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fairyysoup · 2 years ago

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western nights

♫︎ western nights - ethel cain ♫︎

pairing(s): eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: You're on a road trip to nowhere. Eddie wants to get the hell out of dodge. It's a match made in heaven- if only it were, actually, heaven.

words: 13k

cw: explicit, smut, piv sex, oral sex (f + m receiving), exhibitionism, light choking, spitting, eddie is 24, reader's age unspecified (over 21), illegal activities, theft, smoking, alcohol consumption, strangers to lovers, bonnie & clyde type dynamic, mechanic!eddie, eddie's trying hard to be a good boy he's just got issues, pining, perv!reader, some slight dubcon/somno for a sec if you squint, there was only one bed, graphic depictions of violence, a drunk guy being nasty to both eddie and reader, bar fight, blood, arguments, angst, hurt/comfort, panic attacks, an overall janky relationship here, inspired by the song western nights by ethel cain

a/n: *slaps fic* this bad boy can be written with so many cold medicines in my head <3 ethel cain if you see this do NOT interact i have done zero justice to your song and also completely disregarded some key aspects of the themes of it lol this is loosely based at best

ALL MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

He’s never looked more beautiful on his Harley in the parking lot, breaking into the ATMs, sleeping naked when it gets too hot…

You’ve become something of a connoisseur of gas station coffee.

You know which chains have the best. Love’s always has the best and freshest, with the most options of flavors. Pilot is usually a crapshoot, depending on what area of the country you’re in. Occasionally, if you can find it, Bodega doesn’t disappoint. And the worst, by far, is always Shell. Shell coffee, you think, must come directly from the sewers of whatever backwater town you’re trundling through.

You’re somewhere in Indiana, you guess, judging by the state-shaped keychains on the rotating rack next to the cash register. You grab a state map from a magazine stand and toss it in with the rest of your purchase. You were lucky to have found a Love’s so you could finally afford yourself some proper dark roast coffee; all the watered down arabica stuff you’ve been getting since Cleveland has only been making your head ache.

“What’s the quickest way to Indianapolis?” You ask the dead-eyed attendant ringing you up, a 20-something year old guy with bags under his eyes and bad skin.

He chews his licorice like a camel chews straw, staring up at you blankly. “I dunno. Never been.”

You look from him, to the map, and back. “Cool. What town is this?”

“Hawkins.” His bored-by-you attitude is overwhelming.

“Thanks so much for the help.” You afford the attendant a tight smile as you grab your bag of snacks and head out. It’s going to be a long night.

The air outside is stifling, summer heat hanging in the muggy air like a fog. The humidity makes your hair stick uncomfortably to the back of your neck as you peel off your old green hunting jacket and tie it around your waist. You’ve parked your van under the fluorescent-lit gas pump overhang, providing the proper lighting for you to spread the map of Indiana across the hood and bend over it, using your full coffee as a paperweight. You rip open the singular Slim-Jim you could afford for dinner, and pore over it.

There’s commotion across the parking lot, which stirs you from your rumination over the map. You glance up; there are two guys loitering by a telephone booth in one corner of the lot, sharing a cigarette. Teenagers who have nowhere else to be on a Friday night, you suppose. Five yards away from them, a third crouches in front of a badly vandalized ATM, the cause of the commotion. He seems to be hacking at the wiring with a pocket knife.

You ignore it. So far, on this trip, you’ve seen far worse than a guy stealing petty cash from a gas station ATM. Tracing your fingers across the paper, it looks like if you take state route 13 to I-69, you’ll be in Indianapolis by midnight. Shouldn’t be too difficult, as long as you can find the 13, and then you can find a place to crash in the city.

Grabbing an old highlighter from your pocket, you mark your route in bright pink. The guy from the ATM seems to have gotten what he wanted, moving quickly across the parking lot with his head held high, like he has every right to be there. He approaches a motorcycle parked on the opposite side of the pump from you, and begins feeding dollar bills into the machine.

“Hey, do you know how to get to the 13 from here?” You can’t see much more than his leather-clad shoulder and hip jutting out from around the pump, the front tire of his Harley sticking out from behind his leg.

There’s a pause, and then his head pops out from around the pump. A curtain of unruly dark hair frames a long neck, big doe-like eyes and flushed lips pouting at you in confusion. It makes you freeze. “Sorry?”

“I, uh-” What were you trying to do? Get on the right course. Right. Of course. “State- uh- state route 13? I’m trying to get to, um, Indianapolis?” You cringe at your own stuttering, nails digging into the paper before you.

The man stares at you for a long time, dark eyes framed by thick, curling lashes sizing you up slowly. Then, he rounds the pump. “The highway’s just down the road- keep going west and you won’t miss it.”

“Great, thanks.” You grab up your coffee and the map, crunching it between your tense fingers. He hasn’t moved, still leaning against the gas pump, arms crossed, staring at you. It makes you nervous, in more ways than one.

“You won’t get far in that heap, though.”

You pause. Your knees threaten to wobble under you as you look up at him. Your hand is on the door, you could simply ignore him and get in, but something in his gaze makes you stop. Is that… genuine concern? Or is he just putting on a show for you?

“What do you mean?” The heat of the coffee burns through the paper cup and torches your fingers.

“Well, your fender’s bashed in and, I dunno if you noticed, but you have a crack in your windshield,” he gestures at the long crack running horizontally across the glass, just above where your line of sight usually is. “Probably got a lot more shit wrong with it, too, I could hear you coming a mile up the road. Junkyard find?”

“Something like that.” More like, sat in your parents’ garage for so long that you took a chance on the fucked up radiator and bailed. “She’s good, though. She’ll get me another 80 miles, easy.”

“Are you only going 80 miles?” The guy questions, “Or are you going way past that and only doing the 80 miles tonight?”

If he wasn’t so pretty, with a note of flirtation in his voice, you’d be hesitant as hell to tell him. “The second one.”

ATM guy sucks on his teeth, rocking back on heels that creak with the movement. Rubber soled work boots flash at you from beneath torn blue denim. “Dunno if I should let you go alone, then. You might bust your carburetor halfway there and be stranded.”

That puts alarm sirens in your head. You’d back away if your car wasn’t situated between the two of you. “Thanks, but, uh… I think I can handle myself.”

The teasing smile drops off his face quickly, replaced by a look of subtle desperation. “No, don’t get me wrong, I’m not- I’m not saying you can’t handle yourself. Obviously. Or you wouldn’t be trucking along by yourself through Nowheresville, Indiana,” he chuckles. “I just, ah… let me level with you?”

Your face screws up, but you lean your hip against the fender nearest you- the one that isn’t fucked up. What is it with this guy?

“I’m trying to jump ship. Anywhere’s better than here, but I really want to get to the west coast. I don’t know where you’re headed, but I’ve got my sights on San Francisco. And, uh, I have experience fixing cars, working in a garage,” he confesses. “But I don’t have a ride of my own- this isn’t even my bike, really. So, if you’re heading to the city, and you could use someone to make sure your car doesn’t kick it going over 75, I’m your man. Besides,” he bats his pretty lashes at you, his fingers fiddling with the end of his long hair as he brandishes a wad of ATM-stolen cash, “I have gas money.”

“You want to hitch a ride with me?”

“If you’re okay with it. Otherwise, I bid you fair and safe travels.” He bows dramatically, throwing his hand in the direction of the highway you’d asked about. “But if you ask me, I think you’d be doing both of us a favor in the long run if you let me come with. Just for insurance, y’know.”

“Insurance?” You parrot incredulously.

“Yeah,” he grins. He has dimples, a wide smile that stretches across his face and makes him even prettier than you can stand to look at directly. “Just insurance. No other reason.”

“Mhm,” you grunt, going over the positives and negatives in your head.

Positives- your car is a piece of shit and you’re sure he’s right, you’re working on borrowed time and you’re less than halfway to your desired destination. Plus, he’s unfairly nice to look at.

Negatives- you don’t know shit for fuck about him, other than the fact that he’s apparently trying to leave town and makes a hobby of breaking into ATMs. And, hell, even Ted Bundy was supposed to be charming and cute, at first. This guy could be a crazy ax murderer, could be a rapist, could be a junkie who’ll steal your car and leave you stranded, could be, could be-

“MUNSON!”

“Fuck.” ATM guy glances over his shoulder, then ducks quickly around the side of the gas pump as the station attendant comes storming out of the store. He crouches, pressing his hands to the glass window of the passenger’s side and peers through the cab at you on the other side with pleading eyes. “Can you get me a couple miles down the road, at least?”

“What about your bike?”

“Not my bike,” he tells you for a second time. “My buddy’ll pick it up when he hears about this, please.”

The station attendant is making his way across the parking lot now, looking miffed. It’s clearly the most energy he’s put into anything today, but he isn’t moving very fast.

You’ve made worse decisions in your life. You sigh. “Shit. Get in.”

“Thank you, thank you.” He pops open the passengers door as you slide into the driver’s seat, tossing the crumpled up map in the back. You guess you’ve found a GPS, for the time being.

“Does my insurance have a name?” you ask as you peel out of the gas station. The attendant hovers by the pump you’d been occupying, looking lamely at the abandoned motorcycle in your rearview.

“Eddie,” ATM guy says. A ring-clad hand lifts between you, hovering over the gear shift and waiting for your own to settle into it for a shake, “Eddie Munson.”

You eye his outstretched hand, your stomach doing flips, but you’re unsure if it’s because of him or the very situation he’s just put you in. You lift your hand and bat his with your knuckles, a half-hearted acknowledgement without the formality. “Pleasure doing business with you, Eddie.”

Eddie coughs, shifting up in his seat to peer behind you at the station. “Fuckin’ Keith. You can just drop me off at the next exit, it’s no biggie.”

“Hm? I thought you were coming with me to Indianapolis, hot stuff.”

Eddie whips his head around to look at you. “Seriously? You don’t- you don’t have to, I know it’s a big ask-”

“You want me to change my mind?”

“Not particularly.” He sinks down in his seat again. “Guess I figured you think I’m more of a liability than anything.”

“I do, but I need all that cash you swiped from the ATM,” you hum with a snarky grin on your face.

Eddie chuckles, wringing his hands in his lap. His knuckles tighten and relax beneath heavy steel rings. “Yeah, better I do it than you, huh?” There’s an awkward pause, and then he blurts, “Do you have any road music in this thing?”

You reach forward and hit the volume button for the stereo. You’d been halfway through Danzig’s self titled album- Mother kicks in with the chorus. In the darkness, you don’t see the way Eddie’s eyes sparkle with adoration as he looks at you.

“I think you and I are gonna get along great, sweetheart.”

You ignore how your thighs press in on themselves while you sip your coffee, and you turn onto highway 13, headed for Indianapolis.

When you step out of the bathroom in the motel room in Indianapolis, you find Eddie hunched over by the window, wearing nothing but a pair of blue plaid boxers. The chain on his wrist jingles as he smacks at the A/C unit beneath the drawn curtains.

“Everything okay?” You ask, pretty much knowing what the answer is. Your hair drips water down your back, but you can still feel the muggy summer heat in the room practically smothering your pores.

“Damn Motel 6 A/C,” he grumbles as he gives it one last smack on the side, to no avail. “The unit’s broken, there’s gonna be no cool air in the room.”

“That’s okay, we can crack a window.”

“In this part of the city?” Eddie scoffs, looking over at you. “Believe me, princess, I applaud your optimism- I would have just driven away from me there at the gas station, given the chance. But if we crack that window, we’re gonna get fucking robbed, first thing. Believe me.”

“I believe you,” you huff, clutching the itchy motel towel to your wet skin. Usually you would just pull on a tank and a pair of panties and call it a night, but there’s no such luck for you here. You have a backpack full of old, dirty clothes, and no clean underwear to speak of- you’ve been washing them in public bathroom sinks since Columbus. “Well, I’m just gonna sleep naked, then. You do what you’ve gotta do.”

“What- you’re gonna- what?” Eddie blathers, sitting back on his heels. You stare at him for a second- he’s a vision of flushed skin and a cloud of brunette hair cascading over his shoulders. Knobbly knees stick up at awkward angles, hairy thighs disappear into the hem of his boxers drawn tight across his skin. Your eyes glance over the ominous bulge in the crotch of them, not willing to think about those parts of a man you barely know. “You really think- I mean- is that wise?”

“Are you gonna get frisky with me, Eddie?” You ask with a teasing voice. You’d learned enough about him on the way to the city- 24 years old, no prospects, big dreams, ran a D&D club in high school, worked in a garage to help pay the bills- that you’re fairly certain he’s a good enough guy to keep his hands to himself. You just enjoy watching his big eyes go rounder at the insinuation.

“No, of course not. Wouldn’t dream of it.” Eddie looks mortified. He backtracks, “Unless- unless you wanted me to, I mean-”

“Don’t overanalyze it,” you tell him mildly, turning your back to him to rifle through your bag. “We’re both adults, it’s hot, there’s one bed and we’re both paying for it. Something tells me you’ve done worse things than lay next to someone without clothes on.”

Eddie blows a long breath out of pursed lips, not moving from his seat on the floor. He doesn’t deny your accusation, just mutters, “You put so much faith in me, sweetheart.”

“Don’t make me regret it.”

You drop the wet towel on the floor and round the bed to turn down the sheets. Eddie’s eyes trail you; you can feel them burning into your skin, lit by the dim yellow light on the bedside table. It takes a moment for him to finally move, a single trembling hand reaching up to swipe a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from the table.

“You gonna sit there on the floor all night?” You muse as you lay back on the bed. It’s too fucking hot. The dampness from the shower hasn’t dried, but now it’s simply growing with the rate your body is perspiring. Your hair and skin stick to the white sheets, which feel pasty each time you move.

“Just getting my bearings,” Eddie says, his voice tight and hollow. “You smoke?”

“Not especially, but I won’t stop you.”

The smell of tobacco hangs in the heavy air more potently than you expected. The humidity dampens the vapor, making it sting your nose and leech into your mouth, even though you’re not the one directly breathing it. It strikes you as devastatingly intimate- the thought that you might be breathing the smoke that’s already touched his lungs.

“Do you mind if I strip down, too?” Eddie asks after a long time of deliberating as he smoked. “Not that- I mean, I don’t have any pajamas, so…”

“Do what you need to do, honey,” you murmur, repeating what you’d told him before. “We can find a laundromat in the morning. Maybe get you a change of clothes somewhere.”

“Right.” He doesn’t say much after that, but you listen to him rustling around, stubbing out his cigarette in an ashtray and flicking off the bedside light.

He straightens up, silhouette looming in the blue-dark from the curtained window. You watch from the corner of your eye while his backlit form hooks its thumbs in the waistband of his boxers, and drops them.

He clambers onto the bed beside you, careful not to bump any part of you. You refuse to look at him, scanning the asbestos popcorn on the ceiling above you with an overabundance of scrutiny, willing yourself to focus on anything but Eddie’s beautiful body, especially what he has below the belt. It’s a bad idea, no go. You don’t want to see it, don’t even want to think about it- what it looks like, how big it is, how it curves, what kind of hair surrounds it, if any-

You’re thinking about it.

And you told him not to overanalyze it. To be calm about it. What a fucking joke.

“You know, I’m not as easy as I might seem,” you blurt out suddenly, unaware of why you even do. You mostly come off sounding like you’re trying to convince yourself of it.

Eddie’s head rustles against the pillow as he glances at you in the dark. “I don’t think you are.”

“Okay. Just- just making sure,” you stutter out. “All evidence to the contrary, and all.”

“I’m not expecting to get lucky with you,” he tells you honestly, a little flatly, like he’s afraid of any inflection in his voice betraying him. “You know, beyond the ride west.”

“Right.”

You both regress into silence. You think you’ve both said your piece on the matter. You might not trust Eddie, not entirely, but you at least know he’s not gonna try anything stupid if you let yourself fall asleep. You actually think that he’s asleep after so many minutes, until he opens his mouth again.

“It’s really fucking hot, isn’t it?” He croaks. His hands twitch by his sides, feet jammed under the downturned covers, but everything else bare to the open room, like you. His pinkie brushes yours, and he nearly smacks himself jerking his hand back toward his stomach.

“Yeah, it’s not… it’s not good.” You blink into the darkness. “Sorry, you must be regretting coming with me all this way.”

“Nah, not a chance.” He brushes it off, waving a hand in the air dismissively. “I’ve been itching to get out of there since I graduated. Feel kinda bad that I didn’t leave a note for my uncle, but it’s not the first time I’ve bailed on him. I can always call him from a pay phone. Kinda wish I had my guitar, though.”

“You play guitar?” you ask dazedly. You don’t have a hard time imagining it, now that you think about it. He has that rocker look about him, the kind that could grace magazines and be on posters on teenage girls’ walls, if he played his cards right. If he got his lucky break.

“Yeah. Pretty good, too, I guess.” He sighs. There’s a wistfulness in it, like he’s reminiscing on something from his past. “It’s okay. I can pick up another one once I get to California. Dropped a mint on the one I had back home, but I guess Wayne can always pawn it. Maybe get himself a nicer place.”

You chuckle. “And you think I’m the optimist here.”

“I never said it was a bad thing,” Eddie scoffs, then deepens his voice quite suddenly. “Two optimists, both alike in dignity-”

A burst of laughter bubbles from your chest, making Eddie grin as you gesture at your bodies. “Or lack, thereof.”

“In fair Indianapolis, where we lay our scene.” He ends his recitation giggling, the flimsy bed frame jolting with the shaking of his chest. “Radiant Juliet, you never did tell me where your chariot is taking me.”

“I’m not sure, really,” you admit, mellowing your laughter into a quiet giggle. “I just wanted to leave home. I was suffocating there, I needed to get out. See what’s out there for me, if anything.”

“And have you seen much?”

“Not much,” you tell him quietly. “Mostly truck stops and shitty roadside attractions. But we’re in the midwest, you know.”

“Don’t remind me.” He lays his hand back down on the mattress beside you.

You turn your body towards him, damp sheets clinging to your skin as you move. “California might not be such a bad idea.”

Eddie turns his head and glances at you, dark eyes finding you in the dim moonlight. “No? I’ll have to fix your car, then.”

“You do that, and I’ll make sure to get you where you’re going,” you whisper.

“Deal.” His eyes linger on your face, just inches away from his on the pillow. Flickering in the moonlight, two voids that hold all the stars in the night sky seem to take you in like you’re more beautiful than they could ever be.

This time, when your fingers brush, he doesn’t jerk away. This time, you don’t avert your eyes when you look down at his cock, but you sure do regret it when you don’t reach out to touch it.

He’s so pretty. You want to.

I watched him show his love through shades of black and blue, starting fights at the bar across the street like you do…

Your underwear and his come out of the dryer wrapped around each other. You spend a minute disentangling them, a small heap of clothes in a rolling laundry basket in front of you. The closest laundromat to the Motel 6 had been a five minute drive down the street.

You’d woken up with your head on his chest, your arm draped across his bare stomach, despite how you’d fallen asleep barely touching him. As if your unconscious body had known more about your wants than you. His hand had been tangled in your hair, palm cradling your cheek and a bit of your neck, like his own unconscious wanted to keep you against him, too.

The morning had been easy- the easiest it’s been since you hit the road. Eddie seems to have given you a sense of purpose you didn’t have before, driving around aimlessly, only stopping for fast food every once in a while when you remembered to eat something other than beef jerky and coffee. Once you had extracted yourself from his grip, you’d gone to buy him clothes from the resale store next to the motel. It wasn’t hard to find a plain black shirt and jeans, but used underwear was something you didn’t want to mess with. You’d brought it back to the motel, along with some food from the Waffle House across the way, and you ate cross legged on the bed while he showered and put on his new-ish clothes.

But now, you can’t stop feeling his hand cradling your head. His hot, sweaty skin against your arm. Your fingernails raking lightly through the trail of hair on his stomach, dragging through his pubic hair, your knuckles just barely brushing up the side of his length- thick, uncut, and so so pretty. Then, stopping nervously when you’d gotten too bold, fingers skimming over sensitive skin too close to his groin, and he’d twitched in his sleep.

You want him. You don’t even know him, and you want him so badly you can feel it even now, an aching blush between your legs turning into a dull throb when you so much as think about him.

You toss all the freshly washed clothes into a plastic bag that you’d grabbed by the door to the laundromat, and haul it out to your van. He’d told you to meet him at the bar across the street when you were done, since he needed to make a few calls on their payphone- he’d even given you his weathered denim vest before he left.

“For insurance,” he winked. “Uh, don’t wash it, though… I stitched it by hand, it’ll fall apart.”

You don’t put it in with the clean clothes. It smells like smoke and alcohol and him, the edges frayed and yellowing a bit. You hold it in your lap for a second, plucking at the stringy bits around the arm holes. Maybe you can convince him to let you soak it in a sink somewhere, hand washed and dried carefully over a working A/C unit, wherever you can find one. You don’t know when he last washed the damn thing, if ever.

When you pull into the parking lot of the dive bar, and you clutch the denim vest in your hand as you step out of your van, something sharp prods your thumb. You hiss, slamming the car door shut and examining what it was. The sharp point of a pin on the vest- which reads Motörhead- had come loose and pricked your skin, which now threatens to ooze blood all over the aged denim.

“Fuck,” you murmur, bringing your thumb to your mouth as you lock the car. You struggle with the vest while you walk towards the door to the dive, trying to resituate the pin so it doesn’t go missing.

You find him loitering beside a billiards table, pool stick in hand, a cigarette in his mouth. When he sees you walk in, his eyes light up, and he nearly drops the stick prancing over to you.

“Told ya I’d still be here- hey, you okay?” His grin turns very readily into a frown when he sees you sucking your thumb like a child.

“Yeah, no, I’m fine,” you mutter clumsily, “your pin just nicked me s’all.”

“Oh, shit,” he curses, reaching for your hand. “Lemme see- no, let me see.” He forces your hand open when you try to close it, and scrutinizes the little pin prick as if it’s the worst battle wound he’s ever seen. “Should’a checked to make sure all the pins were right, this happens all the time. I’m so sorry, baby, my fault.”

Baby. Your brain tries to process it. He called you baby.

He’s also kissing your thumb, cradling your hand with excessive care. He’s tasting your blood, sucking a little on the pin prick like you had been, so your skin is wet with a mix of his and your spit. You don’t think you’ll ever get tired of the way he touches you. Fleeting as his touches have been, anyways. You melt a little under his gaze as his round eyes blink up at you innocently.

“S’okay,” you tell him with a wobbly smile. “Did you make your calls?”

He looks at you softly, a reserved smile on his face. “I did. Wayne’s miffed, but he’ll live. Told him I’d send him a postcard.”

You giggle at that, thinking you’d sign it along with him. Sorry for stealing away your nephew; it will happen again. “Good. Buy me a drink, handsome?”

Eddie beams at you, and his dimples crease his cheeks as he turns to the bartender. There’s a sweet, boyish manner in the way he puffs out his chest and orders you a drink, his arm circling your waist as he moves you smoothly toward the bar. As soon as a whisky sour has been placed in front of you, he turns and squeezes your arm.

“Hey, I gotta finish this game,” he nods at the pool table he’d been stationed at. “I got some money on it. Y’okay with hanging out for a minute?”

“Sure,” you chirp, sipping your drink. “Wipe the floor with ‘em for me?”

“It’s in the bag,” he whispers at you conspiratorially. You push his vest at him, imagining he wants to take his insurance back now that you know he’s not taking off on you, but he shakes his head. “No, you wear it. It’ll look good on you.”

His eyes light up when you shrug the vest over your worn out white t-shirt. As you lift your drink, and he turns back to his game, you think you’d do anything to keep him looking at you like that.

Eddie wins. You don’t know how much he bet on the game, but there seems to be hurt feelings when he collects the money that had been placed on the table. You’ve never been much of a gambler, and he hadn’t struck you as one- but what do you know? He certainly bet on you getting him out of Hawkins, and you certainly took a chance on him.

You don’t think much of it. It’s late afternoon- the sun’s going down, and you figure you’d better get going, but Eddie wraps his arms around you and says, “Dance with me.” And you do.

The jukebox in the corner only plays country classics. Patsy Cline croons over the speakers, taking you back to a time in your far off childhood. Eddie sways with you to the music, and even though there’s barely any rhythm to his dancing, you find yourself falling into it with him. Your head on his shoulder, his curly hair tickling the side of your face. His breath on your neck, cool on your heated skin.

That is, until a hand wraps around Eddie’s shoulder and jerks him away from you. A man with blond hair, clearly a few too many drinks in, snarls at him, “That game was bullshit and you know it.”

Eddie blinks at him. “If by ‘bullshit’ you mean I beat you, then sure.”

“You di’int beat me, you cheated,” the man sneers. “I want my money back.”

“Yeah, no.” Eddie claps the man on the shoulder, trying to push him away. “I won the game, I get the money. That’s how gambling works.”

You step back when the man’s beady eyes fall on you, peering at him over Eddie’s shoulder. “What’re you lookin’ at?”

“You leave her out of this, buddy,” Eddie growls dangerously, still forcing the man back with one strong hand on his shoulder. He’s trying to put himself between you and the man, you know. Still, you feel the need to fist your hand in the back of Eddie’s shirt and pull him away.

“I ain’t your buddy. Whatcha lookin’ at, bitch?” The man reaches out and yanks roughly on your arm, making you yelp in alarm.

And that’s when Eddie’s fist connects with the man’s jaw.

There’s a sickening crack. In the chaos, it somehow occurs to you that Eddie’s wearing all those chunky rings. You wonder if they could be considered a deadly weapon, in the same vein as brass knuckles.

It takes you a second to get through the initial shock, finding it hard to focus on who’s doing what. Eddie and the man have barrelled through a couple of tables, knocking over chairs. Eddie has the man pinned to the edge of the pool table, a flurry of fists moving from all sides.

“You don’t touch my girl!” Eddie shouts at the man. “You don’t fuckin’ touch my girl!”

His girl.

They tumble to the floor. The man curses and spits blood at him from a cut lip. A strong fist hits the side of Eddie’s face once, twice-

“THAT’S ENOUGH!” The words are shouted by the bartender, finally intervening, pulling the blond man off of Eddie. As the bartender restrains the unruly man, a second pulls an equally enraged Eddie away from him, separating the two.

By the time you collect a bruised and bloodied Eddie into your arms, you’ve already tuned out the rest of the ruckus going on around you. Someone suggests that you should leave, but the words only barely register. You’re already pulling Eddie out the door and to the car.

You don’t even remember if you closed the tab.

Trouble’s always gonna find you, baby, but so will I. Crying only because I’m happy, hold me across every state line…

You don’t know when you started crying. Maybe it was around the time that Eddie fell unconscious.

Tears burn in your eyes like you’ve poured gasoline in them, but no matter how badly it stings you just keep sniffling and driving, tearing down the interstate away from Indianapolis, toward St. Louis. You hopped on I-70 as quickly as you could, and from there you’ve been lost in a world of your own.

He’d almost look peaceful, if it wasn’t for the blood on his jaw and the nasty shiner on his cheekbone. You keep telling yourself it’s not bad enough for him to need to be taken to a hospital. You can’t afford to go to a hospital, and even if you could, you’d have to explain how he got in this condition. It’s a recipe for jail time. You know that. You know.

You just want to keep him safe, that’s all.

He hadn’t instigated the fight, not really. He’d just swung first. He was just defending you.

His girl.

When it gets to be too much, you pull over. Headlights gleam bright and then pass by in the dark with a whoosh of air. You think you must have crossed over into Illinois by now, or you’re getting close to it. The traffic has lightened considerably.

You rest your head against the steering wheel, taking deep breaths, but the tears keep coming in streams. A while ago, you had a mattress in the back of this van. That was before it started having problems, and it sat in your family’s garage for a year and a half. You should have put a mattress in it when you took off, but you weren’t thinking that far ahead. You were having a breakdown, something like you’re having now, only worse. It was a manic, get-away-or-die-there kind of breakdown.

Breathe in. You’re not gonna die. Breathe out. He’s breathing.

Once Eddie cracks his eyes open, he flexes his jaw with a groan. You can tell he’s confused by the inquisitive noise he makes, but when he looks at you, all that disappears in a heartbeat.

“Hey, what’re you- oh, god. Sweetheart, don’t cry.”

As if that doesn’t make you want to cry harder. His hand lands tentatively on your shoulder, stiff fingered but light in touch. He shuffles closer to you, pulling you against him to sob into his secondhand shirt.

It’s pathetic, you’re sure of it. You feel pathetic, twisting the cheap cotton of his shirt in your hands and saturating it with tears, as he shushes you and soothes a hand over your hair.

“It’s okay, baby,” he whispers into your hair, pressing his aching lips to your scalp in an attempt to calm you down. “We’ll be okay. I’m right here. What can I do?”

For some reason, the question makes you mad. “You don’t fucking fight,” you sob at him, the anger in your voice making him freeze. “You don’t- you don’t get into fights. I can deal with a lot of shit, Eddie Munson, but I can’t deal with that.”

“Okay, honey. Okay.”

“No fighting.”

“No fighting,” he repeats affirmatively, petting your head. Then he adds, “No gambling.”

“No bars.”

“Well-”

“No bars.”

“All right,” Eddie resigns, resting his chin on top of your head. Once you’ve stopped crying, from what he can feel, he tells you softly, “I’m not… I’m not like that, you know. I want you to know. I don’t fight, not usually.”

“You did.”

“I did,” he agrees. “I just don’t like… I didn’t like him touching you. Disrespecting you like that- did he hurt you?”

“No,” you lie. The guy had yanked your arm a little too hard, your wrist still smarting a bit. Nothing near what Eddie had taken. “He hurt you, though.”

“I’ve had worse, trust me.” His tone is ominous, like you don’t really want to know the heavy details of it. “I’m not a fighter. Used to be if I saw danger, I’d just turn tail and run. I usually just take shit on the chin. But I never had anything to fight for before, really.”

You sniffle loudly, grossly. “I don’t want you to fight for me.”

“I’m gonna protect you, sweetheart. No matter what,” he insists. “Long as we’re together, I’m gonna do everything I can to protect you. Okay?”

Long as we’re together. Like you’re a couple, like you didn’t just meet by chance at a gas station a little more than 24 hours ago. Like you’re in love.

His girl.

“My dad’s in prison,” Eddie blurts out, raking a shaky hand through your hair. “He, uh… he was a fighter. And a thief. And a gambler. And a liar. He tried his best to make me be like him, but I don’t- I don’t wanna be like him.” Eddie sighs, a sad sound that rips through your already bleeding heart. “I thought maybe getting out of Hawkins would set me straight. Finally give me a chance to make something better of myself, prove I’m not like my old man. I tried, but after high school I got in some trouble, and Wayne had to sell my old van to pay for my bail. Now I’m here, and… Guess you just take yourself wherever you go, huh?”

“Yeah,” you agree. Your fingers curve against his hip, squeezing the skin there. “So we have to try to change ourselves in the meantime, while we get where we’re going.”

Eddie breathes in, and it sounds an awful lot like a sniffle.

“Eddie. Are you crying?”

“No.” He is.

You lift your head with a wet, coughing chuckle at his futile attempt to hide it. You look up at him, your fingers tucking a lock of unruly, dark hair behind his ear. He’s staring back at you with glassy eyes, the tip of his nose gone red with the tears he’s holding back. He just barely flinches when your knuckles brush the bruise on his cheekbone.

“Hey, handsome,” you coo at him softly, your touch featherlight on his skin. He blinks, a tear dropping from his lashes. “I’m gonna get you cleaned up, okay?”

“Okay.” His lip wobbles. “Let me hold you a little longer, first?”

“Of course, Eddie.” You fall into his grasping hands, yanking you to him like a child searching for the comfort of his favorite teddy bear. You’d let him hold you as long as he liked.

You wash his face in a dirty rest area just west of Terre Haute. In the middle of the night, no one is around to tell you not to, so you follow him into the men’s room and take your time wiping the blood from his jaw and his hands. You gingerly apply a bandage from your car’s console to his bruised cheek, while he sits in the front seat and brackets your hips with his knees.

He gazes up at you like a man seeing God.

The neighbors beat on the walls, while I'm face first in the bed. Show me how much I mean to you while I’m lying in these sheets undressed…

You sleep in the rest area that night, in the back of your van. No mattress, just your backs to the hard floor of the cab. With no A/C again, you shuck your clothes and spread a single white blanket over your bodies, more for modesty’s sake than anything else. Even though it’s unlikely that a cop is going to run you down in the middle of nowhere, you’d rather not get cited for public indecency.

He holds you all night long, his arms around you and his chest against your back giving you peace, but he doesn’t touch you in any of the ways that you desperately want him to.

It takes the better part of a day to drive to St. Louis. Eddie swallows a couple tylenol for his face with his truck stop coffee and eggs, smiling softly at you from across a bright yellow plywood table in a cafeteria. From the look on his face, you doubt that he regrets the fight that gave him his wounds.

By the time your old van rattles up to another Motel 6 at the outskirts of the city, Eddie’s shaking his head. “The car’s not gonna take much more than this. I need to give it a good look, maybe borrow a tool kit and give it a tune up.”

“Whatever you say, magic man,” you muse at him. “Let’s just sleep in a real bed tonight, huh?”

His head tilted back, he looks at you sideways with a lopsided smile. You can tell his face is still hurting, but he puts on a brave face and bats his eyelashes at you. “Sounds good to me, princess.”

His touch lingers on you more, now, than it did yesterday. His fingers grazing your forearm as you open the glass door to the motel office, his hand hovering over your lower back as you sign for the room. His arm slung over your shoulder as he follows you down to the room, twirling the key around his finger.

“You think the A/C will work this time?” He asks you lightheartedly as he turns the key in the lock.

“Only one way to find out,” you return with the same warmth in your voice. If you from two days ago could hear yourself, and that ooey-gooey note of lovesickness in your voice, your past self might keel over and die. When did this happen?

You drop your bag of clothes on the bench by the bathroom door. Eddie bangs around the A/C unit a bit, until something starts whirring, and he makes a gleeful noise.

“It’s aliiiiive!” He announces dramatically, emulating Dr. Frankenstein. You giggle as he leaps toward you, practically throwing you onto the bed in excitement. “We have cool air. We can actually wear clothes to bed tonight.”

“Yeah,” you sigh, not even trying to hide your disappointment at the thought. The best part of your last two mornings has been waking up to his naked body beside yours, warm and soft and littered with tattoos that you just can’t stop looking at.

You mean, I won’t get to wake up to your skin on mine tomorrow? I won’t be able to pretend like I’m not staring at your dick and imagining all the things I want to do to it? How will I be able to admire you for my own perverted gain?

You don’t even realize that you’re stroking your fingers across his bruised cheek until he leans into your touch. Then you take inventory of your current position- your back to the mattress, his body hovering over you, half covering you. Caging you in with his arms. His long hair creates a veil around your faces.

When he blinks his eyes open at you, you can tell where his mind is before he opens his mouth. “Did we have our first fight yesterday?”

You frown, a puff of air exiting your nose. “No, I think I’d call it laying ground rules.”

“Ground rules,” Eddie nods, his sore cheek rubbing against your hand. You’re starting to wonder if he likes the pain, since he won’t stop pushing into it. “I’m not great at remembering rules. What were they, again?”

“No fighting.”

“Right, and no gambling.”

“No bars.”

He squints. “Is that one still up for negotiation, or…?” He trails off, giggling as you smack your hand lightly against his shoulder. “Kidding! I’m kidding. No bars. Got it.”

“And that was it,” you tell him sweetly. “Unless there was another one you wanted to add?”

He stares at you for a long moment, his fingers twirling in the hair right beside your ear as he gets lost in thought. Say what you’re thinking, your mind practically screams at him. Please, god, say what we’re both thinking…

Eddie licks his lips and finally says, “No sleeping with clothes on?”

Gotcha. A creeping smile stretches your face, trying to play coy even when your heart’s beating a mile a minute. Eddie’s eyebrows raise at you, waiting for an answer.

“I’m not easy, Eddie.”

“I know,” he tells you, mirroring your smile. “I don’t expect to get lucky with you.”

“I know,” you hum. Your hand drifts up the side of his torso, a more firm and languorous touch than you’d previously been brave enough to give him. “But do you want to?”

Eddie shudders, and it’s the first honest to god evidence you have that you turn him on as much as he does you. The realization feels rapturous.

“God, yes.”

He kisses you then, open-mouthed and passionate, his hand cupping your jaw to keep you where he wants you. Your nails scratch up his back with a loud tearing sound against his shirt, and he chuckles as you frantically clutch at him with all your strength.

“I know, pretty girl,” he murmurs, pecking your lips briefly before descending to bite at your jaw. “You’ve been wanting this since that first night. Feelin’ me up in the morning, like I wouldn’t notice…”

“I didn’t wanna wake you,” you hiccup as his hand cups the crotch of your jeans, rocking the meat of his palm firmly where you’re dying for friction. “Oh, ffffuck Eddie, m’sorry…”

“And here you were, thinking I was the pervert,” he grunts. “‘Least I can keep my hands to myself, hm?”

“I’m sorry, I’m s-sorry,” you babble at him, hands shaking as they grip onto his shoulders. Now that the aching throb between your legs is back, and he’s finally giving it attention, you can’t seem to come up with a more coherent sentence. Your face grows hot, but not at the fact that you’d been caught in your lechery- just because he turns you on more than you can think to admit.

“Don’t be sorry, sweet thing,” Eddie whispers. His dark eyes are lined up with yours, the curtain of his hair shielding them from reflecting any of the light from the desk lamp- it’s just you and the starry voids of space, locked in your own little world. He rubs his hand back and forth with practiced pressure against the front of your jeans, your hips kicking up against him. “I want you to touch me. Want you to do whatever you want with me, baby.”

“Whatever I want?” Your fingers dragging up his lower back, under his shirt to feel the heat of his skin.

“Anything,” he insists, kissing you again. Wet and sloppy, teeth clacking as you grind up into his palm. Your thick denim jeans are about the most abominable things that have ever existed.

You feel like your head’s on sideways with how pent up you already are. “I want you to fuck me Eddie- jesus chr- can we do that? Right now? Please?”

Eddie laughs. A happy, whole-hearted, almost disbelieving laugh. “Thought I was gonna be the one begging you, after all this…” His breath hitches, the touch of his hand leaving you so that he can push himself back. “Lemme get you out of these clothes, yeah?”

You nod quickly, earning a pleased hum from him. The way he undresses you is touched by reverence; his fingers slow as they drag the cotton of your shirt over your head, grazing your skin all the way. His lips dancing across your collarbone as he undoes the front of your stupid fucking jeans. You just want them off, done with and laying in a pile to be forgotten about by the motel room door, but Eddie has other plans.

“Slow.” He grabs your hip to stop your wiggling, fingers curled around the back of the waistband of them as he pulls the denim down your thighs. “We’ve got all night, baby. I’m not leaving. Not going anywhere.”

“I want you,” you insist desperately, sounding like a broken record. Your distress is evident on your face, in the way you clench your thighs together to hide the obnoxious wet spot growing on your cotton panties. You wonder if he’d felt it when he was touching you over your jeans, if the heat and dampness had soaked through the denim as well. You wouldn’t be surprised.

“You have me, sweetheart,” Eddie ensures. “Don’t… I don’t want you to worry about it. M’gonna make sure there are no worries in that pretty head.”

He yanks his t-shirt off, the one you’d bought him from the resale store. A cloud of frizzy, dark hair obscures his pretty face for half a second, the shirt landing on the floor somewhere off to the side, and then Eddie’s eyes find you again, grinning at you widely with pointed teeth.

You grab for him, your fingers looping around the chain that hangs from his neck. Tugging him down, you press a gentle kiss to his lips. Then to his sore jaw, where a tiny scab has formed on the right side of his chin. Then to his bruised cheek, where he flutters his eyes shut and groans softly at the brush of your lips.

“My boy,” you whisper to him, and you don’t even know if he understands the significance of it to you. His girl. Your boy.

Eddie smiles against your skin. He peppers kisses everywhere he can reach, down onto your chest, dragging his sharp teeth every once in a while just to hear you keen. You’re certain you’ve ruined your underwear now, feeling the wetness grow cool against your skin.

What a fucking concept. Cool air.

Eddie seems to have the same thought as you, as he slips his fingers beneath the white cotton and peels them down your legs. Strings of your arousal stick to the wet fabric, dropping off in thick tendrils onto the sheets below you as he groans lowly.

“Fuck,” Eddie curses, shaking his head in chastisement as he settles between your legs at the end of the bed. He tsks, “Just look at you, poor thing. Should’a said something to me, can’t have you going around like this.”

You shiver as he trails his mouth up the inside of your thigh. His day-old stubble scrapes your sensitive skin, making you break out in a cold sweat. “M’not- I didn’t want you to think-”

“That you’re easy?” He coos with a condescending smile. “No, honey. I know, you’re a good girl.” He nips at the widest part of your thigh, plush flesh indenting with the imprint of his teeth. “But I’m no good. You should know that, better than anyone. No good for you.”

Eddie’s tongue burns and soothes at the same time, leaving your brain a scrambled mess on the mattress beneath you. He gathers all of your collected arousal into his mouth, groaning like he’s been desperate to taste it all this time. “Been dreaming of this since I saw you, pretty girl.”

Pulling your leg over his bare shoulder, he all but crushes you against his face, his sturdy hands wrapped around your hips to hold you still. Your back arched, your hips fully off the bed as he lifts your lower half into the air.

You choke out the first part of his name, your hands fisting in the comforter next to your head. There’s a twist of pleasure deep in your core that makes you whine far louder than necessary, a waterfall of words spilling from you before you can stop them, “Oh shit- Ed- I don’t- s’too good-”

“Too good?” Eddie snickers, eyes bright as he watches you from between your thighs. “Nothing's too good for you.”

Then he spits onto your already soaked and swollen pussy. You sob, positively crying from the feeling of it, drenched and dripping along your sensitive flesh. Eddie spreads the wetness around with his tongue, and your cunt clamps down hard at the lewd squelch of it, the mortifying slurp of his lips closing down and sucking on your labia.

“Oh fuck, what the fuck-” you whimper high to the ceiling, mouth hanging open in shock.

You could have been doing this for days. He could have fucked you like this the first night, when you lay next to him, naked in the dark. Your body aches at the thought of being deprived of this longer than necessary.

“That’s it, baby, just stay still. Let me ruin you, huh?” Eddie murmurs, letting your thigh rest heavy on his shoulder so that he can move one hand, his thumb rubbing tight circles on your clit in front of his face. He watches your cunt glisten and throb for him, listening to your desperate sobs echo through the otherwise silent room, and whispers, “Shit. Like my own little fuckin’ pornstar, sweetheart.”

Normally, you wouldn’t exactly take that as a compliment- but with the way he says it, with his voice thick and dark like that, and with the way the hot, slick velvet of his tongue dips into your channel and shoots electricity along your skin, you figure he must have meant it like one.

He goes slow, thrusting into you gently, taking his time to get familiar between your legs. Still, it doesn’t stop you from positively shrieking toward the ceiling when he licks you from hole to clit, the entire expanse of his tongue sweeping along nerve endings that are charged like live wires.

Eddie chuckles, hot breath spilling out over your feverish skin, and he pauses there. Lets you feel the warm press of his flattened tongue before he just barely rubs it back and forth, back and forth-

“Eddie-!?” You gasp, an erotically loud moan spilling out of your mouth right before you come all over his. You crumble, your hips threatening to buck out of his steady grip as searing euphoria rips through you. He scrambles, ringed fingers locking tight enough on your waist to bruise, keeping you against him as you thrash wildly.

He keeps you like that for a long time, purring into your spasming pussy while an array of unhinged noises pour from your body- your mouth, your hands tearing at the sheets and at your head, your cunt and all its wet filth drenching Eddie’s bruised face.

If it hurts him, he doesn’t let on. He just keeps going, and going.

Until something pounds against the wall behind your head. You hiccup, your dazed, post-orgasm brain unable to comprehend where the sound is coming from. That wasn’t- couldn’t have been me…

“Pretty sounds,” Eddie giggles as he finally pulls his mouth away from you. “Guess the neighbors agree.”

“Oh, god.” Your hands cover your face, hot and sticky with sweat. Your eyes feel heavy, fuck-drunk, your heart still pounding in your chest from the adrenaline of the orgasm Eddie gave you. You feel embarrassed, like you ought to be going over to apologize to whatever sorry person happens to be sharing a wall with you, now.

Eddie has other plans. “Think we should give the audience a good show, huh?”

It��s merely a suggestion- you know that you could always find a way to quiet yourself, stuff your mouth with cotton and stifle your moans- but the implication of it makes your toes curl. Your breath rattles in your chest when you inhale. “You… you want everyone in the building to hear you fucking me?”

Eddie crowds you on the bed, your legs still slung over his shoulders so that you’re bent nearly in half. He’s still too fucking clothed for your liking- his leather belt digs into the back of your thighs as he presses a sloppy kiss to your dry lips. “I want everyone here to know you’re mine, sweetheart.”

Your hands cradle his face, pulling him in for a deeper kiss as he slowly lowers your legs from his shoulders. Your over extended legs flop down onto the mattress, and you whine into his mouth as he massages his tongue with yours.

“I’m yours, Eddie,” you moan against his damp skin. “Oh god, I want it- want everyone to know.”

You take the initiative, with one last kiss turning in his grip. His hand slips, catching himself from toppling off the bed as you scoot onto your stomach, your knees planting on the mattress so that you can wiggle your hips up at him.

Eddie sucks in a sharp breath, smoothing a gentle palm over your ass before he kisses your lower back. He pauses, drawing soft kisses up your spine until his breath sweeps your shoulder blade. “You’re so beautiful. How’d I get so fucking lucky?”

A quiet keen is the only answer you give him, shoving your hips backward to get him to just fucking touch you, but he pulls away too quickly. There’s the clink of a belt buckle, a zipper being pulled, and you tense, your hand closing into a fist around the pillow at the head of the bed. Following the rustle of clothes, you hear the crinkle of a condom wrapper- you hadn’t even realized he had one. It didn’t even occur to you, in your dizzying need to fuck him, like some loveblind idiot.

You almost berate yourself for it, but then you feel his cock press against your entrance, and all those thoughts die away. He rolls his hips, and every single muscle in you tightens.

Eddie chokes on air as pleasure positively tears through you. Your eyes roll back, your mouth wide open and threatening to drool onto the pillow you’ve been shoved face-first into.

“F-fuck, you’re so big.” It’s the only thing you can choke out around moans. He splits you so wide, dragging through your slick walls that are still so sensitive from your first orgasm.

“Holy shi- oh my god-” he gasps behind you. “M’so sorry- I can’t- Feels so fucking good-”

You groan, unable to form words to adequately answer him. All you can manage to do is jam your hips backward in an attempt to get him deeper, as far as he can fucking go inside you. Your body blazes, everything coming up smelling of sex and sweat as you wail hopelessly into the pillow.

Eddie snarls, a deep and dangerous noise in the back of his throat as he draws his hips back and presses into you again. There’s no time for you to adjust, each thrust a little more forceful than the last. His cock hits sharp heaven deep inside you, punching loud and guttural moans from you each time his hips impact your ass.

“That’s a good girl- so ffffucking wet, goddamnit,” Eddie praises you through clenched teeth, ringed fingers and bruised knuckles wrapping loosely around your neck to lift your head from the pillow. “Let them hear all those pretty noises for me, baby.”

“Eddie…” You hiccup, your voice kicked up into a shrill whine. You swallow against the press of his fingers on your throat, holding your jaw into the air so there’s no place for your sounds to go but to the wall and through it.

Above your head, the banging on the wall starts back up. Eddie drops your chin and slams his hand on top of the headboard, gripping tightly at plywood that threatens to hit the wall as he ruts into you. Your face hits the pillow again, but your sobbing moans still come out loud and disruptive as Eddie speeds up his hips in retaliation.

“Doing so good f’me. Feel me, princess? So fucking deep,” Eddie groans. His cock licks up a sweet heat inside of you, and you know you’re going to come. He curses lowly, his hips pistoning into yours hard enough that you have to smack your hand into the headboard to keep from knocking into it. “Taking me so well. So perfect- s’like you were made for me, I know it, I just fucking know it…”

Eddie’s arm wraps around your waist from behind, and he hauls your back into his sweat-slick chest. You almost feel weightless, for a moment, before you’re settled back into his lap, your thighs bracketing his as he kneels beneath you, clutching you against him.

A gasp tears from your mouth with a loud, “Shit!” His cock hits a different spot inside you, bursting color behind your closed eyelids as you throw your head back against his shoulder.

Eddie’s breath fans across your neck, sweat-damp hair tickling the side of your face. His hand greedily palms at your breasts, bouncing you in his lap as his tongue traces a wet line along your shoulder.

“Just know you were made for me,” Eddie repeats quietly in your ear, his breath feeling like flames on your neck. “That’s why you found me, baby. You were meant to be mine, my girl.”

His girl.

“Yours, Eddie,” you blubber, reaching back to dig a fist into his hair as his hands squeeze your breasts. “M’all yours.”

“Yeah?” Eddie murmurs, his voice saccharine and velvety. He moans in your ear when your cunt clenches down, a threatening throb at the outskirts of your orgasm. “Say it again.”

A whimper, high and needy in your throat. “I’m yours. Your girl- oh, f-fuck, Eddie- I’m gonna-”

“That’s right. My good girl. Only easy when it comes to me, right?”

Eddie’s hand drags purposefully down, fingernails dragging just through your pubic hair, just barely grazing where you want him- just like you did to him, that first morning. The realization makes you seize up, all tense from head to toe.

“What’s it like, when I do it to you? You like it?” He whispers, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. You suck in a sharp breath, a hiss through your teeth as you nod. His laugh is barely a ghost of a breath on your skin. “Yeah. I did, too.”

Eddie’s voice in your ear says, “Come for me,” and not even a fraction of you would deny him that.

His finger drags slowly your clit, calloused skin catching on the swollen bud, and you come. Your body slumps against him, and you’re so grateful for his arms around you to hold you through it. You’d swear he was splitting you in half with the sounds coming from your mouth. Your head tilted back on his shoulder, every breath is punctuated by a hoarse cry that breaks in your throat. Your hand clamps around his arm, which is still cradling you close to his chest as his own moans ring in your ear, his hips driving up into you as your cunt pulses around his cock. You know that he comes when his teeth wrap around the muscle of your shoulder and bite down.

Silence settles over your sweaty bodies, but thunderous banging is still furiously happening on the other side of the wall. You hear voices, words too muffled by the drywall to be intelligible, but they still sound angry.

Eddie won’t let you go, not yet. He’s clutching you, his mouth still wrapped around your shoulder, even though his teeth aren’t biting anymore. You pet his forearm, and lean forward just enough to knock lightly on the wall.

“We’re done!” Your voice cracks with the effort it takes to call out to the people on the other side.

“Fantastic show, my love. I think we deserve five stars.” Eddie laughs, nuzzling his face into your neck as he finally releases your shoulder from the trappings of his jaw. “I think I’m corrupting you, sweetheart.”

You hum, still petting his arm. “I think you already have, teddy.”

Eddie freezes, his grip on your waist tightening just a little. “No one’s called me that since I was a kid.”

“What, teddy?” He nods. Your fingernails drag dully down his arm, tracing over a tattoo of a swarm of bats, which breaks out in goosebumps under your touch. “Is that… Can I call you that?”

“Yeah,” he rasps. “Yeah, you can- you can call me teddy.”

It’s quiet after that. He rocks you in his arms until you kiss his knuckles and lift yourself gingerly from his lap, earning a pacified grunt from him as his softened cock slides out of you. You watch him as he ties off the condom and tosses it in the wastebasket a few feet away, then flops backward onto the bed so that his head hits the pillows.

You chuckle, sliding forward to run your hands along his stomach. “Honey, you still have your pants on.”

He hadn’t taken them completely off, only pushed them down far enough to free his cock and have at you. What’s more, he still has his boots on, too- big, black motorcycle things that nearly hang off the end of the bed.

Eddie grunts dismissively. “C’n deal with it in the morning.”

“No sleeping with clothes on.”

He huffs petulantly, but the scowl he tries to give you turns into a lovesick grin pretty quick. He tucks his hand behind his head in mock-nonchalance. “Hey, pretty lady. You come here often?”

“Once or twice, so far.” You grin at him as he laughs, rolling your eyes as you move down the bed to finish undressing him. You untie his boots and let them fall with his jeans and boxers onto the floor at the end of the bed, glancing up at him once you’re finished.

His eyes are closed. You don’t think he’s sleeping yet, but he’s flushed, covered in sweat. He’s still so much of an enigma to you, but you adore him. You’re enamored with him.

You crawl slowly up the length of his body, feline-like in your movements. You appraise his tattoos, smoothing your hands over them as you go. You lean down and press featherlight kisses across his beautiful, bruised face.

Eddie cracks his eyes open at you with an inquisitive smirk, just barely puckering his lips to kiss you back when you land one on them. “Feeling me up again, sweetheart?”

You hum, kissing his chest. “You’re hot.” It’s the only explanation you afford him. And once he’s shut his eyes again, you carefully move down his body, peppering kisses across his naked torso.

“What’re you-?” He twitches when you drag your tongue over his cock, still wet and salty with his cum. He groans as you slowly lift it, suckling on the head gently. “Oh… Sweetheart, m’not… I don’t think I can-”

“I’m just cleaning you up, teddy,” you tell him gently. “S’okay. You can go to sleep.”

He hums tiredly, his hand lifting to run through your hair, stroking tenderly against the back of your head. “My girl just can’t keep her hands off, huh?”

“Not a chance,” you tell him, giving him another slow lick. “You’re just too fucking pretty, Eds.”

“And you’re too fuckin’ perfect.” Eddie only really falls asleep after he comes again.

I’m never gonna leave you, baby, even if you lose what’s left of your mind…

A few days later, the car breaks down in Colorado Springs.

It had been acting up for a while, of course. Even though you enjoyed watching Eddie when he was bent over the open hood, bare arms sweaty and streaked with grease in the afternoon heat, you knew it ultimately wasn’t going to end well.

Each time Eddie tinkered with it, more and more concerning things came to light. “One of your cylinders misfired,” he said one time, shaking his head. He’d insisted on driving it from that point on. Another, “The fucking spark plug has gone out. We have to get a new one.” That was $75 you didn’t have to spare.

You guess the car had just fucking had it when you got to Colorado. You went to start it up at a truck stop, and the whole thing just sputtered and coughed at you, and then you didn’t have an engine anymore.

After Eddie paced around and cursed about it for a couple minutes, you both crawled into the back of the van and locked the door. And now you sit cross-legged across from each other, with everything of value that you have to your name in a little pile in front of you.

When you left home, you’d saved up a couple thousand to live off of until you got somewhere you felt comfortable working and living in. Since then, you’ve squandered it on food and motels and gas, never staying put and now rambling along with Eddie.

From the ATM, Eddie had stolen around two thousand dollars. He’s in the same boat as you, now looking at only a couple hundred in between the two of you. Hardly enough to afford a hotel room or bus fare for the both of you. Certainly not enough to get you a new car, or even rent one.

He scrubs his hands down his face, dirty fingernails pressing into his skin. “You should take it.”

“What?” You squint at him.

“There’s enough here for bus fare for you, at least,” Eddie murmurs, his fingers poking at the pile and scooting it toward you. “Getcha where you want to go. Get a nice job at a tourist shop in Vegas or Santa Monica or something.”

“Are you fucking kidding me, Eddie?” you snap. You swat his hand away from the pile, looking affronted. “I’m not taking the money, so cut it out. We’ll figure something else out.”

Eddie shakes his head, like he’s already made up his mind. “We had a deal. I fix your car, you take me with you. And I didn’t fix your car.”

“Yeah, but that was before…” you trail off, scrutinizing his expression. He won’t meet your gaze. He won’t look at you.

Eddie’s mouth opens and closes like he’s a fish out of water. Then, he says bitingly, “Before we fucked?”

You can feel all the emotion drain from your face, leaving you a blank, hollow screen with dead eyes just staring at him. It’s your best defense against bursting into tears at the very tone of his voice.

When he glances at you, you can tell that he wants to take it back immediately. His teeth worry his bottom lip, ripping at chapped shreds of skin. “Don’t do me any favors, sweetheart.”

“It’s not a fucking favor- I thought we were doing this together.”

Eddie talks over you. “You don’t need to keep dragging me around with you, okay? You’re off the hook.”

“Eddie, you’re being mean,” you croak at him. Not exactly the quick, biting wit that you can usually whip out- he’s shocked you.

He drops his eyes, his hands squeezing his knees. “Yeeeah,” he grumbles, his fingers tapping sporadically against his denim jeans. “Well, I told you, I’m no good for you. You didn’t listen.”

You told me that while your tongue was in my pussy. The words are balanced on the edge of your teeth, but they won’t fall out. Your hands itch to reach out for him, grab his chin and force him to look at you, somehow.

Instead, they snatch up the little bit of cash from your side of the pile in between you. You crumple it in your hand and shove the wad into your jacket pocket before you grab the strap of your weather-beaten backpack full of the last things you have to your name, and kick open the back door of the van.

It’s summer, but it’s windy in Colorado. It must be something about the mountains, you guess, and it being early morning. Condensation hangs in the air, making the air both heavy and cool as you breathe. Funny- if you slept naked, you’d probably have to curl up into each other for warmth, for a change.

You’re either vibrating from rage or from the abnormal chill in the air. Standing on the street corner with the gas station sign lit up in neon behind you, you kick the crosswalk pole with your dirty converse. You’re still arguing with him, in your head. We were in this together, motherfucker. I told you, I’m your girl. I put all my eggs in your basket. Whatever fucking martyr complex this is, you can shove it right up your stupid-

“I know.” Eddie’s tattooed arms wrap around your waist and pull you into his chest, his face buried in your hair as he whispers urgently into it. “I know, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

So, you weren’t arguing with him in your head. You were actually yelling everything you were thinking, and he chased you as you stormed off. Seems about par for the course.

“Fuck you, Eddie, did it even mean anything to you?” you blather at him, your voice thick with impending tears. “‘Cause it meant something to me.”

“Course it did,” he rasps at you, his arms squeezing you to him so tight that you’re running out of air to breathe. “I didn’t- I was being shitty. I’m sorry. Please, don’t leave.”

“Then don’t push me away.” The tears collect in your lashes, finally dripping down your cheeks. You turn in his arms and whack your hand flat against his chest. “Don’t treat me like some slut, don’t- I didn’t sleep with you just because I wanted you to fix my fucking car, you jerk.”

“I don’t think that,” Eddie insists quietly, wiping your tears away with his thumbs. “C’mon, now.”

“You said-”

“I know what I said,” he cuts you off. “And I didn’t mean it. I have a bad habit of throwing away the good things in my life, ‘cause… ‘cause of that martyr complex, you said-” He jams his tongue against the roof of his mouth when you hiccup, staring up at him with a wobbly lip. “Don’t let me throw you away. You’re the best thing I’ve ever had, ‘n I don’t wanna lose you just because I’m an idiot.”

You sigh, your head falling neatly into the crook of his neck like it’s meant to be there. He’s too quiet, holding you against him at the street corner. Eddie breathes in deep and kisses the side of your head longingly.

“I can get us a car.”

You lift your head to look at him. He wears a disappointed expression. “But we don’t have any money.”

“It won’t take money,” Eddie mumbles as he strokes your back. “I, uh… I didn’t want to end up like my old man, but…” he shrugs, his eyes cast away from you. He chuckles sadly. “Nothin’ I can do about that, now, I guess. I mean, look how you met me.”

Oh. You can infer what he means by the far-off look on his face, like he’s resigned himself to his fate. You lift your hands to cradle his face; the bruise on his cheekbone has faded to yellow, the scab on his chin almost healed. He’s never looked more beautiful to you.

“You’re a good man, Eddie,” you tell him sternly.

Eddie’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Don’t be too sure of that. You might change your mind.”

‘Cause you know I’ll be right there beside you, riding through all these western nights…

The sedan isn’t exactly flashy, or new. It’s a tin can on wheels that’ll crumble into bits if you so much as side-swipe a trash can. You keep a lookout as Eddie jimmies an unwound wire coat hanger between the glass window and the door, and a second later the door is unlocked.

You’re unnervingly calm. How did you get to be so calm about all this? Stealing money, driving getaway cars, stealing other cars when those ones don’t work. Suddenly an accomplice to whatever illegal shit has to happen for you to get where you’re going.

What’s worse, you think, is how badly the sight of him hotwiring the car turns you on. It’s practically horrifying the way your skin crawls and your core burns as you watch his hands fiddle with the wires beneath the console, so quick that your mind can barely process it. You’re not sure if the adrenaline in your veins is from looking to see if anyone’s coming, or if it’s because you want to jump his bones.

"I swear to you," he's saying as he swipes at frayed wires, "I swear, when we get to San Francisco, I'll never- I'm gonna get an honest, real fuckin' job, I'm not gonna do anything to hurt yo-"

The car starts, and you leap into the front seat without giving it any more thought. “Eddie?”

“Yeah, sweetheart?” He looks up at you, his brows tilted up expectantly. He’s still tucking wires back under the dashboard, preparing to take off once he gets the door shut.

“I slept with you because I’m falling in love with you.”

Eddie’s eyes go wide as moons, glittering in the light of a fluorescent floodlight at the corner of the dark parking lot.

“You don’t have to love me back,” you tell him honestly. “I just wanted you to know. I’m with you. And I’m not gonna leave.”

You don’t know if he loves you back- not yet, anyways. He doesn’t say it to you. But he kisses you like he does.

I'll be screaming your name past the gas stations, trailing down the interstate. Please don’t love how I need you, and know that one day, you and I could be okay.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #roses*

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retphienix · 8 months ago

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We're not on the final patch or whatever so it can change, but, current takes on the new toys from the cutting edge (actually all of them this time)

Plasma: Shit, but fun shit, fun to play with at lower difficulties but just too many negatives for me to care. It's just a weak "AOE" weapon atm.

Shocker: Disappointing :( Feels balanced around easy difficulty or something, like it just "kills some enemies VERY slowly" and nothing else really worth noting. It's not a bad arc thrower, it's a pitiful arc thrower- so hey, at least that means the thrower is still the best at what it does, but sucks this ain't worthwhile.

Laser pistol: I haven't even bothered buying it yet so I kinda lied- it's bad man, just look at people using it, it's a weak unreliable secondary who's only positive is technically infinite ammo- not worth atm.

Sickle: Fucks gratuitously, it's what a non-shotgun primary should feel like, reliable and fun to use.

Stun grenade: Fucks gratuitously, finally a grenade that does something different AND MATTERS AND IS GOOD AND IS WORTH USING while being different. Honestly the only downside it's given me is that I've relied on grenades for blowing up nests and fabricators and now I have to adjust my loadout- abuse strategems- or rely on allies but it's genuinely worth it 10/10 item.

Armor: Not good enough to properly meme with (no 100% electric res), not built in a way that pro-actively supports the player (it's just a "I hope randoms stop killing me" item). You can stand next to arc towers for a little bit though.

All in all, neat new toys- 2 of which ARE SIIIIIIICK <3

#helldivers 2 #RetPlays

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irish-chikorita · 5 days ago

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People I'd Like to Know Better

Tagged by: @ratlastheseus (I'm normally pretty bad about participating in tagging games but lets give it a shot this time :D)

Last song: Dangerous (EPIC: The Musical - The Vengeance Saga) (guys go listen to EPIC: The Musical its SOOOOOO GOOD)

Favorite color: Greens and blues (especially together). I'm fond of purple as well!!

Last book read: I cannot tell you the last time I've read an actual genuine book. Which isn't to say that I don't like reading, I just haven't had convenient/easy access to a range of books in awhile 😔

Last movie: Descendants 3 (I never watched it when it came out, it gave off Bad (Quality) Vibes. A reaction channel I watch started goin through the Descendants movies, I realized I should at least watch the 3rd one so I know what's going on when the reactor goes to watch it. that was a mistake this was the worst Descendants movie oh my god-)

Last show: Bridgerton Season 3 (honestly was disappointed in this last season, they did Penelope and Collin dirtyyyyy)

Sweet/savory/spicy: I tend to lean towards savory stuff for the most part. I do enjoy spicy stuff here and there, but it will absolutely make me sniffley. I like sweets too but typically in the form of something gummy (and occasionally covered in sour sugar stuff). I find it hard to have baked sweets, I strangely have to be actively craving it to be able to stomach it most times.

Relationship status: Single, and pretty content about it rn. my last relationship (that was also my first) was a total disaster that only lasted 5 months, and its put me off to the idea of re-entering the dating scene anytime soon. I'm much happier being by myself or spending time with my friends 😌

Last thing I looked up: There's too many of the same general search but it's all pretty much "sims 4 cc maxis match" GBVHBHNHNJNBNJB

Current obsession: MLP had cycled into my range of fixations again for the first time since 2013 and has been pretty upfront in my interests for the past year or so, but its died down a bit recently (not going away but just taking a seat once more while other things take the stage). Minecraft has been the main fixation for the past 4 years, but Undertale is tryna rise from fixation hibernation, so the two are taking turns at the forefront of my brain atm. Pokémon is,, also there. standing in the corner,, menacingly-

Looking forward to: EPIC: The Musical's "The Ithaca Saga" (I need "The Challenge" to be officially released and injected into my veins i stg)

Tagging: I've never been good at this part of the tagging games (which is why I tend to not do them) so I'm going to take the lazy route and say that!!! whoever follows me who wants to do this!! can do this!!! that's right!! you!!! you can do this thing!! for funzies!!! And if you do this because of my post, you should tag me as if I tagged you specifically because I think it would be cool and swag 😎🛹

#tag game #personal stuff

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worminstuff · 4 years ago

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mcyts as teachers

in my brain. lol. thisisjustmyopiniondontattakpls

dream smp edition!!!

i got way to carried away HOLY

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Mr.Wastaken - math

he’s that one math teacher dude whos friends with all his students

funky👏tys👏 and👏 button ups👏

somehow teaches everything so everyone understands

the students won’t bully eachother if he bully’s them first.

everyone does their work and then when everyone is done and just chillin, he’ll tell a story or just talk to them

Mr.Blade - english

he’s that english teacher that if you ask the right question they’ll go on a tangent and you’ll get to not do work for like 30 minutes minimum.

Mr.Blade seems mean but is super sweet to his students. (especially the quiet ones)

never makes them do presentations

Mr.Jacobs - history

is 100% best friends with his students.

so many handshakes

Mr.Karl is literally the best dressed teacher there is and is so nice to all his students. he is easy going on grading but is a tad hard on late work.

totally doesn’t sneak off to kiss coach sapnap sometimes

Mr. Quack - spanish

HOLA NIÑOS

gets so hyped with his students.

kahoot kahoot kahoot sm kahoot

Mr.Quacks class is the one everyone hopes they get and constantly looks forward to. thinks like baking spanish food, watching spanish soap operas, and many more fun ways Mr.Quack has thought of to show them different aspects of spanish culture

Mrs. Nihachu - art

the classroom the kids with anxiety sit in during lunch

gives her students hugs whenever they need them

has art her students have made for her all over her classroom walls and desk

drawer full of candy

Coach Sapnap & Coach Punz - PE

LETS GOOOOOOOO

so scary. they are so so scary.

also the sweetest somehow.

the duo is always constantly trying to create new games to keep students active and they work hard to make sure everyone is happy and being included if they want to, or have an alternative if they don’t.

they play in team games like kickball and get HELLA competitive, it makes for a whole lot of fun inside jokes between them and their students.

the smack talk- holy-

Mr.Fundy - furry science- jk. biology

the👏most👏fun👏science👏teacher

every time they have labs he wears a funky lab coat and goggles

his students make fun of him and he loves it

is a tough grader but makes the class easy and makes it a comfy place so kids won’t be scared to ask questions when they need

electives:

Mr.Notfound - engineering

he’s the type of teacher to put up a video on days he’s tired

actually really enjoys bantering with students, and is super lenient with how much they can talk during classes

a lot of his work is hands on so there’s many bits and bobbles around his room and it’s always a mess

“you’ll need the stuff for the soddering machines but i’m not actually sure where they are...”

the students are well aware that class is WAY more fun when Mr.Notfound is in a good mood.

Mr.Wastaken drops by when he has free periods cause he loves to annoy visit Mr.Notfound

Teacher Eret - sociology

his room is the safe space where you go if you need a good hug or a good cry

kids also eat lunch here

memes on da walls and things hanging from the ceiling

talks with his hands and laughs with the students when they mock him and do it when he does

“TEACHER ERET! you will not believe what sarah did!!” “tell me right now!”

Mr.Dude - comp. science

is always asking students how they feel like they’re doing

brings lunches for students he notices not having any

“snack break anyone?” opened drawer full of goldfish

stands in the hallways during passing time so he can watch out for his kiddos and make sure no ones being mean to anyone

high-fives all the time constantly

Mr.Soot - drama

literally so dramatic all the time for no reason

relentless hamilton references

he’s the type of drama teacher to adore his students and have them adore him back. he loves hearing all the unique ideas and loves to watch kids grow into their shell as they take his class

his favorite thing is watching quiet kids learn they love acting and become more confident

students share their own scrips and plays they write and he absolutely melts every time

Mr.Shlatt - political science

the teacher that everyone tries to get mad cause it’s funny

starts arguments between students because he loves to watch kids grow into their opinions and learn to debate with others

teaches them how to win arguments and it blows up in his face cause they start using his tactics against him

Mr. Halo - self defense

no 🚫 swearing 🚫 zone

gives the biggest hugs to kids that seem sad

he teaches in mostly talking ways where he explains everything but he also loves demonstration lessons

he always has kids talking to him about other teachers that may annoy them or have given them a bad grade because Mr.Halo always has their back

Mr.Skeppy - money management

he’s that one teacher that isn’t really close with his students but every once in a while he’ll get a group of kids that he enjoys and it makes the class a lot more fun

pizza party after tests if everyone passes

actually holds meme contests for literally no reason

Mr.H - hospitality

has whiteboard desks in his class cause he is THAT cool

is always asking kids what the drama is atm cause he wants to be in the know

has holiday party’s in class for EVERY holiday. if you have him as a teacher you’ll be celebrating every holiday for however long you have him. he just lives for a good party.

also has a snack drawer

Mr.Frost - horticulture

shelves and shelves of plants. gives his fav students ones to take home

literally the sweetest teacher, every student understands you can not be rude to Mr.Frost it’s just criminal to do so

another huggy teacher. he just loves his kiddos with his whole heart

the least amount of work for a class out of all of them

he’s definitely that teacher thay takes his class outside every chance they get, and the students l o v e it

staff:

Mr.Minecraft -headmaster/principal

he’s the reason the school has like 0 REAL trouble makers.

everyone’s scared of him, but only because they don’t want to disappoint him.

he creates the best rallies and makes school events fantastic

100% dances at school dances sometimes

Mrs.Puffy - councilor

everyone adores her. even other teachers.

she councils Mr.Wastaken when he needs dating advice. *cough cough* Mr.Notfound *cough cough*

literally 3 drawers full of snacks.

is the founder of their schools GCA and it’s the best thing

let’s kids skip class in her office when they have a panic attack or are to anxious to go

had to have a chat with Coach Sapnap because of how many kids were coming from his PE class having panic attacks (he felt really bad, he’s just intense sometimes)

loves to sit in on Mr.Quackitys classes

Teacher callahan - substitute

he subs in sometimes and when students find out Teacher callahan is subbing that day they freak the fuck out

so much kahoot

how can one man start such party’s without speaking a word

terrorizes Mr Wastakens classes when he can and LOVES to pop in on the PE classes especially when they’re doing something wicked fun and he feels like beating sapnap at something

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puppyluver256 · 3 years ago

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[Image Description: Three fan-made Pokemon resembling red-orange cows with flaming tails, the largest one being a minotaur.

The first Pokemon is a red calf with brown hooves, a brown tuft of hair on its head, dark red eyes, tan muzzle and belly, tiny beige horns, and yellow and orange hair on the tip of its tail. It has one hoof slightly off the ground and appears surprised. Orange text outlined in tan to its right reads “Calflame”.

The second Pokemon is a reddish-brown bipedal cow with dark purple mohawk-like hair on its head and matching neck fluff, bright red eyes, tan muzzle, blue hooves, silvery horns and matching shoulder spikes, and yellow and orange hair on the tip of its tail. It has one hand-hoof on its hips and one held up as though raising a fist, its expression showing off its confidence. Orange text outlined in tan to its right reads "Kinedle".

The third Pokemon is a red and orange minotaur-like creature with a tan muzzle, bright red eyes, a gold ring passing through its nostrils, golden horns and shoulder spikes, dark blue mohawk-like hair, dark purple hooves, grey plates on its knuckles with golden spike protrusions, and yellow and orange hair on the tip of its tail. It is standing in a powerful-looking position and glaring off to the side. Orange text outlined in silver to its right reads "Minosteel".

End ID.]

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Calflame - Small Calf Pokemon - fire Curious in nature, Calflame have a tendency to wander if not kept under careful watch. Thankfully they also tend to snort out small embers, so it is fairly easy to track a runaway by the lightly scorched trail they leave behind. / Their tendency to snort out small embers can become quite troublesome if housed in a flammable environment. Experienced farmers that keep Calflame in large groups always make sure barns and other shelters have adequate fireproofing.

Kinedle - Young Cow Pokemon - fire Having grown a bit haughty after evolving from Calflame, they often engage in more risky behavior due to thinking that they already know best. Human parents often joke that Kinedle act much like rowdy teenagers. / Individuals in the same herd tend to butt heads and lock horns with one another, both as a play activity and to establish some sort of dominance. Trainers should be advised to watch out for this behavior, especially when combined with spurts of flame.

Minosteel - Protective Pokemon - fire/steel Despite their fearsome appearance, Minosteel are gentle to small creatures and have a very protective nature. They will not hesitate to come to the aid of injured Pokemon and children. / Due to misunderstanding of intent, farmers used to live in fear of their Moofer calves being abducted by roaming Minosteel. It is now common for Minosteel to be seen as a welcome farm assistant, prepared to aid in rearing abandoned calves and to guard the entire herd.

All right, we get to look at the full evolution line for Cantessy's fire starter Calflame, now with its evolved forms Kinedle and Minosteel! Hope everyone who liked Calflame in that survey from a while back is happy with how their cow friend turns out! :D

I wanted to go with the perceived theme of fire starters being based on the Chinese zodiac, so with only four options available on that front I went with an animal that's quite prominent around here. Yup, we got Cows. Cows and cows and cows. Like I can look down my street when it's daytime and there's a good chance I'll see a cow just Out And About in their humans' pasture. We've also got a pretty strong manufacturing industry, so with that in mind I eventually turned our little fire calf into a metal minotaur. And yes, I'm sorry if this disappointed anyone, but I just immediately stood Kinedle up at the first opportunity hehe.

In terms of gameplay if this were an actual game, the Calflame family is gonna be more attack-focused with some strong defenses and solid HP, to fit in with Minosteel's lore of being a fierce protector. They'll obviously learn a good amount of fire and steel moves that take advantage of this along with some other strong physical attacks, and when Minosteel has evolved they'll learn the move Red Hot Pierce, which acts similarly to Flying Press in that it works as both a fire and steel type move in terms of super-effectiveness (and by that I mean it does double damage to the things that are weak to steel as well as those that are weak to fire, but does normal fire damage on things that are neutral to or resist steel). Is that broken? It might be broken, but at least the other starters get something like it so maybe that balances it out? I'unno, I'm a character designer, not a game balancer hehe. I mainly just get the visual for how it'd look, and I can imagine a Minosteel using this move to heat their horns before ducking down and ramming into their foe.

Also if anyone wants to suggest other moves for these guys to learn and some physical stats (ie. height and weight, I only have a height for the base form starters atm and no weights XD ), feel free to throw 'em at me :3 Links to their info pages will be provided in the replies!

💖🐶 Check out my pinned post for ways to support my artwork, among other things! 🐶💖

~If you like, please reblog to show your friends! Likes are appreciated, but reblogs let more people see my content! If you have something to say, feel free to give feedback in tags/comments/replies as well!~

Pokemon and related concepts © Nintendo/GameFreak Calflame, Kinedle, Minosteel, the Cantessy region, and artwork © PuppyLuver Studios

#pokemon #fakemon #cantessy region #calflame #kinedle #minosteel #jess drew the thing #sfw #image description #long post

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callousdegenerate · 3 years ago

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Parental Relationships

Just a reference archive post for the blog that goes a little into how the Doctors' families were like/ what relationship they had with their parents

PLEASE NOTE THIS MIGHT BE SUPER SPOILERY FOR A FEW DOCTORS. I have intentions to discuss a few of these people's families briefly in some side stories either explicitly or through dialogue, but I won't do it for everyone bc it might not matter to the story itself. This is otherwise purely just reference for those interested.

Yosuke - His parents were fairly demanding, but Yosuke managed to pick up on a lot of different activities enough to satisfy them and did find joy in several of those activities. He had a fairly busy childhood that initially stressed him out since he wasn't so used to the fast pace of learning so many things, but he never wanted to be seen as lesser or get put down by his family so he adjusted to the demand. He did not utterly hate his family, but he did have poor opinions of them early on and he was relatively distant emotionally from them. He found value in what he did for the sake of it, rather than whether it pleased others.

Mom - Her parents were usually quite busy and never tended much to her unless they had to or had spare time. She grew to seek attention from her mother especially by acting out, but only found herself being labelled as disappointing when she did, even when her mother was just as bad a person then as Mom is now (minus the messed up mental state I suppose). For the sake of keeping up appearances and holding onto the family money, Mom adjusted herself to expectations while present around her family or their friends/business partners/etc., but she acted most like herself when not at home. She often slunk away from important gatherings to mess around with the sons of her parents' associates.

Sven - He didn't dislike his parents, but they left him unsupervised a lot of the time when he was in his teens and coddled him when he got in trouble. He was constantly doing things that should have gotten him arrested, but his parents often paid people off before that ever happened. His relationship with them was more parasitic than it was loving or scornful.

Jude - Jude had a pretty decent standing with his father, and had a fairly quiet upbringing. He did not grow up with a mother since she died when he was young, and his father was always pretty busy and couldn't always afford to hover over his kid. Jude learned to be independent at a young age, but was fairly social and kept busy with other people (sometimes questionable people at that). Neither father or son much interacted, but the interactions they did have were not unpleasant.

Micah - He had a good relationship with his mother and often stuck to her when he was younger. He also constantly tried to take care of his mother who often struggled living alone with her son. Micah did not have a father since his father left when Micah was young, but close to his teens, he did have a demanding and crude stepfather who he absolutely hated.

Gale - They had fairly traditional parents who did not much like that their child wasn't super social and was struggling with their gender identity. Gale was raised as a girl, and constantly referred to as a daughter. Even when they once made it clear about their gender identity, Gale's parents didn't agree with the "choice" and asserted their child as a girl/woman. Gale did not have quite that much trust in their parents after a while despite initially being quite trusting of them as a child. They couldn't exactly get up and leave home, so they had to put up with lying about themselves to others and fronting as primarily female. This bleeds a lot into how they used to front themselves before TF. But once Gale was able to leave home and had their own slight financial footing after college, they essentially cut themselves off from their immediate family and kept only certain social relationships

Jonathan - Jonathan had no real qualms with his parents. They let him be most of the time, and only expected him to do something decent with his life. They raised Jonathan in a humbler place, but soon shifted elsewhere after a job change and so there was a lot more social pressure in the social class they climbed to. Everyone ended up being more distant with each other into Jonathan's teens, so he was often starved for attention and excitement despite being relatively anxious about meeting new people and jumping into new things.

Nathaniel - His mother was much more open and loving toward him, while his father was far more demanding. His father disapproved of Nathaniel's interest in the arts, and he expected his son to get into something "worthwhile". Nathaniel found frustration in his father, but was close with his mother.

Milos - It's been said Milos drunkenly talks about his father, and it's evident he had a rocky relationship with the man. However, Milos could do no more than rely on his father for things. He was a rough man who treated his son harshly and had high expectations of his son to follow in his footsteps. Milos despised the man, yet feared him all the same.

Lilah - Lilah did not care for her parents whatsoever--her mother was distant and her father was a controlling asshole who put a lot of restrictions on her that she never followed. She did everything possible to upset him, and he in turn did everything possible to stifle her.

Monica - Monica's parents were a bit pushy with her, primarily her mother. She expected her daughter to live up to high social expectations, was highly opinionated, and often ushered her daughter in a specific direction while expecting her not to ask question. Monica didn't like her mother's tendency to hover, make constant suggestions, and sometimes make decisions for her without consulting her daughter. She had a strong dislike for her mother bcause of these tendencies, but refused to outright say she hated her. She found dealing with and talking to her mother like a person very difficult since her mother tended to shut her opinions down. When Monica was young, she did as told and hardly questioned this, but she became a bit more rebellious and mouthy when in her teens. Only after fighting against her mother for years did she eventually even out and become much more docile. She feared being left in the dark if she didn't act a certain way for certain kinds of people, and figured that social expectations could not be countered with rebellion forever. Monica's mother much more agreeable and loving to Monica when she behaved anyway.

TO + Lucius - I can't go into these two atm, but you can pretty much wager TO had a shitty relationship with his father and hated him, while Lucius might not have hated his own family.

#CD Facility Story #CD Facility Spoilers #CD Facility Reference #Asks #CD DEATH

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dylan-o-yumm · 5 years ago

Note

Hi how about Nero’s struggling with demonic feelings as he’s just activated his true devil trigger and he’s having sexual thoughts about being in devil trigger but he can’t do it with Kyrie because he’d rip her apart literally and he starts finding himself attracted to female devils? Just a random thought I was having lol

Warnings: Rough sex, biting, hair pulling, choking, breaking furniture, dt sex, tiniest bit of oral, fem reader, talk of cheating, but this is all consensual! Nothing about this is labeled as Nero being unfaithful to Kyrie.

Note: Look, we all know he’d never sleep with another person when he’s in a relationship with Kyrie, but for the sake of fiction… Lol (Also I haven’t written in MONTHS so this is trash, I apologise) IMPORTANT NOTE! I won’t be taking any more requests. I will go back to writing more, and you guys can always come fill my inbox with Nero thoughts or literally whatever, but I’m struggling with requests atm so I’m just gonna put that on hold for now. Thanks for understanding, lovelies.

“Look, you’re cute and all, but I’m not going to have sex with you. You’re not exactly single, Nero…” You state in a matter-of-fact tone as you enter the van after an easy and quick mission with the white haired devil hunter. A bunch of lesser demons here and there, nothing too big or scary to exhaust you of all your energy.

You’d been friends with Nero for years, going on missions with him whenever you could, meeting up on days off and hanging out with him and his beautiful soon-to-be wife. You had heard and done many odd things with him in the past, but this was definitely the weirdest thing he had ever asked of you… and most inappropriate? Mature? Sexual?

“You’re lucky I’m not going straight to Kyrie and telling her you’re an unfaithful, cheating, little—“ You begin, voice rising and getting more and more aggressive with every word. Even your eyes began to glow a bright red, getting beyond pissed off for your dear friend, the adorable little songstress. Nero had no right to ask you for sexual favours when he was meant to be in a happy relationship with her. If he wasn’t in a relationship with her though… well, that would be another story.

He was a very handsome devil, even more so after he cut his hair and… you know, grew an arm back. You even had a crush on him before you met Kyrie, following him around like a lost puppy until you quickly realised he had eyes for someone else. Eh, it happens.

“She’s okay with it! Jesus calm down…” Nero raised his voice, unable to meet your eyes as a dark red shade covered his cheeks. He was obviously nervous and embarrassed about what he had asked of you, yet here he was, still trying to convince you.

On your way back to the van only a few minutes prior, Nero was telling you how he was finding himself more and more rough and… a little over excited in the bedroom as they days went on. He was concerned for Kyrie’s safety since he feared he’d end up hurting her, and wondered if he could “let off some steam” with a demon girl such as yourself.

You knew he would end up hurting Kyrie if he kept trying to be gentle with her, all while his demonic side was screaming for more. Hell, he’d rip her apart. Sleeping with a human when you had a raging demon inside of you, desperately clawing its way out, hungry for more… it rarely ended well.

You knew what Nero needed and you guessed he had figured it out too, since he was asking you, of all people, to help him out. It just felt wrong while he was still dating Kyrie. If he left her, then you’d have no problem with it… only, he would have broken your best friends heart and therefore you’d stomp him into the ground… Okay, maybe there would be a problem with it.

“She’s okay with it? Am I meant to just believe that?” You frown, crossing your arms over your chest and waiting for Nero to stop lying.

“Yeah…? It was actually her idea.” Nero stated softly this time, scratching his nose in embarrassment. You couldn’t help but scoff and turn away from him. There was no way he was telling the truth! “Look, I know it’s weird, but you’re the only demon chick I know and actually trust. And Kyrie trusts you too, so doesn’t that count for something?” Nero continued, reaching out to you, desperately trying to get you to believe him, trust him.

That was the thing, you did trust him. So, why was it so hard for you to believe him on this?

Narrowing your eyes, Nero could tell you were still clearly suspicious.

“You wanna call her right now and see if I’m lying or not?” He waved his hand over to the phone sitting on the dash of the van, surrounded by Nico’s discarded cigarette buds.

“Yes, actually I do.”

~*~

Turns out Kyrie was okay with it. She set some rules and begged you not to sleep with Nero more than what was needed to help his demonic urges, to which you swore on your life it would never happen again without her say so. It must have been hard for the sweet, little songstress, but she seemed rather… okay with it, oddly enough. She trusted both you and Nero 100% and knew you’d both respect her wishes no matter the cost.

Which is why you were able to look down at Nero’s golden eyes and angelic blue skin as his pointed teeth sunk into the armoured flesh of your thigh. Your backside was resting atop the workbench in your garage while your clawed fingers scratch Nero’s scalp, combing through his long white hair.

The two of you thought you might as well bring things back to your place, save the van from any damage that was bound to happen from two demons fucking like wild animals. Also you knew Nico wouldn’t appreciate the stench of sex in her van… so there was that too.

The longer Nero’s sharp teeth teased your thighs and groin, the armoured plating between your legs slowly parted, opening up to reveal your slick, wet folds that were throbbing and clenching for him. You were eager to see and feel just how big he was, ready for him to fill your cunt and plow you as hard as he wanted. The thought alone made you bite your lip and inch your hips close to his face.

His eyes widened when he finally saw your heat, and you could see his cheeks reddening even when his skin was the gorgeous blue that it was. He inched forward shyly before parting his lips and letting his tongue slither along your slick, tasting your arousal. You hummed, wanting more. He growled, needing more.

“I would like for this to be a one time thing — for Kyrie’s sake, so make sure to be as rough and wild as you need to be… Satisfy all your demonic urges, handsome” Your voice was breathy and distorted, rumbling in your throat and echoing off your tongue. You continued to play with his hair, leaning back on one hand to get a better view of him between your legs, cursing yourself for already wanting this more than this one time.

He simply looked up at you with a newfound hunger in his eyes as he sunk his teeth into your thigh, breaking through the armoured skin and drawing blood. You purred, biting your lip and stifling the little smirk that threatened to pull at the corners of your mouth, watching his long, dark tongue lap at the crimson droplets.

“Should we have a safe word?” Nero wondered, his voice also distorted, sending tingles down to your core. Even now, he was still very sweet and caring, though he was licking your blood off his lips and the look in his eyes was dangerous and hungry, like a wolf staring down its prey. Your legs quivered in excitement.

“Nah. I’m stronger than you anyway, I’ll just push you away or knock you out if you go overboard” You hummed innocently, tilting your head to the side in a teasing manner. You couldn’t have him worrying or holding himself back, otherwise this would all be for nothing. He’s meant to be letting loose and satisfying the beast— or in this case, demon — within.

He scoffed and shook his head with a little ‘all right then.’

“Hey,” you grabbed his chin in your talon-like claws and forced him to look up at you. Your voice dropped to a commanding tone, serious and almost threatening as you leaned down to get closer to his face, your heated breaths making the strands of hair by his face sway back and forth. You give him the permission he needs, you demand, order him to let go.

“Go overboard.”

Nero’s eyes widen ever so slightly, his blue lips parting as he stares up at you like an innocent puppy begging to be pet. You can practically feel his heart beat thumping excitedly as you continue to hold his chin, being mindful of the cute little spikes.

“I can take it.” You whisper, nodding slowly as your eyes flutter down to his lips. You so desperately want to kiss him, but you refrain from doing so. Even though you were about to be very intimate with him, kissing him just felt too… wrong? Kyrie didn’t say she had anything against you kissing him, but he was still hers, you weren’t about to start selfishly kissing him just because you want to.

Either way, Nero doesn’t give you time to kiss him as he stands up abruptly and causes you to quickly flinch back, not wanting him to headbutt your chin on his way up. He quickly grabs your wrist before you can fall backwards, holding you steady as he slots himself between your thighs.

He smirks at you, and at first you thought it was just because he was being cocky, but as you raised an eyebrow to question him, his grip on your wrists tightened and he bought you hands up above your head, pushing you back roughly until your back slams against the workbench.

You legs instinctively come up to rest on his hips as he leans over you, the workbench being the perfect height for him to stand and fuck you while you lie down on your back. There was a slight pain in the back of your head from being slammed down, but you only purr in delight, too turned on to even care at this point.

The plating on his crotch was still hiding his cock, much to your disappointment. Meaning you had to work for it, just like he did for you.

Your hips grind and rotate against him as he leans down to bite and suck on your neck, the both of you panting and moaning as Nero’s plates slowly open up.

Your hands explore his back, tangling up his Rapunzel-like hair as your fingers dip over every curve and bump of his muscles. His body moving against yours as he grinds against your wet heat is addictive, his chest and stomach brushing up against your torso, as if teasing you that he isn’t yours.

But you’re okay with that.

Finally feeling his cock rutting against your sopping cunt and not the hard plating that shielded him away from you, you shiver in delight and bite your lip. Looking down, you see what you had been waiting for. His fully erect, thick, veiny cock, leaking precum and dribbling onto your plated stomach.

“Shit…” You cuss as your eyes widen at the sight of him, practically drooling.

“Don’t go runnin’ scared now” Nero smirks cockily as he looks down at himself then back up at you through his pretty eyelashes.

Your eyes meet his as you can only scoff, playfully shoving him away but just as quickly pulling him back to you. Wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him down, you bite his ear harshly, earning a pleased shiver from the devil hovering over you.

“You gonna stand there all day talking about your dick, or are you gonna put it to good use?” You tease, purring into his ear after licking where you bit.

When he doesn’t speak or move, you wonder if you had offended him, placing your clawed hands on the sides of his face to get him to look at you. Though, when you expect to see him pouting or frowning, you’re taken aback when you see his lips curled upward and his sharp teeth shining at you. You open your mouth to question him, but get cut off abruptly by your own scream of pain, pleasure and surprise.

“Hnng—holy fuck! Give a girl some warning next time, asshole!” You screech as his cock rests comfortably inside your velvety walls. He had pushed himself all the way in to the hilt in one swift motion, giving you no chance to adjust to his thickness, but to be completely honest, his roughness only turned you on all the more.

“Still don’t want a safe word, you little baby?” He mocks, teasing you by not moving his hips an inch. All you could feel was his hard member throbbing excitedly against your slick walls, making you whine out, desperate for him to give it to you good and hard.

You shake your head, managing to smirk back at him as your hands move up to the back of his head, tangling in his white hair and pulling him down so you can latch your lips onto his neck. Biting, licking, kissing, pleading with your actions for him to please fucking move.

He seems to get the hint.

His hand suddenly worms its way between your lips and his neck, cupping your mouth as he parts himself from you. He keeps his hand there for a moment, leaning back to stare down at your awaiting body before he slowly drags it down to your neck. Wrapping his fingers delicately around your throat, claws digging into the back of your neck but he doesn’t squeeze or press down.

His long tongue snakes over his pointed teeth, that same cocky grin on his lips as he finally draws his hips back and slams forward as fast and hard as he can. Not giving you a second to adjust or brace yourself as he repeats the action over and over and over again.

“Oh, my fucking— ah!” You gasp and yelp, eyes squeezing shut. The pain subsided quickly as the tip of his cock brushed against the spongy spot within your walls, causing a whole slur of cusses and moans to spill past your lips as you claw and scratch at his armoured back.

“Fuckin’ tight” He growls, claws digging into you, eyes darkening and his movements growing harsher and harsher by the second.

You last about ten thrusts before you feel the workbench wobbling a bit too much for you liking, lurching back and forth in time with his thrusts. Your mind is a bit too focused on his thick cock nicely massaging your insides to even worry about potentially breaking the bench, though when you hear a crack sound from underneath you, your moans come to an abrupt stop.

Nero’s eyes are shining a dark red, much different to his angelic golden orbs that you’re used to seeing. He’s clearly giving in to his demonic urges like you wanted, only…

“Uh… Nero—“ You’re cut off when the bench suddenly cracks even louder and you’re suddenly falling to the floor. The wooden bench crumbles in pieces, the legs caving in and folding at an awkward angle as it finds its new home on the floor of your garage.

You wonder why your back hasn’t hit the floor yet, still waiting for the impact. Though when your focus pulls back to Nero — who hadn’t stopped fucking you — you are surprised to see two angelic, blue wings curled around to support your weight. Much softer than you imagined, cozy and warm like a nice blanket for you to cuddle into while you have your guts rearranged.

Your eyes roll back as you focus back on Nero completely, your hands coming down to grip at his forearms. You have no idea how the workbench breaking managed to take your mind off of what he is doing to you because, damn does he know how to put his hips to good use.

“You’re still holding back… I can tell” You whimper. While he was pleasing you very nicely, you had to remember why you were here with him.

He responds with a dark growl that shakes your entire body, even feeling it rumble deep within your chest. You gasp as he suddenly has you up right, slamming your back into the drywall and moving his wings to shelter you in. His hands grip your ass tightly, squeezing your cheeks as best he can while the plating protects your body.

“Better?” He growls, his voice somehow deeper and scarier, though the fact that he’s slowly letting loose and giving you his all has you dripping your arousal all over his cock and onto the floor.

You nod frantically as your eyes roll to the back of your head again, the new angle somehow letting him reach places you didn’t even know were possible to reach. The textured plating on his lower stomach brushed against your swollen clit from this angle, stimulating you everywhere you needed to be stimulated.

It suddenly dawned on you why you were here right now. There is no way Kyrie would ever survive this. This was far too dangerous for a human. The tip of his cock would be right up at your throat if he fucked you like this in your human form. You’d be split into two.

He effortlessly picked you up and dropped you back down onto his cock, all while thrusting up into you at the same time. Your moans turned into screams and you wouldn’t be surprised if someone came knocking on your door, asking if you were okay. Obviously, you were more than okay.

You hear a crunch beside your head, turning ever so slightly when Nero cusses under his breath to see his ethereal wing had crashed through the wall in his excitement. Flakes of white drywall fall onto his feet as he pries his wing out, sadly making an even bigger hole in the process.

You want to make a comment about him paying for the things he’s broken, but your words die on your tongue as you grip his shoulder tightly. He holds you down on his leaking cock as he brings you to the floor, sitting on his knees before setting you down.

“You keep squeezin’ my dick like that,’m not gonna last much longer” Nero snaps, almost sounding angry at you as he flips you over onto your stomach effortlessly. You hadn’t even noticed how your walls were acting to him, but now that you were aware of it, they were continuously clamping down around him and sucking him in deeper, trying to keep him trapped within your slick.

“Stop whining and fuck me, asshole” You huff back.

“My pleasure.” He purrs before gripping your hip with one hand, digging his talons into the softer part of your skin and scratching you up. The marks healed quickly, but he continued to tear into you, whether on purpose or not, you didn’t quite care. His other hand went to your hair, pushing your head down so your ass was up for him and your cheek was pressed against the cool cement of your garage floor.

Nero props his right foot up beside your ribs while the left lies flat on the floor, his knee supporting half of his weight, and his right foot supporting the other half. From this position, he easily grips your hips and fucks into you at a brutal pace, giving you no time to brace yourself.

His hips smack against yours loudly, causing you to lurch forward with each hit, but thankfully his large hands move you right back to his cock, keeping you nice and full. The stretch had you crying out, feeling his thickness split you open with every pass, all his veins rubbing against your tightness…

Your eyes roll back yet again and your tongue flops out of your mouth as you take everything he’s giving to you. You can’t help but smile dumbly, completely fucked out and you hadn’t even cum yet.

“S-so good…Keep g-going!” You moan, digging your palms into the floor and pushing yourself back onto him as best you can. The noises he makes in return are completely arousing, if you weren’t already dripping on his cock, you’d be soaking through your panties for sure.

He pistons inside you at a great speed, using all his demonic strength to please you and himself. Poor little Kyrie is missing out, you shamefully think to yourself. Your hips start to hurt after a while, the constant slamming of his against your own creating a dull ache. Nothing you can’t handle, you honestly loved it.

“I’m cl—oooh!” You moan as he shifts his hips ever so slightly so his cock hits your sweet spot over and over and over. You don’t bother trying to speak again, figuring he got the hint as he somehow sped up even faster.

Another minute passes and you’re a whimpering, moaning mess. Drool oozes out of your mouth and glides down your cheek while you struggle to even keep your eyes open as you dance on the edge of your orgasm.

Your thighs shake intensely as you cry out, tears pooling in your eyes as your claws scratch and permanently dent the floor. Your walls spasm around Nero’s cock as your climax washes over you, biting your bottom lip to keep from screaming too loud, but it doesn’t stop you from whining as loud as possible, almost sobbing as the pleasure begins to be too much.

Nero grunts and groans as he continues to fuck you roughly, snapping his hips against yours a few more times before his movements stutter and he’s moaning loudly up at the ceiling. You squeak from overstimulation as you feel his cock twitch excitedly inside you before a warm, sticky fluid is coating your inner walls and filling you up nicely.

Nero whimpers as he pulls out of you and collapses onto the floor beside you, while you continue to hold your ass in the air and let the cold air cool the heat between your legs. You stay like that for a moment, before letting yourself shift back to your human form, a bright, golden light shining in the garage before you’re laying there, no longer armoured or demonic looking.

Perks of devil triggering before sex? No need to get dressed. Your clothes were back on your body in an instant.

Rolling over onto your back, you pant heavily as you stare up at the ceiling. Covered in sweat, hair sticking to your forehead, thighs and groin burning, and a dull ache throbbed within your walls. Your pussy clenched around nothing, causing cum to dribble out of you and stain the floor. Perfect, you thought. You couldn’t help but grin as your mind stayed in its own little daze from the brutal, but delicious, fucking you just received.

Nero pants heavily as well, his body shining a gorgeous blue before he is back to his human form, laying beside you, also staring up at the boring ceiling. His legs felt like jelly, but other than that, he had this oddly calm and relaxed feeling deep inside him. It was like his demonic side had been completely satisfied and decided to go to sleep for a while.

He sighs with a smile, a sign that he’s relaxed and this whole… thing, seemed to work out. You turn your head to the side to look at him, beginning to chuckle softly, just at the sheer randomness of this whole situation. Nero starts to chuckle too until both your soft laughter is all that can be heard in the small garage.

“I hope you can make love to your fiancé without almost killing her now.” Reaching over, you pat his chest three times before forcing yourself to sit up, ready to go back to your normal life and go to cook dinner for yourself.

#Omg I'm back??#Nero x reader #nero #nero dmc #dmc #devil may cry

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cruddyborderlandstheories · 4 years ago

Text

so i’d really like to finish my guardian takedown lore analysis, but honestly the game isn’t really fun to play at the moment anymore (even with the health debuffs they added) so I think im going to be taking a break for now because I’m just not having fun anymore.

this game has a lotta mechanical problems i think need to be addressed so im gonna summarize it as bullet points below. I’ll play the new dlc when it drops, but idk if i’ll be on more than that (grinding, end-game stuff) until they make some serious changes. I’ve been playing (near) daily since launch, followed the patch/hotfix notes every single week, and my patience has finally, FINALLY run dry, especially with that really disappointing Phase 1 Patch and then the hotfix this week not adding anything else. What is the balancing team doing??? 😩

tl;dr: FIX THE VAULT HUNTERS!!!!

anyway. That’s all I needed to get outta my system. I might log on to this blog every now and again to post some random shit that pops into my head (probably with regards to my AU), but I’m not going to be actively playing and posting for the time being. Goodbye (for now), and here’s hoping the new DLC is good!!

guardian takedown only problems:

there’s a lot of waiting around, and sometimes it’s not explicitly stated that you’re waiting for something, so you’ll be lost on what to do next (not sure if that’s a dialogue glitch or not)

the crystal charge insta-death is bull. just. what the hell. at least make it so you just have to start over. killing ur players for failing a “puzzle” that they then have to fight all the way back to is so infuriating.

dying because you fell off a platforming puzzle is also bull.

i remember playing the first DMC on my playstation in middle school and having a conniption over the part in the observatory(? it’s been a hot minute since I played DMC 1) with the disappearing/invisible platforms. I h a t e jumping puzzles. why are they in a section of the game where death is semi-permanent and a detriment to your teammates. i tried the takedown 2x with friends and both times one friend didn’t make the first big jump to the temple and had to wait for our inevitable deaths. that’s so unfair to them.

there’s absolutely no reason for a boss to have 12 fuckin immunity phases. 4 per health bar with 3 health bars? Who the fuck designed this? *pumps shotgun* i just wanna talk.

i appreciate a tasteful immunity phase every now and again (the ones in the Valkyrie fight are actually p reasonable), but christ. that is overkill. I don’t mind the main boss fight, since u can end those early through certain actions, but jesus. the mid-boss fight is annoying as hell. you spend more time running from the immunity phases and finding the damn boss than u do actually shooting it.

drop rates are crap, which I guess should be expected given what happened with the Maliwan Takedown and the handful of months it took for them to fix that, but also you think they’d have learned.

in the maliwan takedown there’s a sense of progression thru the facility after you kill each area’s batch of enemies, but in this one it’s... dampened by the crystal charging sequences. you kill all the enemies in an area, press a button, and now you have to kill 3x that number of enemies in the same area, expect you’re just standing there motionless. It’s not fun.

the crystal charging stuff is just not fun in general. standing in a square is not entertaining. it’s worse that it was clearly designed for 3+ players when a majority of people play/grind solo

i gotta admit the boss fights just aren’t as fun as the Maliwan Takedown fights overall. I felt like a real badass fighting Wotan for the first time, but the main boss for this Takedown is kind of a bitch. Wotan’s fight is chaos, there’s so much shit happening at once and you don’t really have time to process everything and I love it. This one is p meh...

This would be fine and I’d 100% not care that much if there weren’t all these OTHER problems

General Issues with the Game

There’s no endgame stuff to play outside of the takedowns.

I assume they’re working on the first raid given some stuff I found in the Guardian Takedown files, but I really wish they’d keep the seasonal events/areas. They give us the option to disable/enable them while they’re ‘active’, just give us the ability to do it whenever we want.

when i hop on i either run through Athenas (my favorite map), or farm a boss or two. I have all the loot i really need from the maliwan takedown/elsewhere, and the guardian takedown just... isn’t fun atm, so i have nothing to do.

I’ve reset my playthru multiple times to play the main story at m10, but u can only play it (and the dlc) so many times

Mayhem levels and modifiers are a hot m e s s

a majority of the modifiers just aren’t fun to play with

they incorporated like 2-3 fun modifiers (from the community), then added a bunch that straight-up aren’t. I’m fine with the game being more difficult, but at least give us modifiers that make it more entertaining to play at a higher level instead of more annoying. I like the ones that have trade-offs or add new ‘enemies’, but I hate the ones that just straight up reduce your damage output.

a majority of the weapons with the mayhem 10 anointment (scaling) do not work on mayhem 10 (we’ll go more in-depth with this later)

Player Characters (Vault Hunters!!!) are also a hot mess and a lot of problems plaguing them haven’t been fixed SINCE LAUNCH

theyre literally the basis of the game and its balance. why havent you guys fixed them yet. stop adding new content until they’re fixed. no new skill trees until the base 3 trees work ON EVERY CHARACTER.

seriously. Why is amara p much limited to using Phasegrasp. Why does Iron Bear not matter to Moze except to proc anointments. MAKE ALL ACTION SKILLS EQUAL AND HAVE HEFT.

i wrote an essay here about it bc i feel that strongly about this

SERIOUSLY FIXING UR VAULT HUNTERS WILL MAKE BALANCING SO MUCH EASIER PLEASE IM BEGGING YOU THEY ARE THE BASE OF UR BALANCING WOES

ZANE IS STILL UNUSABLE WITHOUT THE SEEIN’ DEAD CLASS MOD!!!!!!!!!!!

MOZE IS SCREWED BC HER DAMAGE IS TOO RELIANT ON ASE ANOINTMENTS!!

AMARA DOESN’T HAVE A FUCKING MELEE BUILD AS THE ADVERTISED MELEE CHARACTER???

FL4K’S HEADCOUNT SKILL IS S T I L L BROKEN EVER SINCE THE RELEASE OF THE MALIWAN TAKEDOWN

ARE YOU GUYS LISTENING TO THE COMMUNITY *PLEASEEEEEEE*

BUFF AND FIX THE GODDAMN VAULT HUNTERS

Anointments were a mistake. Damage end-game is wayyyy too reliant on them

anoints should have a maximum of, like, a 20% damage bonus. the damage necessary to kill enemies *should be coming from the VHs themselves*. i don’t care if you have to revamp every single Vault Hunter’s skill trees and buff them all by 9000%. THEY DESERVE IT AT THIS POINT

at the moment in m10 there really isn’t much build diversity *even between Vault Hunters*. We’re all using the same 5 guns (OPQ System. Kaoson. idk. fuckin brainstormer? is that still a thing? jesus fuck) with the same 3 anointments (100% on ASE, cryo while SNTL, and 300% while 90%).

you want to diversify builds like you said during the gameplay reveal???? you want our choice in Vault Hunter to actually fuckin matter???? FIX THEM!!!! THEY SHOULD BE ABLE TO DEAL DAMAGE WITHOUT STUPID POWERFUL LEGENDARIES AND ANOINTMENTS!!!

Anoints also shouldn’t be common. At all. They should be, like, Pearl rarity. To let that happen, their damage needs to be tuned way the fuck down (again, 20ish % bonus MAX) and ALL ANOINTS NEED TO BE USEFUL IN SOME WAY

NOBODY IS GOING TO USE THE AIRBORNE OR SLIDING ANOINTMENTS JUST REMOVE THEM ALREADY AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

obviously these changes can’t happen because they fucked up and buckled down with everything being anointed in m10, but still

imagine a world where the VHs actually did damage on their own without anointments and the damage buff from them was just an incentive to grind for the 100% perfect weapon and NOT A REQUIREMENT TO DEAL DAMAGE

>:(

A majority of gear is borderline worthless at M10

I’m fine with the difficulty of M10, i should let it be known. The enemy health isn’t really the problem IF ALL GUNS ACTED THE SAME AS THE OPQ SYSTEM

ffs.

you know, if you fixed ur vault hunters so they all did damage with just purple weapons (abt the same damage as legendaries w/o special effects) and removed the anointment requirement from late-game play, balancing your guns would be sooo much easier. you know. just saying.

right now only 10% (im being generous) of guns in the game are viable. 90% are worthless. We need AT LEAST 60-70% viable at M10. WHERE IS MY BUILD DIVERSITY. WHY ARE ALL LEGENDARIES NOW JUST “HEY THIS GUN IS STRONGER THAN THE LAST 4 WE RELEASED. HAVE FUN”

how to fix this problem? do as above: BUFF YOUR PLAYER CHARACTERS. MAKE ANOINTMENTS LESS STRONG.

then, at least the 10% already strong weapons would be stupid strong and OP as fuck, BUT AT LEAST WE COULD HAVE BUILD VARIETY!!! I don’t care if other people are dummy strong one-shotting everything in sight. I don’t! so long as they don’t play with me, I couldn’t care less!!! I want to be able to play with the unique, interesting legendaries. instead of the OPQ System. which, by the way, I dislike compared to the normal Q-System. let me use the frozen heart shield and the infiltrator mod. I don’t wanna be chained to the Seein’ Dead anymore :(

honestly at this point im starting to think removing slag was a mistake bc then at least we could use guns that aren’t solely damage-based guns. you know how fucked up you’ve got me that im thinking maybe slag wouldn’t be so bad this time around??? YOU GOT ME FUCKED UP B A D.

FIX THE GAME

IM TAKING A BREAK

MAYBE I’LL BE LESS UPSET WHEN I COME BACK FOR THE DLC BUT HOT. DIGGITY. SHIT.

#borderlands #bl3 #whelp #i needed to get that out #still frustrated...#just... fix the game #please #its so disheartening to see this STILL going on #like i know bl2 had the same problems #with the balancing #remember when they nerfed zer0 and buffed salvador?#but like christ at least they were messing with the vault hunters #now they're trying to brush their problems under the rug and it's really sad to watch #you would think they'd have learned from bl2

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rebelwith0utacause · 4 years ago

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thanks for tagging me @pxrxmoore ^^ This looks cool!

feel free to answer all of them or just some of them or just ignore this all together, whatever you’re comfortable with, and then tag however many people you want!

1. what was your first encounter with fanfiction?

I think the first time I ever came across fanfiction had to be either with Paramore + other VWT bands (ATL, BVB, The Maine) on Buzznet or with Avenged Sevenfold on Wattpad. I’m leaning towards the latter because I was reading stuff on Wattpad since 2007-8 and I listened to A7X more (plus I stopped reading/listening to new A7X stuff when Jimmy died in 2009/2010 which is also around the time I became active on Buzznet). Idk, it’s been so long and that entire era of my life is extremely blurry.

2. your favourite creation of your own of all time if you create stuff (feel free to link it)?

I once made a 10 ft macrame half hitch spiral braid out of wool. Basically just braided and braided until I no longer had wool (I might have added a bit more). I think I wore it 2-3 times as a belt, but it didn’t matter. It was something cool I could do and no one knew about it.

3. what vibe are you going for with your home decor (or what vibe do you wanna go for one day, if you don’t have your own place atm)?

Don’t have my own place atm, but def something IKEA-ish, mainly whites and/or that greyish kinda light wood. I just like stuff that look pure and clean and would let my plants be the highlight. I’m thinking green minimal with lots of DIY furniture and white linens.

4. first fandom you ever joined? what was it like? on what platform did it happen?

Tbh, I feel like nothing compares to my 5sos phase so I’m gonna say 5sos. I’ve definitely been in others too (A7X, ATL, Paramore, Marvel/Tom Hiddleston, James McAvoy) but I’ve never been so immersed. Same goes for my metal bands, probably because most of them were either dead or disbanded by the time I started listening to them actively.

5. what are your sun, moon and rising signs, and do you think they make sense in relation to how you know yourself?

I’m a Gemini-Cancer cusp sun, Pisces moon and Taurus ascendant and tbh I didn’t believe in this shit very much. But the more I started reading up, the more it clicked and made sense. I feel like I’m little bits of all, the good, the bad and the ugly but there are also sides of me that you see, sides I allow you to see and sides I keep hidden very deep inside my psyche that even I hardly see them and it just makes fkn sense.

6. if you write and/or read fiction (original or fanfiction), do the tropes/plots/character types you typically seek out to read and/or write about reflect something about you as a being or how you see the world?

I don’t necessarily think they do, but they might. I’m pretty sure I have a “nurse” syndrome irl so to counteract that need to help others I read fiction where others are helped (because probably deep down underneath all of that fixing I’m doing, I need someone to fix me). And by fictive fixing I mean all kinds of fixing whether it be actual wounds or psychological healing or even socialization and sex, it doesn’t matter, I’ll read it all. I’m also a very analytical person so I love doing a psych evaluation to both the characters and the writers.

7. what is the hardest obstacle you’ve had to overcome so far in life?

There have been many and I always see the level of impact they had on me after I’ve overcome them completely and taken a few years to just dissect what happened. So I don’t know if these are the hardest but the most pivotal in my life so far have been learning how to overcome my fear of vehicles while battling depression at the same time, as well as learning how to stop feeling like I didn’t do enough to prevent someone else’s suicide.

8. what is your all time favourite song(s)?

This is really hard because I listen to too much music tbh, but let me see:

- Milice by Foltin, it’s a song in Macedonian about a girl called Milica and this guy is reminiscing about the beginning of their love, it’s just such a chill fusion song.

- Youngblood by 5sos, it basically sends me into another dimension where I feel the hurt, anger and disappointment he’s feeling as well as the helplessness of knowing you’d probably never get over this person. Yeah, his voice has that much power over me.

- Face of Melinda by Opeth, this is a part of a concept album and while the backstory is pretty dark, the melody is so soft and serene and temperamental and violent at times, I just love it so fkn much.

- Nobody’s Wife by Anouk because we all have those badass bitch songs and mine happens to be this gem, followed by You Oughta Know by Alanis Morissette.

- Outlines by All Time Low, idk what’s the deal with this song but it came out during the time when I was young but felt very old and I just couldn’t find my place in the world so I replayed the shit out of it and it somehow helped me heal.

9. what do you look for in a person you wanna keep in your life, be it a friend or a romantic partner or anything in between?

I kinda don’t look for anything in particular I just look for traits that would piss me off and say buh-bye to those people from the get go. Like... I need ppl to be politically aware and vocal, but not politically blinded, I need them to be eco-conscious and I need them to hate capitalism as much as I do. I need them to be modern thinkers but not to a point where they believe and stand for every fad coming from Western civilization. Basically someone grounded and being able to evaluate the situation without being constantly swayed by others’ opinions. Some might call it stubborn, but I really think that globalization has made us lose the good side of our ego. The part that makes us stand for something we truly believe in and not just be another sheep in the herd.

10. this is a bit of a difficult one, but have you ever had a moment of clarity, a conversation with someone that made you go “oh!”, or anything along those lines?

It’s happened a few times, but I’m really self-reflective so those things are to be expected of me. The last one I remember was around March last year and I was in group grief therapy and the psychiatrist was basically talking about how to deal with grief and suicide prevention and how talking helps and we talked about dreams and overall health and such and during those conversations he talked about PTSD and what helps to alleviate the symptoms and get over it and my EUREKA! moment came when I realized I’ve been healing my PTSD unknowingly on my own for the past 5 years. Basically that was such a great experience and it put so many things in perspective for me. I mean I come from a society where all things mental health are brushed under the carpet as if they don’t exist. And I’m definitely not the type of person to label shit and feel helpless because I can’t fix it. If anything, I’d def get angry and try to fix it myself because I hate being in limbo. And hearing someone voice my thoughts and fears and tell me that I’ve been doing great was just... Idk, felt like a pat on the back and a tight hug at the same time.

tagging @karajaynetoday @krindy33 @twilightmomentswithyou @tigerteeff @myloverboyash @talkfastromance4 @notinthesameguey @ashtonlftv if you want to do this or haven’t done this before :*

#i am: a long-winded bitch

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suiciderealestate · 4 years ago

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Midnight - June 15, 2020

What a strange time and what a wonderful thing to be alive to see it. What started as something so incredibly dark is now transforming into a cleansing fire. I’m only disappointed that I’m not in New York to be more a part of it. Still, being home has been oddly good for me. I dreaded coming back to Nashville and being inexorably bored, but that hasn’t really happened. I find lately that it has been difficult to be bored when there are so many things to be done. Even when I am doing nothing, knowing that my world is suffused with things to be done has deprived me of the possibility of boredom. To be home again with my friends and family who understand me, to be able to do work in things I enjoy or at least aspire to enjoy, all of it has allowed me to get closer to my center. And yet, I still feel that lingering sensation of missing out. It always feels like the most important things are happening somewhere else, and I’ve never quite been able to shake that. But then I suppose it’s just what goes along with being human, being this atomized lump of agency and desire in a swirling universe of invisible singularity.

Everything is so uncertain right now, but it feels like there is a reckoning. It feels like the conservative forces that have left me feeling less than human all my life are finally being seen for what they are. I admit that I have internalized some of it, that there are biases within me as a southern white male that feel contradictory sometimes. But this racial revolution is so much more than just a demand for actual freedom for black people. It is a demand that we all be seen as human beings, that we are all treated with the dignity and respect owed to everyone. Sure, “All Lives Matter” may be another tone-deaf rightwing trope, but I think it’s the real meaning in “Black Lives Matter.” We are fighting for equality for black people now because we are fighting for equality for us all, and we must start with those who are most vulnerable. Yesterday in New York City there was a peaceful demonstration of solidarity with black trans women, who have proven to be one of the most vulnerable populations in our country. Around 15,000 people were there. All of my friends in New York were there. It feels like something good may yet come of all of this.

When Donald Trump was elected, I remember being vaguely disappointed but slightly amused. I never wanted Trump to win, but the fact that he did win meant something big was going to happening, and I hoped it would be the destruction of the Republican Party as we know it. I still hope for that. His entire presidency was like a game of chicken. Something big would happen and you’d think he would finally be held accountable, and then he wouldn’t be. Against all odds, he won the presidency against Hillary Clinton, even after the “grab ‘em by the pussy” comment and all the nasty, incendiary behavior that kept him and his rallies in the headlines. I mean it was really such a catastrophic political upset that you just knew the wheels of history were about to go into overdrive. Trump survived all the damning books written about him. Trump survived impeachment. Things even began to assume a sense of eerie normalcy for a moment, the feeling that a Trump presidency was a one-way train and that there would be no going back for our country.

When the pandemic landed in the U.S., it just felt like the disastrous culmination we all knew was coming. We floated through Trump’s term with much political turmoil but much less unrest than I would have anticipated. Sure, the news headlines were never-ending until things that were once surprising became mundane, but we didn’t have a 9/11 or a new war, which is the thing I was the most afraid of. No nuclear disaster. No economic collapse. Just a lot of quiet social regression and the unavoidable feeling that now more than ever we are a nation divided. When the pandemic came, that’s when it really happened though. That’s when we knew why a president like Trump is so dangerous, and it’s because he just lives in his own world, the same way that many of us do, but in a way that the president of the United States cannot afford to do. It was a loss for diplomacy. It was a loss for the sanctity and decorum of the office. It was a loss for our national pride, or at least half of the country’s national pride.

When the virus hit I was so afraid. I felt like things really were just going to fall apart. Trump didn’t care about the virus. His response strategy was and still is, effectively, to ignore it, to refuse to wear a mask, to project not strength but the delusion of invincibility. He was so confident the virus would go away, it was almost like he knew something about it that we didn’t. Cases are spiking in Tennessee and several other states where people just don’t care about safety, but it’s mostly poor people of color that are being affected. A factory of minorities falls ill in a factory outbreak and it’s business as usual. Nursing homes all over the country become easy bake morgues and it’s business as usual. And to be quite honest, that kind of apathy easily rubs off.

As the rallies and demonstrations protesting the routine racial violence began to grow and spread like wildfire all over the country, we began to experience a kind of political paradox. The Trumpers are following their messiah’s lead by ignoring the virus, celebrating national holidays en masse, grilling out and thronging together in celebration of summer. At first the liberals criticized the behavior, but now even people on the left seem comfortable to travel in crowds during protests, as long as they wear a mask. To them, that seems to be the distinctive difference, but not every protestor I’ve seen has worn a mask. Neither side agrees with the reason the other side is going outside, and yet are all going outside. When I got home, my friend and I were spraying the ATM with disinfectant. Every trip to the grocer store felt like a dangerous foray into enemy territory. The news coverage of the destruction being caused by the pandemic was constant, and the reports, voices and opinions of the reporters and pundits were always in the back of my mind. Everyone on Instagram was urging people to stay indoors. Proper quarantine etiquette became an online rhetorical trend. But when the riots started and the political fabric of our populous seemed to be ripping apart, the headlines shifted and the attention shifted away with them. Right now in Nashville there are more cases of the virus than there have ever been, and it only promises to keep getting worse. I think it was just yesterday that I saw a picture of a girl’s lung infected by coronavirus that had been taken out during a transplant. It looked like a piece of rotting corned beef covered in pus. The lung belonged to a girl supposedly with no history of smoking. And yet I am strangely at peace. Still, it’s the same kind of peace I felt when Mary Jane’s car got t-boned and was spinning out of control. I thought I was about to die, and in that moment I was prepared to die. But I didn’t. I can’t help but wonder if this newfound tranquility is just a false sense of security, or anticipation of an inevitable sort of death. All I can really do is hope that fate will smile upon me, and if it doesn’t then I just hope to have the strength to let go of whatever tragedy comes. We are all ready to get back to our lives. We are all ready to return to a world in which this pandemic didn’t exist, but wishful thinking isn’t enough to make this chaos go away. Here we are, a nation on the edge, and we are embroiled in perhaps the most controversial presidency in American history, a deadly global pandemic, and now a revolution. When George Floyd died I was numb.

But it wasn’t because of people like me that the world is changing. To be honest, I am well aware of my complicity in a system that has more or less afforded me a great deal of comfort. Within the context of everything happening, watching black people lose their lives for no reason over and over again to the officers who are sworn to protect us all reminds me that circumstance has not been entirely cruel to me. I am thankful that something is happening. I am thankful that the protests are ongoing. I am thankful that finally our country is being forced to stand still, that the wheels of capitalism are slowing down for just a moment, so that we can evaluate who we actually are, to make necessary changes, and to proceed forward to a higher consciousness of freedom. But I know that there is a greater battle ahead of us. The opposition is rallying its forces, and though I am confident that the worst elements of our nation are their own kind of minority that can be overcome, I know it will not be without a fight.

History is happening every day, and I want to be there to document it. I want to be there to take part in it. If I am going to continue my life as a voyeur then I want to be an active voyeur. I want to tell stories that will result in meaningful change. But these are dangerous times, and I don’t only risk my own life when I attend the demonstrations. Living with my parents has given me a needed sense of comfort, but I know that being here and continuing to live my life more or less is putting them in danger, and if I wasn’t here they wouldn’t be in danger. It would be nice to stay in Nashville for awhile and save some money, to spend some time with my friends and reacquaint myself with the city I was born in as I head out of my youth and into my 30s. I don’t feel as old as I am. At twenty-nine I still feel a lot like a kid. I’ve often said that I got stuck in the mind of a 19-year-old when I did acid on Halloween in 2010. That night has remained the most impactful night of my life, and yet I have always been at a loss regarding what to do with the experience I had. I want to begin my life as an adult, to continue or at least approach with more vigor the essence of what will be my life’s work. I’ve been searching for it, and to be honest I just don’t know if I’ve found what it is.

I’ve become mostly accustomed to a life in which my major depression has left me unmotivated by most everything. I’ve been looking for that motivation everywhere. I searched for it in Kansas. I looked high and low for it in New York. I expected that New York would give me everything I needed to find that buoy of inspiration we assume every great artist has, but if anything New York just confronted me with the hard realities of our vapid, money-driven world. But as everything is dismantled and falls apart, I’ve become more hopeful than ever for a better future for all of us. We might not be able to fix the money-driven part of things just yet, but I really do believe we are taking steps in the right direction toward building a more free world. If this is just the calm before the storm, then let chaos reign.

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winterhasbeencoming · 5 years ago

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Why Suits disappointed me so much (a Marvey perspective)

Or the s09 rant that slowly turned into a s07 rant.

So Suits is over. I am bittersweet about this, this show really got to me, and a part of me is sad to see it go. Another part of me considers the thing I actually loved the show for over since s07 (even s06), so it wasn’t that big of a loss.

I've been thinking why s09 let me down so much as an ardent Marvey fan (obviously, I didn’t expect them to rip off their clothes and admit their feelings to each other *sigh*). So here are my thoughts... Spoilers for the finale below.

Simply put, the dynamic between Mike and Harvey is gone. It’s been gone for a while now but in s09 Mike appeared for the first time in years and he was written in as some random side character rather than an (ex)main character. If someone first starts watching the show with s09, they’d never guess this guy used to be the actual main character. I don’t think it was handled right because that wasn’t what Mike fans would want to see and if not for them, why do bother bringing him back in the first place?

A lot of the things that made their relationship special were absent. Among those were:

a) banter - it was either flat (with a few exceptions) or involved other people. Donna made so many fraud and prison jokes you’d think she was the one to go prison. I generally hated how the whole fraud business was simply used as comic relief when it caused everything to go to shit for everyone! I know they did that before too (and it was actually funny), but it was a tad too much in s09.

b) them vs. the world - they didn’t have a single thing to themselves (even the jokes). I absolutely abhorred the fact that in s09e09, Donna was the one to come up with a legal strategy so Mike can help bring Faye down by representing Samantha. Then to ultimately slap me in the face, they gave us a scene in s09e10 in which Mike and Harvey actually work together (”I’ve never stopped trusting you” omggg <3), and then when Harvey explained the gameplan to Louis and Donna it was presented like he came up with it all by himself and got Mike and Samantha to agree. WTF? I thought it was “one last con”???

c) protecting each other - I get that Mike wasn’t central to the whole Faye plot but they could’ve given us something. Instead, they treat Mike and Harvey as regular lawyers and colleagues. If I were a writer on the show, I’d have milked things like Harvey putting Mike on the stand for all its Marvey goodness and potential. At least Mike taking things personally and blaming Harvey for everything was something normal.

Overall, I got the feeling the screenwriters had forgotten how to write Mike. One of the most emotional characters of the show and this supposedly genius legal mind came off as a pretty emotionless sidekick to Samantha of all people.

Now, to be honest, the Marvey dynamic has been dying ever since Mike came out of prison. But his long absence from the show probably caused me to have higher expectations for the few precious moments he’d be back. Because to be completely fair I was just as disappointed in s07, if not more. I kept thinking why the moment Mike got into the Bar, he seemed like he couldn’t give less of a shit about Harvey. Did the writers try to show us he didn’t need Harvey anymore since he was now his equal? It was horrible because nobody can convince me that relationship isn’t special, isn’t more than comradery, more than simple friendship among coworkers. They were ready to give up everything for each other back in seasons 1-6. Then in s07 Harvey is just the obstructionist boss, and in s09 they’re trying to make us believe they’re just friendly ex-colleagues. What happened to being family? Maybe we overdosed so much during Mike’s trial and prison time that everything after it is just not enough.

Looking back, things changed when Mike went into prison. In the first five seasons Mike was the more actively caring side of this relationship, he more often than not, went the extra mile for Harvey. Once he went to prison that was flipped the other way and Harvey in his desperation to help him moved Heaven and Earth and what did he get in return - not even a goddamn hug. (That will never stop bothering me or the lack of hugs when Mike got into the Bar - he embraced goddamn Jessica, but couldn’t do it for the man who did all of this for him; at least they weren’t stingy with hugs in s09).

Back to s09, maybe it’d been better if they openly worked together at least for the finale. That’d be like good old times (they milked the nostalgia so much I’m not even sure they know they put so many references to past seasons in there). They didn’t have to pretend to add something new to the relationship by making them adversaries which we’ve already been through, but it was done way better in s04.

In my mind, the whole Harvey-Mike relationship was consciously changed after s06. Before that canon made us believe it was truly extraordinary and simply more, and then they deliberately presented them as kinda friendly colleagues. I keep thinking it was to try and convince us Mike’s secret was the only thing that made that relationship special or the “outgrowing” your mentor bs I talked a few paragraphs above. Which is bullshit, Mike even actually said in canon he loves him (feel free to put or remove the homoerotic context of that) and then what? All of that was because he needed Harvey to mentor him and protect him from getting caught? (Not to mention they got Harvey to say he loves Louis but not Mike... c'mon, you could have given us something.) In that context, s09 shouldn’t have surprised me at all, but it still hurt me to see what was a great duo reduced to bad jokes and an excuse to gush about Darvey.

Darvey - I haven’t brought that up because remembering earlier seasons Donna was often brought up in Marvey conversation and that hasn’t changed. I just didn’t pay attention to it back then, and now it pisses me off because the whole Darvey relationship pisses me off. Oh, and they couldn’t even elevate Mike to be best man for Harvey in the f-ing Darvey wedding! It’s bad enough Harvey interrupted his conversation with Mike to propose, but they couldn’t at least show how special Mike is by making him best man or something.

In conclusion, I wish I couldn’ve helped written at least the finale (if not the abomination that was episode 5). I wouldn’t have even included romantic stuff, just canon Marvey dynamic. I’ll never believe they did justice to the unique duo of characters that got this show popular in the first place.

I can’t overemphasize how desperate for good fix-it fics I’m atm. I really wish I could write fic in moments like these... At least we have Seattle!

#long post #suits usa #MARVEY #rant #mike ross #harvey specter #suits

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mischiefandspirits · 5 years ago

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Iron Legion (23/?)

Never let it be said that Tony Stark ever does things by half. He might have grown up with little family, but he wasn’t about to keep it that way.

Tony Stark was seventeen when his first child was born, and that was just the beginning.

For Masterpost, Timeline, AO3, and Fanfiction

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Web-Warriors, Part 2

“Baby-Bro?” Ned asked, turning to Peter. “I thought Nebula was your only sister.”

F.R.I.D.A.Y. frowned. “Harley said he found out.”

“He found out about Spider-Man,” Ms. Potts said blankly.

“That’s it? Why’s everyone freaking out about that?”

“He found out that I’m Spider-Man,” Peter reiterated.

“So? It’s Ned.”

“Is that a compliment?” Ned whispered to Peter, who shrugged.

“You’re like Peter’s Col. Rhodes,” she elaborated.

“That is definitely a compliment,” Ned said, excited at the idea of being compared to War Machine.

“More like his Happy,” Nebula muttered.

F.R.I.D.A.Y. waved her off. “Either way, who cares if he knows Peter’s Spidey? I thought he found out about the good stuff.”

“Good stuff?” Ned asked, but she was stopped from answering by Nebula’s glare. “Who are you?”

She smiled and held out her hand. “I’m F.R.I.D.A.Y.”

Peter grabbed his hand before he could shake hers. “Don’t tease him, Fri.”

F.R.I.D.A.Y. winked and disappeared.

“She was a hologram,” Peter explained. “Fri is Mr. Stark’s P.A.”

“Why does she call you Baby-Bro?” Ned asked, looking around the group.

Ms. Potts’ expression was calm, but blank; Nebula was glaring off to the side; Peter had his I’m going to try to lie even though I’m terrible at it face on; Vittore was watching them all with an unsure frown.

“And you never explained why your uncle’s here.”

“Uncle,” Nebula snorted before asking Peter, “When did he even meet Vittore?”

“They met when he stayed over last month while you were away.”

“We had a movie night,” Vittore said with a nod. “It was quite fun. We watched -”

“They don’t need to know!” Peter and Ned said together.

Ms. Potts crossed her arms and got that Mom Look, which was weird. “Peter Edwin Parker.”

Wow, she even sounded like a mom.

Peter ducked his head and slapped on the kicked puppy look. “We didn’t watch anything bad. Just… some of the… Saw… movies.”

“That explains the nightmares,” Nebula growled.

“I-I didn’t have any nightmares!” Peter said in a high voice.

“Vittore,” Ms. Potts sighed, “next time you’re babysitting, check with one of us before letting the kids watch anything with a higher rating than PG-13.”

“I’m fifteen! I can watch a scary movie!”

“And check the rating, don’t just take him at his word,” Nebula added, ignoring Peter.

“Of course, apologies.”

“I don’t know if I should be more disappointed that you watched those movies or that you subjected Vis to them. He’s just a baby.”

Ned’s eyes widened as he turned to see Tony Stark walking out of the elevator.

“Fri got me caught up,” he said as he sat down next to Ms. Potts. He kissed her cheek then turned to Ned. “So, you’re Fred then?”

“It-it’s Ned, sir,” Ned breathed, “but you can call me whatever you want.”

“Don’t encourage him,” Nebula said as Tony Stark smirked. “He knows your name, he’s just being annoying.”

“Alright,” Tony Stark chuckled, waving her off. “Let’s get down to business."

When he leaned in, looking at Ned over the top of his sunglasses, it suddenly hit him that he was not only sitting across from Tony Stark, but also from Iron Man. An Iron Man who was probably really mad that Ned had found out about something he was trying to keep secret.

Ned shrunk down into the couch cushions.

“So Zed, you know who Spidey is now.”

“Um, yessir.”

“And I’m guessing you know enough about what Spidey does to realize that if anyone found out who he was, he would be in a lot of trouble.”

“I-”

“And if anything ever happened to my protégé because someone couldn’t keep their mouth shut…”

Ned went pale. “Mr. Tony Stark, sir, I swear, I would never do anything that would put Peter in danger! He’s my best friend!”

“Good,” he hummed, staring Ned down for a moment before leaning back with a smile. “Well, now that that’s taken care of, Pete, I’m sure you’re excited to show your friend some of the projects you’ve been working on. Why don’t you head down to your lab until dinner gets here.”

Ned blinked.

“Wait, that’s it?” Peter said.

“Tony?”

Tony Stark shrugged. “What do you want me to do, Pep? It’s not like we can slap him with an NDA. He’s twelve.”

“I’m act-”

“He knows,” Peter said, standing up and pulling Ned to his feet. “Come on, before he changes his mind, or Pepper does it for him.”

“I still don’t get why his PA calls you Baby-Bro and why your uncle is here,” Ned said as he followed Peter towards the elevator.

“Inside joke,” Tony Stark said. “Considering Pete’s age, he’s like a little brother to some of those in the know. Fri just likes taking it a step further. We’d planned on not letting you in on how close Peter was to everyone, but apparently, no one thought to update F.R.I.D.A.Y.

“As for his uncle, that’s simple. He isn’t Pete’s uncle. That’s just the excuse they use for babysitting. Easier to say he’s an uncle than a fellow superhero.”

“Tony!” Ms. Potts admonished as Nebula placed her hand on her neck with a pinched expression. Vittore stared at him with wide eyes and Peter made a squawking sound.

Tony Stark rolled his eyes. “Vis?”

Vittore glanced between the other three adults before his skin began to change to -

No way! Vittore is Vision! Ned had a movie night with Vision!

Peter was babysat by Vision!

“Dude, what is your life?” Ned asked, not even caring that he was openly gaping.

“Come on,” Peter groaned, shoving him out of the room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“What were you thinking?” Pepper tisked as soon as the kids were gone.

“Like I said, the kid’s fourteen.”

“Why did you tell him about Vision?” Nebula groaned.

“He’s a nosy teenager. If we didn’t give him something he would have kept asking questions, which means he’d find out the truth eventually because either Peter’s horrible lies would give it away or he’d give in to the guilt of keeping secrets from his best friend. Like Fri said, he’s Pete’s Rhodey.”

“I still don’t understand why we can’t just tell him,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. said as her hologram form appeared next to Nebula on the couch.

“Let’s just see how he does with the Spidey secret first,” Tony suggested, wrapping an arm around Pepper’s waist. “Now, what should we do until dinner?”

F.R.I.D.A.Y. immediately disappeared and Nebula stood up and left.

Pepper snorted and got up as Vision made to follow. “I have paperwork and you have Baby Monitor footage to study.”

Tony pouted as she walked away. “Yeah, the protocol’s name sounds weird when you say it like that.”

“Next time don’t choose names for your protocols specifically to tease your kids,” Pepper hummed, slipping into the elevator.

“It’s his punishment for the lies!” Tony called before the doors could close.

“Would you like some assistance going over the footage?” Vision asked from where he was hovering halfway through the wall.

“Sure, the more the merrier.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Dinner’s here, kids,” Tony called as he walked into the lab to see the two teens hovering over Dron-E Mark III.

Apparently, the drone wasn’t spider-like enough if he couldn’t walk like one so Peter was working on an upgrade.

“Sweet,” Ned said, hopping off his stool.

“You could have just had Fri tell us,” Peter said, looking suspicious.

“You and I need to have a word real quick,” Tony said. He gestured towards the door with his thumb. “Go on, Red. Fri will show you the way.”

Ned gave his friend a concerned look, but headed out the door. Tony got a brief glimpse of him being startled by F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s sudden appearance before the door shut behind him.

“What’s up?” Peter asked, fidgeting with a stylus.

“Vis and I watched the video of the atm robbery,” Tony said, walking over to sit on the counter next to his son. He held up his hand before Peter could say anything. “I’m not mad, but you should have called in for backup as soon as you realized the kinds of weapons they had.”

Peter nodded with a bowed head. “Sorry. It just all happened so fast.”

“I know, kiddo. That’s why I think you need to have someone watching your back from now on.”

Peter frowned. “You mean having Uncle Rhodey or Vis following me around during patrol.”

“I was thinking more along the lines of an AI sidekick.”

“I’ve got Jay with me.”

Tony shook his head. “Jay’s already got enough on his plate: running my suit, the Tower’s security, and working with Fri in keeping an eye on the SI servers. Besides, he’s used to me. You need someone a little more… personalized.”

“So what, Fri or one of the triplets then?” Peter asked, confused, then his eyes widened. “Wait…”

Tony smiled and opened a program on a holo-screen. “Say hello to your new baby sister.”

“Hello?” Peter near whispered, staring excitedly at the screen.

“Good evening, Peter.”

Tony smiled as he started to bounce in his seat. “Hi!”

“This is S.I.L.K., the Spider Interactive Learning Keeper,” Tony explained. “She’s going to help you out during patrol. I actually finished her about two months ago and was just waiting for you to get a little further in your training before activating her.”

“Nice to meet you, S.I.L.K.”

“It’s nice to meet you as well.”

“This is so cool!” Peter said, throwing his arms around Tony. “Thanks, dad!”

“Yeah, yeah, just be more careful, please. S.I.L.K.’s programmed to call up Rhodey, Vis, or I if something happens, but I’d rather it not get to that point. You see guys with those kinds of weapons again, you back off. Okay?”

“But what about stopping those guys?” Peter asked, pulling back. “We can’t just let them go!”

“I’ve already contacted the FBI and they’ve set up a team to track down whoever is selling those weapons. If you see some more, let me know and I can pass on the message, but otherwise leave it to the professionals. Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man, remember?”

“Yeah, okay,” Peter sighed.

“Hey,” Tony set his hands on Peter’s shoulders. “I know you want to do more, but you need to take it a step at a time. Get used to S.I.L.K. and focus on your training and schoolwork.”

“Then I can be an Avenger?” Peter asked, brightening up.

Tony snorted and hopped down. He ruffled his son’s hair as he passed. “We’ll talk about that when you aren’t accidentally revealing your secret to random teenagers.”

“He’s not a random teenager!”

“And when you’re not handing out spare keys without permission,” Tony added, pausing at the door.

“I was kind of hoping you forgot about that,” Peter muttered as he joined him.

Tony shook his head and wrapped his arm around the kid’s shoulders.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Peter knows Spider-Man!”

Well, being alive was nice while it lasted, Peter thought as everyone turned to look at him and his best friend. Hopefully, Nebula will make it quick.

He sent Ned a look, then climbed to his feet. “Uh, no, I don’t. No, I-I-I mean…”

“They’re friends.”

Ned, shut up.

“Yeah, like Coach Wilson and Captain America are friends,” Flash shouted.

“I-I’ve met him,” Peter stuttered, scrambling for an explanation. “Yeah, a couple of times. But it’s, um, at my sister’s security job. Mm-hmm, yeah, well,” he turned to Ned and growled, “I’m not really supposed to talk about it!”

“Well, that’s awesome,” Flash said sarcastically. “Hey, you know what? Maybe you should invite him to Liz’s party. Right?”

“Yeah,” Liz said, caught off guard. “Um, I’m having people over tonight. You’re more than welcome to come.”

“Having a party?” Peter breathed.

“Yeah, it’s gonna be dope. You should totally invite your personal friend Spider-Man.”

Peter was shaking his head immediately. Nope, he’d heard way too many stories that started like this from Uncle Rhodey and Dad and they all ended badly. At best. “I-Sorry, Liz, but I’m grounded this weekend.” He shot Ned another look because it wasn’t entirely a lie. No one actually said the word grounded, but Mom had heavily hinted at it with a telling comment about Peter spending the weekend training with Vis.

“How unfortunate,” Flash snorted disbelievingly.

The bell rang and everyone started leaving.

Peter spun on Ned. “What are you doing?”

“Helping you out,” he whispered back. “Did you not hear her? Liz has a crush on you.”

“No, she has a crush on Spider-Man, who no one can know is me.”

“Dude, you’re an Avenger, kind of! If one of us has a chance with a senior girl, it’s you!”

Peter shook his head. “I don’t want her to like me because I’m Spider-Man. I want her to like me because I’m Peter. If they don’t like the real you, then they’re not worth your time. Family motto.”

“But you are Spider-Man!” Ned whispered, bemused.

Peter didn’t know what to say. How could he explain growing up hearing horror stories about his dad being used for his money and-or power all his life, about him being betrayed or tossed aside time after time once they’d gotten what they wanted?

“It’s not happening.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Do you think I made the right choice?”

“Your logic seems sound, but if you love her, shouldn’t you try everything to get her?” S.I.L.K. asked.

Peter blushed and rolled off the edge of the building he’d been taking a break on. “I didn’t say I love her! I just… She’s really smart and nice and pretty and -” He cut off when he felt something.

“Is something wrong?” S.I.L.K. asked as he landed on a fire escape railing and looked around.

“I don’t know,” he said, frowning. “Something’s setting off my danger sense, except… it doesn’t feel dangerous, exactly. But it does, kind of. Does that make sense?”

“Not at all.”

Peter bit his lip and tried to focus.

Twitch.

He jumped off the railing a second before he heard someone drop onto the fire escape. He landed on a passing bus and spun around just in time to see them spring off the platform onto the other end of the bus.

It was a woman with dark hair wearing a red and black leather jacket, form-fitting black pants, and red boots. More eye-catching, though, was the yellow and black spider design on her chest and her red and yellow face mask.

“How many of you has Stark made?” the woman demanded.

“Mr. Stark? What are you talking about?”

“How many super soldiers like you has Stark made?” she said slowly. “And are all of you children?”

Peter scowled and crossed his arms. “First of all, I’m not a child. Second, Mr. Stark hasn’t created any super soldiers.”

“Sure Parker,” she snorted.

Peter’s eyes widened. “Parker? Who’s that?”

“Should I alert Vision that you require assistance?”

The woman smirked and walked towards him. “Nice try, kid, but I’ve been watching you for weeks now. I know who you are, where you live, and how often you’re brought in to Stark.”

“I’m contacting Vision.”

“Now, how many of you has Stark made?”

Peter glanced around for a building to swing to and frowned when he saw the bus heading into the suburbs. He aimed for the closest building and she jumped at him. He dodged, but had to release his web as a result.

“Can’t you take whatever this is up with Mr. Stark? I don’t even know who you are!” Peter quipped as he dodged another grab.

“Oh, I’ll deal with Stark soon enough.” She ducked to the right, but it was a feint and she kicked Peter’s feet out from under him. She pinned him against the roof on his stomach, saying, “But first, you’re going to tell me what you know.”

“Look, Spider… Woman? I told you already. Mr. Stark didn’t do anything!”

“You think I don’t recognize his tech on you? Or know he was the one to bring you into the fight in Germany?”

“For the record, I wasn’t actually supposed to fight. I was just supposed to stay back and web them up, so please don’t remind Mr. Stark about that. I don’t want to get in trouble again. Also, I was already Spider-Man before Mr. Stark found out about me during Rogers’ temper tantrum. So, again, Mr. Stark didn’t do anything!”

Spider-Woman flipped him over and tore off his mask.

“Hey!” Peter froze as their eyes met. “You-you’re like me,” he whispered. He wasn’t sure how he knew, he just knew. It was like his danger sense, but different. “You really are Spider-Woman!”

“If Stark didn’t do this to you, who did?” she growled, glaring down at him through the yellow-tinted glass.

“No one. I mean, technically a spider did, but he probably didn’t mean to turn me into Spider-Man when he bit me,” he rambled, still caught up in the idea of another spider-person.

She looked unimpressed, but before she could say anything the sound of an explosion reached them and they both turned to see a plume of blue fire fading away.

“That didn’t look good,” Peter said.

“I’m calling someone in,” Spider-Woman said, frowning.

“That will not be necessary.”

Peter smiled and tilted his head to look over her shoulder. “Hey Vis!”

“Spider-Man,” the android acknowledged with a nod. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine.”

“He’s fine,” Spider-Woman said at the same time. She stepped away and turned to Vis, gesturing towards Peter. “Maybe you can tell me why Stark is making child super soldiers.”

“Mr. Stark has done no such thing, Ms…”

“I’ve been calling her Spider-Woman,” Peter supplied when she didn’t immediately answer. “Hey, can you two deal with this while I figure out what that explosion was?”

“P.L.A.T.O. is already investigating,” Vision said.

“Plate’s back in town!”

“Their armor required repairs. They should be here until Monday.”

“Cool.”

Spider-Woman cleared her throat. “You’re as distractible as Stark.

“Apologies,” Vision said as Peter said, “Thanks!”

“Not a compliment, kid,” she snorted before focusing back on Vision. “If Stark didn’t make him, who did?”

“That information is classified.”

“By whose authority? The Accords Panel doesn’t know.”

“Are you with the Accords Panel?”

The woman studied him for a moment before bringing her hand to her face mask. With a press of a button, it folded away until it appeared to be nothing more than a pair of yellow-tinted sunglasses. “Not exactly, Mr. Shade.”

Peter’s eyes widened as her English accent was replaced by an Irish one, though Vision didn’t seem surprised.

“Agent Drew, would you mind explaining why you felt the need to attack Spider-Man instead of bringing your questions to Mr. Stark?”

“Wait, Agent Drew? The Europol agent? Oh man! Is this why you called yourself Arachne? Mr. Stark said you were enhanced, but he didn’t say you have spider-powers!”

“He didn’t know,” she said. “No one did.”

“Did you get bit by a spider too?”

Agent Drew sent Vision a look. “Am I really supposed to believe the kid got his powers from a bug bite?”

“It is admittedly a little more complicated than that, but that is the basics of what happened,” Vision replied. “Perhaps we should take this conversation to the tower? I’m sure Mr. Stark would be happy to answer all your questions once you explain yourself.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, but nodded. “Fine, but the kid stays with me until I’m sure your boss hasn’t turned him into a lab rat.”

“Technically it’d be lab spider. ”

They both ignored Peter.

Rude.

“I need to get my car, so we’ll meet you there.”

“We can both accompany you on your trip to the tower,” Vision offered instead.

She shrugged and reengaged her mask.

#sm: homecoming #peter parker #jessica drew #ned leeds #iron family

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