#Jonathan's real protective for the people he cares for

[hallowsden]

DC x DP idea thing #1

Uncle Scarecrow Au

Essentially, in this AU thing, Maddie, and Jonathan Crane are cousins (their moms were sisters) that often see eachother when Maddie's family visits Georgia before contact was cut due to Grandma Marion and Great-Grandma Keeny

Jonathan and Maddie managed to reconnect for a year or two through letters when Maddie started college and Jonny boy is in the middle of getting his doctorate but lost contact after Maddie got busier with studies and Jonathan went to Gotham. They're on good terms with each other and once in a while in recent years, they'd give each other updates (and gifts. Danny and Jazz grew up hearing a bit from/about Jonathan when they were younger but stopped hearing about him around the time when he became the Scarecrow. So, let's just say when Danny's... 6? Ngl, DC timeline is messy and confusing at times)

Maddie and Jack only recently learned that Danny's a halfa, the ghost king at that, and accepts it. They start helping him wrangle up some of the rogue ghosts and throw them back to the GZ when not even a week later, the GIW started swarming Amity Park immediately.

This causes the Fenton Family to escape (though not unscathed) and end up going to Gotham, not just cause Jazz is studying there, or the fact that there's enough ambient ectoplasm energy there to cover up Danny's signature, but because Jack's apparently from there, has connections too, while Maddie knows that Jonathan could help. She's his favorite cousin after all and adores Danny and Jazz from the bits and pieces she sent him about them.

"Madeline," The man in the burlap mask nodded to her.

"Jonathan," she nodded back.

Danny can't help but feel tense and wary as he stares down at the tall figure in front of him. This was Uncle Jonathan? Don't tell him he's as big of a fruitloop as Vlad.

Maddie stares at him before raising an eyebrow, "I see you still aren't taking care of yourself as you should, huh, Jonny?"

He scoffs, southern accent becoming a bit more prominent as he spoke, "like you're anyone to talk about habits, Maddie. Intellect may run in our blood but having normal, sane habits aren't. Don't you remember Great-Grandma Mary?"

The two burst out into some chuckles.

"Glad you're still alive and well, then, cousin," Maddie says, taking the hood of her jumpsuit off along with her goggles.

"Likewise," Jonathan replies, taking his ratty hat and burlap mask off revealing a sharp, gaunt face with a long, hook nose, pale blue eyes, and rusty auburn-colored, bordering brown, hair, "Now, what's this about a government branch coming for little Danny, and how... Sensitive are you to gore and other graphic imagery of sorts?"

"I mean, I already died and have to fight ghosts-..." Danny piped up immediately, only to shut his mouth up just as quickly.

"... Remind me to set up a proper therapy session for you later, child."

[cheer-nympho]

The older kids all have wills.

Nancy, Robin, Steve and Jonathan, ages 18 to 21, all have wills tucked away in various boxes under beds and behind wardrobes.

Their similarities only extending to the fear felt when writing them, mixed with resigned acceptance. A common feeling of “Man, it sure is sad that my late teenage years are spent contemplating the very real possibility of gruesome early death, I should be at the club.”

But in every other aspect they are completely different.

Nancy’s was written on a cream notepad with dainty flowers surrounding the border. Written from a view of logic and forward planning, a need to protect her family. All of the demands straight to the point, no nonsense.

Warped only by the small tear stains across the bottom.

Robin’s was clearly written in a panic, barely legible handwriting on a ripped off lined sheet.

Written after she read an article about a man whose boyfriend was refused access to him after his death because there was no will.

She refused to leave anyone in the dark like that.

Jonathan’s was the most emotional, surprisingly. But most of that emotion was palpable anger, the word “nothing” pressed so hard into the yellow paper next to Lonnies name it had almost ripped the page.

Even if it was the last thing he did, Jon would keep Lonnie away from them.

Steves was written begrudgingly, more out of a need to prevent his parents from tossing it all. They weren’t around to know about Robin or the kids, wouldn’t know he’d promised Lucas the car or Max his records.

They weren’t evil people, they just didn’t know. This way they would.

They hadn’t spoken about it in advance, hadn’t co-ordinated it or hidden them together like a morbid friendship pact. They had all just at some point come to the realisation that, given their current lives, it may one day be necessary.

Eddie had not had that thought.

Eddie Munson had many thoughts.

He had thoughts on the disease of pop music sweeping the last worthwhile radio station, he had thoughts on the price increases in his favourite gaming store in Indy, he had thoughts on selling enough stock to buy a new trailer gas canister.

What he very rarely had thoughts on was death.

It took a lot for him to say that these days, considering where he’d been not too many years ago. But these days the only thoughts on death he had were more abstract and fleeting, nothing more than the average schmuck.

And even if the thought would have crossed his mind, he would have shrugged it off with a ‘Wayne knows what to do.’

He had no other family and, as far as Eddie was concerned, nothing particularly valuable to single out to anyone. He may need one of the guys to burn the shoebox hidden under his bed, but that could be a more verbal agreement between bros.

So Eddie didn’t have a will.

Didn’t have a plan, didn’t have the worry.

And it’s not until he’s lying on his back, being cradled by a child that frankly should not have to see the insides of Eddies stomach, that he remembers that.

It rushes to him in a panic, the thoughts feeling slow and syrupy but in reality only taking a split second.

He needed to write a will.

He needed Wayne to know that Eddie /wanted/ him to have everything, not just given it by family rights.

He needed to write Dustin in, and Corroded Coffin, maybe even some random shit for all the other nerds.

A donation to Hawkins Church to really confuse them, not that Eddie would be leaving any money behind. Maybe they could have his guitar.

When he got back he would write it up on the finest non-scrunched up paper he could find.

When he got back he would take care of it all.

But that was a job for later Eddie, right now he really needed to sleep.

He could see Dustin crying above him but that was okay, he’d take care of it when he woke up.

When he wakes up he’ll take care of it all.

When he wakes up he’ll write his will.

When he wakes up.

[mypoisonedvine]

Ok 1 I love your Halloween theme, and 2 can I request a delightfully unhinged threesome between estranged twins, jackson and Dr. Crane 👀

oh my i wonder who could've given you such a ridiculously thirsty idea!!! definitely wasn't me ummm anyways this turned out to be another full length fic, so. yeah.

𝖌𝖊𝖒𝖎𝖓𝖎 | jonathan crane x reader x jackson rippner

length: 3.6k

warnings: NONCON SMUT (dark as fuck, 18+ only, read the warnings), kidnapping, implied stalking, yandere!jonathan, threesome with oral m receiving and breeding kink, housewife kink, slight corruption kink, possibly inexperienced jonathan??

It was eerie, seeing his twin on the other side of the doorway; it wasn’t quite like looking in a mirror, but it was closer than anything else was.

The differences were obvious, and had only become stronger over time: the hair, the glasses, even the way they dressed. But the biggest difference between the brothers was their smiles… in fact, Jackson was wearing that tilted, toothy grin already. “Well, look at you,” he greeted smugly, “Doctor Crane.”

“I wasn’t sure you’d really come,” Jonathan admitted quietly.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d ever call me again,” Jackson laughed as he stepped inside, despite never actually having been invited in. “Nice place, Doc— guess they pay you pretty good at the looney bin.”

“We, uh, try not to use that term,” Jonathan mumbled as he watched Jackson roam the apartment, getting a little nervous that he might break one of the more expensive decorations or artifacts.

“So, what’s this problem you needed my help with?” Jackson wondered as he spun on his heel to face his brother. “Must be a pretty sticky situation you’ve got yourself in if you have to ring up your big brother.”

“You’re only four—"

“Four minutes older, yeah, I know,” he rolled his eyes, “but somebody had to be first.”

“I need… advice,” Jonathan finally answered, “regarding a sort of… sensitive situation.”

“You can spare the foreplay, Jonny, this isn’t my first time,” Jackson smirked. “Just tell me what happened.”

“Nothing… happened, really,” he sighed, “I just… there’s someone that needs to be… dealt with.”

“If you want a hit, I don’t actually do that,” Jackson explained, “but I can call somebody for you—“

“Not a hit, no,” Jonathan shook his head, “the opposite, really… I need her kept alive.”

Jackson raised an eyebrow. “Oh? A ladyfriend you want protected?”

“Uh, sure,” Jonathan mumbled awkwardly, “but I’ll take care of that. It’s her, um, footprint, if you will. Her old identity, and all that— I need her to disappear, so to speak. W-well, she already disappeared… I just need people to stop looking for her.”

“You know, you’re always full of surprises, Jonny,” Jackson laughed. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you have this woman in your basement.”

“I don’t have a basement,” Jackson replied.

“That’s… not the part I was expecting you to deny…”

Soon enough, Jonathan escorted Jackson to his bedroom, where you were tied to one of the bedposts by your wrists, curled up in a shaking little ball, watching with wide eyes as the two men entered the room. Jackson realized you probably hadn't seen anyone other than Jonathan since getting here-- that, or you were just thinking oh fuck, there's two of them?!

“Why’d you dress her up like that?” Jackson snorted, admiring the vintage-style dress and heels, with a matching set of pearl earrings and necklace. “I didn’t know you were so… traditional.”

Jonathan cleared his throat, his cheeks tinting a bit pink. “Can we just focus on the present issue, please?”

"And what a lovely issue it is," Jackson cooed as he stepped closer to you, admiring you with a tilted head.

You watched him approach with wide eyes, finally speaking in a broken whisper. “Please,” you choked out, “help me— he’s keeping me here, I think he’s gonna kill me—“

“Oh, I’m not worried about that,” Jackson smiled, “he’s real sweet on you. I’d just be worried about whatever freaky shit he’s into.”

“Well, as you can see, she’s not adjusting very well,” Jonathan sighed. “I thought my drugs would help— and she’s pretty obedient when she’s been given a large dose, so I was sort of right— but I can’t keep her high all day, she’ll build a tolerance. And I know her case is going to get a little too much attention, if there isn’t some kind of closure for the police or the family sometime soon. I mean, a beautiful, promising young medical student? Gone without a trace? It’s cable news catnip.”

“You’re right about that,” Jackson agreed. “There’s a pretty face perfect for the papers.”

As Jackson reached to tilt your chin, petting the line of your jaw, Jonathan slapped his hand away. “Hey, hands to yourself,” Crane warned, “she’s mine.”

“Okay, Mr. Defensive,” Jackson widened his eyes, raising his hands like he was perfectly innocent. “How sloppy were you? Are they gonna find any evidence that brings them here?”

“I don’t think so,” Jonathan sighed, “but you can’t be too sure. Even without evidence, she took one of my classes, so if they get desperate enough they can certainly trace her to me.”

Jackson sighed. “That’s tricky,” he nodded. “And it gives us two options.”

“Which are?”

“The happy ending, and the sad ending,” Jackson explained. “Happy ending: I get one of my little computer nerd friends to fake a plane ticket to somewhere exotic. Send a postcard to a friend. Just like that, she’s absconded from her old life, escaped the pressure of med school, and everyone thinks she’s off somewhere getting her groove back or whatever.”

“And the sad ending?”

“Bloody clothing planted by the woods, with a tip that somebody saw her hiking,” he shrugged. “Big bad wolf got to her. Simple as that. That one’s handy because no one’s gonna expect her to come back… and you can have her all to yourself, forever.”

Jonathan bit his lip, obviously excited by the idea. “I'm guessing that will require taking a sample from her?"

"Not too much," Jackson promised, "you're a doctor, you can do it safely."

"She's scared enough of me as it is," Jonathan sighed. "I thought she would... take to it a little faster."

"What, you thought she would like getting kidnapped?"

"I thought she would appreciate how well I can take care of her," Jonathan clarified.

"Oh, Jonny," Jackson laughed, "you haven't learned a thing about women since the last time I saw you, huh?"

Jonathan didn't even have the heart to deny it.

"When they ask if they look fat in something-- you just say no, don't even look, okay? It's like DARE: Just. Say. No." Jackson informed his brother sternly. "And when they say they're not hungry and don't want anything, just order some fries anyway or she's gonna end up with half your entrée. And most of all-- you can't forget this one-- they really dislike being kidnapped and held in captivity."

Jonathan crossed his arms. "I knew that," he announced defensively.

"Let me ask you this," Jackson began with a twinkle in his eye. "Have you used her yet?"

Jonathan shuddered a little, looking embarrassed as he looked at you and then to the floor. "J-just once..." he admitted. "That was... a lapse in restraint. I had wanted to wait until she was more comfortable, but..."

"But you just couldn't help yourself with a sweet little thing like this in your bed, huh?" Jackson finished. "I get it. And she looks cute when she's scared."

You shuddered under Jackson's hungry stare, and he winked at you. "So, you'll take care of it?" Jonathan reminded him. "Happy ending or sad ending, whatever you think is best."

"Well, I'm always a fan of a happy ending," Jackson smirked. "You know speaking of: I figure I can give you a good deal on this whole thing... you know, since you're family."

"Alright," Jonathan nodded.

“I’ll make sure her case is closed… if you let me take her for a spin.”

It seemed to take Jonathan a moment to realize what that meant, before he laughed incredulously. “No,” he asserted, “absolutely not.”

“Oh, don’t be so insecure,” Jackson pouted, “she’ll still be yours when I’m done with her. You can keep her for the rest of your life— I’m just asking for one night.”

"I can pay you very well for your time, Jackson," Jonathan promised.

"Eh, money's boring," Jackson shrugged.

"If I recall correctly, women tend to bore you pretty easily as well," Jonathan accused with a frown.

"Sheesh, you kidnap one woman and you start getting all judgmental that I haven't settled down," Jackson rolled his eyes. "I don't have a lot of time for anything serious, that's all. In fact, I barely have time for anything these days. That's why I figure I can help you break in Mrs. Crane over there."

"I don't need any help," Jonathan promised.

"Except for the part where, if I don't help you, you're probably gonna get caught with a missing woman tied to your bed," Jackson reminded him.

Jonathan sighed, clearly realizing the choice he had to make.

“C'mon, just a little favor for your favorite twin brother? You can stay and make sure I don’t do anything you wouldn’t… approve of,” Jackson rolled his eyes, “you prude.”

"She's innocent," Jonathan breathed, "that's what I liked about her-- it's why I had to bring her here. You'll... you'll ruin her. I can't let you do that."

“Seems like you don’t really have a choice,” Jackson noticed, lowering his voice and leaning in closer to Jonathan.

There was a pause, and finally Jackson turned to leave the room as he patted Jonathan on the back.

"Get a good lawyer, buddy," he offered as his final piece of advice.

But before he could take another step, Jonathan relented with a sigh: “Make it quick.”

“Hey,” Jackson shrugged with a grin as he shed his jacket and tossed it aside, “no promises.”

He all but leapt onto the bed, crawling up to you as you whined and shrunk away.

“Did y’hear that, babydoll? Jonny said it’s my turn to play with you,” he purred.

As you tried to shrink away, he grabbed you by the ankle and pulled you down, forcing you onto your back and keeping your tied wrists above your head as the rope when taut.

He growled as he laid on top of you, leaning in to kiss your neck. “I can make it good for you,” he breathed, “if you behave. It’ll be so much better than whatever my idiot baby brother does to you— promise.”

Jackson's hands crawled up your skirt, and he bit his lip as you kicked your legs in protest.

"Be good, baby," he warned you sharply. "Good girls get a treat... you know what bad girls get?"

You didn't seem that invested in an answer, but he continued anyways as he lowered his voice and spoke by your ear.

"Bad girls get fucked up the ass," he whispered, giving a quick little kiss to the side of your face; suddenly, you relaxed a bit under him and stopped resisting so much. "That's a good girl," he praised, spreading your legs a bit and petting them until he reached higher and found you totally bare under the dress. "Oh my, Jonny didn't even give you panties to wear? Poor baby..."

Jonathan shuddered and crossed his arms, looking away with his head and yet unable to actually look anywhere else but the bed. He was trying to figure out how his brother had gotten you to behave so quickly... when Jonathan had given in to temptation and forced himself on you, it was a constant battle to keep you down as you kicked and screamed and begged him to stop. Whether it was the sight before him now, or the memory of that night, Jonathan felt his cock twitch in his trousers.

Jackson sat up a bit, opening his own pants and sighing as he wrapped his hand around himself. "Fuck, look at that pretty pussy," he purred as he held your legs open wide with his other hand. "Oh, we're gonna have so much fun together, sweetheart."

He spit straight down onto you, smearing it around your opening with his tip, before pressing right up to your hole. He groaned loudly as he slid inside-- one long, slow stroke as he filled you. You whined and shut your eyes tight, but otherwise resisted the urge to struggle.

"Fuuuuck," Jackson purred, holding on tight to your hips as he simply buried himself inside you for a moment. "So tight, honey, Jesus."

Beginning to move, he laid himself down over you and kissed your neck again, moaning against your skin. You whimpered, back arching slightly under him, and he smiled when he felt you tense up as he thrusted into you just a little harder.

"Oh, baby, feel how deep I am?" he grunted. "Feel how good I'm stretching out that little hole? Fuck, keep squeezin' me like that and maybe I will make this quick..."

He grabbed your hips and yanked them up a bit, holding you right where he wanted you-- and sitting up again, so he could get just the perfect angle as he started fucking into you again. Normally he would build up a little more naturally before being so rough but, well, you weren't going anywhere... he could just use you and chase his own pleasure. That said, he still grinned proudly when you moaned suddenly, your head falling back and your back arching. That was when he decided that, even though he had no real obligation to make you come, he was going to anyways-- if for no other reason than to know that he could take total control of your body, and force you to an orgasm even unwillingly.

"Right there?" he taunted as you whined, giving you fast and hard thrusts right into the place that made you bite down on your lip. "Yeah, that's it-- you're getting so wet, honey, you feel that? Gonna soak my fucking cock, aren't you?"

He tilted his head back and shut his eyes, letting himself bask in the feeling for a moment. You made little sounds, obviously trying to hold yourself back, but the longer it went on the less you were able to fight it-- soon you were properly moaning, arching your back deeper, your walls clenching on him rhythmically as you came.

"Fuck, just like that," Jackson praised as he watched you give into it. "Just like that, baby, fucking cream all over me-- good girl."

Jonathan watched in astonishment as you quivered all over, nervously clearing his throat as he tried to conceal the throbbing erection in his pants-- and it seemed to remind Jackson that his brother was still standing nearby.

"What was that about your girl being innocent, Crane?" Jackson laughed. "'Cause she seems like a desperate fucking whore to me."

“H-how’d you make her do that?” Jonathan asked with a shaky whisper, licking his lips a bit as he watched you writhe against the mattress.

“Nothing to it, really,” Jackson smiled, “just gotta find that spot and beat the hell out of it. Here, I’ll show you.”

You whimpered as Jackson pulled out and slid his fingers inside you, curling them against the place that had become more sensitive than ever.

“Right here,” he explained, “you try it.”

He took his fingers out as Jonathan approached the bed— and you felt Jonathan’s fingers slide in a second later, a bit more hesitance to his movements. He let out a wavering sigh, and Jackson smiled.

“Feel the swollen part? Rub her there— hard.”

He curled his fingers slightly and you bit your lip.

“Harder,” Jackson instructed.

“I-I don’t want to hurt her…”

“Well, she needs it rough,” Jackson laughed, “so man up and make her come!”

You yelped when Jonathan harshly pressed into the spot, making your whole body shake as he started to thrust the digits in and out of you. “Wow,” Jonathan breathed as he watched you, his brother smiling proudly next to him.

"She can probably come again pretty fast," Jackson assumed, "you should try. See how fast you can make her scream again."

Jackson, meanwhile, moved to kneel by your head, slapping your face a little to cue you to open your mouth. He groaned as he rubbed his tip over your tongue, forcing you to taste yourself alongside his salty precum.

You unintentionally clench on Jonathan's fingers, and he smiled wide. "Like that?" he asked eagerly. "Are you gonna come again?"

"Just keep doing it," Jackson urged his brother before speaking to you again. "C'mon baby, you can take a little more."

Holding your hair, Jackson started to fuck your mouth a bit more earnestly, making Jonathan frown at him after you gagged a few times. "Be careful," he warned him, "don't hurt her."

"I know, I know," Jackson rolled his eyes. "But look at that mouth, Crane, don't you think it's just made to take cock?"

Jonathan couldn't exactly disagree, he'd fantasized about your mouth plenty of times. But now, he was much more focused on your pussy-- he was watching it closely, enraptured by the way his fingers moved in and out of it... and the way it responded, gripping him tighter and tighter.

"Go on, suck it," Jackson ordered you impatiently, smacking you on the cheek again to try to encourage you. You whimpered and hollowed your cheeks, blinking up at him as he grinned down at you. "Oh, pretty eyes-- I can tell why Jonny couldn't resist you..."

You moaned again, and Jackson raised an eyebrow as he looked down for a moment at what Jonathan was doing-- which was moving his fingers faster inside you, watching you whimper and writhe as you reached the edge again.

"Show me," Jonathan begged, "come for me-- come on my fingers."

It happened pretty quickly, and Jackson let you take a break from sucking him for a second so they could both enjoy your pretty moans as you creamed around Jonathan's fingers.

"O-oh, fuck," Jonathan gasped, "I can feel her... pulsing."

"Yeah," Jackson grinned, "really something, isn't it?"

"Fuck," Jonathan said again, taking his fingers out and suddenly climbing onto the bed. "Need to feel that on my cock."

"Atta boy," Jackson praised with a laugh.

Jonathan moaned loudly as he pushed inside you, your own reaction a muffled groan around Jackson's cock which he shoved between your lips again. "Oh, god," Jonathan whined, "you feel even better than I remember, angel-- fuck, I missed you so much."

He was even more desperate and impatient than before, fucking you quickly and eagerly even though you were far too sensitive for it after coming twice in a row.

Jackson pulled back out of your mouth, but held your head steady as he stroked himself rapidly. “Gonna coat that pretty face,” he growled, “keep your mouth open, baby, I’m close…”

You whimpered and tried to keep your throat shut, afraid to choke on his come while laying back like this, and after a few more moments he groaned loudly as ropes of come fell over your face and onto your waiting tongue. You grunted a little in surprise but just tried to squint your eyes in case some got too close, but the vast majority went into your mouth or over your cheek.

"Fuck," Jackson purred, milking his cock for every drop before finally taking his hand away and sinking back, looking down at you with a new redness and sheen of sweat to his face. "Good girl. You can swallow now baby-- oh, wait, let's make sure you get it all first."

He swiped up the come on your cheek with his thumb, feeding it to you as you closed your lips and swallowed his salty spend.

"I told you good girls get a treat," he grinned.

Jonathan, meanwhile, was panting and whimpering and clearly trying to hold himself back-- but the way he held you tight enough to bruise gave away how close to the edge he really was. "I can't wait," he finally admitted with a groan. "I need to come, angel-- I need to come inside, get you pregnant. Then we can be happy together."

Suddenly, he started to rub your sore clit with his thumb; and you jolted again, pulsing around him as he sighed and dropped his head onto your shoulder.

"Fuck, beautiful-- just like that, let me feel you come again, please. Then I can fill you so deep..."

"You can make her come one more time," Jackson assured, "she's so sensitive-- go on and come for him, baby, let him feel how hard you come..."

Though Jonathan was a little irritated by the way Jackson made it seem like a favor you were doing on his behalf, he couldn't complain when he felt you coming around him, slick walls pulsing so perfectly around him that he had to come with a loud, broken moan. He kept moving until he was sure he'd given you everything, heart racing as he imagined and hoped that he'd properly bred you this time.

Then, there was a silence. Not very long, but plenty nervous as the three of you caught your breath.

"Well... mazel tov," Jackson offered with an awkward laugh, getting up off the bed and getting himself back in order. "I'll call you when it's all taken care of, Jonny. You, uh... you have fun with her, alright? Call if you need anything or, you know... feel like sharing again..."

"I wouldn't hold my breath for that, Jackson," Jonathan sighed.

"Don't miss me too much, honey," Jackson winked at you as he slipped his jacket back on. "But feel free to think about me so you can get off while this guy's fucking you," he joked, motioning to his brother with a tilt of his head.

"Don't listen to him, angel," Jonathan cooed at you as Jackson finally left the room. You shivered a little as he trailed kisses all over your face and neck, holding you a little tighter. "You're all mine-- you finally know that now, don't you?

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

Eddie noticed things. Well, not always right away, but he noticed things. He noticed that Steve liked to be affectionate with the people he cared about: Robin, Dustin, Nancy, and so on. He tried not to read into it when Steve immediately started doing it with him in the Upside Down. He could still feel the tingles from when Steve had placed his hand on his lower back for the first time. The shock that shot through Eddie and the realization that it might not be just women for him nearly sent him crashing to the ground. Worst time to have a sexuality crisis. It had made him realize that he had been checking out Steve on that boat, though. They hadn't gotten together for a long time, though, with them both still healing and Eddie dealing with the aftermath of everything, still dealing with the weight of Chrissy's death. Not until after the kids had gone back to school again.

"I'm just worried, you know! Nancy, Robin, Jonathan, and Vickie graduated. Who's going to look after the kids? Plus, becoming a basketball coach is something I would definitely enjoy doing. Is that stupid?" Steve asked.

Eddie was leaning back against the counter, watching Steve restock the shelves in Family Video. It was empty except for them. He loved the way that Steve’s eyes lit up all protective-like when he talked about the kids. It made Eddie's insides all fuzzy.

"Fucking marry me," Eddie had blurted out.

"Buy me dinner first," Steve said, blushing.

"Okay," Eddie said. "It's a date."

Steve looked at him for a moment, trying to decide if he's serious or not. His face split into a grin, and he put the wrong video on the shelf. He was ridiculously goofy-looking with the way that he grinned, the way his hazel eyes got bigger, and his prince charming hair just looking even better today. Eddie couldn't help but let out a dreamy sigh. That was that. Being with Steve was an adjustment because he had to change his entire view of jocks. He could no longer look at them all as the enemy. It was just a game, just like his own game. The real assholes were the ones that hunted him down, who accused him of murder, and bullied him and his group of misfits. No, the real enemy were the people like Higgins who thought there needed to be division and hatred because they had different interests. Eddie couldn't prove it, but he was pretty sure that Higgins had encouraged their behavior and, because of that, had given Eddie a skewed view of jocks. So, it's all Higgins' fault, really.

Over the last few months of being with Steve, he had come to accept a few things: that jocks weren't all bad, that he was actually starting to like sports, and that he was absolutely in love with Steve. Though he wished Wayne would stop cackling at him. Yeah, yeah, all the shit he gave Wayne about liking sports, and Eddie had to go fall for a jock. The one thing he really loved about Steve was how much he would do for the people, but he hated that he would sacrifice taking care of himself to do it. Although, Eddie was guilty for taking the opportunity to swoop in like a brave knight to help take care of the former king of Hawkins High.

"Where do you think you're going?" Eddie asked from the doorway of Steve’s bedroom.

"Dustin needs a ride," Steve groaned as he rolled out of bed.

"How are you going to do that when you're sick?" Eddie asked.

"I'm not sick," Steve scowled. "I do not get sick."

Steve sneezed so hard that he fell back onto the bed. He groaned, a snot bubble coming out of his nose.

"Sexy," Eddie grinned.

"Fuck off," Steve groaned.

"You say such sweet things to me," Eddie said.

Steve got up off the bed, stuffed his feet into two different pairs of shoes, and tried to move past Eddie. He grabbed Steve’s shoulders.

"I got to give Dustin a ride," Steve said. "I promised."

"Hm, okay, what day of the week is it?" Eddie asked his very stubborn boyfriend.

"It's Tuesday," he scoffed.

"Yeah, try again, big boy. It's Thursday," Eddie said.

"If it's Thursday, does that mean I already gave him a ride?" Steve asked.

"I gave him a ride, and I'm here now. You don't have to be a single mom anymore, Stevie," he teased, flashing his dimples. "Daddy's here."

Eddie picked Steve up and laid him on the bed.

"You're just trying to get into my pants. I'm not sick," Steve said and coughed up phlegm.

"And what's that?" Eddie said.

"I forgot to swallow again," Steve said. "I'll do better. I just need practice."

"Right."

Eddie had stayed all week to take care of Steve and another week for Steve to take care of him when he got sick. Supposedly, he had been worse than Steve, but he was pretty sure that Steve was lying. Steve hadn't complained about it, though. Apparently, he had gotten used to it when he had to take of Eddie when he gotten bit by the bats. Eddie really didn't remember how needy he had been, but apparently, he had been. It was amazing how easy it had been to slip into the role of caring boyfriend, considering that he had never really been one. The first girl he had been with had been a dare for her, and the second had been Paige. He had epically screwed that up. He wasn't perfect, and neither was Steve. Oddly enough, he liked that about their relationship. They didn't have to try so very hard to be perfect. There's always a little give and take in every relationship, though.

"Steve, honey, what are you wearing?" Eddie asked him one day when they were hanging out at Steve's house.

He was dressed all in black. Okay, the black pants were a good fit, but there was something off about everything else. There was something missing.

"You don't like it?" Steve pouted.

"I mean, I do, and I don't," Eddie said, shaking his head. "Where the fuck is your polo?"

"I just thought a change might be good," Steve said.

"No! Nope! No way!" Eddie exclaimed. "If I wanted to date myself, I would take my hand out for a nice little dinner!"

"Robin said - "

"Robin also believes that there are little demobat eggs waiting to burst out of us like in Alien," Eddie said. "So, what she says might not be so trustworthy especially since there's the possibility that she's fucking with you."

"So, you really don't like it?" Steve asked.

"Steve, baby, I love your sweet little sexy numbers," Eddie said. "Do you know why I love seeing you in them?"

"Why?" Steve asked.

Eddie sighed and pulled Steve into his lap.

"Because you like wearing them," Eddie said. "I don't want you to be me or anyone else. I fell in love with Steve Harrington, and Steve Harrington is what I'm going to get. I love everything about you, from your pastel colors to your polos to you playing basketball. Everything. So, if you don't want to wear these clothes, you shouldn't."

"I love you, too," Steve said. "I mean, I kind of like the black pants with the polo, but other than that, I'll change back."

"Yeah, I figured," Eddie grinned. "I mean, there's nothing about me that you want to change?"

"No! I love everything about you," Steve said. "I mean, I wish you wouldn't leave the wet towels on our bathroom floor. I totally busted my ass on them the other day."

"I think I can work on that," Eddie said and caressed his butt. "Wouldn't want to do anything to damage this sweet thing. But seriously, Stevie, don't change a thing. I'd rather you butt ass naked than try to be me."

"I think I can work on that too," Steve grinned and kissed him. "Let me go change."

Eddie sighed and watched him walk out of the room. When Steve came back in, he wasn't wearing a stitch of clothing, and his hands were firmly on his hips.

"Well, I was going to put on my polo, but I got a little hot and bothered," Steve said.

"Goddamn, darlin," Eddie whistled, stood up, slapping Steve’s ass. "I guess I have to go put up those towels. It's not fair if only you make the effort."

"I love you!"

"I love you more!"

"More than Dungeons and Dragons?!"

"Don't push it!"

[kiirotoao]

About the Byler scene that changed it all

The van scene is by no means my favorite Byler scene because it hurts. A lot. But at the same time, the power that it holds cannot match anything else between Mike and Will for me.

We’ve seen years of Mike worrying about Will from the very first “that’s weird. I don’t see him.” To the “it was the best thing I’ve ever done.” From “it’s not my fault” to “I’m sorry” to “maybe you should have reached out more” to “friends. Best friends,” Mike is sincere. Over. And over. And over again. He loves out in the open for all to see, yes, even in his mistakes, but that’s what makes him human. That’s what makes him who he is. He’s sarcastic and quick and irritable, but oh, when he’s leading, inspiring, and guiding?

Will plays an important role in Stranger Things wherein we rarely get to see his heart. But no, of course we do. He’s the one everyone fought for since season 1, so of course he’s known to us. But that’s just it, everyone else fights for him. They say that proof of good character is if other people recognize it in you, and Will has been the center of that treatment from the very start. Sure, he’s also seen in very negative lights, being made fun of even when he’s assumed dead, but I don’t care about the people who don’t know him. I care about the people who do. And those who do search for him until he’s found. Never give up even when it seems theoretically impossible. Protect him, family and friends alike.

And those things may just be givens in most loving relationships, so let’s take it a step further. What do people say about him? In season 1, Mike asserts that Will risked his character’s life for The Party - an imaginary compromise - and Lucas immediately understands the signal to go out and save him, taking even a fictitious virtue and ascribing it so meaningfully to Will that it’s worth fighting for him in real danger. Then in season 2, Joyce recounts about Will giving a little girl his own toy truck simply because she was sad. In season 3, when Will is explaining what he thinks happened to the Mind Flayer and why it inexplicably seemed to return, Mike is at his defense, saying he’s right without a doubt. Will is trustworthy, and the rest follow. Then in season 4 in arguably one of the sweetest scenes in the whole show, Will and Jonathan are on the verge of tears, and when Will says that he’ll always be there for Jonathan, Jonathan says that he knows he will be. Will is selfless, venerable, caring and wise in a sweet mixture, and when he loves, people know it.

For everything. Everything except his love for Mike. His love for Mike is something that cannot be easily digested or explained. Looking back at that Will and Jonathan scene by the tub before the mind fight, this is something that takes a step into the part of his heart that no one readily sees or pays attention to. If it is, again, it’s pushed in ridicule, covered in insensitive names, not celebrated. It’s something that makes him cry, something that he can’t even say out loud. Jonathan was the one to recognize that things were complicated for his brother and he reached out, knowing that it was hurting Will.

But despite the pain. Despite all of the shame that comes with being who he is, he lets his love out in a big reveal, the most anticipated hint all season long in season 4. And who does he reveal his heart to? Mike. He both risks it all in front of the very person of his affection and gives everything up for him, including his own love.

But be not despaired, because love is not a finite resource.

I know that this scene hurts on so many levels, especially because of what Will says about himself, but look at how Mike sees Will. I don’t think that I even need to put evidence here, but it’s just so tender and important to realize that this is not a hopeless scene.

This is the one who’s on the other end of Will’s message. This kind of attention is not going to become, ‘oh, hey, Will, I’m sorry, but I can’t accept what you said because you lied to me about who it’s from.’ If Mike does say this, he’s a liar. Look at him. He’s seeing Will plenty without a guise on his end. This is Mike falling in love with what Will is offering him.

And given everything that we know about Mike who stops at nothing to protect the ones he loves and Will who would give himself up for the ones he loves, both loving to the point of sacrifice, hand in hand, how can you come away from this scene saying that Mike would easily reject Will? That Mike won’t listen to Will and consider both of their own affections? That they won’t find an understanding? That forgiveness is foreign to them?

Will has given Mike the power to decide to buy the lie or realize it. And in a show that revolves around “friends don’t lie” and uncovering hidden truths, I doubt that Mike is going to simply buy it.

And from there, how beautiful would it be for Mike to openly accept him? To give the boy who thought he lost it all the chance to be loved in a way that makes him feel not different in a world that hates him? And how much more sweet would it be for Will to forever make Mike feel special, unceasingly, without the need to lie? To let him know how adored he is and how he doesn’t have to fight his heart anymore over a romance of obligation rather than bliss?

Byler is endgame. We’re almost there. It just makes sense.

Happy Byler Day. 💙💛

[angelynmoon]

So, eldritch monster Steve...

Part 1

-

Steve who was born in the Upside down long before El and Hawkins lab discovered it, before it was called the Upside Down, who may even have come into being at the same time as the Upside Down formed.

Steve who escaped when Dr. Brenner first began his expeiments, Dr. Brenner who opened a crack that let him slip through long before El was old enough to understand just what had been released, who didn't recognize Steve as Other the way she would come to recognize the creatures that also escaped into the Right Side Up.

El who doesn't know that Steve isn't human, doesn't know he escaped the Down Below because he was lonely.

Steve who spent years lurking in the woods surrounding Hawkins, practicing and learning, (those first few years may have been spent digging through garbage cans, and maybe a small Eddie Munson, still carrying bruises, a buzz cut and a distrust of adults, may have left left overs by the trash for him, thinking him a stray cat or dog, hoping to lure him close enough to pet, but that's a different story, that's Eddie's story, Eddie who called his stray, the one that was too scared of people to show itself, Steve, and Steve who liked the way a tiny Eddie whispered it so preciously that he kept it) Steve who spent time learning to mimic the way humans looked and spoke until he felt confident enough to join them.

Steve who knew that Mrs. Harrington longed for a child so much that she didn't question the one that walked out of the woods one day to splash around in her pool and called her Mother.

And their family was fine, Mr. Harrington accepting that he had an Heir now and not questioning why he'd never seen the boy before, children should not be seen or heard unless they were called on. And it was fine, right up until the moment that Mr. Harrington raised his hand to the small boy that was neither his son nor human.

Mr. Harrington learned that day what fear was and he took his wife, let her give adultery as an escuse for her travelling with him, anything was better than saying a monster live in their home.

And they left the creature the house and focused on their business, everywhere but Hawkins, and Mr. Harrington walked with a limp from that moment on.

Carol and Tommy were part of his mask at first but Steve really did come to care for them, as much as he could being what he was, so even after Tommy threatened him, even after Carol turned her nose up at him, he let them live, they had been his for so long, and part of him would always think of them as his, they were marked as such, nothing from the Down Below would touch them, not the real monsters from the Down Below at least.

Billy though, well, Billy had been marked the moment that he put his hands on Lucas with intent to hurt him, when he threatened Max, and Dustin, and Mike, those kids were Steve's and even if he couldn't stop them from fucking around with the Down Below, he could at least make sure nothing ate them, they were his in a way that Tommy and Carol never were, in a way even Nancy wasn't, not really, she might have been, Steve might even have been able to learn to love her deeply and completely, but she had ruined that when she came to him smelling of Jonathan and guilt, when she had gotten drunk and called him bullshit, she still had his protection but it wasn't the same after they broke up.

And Robin, when she helped him hold the door in a Russion Bunker to protect his kids he knew he'd never let anything from the Down Below touch her, she was his on a level that even the children would never touch, and he was hers in a way he never knew he could be. She was the one person he considered telling, but he was afraid, what if she was afraid of him after, he liked her, parts of him might even love her.

She was his other half, his humanity, his moral compass, if she liked boys Steve would have made her his everything, instead he settled for soulmate, Platonic with a capital P, as she told Dustin when he said they should date.

Robin was his, always and wholey.

And Steve was so angry when he found out Henry was targeting Max, that he had taken Chrissy in front of Eddie, Eddie who had fed him portions of his own dinner before Steve went to the Harringtons, Eddie, who Steve had never wanted involved in the Down Below.

And Steve supposed that it might just be time to remind the Down Below, the place that Steve was born in, that he had lived in and survived in, long before he was Steve, before he had been taken in by a rag tag group of nerds, time to show Henry just who was in charge here.

It was time to show Vecna just who the big boss of this game was, it certainly wasn't Vecna.

Steve wondered what kind of Dinosaurs and Dustpans name the kids would give him when he showed them what he really was.

@cats-ate-all-of-my-pasta

[thetempleofthemasaigoddess]

The Heart of Thago (part 1)

Young!Shanks x reader. This is part one of two. This fic is dedicated to @madbadpadawan and @fifo96!

Reader is vaguely implied to be plus-size but her body is not described. Themes of physical and sexual abuse are discussed.

Part one is mainly narrated from the point of view of a different character, part two from reader's.

*****

Standing on the bow of his ship, the Princess of the Waves, Jonathan Gorham scans the horizon, a grumpy, annoyed grimace on his already not attractive face. Around him there is nothing but water as far as the eye can see, the ship having left the town many miles behind it. Between the sea and the cloudless sky -the weather couldn’t be more pleasant, the sort people choose to enjoy with an outdoor meal or a romantic stroll, especially in the middle of of a milder than average autumn- above him the world is completely blue, the ship he’s standing on nothing more than a tiny shell in the middle of that vastness.

It might be a poetic vision, at least in the eyes of a predisposed soul, and lead a man to reflect on the fragility of human life in the face of the forces of nature, or inspire an artist to reproduce that magnificent view on a canvas, using all shades of blue to paint the vastness of the sea, bathed in the sun’s light, the tiny waves lapping against the ship’s side. 

Gorham is not that sort of man.

He has been waiting for barely a few minutes, according to his pocket watch he’s still technically early for the meeting he has travelled so far for, but Gorham is already trembling with impatience. He lets his gaze wander over the horizon for the umpteenth time, grimacing once more as he sees absolutely nothing, save for a solitary seagull cawing as he flies by over his head. Punctuality is more difficult to achieve for those who travel by ship than for a person who walks to places or uses a carriage, but after having summoned him there, as if he were an errand boy bringing a client’s purchases to his home, or a criminal called to a judicial hearing, the least those brutes could is not to make him wait, he thinks with resentment.

The summoning has been delivered barely forty-eight hours ago, to Gorham’s desk in his office, written in a better penmanship than he expected from a vulgar pirate, by a hand whose owner had disappeared without being seen by both the man and his employees. The message was short and peremptory: if Gorham wanted to have his ward back, he was to depart from the town two days later, bringing with him a million berry in cash, and no Den Den Mushi or weapons. The pirates would be able to tell whether their conditions had been respected, and if they weren’t the deal would be off, no second chance or reconsiderations. The Princess -they knew the name of Gorham’s ship! He didn’t even want to know what else those bastards had learnt about him- had to follow the route described at the bottom of the message and reach its destination before midday, when the pirates would meet Gorham to make the exchange.

The deal he has been forced to take part in is the real source of Gorham’s frustration, much more than the fact that a dangerous crew of pirates has kidnapped a young woman under his protection - of whom, he freely admits in the privacy of his thoughts, he cares nothing about. Those bastards are blackmailing him, extorting him a huge sum of his money to protect an investment he has been working on for over a decade. 

I’ll take it back, with interest, he thinks, reassuring himself the loss is only temporary. Nevertheless, lowering himself to make a bargain with a band of sea thieves is so humiliating Gorham can barely control himself. Maybe teaching (name) not to cause him so much trouble will make him feel better, he reasons as he moves a few aimless steps up and down the ship’s bow; he could use his belt, like he used to do when the young woman was a child and disobeyed him, or even punch her in the face, and have her tell people the bruises were the pirates’ fault. Yes, that would make him feel better.

(name) is Gorham’s ward, a young woman who is today exactly twenty-nine days away from the birthday that will make her an adult according to the law of the country. She’s the only heir of an extremely wealthy family - heir and only member, since her parents, who had no other children, died when she was only nine during an epidemic that had caused many other victims. Gorham, an affluent businessman, was then made legal guardian of the girl - which mainly meant he had the responsibility to ensure (name) was kept safe, raised respectably and educated, until the day she came of age and took possession of the frankly enormous wealth her parents had left her, that until then no one, not (name) herself nor Gorham, could touch. 

Gorham is not known as a man of heart, or even just an emphatic one, which is why many in town were surprised he had decided to assume responsibility for a child he hadn’t even known beforehand. The expenses for (name)’s rearing were paid from her patrimony, meticulously administered by a lawyer who had been a friend of her parents, but the guardian received no payment for his efforts. Some had speculated Gorham, who was unmarried, felt the desire for a child in his life to love and care for, while others thought that (name) had been entrusted to him by her parents, reassured by his well-known reputation as a capable businessman.

None of it is true. Gorham has reasons of his own, and while he wasn’t paid to make sure (name) was more than decently clothed and educated beyond learning to read and write, he does nothing, not even blowing his nose, if he isn’t more than sure he has something to earn from it - and since (name)’s parents have had a daughter, rather than a son, this years-long pain in the ass is going to earn him a veritable fortune

Beyond the one I seized on the first day, that is.

“Do you think they violated her?” 

Gorham blinks; so immersed he was in his thoughts, he had momentarily forgotten he is not alone, and the only person who has accompanied him in that recovery mission -apart from the ship’s crew, who the pirate captain had ordered had to remain under deck- has been silent until now, more interested in the book he had brought from home than in the imminent meeting with (name)’s kidnappers. 

“What?”

“(name). Do you think the pirates have abused her?” Cerric specifies, apparently more out of curiosity than of worry. The young man, two years past his own coming of age, is the son of Gorham’s sister, as well as his heir; the older man feels no particular affection for his nephew, but he needs Cerric to bring his project to completion, and because of this he took the boy under his wing years ago “I mean, I know she’s not exactly a beauty, but six months with a crew of pirates…”

Gorham winces, annoyed by the unpleasant topic his nephew has introduced. “As you said, given the sort of people we are dealing with, it seems reasonable to think that she has been mistreated.” he points out “In his letter the pirate captain swears she’s alive and in one piece, but I doubt that sort of violence was included in the definition.”

Cerric frowns unhappily - a look that makes the family resemblance to his uncle even more evident, as he sticks his hands in his pockets. “Do I still have to marry her?”

“Of course you have to.”

“But uncle, she’s ruined. Why do I have to marry a woman who is damaged goods? She’s not even pretty, it’s not fair…” 

Gorham doesn’t even bat an eye as he lifts his hand and slaps his nephew hard across the face. He’s no longer a young man and he was already smaller than most when he did, but the slap hurts. A lot. A moment later, Gorham has grabbed the front of his nephew’s shirt and drawn his face so close to his own the younger man can count the hairs of his uncle’s eyebrows. It is not a pleasant sensation. 

“Don’t you ever say that again.” Gorham hisses; the most dangerous foe he has ever threatened is a rat that, years ago, the man surprised as the little creature munched on the corner of a sheet of paper in his study -he threw an heavy paperweight to kill the mouse, but he missed him by a metre- but as he looks back at the other man, Cerric feels himself trembling “Never, you foolish boy. Did you hear me?”

“I…” 

“You, nothing. (name) is one of the wealthiest women in this country; her patrimony will be enough to support your descendents for the next eight generations! Can’t you see how much you have to gain, even though you did nothing to earn it besides having been born a male? The day that girl comes of age, you’ll marry her, and all she owns will become ours. This is the objective I have pursued ever since she was nine, and I have no intention of giving it up. You will marry her, and consummate the marriage, so that there will be no take backs or impugnations. I do not care if she has been mounted by any single man in Red-Haired Shanks’ crew; I don’t even care if she is pregnant. Do I make myself clear?”

“Hell, you hurt me…”

“Do I make myself clear, Cerric?”

For a moment the younger man seems ready to argue; then, perhaps in response to his uncle’s flaming eyes, he deflates. “Yes, uncle.” he grumbles, averting his eyes “Whatever you want, uncle.”

“Good.”

Gorham pats his nephew’s cheek, an apparently sweet gesture that feels painful on Cerric’s still tender skin; when the younger man moves to turn away, his uncle’s hand falls on his shoulder to keep him still, and a finger is lifted under his nose.

“As I said; ours.” Gorham repeats softly “I need your help with this, since it wouldn’t be proper for a guardian to marry his ward, but you’ll do well to remember who you owe everything to. You’ll be free to go on vacation, gamble, and spend your time with your whores, but I’ll take care of the money. I trust you have no objections to this.”

Cerric actually does; the thought of receiving an annuity of his own money, as if he were still too young, or stupid, to administer it himself, fills him with rage, but if he can leave his boring job in his uncle’s business and rent an apartment away from the home he’ll have to share with (name), he can be patient. In any case, he thinks resentfully as he’s finally free to walk away, rest his back against the ship’s side and return to his book, the old man is not going to live forever.

Silence falls on uncle and nephew as the sun above their heads approaches the summit of its trek. They’ll be here soon, Gorham tells himself; after all they proposed the meeting, and whatever fun Shanks and his men might have had after making (name) their plaything, a million berry is without a doubt a more attractive option. The pirate captain will give him the girl back, and he’ll make sure to beat her to within an inch from her life, and then have her ready for her wedding, which will take place as soon as she is of age. 

She’s alright. Probably abused in every sense of the world -and how could she not? Unlike many of his kind Red-Haired Shanks is not famous for his lust for blood and pleasure in abusing women, but what can one expect from a pirate?- but alive and hale, adequate to walk down the aisle and exchange Cerric’s ring with the vast patrimony she inherited from her parents. She HAS to be; it can’t be otherwise, not after so many years Gorham has spent making sure (name) grew well, safe and refined and educated enough society and those who had known her parents would approve, enduring her presence in his home, her stubbornness and rebellious attitude. And if she’s not, she’s going to do it all the same.

Gorham dreaded the worst when, six months ago, the girl departed for a brief cruise and was then kidnapped after the ship had been boarded by pirates; so many years wasted, and his golden goose lost forever. Cerric would marry her even if she was no longer pure, even if she had lost a limb or had her face ruined to the point her own parents would not recognise her, but what if the pirates had done something to her that actually forbade the wedding from taking place? What if the violence and torture Shanks’ men had subjected her to had made her lose her mind, so that she would be considered unable to consent to the union? Gorham might be allowed to remain as her guardian, but what would become of her wealth, with the sole heir of the family declared incapacitated? He would never put his hands on (name)’s money, and all he has done will have been for nothing…

Well, I will see her before having to pay the ransom, won’t I? If she’s not marriageable, I may as well leave her to Shanks, and save myself the trouble…

“Uncle…”

“Shut it, Cerric.”

Could he have a document drafted in (name)’s name, making it appear it had been written by the girl herself, with which to claim she wanted him to inherit her fortune in case something happened to her? Her lawyer friend would surely challenge it, since (name) would not have been of age when the document had been written, but he had friends -and even better, debtors- at the town hall, and he could find a judge who…

“Uncle, listen…”

“Will you stop complaining, Cerric, the matter is…”

“I think they are coming!” 

Those words bring Gorham instantly back to reality; looking in the direction indicated by his nephew’s pointed finger, he can see a tiny spot at the horizon, barely visible against the azure backdrop of the sky but clearly moving towards them. Finally, he thinks, allowing himself a single sigh of relief before squaring his shoulders and preparing himself for a meeting that will be as short as possible, but probably unpleasant in any case. He waits, deceptively calm, as the spot becomes a shape and then a recognisable object that gets bigger by the minute.

It’s exactly midday, both Gorham’s watch and the sun itself agree on it, when Shanks’ ship reaches the Princess, easily stopping close enough to allow a conversation between the people on the two bridges. The Princess is his owner’s pride and joy, a well built brigantine that many in town envy him, but it is completely dwarfed by the pirate ship, a large galleon with a dragon figurehead, like a donkey entered in a dressage competition; a comparison between the two ships is unfair, but Gorham bites his lip, annoyed. He feels belittled, even before he and the pirate captain find themselves face to face, and he doesn’t like it at all. 

The pirate ship’s bridge is empty, save for a pair of men. The older has black hair in a ponytail, a rifle hanging from his shoulder, and a cigarette between his fingers from which he takes lazy drags as he observes the two men on the Princess, clearly unimpressed. Gorham, who has documented himself about Shank’s crew with an acquaintance he has at the local Marine base, knows he is Benn Beckman, the first officer. 

The other is the captain himself.

“Mister Gorham, I suppose; good to meet you.” he cheerfully greets the older man, placing a hand on the top of his straw hat to then bow his head in greeting “My apologies for having you come all the way here.” 

Shanks looks the same age as Cerric, but that is the only similarity between the two men. The pirate captain is tall, slim but strong, the bright red hair he owes his moniker to visible under his hat; he’s young but already a formidable pirate, Gorham has been told, less unnecessarily bloodthirsty than other crews but clearly dangerous, having already vanquished many foes. Gorham is aware that if the pirate captain decided to go back on the deal he had proposed, take the bounty and kidnap him and Cerric to extort even more money from them, there is nothing either man could do to oppose him; he can’t help being afraid, afraid of that vermin of the sea and his band of cutthroats, and he hates it. 

“Where is (name)?” he asks, determined not to prolong that conversation any longer than he has to.

“The young lady is safe and sound, rest assured; she is unhurt, and she’ll continue to be if you have kept your part of the deal.”

Gorham wishes he could argue that deal is not the appropriate word to use, given that in their case one of the parts has unilaterally set the terms and the other -him- could do nothing but accept them, but he decides to save his breath: discussions about semantics are probably wasted on riffraff like Shanks and his men.

He wordlessly nods towards Cerric, whose lack of enthusiasm is evident as he walks away, disappearing beyond the small door leading below decks; two minutes later he is back, evidently struggling as he carries a heavy chest. 

“A million berry, as you requested.” Gorham announces, while his nephew puts the chest down beside him; Shanks grins. 

“I’m sure you kept your end of the bargain, as befitting an honourable man like you.” he says, sarcasm evident in his voice. Gorham wonders if as a pirate he is naturally inclined to disrespect, or the younger man is deliberately insulting him; he would have no reason to, since he and Gorham have never met before “But you’ll forgive me if I want to make sure.”

He turns towards the stern of his own ship and whistles; a few more men appear on the bridge, carrying a gangway that is quickly positioned between the two decks, allowing the red-haired man to step onto the Princess. 

Shanks smiles at them, while Gorham and Cerric instinctively step back, both having noticed the sword in its sheath hanging from the pirate’s side. “Hi there.” he greets them affably, as if he had just entered a house he had been invited in for dinner; and then, as he looks all around him: “What a nice little ship.” 

He sounds unexpectedly sincere, but for some reason Gorham feels those words as a humiliating insult. He forces himself to hold his tongue while Shanks reaches the chest, opens it and observes the large quantity of golden coins inside, clearly judging the sum they represent.

“I’d say it’s what we discussed.” he announces in the end; then, a moment later, he has turned towards Gorham, his hands reaching towards the older man.

“What are you…?”

“I am not going to hurt you, you have my word. I just want to… ah. What do we have here?”

After a brief search, the pirate has found the gun Gorham had hidden under his coat, making sure as he stood in front of a mirror the weapon was well concealed. Shanks takes it, looking at Gorham like a teacher who has caught his most promising student cheating during an exam.

“I had asked you to bring no weapons, mister Gorham; don’t you care about your ward’s safety?”

“You really thought I would come meet a dangerous pirate like you without taking precautions for my own safety?”

“As I said, no harm would be done to you as long as you respected my instructions. Now what? I should take the money, and keep your ward for myself; a well-bred girl like her could fetch quite a sum at the slave market of the Sabaody Archipelago.”

He actually seems to consider the option, and Gorham feels himself trembling. A million berry is a more than considerable sum, but almost nothing if compared to the wealth he will come into possession of as soon as Cerric marries (name); that damn girl is once again source of nothing but trouble, but Gorham knows he can’t give up now, less than a month away from the day he has been waiting for so long. 

“Please, captain, let us not throw away all we have worked for.” he says, forcing himself to sound polite, even -ugh- friendly towards a man he would gladly see swallowed by a Sea King “The gun was only for my protection; I am an old man, and I couldn’t help fearing for my life when meeting a known pirate like you. My nephew and I are very worried about poor (name); please return her to us, so that we can bring her home.”

Shanks turns towards Cerric; the barrel of the gun the pirate is still holding does as well, making the other man jump.

“This is your nephew? Miss (name)’s future husband?”

“The very same.”

Gorham knows they shouldn’t desire to make a good impression on Shanks -who cares what the pirate thinks about them?- but he really wishes his nephew could at least straighten his back, and stop trembling; Shanks wordlessly looks at him, clearly unimpressed. “A very sweet deal for you both, I’m sure.” he comments “Throw your gun into the sea and I’ll overlook your little transgression.”

It takes his uncle’s dirty look to convince a clearly reticent Cerric to comply. Now they are really helpless, Gorham thinks; it’s a situation he doesn’t like, at all.

“Now it’s your turn, captain Shanks.”

“Very well.”

Shanks turns to share a look with his first mate, who nods wordlessly towards the men who have brought the gangway; they disappear, presumably to return under deck, and then return two minutes later, a crying woman held tight between them as she screams.

“Let me go! Let me go, please…!”

(name) looks nothing like the young woman who habitually patronised the most elegant tea rooms of the town, and strolled down the harbour with her parasol open to protect her from the sun’s harsh rays. Her elegant dress, bought in one of the town’s most expensive boutiques -she had at least a dozen of them, because she liked being up to date with the latest fashions and her lawyer friend was more than generous with the allowance she received, having pointed out that a young woman of (name)’s class deserved to be more than decently clothed. Gorham had found no way to oppose this waste of money, resentfully calculating the loss his capital was suffering every time his ward went out shopping- is torn into pieces, grime and dirt soiling the delicate fabric, her hair dirty and unkempt, her face bruised and streaked with tears; she’s barefoot. She struggles as the men roughly manhandle her across the ship’s deck, clearly too weak to escape; a scream erupts from her lips when the young woman sees the two men on the Princess’s deck.

“Mister Gorham! Cerric! For God’s sake, help me, please…!” 

“Shut it, you.” Shanks brusquely barks at her, and the mere sound of his voice is enough to make the young woman cower and shiver; the pirates’ laugh fills the air “As promised, mister Gorham; your ward, alive and hale.” 

“She’s not exactly in the same conditions as the last time I saw her, I think.” Gorham objects; he’s not especially interested in whatever abuse the young woman may have suffered, and since she’s alive and lucid enough to recognise him he’s confident there will be no opposition to her wedding, but the thought that he’s paying a million berry for a woman who would not look out of place in the seediest brothels of the town is frustrating.

Shanks shrugs, clearly even less interested in his prisoner’s well being. “You try keeping a crew of thirty men calm with a young woman on board; I had to let the boys spend a bit of time with her, or I would have had a full-blown mutiny at my hands.” he points out “But she shouldn’t be pregnant, so you won't have a little bastard on your hands.”

Those words have the power to make (name) weep even louder; she crumbles to the ship’s deck when the pirates let her go, and now she's crying inconsolably, the sound, Gorham thinks with distaste, as pleasant as the scratching of nails on a blackboard. “If you only knew what they did to me.” the young woman laments “Every day, for hours… and when I tried fighting back they left me without food…”

“Well, you did need to lose a few pounds, didn’t you, miss?”

“You animal! You-you bastard! You have no heart, God will punish you for what you have done!”

He’s been in her presence for a minute and Gorham is already fed up with the girl’s whining; he looks at her, sobbing pitifully in her dirty dress, and wonders how long the pirates had been without seeing a woman, if they had welcomed her presence on their ship. “Please give her back to us, captain.” he says, already dreading the next hours; he knows already (name) will cry and wail until they bring her home.

Shanks nods; a gesture is made towards the pirates, and Beckman grabs (name)’s arm to pull her to her feet, and then pushes her towards the gangway. “Come on, walk.”

Trembling, and clearly unsteady on her feet, (name) looks terrified as she observes the thin, fragile platform providing a passage between the two ships. 

“If you please, miss.” Shanks invites her with a mocking bow; (name) glares at him -not that it looks very threatening, given her sorry state- and then looks at the gangway once more, as if judging its solidity.

“I can’t…!”

“Of course you can. Come on, your guardian is waiting for you.”

“No, I… I’m afraid of heights. I can’t do it, I’ll fall in the water…”

Shanks grins. “In that case I’ll come to fish you out personally; would you like that? Maybe you can repay me with a kiss…”

“You monster, don’t you dare…!”

“Alright, I’ve had enough.” Gorham barks. He had promised himself he would not lose his temper in front of the pirates, but he has already spent a million berries to save that idiotic girl, not to mention the years he has been forced to share his house with her and deal with her stubbornness and lack of respect; it is almost satisfying to see her like this, reduced to silence and begging for help, not to mention her money will finally be his in less than a month, but the longer he is forced to listen to her crying, the more he wishes he could silence her with a slap or a dozen “(name), get on that gangway and come here.”

The young woman shakes her head, as if trying to deny the truth in front of her, the perceived danger posed by the water, as she hugs herself. “Mister Gorham, please, I can’t…”

“Come here, I said! I am sick and tired of your crying, if you’re not here within two minutes I swear I’ll leave you here with the pirates!”

He wouldn’t, of course, not when the golden goose is so close to give him all her eggs, but the girl can’t know - or maybe she does, since she’s been told for years she’ll have to marry Cerric as soon as she comes of age, a prospect she is clearly not thrilled about since she has said several times she considers her fiancé a sorry excuse for a man. Still, whatever reticence she had about her wedding has disappeared after six months in Shanks’ -and his men’s- care.

Satisfied, Gorham sees (name) step on the gangway and, stumbling a bit as she desperately tries not to look down, cross it in the direction of the Princess; from the way she moves it’s clear she’s sore - Gorham doesn’t need to wonder from what sort of activity. Behind her, the pirates wave their hand derisively, whistling when a sudden gust of wind lifts the young woman’s skirt.

“I’ll remember your tits for the rest of my life, girl!” one of them cries to her, much to the amusement of the others. As soon as she’s safe on the Princess’s deck, (name) walks past Shanks, who quickly slaps her behind. She glares at him, but that measly act of rebellion seems to be everything she has the strength for; she bursts into tears again, collapsing in Cerric’s arms. He, clearly unhappy with the closeness, lowers her to the deck and quickly steps away, leaving her alone to sob loudly; Gorham, exasperated, really wishes he could kick her in the backside to make her shut up - and maybe he will, he promises himself, as soon as they’re home, or at least on the way back.  

A minute later, Beckman has also crossed the gangway to step on the Princess; both Gorham and Shanks look on as the first mate effortlessly lifts the chest with (name)’s ransom and carries it back to the pirate ship, to the cheering of the other men.

Shanks grins, openly satisfied as he bows his head towards Gorham, a hand resting on the top of his straw-hat. “It was a pleasure making business with you, sir.” 

“I really wish I could say the same, captain.” Gorham can’t help answering “To think that you have such a positive reputation for a pirate; and yet you’re exactly like the rest of them, a brute who kidnaps innocent women and leaves their families destitute to ransom them.”

Shanks looks at him, clearly unimpressed. It only now dawns on Gorham that having taken his money the pirate, who still has his gun in his hand as well as his own sword, could easily kill him, and Cerric. The older man only has a moment to regret opening his mouth, before realising the red-haired pirate is grinning, openly amused. 

“Alas, you are right.” he says, a hand on his heart as if Gorham’s words had pained him “I like to think I am a man of honour, but it takes a lot of berry to feed a crew, and unfortunately we are running quite low on funds. Your ward offered us the chance to put away quite a bit of money… as well as to enjoy the company of a woman for the first time in months; at least if she wanted to eat at least once a day. Thanks to you, we have more than enough to live on for a while; we are deeply grateful, truly. I bid you farewell; perhaps we will meet again one day.” 

Gorham dearly wishes they won’t; that unpleasant morning trip has already cost him a million berry -that he’ll soon recuperate after (name) and Cerric’s wedding, but still- and a throbbing headache, and he’ll be happy to never meet, and never hear about, Shanks again. 

He remains still as the pirate captain returns to his own ship and then has the gangway pulled back; he turns to smile at the trio on the Princess’s deck, and Gorham looks away, supremely fed up with the whole matter. 

“Let us go.” he orders as he turns and starts in the direction of his cabin, anxious to release the crew from their confinement and order the captain to lead them home. Cerric is quick to follow, while (name) remains where she is, no longer sobbing but perfectly still as she regards the pirate ship, and the red-haired man who looks back at her, equally unmoving on the bridge.

“Come, (name).” Gorham orders. 

Silence.

“Have you not heard me? Move, girl!”

Cerric brusquely grabs her by the arm to haul her to her feet; startled, (name) lowers her face and follows the two men, arms wrapped around her torso as if to protect herself from a cold she cannot feel. She turns to glance once more behind her; a moment later she has disappeared below deck. 

On the pirate ship, the celebration has ended; all the eyes are trained on the captain, whose gaze is in turn still fixed on the Princess, so intense one could actually believe he could see beyond the walls. 

Beckman’s hand gently rests on his shoulder. “It’s going to be alright, captain.” he murmurs, almost soothing as he tries to offer the comfort they all know the younger man needs.

“I know.” 

Shanks sighs. “Let us go, boys.” he orders as he turns to his men, his usually sunny expression having darkened suddenly; only a few minutes later both ships have departed, leaving the agreed place for the meeting empty, nothing more than a stretch of sea populated by gently rolling waves and the cries of seagulls.

[odinsblog]

Many years ago, the Jewish U.S. scholar Norman Finkelstein wrote a best seller that caused uproar among a group he exposed as the “Holocaust Industry”: people who invariably had not been direct victims of the Holocaust, but nonetheless chose to exploit and profit from Jewish suffering.

Though treated as leaders of the Jewish community, they were not primarily interested in helping survivors of the Holocaust, or in stopping another Holocaust – the two things one might have assumed would be the highest priorities for anyone making the Holocaust central to their life. In fact, hardly any of the many millions the Holocaust Industry demanded from countries like Germany in reparations ever made it to Holocaust survivors, as Finkelstein documented in his book.

Instead, this small group instrumentalised the Holocaust for their own benefit: to gain money and influence by embedding themselves in an industry they had created. They became untouchables, beyond criticism because they were associated with an industry that they had made as sacred as the Holocaust itself.

A follow-up book called the Antisemitism Industry, an investigation into much the same group of people, is now overdue. These ghouls don’t care about antisemitism – in fact, they rub shoulders with the West’s most prominent antisemites, from Donald Trump to Viktor Orban.

Rather, they care about Israel – and the weaponisation of antisemitism to protect their emotional and financial investment. They profit from Israel’s central place in US political, diplomatic and military life:

• as a giant real-estate laundering exercise, based on the theft of native Palestinian land;

• as a laboratory for the production of new weapons and surveillance systems tested on Palestinians;

• as a heavily militarised colonial state, a spearpoint for the West, useful in destabilising and disrupting any threat of a unifying Arab nationalism in the oil-rich Middle East;

• and as the frontier state for eroding legal and ethical principles developed after the Second World War to stop a repeat of those atrocities.

Anyone who challenges the Antisemitism Industry’s – and therefore Israel’s – stranglehold on Jewish representation in public life is hounded as an antisemite or self-hating Jew, as is currently happening most prominently to Jewish film-maker Jonathan Glazer. He is the Oscar-winning director of The Zone of Interest, about the family of a Nazi commandant of Auschwitz who lived blind to the horrors unfolding just out of view, beyond their walled garden.

I wrote an earlier piece about the manufactured furore provoked by Glazer’s comments at the Oscars. In his acceptance speech, he denounced the hijacking of Jewishness and the Holocaust that has sustained Israel’s occupation over many decades and generated constant new victims, including the latest: those who suffered at the hands of Hamas when it attacked on October 7, and the many, many tens of thousand of Palestinians killed, maimed and orphaned by Israel over the past five months.

—Jonathan Cook, the antisemitism industry doesn’t speak for Jews, it speaks for western elites

[vickyvicarious]

Good observation that Dracula's great grimness at informing Jonathan that they must part soon changing to his usual smoothness when Jonathan refuses to return to his room as dictated. Or gives Dracula the pleasure to go "before we part and before you become one of us let's play one more time, lets see you walk back into my arms from danger once more, for good this time". Maybe he even expected this small rebellion from Jonathan, knowing him. Especially after he dared scale his walls. It's more satisfying to "earn" Jonathan's submission. An unbreakable will bending to his is sweeter.

I think Dracula absolutely loves Jonathan's stubbornness... but only with the caveat that he is in control of the situation and can prey upon it. This response is extremely belated, but I kind of like answering it now because I think Dracula's treatment of Renfield so far, as opposed to Jonathan, is so revealing. He's ignoring Renfield completely. He has no interest in him at all. Because Renfield wants to be with Dracula. And Dracula doesn't care to spend his time with people who want to be around him; he's only interested in forcing his company upon those who don't want it. It's a huge part of the fun for him.

If someone like... Seward, for example, had been sent to Castle Dracula, he wouldn't have lasted anywhere near as long. Because I think he would be too enticed/interested in the vampires, and thus he'd bore Dracula a lot faster by being too willing or even eager to play along. Then again, someone who refused to play along at all would get boring very quickly too - if they don't submit and play his game he'll force them into submission with violence and that'll be the end of it. Jonathan managed to thread the needle perfectly with playing along on the surface while still constantly trying to resist behind the scenes. It was interesting and fun, a challenge that never made Dracula feel truly threatened. (Of course, he didn't realize the full extent of Jonathan's resistance/that he did have cause to be threatened...)

And he loved it! He was having so much fun! He got to genuinely enjoy Jonathan's company, but also enjoy how little Jonathan enjoyed his company and how he couldn't do anything about that. He got to keep pushing and pushing and pushing him and watch Jonathan almost break again and again but still just keep bending. To tempt him into disobeying and then punish him for it. To force him to rely on Dracula himself for protection and thus stick even closer the more endangered he gets. He gets to work for it, while at the same time never actually facing real risk other than losing his new toy (and Jonathan always settled down in the end, always let the game continue). ...And then he had to call it quits, because he had a schedule to keep. Yeah, I think he was genuinely kind of upset about that. And so when he got the idea for the wolves, he cheered way up again.

Because Dracula was able to offer Jonathan exactly what he claimed he wanted, but in such a way that they both knew he would never accept it. Instead, he forced Jonathan into a situation where he was forced to "choose" Dracula instead, one last time and more definitively than ever before. It was the perfect way to end their time together. Well, except one final victory - 'rewarding' Jonathan's choice by honoring it with one last night together, with delaying no longer and finally drinking from him.

Contrast all of that to Dracula's complete disinterest in Renfield, despite his avowed goal of conquering England and spreading vampirism here. You'd think a servant who willingly came to him would be helpful for that. But no, because Renfield came to him truly willingly, wanted to enter freely and of his own accord.

Dracula likes the kind of person who enters freely and of their own accord... because they're alone in the wilderness with wolves at their back. He likes those who stay because doing otherwise would be their certain death. He likes those who don't want this (who struggle and struggle, who have an unbreakable will) and yet are forced by him into accepting anyway.

An unbreakable will who bends at his command - that's how Dracula saw Jonathan, and he loved him for it. Right up until the point he decided he was finished, and acted to break him once and for all anyway.

[neverthebabysitter]

The spin-off everyone wants of stobin working different jobs but make it through all the canon. MAKE THEM BE FRIENDS EARLIER.

I love platonic soulmates stobin and them becoming friends before canon??? Yes please. Please give those two more years of happines and friendship and being stupid teenagers together.

Maybe not exactly friends friends at the beggining, yk, like the dynamic they had in scoops before everything went cataplum-boom-bla-aaaaaa. And bond like stray cats with interwined souls.

They working at Benny's dinner in the first season, being the ones to found El, freaking out and bickering the whole time about what to do because that’s a child, that’s almost 100% an abused and probably now homeless child, wtf.

I know Benny barely appeared like 10 minutes in screen MAX (and i'm being generous) but i love that man and in this universe he survives thanks to those one-braincell-sharing dinguses.

They being the ones to take care of El and protect her, they know they should call cps but hey, when they tried to call she found out and throw the phone with her mind so they supposed that isn't an option now.

Robin bringing a photo of Will by accident, Jonathan and Joyce sharing it with everybody just in case and El going "i know where he is" So they suppose are going to search for a missing kid now, ig.

They bumping into the Party and everything snowballing from there.

Steve still ends up hitting a demogorgon with a nailbat btw. And losing their jobs. How? Idk, probably they quit because the feds are keeping a close eye on them and they don't want to make trouble for Benny, who knows. (The real reason is that Robin accidentally broke the machine to make milkshakes and is too afraid to tell Benny so they run off before someone figures it out)

Then they went to get a job at the Hawk, i know that in Rebel Robin it said she worked there for a while but i'm not sure when or in what so let's just say it was at this time.

You can think in a lot of little things they would get up to, like annoying couples in the middle of make up sessions, eating the pop corns that nobody bought at the end of their shifts, snuck in movies that nobody went to see when they have slow shifts and laugh out loud for how bad they are, etc.

Then the second season happens and the mall is open. The Hawk has to fire people because there’s not enough money and ended up being Steve and Robin, who had guess.

Now everyone knows what happen after that, scoops ahoy and family video.

Just let them be silly in different jobs together.

[fastcardotmp3]

stranger things au where when it's all done, instead of the general fandom usual of NDA's and cover stories, those guys at the NINA Project figure out a way to use that same technology that brought El's memories back to instead wipe the memories of anyone involved in saving the world/ anyone who saw anything abnormal and replace them with the mundane.

It's the only foolproof way to make sure that none of That gets out, to make sure that no one decides to go poking around again 10 years down the line or write a book or a song or a movie that hits a little too closely to the truth, and the government loves themselves something that seems like a foolproof plan.

But what does this mean for our heroes? They don't remember the circumstances that brought them together, only the cover memories that were inserted in their place. They don't remember why they care so deeply for one another because a summer scooping ice cream or a walk through the woods or an-- impromptu game of baseball???-- doesn't quite line up with how it feels.

It feels bigger than that. It feels--

There are explanations for Steve's scars, he remembers a big dog and a trip to the ER, he remembers getting in a car accident and the seat belt coming loose enough to get stuck across his throat instead of his chest. He remembers-- blood on his hands, blood on his clothes, the outline of a man torn half to shreds--

He remembers a bad trip with Robin, but sometimes Robin will say something and it's-- when we got drugged- took those- when we uh, y'know tried LSD that time?-- fuzzy because of the bad trip of it all.

It's easy to accept the truth as the truth, because he remembers. It's easy, for years, to let the truth be the truth, to forget entirely that there are pieces that don't make sense, that there's no reason he should be as close with Dustin Henderson as he is because wait how did we meet? over a missing cat? It's easy, to just let it be true, because the love is there and that's what matters.

The love is there for a year and two and five and ten and Steve's life isn't always easy, in fact he's gone through his fair share of therapists for the insomnia none of them can explain, the confusion that both him and Robin talk about sometimes in the dead of night but can't remember talking about in the morning.

Eddie gets medicated for some sort of psychosis for a while because he had years of these intense night terrors that he could never explain to people, screaming at the top of his lungs, but the minute he would try to tell a shaking and terrified Steve or Robin or Nancy or whoever was present what it had been about he would just sob with frustration because he couldn't remember.

Max has a condition which made her lose her eyesight rapidly as a teenager, who has chronic pain that no doctors have ever found a real cause for despite Steve dragging her to appointment after appointment with fierce protectiveness in his eyes and voice, a desperation that there has to be a reason.

It's easy to accept it as the truth, that they all gravitated towards each other because they're all just a little fucked up in unrelated ways. That they connected to one another because oh you get scared sometimes too? scared like I do? scared like no one else understands?

Lucas starts spontaneously sobbing when some Kate Bush song plays on the radio in 1992. Can't explain it except that it hurts.

Nancy goes to a shooting range and feels her hands go steady for the first time in years in '93. She's never shot a gun before.

El Hopper had a traumatic enough childhood that doctors say she likely won't ever remember all of it, that her brain is protecting her, that-- that's probably true. They're doctors. They know better than Steve, they know about everything except why Max's legs hurt so bad she can't move sometimes.

They know everything except why Eddie can't feel pinned down without having a visceral belief he's dying.

They know everything except why Jonathan swears that their old house used to be painted a different color in the living room.

There are explanations for Steve's scars. He remembers a big dog.

Sharp teeth. Snarling.

He's in his thirties when he kisses Eddie Munson for the first time, because they're fucked in the head in the same ways, because no one else has ever gotten close enough to see the scars and hear the screaming and feel the desperation and not suggested maybe you need bigger help than I can give.

He's a grown man, and it's easy to believe the truth of his past, easy to think that growing older means it's supposed to be a little fuzzy around the edges, and that's okay because this feels bright and clear and technicolor, this thing with Eddie who has run away and come back half a dozen times but always does come back.

Whether he goes to Seattle or LA, New York or Boston; whether he and Steve are in the same place at the same time for more than a couple of weeks, he always comes back, they always find their way back to each other no matter where in the world, except--

Except there.

Everyone left that town with a haste-- or was it one at a time? No, it was the Byers first to California, except-- didn't Will graduate from that school? No. Because El went to school in Chicago at the same time that Robin started college there and she helped Will apply to the Arts Institute and--

And it was Max who went to California-- no, she was from there, but she also-- did she go back?

And why does Steve remember the house he grew up in but the minute he tries to step outside the back door onto the patio in his mind, out by the-- with the blue light and--

"Have you ever been back?" he asks Eddie one day, 32 years old and living in Chicago now full-time together. Robin's just down the road, Nancy's at the Tribune, Argyle has been franchising that coffee shop of his, is opening a spot here in town near his friends who he met when--

"Back where?" Eddie trails his hands through Steve's hair, laying half on top of each other on the couch and listening to some old tape of Jonathan's.

"Where we're from."

Eddie's fingers slow to an almost still and Steve props himself up to watch the way his brow furrows in concentration.

"Why would we go back?" he asks, and Steve has this flash-- like they've had this conversation before.

Like they've talked about where we're from before, although the name of the place never crosses their lips.

"I dunno," Steve slumps into Eddie's chest. They're getting older though so maybe just, "nostalgia?"

"Are you feeling nostalgic?" A rediscovered rhythm to gentle nails across his scalp. Soothing.

"It's where we met," Steve says. It feels true, although when he thinks about it-- "remember? How we met?"

"I..." Eddie's jaw clicks. It does that sometimes, on the same side with the scar.

There are explanations for Eddie's scars too-- a drug deal gone wrong, too many guys with too may knives-- or was it broken beer bottles? They used those as weapons, yeah. Tattered clothes and tattered skin and blood on Steve's hands--

No. He wasn't there. Blood on-- it was Dustin who found him? No. Wait, it was Wayne. Wayne found him, yeah, exactly--

"We met there," Eddie's gripping Steve's hair now, by the root. "We met back there. High school. Do you want to go back?

"Why would we go--"

Steve startles himself with the words, like they just-- like they weren't a choice to say, like they said themselves, like--

"Ed."

Breathing is tight. Steve sits up straight and looks at him. Scars on his face. Eyes so big and deep they hold endless histories--

"Eddie, do you want to go visit-- visit, uh, you know?"

"Why would we--" Eddie claps a hand over his mouth and hums out a sound of frightened discontent. "What. What the fuck."

"How did we meet, again?" Steve swallows. Eddie stands up, paces to the other side of the apartment.

"High school."

"How in high school?"

"Steve, I stopped taking those meds because they didn't help, but this isn't helping me not feel fucking certifiable either--"

"Eddie, I don't remember."

"Okay, so we're getting old!"

"We're not even middle aged!"

Eddie stops where he stands, shakes his head, and Steve watches him because it's easy to watch him, easy to look at the life they've lived and accept that they found each other, fell in love, because no one else gets what it's like to be fucked in the head. To know what's true and still feel wrong in that truth.

To believe it and still get lost in it.

Eddie clenches down on the tremble of his jaw and his eyes go big and imploring.

"What's happening, Stevie?"

There are explanations for all of it, but no one has ever been able to explain Max's pain or Nancy's sharp-shooting or Robin and Steve's inability to get drunk without losing it or the color of the paint in the Byers' old living room in that fucking town that Steve can't even think the name of--

"I'm calling Robin," he says, already striding across the floor. "I want to go back."

There are explanations.

Maybe that's not good enough anymore.

[batmanfruitloops]

Jonathan is very protective of his friends (a healthy amount). He's never had real friends who care about him and look forward to seeing him as often as possible. People who like it when he's happy and are unbothered by his appearance and interest. People would miss him horribly should anything happen to him. People who make him feel loved. He may seem aloof to their affections sometimes and loves to tease and bother them, he doesn't really know how to handle it. Though they understand his weird way of returning their love. His quiet kind gestures, the little trinkets and items he gifts, his habit of therapizing them when they are distressed, and of course his willingness to put himself in harms way, to give his own life to keep them safe. He is not losing these relationships he cherishes so deeply.

-Fluffy

[littleabriel-blog]

Why You Shouldn't Watch Loki S2

With Season 2 of that show making its debut tomorrow, I thought I would make one last ditch effort to convince people not to watch it. It's not just because it's a horrible show that makes a mockery of my favorite Marvel character. There are a lot of problematic elements that contribute to the long list of reasons why people should not give Disney their money or ratings.

I am imploring people, one last time: If you must hate-watch the season, pirate it. If you must watch with some lingering hope that the real Loki will somehow make an appearance (and based on the reviews I have seen, that seems very unlikely), pirate it. Please don't contribute to Disney's ratings. Disney isn't going to care if you're hate watching or if you are only watching it hoping to get a glimpse of the Trickster we all know and love. They only care about numbers, and high ratings might mean we'll get stuck with another season of this utter dreck.

That said, here are some reasons why you should rethink giving this show your views:

It glorifies abuse and torture

In this show we are treated to the sight of Mobius using torture as "therapy", emotionally beating Loki down to the point where he capitulates to the TVA's demands, punishing him for having a crush on someone else by sticking him in a room for hours (at least) with an illusionary Sif who kicks him in the balls and punches him on repeat while further hammering the whole "you'll always be alone, you don't deserve good things" message, and generally working for an organization that subjects Loki to mockery, bullying, sexual assault (being stripped without his consent--that scene wasn't hot. It wasn't sexy. It was horrifying and I really, really have to wonder about the mental state of anyone who is at all turned on by it. Think about it, if Loki were a woman who was being forcibly stripped, there would have been loads of hatemail filling up Disney's servers), and slavery.

That's even before we get into the atrocious way Sylvie treats him. I've gone into how she treats him many, many times, how she belittles, invalidates, silences, and oh yes tries to kill him for daring to ask her to reconsider killing HWR. If the roles were reversed and Loki treated Sylvie like that? You ladies who love the ship so much would be boycotting Disney. It's no less abuse just because it's a woman doing it to a man.

It glorifies fascism

The TVA is very much Nazi coded yet they are framed as heroes...well, except when they're picking on Sylvie of course, since she's all pure and good and can do no wrong (Mary Sue powers activate!) They torture a character who is very much Jewish coded, an effeminate man who is very much the Other in the home he grew up in.

And what the hell is this?

As a Jew, I find this image deeply, deeply disturbing. It's a fucking gas chamber, y'all. It. Is. A . Gas. Chamber.

I don't know how anyone can NOT see how problematic it is.

It has Jonathan Majors in it

I really don't give a flipping shit if they're "only" allegations or if they wrapped up filming before the allegations came out. People boycotted Flash for Ezra Miller doing basically the same thing, so I don't see why it should be any different with Majors.

But then I know from experience that some of you so-called feminists out there are only about protecting or believing women when it suits you. Can't have a little thing like not supporting a domestic abuser get in the way of your wish fulfillment self-insert fantasies of beating the crap out of Loki before fucking him.

The first season was written by a total creep, and that same creep is producing the second season

'Nuff said.

Selfcest/Incest

I don't want to hear how "selfcest doesn't exist", especially in a fictional universe where you have sorcerers, witches, men with super soldier serum running in their veins, magic plants that turn individuals into superstrong Cat People, and talking raccoons.

And even without the selfcest, that ship is a very problematic one, as I stated above, and have continued to talk about at length.

It's just plain awful

The plot is predictable, full of holes, and not even that original (it's cribbed directly from a script Waldron wrote that was so awful, even SyFy wouldn't produce it, plus see my post with the clip from Batman Returns). Loki is grossly OOC in it...seriously, there is not a single hint of the character I had grown to love from Thor 1, Avengers, and the Dark World. He's nerfed all to hell (an Asgardian god who can take on Thor easily is beaten up by human rednecks?), and he's lost all his cunning, wit, intelligence, and grace all in favor of turning him into a sophomoric slapstick clown and the butt of everyone's jokes. The newer characters are poorly mapped out and one dimensional.

It's just...bad.

So there, that's my last ditch attempt to convince people to boycott this piece of shit. I realize my pleas might be falling on deaf ears, much as Loki's pleas fell on Sylvie's, but I had to get it out there.

Other Loki show antis can add to this or elaborate if they want. I'm too tired to be too coherent right now.

[perplexedjokist]

possible triggering topics ahead (brief mentions of abuse and neglect), take care of yourself guys, fiction CAN make your mood worse!!

✦ : 500(ish) words

you're jonathan crane, you're fourteen and sitting on the floor. in the corner of your homes small kitchen, like you used to when you were small.

everything is so different now. it's cold outside, your fingers feel icy even though the house is warm.

your parents.. aren't the same and haven't been for some time. in the summer your father had gotten sick, and his memory has been patchy and blurry since then.

he barely remembers you. your mother has taken pity on him, saying it's a fresh start, that we can all ignore every bad thing he's done.

you can't. it hurts.

it hurts that he can't even apologize for what he's done, neglect, throwing you around, yelling at you at times.

you think your mother is stupid, how can she not see that's just how he is? how he'll always be. he won't change. that's not how people work.

you know more than her, more than most people. you know it. and your father gets mad at you for it.

you're told it's wrong to think of yourself better than others, but you know you're better. you feel it, you see it, you know everyone else your age was always ignorant. stupid. didn't know enough.

you're jonathan crane, watching your parents dance in the kitchen, knowing they don't want to take care of you. you're a burden to them, because you refuse to lie to yourself. you refuse to "let it all go".

smart people aren't that ignorant, they remember all they can. not that you can remember too far back, maybe a week at most.

but you know how everything felt, even if you forgot what happened you'll always remember that feeling.

that stabbing feeling of emptiness that rarely goes away, sometimes replaced by feeling on top of the world. that only happens when teachers or your parents said you did a good job or call you smart.

they don't do that anymore.

you haven't been able to keep up in school, your parents don't love you like they used to. they wanted a baby, one that forever stays ignorant.

not a teenager. not someone who knows too much. not someone who'll tell them what they've done wrong, people hate when you do that.

the only thing you can remember clearly is that feeling of validation you got.

months ago, you'd spooked your mom by accident. she'd said you scared her half to death, after three years of nothing but one feeling you felt something different.

that same happy feeling when you're told you did good.

you wonder why that is.

why you feel real when people say you're scary or unsettling. why run away from that? be normal when you can feel alive again?

the only teacher nice to you says you think too much, if you did something with that brain of yours you'd be so successful.

you think she's right. that's what gives you the courage to go outside by yourself. stare that scarecrow down.

you'd always been scared of it, you remember your mother telling you once that using your fears for your own protection was the smartest thing to do because everyone else will be afraid of you.

you think she's right, at least right now. that's why you take it down and stare it in the face.

how can you use that to protect yourself?

[blakeswritingimagines]

Dating Yandere Steve Harrington Would Include:

Obsessed like he’ll do anything to be around you. His obsession comes from the fact that you are the first real person who ever acknowledged him after a lifetime of being ignored. If anything happens to you he goes insane. And goes into a revenge scheme of hunting down anything or anyone that hurt or would hurt you. His love for you is so strong that he would literally die for you, just to make sure you were okay, or to save you from whatever caused you harm.

He gets jealous very easily. Especially if you were with anyone else, like Jonathan or Billy. He would go into a blind rage and cause them harm. His obsession is so strong that he stalks you, and tries to control everything you're doing so you won’t get hurt. His life is basically dedicated to her, and her well-being.

He is incredibly protective over you, and anyone who is even remotely close to you is at risk of a possible encounter with Steve. He is not afraid to speak up and voice his opinion if he feels you are in danger, or if a person could be using you. He's extremely territorial when it comes to you, which often involves other males you might know or be closer with, and his jealousy becomes almost uncontrollable. He makes sure you are safe at all times, which he often goes to great lengths to ensure. 

Around you he’s so incredibly loveable, he’s so kind, caring, and just super protective of you. He’d do anything to make you happy. But to others, especially the people that are mean to you, he’s really cold to them. He’s not afraid to stand up for you, and if it comes to it he will get violent to make sure nobody and nothing hurts you.

Physical, definitely physical attention! He loves to hold you close, spend time alone with you, or just do romantic things with you. The more time he can have with you the better. He wants to make sure you're happy, makes sure you feel loved and safe, and wants to ensure that nobody can be hurting you, or even getting to you without facing his wrath. His arms are always wrapped around you, and his body is forever pressed against yours. He’ll hold you so close, he doesn’t care when people see, he’s not ashamed, he’s happy, and loves to hold his person.

He’d probably go insane, and just lose all control or common sense if you ever tried to leave or break up with him. If he was able to find you, he might not even let you speak. He’d want answers, and to ensure that you were safe and okay (in his mind, he knows best when it comes to you and what you need). He’d do all he could to make sure you didn’t leave and stayed with him, he’d be relentless in his pursuit to make sure you never left, he’d be broken inside. He’d make it his mission to prove to you that he can be better for you, that he’d do anything for you, and that you’d be happy with him. After a long battle of trying to help you see how great he can be for you, and that he’ll do anything for you if you still said there’s no way he’d be completely gutted.

The dynamic is very loving. He’s always trying to cheer you up or make you feel loved even if he goes overboard. Even going as far as staying by your side to help you through tough moments. He’s very patient and understanding like he’ll sit with you and just talk about your day. He’ll listen to any rants you have because when you feel heard it gives you some form of comfort and makes you happy as you've been heard. He feels like he’s your rock, and your his.

You are so much more than a person to him, you're his everything. His angel, his love. He’ll never leave you. I’ll always defend you, protect you, and try his best to keep you happy. When you smile, it melts his heart. And if ever you cry he feels the pain in that too, and would do anything to see your smile again.

He'd be jealous, angry, and he'd show whoever tried getting your attention, by saying "Don't touch her, talk to her, or even think about them." He'd want to kill them, but he couldn't kill anyone, so he'd have to restrain himself and just try and keep him away from you at all costs he'd be devastated if you moved on to someone else. So he'd keep whoever away at any cost. He might try and stalk them, keep them from going out with you.

As a yandere, Steve is obsessive, controlling, and protective. He's always watching and waiting, ready to step in at the first sign of trouble. He'll go to any lengths necessary to ensure that his darling is never, ever hurt. He's also incredibly possessive and will do whatever it takes to keep his darling all to himself. This includes isolating you from anyone he believes is a possible threat, even going so far as to physically attack others he perceives as a rival.

Steve is an intense and twisted embodiment of his normal bubbly, friendly self. While he always cares about your well-being, Yandere Steve is quick to become paranoid about your intentions. He becomes jealous easily and is overly protective, resorting to violence if you do anything to hurt his feelings. His passion for you becomes controlling and manipulative, leading to a volatile cycle of love and violence.

Steve has a tendency to be very clingy most days he can be around you, and he wants to spend every waking moment with you. He often overloads you with affection and attention, which can be overwhelming for the other person. He'll do things like constantly texting, calling and asking for updates on where you are, and he'll show up unexpectedly if he feels that you're pulling away or becoming distracted. Steve's obsession with you can turn into possessiveness, and he'll try to control your activities, who you hang out with, and even what you wear.

Steve is very intense on dates, and he wants everything to be absolutely perfect. He'll go overboard with the food, the flowers, and the gifts, and he'll spend hours upon hours making sure everything is perfect especially since his parents have the money for it. Steve is someone who will go above and beyond to make you feel special, and it's important to him that you feel happy and appreciated. He'll make sure to listen to everything it is that you say and really pay attention to what you want, and he's happy to do whatever it takes to make the date extra special.

His parents just kind of roll their eyes, or ignore it. Because his parents are pretty much useless and are more focused on their careers and making more money. They’ve left him to run around with his friends whenever he wants or whatever else it he wants. The only thing that gives him solace is you. So if anything happens to you, he loses it, and just goes off the deep end and gets insane. His mental state is extremely fragile.

He would be devastated if you ever tried to leave, as you have become his whole life, is the center of his existence. He would want to talk you out of it. Explain why you can’t leave him, how it would destroy him. He would try and convince you that you can not, and that it wouldn’t be right, how if you really care about him you can’t leave, and that if you go, you will realize you made a huge mistake and will beg to come back.

He didn’t know he was a yandere at first. One day you both just started talking and talking and talking. He never wanted to stop. You started hanging out all the time and he started to see why he was feeling what he was feeling. It was your smile, it was your laugh, it was your eyes. Once he realized what he was, he started becoming scared because maybe you’ll think he was crazy, and so he kept so much hidden and close to himself. He would do anything to win your love.

By constantly being involved with your life, by getting to a point where you depend on him in so many ways that you cannot live without him. You become everything to him. And it’s not a healthy love, it’s obsession and it’s destructive and possessive, but there is a twisted passion that makes it seem almost ok. He’ll be there for you constantly, for all the good and the bad. He’ll be your rock and your strength, he’ll be the reason for your happiness and your source of sadness.

Your scent is a drug to him. The moment you decide to switch perfumes, he's the first to notice. Steve can't help it when he takes something that smells like you and uses it to pleasure himself and believed that doing this would subdue his urges before he started dating you, but all it has done is intensify his desire for you.

I’ll be frank - it’s seeing jealousy on the face of his significant other. It’s a type of power, a control, that is absolutely exhilarating that he gets off on and feels it proves you really do belong to each other.

He usually plays a fairly dominant role in your sex life but he can’t deny the fact that he occasionally enjoys it when you take control instead. He’s not too fond of you ordering him around but he does like it when you act all soft with him and treat him lovingly; taking his mind off of whatever’s bothering him by demanding his full attention.

Eye contact. He wants you to keep your eyes trained on him no matter what he does and watches your face every time he does something to you; committing all of your pleasure-filled reactions to memory.

Edging. Hearing you beg and seeing you desperate for him as he keeps you just on the brink of ecstasy affects him more than words can describe.

[missdforever]

I will forever hate how in stranger things fanfics the try to make Billy seem like he’s not really a bad guy. Like he didn’t emotionally abuse his step sister and try to hate crime a 12 year old boy!!!!!

I have seen people compare him to Jonathan with how trauma can lead you either ways. Jonathan and Wills father was abusive instead of taking his anger out on Will he protected him versus with Billy he took his anger out on his 12 year old stepsister because of his father’s abuse.

I’m so tired of people saying he was protecting Max from Lucas cause he actually cared about her. First of all FROM WHAT, let’s be real he ain’t want Max hanging with Lucas cause he was a black kid(which has been confirmed by the duffer brothers, Caleb, and Darce) so stop making shit up to fit how you want to see him. He also wanted to have POWER over Max like his father did him.

So when people say they cried when walking UTI died I was like I didn’t shed a tear. Do I feel bad he was abused yeah of course, but that doesn’t excuse the stuff he did. Saving Eleven doesn’t excuse what he does!

Stop excusing white mens actions just because they are attractive. It’s not cute at all. Also stop babying grown ass adults it’s not cute either. If they messed up or did something horrible their trauma doesn’t make it okay.