's one person who knows your filing system better than you, it's me! Let's see...H for Holmes, S for Sherlock...cross reference to P for Parafictional, 90s...HERE WE GO! "Dear Watson: That's Not Holmes, That's A Lure!"

Oh good, they put it on a disc so that a tech savvy person could find it, uh, twenty five years later. I wouldn't play it, I can't guarantee--

<An old, color degraded video begins playing. It's clearly shot on VHS, with a minimal budget, and had degraded somewhat before being transferred to digital. A man stands in a small, cinderblock room in front of a backdrop depicting a victorian study. He is wearing a tweed jacket with leather patches on the elbows and a pair of smart slacks. A deerstalker hat sits conspicuously on a stack of actual books, Sherlock Holmes novels. The man himself looks sort of like what you'd get if you focus-group-tested the only type of man Don Bluth knew how to draw, and has curtain bangs with frosted tips. The whole ensemble has the energy of a store-brand Milo Thatch. As he speaks, his eyes don't leave a fixed point behind the camera.>

So. You have encountered an entity from a fictional property. You're excited - maybe you wanted to talk to your favorite book character. Or. Maybe you are a writer and you are excited to talk to your protagonist. But...is that entity real?

<There's an extremely awkward camera change, and the man looks to it, his eyes following a point again.>

....or a lure?

<He leans back and there is a too-long pause before he continues.>

When encountering a parafictional manifestation, remember the three S's.

<The visuals change to a grainy blue background, white text appearing as the man's voiceover continues.>

Solidity: are you are this entity is physical and not all in your head?

Subjective: if it's real, are other people seeing the same thing?

Sentience: is this entity sentient, or merely approximating sentience? Is it answering questions like a sentient entity, or like how it would be expected to answer?

<It cuts back to the man, standing behind the chair with his hands on the back. There is a too-long pause again.>

If...uh.

If this entity doesn't pass any of these easy-to-remember checks, that's a red flag. Any number of malicious extranormal entities can exploit the human capacity for creativity in order to feed on our psychic energy, creating a non-sentient construct we call a "Chinese Room" in order to keep YOU from asking questions.

Remember next time you see Darth Vader, Spider-man, or Tarzan - are you so incredibly lucky to experience such a rare phenomena as true parafictional manifestation?

<He awkwardly puts a pipe in his mouth and blows a few bubbles.>

Or are you being lured?

<The video ends.>

....god, my hair.