#he CHOSE to go in the adult zone

[pumpkaboo-man]

I’d love to see the Kranken defenders explain why Felix threw Molly’s backpack into the river. Or why he hid their toy and wouldn’t give it back to the grieving family. Or why he lied to the police.

[heavndoll]

𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓.

pairings — fem reader and eddie munson.

summary — you and eddie are childhood best friends, and you've always trusted him. your love for him was innocent — his love for you was the complete opposite.

warning tags — adult language and semi-graphic violence. dark!eddie munson. unhealthy obsessive and possessive behavior. eddie like worships reader, reader lowkey is into it. term “y/n” is used once (had to be sorry). the smut for the nasties; unprotected activities, f!ngering, oral (reader receiving), choking, degradation, overstim, eddie getting mean with his d!ck. there is aftercare <3

Eddie Munson was your best friend. You and him grew up together, homing in the same trailer park, and guardians being friends.

You were glad to have him in your life. He was always there, willing to tend to any of your needs, and would do anything for you.

You found it sweet.

But Eddie would kill for you. He knew you took all his gestures into an innocent, sweet manner, and he was okay with that — but he was in love with you.

A love that wasn't so gentle and safe. He was obsessed, and was repulsed to the idea of anyone else taking you from him.

No one knew you in all the ways he did.

There wasn't a right match for you, except for him. He patiently waited for you to understand that he was suitable for you, but as time went on, and you got with more guys, it became thinned out.

Eddie would give you a bit more time to accept the truth that he was the man you needed.

"Hey, Eds?" You asked, noticing he was zoned out. The chatter of Hawkins cafeteria couldn't even pull him away from his thoughts. Your sweet voice was the only thing that could.

"What's up?" Eddie asked, picking at the raisins in his lunch pale. "You okay?"

"Do you think there's something wrong with me?" You asked, a mere frowning playing on your lips.

"No, why?" Eddie was confused, his attention falling entirely on you. "Did someone say something to you?"

"No— well, I don't know," you mumbled, rubbing your temple. "You know how I have been talking to Brandon Smith for a while now?"

Eddie nodded, tuned in and listened carefully. "Yeah, one of Jason's other lap dogs."

You sighed, rolling your eyes. "Well, I thought things were good between us. We just went on a third date last Friday, and then, I found out he's taking Annie to the Winter Formal."

"What?" Eddie muttered.

"Yeah! It doesn't make sense to me either," you continued, pursing your lips. "I mean, we never clarified we were exclusive, but I thought we were getting somewhere."

Eddie's blood boiled, and fumed. His hands rolled up, tightening into fists, and had skilled at not showing you his visible anger. "There's nothing wrong with you," Eddie reassured, giving you a gentle smile. "Brandon is a cracked up fuck, anyway. No good for you."

"Yeah, maybe you're right," you chuckled lightly, and Eddie hummed, patting your shoulder. "It's just shitty. He seemed really genuine."

"You'll find someone good," he said, handing you his bag of trail mix. "You're a sweet girl, and for Brandon to do that is a douchebag move. You don't need that, okay?"

You flashed a soft smile at Eddie, nodding and began to eat the trail mix.

Eddie's friends came to sit at the table, but were the only ones to notice his dull, blank expression. They had a poor feeling it had to do with you, yet chose not to question, and simply eat their lunches.

You were too distracted in your conversation with Dustin to notice what was going on, and what ran through Eddie's head.

Brandon Smith was the only person in the locker room after his last period at Gym had ended. He was putting on his shirt, his hair damped and messy as he just gotten out of the shower.

A pair of footsteps creeped up the locker room, near him, and he raised a brow. Not particularly scared, but worried, he peeked behind the lockers, and didn't see a single person.

He shook it off, assuming it was a student who forgot their bag.

"Hey, Brandon!" Eddie exclaimed as he popped up on the opposite side of him, smiling. Brandon shrieked, earning a chuckle out of Munson. "Did I scare you?"

"What the fuck, freak?" Brandon snapped, zipping up his Gym bag. "What the fuck are you doing in here?"

"Here to chat," Eddie answered. "That's all."

"Chat?" Brandon nearly barked a laugh, rolling his eyes. "What makes you think I would want to talk?"

"Oh, but you're fine with chatting with me when you're fuckin' fiending!" Eddie said, clear and loud enough for any remaining people in the locker room to hear.

Brandon glared at him. "That's a different scenario."

"Not really," Eddie muttered, stuffing his hands into his own pockets, his hand grasping onto the switchblade that sat within the right one.

Brandon sighed, realizing he wouldn't be able to leave until Eddie got his words across. "Okay, what do you want?" He asked, leaning against the lockers, Eddie only standing a few inches away in front of him. "I got places to be."

"Tell me what happened with Y/N," Eddie said, monotone and blunt in a blink.

"What? Why?" Brandon wondered. "You're wanting to talk about her?"

Eddie hummed. "Answer the question."

"Well, man," Brandon sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. "She gave it up too easily, and got too many damn problems. She's a trailer park whore, and I didn't need that."

Eddie's head spun, and the light around him was slowly sinking into nothingness. "Gave it up?"

"Ya'know, her body, her pussy," Brandon clarified, finding it humorous. "She has no self respect, and that's pathetic."

Another word didn't come out of his mouth as Eddie grabbed him, and tossed him to the ground. Eddie's vision was a blur and his mind was clogged, but could understand the punches he was throwing into Brandon's face.

The rings on Eddie's fingers doubled the aggression and assault.

He swore he cracked his cheekbone, and caused a concussion, but didn't care. He didn't care if he killed him in this very locker room, because all that mattered is that he would stay away from you for good. That he would never talk about you in a derogatory way ever again.

Eddie needed to make sure of that – he had to.

"Fuck you!" He screamed as his fist collided into Brandon's left eye, and could hear him gasping, crying, and wanting to fight back, but Eddie's weight held him down. "Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!"

Eddie breathed heavily, one of his punches breaking Brandon's nose, an audible snap coming into his ears. He got up, hovering over the sobbing, vulnerable male.

He wanted to laugh — one of Hawkin's best basketball players, who was intimidating yet charming, and broader and stronger than Eddie, was now curled up in a ball, bleeding out of his face.

Eddie struck his ribcage with a hard kick, and Brandon groaned, pleading for mercy. "Fucking pussy," he mocked, tossing another strike of his foot to his side. "You deserve this. You deserve worse than this."

"I—I'm sorry!" Brandon sobbed, gasping heavier, trying to engulf oxygen into his bruising lungs. "Please."

Eddie crotched down, gripping a chunk of his hair, brought his head up and forced eye contact. "You're not sorry. You just make sure to never speak to her, or I will kill you next time." He released Brandon's hair from his grasp, his head thudding on the tile floors.

Eddie's every step had a bounce to it as he walked out of the locker room.

You were laying on your stomach on your bed, flipping through magazines as music faintly played in your bedroom. You carelessly eyed new styles, humming to yourself.

A knock planted softly at your door, and you peeked up, seeing your aunt. She smiled small, a cigarette dangling between her lips. "Chrissy Cunningham is on the phone," she exhaled a blow, "asking for you."

"Did she say why?" You wondered.

"No, but she sounds shaken up," your aunt continued, and you nodded, getting up from your bed, strolling to the kitchen where the landline hanged out at.

You picked up the phone, bringing it up to your ear. "Hey, Chris. What's up?"

"Brandon is in the hospital," Chrissy said, and your heart sank. She was sniffling, overly worried and in panic. "It's so bad."

You paused. "W—What happened? Why is he in the hospital?"

"Jason and the guys found him in the locker room," Chrissy's voice began to shutter. "He was beaten, really bad. Nose broken, ribcages fractured, nearly blind in his left eye — it's so gory."

"What? W—Who... What? This doesn't make sense," you said, unease and confused. "Did he say who?"

"No, he won't make a confession," Chrissy answered, sighing heavily. "Either way, he can barely talk, or make any sort of comprehension. He has a severe concussion."

You went quiet for a moment, trying to gather up pieces in your head, making a puzzle in your head.

Brandon did have enemies, but it was mostly outcasts, and the smartest kids in school — the opposite clique of him, and Jason's friends. But, those enemies were not capable of any harm, nor would attempt any. If they did, they'd get it worse.

Nothing had happened to him until today when you told—

"Chrissy, I have to go," you muttered, hanging up the line. You ran into your bedroom, grabbing your shoes, and slipping them. Your hands were shaking, your heart thumping and pounding in your eardrums, bile burning your throat.

It was just a thought, a consideration, and you knew Eddie would never hurt anyone.

He was too kind, and gentle.

You stalked out of your trailer, finding your aunt watering the front lawn with a new cigarette in her mouth. "You going to Eds?" She asked, and you hummed. "Okay, be safe."

You continued your stalking to Eddie's uncle's trailer, stomping up onto the porch, and pounded your fist against the door. "Edward Munson!" You shouted, banging persistently on the door. "I know you're in there, I can smell fresh pot!"

After a few more harsher hits, the door opened up, revealing a contented, shirtless Eddie, and had a joint in his mouth. "Well, if it isn't my favorite person," he joked, and crossed his arms over his chest as he leaned against the door frame.

Red, bruising spots were visible on his knuckles. He wasn't even trying to make them discreet.

You brushed past him as you welcomed yourself into his trailer, and he closed the door behind the both of you, his eyes falling into yours.

You stood in the middle of his living room, making a safe distance between the two of you. "Are you responsible for Brandon?" You questioned, and Eddie chuckled, flashing a toothy smile. "I don't have time for your shit, Eddie!"

"Oh, excuse me, sweetheart," Eddie snickered, burning his joint out onto the ashtray that sat on the living's room coffee table. "I knew you'd figure it out."

You scoffed. "So, you did?"

"I may have swung a punch or two at him," Eddie said, grabbing a cheap beer from the fridge. "Nothing too bad."

"He is in the hospital, Eds! He has a severe concussion, fractured bones!" You shouted, irritated at Eddie's amusement. "What the fuck did you do?"

"He called you a trailer park whore," he stated, walking to his bedroom as you trailed behind him. "Saying how you spread your legs easily for him, and that you were just bad for his bullshit reputation."

"He said that?" You asked, Eddie sitting on the edge of his bed, and you stood in front of him.

"He laughed at you. He was practically mocking you," he emphasized, scoffing harshly. "I took care of it. I handled it for you."

"But you didn't need to, Eddie!" You panicked, shaking your head in utter disbelief. "If he comes clean, you'll be arrested. You'll go to jail."

"I really don't care," Eddie said, grinning. "You think this is my first time doing this shit for you?"

You fell silent, suddenly lost in what he was saying.

He got up from his bed, only needing to take a few, close inches towards you. He looked down at you as you stared up at him. "Aidan Walter, Michael Dallas, Kyle Thorne, Richard Fields, Brandon Smith — they all had the same thing to say about you. They degraded you proudly, and you think you deserve that?'

Your mouth opened, but your words croaked in your throat. Nothing came out, shock falling over you. "I... I don't know."

"Every time you came crying to me about a guy who did you wrong, I handled it. This isn't my first time, and they know they can't turn me in," Eddie explained, and you raised a brow. "They're drug addicts. They know if I sneak a word to their coach to drug test them, they're fucked."

"But they could turn you in for being a drug dealer," you retorted, and a faux pout dangled on Eddie's lips. "They have privilege, you don't."

He settled his beer down on his cluttered dresser, turning his attention away from you. "If that's the case, why haven't the others said anything?" Eddie questioned. "You haven't asked me why I did it — that's surprising."

"You did it because you want revenge? Because you were trying to be a good friend?"

"Revenge, yes. I'd beat those fuckers with no hesistation," Eddie agreed, shrugging lazily as he went back to sitting on his bed. "But, I did it because you don't deserve to be talked about like that. I did it because I would do absolutely anything for you — I'd fucking rip apart this filthy world for you."

You took a step back, a brutal realization striking you.

"Are you in love with me?" You asked, so simply, but with so much fear behind your words.

He hummed. "There's my smart girl."

You were oblivious — gullible — to Eddie's generosity, and kindness. A more crucial role behind every word, every action, every thought that came out of him. You didn't know how to comprehend anything, your mind fogged, and mute.

You should've been feeling sick to your stomach, nausea and terror was meant to consume and claim you entirely. A person who had received the news that their best friend beat — and nearly murdered — men who have hurt you, would run away, and shut them out forever.

You didn't do that. You were paralyzed in your spot, only hesitate to make eye contact with Eddie, and could feel his eyes boring into you.

What he did was unsettling and wrong, but your heart couldn't help to ache to what he did.

"You hate me now?" Eddie asked, and you inhaled sharply, peeking at him. You shifted over towards him, bringing him into an embrace, his head resting on your stomach as your hands rested on the back of his head.

"No, no," you mumbled, looking down at him. "But you could end up in jail because of this, Eddie. You have to understand that."

Eddie inhaled your perfume, his mind ransacking with complexed thoughts. He was glad you appreciated his devoted duty, but hated that you were worried about his well being.

He only cared that you would be safe.

"I'll be okay, doll," he muttered, practically smashing his face into your stomach.

You fiddled with his hair, not knowing what was to happen next. He was in love, and obsessed with you — that's not easy news to take in.

You let him out of your embrace, crouching down and stared up at him. "I can protect myself, and... I'm sorry you had to hear those things from Brandon."

Eddie took your face into his hands, his thumbs softly caressing your cheeks, and you could feel yourself melting into his touch.

A delicate touch that held so much violence behind it.

He could do immense damage to another human, but never to you. You were the peace in his chaotic world. You were serene, in contrast to his mayhem. You knew there was always a darkness that consumed him, but you granted such light to it, that he'd forget he even held it in him.

Eddie wanted to hold you close, skin absorbing into one another's, and have you forever. He wanted to tear you apart, but then mend you back together.

The silence that fell into the air was tight, and suffocating.

This man had been your best friend for years, and there was never any unbearable tension until now. In this very moment, where his eyes drowned into yours, and his lips quivered for the taste of yours.

"Can I kiss you?" Eddie cut the silence, his face cautiously inching into yours. "Please?"

A simple kiss, that could change the course of everything. But you wanted it — you wanted Eddie to kiss you. You had never craved such a risk until now.

You nodded. "You can kiss me, Eds."

He didn't let another second pass as his lips smothered yours, and his hands shifted to your waist, drawing you onto his lap. You propped yourself comfortably onto him, his hands snaking around your body, needing you close and secured.

You could taste pot on his lips, your cherry gloss mixing into it. His hands slipped under the sides of your shirt, yet went nowhere near your bra. His thumbs and hands grazed your soft, loving skin, and thought he must've been dreaming — he had yearned for this. For years.

Your own hands brushed his toned body, trickling down to the waistband of his sweats. You let your fingers curl around them, but wait there.

Eddie moved his face back, his taste disappearing from yours, and he grinned at your swollen lips. "Look at you," he mocked, admiring the desperation on your face. "You have no idea how long I've waited for you, sweetheart."

Your heartstrings tugged at his words, and the tips of your index and middle finger carefully touched his lips, eyes focused on this movement. "Do you really love me?" You softly asked. "Why do you love me?"

"You're the purity to this corrupted world," Eddie began, and you blinked up at him, and his gaze locked with yours immediately. "Your beauty is uncompared, and unbearable – it makes me a madman. Look what I've done for you; you have me in your power, and you don't even know it."

Eddie Munson is in love with me, you thought to yourself. He is in love with me, and I've been so blind to it.

The only man who'd ever wanted you for you. The only man who you didn't need to give your body to, to feel self-worth and loved. You could see in his eyes he meant what he said — that he swore his life on it. And if he were to ever hurt you, he would want death.

He would rather die, than to live with the knowledge that he dimmed your lightness, and damaged you.

"Please kiss me," you pleaded, wanting his love to soak and burn into your skin. "Kiss me, do what you want to me. But Eddie, do not leave me."

Eddie frowned. "I'd die without you."

You nodded, and your lips fell back onto his, bodies pressing against one another. His hands pulled you over and down onto his bed, your body trapped underneath his. "Are you sure you want this?" He asked hastily in between a kiss. "Do you?"

"Yes, I do," you breathed. "I want this."

Eddie kissed your cheek, leaning back, and shifted himself down in between your legs. You propped yourself up on your elbows, watching him take off your shoes, and then make his way to the waistband of your sweatpants.

He hooked his fingers under the hem of your bottoms and panties, looking up at you with another look of reassurance.

"I trust you," you said, and he pulled off both pieces of clothing, disposing them to a pile of his clothes on the ground.

Eddie parted your legs, laying himself on his stomach, and you could feel his hot breath blowing against your cunt. You relaxed your body, and Eddie's mouth attached itself to your area, earning a soft moan out of you.

You perked your head up, seeing the sight of him gladly eating you out. He wrapped his arms around your thighs, his strong hold locking them in place, and practically buried himself in between them. He moaned to the sweet taste of you, the vibrations buzzing against your sensitive hood.

His tongue ran up and down your slits, his lips plumped and stuck on your cunt. Your head fell back as your noises and breath grew louder, your mouth falling open the second he pushed two fingers into you, working them at a gentle, yet rapid pace.

Eddie was probably the only guy who knew how to properly eat you out, and you didn't have to fake an orgasm with.

"Fuck, fuck," you breathed. "Just like that, baby. Holy fuck."

His fingers were slamming into you, and his mouth separated from your cunt, his lips plumped and covered with your wetness. "Come here, sweet girl," he said as he hovered back over you. "Taste how good you are."

He placed his lips back onto yours, his fingers still violently pumping into you. Uncontrollable, lewd noises elicited out of you, being able to make out his grin pressing against your lips as he brought himself back from your mouth.

"So good for me, sweetheart," he praised,and adjusted himself back onto his stomach, hoisting your thighs over his shoulders. He hooked his mouth onto your cunt, devouring you once more, and you could feel a sweet scorch in the pit of your stomach.

It was too embarrassing and easy for you to cum this earlier than usual. You tried to ignore the hot sensation, focusing on the rhythm Eddie's tongue and mouth made on your cunt, and fucking good it felt.

Eddie had himself deep into your cunt, grateful to even pleasure you this well. All he wanted was to make you feel good.

The fire in your stomach ran to your thighs, and it became torturous to shut out. "Gonna cum," you warned, your voice shuddering. "Keep going, Eds. You're doing so good."

Eddie abided, never letting himself get a second of air as your thighs trembled on his shoulders. "Oh fuck!" You gasped, riding your orgasm out onto his fingers, and he let them fall out of you shortly after. His tongue lapped up your climax, his mouth sucking gently on your cunt.

Your chest heaved, and a fulfilled Eddie detached his mouth from your area, his mouth glistening with your juices. You peeked at him, chuckling and grinning at the sight of him.

"I'm not done with you yet," he said, his hand gripping your forearm, and you suddenly adjusted back on his lap. You whimpered as he used other hand to hold your jaw, having a firm grasp on it, and forcing you to pay attention to him.

"What now?" You asked.

Eddie placed his coated fingers on your bottom lip. "Suck."

You obliged, taking his fingers into your mouth. Eddie looked at you in pure awe, a cocky grin playing on his lips, and kissed the side of your head. Few seconds later, his fingers slide out of your mouth with a pop, and the knuckles of his hand caress your cheek so lovingly.

There was a flip in Eddie's eyes, and body language. He craved more of you, more of your body and desperation. He wanted your tears, screams, and sweat. He needed to see you plead under him, until you all you could think of was him senselessly fucking you.

For this, it was a danger. You were encouraging his obsession, and you couldn't tell if that was okay. It was flattering he hurt people for you, all because he wanted to defend you at every cost — like it was his soul purpose on Earth.

You weren't exactly opposed to his devotion to you, only in fright of how bad it could get.

It wasn't like you hadn't had your own moments when it came to Eddie and other girls. There were a few who had eyes on him, and always dumbly flirted with him — even in front of your bare eyes. You would always think you were being crazy for being jealous, especially when you got angry when Eddie would jokingly tease back at those girls.

You didn't want to share the attention he gave to you.

This was a bad idea. The worst idea to ever exist. But it didn't matter anymore — you and him were the perfect match. Maybe your need for him was always there, but you were too busy with others to notice it.

Those other guys didn't compare to Eddie Munson — none of them. And they would never commit their life to you.

Eddie had finally freed your jaw from his hand, but withheld staring at one another. "I know that look in your eye," he said, inhaling sharply. "You've finally come to your senses. I've been waiting for you to make that realization."

"How long?" You wondered.

"Forever," he answered, and planted his hands under your shirt, letting them carelessly rest there. "Even if you didn't, I still would've handled every guy who fucked you over. I would do it until it caught up to me."

You sighed. "It just might. Brandon will blab."

"Then promise to bail me?" He asked, and you snickered, rolling your eyes.

"My aunt is going to have a rage if you get arrested," you joked, and his grin turned into a small smile. "Let's not worry about that right now, please. I just want you, I want this."

Eddie titled his head to the side, his smile fading. "Be more clear, sweet girl."

You turned coy, your body tensing as his hands gave your torso a squeeze. You decided not to speak, your lips laying on his, and he let your body rut against him. "You're going to drive me more insane," he mumbled, and you hummed. "Come on, doll. Ride me."

You didn't hesitate for a moment, breaking the kiss, and you drew off your top and bra, letting them drop to Eddie's floor.

"Fuck," Eddie breathed, taking a second to memorize your body, and how he just knew it was made for him. "Fuck, you're perfect, doll."

You smiled, and looked over to Eddie's nightstand, finding condoms to lay there. "I'm not your first fuck?" You asked, a hint of bitter in your tone as you snagged an individual wrapper.

"I deserved to have my own fun, don't you think?" Eddie retorted, dragging off his sweats and boxers, dropping them on the floor. He merely sat closer to the middle of his bed, seizing the condom from your hold, and you glared at him. "Don't be so jealous, doll. You're my only girl, promise."

"Were they a good fuck?" You asked, and Eddie snorted while rolling the condom onto his dick.

"And I thought I was too possessive," he mocked, and braced his hands onto your hips, his nails digging into your skin. You were about to protest until Eddie's cock shoved into you, and you gasped at the sudden contact. "Maybe I'll fuck you out."

Your breath hitched in your throat as you and Eddie worked together, your hips rolling and his cock hastily thrusting into you. "Fffucckk, oh my god," you babbled, squeezing your eyes shut, and overwhelmed at Eddie's size.

"You take me so well," Eddie praised, another faux frown on his lips, and grabbed your face. "Look at me when I'm fucking you."

You obeyed as best as you could, cursing and moaning breathlessly. It felt like he was splitting you open, claiming your body entirely, and making you memorize the scynorichize of his cock pounding into your soaking cunt.

"I'm going to fucking damage you," he assured, his hand squeezing your cheeks, and felt as if his nails were drilling into them. "Tear you right apart."

"Yeah?" You taunted, able to pass a giggle through your shuddering breathing. "You're going to hurt me? You're too soft for me to do that, Eds."

He stopped all movements for a moment, and his hand made a switch, sending a hit across your left cheek. It turned your head and neck entirely, feeling his handprint drowning into your skin.

You only laughed. "Slapping me? Some of the guys did the same thing," you said, looking back at Eddie, and wanted to punish him with your words. "I think it was Brandon who would pull my hair and call me his filthy slut."

Eddie snapped. He took your form back under him, your body flattened into his mattress as he hovered over you, his hand furiously grasping your throat. "And you took it like a slut too. Didn't you, silly girl?"

You smiled. "Maybe," you breathed out, able to feel his nails clawing into the sides of your neck. "Maybe I fucking loved every second of it."

"Oh, I'm sure," Eddie muttered, his cock stuffing your cunt again. "But I'm going to make sure you can only think of me forever."

He kept his hand on your throat, and pushed his cock rough into you as you swore he was nearly reaching into your stomach. Your eyes watered, breath hallowed and weak with your pleads for him coming out hoarse and rough, putting one of your hands on his wrist.

"No, you don't get to touch me," Eddie said, pushing off your hand with his free one. "You don't deserve to touch me, silly girl."

You huffed. "Why not?"

"Cause you let all those idiots touch you," Eddie taunted, mocking despair on his face. "And I should just leave you hot and bothered after what you said, but I didn't – so be grateful."

Your lungs engulfed immense amounts of oxygen when Eddie's pulled his hand back, moaning out his name like it was a prayer. He grinned, staying hovered over you, and let his cock sinking deeper and harder into you, watching you fall apart slowly to it.

Sweaty, hot skin smacked throughout Eddie's bedroom, being sure that the whole neighborhood could hear you whining and crying for more of him.

"You sound so pretty for me, doll," he moaned, grinning. He positioned himself back, in a near-sitting style as he tossed your legs over his shoulders and snaked his arms around your waist, continuing to push himself into you.

"Oh shit— ffucckk, Eddie, Eddie," you moaned mindlessly. You were locked in his hold, your body squirming and twitching. Your fingers gripped at his bedsheets, your mind being rotten with the focus of his dick, and how good it felt pounding into you, basically stuffing your cunt.

"Don't you dare fucking cum," Eddie forewarned, chuckling breathily. "Just be a good girl, and take my dick, babydoll. Just take me."

You nodded, knowing there was another climax making its build in your stomach, but refused to pay any mind to it. "You fuck me so good, Eds," you whimpered, eyes rolling back. "Need more of you, please."

"You have me, sweetheart," Eddie promised, pressing his hand on your stomach for additional torture. "But don't try to sweet talk me just so you can cum."

"Just once, please," you cried, resting your hand on top of his hand. "Please, I'll be so good for you."

"Are you not being good for me right now, hm?" He wondered, the ball of his palm sinking further into your belly. "What a pathetic girl you are, trying to get whatever you want."

You hissed and groaned. "Please, please. I c—can't."

"Is my poor girl going to cry?" He taunted, holding back a laugh. "If you cum right now, then you'll have to keep doing so until I think you're done."

"Y—yeah, please!" You agreed mindlessly, chewing harshly onto your lower lip.

He hummed, and tapped the side of your thigh as a sign. Your body nearly melted into his mattress, your orgasm pushing out of you, and you could see a flash of stars in your vision. "Oh fucking hell!" You screamed, your body twitching seconds later.

Eddie pushed your legs off of his shoulders, letting himself fall out of you, and was already rotating you around onto your stomach. "We're not done, sweet girl," he said, planting a gentle kiss to your cheek before his arms were looped around your limp form, bringing your ass close to him.

You were barely to collect any thoughts, groaning the moment Eddie was back in you. He worked at a slow, steady peace in you as he used his strength to hold you up and close, stifling a chuckle in his throat.

"You said you were going to be good for me," Eddie reminded, his fingers clawing and curling into your hair, forcing the majority of your body to be picked up and brought against his. "Is this all you can really take, hm? Made me think you were better than this."

You grinned, sweat beading on your forehead and body. Your face was close enough to his as you glanced up at him, trying to correct your breathing. "You made me think you were gonna fuck me better than the others," you said lazily. "But it's about the same."

"Yeah?" Eddie rolled his hips forward, snapping a single sharp and deep thrust into you, and all at once, he began to violently pound into you. He made sure to keep you close to him as yours and his moaned mixed, and echoed throughout his bedroom.

Your eyes fell to the back of your head, grasping onto Eddie's arms and could feel your body growing more frail within every thrust that pushed into you. You were entirely trapped in his hold – not that you were complaining, it felt nice.

"That's my good girl," he praised, passing a kiss to the side of your head. "You take my cock so well."

You hummed, nodding, and could only hear him breathily chuckle to your obedience. He let his right hand creep up between the valley of your breasts, and it wrapped itself around your throat, using it as an extra leverage to hammer himself deeper into you.

"You seem to be liking my cock a lot," Eddie teased as your noises shuddered, and tears pricked at the corner of your eyes from the overwhelming exhilaration and pleasure. "Just wanted to be fucked and treated like a whore. All you had to do was ask, sweetness."

"Ffucckk you— ahh!" You cried the second the head of his cock started to continuously strike at your orgasm. "Oh shit, ffuucckk! Right there!"

Eddie orgasm was rising, keeping you locked and tight on him as he allowed himself to be audible, letting you know how good you were making him feel. "Fuck, sweetheart, I'm gonna cum," he panted, giving you another sweet kiss to your cheek. "Cum with me, yeah? I want my girl to cum with me."

Your next climax had surfaced into the depths of your belly as you could feel Eddie's arms and body begin to tremble. "W—Wait!" You breathed, swallowing thickly. "I want you to cum in me."

"What?" Eddie chuckled, stopping himself entirely. "Repeat that for me."

"Oh, you heard me, Munson," you said, and he grinned. "And yes, I'm sure."

Eddie granted you that exact wish, letting himself out of you for a mere second and tossed his condom carelessly on his bedroom floor before taking his cock back into you. He looped his arms back around your form, tugging you back towards him as he perfectly fucked himself into you, and you bounced back onto his cock.

It didn't take long for both highs to come back to the surface, your head falling back and landing on his shoulder, and he smirked, brushing strands of hair out of your face. "Be a good whore, and cum," his breath was ragged and uneven, feeling it skim past your cheek. "Don't wanna disappoint me, hm?"

"N—no," you rasped, exhaustion slowly falling onto you but gathered enough energy to keep you going.

"Cum with me, honey," Eddie said, a hint of shudder playing in his words. You nodded, your high immediately crashing out of your body as your body jerked and nearly fell out of Eddie's grasp, but he had enough strength to hold you in his embrace.

He wasn't far behind you, his orgasm hitting its final peak, and rushing out of him, into you. He pushed softer and slower thrusts into you as he rode out his orgasm. Eventually, all his motions came to a stop, and his arms unhooked from your body, watching you collapse onto his mattress, and he fell out of you.

You took your time to recover your proper breathing pattern and energy, laying flat on your stomach, and you could feel sweat stick and drip around your body.

Eddie rested next to you, not caring that you were both drenched in sweat desire, and brought you next to him, letting you rest in his arms. Your head was on top of his chest, listening to his heartbeat as he was also trying to catch his breath.

"So that was," you tried to speak, your throat scratchy and hoarse. "Oh fuck."

He stifled a laugh, smiling in pure pride. "We need to clean up, doll."

"I would so gladly get up," you began, sighing warily, "only if you didn't fuck me numb and raw."

"Don't complain," Eddie said, getting himself up, and easily dragged you up off the bed, over his shoulder. "We are getting cleaned up, and then find something to do after."

"Like what?" You wondered, being placed on top of his bathroom sink as he started up a warm bath. "You're not worried Brandon might say something?"

Eddie shrugged. "Not really, no."

"Why not?" You asked. "He has all the privileges and status, you don't."

"Are we really discussing this again?" Eddie asked, moving back over to you while the water ran. "I'm going to be fine. Just let me take care of you, doll."

Your gaze softened as you could see pure admiration and care in his eyes for you. You nodded, chewing onto your lower lip. He pinched your chin, giving your nose a sweet peck, and walked back to the bath to stop the water.

Eddie helped you into the bath, setting you down into it, and the water soaked your body. You moaned to the feeling of it and relaxed into it.

"Feel good?" Eddie smiled, sitting in front of you, and you hummed in response.

You brought your legs up to your chest, hugging them, and rested your cheek on it, looking at Eddie with a small smile playing on your lips.

He noticed. "Yes, sweetheart?"

"Nothin'. Just love you, Eds," you said. You had told each other 'I love you' on many occasions, but this time, it had a different meaning behind it. "Always have, always will."

"I love you too, sweet girl," Eddie responded, bringing himself closer to you, and kissed your forehead before pressing his against yours. "Always have, always will."

[naughtyneganjdm]

Sneaking in a Quickie

Summary: Taking your niece to a haunted farm attraction turns out to be a fun night when you convince Joel to sneak off with you to enjoy one another.

Characters: Joel Miller & the reader (OC, second person)

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59500783

Warnings: 18+, Swearing, Smut, public sex, rough sex, unprotected p in v, Halloween themed, no use of Y/N, female reader, little to no plot, mentions of Sarah, etc.

Notes: This is day 3 to go with this kinktober list. The prompt I chose was "public sex".

What you thought was going to be a boring night babysitting two kids was actually turning out to be a whole lot more interesting than you thought it would be. When your niece asked you to take her to a haunted farm with multiple attractions for Halloween, you happily accepted. You wanted to spend more time with her, but when you found out she just wanted you to go in order to be a guardian to watch over her and her friend because her parents didn’t want to take her, that’s when it seemed like it was going to be boring. It had been a long time since you had gone to a haunted house of any kind and you thought you were going to be a third wheel.

Instead, when you got to the place, you were pleasantly surprised that your niece’s friend, Sarah, had brought her father along with her. That way you wouldn’t be the only adult there. And it didn’t hurt that he was incredibly good looking.

Joel Miller was his name, and, at first, he was very shy. Soft spoken. Avoided eye contact. Before the event started, you were all sitting at a picnic table with the girls talking back and forth which left you trying to make conversation with him. It was hard, but eventually you got him talking. And once he did, you couldn’t get enough of his southern drawl. From his chocolate brown eyes to his dimples and dark messy hair, you found yourself swooning over this man.

If you were in other situations, you wouldn’t have had a hard time making a pass at him. Unfortunately you were in front of children and that wasn’t going to happen. So you could only flirt with him in the most innocent of ways.

Most of the haunted attractions didn’t start until sundown, so the four of you walked around a scare zone that they had for what appeared to be the younger children. There were mazes with paintings on the walls, a spinning tunnel, a corn maze and other odds and ends. Truthfully? You didn’t care what you were doing as long as you were close to Joel. You wanted to make a good impression on him and by the lack of a ring on his finger you knew that it’d be okay with you trying so hard.

Once the sun went down, you were enamored by how much he visibly loved his daughter, but also by his smartass attitude. When the girls asked you and Joel to go first into the haunted barn attraction that they had because they were scared, Joel reminded them that the actors often went after those in the back. And he was right. Multiple times the actors would work twice as hard to scare the girls and when they got out of line, Joel would make his presence known. So while the teens were happy to be there, they also had their bodyguard to keep them safe.

Together as a group, all of you had spent a lot of time together and the more time you spent with Joel, the hotter you were for him. And by the way he was looking at you toward the end of the night, you wondered if he felt the same.

Part of you was incredibly excited when a group of girls showed up that were friends with your niece and Sarah. They begged to go spend time with them since there was a mother with that group as well. Joel agreed but requested them to meet back at a certain time.

This was exactly what you wanted. Joel suggested the two of you take a walk through the corn maze which wasn’t incredibly busy. Walking side by side with Joel felt nice. It was a cold night and the warmth of his body radiated next to yours warming you right up.

“So…” you finally let the thing that you had been wondering all night escape you. “Are you dating anyone?”

“I don’t have time for that,” Joel admitted with a nervous breath, his brow line furrowing with him shoving his hands further into his jean pockets. “Between Sarah and work, not much time for anything else.”

“Oh,” you breathed out, giving him a small nod. You didn’t want to look too happy to hear that so you looked away. “So does that leave a lot of time for sex?”

“Wow,” Joel chuckled, stopping in his tracks to give you a once over. “You just jump right in, don’t you?”

“I’m curious,” you felt a warmth flooding into your cheeks wondering if you had overstepped with the question. “Someone who looks like you…”

“What do you mean?” Joel question, his eyebrow arching in amusement.

“I mean you’re gorgeous,” you were blunt with your response. How else could you put it? “Look at you Joel.”

“Thank you,” Joel chuckled under his breath, his dimples becoming more visible. You couldn’t tell if he was embarrassed or charmed by your comment. It was also somewhat dark so it didn’t allow you to see the full emotion in Joel’s dark eyes. “As are you.”

Hearing that sent a rush through your veins.

“And to answer your question,” Joel began, pulling his right hand from his pocket to reach up to brush his fingers through his messy hair. “Not really.”

“Not really?” you repeated, confused what question he was referring to. You were still focused on the idea that he thought you were gorgeous.

“Sex. I don’t have much of it,” Joel admitted, biting at his bottom lip when his dark eyes locked with yours.

“That’s a shame,” you frowned realizing that you had reached the end of the corn maze leading you back out into the open area of the scare zone again. Most of the crowd was at the haunted hayride or the haunted barn. And anyone else was really sitting at the tables talking or hanging out. The area you were walking around was more for the younger kids and since it was nighttime, the area was rather empty. “How brave are you?”

“That depends on what you’re asking,” Joel asserted, turning to face you with a confused expression. “Why do you ask?”

“I would happily take you behind the building and give you a blowjob,” you offered in a whisper having Joel release a long exhale of air from his throat. His shoulders slouched forward, his brow line rising before he looked over his shoulder to see if you were alone. “I noticed that anyone that leaves that building goes out the side. No one goes behind it.”

“Wow,” Joel muttered and it made you panic. Yeah, that was forward, but you were jumping on what you could, hoping that you could get something from this moment. You were heavily attracted to this man and you had the time to try. Looking back toward the building that you were referring to, Joel seemed to actually be considering what you said. “You know…” Joel paused, looking back toward the large group of people again, “A blowjob sounds nice, but I’d much rather fuck you.”

Hooking his fingers firmly around your wrist, Joel led you through the field. Your heart was hammering inside of your chest with the excitement flooding your veins. As you rounded the corner of the building to the maze, you made sure that no one was watching when Joel firmly pushed you against the wall eliciting a surprise gasp from you.

“Can you be quiet?” Joel wondered waiting for your answer before he did anything else. Giving him a nod, you couldn’t form words. Or maybe you were just trying to prove already that you could be quiet. Smirking, Joel bobbed his head about and looked around you to check to make sure you were alone. Once he was certain that you were, he stepped forward trapping you between him and the building. Caressing in over your hips, his large palms squeezed at them with the warmth of his breath lingering over your mouth. “You are wild, y’know that?”

“Only in the best of ways,” you whispered, your hand pressing in over the center of his firm chest. It was then that Joel stole a kiss from your lips. It was actually pretty sweet for a first kiss in a moment like this. It lingered and it felt good. Tipping back, his eyes gazed over you and a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. There was only a small amount of light that allowed you to see him from the flood lights the place had set up in the main area and the light from the moon. Palming up over his chest, you slid your fingers in underneath the jacket he was wearing to caress over his arms. Underneath you felt the firmness of his biceps and it took your breath away. “You are a fine specimen of a man Joel Miller.”

“Just you wait until you realize just how fine,” Joel growled, hammering his mouth down over yours. This time it was a very dominant, passionate kiss that had you tipping up on your toes to wrap your arms around his shoulders. Parting your lips allowed him to brush his tongue between your lips and you happily returned the gesture. Gasping out, you were surprised at Joel’s quickness when he turned you to face the wooden walls that someone had thrown up quickly in order to make this place. “We have to be quick, otherwise, I reckon I’d love to kiss you all night.”

Sucking in a sharp breath of air, your eyes slammed shut and you purred out at the feeling of Joel pressing in behind you. His hands caressed up over the sides of your body and then back again. Pushing his hips forward toward your bottom had your eyes coming to a tight close. God, you wanted this so bad. And it was super naughty considering you were in public, not far away from a large group of people.

Forcefully, Joel pushed up the material of your shirt and the light jacket that you were wearing. Finding the top of your pants, he hastily tugged the material getting it down to the bottom of your thighs along with your panties. The sudden coolness of the night air sent a shuddering chill throughout your body. What followed was the sound of Joel swiftly pulling open his belt and working his pants open.

“This is going to be hard and fast. We have to make it quick, but don’t make a sound or else we can get caught. D’you understand?” Joel grunted in your ear, pressing in closer to you and it took your breath away. “D’you?”

“Yes sir,” you panted, hissing out at the incredible amount of pressure that was put over your hips with Joel moving you where he wanted you. Bracing your hands against the wall of the building, you licked your lips and did your best to hold back the whine that you wanted to let out when you felt the tip of Joel’s cock tracing over the length of your sex. God, you wished you could have seen it, but all you could do was picture it when he teased it over your clit and back toward your entrance. A moment later, Joel’s hips bounced up toward yours filling you. “Fu…”

You had to bite down on your bottom lip to silence yourself, knowing the rules. The stretching feeling was immediate. Fuck he was big. Joel stepped forward, forcing you closer toward the building with your face pressing against the coolness of it. Once he got his footing, Joel’s thrusts were meticulous. They were hard and focused. Other than his breathing growing louder, Joel was doing a pretty good job at staying quiet.

You on the other hand were fighting to stay quiet. Every bounce forward of his hips had a smacking sound filling the air. Faint winces were falling from your lips and you started to eagerly bounce your hips back against Joel’s movements. You wanted to feel every part of him inside of you. It was an addictive feeling and you hadn’t even had it that long.

The smacking of his testicles against your clit with every forceful thrust forward was driving you crazy with desire. God, you wished this didn’t have to be a quickie, but still you were loving every second of it. Pressing his head further against the side of your neck, Joel’s breaths were more broken.

“You were a happy surprise,” Joel alerted you with a quiet voice, the warmth of his breath sending chills down your spine. Dropping your left hand down, you wrapped your arm around you to cup at Joel’s bottom. Beneath your fingertips, it flexed with every thrust forward he made. Soon with your urgings, he was pounding into you and you were having a hard time hiding the sounds. Curling his fingers around your mouth had you moaning out into his palm. An amused rumble fell from him with him angling his hips differently. “We have to keep you quiet now.”

Your legs felt like Jell-O. If he didn’t have you pressed up against the wall and he wasn’t keeping you up with his other arm wrapped around your waist, you were certain that you wouldn’t be able to stand on your own.

“God, you feel so fucking good,” Joel slurred in your ear and it had your eyes closing shut tightly. The tip of Joel’s cock was hitting your g-spot with every forceful thrust that he made forward. Your thighs were tensing up with a fire building in the pit of your stomach. So badly you wanted to make a noise, but Joel’s hand was keeping you from doing so. With the way you were shaking, Joel must have picked up on it with his thrusts becoming more powerful. They slowed down, but the force of them had you bouncing up on your toes toward the building. And after a few more determined thrusts, it had Joel pulling his hips back and away from you when your body shuddered and a wet sound followed. With an amused rumble, Joel still kept his fingers wrapped around your lips with your body now slouched forward shaking. “I did not picture you squirting during this, but I like it…”

Joel’s free hand found it’s way between your legs to caress at your clitoris, his fingers having you bucking up toward his touch, “how do you want me to finish?”

Shakily dropping to your knees had Joel smiling when you turned to face him. Stepping forward, he allowed you to grab at his hips to pull him closer to you. Taking your time, you curled your fingers around Joel’s length, pumping his flesh in your grasp. And when he let out a shuddering breath, you took him into your mouth, working to bob your head over his cock at the same tempo you were caressing over the base of it with.

“That’s it,” Joel licked his lips, his fingers pressing in over the back of your head to help lead your movements over his erection. Wet sounds were falling from his parted lips with the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat. Thrusting toward your mouth, Joel was undoubtedly wanting to get that quick release so no one would catch the two of you. “Fuck…”

In that moment you felt Joel tensing up, his cock throbbing inside of your mouth. Bouncing his hips forward, Joel pressed you further down his length. The first line of his cum hit the back of your throat and you did your best to swallow it down. Continuing his release, Joel clung tightly to your head biting back the sounds that he wanted to make.

By the time he was done, he released you allowing you to pull back and away to rest on your knees. Joel’s cock twitched and you licked your lips, cherishing the taste of him that was still there. Reaching for his pants, Joel pulled them back over his hips. Working his softening cock back into his pants, Joel was quick to fix his clothes before helping you up.

“Come here,” Joel nuzzled his nose in against the side of your neck while he helped work your pants back up over your waist.

“So you’re a gentleman too?” you teased still feeling uneasy on your legs, thankful that Joel was holding onto you.

“Something like that,” Joel snorted, collecting your chin between his thumb and index finger. Gifting you with another kiss, Joel hummed against your flesh. You assumed he tasted himself against your flesh with him drawing his tongue out over his bottom lip. Looking to his watch, Joel huffed and shrugged his shoulders. “We need to get going.”

“That’s a shame,” you frowned hating how quickly something this amazing had to end.

“Nothing about tonight was a shame,” Joel corrected you, outstretching his hand to caress his thumb in over your bottom lip. “We’re just going to have to find a time where we can do this again and make it last all night.”  

[evilminji]

I just saw a "You have to pick a Consort or we'll pick one for you!" Prompt?

And I must know? CAN they bind someone to Consortship who does not recognize their authority? Like... no really, The King Of The Dead(tm) lawfully would have NO claim upon the Living, unless they consented to his Rule. Not until they... you know... Die.

And in DP's case? Not even THEN is it guaranteed? They could just Peace Out and move on. Skip the Zone completely. So like? IS that a loophole?

A King from Nation A can not legally command citizen of Nation B. They aren't his. Only King B can. Citizen B's may CHOSE to obey King A, to be polite, but the have the RIGHT to say "fuck off, buddy". But if King A was legal cornered and told "pick a Consort Or Else(tm)"? CAN HE?

Like? Can he point to the biggest, toughest, warrior in Nation B (probably standing next to his equally terrifying wife), knowing FULL DAMN WELL this is not going to happen and planning on that, and say "Him. Fetch, you bloodsuckers."

Just FULL-ON pass the buck. And let his political opponents have time to reconsider their stances as they are dying under said warrior's Rightfully Furious Blade?

What I am saying is? Constantine. Superman. Fuck it! Batman too! You want Danny, A TEENAGER, to pick a CONSORT for ETERNITY or you'll FORCE one on him? In what feels like a VERY coercive Bad Touch sorta move?

Fine.

FINE!

He's gonna pull out his phone and look up that list Tucker made of the Magical Weirdos on the Justice League! In FACT! He heard that the Greek gods helped made Wonder Woman! Her too! He's "Consorting" the whole FOUNDING MEMBERS! And the magical ones! It's gonna be a HAREM up in this castle!

Now be good eyeballs and FETCH. He has Kingly Watching Paint Dry to get too. You can't expect HIM to do this? This is YOUR big concern, not his.

(It goes badly for the Observants, I would imagine. Those are grown Adult Heros being told to divorce their loving spouses and marry A CHILD. Or Else.)

( They Choose Or Else. And Unspeakable Violence. Unhand the child, you despicable eyeball faced cretins!)

[insufferableprotagonistpoll]

Propaganda why Tony Stark is insufferable:

>Makes weapons

>Billionaire

>Made multiple AI Surveillance Robots

>Gaslight a child into fighting a super soldier in a foreign country for him

>His fans are annoying

Portrayed as a hero because? He chose to no longer mass produce war weapons and bombs after suffering the consequences. Huge hypocrite. Doesn't care about anyone but himself. Will backstab people if they believe in human rights when it's inconvenient to him. Seen as a hero while he's the personification of privileged people saying they're not privileged

There’s the usual “he’s a war criminal who only felt bad about it when he realized his weapons were killing white Americans as well as Arab people” reason, and also he’s just super annoying. You had to be there for the original Avengers shitty dialogue a la “we have a Hulk” that had Tumblr in a vicious chokehold. Also he was supposed to FINALLY go away after destroying all his suits in Iron Man 3 but he just… didn’t! Which is bullshit.

Tony is so annoying. When they first meet he straight up bullies Peter into fighting for his personal bullshit, insults and objectifies Aunt May in front of him, spits into his trashcan and is in general being pushy af. He blackmails Peter when he doesn’t wanna come to Germany with him AND HE DOESNT EVEN EXPLAIN WHY HE WANTS HIM TO COME. Uncomfortable vibes lol.

Tony being the one to tell peter “if Captain America wanted to hurt you he would’ve” when Peter was trying to state his case, yet HE’S also the one who put Peter in harms way when he didn’t even want to go with him???

Telling Peter that he should stick to being a “friendly neighborhood Spider-Man” (stealing his thing once again) when that’s what Peter _was_ doing before Tony took him out of his zone and filled his head with grander things to be apart of….bitch? Die. Ohh waaaait (jkjk) but yeah

Super long, sorry lol

Thinking about how in Homecoming when Peter accidentally caused that boat to get split in half because the Vulture’s gun exploded and Tony was acting like as if Peter was completely in the wrong for going there just because he did it without his permission. He was acting like as if Peter was out of line and “disobeyed him”, trying to act like his father. And then I remember how in CACW he’s the one who scouted Peter in the first place just because he saw he might be useful against a personal squabble between him and Captain America despite knowing that he was a kid and he’s just now acknowledging how dangerous it is because Peter “acted on his own”

Completely hijacking Peter’s superhero story and trying to control his every move (Training wheels protocol and baby monitor thing he put in the suit), acting like Peter should’ve known that Tony would send someone in despite the fact that he’d been ignoring him for 2 months since Civil War and not keeping him updated on anything!!

How the hell is peter supposed to know Tony is going to listen to him when he treats him like a kid instead of a superhero when it’s convenient for him? And when Tony loses his temper after Peter says he’s 15 not 14 like “the adult is talking” bitch he could literally flatten you without your suit!!!

I guess in a way he is acting like a father but like the absentee kind. He’s more like a sperm donor father trying to act like he has any rights over Peter’s life smh.

It’s not that reprimanding Peter for the situation is bad, but the way he makes it seem as if Peter is irredeemable as if Tony wasn't a literal weapons dealer lmfao. He could’ve said what was the truth about it without completely invalidating him saying shit like “no thanks to you” after Peter asked if everyone is okay when it’s literally thanks to Peter finding a lead on those guys in the first place that they were even noticed and it’s not like the FBI being there could’ve in no way caused a similar situation.

And then near the end of the movie when he’s getting crushed by the building rubble screaming and crying for someone to help him where the fuck is Tony?? That scene just proved that he never needed Tony’s suit in the first place to be Spider-Man since he had to use 100% his own strength to lift it off of him. I know he would’ve found the motivation even if Tony hadn’t been involved in the first place to give him the suit, take it away from him and have the words “if you’re nothing without the suit you shouldn’t have it“ echo in his head. Why did Tony even take the suit away? Like as if he expects Peter to stop being spoderman without it??? Holy fuck. This is why you don’t make it out of endgame /j /srs.

When Tony took this suit away from Peter he was like “God I sound like my dad“ shouldn’t that be a red flag to him? Wasn’t he literally just saying that he wished his dad was better than he was?? Lmfao

Propaganda why Victor Frankenstein is insufferable:

Victor Frankenstein is so pathetic not even tumblr could love him. The best parts of Frankenstein are the ones where your blessedly saved from being in his whiny, self deprecating, self centered pov. He’s so conceited that when his creation tells him directly “In revenge for killing the wife you were making for me I’m going to kill YOUR wife to see how YOU like it!”, Victor Frankenstein thinks that the creation is going to kill him and *only* him. (A decision And on top of it, he’s a shitty dad. Truly the worst.

this fucker has zero self awareness, which could maybe be fun to read about! except that 3/4 of the book consists of him constantly woe-is-me-ing about his own mistakes and how he shouldn't be responsible for any of his own actions.

He's not irredeemable, but his refusal to take accountability til it's too late is irritating

[itshype]

Excuse me, do you work here? (DC x DP)

This is sort of based off of the core idea behind The second, secret Justice League, so mayhaps consider reading that if you haven't? It'll take you 2 minutes max. Also, here's my masterpost.

So, Danny frequently works with the JL headquartered in the Infinite Realms. Basically, every League-Adjacent hero who died in costume chose to continue their work and make the Violent Afterlife a little safer. It's lead by Jason Todd as Batman (he never revived after Joker killed him in this AU - ....yet?) and has whomever else you like it in it. It's still just called the Justice League because with the zone inhabitants being long dead, never born or aliens, enough of them are unfamiliar with Justice League Earth.

They're better than ghost cops because they all died within the last decade. They remember what it is to be alive, they remember living people who they love and it changes the way that their minds think about crime and criminals in the zone. Their criminals are still people, not just obstructions to their obsessions.

And in a fun swap, Jason lives in mortal terror of the day anyone dares to kill the Joker. He hopes that asshole lives to the age of 108 and dies peacefully in bed so the chances of the Joker becoming an ecto-entity are as low as possible.

The regular, non-secret Justice League are kidnapped by a cool Alien species who want to make them fight. Not to the death, unless you feel like it, but more as a exhibition match. Martian Manhunter, Superman, Green Lantern and Constantine are not pumped to be kidnapped but the Lantern explains that doing well in this tournament will be super great going forward. If other planets hear about Earth's robust defence, they're all going to be less likely to fuck around and find out in future.

So, Constantine, in his infinite wisdom decides to - while they wait for the whole thing to start - summon the "best equipped" Justice League member to fight on their behalf. This other member (he assumes it will be Wonder Woman or Plastic Man) will probably not love being taken to a new planet. But, it's for the greater good and they'll all be taken home later.

But he didn't specify which Justice League - not knowing there are two. A 14 year old (looking) boy shows up. Superman is furious. Constantine, trembling with horror in what his hasty actions have done, explains everything.

Danny's thrilled, he's on a NEW PLANET?! He's met a MARTIAN? And he gets to do a low-stakes fight that could save millions of lives someday? This is the best day ever!

Danny tells them he's gonna fight, and he's gonna win, and they're going to help him get in touch with Batman on Earth when he's done. As payment.

He wants to tell Earth Batman that Ghost Batman loves him and never blamed him etc etc. Things Jason didn't exactly tell Danny to tell Bruce, but that he's mentioned to the team as wishing he could reach out and tell Batman before. (Why doesn't Jason go to Earth? Maybe he doesn't know which one, maybe the idea of being on the same planet as Joker sends him into a destructive rage, maybe he thinks telling Bruce he's still out there would do more harm than good... idk)

4 adult heroes watch in awe as Danny does a magic girl transformation into Inverted Danny and starts pulling more and more powers out of absolutely nowhere. Danny obliterates his competition and everyone is scared to hell of him. He gives an unwanted speech about what an honour it was to represent his solar system (he's thinking of his new bestie Martian Manhunter's culture's safety too).

It's only on the way home in the spaceship owned by the tournament mangers that it occurs to any of the Normal Justice League members to ask how this kid they've never even heard of is a member of their team and what he wants to discuss with Batman.

[wildflowerluver]

all i need to hear

aaron hotchner x fem!reader

aaron’s comfort is all you need

cw: one bed + nightmare trope, friends to lovers-ish, nightmare, case details, reader gets injured

wc: 3.8k

༺♡༻

everyone’s allowed to have a tough case. 

j.j. experiences it most with children and rossi with people he’s dealt with in his earlier times at the bau, but you, nothing really seems to stop you. it’s remarkable, really. 

this case seems to be the exception.

the team is sent somewhere in colorado. it’s a small town, nestled in the forest though the mountains prove to be a bigger challenge in locating evidence that the p.d. had indicated.

your anxiety flares when garcia presents the victim list while you’re on the plane. you had left in such a rush that there was no prior debriefing in quantico.

they look like you. 

same hair color, eye color, all of it. 

subconsciously, you know these details aren’t exclusive to you but the uneasiness can’t be shaken. even emily raises an eyebrow in your direction. 

“-we need to get started right away when we land,” hotch’s voice breaks you out from where you’ve zoned out after staring at the pictures. “the unsub is progressing rapidly. we have no time to waste.” 

it’s a miracle you know where to go when you arrive. you missed hotch handing out assignments and chose to follow j.j. and hotch closely instead. you’re still on edge. no one else seems to pick up on your mood and for that you’re grateful. 

the weather doesn’t help either; rain and thunderstorms all week. great for catching an unsub.

____

you’re exhausted, everyone is.

two straight days of work with little time to rest was seriously impacting the cognitive abilities of the team. it happened on certain cases, very rarely, but still occurred.

hotch had stopped the team on the second night, ordering everyone to go back to the hotel to get some rest. hotel rooms were limited and rossi won the drawing for the only single room. everyone else seems to find their pair naturally.

that leaves you paired with hotch who doesn’t say much as you head towards the elevator. he picks up on your body language of not wanting to speak. 

you’re still anxious, on edge. it’s not the sleeping arrangements or the sleep deprivation, it’s the case. 

everything around you is moving too slow or too fast. you can’t even control it. one minute you’re stepping off the elevator and heading towards your room with hotch and the next you're stopping in your tracks at the sight of the room.

one bed.

it’s large enough to accommodate the both of you but your heart flutters at the realization you would be sharing a bed. you don’t say anything and neither does he. two adults can share a bed. it’s not a big deal.

your mind is already drifting back to the past two days.

hotch maneuvers around your frozen form to put your bags in the right spots before he turns to you.

“y/n?” 

you don’t hear him.

“y/n” he tries again, this time placing a hand on your shoulder.

you flinch, though you try to play it off with a roll of the shoulders.

“do you want to take first shower?”

you nod, muttering a quiet ‘thank you’ as you gather pajamas and head in. you try not to think of the case as you shower, though your mind can only drift to one place; aaron. you’re sharing a bed. it’s an odd pairing, given you usually room with emily or even spencer and especially with how you feel about hotch; something only emily knows about.  

you slip into bed without another word to the man in the room. exhaustion creeps in your bones and you know you can chalk your quietness to that.

staying awake to ensure that the sleeping arrangements are okay seems like the best idea. you shut your eyes, promising to yourself that you were just resting until he was finished. you loll off to sleep to the sound of hotch’s shower.

aaron exits the bathroom to see you asleep. you’re curled up on your side of the bed, arms wrapped in a protective manner around yourself.

he knows you're not feeling well, not on a work level but a personal one too.

aaron promises to himself that he’s going to look out for you.

__

you shoot up, clawing at the sheets to push them off of your now sweaty body.

it couldn’t have been later than two in the morning and the terror from the nightmare jerks you out of the very little sleep you’d gotten.

breaths turn ragged as you collapse out of bed and onto the floor. you press your forehead to the carpet, hands clutching at your heart that feels like it could burst out of your chest at any second.

it wasn’t a horror nightmare, per say, but rather a psychological one; where everything just feels….off. adding onto the emotions of the case, everything was becoming too much.

the sobbing comes next.

between the gasps for air and your bawling, it was only a matter of time before aaron woke up. at first, he thought you were simply getting up to use the bathroom. but, the thud on the floor proved him otherwise.

“y/n?”

he must’ve said your name multiple times. it doesn’t seem to register until he’s kneeling down in front of you.

“y/n?” aaron tries again. “can i touch you?”

you don’t respond verbally. squeezing your hands around your head feels like a better option, safer.

his hands find yours, gently removing them from the grip on your hair. he doesn’t let go, doesn’t let up his pressure in the slightest. 

aaron only lets his right hand go from where they hold yours. he keeps his left hand resting on your wrist. his next task is to get your head off of the floor. he moves to cradle your cheek to lift your head up, but your voice stops him.

“aaron-” you stutter. “aaron i can’t breathe.”

“hey hey, sweetheart look at me,” you’re in a state of such panic that the pet name doesn’t even sink in. “match my breathing, okay? deep breath in, deep breath out.”

his instructions make you feel like a child; like you’re at the doctor and they just placed a stethoscope on your back.

but you suppose that’s his job, that’s your job.

you don’t know what’s happening to you.

you never have night terrors, especially not ones on cases.

it takes a few minutes for your breathing to steady. you keep your eyes on aaron, blinking back the tears that are still welling up. you can finally breathe easy and aaron considers that the first step in helping you.

you’ve moved from your prior position of being curled on the floor to settling against the wall, half propped against the ac unit and the other half against aaron’s chest.

it feels odd, wrong, like you aren’t supposed to be this intimate with your friend boss. feelings aside, the embarrassment sets in quickly.

aaron knows some things off when you press your forehead into your knees.

“i’m sorry.” your voice is weak, small.

aaron raises an eyebrow. “what for?”

“i woke you up, i’m sorry. i swear this doesn’t normally happen. i don’t know what caused it. i’m really really sorry for disturbing you,” you ramble off an apology.

“y/n, it’s alright,” he reassures. “i promise.”

you keep your forehead down. for once, aaron feels like he is unable to profile you. the rule the team point in place aside, he can’t tell if you’re flushed with embarrassment or still feeling uneasy from your dream. 

“what makes you feel better when this happens?”

his question is with good intentions but your face turns even more red.

“pressure,” you answer honestly. “i usually sleep with a weighted blanket but it gets too heavy to bring so i left it.”

aaron goes quiet and you think you’ve gone too far. you’re already sharing a bed, you’ve already had a panic attack in front of him, and he’s already seen you cry.

“let’s get to bed.”

he extends both hands to help you to your feet.

when you’re both standing, he doesn’t let go of your palms, but rather guides you over to your side of the hotel bed.

aaron’s hand stays on the small of your back and lifts up the covers to help you in. if you weren’t still terrified, you would have blushed. you lie down and peer up towards the older man.

“pressure, right?” you can hear the underlying tone of permission in his voice.

you hum.

his movements are slow to provide you plenty of time to stop him. but, you don’t. he finally settles behind you, pulling your body to his so there’s barely any room.

instinctively, your arms wrap around his that rest on your stomach.

it shocks you at what aaron was doing. you were cuddling. never in your life had you thought you’d be where you were right now. you want to convince yourself so badly of how unprofessional the situation is, but you just can’t. between the terror you were feeling and your unanswered feelings, cuddling with aaron felt like a dream.

“hotch?” 

he hums into the back of your neck, signaling to you that he’s still awake.

“thank you,” you whisper.

he squeezes you and pulls your body a little closer to his.

“i’ll be right here when you wake up.”

a promise. and for once, you think it’ll stay true.

true to his word, you wake up still in hotch’s arms. you’ve shifted slightly in the night, however; hotch’s arm had snaked under your head to hold you in a makeshift hug. you feel selfish in wanting his alarm to never go off so you can stay like this.

you’re dreading the stereotypical awkward conversation that’s going to come out of all this but in the moment, you don’t care. you’re still embarrassed from your nightmare and hotch filling the void of your weighted blanket was making you feel better.

the bliss ends when aaron’s alarm blares. you quickly shut your eyes, wanting to savor it as long as possible. you feel him shift from behind you, gently pulling his arm away and propping himself up on his elbow.

“y/n, y/n,” hotch shakes you awake. 

you groan, feigning sleep as you sit up and rub your eyes.

“how’d you sleep?”

“better with you there,” you admit.

your words slip out before you can even think. it felt natural to say, like it was a given. hotch’s face stills before slipping into a soft smile. “good, i’m glad.”

silence falls over the room. you’re still close, you with your legs crossed and him laying on his side. he’s below you and you think about how easy it would be to lean down and press your lips together. you wonder if he's thinking the same and the second you see his eyes flicker down to your mouth, you legitimately consider going for it.

but, there’s a knock on the door. turns out you might’ve stayed in bed longer than you realized.

“come on! we gotta get going!”

you sigh.

back to work.

_____

garcia gives the name and address of a potential suspect.

hotch sends you and morgan to the house with a ‘call if you find anything.’

you step away to gather yourself, ensuring that your gun is in your belt and you have your phone on you; simple procedure. you don’t miss how hotch and morgan talk quietly among themselves, the unit chief seeming to be giving instructions. you know they’re talking about you.

morgan doesn’t mention it when he walks over to you. “ready to go?” he doesn’t use a nickname. strange. 

you nod, looking back over at your shoulder to hotch who still seems to still have his eyes trained on you. “yeah i am.” hotch takes one step in your direction.

“be careful.” 

his words are directed at you.

anxiety stabs at your stomach. 

___

hands are pressing to hold your cheeks.

your ears are ringing. everything is too quiet. the blurred figure in front of you is moving their lips, if they’re talking, you can’t hear them. 

it takes a couple long, slow blinks for your surroundings to even make sense. 

you were in the suspects home. you and morgan had gone to do an interview. one he opened the door, he saw you and grinned. you can’t seem to forget the way he made you feel just hours ago. like you were next. he had decided to run not too long after that. you chased him. anything after that was beyond you. 

“y/l/n, are you okay? what happened?” 

you know that voice.

hotch. 

you peer at his now focused face and tilt your head. it takes a moment for you to figure out how to speak. your tongue feels fifty pounds in your mouth. “why wouldn’t i be?”

“you’re bleeding.”

the warm sensation on your forehead seems to set in. oh. something happened.

“something happened,” you voiced.

“something happened,” hotch repeated 

you aren’t at your best. it’s clear to everyone, not just him.

“let’s get you to an ambulance.” hotch helps you to your feet, securing an arm around your waist to help you walk. you’d been knocked out. it was a miracle you were walking and talking as quick as you were.

the ambulance is fuzzy. the lights are too bright. it doesn’t help that it’s late morning and the sun is shining. hotch notices you squint your eyes and uses his palm as a visor with enough room for the emt’s to work.

“no concussion. no hospital. we’ll patch her up with some zipstiches and she’ll just need to take it easy.” you really hope hotch, or anyone, is listening to the emt’s diagnosis and instructions because you can’t.

you’re cleaned and cleared in no time. the pouding doesn’t seem to cease. 

“where’s the team?”

hotch takes a seat at the back of the ambulance next to you.

your knees bump together and thighs press against each other. you’re close.

“they’re at the precinct. we got the guy. he knocked you out. morgan went after him.” he’s talking in simple sentences that are easy to understand.

“oh.”

you couldn’t even help with the takedown.

“you’re cleared to fly,” hotch starts. “we’re heading home tonight.’

thank god.

the drive back to the precinct is spent in silence. you can feel hotch’s gaze on you but you stare out the window. you don’t feel like talking to him, about anything. the team greets you with soft smiles or a squeeze of the shoulder. morgan collects you in his arms, muttering an apology about leaving you behind. you nod into his shoulder. no big deal.

the plane ride back to d.c. and drive to quantico goes by before you know it but you still don’t feel well.

the guy was caught. why were you so on edge still?

the bullpen is suffocating.

it’s a silent agreement that everyone would stay later to finish their reports. some adrenaline had yet to wear off and finishing the initial case report would greatly lessen the workload for tomorrow. 

you stare down at the top of the paper.

just write your statement, it’s not that hard.

everyone around you seems to delve into their work. the pen scratching sends you into another spiral about the case. 

your head hurts.

hotch exits his office, titling his head when he notices you still at your desk.

“y/n? what are you still doing here?” he questions.

it takes you a moment to process the words before blinking twice and looking at him. “was doing my report,” you mumble. the bullpen is eerily quiet.

had everyone already left? did you not even notice?

two hours had passed. for you, it felt like twenty seconds.

you look back towards your report.

you hadn’t even been able to write your name.

hotch walks down the steps and heads to your desk, abandoning his bag on the floor. 

“i think you and i are both aware something happened this case,” his voice has dropped the authoritarian tone. it’s lighter, the one he uses when talking to someone emotional on cases. you supposed that that’s you right now. “it’s okay to have off cases, y/n. we all have them.”

that’s not it.

you want to explain so bad.

you trust him, with your life if it ever came down to it.

“hotch i-” you’re shaking, tongue going heavy in your mouth. it’s easier to drop your head and hide from his burning gaze.

you press your palms to your pants, desperately trying to wipe off the moisture that’s cumulated. hotch appears in your eyeline as he kneels down in front of you. “what’s going on?”

tears form at your waterline.

“hotch i’m scared.”

your voice is hushed.

“i can’t shake the feeling that something bad is going to happen. cases have made me anxious before but never scared.”

he squeezes your hand. “i’m right here, y/n. we caught the unsub. nothing is going to happen, i promise.”

you shake your head, eyes snapping around to check your surroundings. “that’s it. i know we caught the unsub and i’m still so paranoid. we’re alone in this bullpen and i still feel-”

you feel sick.

admitting your emotions is hard, especially in the bau. you profile human behavior for a living, you would think you would be able to manage your own.

“come home with me tonight,” hotch voices. “you’re in no state to be alone.”

he doesn’t minimize what you’re feeling, nor does he try and force you to dive further into your terror past the initial confession. 

you nod, releasing your hands to brush your hair out of your eyes. “right,” you start, “i’m not.” helpless, that’s all you can feel.

“you know it’s not like that.”

you become acutely aware of your interlocked hands. 

hotch sighs. “jack is away for the weekend with jessica so my apartment is empty. i would feel a lot better if you were there at least for tonight.”

you would too. 

“okay.”

hotch helps you to your feet, grabbing both yours and his bags and shoving the file into it. it can wait until tomorrow. he guides you out of their building and to his car.

___

you’ve been in hotch’s apartment before. only a few times, though, when you’ve watched jack.

it’s how you remember it. it feels like a home. jack’s drawings and tests cover the fridge and artwork sits in frames on the walls. 

“do you want to watch something on tv? or we can go to bed,” hotch asks after only a moment and you weigh your options. as much as you want to stay up, the adrenaline from the case has already started to wear off.

“bed,” you answer quietly. you’re unsure of where you’re going to be sleeping. it feels awkward to ask. 

you pick at the cuticles to distract yourself from the silence.

“if you’re more comfortable, i’ll make up the couch,” he offers.

no. no. no.

“absolutely not,” you laugh. you realize how your tone sounds and take a stride over to him, leaning against the wall. “i slept really well when we shared the hotel room.” it took courage to admit that.

“so you’ll sleep in mine? with me?” he sounds hopeful.

you don’t want him to think you’re throwing yourself at him.

“hotch-.”

“aaron,” he corrects you.

right. you aren’t at work. still, referring to your boss by his first name when you’re so used to his last feels odd. but then again, so did cuddling.

“aaron,” you spoke. the last time you had used his first name was when you had your nightmare. “are you sure?”

“i am.” 

you smile. “then we can share.”

aaron guides you to his bedroom, pointing out where the ensuite is and handing you an extra toothbrush. you get changed in the bathroom and splash some water on your face. you were sharing a bed for the second time - this time by choice.

he’s not in the room when you exit. you assume he’s somewhere else in the apartment, locking things up. you slide under the covers, choosing the same side you did back in the hotel room.

your phone buzzes on aaron’s beside and you pick it up to read the message.

take the day off tomorrow and get some rest. you all deserve it.

you smile. usually aaron gives you a late start after cases. a day off is a luxury.

you can hear his footsteps padding down the hallway and you rush to put your phone down. aaron enters the bedroom, smiling in your direction at the site of you curled in his bed and places a glass of water he’s holding down.

“how are you feeling?”

you peer up at him.

he’s standing at the edge of the bed, arms crossed and eyes boaring into you.

“better,” you admit. it’s not a lie, you feel safer at his - with him. 

“and your head?”

your fingers drift up to where the bandage lays. it feels like days ago that you got hurt when it was merely a few hours prior. “it hurts a little but i’ll live.”

“well hopefully the medicine kicks in soon,” he adds. “i also think getting some rest would help.”

“i could get some rest if someone would get in bed.”

he raises his hands. mock defeat. 

aaron then moves to lay down in bed, leaning over to turn the light off.

you can still make out his face from the moonlight that pours in through the window. he’s looking at you, waiting for you to say something.

“i forgot my weighted blanket.” there’s a hint of amusement in your voice.

aaron beams.

“come here,” he spoke.

you waste no time in all but launching your body at his. he’s on his back and you curl into his side, head on his chest and legs intertwined with his.

“is this okay?” you ask earnestly.

“more than okay,” aaron answers. 

you hide your smile in his neck, toying with the hem of his t-shirt. “going shy on me?” his tone is teasing. busted. you pull your head back slightly and peer up at him.

“i’m really proud of you, you know,” hotch starts. you raise an eyebrow. “for this case i mean. i don’t know, you seem like a lot doesn’t affect you and when it did, you still prevailed.”

the deep blush that spreads across your cheeks is thankfully hidden by the darkness.

“really couldn’t have done it without you,” you try and emphasize the last part. it’s true, you really wouldn’t have been able to stay together if he wasn’t there.

aaron stiffens and for a minute you think you misunderstood his prior words.

“i’m here for you, always.”

“promise?” 

he leans down to press your foreheads together.

“i promise.”

[radiance1]

Prompt idea: inmortal teen looking Danny, jumping across different dimensions he lands in DC. He quickly become annoyed because the native heroes won't stop trying to adopt him.

Oh and it take some years to Danny to jump to another dimension

*Cracks knuckles*

Alright so this is extremely, very, late. But it shall be DONE!

So, let us start with some BACKGROUND.

Danny is an immortal teen, yes? So then, Danny has outlived every mortal he knows, as in Jack, Maddie, Sam, Tucker, Jazz, everyone.

So when the last person he loved and cared for died (your pick as to whom), he went into the ghost zone to explore to hopefully forget all the pain. He explored the zone, stopping by some of the ghosts he knows before finding a portal, to which he just says fuck it and dives in.

At first he didn't know where he was, but with some digging he came to the conclusion that it's a different dimension and is like neat. So he explores a lil, meets some people, drinks and eats some food.

Y'know, the usual tourist stuff.

So after a few years he had his fill of this new dimension, seeing everything there is to see and all. So he left, finding a conveniently open portal and then goes on to the next.

And the next.

And the next.

Until one portal, like any other. He pops into a new dimension and expects it to be like all the others, he already had things going on his mind about what it would be.

Perhaps old timey? Maybe Prehistoric even? Oooo, maybe it would be futuristic, those are always fun.

Except it was none of that, in this dimension people have powers and superheroes are actually real.

He was a bit surprised, but easily accepted it.

So there he was, just minding his own business outside of earth's atmosphere, eyeing up the planet to think about where he would visit first, he picked up a lot of languages in his travel, so he doesn't think he'll have a problem where he choses.

So he picks a certain spot to land, some city by the name of Metropolis, only to be met with two people.

A man with a red cape in blue and red spandex, and standing near him is a bat furry in black spandex.

Weird choice but alright, he doesn't judge.

It was when the former turned around- Superman if he remembered correctly, that he felt like he was punched in the gut.

He looked so much like him, so, so much that he thought he was standing- well, more so floating, right there in front of him.

"Dad?"

Danny noticed his mistake after he let it slip, there were some slight differences that his father didn't have, and well, his father is dead and all.

So what did he do to save himself from the embarrassment of mistaking some guy for his dead dad?

He's an adult- practically older than a lot of people actually, even if he looks like a kid. He is mature and will solve this and act accordingly.

He turned invisible and peaced out.

He's sure nothing won't come out of that frankly.

It was just a teeny, tiny slip up.

Something did come out of it, much to Danny's chagrin.

Now he's being followed by these superheroes everywhere for whatever reason and they won't leave him alone when he just wants to sight see.

In a dark and grim city because he was avoiding Metropolis?

Followed by some ninja furries in spandex. (Also what the fuck, why the hell are they so damn sneaky for he almost forgot they were following him-)

He went to New York.

Got found by this random lady who also wouldn't leave him alone.

He escaped to Central City and had a conversation with this guy in red spandex with a lightning bolt of his chest.

Honestly he had a pretty nice time but what is it with Superheroes and spandex?

He wanted to leave, but the portal isn't gonna open again for some undetermined amount of time.

...The universe really likes to fuck him over, don't it?

[astatia-ghast]

The King's Quest

At last! Finally, it has come -- my 2023 Holiday Truce gift for @hailsatanacab!

You're a trooper. I'm sure it drove you crazy to wait all this time. I wanted to give you a preview on Christmas Day to tie you over, but it took too long for me to settle on how I wanted to fill this prompt. I hope you'll forgive me for the wait!

The prompt I chose is this one: "To ascend to the throne, Danny must complete a quest. This is great, because Danny doesn't want the throne! Screw the quest — Danny's hanging out with his friends and going to school like the normal boy he is! …Unfortunately, fate has other ideas. No matter what he does or how badly he tries to do the opposite, Danny just keeps fumbling his way into winning the crown."

It was a great challenge for me because while I have spent plenty of time daydreaming about the ghost king AU, I don't typically read or write fanfiction about it. This prompt helped me exit my comfort zone while still letting me work with the characters and tone I love.

Before I began to work on this, I spent a lot of time lurking on your blog to figure out what kind of fanfiction you like, and I must say, you seem like a pretty cool person. I'm glad I was paired with you!

And of course, a big thanks to @phandomholidaytruce for making this whole thing happen! It was my first time participating, and it was a delightful way to end the year.

Alright, enough thanks! On to the fic!

Read on AO3

---

"I never wanted you to find out this way."

Danny leans frozen over a basin still shimmering with the ripples of a just-disturbed future. His eyes are wide, heart pounding, vision tunneling, knuckles white around the rim.

There's no way he saw what he just saw. There's no way.

Behind him, Clockwork watches in silence. He had left the room for only a moment, and Danny had taken the opportunity to sate a curiosity that he now knows should never have been sated. He had stuck his face in the basin, and he had seen a future — a future of him.

"This is my future?"

"It is one of them."

Danny turns around. His eyes are still wide and his body shaking, but Clockwork's words are like a steadying stone he can latch on to. "So it doesn't have to be this way?"

Clockwork's lips grow thin. He rests his staff by the door he had just entered, slowly and measuredly, as if stalling for time. Even once his hands are free, the silence grows longer still; long enough for him to shift into a toddler and then an elder and then an adult again before any word breaks the stillness of the tower.

At last, he speaks. "The truth is, the clock started ticking the moment you deposed Pariah Dark. It is one future of many, but its passing has already been etched in stone."

As if in emphasis, a clock strikes eleven somewhere deep within the tower.

"You will become King."

Ectoplasmically-white petals falling from the sky. Ghostly crowds cheering. A cape. A crown. A parade. A coronation.

Daniel Jack Fenton, King of the Infinite Realms.

Even now, the tower seems to sing to him — regally, mockingly. He wonders if those ripples in the basin are cascading through the timeline, setting in place the bars that will one day imprison him.

"No. I can't be a king." A bead of sweat trails down his temple, tickling him as it goes. "I can barely deal with my life as it is. And no ghost is going to listen to me — all they want to do is attack me. I want to go to school and play video games and at least try to get into NASA. I don't want to be a king."

Clockwork's lips draw even thinner still. In the silence that follows, his gaze falls to one of his many watches, which he begins to twist idly with one hand.

"I remember many things," he says with a hushed rumble. "Pariah Dark was a great king, until he was not."

His gaze grows unfocused. The hand on his watch goes to his face, where it slowly traces his scar. Danny has never seen him do that before.

"I remember the destruction he wrought. I remember looking him in the eyes as he was shut inside his tomb."

His hand falls to his side as his gaze meets Danny's once more.

"You are more than triple the man he ever was. You would make a great king."

Danny's hands go to his head, where his fingers thread through his hair. He takes a step backward in some subconscious attempt to get away from Clockwork and this — this lie, but he runs into the basin still shimmering behind him. Its pedestal rocks dangerously, and Danny wants to scream enough for his Ghostly Wail to take over and shatter the wretched thing into pieces.

But instead of screaming, a fire bursts into life within him. He meets Clockwork's gaze afresh with blazing eyes. "No. I'm not going to become King. You're going to have to find a new future, because that one is not coming true."

Clockwork's expression turns into something like pity. It's enough to quiet the fire for a beat — just a beat, though. "Danny." He drifts forward until the two of them are within reaching distance. He lifts his hands as if to place them on Danny's shoulders, but then he seems to reconsider it and clasps them in front of himself instead. "The Realms have been heralding your arrival since the dawn of my work. You are going to become King."

Danny says nothing. The fire crackles in protest, but it doesn't know what to burn.

Clockwork sighs. He raises one of those hands he dropped before, and at last, it makes contact with Danny's shoulder. "If it helps, it's not going to happen right away. There is a quest you must complete before you take the throne. You can—"

"A quest?" Danny's eyebrows fly up. He latches onto this thread like a rope draped over a cliffside.

"Yes, a quest. Before any monarch can ascend, they must—"

A bark of laughter escapes Danny's throat, and then a font of mad cackling bubbles up behind it. He cackles like a man unhinged, having found the simple yet ingenious solution to all his woes.

Clockwork's eyebrows knit together. "Danny—"

"Don't you get it?!" he jeers. "If I don't know what the quest is, I can't become King!"

Clockwork grows stern. He says his name again — "Danny" — and this time it's clear he wants him to quit laughing and sit down and listen, but Danny isn't having it. He's already lifting himself up into the air and away.

"Start checking your futures, Clockwork, because you missed one! I'm not becoming King!"

Clockwork reaches out as if to restrain him, but the fire finally explodes. Danny violently pushes him away with ectoplasmically-charged hands, keeping one ectoblast at the ready for good measure.

"Stay. Away." His voice is charged in a way that it has rarely ever been before. An otherworldly chill dampens the room. Clockwork is far too powerful a ghost to be affected by it, but if any human had been in this room, they would be screaming.

Clockwork gets the message. He watches with trepidation as Danny flies away.

---

Danny returns to Amity Park determined to slide right back into his normal life and pretend like that moment in the tower never happened. To forget about what he saw — petals, a cape, a crown — is impossible, but hell if he's not going to try his hardest to stay as far away as possible from anything even remotely king-like.

And so he does. He goes to school, fights ghosts, gets bad grades, listens to his parents' mad-scientist ramblings, plays video games, sleeps over at Sam and Tucker's houses, and generally lives exactly the life he'd rather live.

And he doesn't visit Clockwork in all that time, either. It pains him, as he enjoys Clockwork's company a lot and had even become something of an apprentice to him, but he can't risk subjecting himself to some well-intentioned lecture about the virtues of being King.

…Plus, he did kind of assault him and run away. Clockwork probably isn't very happy with him. But apologies would have to wait — for some future in which he isn't King.

School. Ghost fights. Bad grades. Mad-scientist ramblings. Video games. Sleepovers.

Life goes on.

---

Sometime after Danny defeats Undergrowth, Sam drags him along to the Amity Park Botanic Gardens. Well, "drags" is a strong word — he's grateful for any excuse to hang out with Sam — but still, the thought of visiting a botanic garden and admiring plants in the wake of Undergrowth's reign of terror is insane. He expresses as much, but Sam insists that that's all the more reason to visit, as both of them need to unravel their new Pavlovian fear of perfectly innocent plant life.

Plus, apparently admissions are way down — surprise, surprise — and Sam wants to help them out before the dip in finances forces them to shutter. Fair enough.

She tried to get Tucker to come along too, but there was zero chance of getting him through the doors even before Undergrowth gifted the whole city with a healthy dose of botanophobia. So that fine day finds the two of them alone in the Gardens' newly-opened orchid exhibit, Danny antsily resisting the temptation to reach out and hold her hand.

Under the canopy lush with tropical leaves, it's hard not to feel cocooned — in a way that feels remarkably warm and safe. Everywhere they look, orchids peer back, bright and colorful with every color of the rainbow. There are big orchids and small orchids, potted orchids hanging from the limbs of towering trees, orchids that look like pinecones, orchids that look like neat tufts of fur, orchids with stripes and orchids with whiskers.

To Sam's very great credit, the exhibit is astounding, and even his shriveled, technology-loving heart can't help but marvel and be thankful that she convinced him to come here.

In time, he finds himself growing drowsy. It's like the peace and beauty of the place is infectious, to the point where his heart rate seems to slow. Eventually, he turns to Sam and asks, "Would you like to lay down?"

She agrees, and the two of them pick one of the few spots in the exhibit not overtaken by stone pathways or lush vegetation. They spend a few minutes chatting about something or other, but in time, they lapse into a peaceful silence, and Danny begins to space out.

He stares up at the canopy. The sunlight, so radiant and soft, seems to sparkle as it filters through the roof of the greenhouse and the tropical leaves below. Somewhere, a stream gurgles.

And there is a song. It takes a moment for him to realize that he's hearing it, but once he does, it's unquestionably there. It's distant and peaceful, echoing, like standing outside the door of a lofty cathedral while a choir sings inside. Sluggishly, he looks around, and as his lazy eyes focus on the beautiful strands of a white orchid, he is suddenly positive that the song is coming from them. From the orchids. From all the plants in the greenhouse, and perhaps even beyond. He doesn't know how he knows, but he knows.

He falls into a trance, enjoying the song, until suddenly, there is a sharp poke on his shoulder. He sluggishly turns his head to see Sam, who has clearly been trying to get his attention.

"Earth to ghost boy. Anyone home?"

Danny blinks a few times, but his eyes are reluctant to focus. He feels like he just surfaced from a dream. "Sorry. I was just… It's nice in here."

Sam chuckles. "You're really enjoying yourself, huh? Way more than I thought you would."

Danny chuckles too. "Yeah. You were right. I'm glad you convinced me to come here."

Now that his mind is clearing up, it slowly begins to dawn on him how utterly bizarre the last several minutes were. Plants? Singing to him? Surely he's just imagining things — he wants to believe that's the case — but no. Somehow, he's sure. Those plants were singing to him.

Maybe a touch of Undergrowth's power is still in them, like some sort of ectoplasmic residue? That's the only explanation he can think of, and it makes sense, since these very same plants were undoubtedly enthralled by the ghost just a few weeks ago. But why were they singing?

He decides not to tell Sam. He doesn't know why, but it just feels like something he should keep to himself, and not just because it sounds crazy. So he files it under "ghost thing" and leaves it at that. 

It's not until he's watching a video in history class a few days later that he realizes that the song sounded an awful lot like a coronation song.

---

Something similar happens after he defeats Nocturn. Three sleepless nights after he sends the ghost back to the Ghost Zone, he's finally too tired to care whether or not he will show up in his dreams again the moment he closes his eyes.

As he slips into the twilight zone between wakefulness and sleep, ensconced in a darkness broken by one particularly annoying street light, his dreams turn into something… odd.

Before him, he sees seven creatures like Nocturn — tall, dark and starry, like the night sky made manifest. He slips into a ready position, poised to either fight or run, but instead of attacking, they bring their palms together and bow, all seven in unison. And then there is at once a horde of similar creatures behind them, stretching as far as the eye can see, bringing their palms together and bowing in turn.

He wakes in a cold sweat. No. There's no way. There's no way this king thing is still following him. That couldn't be real.

He spends the next day convincing himself it was just a dream, but really, he knows better.

---

The moments keep piling up. When he defeats Vortex, the clouds seem to part for him wherever he goes. When he returns Pandora's box, an ornate jewelry box mysteriously appears on his desk, which, when opened, reveals cavernous, physics-defying depths. Danny grows increasingly concerned that the ghosts have waived his quest and are pledging their fealty to him anyway.

When Clockwork appears in his bedroom one night, nearly a full year since their fight in his tower, Danny is no longer nervous to see him. Actually, he's quite relieved, since at this point, the only thing he's concerned about is getting answers.

"Would you like to have a chat?" Clockwork asks with a smile that almost seems sheepish.

It's a non-question, of course; Danny goes readily, and he's sure that Clockwork knew that he would.

Entering the tower is almost like coming home. A calm quiet; ticking; cavernous rooms cast in shadow — the whole place seems to envelop him in a hug, and briefly, Danny feels tears prick at the corners of his eyes. The past several months have been stressful. He regrets the way he treated Clockwork the last time he was here, and he regrets that he didn't have the maturity to return much earlier.

But Clockwork is ever calm and welcoming, and Danny finds thankfulness shooing away the regret in his heart. What a remarkable person Clockwork is.

The two of them stop in the same room with the basin, whose waters stand completely still. At first, Danny thinks Clockwork is going to encourage him to revisit his future, but instead, he opens a cabinet standing against the opposite wall. As he reaches inside, he says, "I have something for you."

Danny waits, more than a little curious and struggling to resist the urge to see if his coronation is still in the basin. When Clockwork turns around, he's carrying a necklace — not unlike the medallions he uses to take people out of time, but much more ornate. Gently and in silence, he drapes the necklace around Danny's neck. Once it settles, he rests his palms against Danny's chest, in a way that makes Danny think something weighty is about to come.

Their eyes meet. "You recall what I said before, yes? That there is a quest you must complete?"

"Yes."

Clockwork smooths out the wrinkles on Danny's shoulders, and then his hands just stay there. "There is a reason I tried to restrain you. By refusing to learn the quest, you expedited its completion."

Everything in Danny goes cold.

"The quest was to either defeat or receive the approval of all seven of the Ancients: Pariah Dark, Frostbite, Undergrowth, Nocturn, Vortex, Pandora and myself. And you have done so for all of them — including me."

A rushing sound fills Danny's ears.

"You have had my approval since even before Pariah Dark was granted the throne. So with the bestowing of Pandora's gift, you have become King."

The necklace feels heavy around Danny's neck — a necklace he now realizes is a coronation gift.

"I am sorry, Danny. But I stand by what I said before: you will make a great king."

Clockwork pulls him in for a hug, and Danny goes willingly. His wailing fills the tower.

Somewhere deep inside, a clock strikes twelve.

---

Ectoplasmically-white petals falling from the sky. Ghostly crowds cheering. A cape. A crown. A parade. A coronation.

Danny's knuckles go white around his scepter, just as they did around the basin all those months ago.

Daniel Jack Fenton, King of the Infinite Realms.

---

(Yes, I may have warped the timeline of Season 3 just a little bit. Clockwork will be waiting in the lobby to take your complaints! :þ)

[fours-writings]

more immortal y/n thoughts except it’s basically a direct continuation of my last post

Cw for mentions of blood and bones breaking (whoops sun accidentally breaks your back and not in the sexy way)

it’s a miracle you and moon managed to clean the remaining evidence of his earlier… “fit,” before it began to stain.

you dutifully helped the poor stunned animatronic clean himself as he refused to say another word after his last half-spoken question. his fingers twitched every time you ran the rag over his joints, clenching and unclenching, as if reliving just how easily your neck snapped underneath his gripped.

you didn’t force him to speak. he seemed frazzled as is, and you knew nothing you said would help. even after all this time, you still weren’t the best at comforting people.

however, even as you managed to clean the last visible bit with the rag soaked in bleach that stung your skin and nostrils lightly with each passing second you held it, moon didn’t seem too keen on leaving you just yet.

you expected more questions. horrified looks. guilt.

instead, he looked at you like a blessing straight from the lord.

you knew what moon looked like when he was excited. you observed everything around you almost as much as a machine like he was. mostly a habit stemmed from years of boredom and paranoia.

it was hard to tell whether you wanted to treat it like a fresh breath of air, or wanted to be offended by the fact of it.

you made no comment as you simply returned to the employee’s lounge— entirely empty, considering the lack of human staff in this place and even less of them voluntarily taking night shift for a multitude of reasons —to change into your spare clothes.

moon silently followed, lingering outside the door while you changed, and trailing behind you as you continued your night shift as if nothing happened. you trusted moon would scrub the footage of what just happened, if any of the cameras there were even on.

the next day, you chose to take over a coworker’s shift looking over the daycare. they gratefully let you, muttering something about the daycare attendant being freaky that you knew not to react to.

as you walked in around ten minutes before the daycare closed, you were greeted by a completely clueless sun bounding over to his favorite adult in the pizzaplex.

it was clear that moon had kept last night’s events a secret from his counterpart, and you were thankful for that. while you were fully prepared to give sun some half-assed explanation and comfort, it was obviously much more preferable to just not have to do any of that.

the day was slow compared to what you’ve heard happens in the daycare. only a couple children say hello to you, and the rest are occupied by sun’s usual entertaining antics. the animatronic even tries to tempt you into joining a couple games, to which you stubbornly deny each offer, much to his dismay.

as you dutifully watch him do his job, your eyes probably not blinking as you zone out a little, you notice something strange.

a little speck of something right on the rim of his little tutu.

specifically glowing a soft gold.

hm. so you didn’t do as good a job as you thought you did.

there was a pang of shame that you automatically stamped out with ease. didn’t matter. it wouldn’t stand out against his normal color scheme, and would probably go away in a few days. maybe a week at most.

the thought leaves your mind as quickly as it came to it, and you spend the rest of your day staring into space as the daycare attendant herds all the children around like hyperactive sheep.

eventually, your shift comes to a close as the daycare does as well.

you make no moves to leave, though, seeing as your next night shift starts in about an hour or so.

sun’s quick to run over to you as soon as the last child is gone, kneeling to your height in front of the desk like a dog eager for praise.

he babbles on about how the children were so nice today and he even got a few new pictures from the kiddos— apparently one was a liiiiiittle disturbing, but he didn’t mind because it was from his little superstars! —and that he just wanted to talk to you a little before he started cleaning up.

at one point, he asked for a quick little hug, to which you, of course, complied.

you stood up, and before you could each register it, he’d scooped you up and tugged you tight against his chest, arm wrapped around you like a vice.

during your earlier days here, he’d been very hesitant to hug you in fear of you getting mad or accidentally hurting you.

you reassured him you gave no fucks if he wanted to be touchy, and by now he took your word for it.

you barely noticed when his grip started to tighten, nor when pressure began to build up at the middle of your spine where his arms wrapped around your abdomen, and neither did sun.

however, you and him both noticed when his grip tightened a little too much, and a sickening snap rang out.

instantly he drops you, apologizing profusely and tentative pressing at your back for injuries, while you simply groan and hold your back as if it was just some simple back pain.

“No— nope, Sunny, it’s okay,” you reassured him, gently shooing away his hands, “you just popped my back a little, that’s all.”

a blatant lie. your back had visibly shifted a little, maybe a few segments dislocated or something. you definitely couldn’t turn on your spine at the moment.

“B-b-but it was so LOUD!” he protested in his usual worry.

“Yeah, my bones are loud,” you chuckled nonchalantly, “watch.”

your press your hands to where your spine had been shifted, some of the bone trying to poke through your skin. if you weren’t, well, you, you probably would be suffering quite the amount of agony and internal bleeding right now. but you were you.

carefully, you press against the upper half of your back, until another crack sounds out, and your spine is back together. you could already feel the internal wound healing beneath your flesh, warm and fuzzy like it had been reattaching your head to your neck.

“See?” you hum, doing a little spin in front of sun, “It’s all cool. You did nothing wrong.”

he clearly didn’t believe you, but you also knew he still thoroughly enjoyed the reassurance. his rays spun once over, and he let out a nervous chuckle.

“O-Oh, um, o-okay,” he reluctantly chirped back, “a-are you suuure you’re okay, though? You don’t, u-um, need a, like, a m-massage or anything..?”

you hold back a soft snicker as his fans start up in his flusteredness.

“I am fine, Sunshine,” you say with a slight smile, your grin widening as his fans speed up further. you walk over and pat him on the back, “now get to cleaning before the lights turn off.”

he immediately perks up at the mention of cleaning.

“OH— right, right, yes!!” he chirps, already sprinting back over to where the main mess of the daycare was, “Gotta clean up, clean up, clean up!”

as he goes on mumbling about how messy it was, you sit back down in your chair, waiting patiently for the clock to reach that fateful time.

the ache in your back had already faded, and so had the warmth. the chair beneath you leeched off what little heat you had, and you started to wish you’d bought that fluffy jacket you saw a few weeks ago.

you were looking forward to seeing moon, but at the same time not.

you didn’t know if his casual attitude from before was thanks to whatever was the robotic equivalent of adrenaline or was actually genuine, and you weren’t exactly looking forward to finding out.

[jewish-vents]

Being ethnically Jewish, adopted by goyim, and only connecting to my heritage and my culture as an adult was hard enough considering I became an adult in 2016. Since then my dad has become a full-blown conspiracy theorist, Trump supporter, and rabid Islamophobe. He's gotten involved in this weird offshoot of Evangelicals who think nothing bad can happen to "the Jews" (he NEVER calls us Jewish people, or people at all) so according to him there is no rise in antisemitism. Things have been like this forever. There is no rise in hate crimes or hate speech. The CIA, FBI, NSA, NAACP, and Jews are all lying or mistaken because his conspiracy buddies say so.

I get called slurs and babykiller and pedophile every day when I go to work on campus. (Apparently goyim think we lick babies' private parts? Their kinks baffle me.) My coworkers make pointed remarks or talk about hoping Hamas wins and look at me just daring me to get offended or fight them or report them to the department head, who they and I both know would side with them. I am taking care of my disabled father and my newfound stray-who-chose-me dog, I have been repairing the attic and spare room because my sister and her daughter have to move in at the end of the month due to their rent being hiked up suddenly, and I am recovering from having a bleeding ulcer back in December, during which I lost over half the blood in my body.

And added onto all of this work, I can't even come home to peace and quiet. I come home to more and more conspiracy garbage. My adoptive dad was always emotionally abusive and has untreated Bipolar Disorder. He's never been kind to me. But now he's dehumanizing me, saying things like "the Jews and people" as if those are separate categories, rambling about "the mystery of the Jews" which appears to be how we survived if people actually hated us (which is apparently in question), and constantly, consistently, repeatedly talking about the Holocaust. I got up to get peanut butter for breakfast because I'm so busy that breakfast is two spoons of peanut butter and I couldn't even get that this morning without being told actually, it's Jewish people's fault for dying during the Holocaust because they knew it was coming and could've gotten out.

I'm a bad person.

I snapped. I just started screaming. Not words, not even syllables, just full-body, loud, long screams to drown out everything he said. I screamed until my voice gave out and then I clamped my hands over my ears, shut my eyes and waited until I had enough breath to bolt for my room, throw on non-pajama clothes, and went to work. I can't take it. I can't take this. I can't deal with this. I didn't apologize and I'm not going to because if I do I might have to hear more of it and it's too much. When I was a kid he used to get angry and refuse to talk to me for days, sometimes weeks. I am actively begging Hashem to let that happen because I just can't take this anymore.

I'm 24. I'm not even 30 yet and I feel ancient. Childhood feels like a half-remembered dream. I don't remember what it was like to feel safe anymore. I had a fine day at work because I've started... I don't think it's exactly dissociating? I imagine myself as a main character in a video game narrating the contents of a visual novel. 'Angry Coworker #2 is overly dramatic. You wonder how much of it is performance,' I narrate to myself in the second person, eating lunch, 'and how much, if any, of her emotion is genuine. She is giving a 2012 early YouTube caliber performance. Your smile should look appropriately strained so she thinks her attempt has succeeded, lest she escalate to full-on theatrics.'

This cannot be healthy. But the last therapist I had just taught me to feel guilty for thinking about the part or things I can't control because that means I have only myself to blame for feeling bad. The therapist before that I caught zoning out on me mid-session and totally not paying attention. The one before that kept telling me that the things that stress me out don't actually effect me and I was self-victimizing because the rest of the world doesn't "have" to effect me.

I am coming apart at the seams. I am consistently narrating my own life in the second person and not eating dinner because then I'd have to encounter my father and working on something because if I work I don't have to think. I don't know how long I can keep going like this. If I ever scream at work like I did at home, I'd be fired, and pretty rightfully so.

I'm so tired. I can't deal with everything. I can't kill myself because there's too much work to do, too many people depending on me. I can't keep patiently gritting my teeth and listening to another hot take on "the Jews" every morning. I just want to sleep. I just want to lay in bed and forget about everything. I can't do this anymore. I also have to.

.

[silly-salty-utdr-rants]

an unnecessarily in depth analysis of my take on underfell papyrus

before we begin: let it be known that none of this is properly confirmed or canon, this is all based on the version of underfell that almost solely exists in my brain. also the quality of grammar, spelling, and translation of brainrot to coherent essay is not guaranteed. also uf!papyrus belongs to underfella

to start lets look at the very basics, what would it take to turn papyrus, the only person to believe even the worst of the worst can improve, the causation (however indirectly) of the true pacifist route, the only monster that will never kill frisk, the sole creature in the entire world of undertale to be dubbed the sadistic fuckface flower's favourite, that the world is kill or be killed? allow me to spin you the tale of how i think it happened.

maybe once upon a time when uf!papyrus was just a kid, he wanted to be a hero. he wanted to be a pacifist in a kill or be killed world. maybe, even unintentionally, he constantly put both him and his older brother in danger. and one day, he tried to spare the wrong people, so both he and his brother were scarred in the process causing a crack over the eye for papyrus and a lost tooth for sans. and on this fateful day papyrus was faced with the choice, kill the attackers and survive or spare them and be killed. and maybe since he's still alive as an adult, he chose to kill, thereby gaining his first LV.

at least thats what i think happened. this traumatic event would cause a number of changes in his life, including, ditching his former obsession with "being a hero" in favor of being a villain, on several occasions being peer pressured to murder, and being more harsh to sans.

BUT. as i have said before and will say again, papyrus' soul is almost definitely bravery and integrity so his preference for pacifism isnt going down without a fight! maybe his whole "kidnapping and torture chamber" schtick is an excuse to not have to kill someone while not being seen as weak. maybe he lies about how many people he's killed or how much LV he has when in reality both numbers are shockingly low. maybe he wants to be captain of the guard so he can delegate the killing to others. maybe he hates asgore because its because of him that their world is like this. maybe he never kills the human. one thing i've never understood is whether or not he kills or spares the human or if he does the whole "OOP YOU'RE AT ONE HP! TIME TO GO TO THE CAPTURE ZONE!" thing. i like to think that he does. hell ive already done a whole damn drawing on what i think it would look like.

⬇️

so yeah. he spares frisk. and maybe adopts them

one last aspect of this guy that intrigues me before i go! what is underfell papyrus' dynamic with flowey? maybe he respects flowey a ton. maybe papyrus is envious of flowey's courage to run away from fights and defuse them instead of hurting the opponent. maybe they're the only one that the other truly opens up to.

but these are only my thoughts on the dude because frankly, there arent enough character analysis about uf!paps. feel free to add your own! or not! i dont care!

[yall-hate-kids-tourney]

Round 1B: Arya Stark vs. Sansa Stark (A Song of Ice and Fire)

Propaganda below the cut

Arya Stark:

Arya is a young girl who is seperated from her family, and lives through an active war zone during a bloody civil war. She kills people to survive, and recounts a list of people that she wants dead for their part in killing her family and taking her sister Sansa (who i also submitted) hostage. She later moves to Braavos, which is not a war zone, where she trains to become an assasin, but also must give up her identity to do so. However, Arya fails at this through her magical connection to her direwolf Nymeria and her love of her family, mostly her brother Jon. She also has a tendency to act as judge jury and executioner on people. You see people say that she is "too far gone" and pit her agaisnt her sister Sansa.

----

Some people really hate her idk why? She gets constantly compared to her sister sansa, who's supposedly more gentle and polite

The horrors of war that Arya goes through are usually ignored in favour of discourse on whether she should feel guilty for killing to escape her hostage situation

She's called willful and ugly and dumb and a serial killer devoid of emotions when it's so clear in her chapters that she cares so so much and she only wants to go home to her family

Sansa Stark:

Ok so she's doing some mean things in the first book (lying, saying she "forgot" if her fiance attacked her sister or the other way around) and ratting out her father's plan to Cersei the evil queen™ so she's annoying in the first book

After, she's a child hostage in a court where she has 0 ally apart from maybe the creepy guy who sees her as both the child he never had and his crush (who is sansa's mother)

And she's constantly hated on and getting call names

----

Sansa is constantly accused of betraying her family and causing her father’s death despite being 11 at the time of his death. People hold her responsible for the actions of the real villains around her and claim that she deserves every bad thing that happened to her because she chose power over family. Her innocence was manipulated and then ripped away from her in a series of events no one could have predicted (and that’s literally why the series is popular, because no one saw it coming) but she is blamed for not knowing the outcome of these events. Her childhood is denied to her, both in and out of universe.

----

Sansa is 11 when she tells her future mother in law who she trusts that her father is taking her and her sister out of the city because she doesnt want to leave. Despite the fact that her father was not going to leave the city, fans say she should have been executed along side her father for betraying her. It was also common for people to blame her for not loving Tyrion enough, after she was forced into marrying an adult man who is part of the family that killed her parents, brothers, and beat/publically humiliate her on a regular basis. She is "a moon away from turning 13" when the marriage occurs

[quotergirl19]

I’m a firm believer that sometimes when you’re in a relationship you don’t see it for what it is, and that applies to any type of relationship, familial, romantic or platonic.

Sometimes friendship grows toxic or one-sided, your family treats you like a child even when you’re a matured adult, or a casual acquaintance evolves into something deeper and turns romantic. But something has to happen to make one or both parties step back, reassess it and come back with new perspectives.

This absolutely applies to Colin and Penelope They’ve been in each other’s lives for so long that in many ways they still see each other exactly the way they did when they first met as kids.

Their relationship began for Colin with Penelope being his sister’s friend who became such a fixture in the Bridgerton household that he began to see her like another sibling or cousin, she has been in his life forever as an honorary Bridgerton.

For Penelope, Colin has always been confident, outgoing and kind. He’s the only boy she has felt comfortable around because she’s shy and her interactions with men have been extremely limited. We never see her speak directly to her own father, just as she warms to her cousin Jack but she discovers he’s untrustworthy and gentlemen at parties don’t even acknowledge her.

The only male who has consistently been in her life and proven to be kind to her or paid her any positive attention is Colin. Of course she has always adored him, he’s practically the only man in the world who has ever acknowledged or been good to her.

But hearing what Colin said and realizing that he isn’t perfect, forces Pen to take him off the pedestal she’s always had him on and consider what will become of her if she continues to exist in her fantasy that Colin will miraculously love and choose her as his wife. She knows she has to meet more men and she’s going to focus on stepping out of her comfort zone (in the shadows) and into the light.

We know Colin & Pen have grown closer since writing to each other because that’s how their friendship actually developed. Prior to that Eloise had claimed Penelope and she and Colin were far less familiar, it’s clear in how once Polin are more friendly, Eloise keeps interrupting their conversations and claiming Penelope to herself.

It’s important to note that Penelope basically bestowed upon Colin all the positive attributes of the men of fantasy, possibly from romantic novels and books she’s read and maybe that’s why Portia told her to stop reading because it would confuse her thoughts. Because Colin was still very much just a young boy in season 1 and hadn’t actually cultivated in himself what Penelope sees in him. She saw his potential and not who he truly was but we come to find out that her image of him is what he aspires to be.

That’s why Colin mentioned how Penelope’s letters encouraged him, that’s why he’s different with her in season 2. Penelope’s letters were likely full of positivity, she built up his confidence so he could be the man she sees when she looks at him.

Keep in mind Colin is young and desperately wants to be a man with purpose, the sort of man his father was (but his father died when Colin was like 11 so he doesn’t know how to become the man he wishes he was. So Colin has been doing his best to get by on flirting and charm but he wants to be taken seriously now.

So while on his travels, away from his family and his mother, relying on himself and free to act as an adult for the first time, he chose adventures and trying new things and spends time thinking about who he is. Cue Penelope’s letters and positive image of him as a brave, heroic, capable gentleman.

We know that when he left town he was broken hearted and his confidence had taken a major hit. Penelope’s letters were vital in getting him through something difficult that was also humiliating. It’s begun to dawn on him that she isn’t just his sisters friend, she is someone who genuinely cares about him, understands, respects and appreciates him for all the things that other people might mock, overlook or take for granted. That is why she’s special to him. It’s the same reason he’s been special to her, she thinks he sees her, and to an extent he does. But the way he sees her has not changed enough by season 2 which is why he has her in the friend zone box.

Penelope taking herself out of his life by ignoring his letters and/or distancing herself from Colin to focus on her own future is the closest thing that she as a young woman, can get to Colin’s travels because it’s her way of getting to know herself so she can become the woman she aspires to be.

This is Penelope’s time for self reflection and figuring out what she really wants and needs which is going to change everything because she has been surrounded by a lot of negativity. Sisters who pick on her for having bad skin or being chubby, a mother who’s constantly silencing her and hasn’t put any effort into helping her attract suitors.

Taking action that will change her life for the better is an extremely important step for Pen. But old habits are hard to break and she’s made herself small and quiet for so long she is bound to struggle with confidence. So where she helped Colin through letters because her writing is the way she expresses herself best (and the only way most people actually seem listen to her), Colin will help her in person once he’s had enough time and distance to realize how much he wants and needs her in his life.

Once Penelope finally embraces the confident woman she has become deep down (the one who comes out in her writing), more and more people will take notice of how remarkable she is. Because at her best Pen is kind, funny, loyal, and she protects the people she cares about.

Colin is going to be smitten once the more matured, confident man he has become over the last several months finally meets the mature, confident, emboldened woman Penelope has become. And these two newer versions of Penelope and Colin are perfect for each other.

[villainscomplex]

Reverence

OUGH.... posting zine pieces part 2. this one was for the @bpfineartzine Also on: AO3

--

There’s something about cathedrals that makes Yotasuke feel impossibly small. 

It’s something to do with the architecture, surely; the way the roof arches endlessly overhead and makes the entire building look larger than life. At the same time, it’s nearly suffocating inside, the weight of thousands of years of existence coming down at the doorway. If he’s being honest, Yotasuke doesn’t know why he keeps agreeing to go along with Yatora and his last-second whims. They’re university students now, adults in every sense of the word, but here he is, loitering at the entryway of the Holy Resurrection Cathedral while Yatora wanders in with wonder in his eyes.

In a way, he supposes, he owes Yatora. The other man ceaselessly drags him out of his shell, relentlessly pushes him out of his comfort zone, and challenges him at every turn. It forces Yotasuke to stop and think about his perception of things. That, perhaps, is why he agrees when Yatora calls, asking him to tag along. 

The cathedral is in Tokyo, so the ride over isn’t long. Yatora dozes off, and his hair is still mussed from where it was pressed against the window when they get to the doors. Yotasuke fixes his stare on the strands, smooth where they’re pressed flat above his ear. The right thing to do, he considers, might be to tell Yatora to fix it. He doesn’t.

They pay their donation at the door and receive candles to light inside. When they enter the cathedral, the room ahead is nearly empty. This is when the feeling strikes Yotasuke; when the doors shut behind them and the oppressive weight of the room comes crashing down. Yotasuke takes in the red carpets, the blue of the stained glass windows, the alternating dark and light of the paintings lining the walls. There are no pews like he anticipated, only rows of brown chairs with crosses carved into the backs. 

Yatora comes to a halt near the center of the room, his head turned up. Overhead, the domed ceiling yawns widely, reaching out with a grand chandelier. 

A personal project, Yatora had called it. Yotasuke doesn’t know why he chose a cathedral of all places for a personal project, nor does he know what this project entails. All that he knows is that it feels like he has thousands of eyes upon him now. Every painting, every statue, every window watches him. 

“It’s beautiful,” Yatora’s voice comes out, barely a breathless whisper. 

It’s terrifying, Yotasuke thinks. He doesn’t understand architecture or religion. But what he does understand is that existing in this place makes him feel infinitesimal, merely a fleck in the course of the universe. Yatora moves, and Yotasuke follows. 

Yatora has his sketchbook in hand, but he keeps it clutched close to his chest like he’s forgotten he’s holding it to begin with. He crosses over to the furthest wall, taking in the rows of paintings. Yotasuke stands where a priest would, turning to look out on the church. There’s only a few other people in the room, murmuring together near the doorway. They look as if they’ve had their time and are prepared to leave. Yotasuke is sure there must be someone leading other tours here somewhere, but if there is, they’re nowhere to be seen. 

“Yaguchi-san,” he asks without looking back. “Do you believe in a god?”

He doesn’t need to look to know Yatora is listening. He hears the shuffle of shoes and assumes it’s Yatora turning to look at him. There’s a beat of silence that follows, and then Yatora steps past him, walking to sit in the first chair on the first row. He gazes up at Yotasuke, still standing at the pulpit. 

“I think there’s something out there,” he replies after considering it. “I don’t know what’s correct, but we can’t possibly be alone, right? It can’t just be a coincidence we were created.” 

Yotasuke makes a noncommittal sound. There are theories, of course, of the how and the why. The Big Bang. God. Gods, plural. In the end, there’s no way of knowing what the truth is until the day they die. The distinctive scratch of pencil on paper draws his attention, and he glances back once more. Yatora has dropped his head, sketchbook propped up on his knees as he hunches over it. 

“I don’t know,” Yatora continues without glancing up. “I think believing in something is just comforting. It gives us purpose, I guess. Like we were all put here in this specific lifetime for a reason, meant to be who we are and meet the people we care about. I don’t know about fate and destiny and all that, but it couldn’t just be a fluke that I was able to meet everyone. I think we were meant to be friends.”

Yatora pauses in his sketching, glancing up to catch Yotasuke’s gaze. The blond smiles sheepishly.

“Sorry,” he laughs awkwardly, “that sounds kind of strange, I guess.”

Yotasuke dwells on this for a moment. He doesn’t know where he’d be if it hadn’t been for Yatora entering his life when he had. By now, he surely would have quit art entirely. It had been his sole purpose for his whole life, and he can’t imagine where he would be if he had quit. These days, he’s coming to terms with his feelings more often, but he still doesn’t quite know who he is outside of art. It’s a process, certainly. 

But he doesn’t think Yatora is wrong, not really. Yotasuke doesn’t know about belief, but he does quietly think that he was meant to meet people like Yatora. At first, he’d been resistant to the idea of a friendship between them, and though he won’t admit it, these days he doesn’t think he can imagine his life without any of them. 

“No,” he finally replies quietly, not intending to say it at all, “it doesn’t sound strange.”

I get it, he thinks, but he leaves that much unspoken. 

Yatora gives him a strange, near indecipherable look. For a moment, they hold each other’s gaze, and then Yotasuke turns away once more, breaking first under the intensity of Yatora’s golden-eyed stare. After a moment, he hears the sound of Yatora’s sketching resume. He doesn’t look to see what the other man is drawing, focusing on the line of paintings along the wall again. Despite their light backgrounds, the paintings themselves are dark against the brilliant gold and white of the architecture, almost frightening in their intensity. 

Belief, Yatora had said. 

Yotasuke can’t claim to be an expert on Christianity, much less religion as a whole, but he’s witnessed the unyielding belief some of them hold. He walks the line of paintings slowly, taking in the details of the carefully crafted faces, the depictions of stories he doesn’t know. He wonders if the artist had painted these with that same belief in his heart. Perhaps it had been someone eager to express their feelings on the subject, but maybe it had simply been a commission by someone entirely indifferent. 

Still, it makes him feel something. 

It’s this, perhaps, that keeps drawing people back. In the same way that he keeps coming back to art, people keep coming back to religion, to their god, whichever one it may be. He thinks about Yatora calling it comforting, rolls it around in his mind contemplatively. He isn’t sure how comforting the idea of all-powerful being watching over them is, knowing all of the things that happen in the world, wondering why that being wouldn’t put a stop to them, but he supposes there’s a part of him that understands it. It’s easier than the idea that it’s just them in a big, empty universe. 

He drops his gaze from the paintings, shoving his free hand into his jacket pocket as he turns around to leave the pulpit. During the holy days, he’s sure this building is packed. A place like this probably isn’t meant to be viewed this way, empty and haunting, the weight of its purpose hanging over their heads. Yotasuke knows he won’t come again, but he can’t help but wonder what it’s like when the cathedral is full of life. He’s never gone to a Christian church, but he’s heard how they are, seen videos of what they look like with the masses of people and their hands raised in worship. 

Yatora is still hunched over his sketchbook, nearly bent in two. It’s an almost comical sight, the sketchbook balanced on one leg and his candle tucked up between his stomach and thigh, but Yotasuke finds himself watching anyway. It’s a fervency of its own, the way art is Yatora’s god, and he’s merely a disciple passing on its word. It’d been that unadulterated passion with no real skill to back it up that had pissed Yotasuke off when they’d first met. For the first time, he’d felt genuinely threatened, and he hadn’t known how to deal with it. These days, he almost finds solace in it, knowing that even he still has a passion for art somewhere in him. 

Belief and worship, passion and reverence—none of those feelings were so far detached from one another. 

“I think I’ve got it,” Yatora speaks so suddenly that Yotasuke jumps a little. 

The blond looks up, a mixture of determination and contentment swirling in his eyes. He grabs his sketchbook and stands, sending his candle tumbling to the floor. They both watch it roll across the crimson of the carpets. The tips of Yatora’s ears burn just as red.

“Right,” he says, like he’d only just remembered it existed.

Yotasuke hides a smile. “Let’s light them before we go.” 

Yatora scrambles for the candle, and Yotasuke steps around him to make his way to the rows of firelight from other visitors. He finds a less lit area, setting his candle down among them, and Yatora joins him. Without a word, they both light the wicks, watching the flames spring to life, two more pinpricks of light against the brilliant backdrop. Yotasuke puts both of his hands in his pockets, watching the wax melt. 

“Thanks for coming, Yotasuke-kun,” Yatora murmurs, his gaze fixed on the two fires, sitting side by side among the countless others. 

“It wasn’t all that bad,” Yotasuke confesses. 

“What about you?” Yatora asks.

He looks up from his candle, turning his gaze on Yotasuke once more. Behind him, the stained glass approximation of Jesus himself stands with his arms spread, wide and welcoming and blue. 

“What about me?” 

“You asked me, but I didn’t ask in return. Do you believe in a God?” 

Another group enters through the doors at the front, led by one of the guides that Yatora and Yotasuke had turned down after they’d made their donation to get in. He hears their voices, but not the words they’re saying. Yatora is still watching him, gaze unwavering, eyes unrelenting and curious. 

Yotasuke straightens up, leaving his lit candle among the many others. They’ll be extinguished by nighttime, taken out of the way for the groups that come in tomorrow, and the day after that. Still, it feels like they’ve left some sort of mark here, their own personal immortality. Yotasuke doesn’t think he believes in a god, but he thinks there are things here that could only be the work of something outside of their understanding. 

“I wonder,” he murmurs at last. 

Yotasuke doesn’t think he believes in a god, but as he watches the light filter through the stained glass, dyeing Yatora blue, he thinks that perhaps, in the wake of everything, there could be one after all. As they make their way back towards the door, Yotasuke looks up, gaze flitting over the still flattened strands of Yatora’s hair. He reaches up and fixes them himself. 

“It was messed up from the train,” he says in lieu of a real answer. 

It isn’t what he really wants to say, but Yatora smiles like he knows.

[pb-dot]

Film Friday: Bee Movie

I have, on occasion, been accused of being unable to take a joke. As a nerd with an analytical mind and a brain in a frustrating inbetween-y zone of neurodivergence and -typicality, I can see where the criticism comes from. I do however, maintain that I am able to catch jokes, but that I may also chose to opt out of catching the joke if the joke is stupid. This is all to say that many of my criticisms of Bee Movie can be thusly disarmed: relax it's just a dumb comedy. This is fair enough, although I would argue the thing isn't really funny either, but more on that later.

Bee Movie is, in essence a singular breed, a comedian passion project in animated form. Born from the mind of Jerry Seinfeld, this absurd little thing follows the story of one Barry B. Benson, a young bee who, on his first trip outside of the hive, encounters a human woman he falls in love with, as well as the seemingly forbidden knowledge that humans harvest and sell their honey. Now that's a lot to take in, but as it is the only major developments in the movie until a particular groaner in act 3, more on that later, you'll have plenty of time to digest it. Hope you like the inherent absurdity of an adult human man being cucked by a bee for like an hour, because that is, frankly, a lot of it.

Much ado has been made about the beestiality, if you pardon the terrible no good pun everyone and their grandmas have done at this point, but honestly I find it more interesting to view this movie through the lens of economics and politics. Yes, I am serious, I assure you I'm going somewhere with this.

So, in essence what happens in this movie is that a young man discovers that his labor and the labors of his community is being absorbed and used to enrich the people who exploit them. Is man not entitled to the nectar of his brow, and so on and so on. Bee Movie is interesting, I suppose, in that it is a fable-style animal tale that describes capitalist alienation and exploitation and actually goes on to changing that. Shame, I suppose, that the ideas that guide this tale have the stupidest Champagne Liberal-ass take on what succeeding such a task may entail.

See, Barry sues humanity for bees to gain the right to their own honey, an affair that takes up the parts of act 2 that aren't filled with bee-human romance. In the end, the bees pull out a W, which I consider an optimistic estimate to any case where nonhuman sentience in any way is involved, but let's go for it. Humans can't just take the honey any more. Barry B. Benson has single-handedly taken all of beekind into a post-scarcity society, where their ability to produce what is necessary for survival so vastly outstrips their needs as to rend them negligible. Sure, humans can buy the honey from them, but what does a human have that a bee really needs? There's just two small problems. One, "it's just not the same," to quote one character who is so freaked out about not having to work with the threat of a death and destitution hanging over his head he can't function in a world where these swords of damocles are taken away. Two: Complete and utter biosphere collapse.

It is, I believe, pertinent at this point to talk about Bee Facts. See, I firmly believe that knowing about how bees work is a major disadvantage in watching this movie because the movie either doesn't know, or care, the first thing about actual bees in the real world. Barry, for example, comes from a nuclear family type arrangement and not one single egg laying biomonarch, and he is, as far as anyone can tell, a man and not a drone whose only job is doing their part in reproduction. There are those that argue that one should view worker bees as female, and those that argue that imposing an animalian reproduction binary (or should I say beenary?) is incorrect in its entirety. Either way, he probably shouldn't be a suave lad. That's one thing, but I suppose part of "the joke" here is that bees don't act like humans but in this movie they do.

Where this becomes pretty important, though, is in the third act with the aforementioned biosphere collapse. See, one Bee Fact that bee movie does indeed know about is that bees are important pollinators, and now that bees don't have to ride that pollen grind like it's the pony express, plants start dying, and they die a lot. Now never mind that honey bees aren't the only pollinators in the world for a second, even people who know Bee Facts can be guilty of that one. What knowing some Bee Facts will tell you, though, is that this absolutely would not be a problem with honey bees. We know what honey bees do when they produce more honey than they need. It's a process we can see. With our eyes. Once their honey stores are so packed there's no space for new bee larvae to grow, the bees fuck off, leave the hive and the Midas' horde of honey and get started elsewhere. It's not ideal, obviously, but the bees keep at it, they're good at building hives and making honey and by jove they're not going to stop doing that for anything short of fire or storms.

This, to me, is where the movie fails both as a movie about bees and a comedy of "hey what if bees had to exist in capitalism?" It's not a movie about bees because the entire third act would not exist, Barry and all his friends would move hive for like the sixth time that month and otherwise all would be as before. Neither is it a particularly inspired take of "hey what if bees were like humans," because the movie stumbles into a star trek-ass post scarcity situation for these tiny bee-shaped humans and have to bring the fact that they aren't bee-shaped humans but indeed bees (and somehow the only pollinators in the world?) for the movie to go on to have a plot.

I try to not make unflattering psychoanalysis of the people behind movies, whether I like them or not, but on the other hand I don't think I can put into words how heavy the thought "Jerry Seinfeld can't imagine a world where people aren't exploited for their labor because he benefits from that very same system that exploits people for their labor" weighs on my mind when discussing this movie. The movie is so terminally incurious about the ideas it brings to the forefront of its plot that it manages to, with no sense of irony, say that "maybe having to work to live is actually better than the alternative for no particular reason?" There is no room for worker bees to be anything other than just that in Bee Movie's world. They must struggle to survive like the lower classes struggle to survive or the world would end, so says the guy who made a fortune off of (admittedly pretty funny) go-nowhere comedy in the 90s.

In the end, does any of this matter particularly? No, not really. Bee Movie exists now mostly as a meme, a variation of the Shrek ironic enjoyment, although I'd argue the first couple of Shrek movies were actually good movies. Still, I do live under the constant self-imposed pressure of wanting to take movies seriously no matter how obviously flippant they are. That means that some times you write 1.3k+ furious words about the politics of Bee Movie. I suppose we all have our lot in life.