#if this is true Jonathan will never recover

[jonathanbyersphd]

Ok but imagine if the reason Argyle doesn't have a last name is because he's actually a government agent who's supposed to be keeping tabs on the Byers

[teambyler]

Potential leak that Will recognized Brenner? And casting call for a young Will in *1979*??

The evidence that Will might have latent powers keeps accumulating. I just saw this post, which includes this pic that was apparently grabbed from a script on 8flix for 4x8 ("Papa"). Apparently, Netflix cracked down on it, and it contains a note that Will recognizes Brenner when they find him and El in the desert:

And of course there's the confirmation that they are trying to cast a young Will, Mike, and Jonathan from when Will was eight. Will was born on March 22, 1971. He was eight years old when the sh*t went down at Hawkins Lab in late 1979, when El sent One to the Upside Down.

Is it possible that Will somehow was another kid at the lab at some point?

This is not the first time it's been suggested that Will might have untapped powers. For SOME reason, he was targeted in s1. For SOME reason, he survived. We also know that Vecna has been seeking people with powers to try to claim their powers. We know from Eight that there are other powers besides telekinesis. We know that Will has "true sight" and can sense Vecna.

It was also never explained to us how El recognized Will in s1:

We know that the Upside Down seems "frozen" (or at least has a copy) of the real Hawkins from the night Will disappeared. Why is that?

And it is established in the show that people with powers can have buried traumatic memories. (See El in s4.) So Will might have memories he has blocked as well.

When Will recovered in the hospital in s1, he was strangely serene and asked Jonathan if his hand was okay, suggesting he didn't remember his time in the Upside Down at all. And the s5 preview shows we will see his REPRESSED memories of his time in the Upside Down.

AND the rumored title of episode 4, which it is rumored is the episode featuring a young Will, Mike and Jonathan in 1979, is titled The Sorcerer?

And we've heard from the Duffers that Will's "emotional journey" will be core to s5. This show has established that the development of one's powers comes from an internal process, an emotional place. Eight and One both told El to tap into a memory that makes her angry. But in 4x7, we learn that El remembering LOVE from her mother made her overpower One.

So Will's emotional journey of coming out, where the Duffers described him as being used to being the quiet one who's saved, that he comes into his own, "not just his sexuality" (e.g. his love, perhaps for Mike), but also "becomes a young man," could manifest... supernaturally.

When there's smoke, there's fire.

Will we be talking about Will the Sorcerer?

-teambyler

[undreaming-fanfiction]

Second Chances

Written for @steddieangstyaugust challenge, day 1.

The world was dying. Not just Hawkins, but the whole world, invaded by the creatures of the Upside Down, the particles that made people sick, killed crops, infected water...if it wasn't the end, then it was damn close.

Steve often thought about the moment everything went to shit. Even when Barb died, when Bob died, when the whole mall burned down, there was at least a shred of hope. Even when Chrissy got lifted in the air and her limbs broke like an unwanted doll, there was a plan, something to do. A chance to make things right for the rest of them. It wasn't difficult to pinpoint the point of no return - Eddie dying.

Here was the thing. Steve didn't really believe in time travel, and he was way too high on the Russian truth serum to even consider what it would entail if it ever proved to be true.

Lo and behold, the Hawkins lab of 1990, infected by the creeping decay of the Upside Down, made it possible. Steve found himself transported back to the day of their failed mission to kill Henry. But not just normally transported - inserted into the mind of his younger self, one that wasn't scarred, limping, and on the verge of giving up. And that was great. Steve thrived when he had something to do, and keeping Eddie alive was something to do.

He didn't really care about his real time. If erasing his present meant saving Murray from getting torn in half, Jonathan and Nancy nearly bleeding out, Robin losing her eyesight, and always seeing Dustin's blank, hopeless stare, well. That was fine. He hated to see people he loved suffer. Hence the operation "Save Munson from his heroic awakening and keeping that stupid walkman intact."

It should have been easy. He prepared everyone. He told Eddie what would happen. He instructed Lucas and Erica to ensure Max lived too. He explained that Eddie wouldn't make a difference, but Dustin would mourn him forever and never recover. Eddie nodded, agreed.

Max was saved.

And Eddie got fucking killed again.

Steve got snapped back to the portal in his present with angry tears still in his eyes. "Oh no, you don't!" he muttered and dove in again. The combined mission of "save Max and Eddie" was now just "make Eddie stop dying."

He tried sending Eddie to the Creel house in his place. Explained again, with more detail. But did that rocker wannabe asshole listen? No! The first rustle of demobat wings and he was back, being torn to shreds.

No. That wouldn't do. Again.

Dustin had tried explaining time loops to Steve, but even in his limited understanding, he didn't consider this one. He wasn't trapped anywhere, fucking Eddie Munson was trapped there with him, in a repeated self-worth session that went "self-destruction is a no-no."

Still, he kept dying. And Steve kept trying. No one was going to out-stubborn Steve Harrington.

And finally, one miraculous day, it worked out. Eddie didn't die, Steve did. He felt the familiar "whoosh" of being dragged to his real time, terrified but excited to see what awaited him after, and then...

Then he was back at their makeshift camp in March 1986.

Steve didn't understand. He was staring at the all too familiar scene when a calloused hand grabbed his shoulder and dragged him away. "A word, your majesty."

"Munson, what the-!"

It was Eddie, of course. He'd seen him so many times, talked to him so often, learned about his life, his childhood, his love for Wayne...but there was something different this time. Eddie's eyes seemed much older.

"I know what you're trying to do here, Harrington, and it isn't happening, hear me?" he hissed, and Steve finally understood what seemed so off.  Eddie always looked scared, no matter which attempt, no matter Steve's words or actions. But now, Eddie Munson seemed determined. Angry.

Steve shook off his hand. "What do you mean not happening, Munson?" he whispered, fighting for the last shred of self-control. "Saving the future, that isn't happening? Huh?"

Suddenly, his head snapped back. It took him a good moment to understand that Eddie hit him. "Is that what you call it?!" Eddie hissed back, then snuck a quick glance at the rest of their group. Fortunately no one noticed yet. "Do you even know what you did, Harrington? You fucking died. And everything went to shit."

Glaring at Eddie, Steve rubbed at his sore cheek. "You want to talk about things going to shit?! Do you even know what happens after you die?! People get hurt. People lose hope. And Dustin has never recovered, so there! You have to stay alive no matter what."

Eddie threw his head back and laughed, but it had no joy in it. "Oh really. Well, have you spared a single thought about how he feels, knowing you died to fix the past? How Robin feels?! Do you think that everyone is alive in the future you have so graciously created?! No, Steven. Things are shit and can't be unshitted."

That gave Steve a pause. "Wait.  What do you mean, everyone isn't alive? Who died?"

Eddie scowled at him and crossed his arms. "I'm not telling you. Let's just agree that the future when I'm dead is the better one. Deal?"

"No fucking deal." Steve pinched the bridge of his nose, frowning at the forest ground. "What the hell, man. This was supposed to fix things! Even with Max alive, it's still the same?"

"Yep. Not just the same. Worse. I don't know how to explain it, but...they just need you. Without you, it doesn't work."

"Well, without you it doesn't work either!" Steve spat back. "What am I supposed to do now?"

Eddie shrugged. "I don't know. If things go to shit, the portal will activate anyway, right? So one of us will make it there, if at least one of us lives. So how about we both try to live this time?"

Sighing, Steve nodded. "I've tried everything else, so we might as well. As long as you stop sabotaging my future fixing or whatever by dying."

Eddie grinned and offered Steve his hand, knuckles still red from punching Steve. "Shake on it. No pointless heroisms!"

"If you can keep your word, I'll keep mine, Munson."

...

It wasn't on their first try, not even on the tenth or twentieth. One of them would always found themselves at the portal, jump in, repeat.

And then, by pure chance and a truck load of luck...they lived.

Well, their younger selves did.

Steve sat down on the grimy dead grass of the Upside Down, his limbs heavy. "I think we did it," he told Eddie as he landed next to him. "Something changed."

"Yep. I think..." Eddie trailed off, his voice quieter, weaker. "I think we avoided our futures. Which both sucked, by the way. But that also means..."

"It means we don't exist either," nodded Steve. "I thought so. We'll be gone soon, I guess." He leaned against Eddie, slumping against his shoulder. "It was an honor saving the world with you, Munson."

Eddie laid his head over Steve's nodding. "Likewise, Harrington. I'm kinda bummed we won't see the new future. But I sure hope it's a better one."

Closing their eyes, they let the time take its course.

...

In the new 1990, Eddie Munson woke up next to his boyfriend, Steve Harrington. It was the favorite part of his week, the one free day they shared, when they could cuddle and trade lazy kisses. Eddie was a hedonist by nature, and while he did his best to understand Steve's morning runs, he managed to persuade him that after saving the world, they deserved the one peaceful day only for themselves.

Steve was quiet that morning, and Eddie, always the inquisitive one, had to ask. "What's on your mind, love?"

"I just keep thinking about...you know. That day in March," whispered Steve, running his fingers through Eddie's hair. "I still don't remember it. You don't. But everyone else does. I'm just wondering if it's just a coincidence, that we blanked out and everything went just right."

Eddie smiled at him, but his eyes were serious. "I try not to think about it much," he admitted. "I don't want to jinx it, what we have. I won't look the gift dragon in the mouth. I'd like to think we were possessed by a divine inspiration or something."

Steve snorted and pulled him closer. "What, like angels?"

"Sure. We were possessed by our guardian angels and they made sure we'd survive, fix the world...and have this. Us."

Laughing, Steve pulled Eddie into a kiss. "I'll take it. Guardian angels, wherever you are and if you even exist...thank you."

Eddie snuggled closer and nodded into Steve's hair. "Thank you for everything."

[caesariawritesstuff]

Damaged Goods

Summary: When Jonathan Crane comes to work for the GCPD, he sets his sights on the young detective who's involved with Edward Nigma.

Content Warning: Angst & Jealousy, Possessive Behavior, Minor spoilers for Cat & Mouse

Word Count: 6.7k

Note: This fic is purely self-indulgent and currently not canon to the official Cat & Mouse!Verse...but it might be! The Jonathan x Detective brain rot is real and this desperately needed to be on the page.

Following in the path of Edward Nigma was something Jonathan Crane had never quite pictured himself doing. He did not have the same weakness Edward did: he was not bound by an ego so large that it ruled his every move, or an obsession with riddles and puzzles. Jonathan was immune to such weakness. While, of course, one could say his own obsession was with fear – he did not considered that obsession to be a weakness, to be something that held him down. His obsession made him stronger, made him more capable than the others around him – it was simply too bad the others around him were incapable of showing the true fear on their faces when he walked by. He’d only been at the GCPD for a week now. When City Council approached him a few days ago about a case needing to be solved, men and women being murdered and their bodies melting from the inside out at result of a toxin  that the medical examiner could not identify, he found his interest piqued.

Of course, they offered him something in return: for helping solve the case, he would be granted release from Arkham and the chance to reform. It was a tempting offer, however, Jonathan did not have much use for such things as “reform”. What he did not like was competition – someone else out there experimenting with toxins and causing fear and paranoia in the heart of Gotham’s citizens was his job. Fear was his domain, and he would not be upstaged. However, he couldn’t deny that getting out of Arkham for some time would be a nice reprieve away from his cell in Solitary Confinement. He’d been stuck there for the last several months, hoping to get out as soon as the opportunity presented itself – he just hadn’t imagined it was presenting itself in the form of a City Council member with a tempting offer he couldn’t refuse.

Though, Jonathan admitted he felt a bit like a hypocrite. It was only months ago that he was sitting across from Edward Nigma, being told of the same opportunity the man had been given, and feeling a bit like it was a waste of Edward’s skillset.

“The GCPD?” Jonathan had asked.

Edward only nodded, not looking up, his gaze focused on the white chess pieces in front of him. They’d been a stalemate for an hour now, neither one moving their piece.

“Whatever will you do there, Edward?” Jonathan asked. “Commit yourself to a life of humiliating stares from those around you? You know what they’ll think. What they’ll say.”

Edward’s brows furrowed for the slightest moment, the only tell of his frustration that Jonathan noticed with ease. The two had known each other long enough. But even Jonathan had to admit that Edward’s determination to his silly little reform was quite fascinating. The fact that Edward hadn’t even attempted to break out of Arkham in the last three years was telling enough, and Jonathan only wondered what Edward was afraid of now that Batman was long gone. Still, the thought of Batman had a deep anger rumble in Jonathan’s stomach. The Dark Knight was long gone, and he’d won – being the first to unmask the Bat – but it had not come without it’s own price. Being injected with a high dose of his own toxin had sent him spiraling into his own fear state, one that took him months to recover from. But that was a different time, one he had put behind him long ago.

“I’m going to do it, Crane,” Edward finally said. “Batman is gone. I don’t feel like wasting the rest of my life in a cell. There’s so much greater things out there for my genius and I. Think of everything Gotham is missing out on without me there?”

Jonathan held in a sigh. Of course Edward’s patented ego was coming out, no matter how much he claimed he did not have one. He said nothing, contemplating Edward’s words. In truth, Jonathan felt quite differently – there were much better things Edward could be doing than wasting his time down at the GCPD, but he held his tongue.

Edward finally met his eyes, hardened, dark shadows circling underneath him. “I made a promise, Crane. I don’t intend to break it.” With that, he moved one piece across the board and smirked. “Your move.”

If Jonathan had known he would be following in Edward’s footsteps now, perhaps he’d have done something differently. At the time, he’d thought Edward’s “promise” was foolish, one he would not be able to keep, but so far he’d been proven wrong. He’d heard of the cases that Edward had helped solve with the aide of a silly little Detective – a detective, whom Jonathan had come to learn, Edward had quite the obsession with.

Jonathan narrowed his eyes as he looked around at the GCPD morgue. There was quite the chill, but he was used to it, and he caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror on the sidewall: three years had done quite the number on him. The mask that had been grafted to his skin had once been his face, but over time, the graft itself had begun to break down. He would have ignored it, if not for the infection that had begun underneath, prompting the Arkham doctors to convince him to go in for surgery to correct more of the damage from Croc’s mauling. Several surgeries later, he still did not quite look like himself: but his nose had been restructured, his lips slightly fixed, though there was still damage to his eye. His brown hair was thinned across his head, fully grown back by now, and yet he didn’t quite care for his appearance. He had been fine with the mask – though the Arkham doctors didn’t seem quite convinced to allow another one to be grafted onto his skin. Perhaps it was for the best, considering the way it’d broken down once.

Frowning, he studied himself a little further, taking note of the little scars across his pale, aged skin. He straightened out the white lab coat he wore, delicately laid out over a pair of tan pants and a brown sweater with gold accents. The brace around his leg was still secure, considering it was permanently broken, but he was used to it. His frown deepened and he turned away, back to the task at hand: the body splayed out across the silver tables, each of the victims’ bodies cold, gray, the stench of death permeating the room. Jonathan’s gaze slid to the other side of the room, where the medical examiner, Dr. Collins, was currently busy working on writing up reports about the victims. Jonathan turned back and headed over to one of the bodies, snatching up the clipboard and quickly skimming the initial reports Dr. Collins had made. The mans findings were…adequate. It was not wonder City Council had called him in to consult on this case; the man certainly was out of his element.

Just as he set the clipboard down, the sound of footsteps got his attention and he perked up just in time to see two people walk inside – you, and your partner, whom Jonathan had come to learn was named Mack Rollins. But Jonathan’s gaze immediately landed on you, studying you with a strange interest, taking note of your black slacks and green blouse that was open just enough to reveal a bit of cleavage. Jonathan wouldn’t normally take note of such trivial primal things, but, well…he found himself curious about what Edward Nigma saw in you. He’d never known Edward to have interest in his own primal urges, but knowing that you were capable of wrapping a man like Edward Nigma around your little finger, well…it was quite intriguing. Something he found himself needing to study, to analyze, to pick apart, to understand. What was so special about you that could make a man like Edward Nigma follow you around like a lost puppy dog, with you holding the leash?

That, Jonathan found, was the question he was most curious about.

As soon as you and your partner walked into the room, a strange tension sucked out the air, so sharp it couldn’t be cut with a knife. Jonathan narrowed his eyes, but Mack stepped forward, hands shoved into his pockets and said, “Crane. Have you made any progress on our victims?”

Jonathan studied the man slowly, deliberately taking his time to answer the question. He never imagined he’d be down in the GCPD morgue consulting on a case, but here he was. He set the clipboard aside and said, “It seems the victims have all be killed with a concoction of very lethal neurotoxins. Discovering the toxin compound will take time.”

You frowned, glancing down at one of the bodies, studying it carefully. Jonathan noticed the subtle way your lip jutted out, almost as if in concentration – but that was when he noticed something else, too: there, around your neck, was a silver chain, and dangling from it was a green question mark pendant. Clearly a gift from Edward.

Mack sighed, turning to you. “Whoever this bastard is, he’s killed every week. I don’t doubt he’s going to let up, and what is he planning?”

“This could be a trial run,” you said. “An attempt at seeing how his toxin works before he uses it on a mass crowd of people.”

Jonathan smirked, because he had a feeling you were correct in your assumption. It was entirely possible that the culprit was preparing for something big. After all, one did not perfect their toxin without a bit of experimentation, now did they?

Dr. Collins spoke up, “We’re taking care of it,” he said. “Dr. Crane and I are working day and night to analyze the toxins compounds. We’ll let you know as soon as we have something.”

Jonathan glanced at the man, frowning, even though his words were true. Jonathan was being worked like a dog day and night for the last several days since he arrived, and the weight of his newfound ankle monitor around his ankle was certainly not making things easier. The only reprieve he had was to head back to his city council issued apartment and catch a few moments of sleep, but even that was far and few between, as he kept himself awake most of the night pouring over medical files and chemical compounds in an attempt to understand this new toxin roaming Gotham’s streets – and, perhaps, set his own new plans in motion the moment those fools at city hall granted him his reform. But first, he had to play by the rules.

Mack nodded, and turned on his heels, before heading back the way he came. You followed him, but for the slightest second, you met eyes with Jonathan. It was brief, enough to make something coil in Jonathan’s stomach, a strange curiosity, and then you were out of the room without another word.

______

Several hours later, Jonathan found himself rubbing at his tired eyes. It was getting late, and he needed to send over the new reports that Dr. Collins had written up. Easier to do it by email, but he couldn’t help the curiosity building in his veins. He had not been able to stop thinking about you since you left; his curiosity needed satiating. His thoughts only continued to fill with questions: he did not understand what Edward saw in you, or why he’d gift you anything at all. Even if the necklace did look like a shiny collar more than anything.

Collecting his things, Jonathan made his way down the hall and took the elevator up to the Homicide Divisions floor. He waited patiently until the doors opened, and he stepped out, narrowing his eyes. Most of the detectives had gone home for the night, leaving behind empty desks stacked full of mountains of paperwork, but Jonathan’s gaze immediately strayed to the Cybercrimes Division office down the hall. He wandered through the room, each step a dull ache against his broken leg, but when he peeked his head inside – he realized the office was empty. That was, until voices from the other side of the room got his attention.

There, in the break room, he noticed you standing by a coffee pot, pouring yourself a cup. Steam floated into the air, and you turned back, leaning against the counter as you said, “Edward, I don’t understand why you think this will help us.”

“Because, my dear, it’s important that we cross reference everyone from every single pharmaceutical company in Gotham,” Edward replied, his voice smooth, arrogant, familiar.

“That is going to be hundreds of people,” you sighed.

“Correction, my dear: a few thousand,” Edward replied.

There was moment of silence, and Jonathan lingered back, before he heard a small laugh escape from your lips. His eyes narrowed into slits, but he walked into the room, finding you and Edward sitting across from each other at a small table, a laptop in front of Edward. You immediately turned around and found him standing there, and your lips fell open slightly, as if in surprise to see his presence.

“Crane,” Edward said, a hint of surprise in his own voice. “Finally emerged from your cave, I see. How are you faring here in this wondering institution?”

Jonathan was quiet for a moment, his gaze flickering between you and Edward – taking note of your body language, the way your foot touched Edward’s underneath the table, how your arm was just a little too close to his own. A clear sign of physical connection that Jonathan was not used to seeing Edward display with someone else.

“I have some records for you,” Jonathan said smoothly. “I thought I’d deliver them myself.” He wandered over, handing over the file to you.

You hesitated, but took it, and for just a moment – your fingertips brushed against his own. The sensation was quick, barely a heartbeat, but for some reason it made Jonathan’s stomach tighten with something strange, a stirring deep within his gut. He met your eyes once more: wide, with a heavy coat of mascara, your lips tinted in a pink, glossy sheen. You glanced at Edward as you took the files.

“Thank you, Dr. Crane,” you finally said. “I’m sure this will be helpful to the investigation.” You leaned back in your seat, crossing one leg over the other as you opened the folder, as if no longer considering him and his presence.

“Crane,” Edward said. “Come. Sit. Do regal us with tales of toxins.” He gestured to the seat in on the other side of the table, before picking up a mug of coffee and taking a slow sip.

Jonathan hesitated. He had work to do, too much, but he found himself interested. He hadn’t spoken to Edward much since arriving to the GCPD, but now was the perfect opportunity to get to know you a little better – perhaps, to understand what this strange hold you had over Edward was that had him so intrigued. There certainly couldn’t be anything that special about you, now could there be?

Jonathan pulled out the chair and sat in between the two of you finally, resting his hands in his lap, but he took note of the way you looked up from the folders and shot Edward a look. A silent conversation seemed to pass between you and Edward, something written in your gaze that intrigued Jonathan even more – but what was it? Perhaps it was apprehension. With the way your shoulders suddenly tensed, he couldn’t help but notice the flicker of uncertainty that passed through your eyes. Jonathan lips pressed into a thin line.

“How are you liking it here at the GCPD?” Edward asked, leaning back in his chair as he folded his hands together. “Is it everything you dreamed of, Crane?”

“Why yes, Edward,” he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “I can see why you’ve stuck to your…reform for so long.”

Edward smirked, a low chuckle rumbling from deep within his throat. “Well, I do what I must. Gotham is in need of my services, after all. And what would they do without me?”

You snorted, a soft laugh escaping your lips. Edward shot you a grin and you smiled back at him, an exchange that did not escape Jonathan’s notice.

“Right,” you said, leaning forward and resting your chin in your palm. “Oh yes, the great Edward Nigma, forever offering his services to Gotham. How grateful we are.”

Edward’s smirk grew. “Well, detective, someone has to be.”

Jonathan sensed another silent exchange a words, and a tricky look seemed to fill Edward’s eyes. It was quite clear what your relationship with Edward entailed. Jonathan had not been blind to the whispers he’d heard running through the GCPD. The officers certainly liked to talk, and their mouths were bigger than their brains.

Edward opened his mouth to speak, but Cash’s voice boomed from the other room, “Nigma! Get your ass in here!” he called out.

Edward rolled his eyes. “Apologies, Crane, but the Commissioner calls.” He backed out of his chair and stood up, before pausing to glance at you once more, and slipping out of the room – leaving Jonathan and you all alone.

His gaze slid to you once again, but your attention was back on the folders before you, spreading out a series of toxicology reports. He couldn’t help but notice the look in your eyes, the way your bottom lip jutted out, as if in a pout, and your brows furrowed with the very obvious look that you had no idea what you were reading.

“Toxicology is not your forte, detective?” he decided to ask.

Finally, you sighed and shoved the papers aside. “Definitely not. I have no idea what any of this means.”

Of course you don’t, Jonathan thought. How could he expect someone as simple as you to understand something so complicated? What ever did Edward see in you? He fought the urge to roll his eyes, trying to keep his composure, and he slid one of the papers back to himself. With his index finger, he pointed to one of the toxins, explaining just what it did and how it affected the human body. You listened intently, nodding, as if taking in all he was saying.

“So,” you said when he was finished. “This is more complicated than I thought.” You leaned back in your chair and groaned, crossing your arms over yourself. Your breasts slightly popped out of your blouse with the movement.

Jonathan was quiet for a long moment. He studied you carefully, trying to understand what was so special about you. But you glanced at him, before looking away again, the movement so fast Jonathan registered it for exactly what it was: a moment of fear.

As if you were afraid of him.

A ripple of excitement surged through Jonathan’s stomach. He lifted his chin slightly, his curiosity increasing, and he found his thoughts wandering – wondering just what would happen if he injected you with his toxin, what kind of response he would get from you. What dark secrets would spill from your lips? What was your greatest fear? What things would you scream out as you writhed around, desperately searching for a way out from your nightmares? That, Jonathan realized, was what fascinated him most of all.

“Well,” you said, clearing your throat, your fingers straying upwards to play with the dangling pendant around your neck. “I should be going. Thank you for this, Dr. Crane.” You snatched up the files and began to head out the door. But as you did, you stole one glance back at him, studying him, before slipping out the door without another word.

Jonathan’s lips curves upwards, his curiosity fueling him even more now. He was not sure what it was – but there was something about you that had him…interested, in a way he had not been in a very, very long time. And he was determined to figure out what it was about you that was burrowing into his brain like some kind of rabid parasite, eating away at him. Whatever Edward saw in you, he wanted to find that little thing for himself. And oh, how fun it would be to pry it out of you, to make you squirm, to understand what exactly was so special about you that had Edward wrapped around your little finger. Because if you could make a man like Edward Nigma break…what other dangers did you possess?

That, Jonathan discovered, was what he wondered most of all.

______

The days passed slowly, and Jonathan was no closer to finding the solution to the toxin this new murderer on the streets was using. But with each passing day, as he found himself coming to and from the GCPD, he found himself running into you more often that not. In the halls, he often caught glimpses of you by Edward’s side, and he watched as the two of you left work together, arm in arm, whispering to one another in the shadows. Jonathan was not sure what it was about your relationship with Edward that fascinated him so, but it did not take Jonathan long to learn that the people called you the Riddler’s Whore, whispered about you behind closed doors, found it unbelievable that you would be with a criminal like Edward. And perhaps that was what Jonathan needed answering – why such a respected detective in the GCPD would fall for a criminal, albeit a reformed one, like Edward Nigma.

It did not take Jonathan long to devise a plan of his own, one to get you alone for a small moment, just to ask a few questions. He timed the seconds until he could set his plan in motion, and when the time came, he called upstairs to your desk, asking if you could come downstairs to the morgue. Dr. Collins had already left on his lunch break, and he knew your partner had taken the day off work – leaving you all alone. It did not take long for you to come downstairs, and he heard the elevator doors open, your heels clacking against the floor as you made your way into the morgue. You stepped into the room, hanging back in the doorway slightly.

“You wanted to see me, Dr. Crane?” you asked, one hand gripping the doorway.

Jonathan pretended to barely notice your presence, glancing at you for a split second. “I wanted to let you know that I’ve made progress in determining the toxin,” he said.

“Oh?” you asked, your attention fully on him now.

Jonathan nodded, turning back to his desk, and he glanced at the clock – and right on time, all of the lights in the GCPD went on, bathing everything in darkness. He heard your heals clack against the floor, as if you were shifting back and forth on your feet, and a moment later, a thunderous bang rang throughout, as if the backup generator was kicking on. A soft blue, overhead light came overhead, but most of the room was bathed in darkness.

“Shit,” you mumbled underneath your breath.

It was just as he’d planned – hiring a few men to cut the power to the GCPD and to the elevator. There was no way you’d be getting back upstairs now, at least not until the problem was fixed. He had twenty minutes, tops, perhaps. Enough time for what he needed.

“Afraid, detective?” he asked, busying himself with a few vials of chemicals, carefully not breaking contact from the vials.

“I’m not afraid of the dark,” you said, stepping further into the room.

“Then what are you afraid of?” he asked, curious.

You were hesitant for a moment, so long that he turned back to see if you were even listening, but you crossed your arms over yourself and leaned back against the wall.

“All right,” you sighed. “I’ll play your game, Crane. If you want to know, I’m afraid of being eaten alive.”

“Eaten alive?” he asked, brows raising.

“Yeah. You know, by a shark or a crocodile. Or a dinosaur.”

“Dinosaurs went extinct millions of years ago, detective.”

“Well if you can create a fear toxin that makes people experience their greatest fears, what’s stopping some scientists from re-creating the dinosaurs?” you asked, but there was something oddly playful in your tone.

Jonathan did not know how to respond to that. He did not recall ever being questioned about the scientific recreation of dinosaurs before, but alas, that was besides the matter. He turned back to his vials, the stench of chemicals filling his nose. The clinking of vials filled the quiet space.

Jonathan took a moment to listen for any movements, but you said nothing, so he continued, “You and Edward seem quite close.”

“Well, he is my boyfriend,” you said.

Jonathan scoffed at the word, how juvenile it sounded. He glanced back at you and finally said, “I’ve never known Edward to take interest in such…menial pursuits.”

You shrugged, not breaking eye contact from him. “Well, things change.”

Jonathan finally swiveled around in his chair, studying you with clear, careful intent. “And what will you do when he decides he’s finished with you?”

You straightened. Now he had your full attention. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

It was his turn to shrug, nonchalantly, as if without care. “We both know Edward only cares about himself. His narcissism doesn’t lie. Surely you can’t be that naïve, can you?”

“I know who he is,” you said, quietly. “I know what he’s done, and I’ve accepted it.”

“Have you now?” Jonathan asked, his curiosity growing. Now this was making him grow even more fascinated: what would cause a GCPD detective like yourself to fall for a criminal like Edward? The two of you were on completely opposite ends of the spectrum, and yet, somehow both enamored with one another.

“Yes,” you replied, staring at him closely, eyeing him as if he might make a move. “What does it matter to you, Crane?”

“I’m simply fascinated,” he replied. “What’s so special about you that has Edward so…enamored. I can see the way he looks at you. The way he follows you around like a poor, lost puppy. I’m…curious.”

Your quiet for a long moment, your eyes narrowing into slits. They sparkled in the darkness, the blue hue of the overhead light casting shadows across the room.

“You’re going to have to ask him,” you finally said, your tone level, composed, but there was just a hint of uncertainty in it that Jonathan detected.

“I’m not asking him, detective,” Jonathan replied. “I’m asking you.”

Your frown deepened, and you finally looked away. “Well, I can’t give you an answer, doctor. Ask Edward yourself.”

Jonathan leaned forward slightly in his seat. “Doesn’t it fascinate you as well?” he asked. “Why someone like Edward Nigma would become so infatuated with you?”

You shifted back and forth on your feet, heels clacking, the only sound in the room, in the quiet stillness. Jonathan counted the minutes – he still had about fifteen to get what he wanted, the answer he was desperate for. His own fascination with you was beginning to grow further, a desperation to understand you. To understood what made you tick, what you feared, the pieces of your mind he wanted to shape and mold and understand.

He could see that look in your eyes, as if you were asking yourself the very same question, trying to understand it yourself. A smirk curved at the edge of his lips, realizing he had you right where he wanted you: questioning the very fabric of your relationship with Edward, held together by fragile threads. Jonathan quirked a brow, studying you carefully.

“I don’t know,” you finally answered him, your voice quiet.

Jonathan clicked his tongue in response. So, even you did not seem to know what was so special about you that had allowed you to wrap Edward around your little finger. But Jonathan was determined to figure out just what little piece of you was – to twist it and mold it to his own.

Jonathan finally stood, backing away from the table of vials and taking a step towards you. “You didn’t answer my question, detective. When Edward has decided he’s had his fill of you – that you’re no longer his shiny new toy – what will you do? I’ve heard the rumors. Tell me…has Nigma ruined you? Corrupted you? When he’s finished with you, who will want you afterwards?”

Your mouth falls open slightly and you step back a little, the shock written clearly across your face. It’s clear his question has taken you aback, and that makes a flicker of pride spark in Jonathan’s chest.

“You’re damaged goods, detective,” Jonathan continue. “No one will want you now that you’ve been…tainted by Edward, will they? He’s taken that innocent part of you and twisted it until there’s nothing left of who you used to be, is there?”

“Crane…” you said, a warning in your tone. “I’m not playing this game with you. Stop trying to get under my skin.” Your body went taught then, and he could practically smell the fear radiating off your skin, a deliciousness that only fueled his intrigue more.

Jonathan stepped a little closer now. “No games, detective. A simple discussion.”

“A discussion that’s starting to piss me off,” you mumbled. “Remember, doctor, I can go right to the Commissioner and have them throw you right back in Arkham.”

One of Jonathan’s brow quirked upwards. “No need for threats, detective. I’m merely expressing my concern. Once Edward has decided he’s had his fill, who will want you? Who will touch you? You’re corrupted, ruined…damaged goods. That’s what you are now, aren’t you?”

In that moment – something fills your eyes: a pure, raw rage, unfiltered, as if burning against the firelight. It’s clear as day, the sudden change in your demeanor, how your anger is beginning to take hold of as fierce as a wicked storm. The change is subtle, but enough for Jonathan to take notice, and his brow quirks up even further in interest.

“I think we’re finished with this discussion,” you said, turning away from him, your gaze sliding towards the door. The power is still out, the elevator still out of use, and there’s nowhere to run, but Jonathan can tell you’re searching for an escape route – he can see the fear that you’re trying so hard to control, to keep contained, and it lights a fire in his belly, stirring excitement deep within him.

Jonathan takes another step closer, and your head snaps to him. “You can feel it, don’t you? How you’re nothing but a tarnished toy? That feeling of hopelessness, knowing that no one will want you when Edward has finished his games with you.”

“I don’t remember asking you for a therapy session, Crane,” you snapped.

The snap makes a shudder run through Crane – and that’s when he see’s it: the fear, unaltered, pure, raw, fear. The fear that you know he’s right – that no one will want you the moment Edward has decided to be done with his shiny new toy. Jonathan knows it’s only a matter of time.

“You know I’m right, don’t you?” Jonathan continues. “You know Edward will bore of you, eventually. And who will want you then, I wonder?”

You said nothing – but the fear in your eyes was clear, sending another ripple of excitement through his stomach. Jonathan took another step closer, until he was a mere inches away from you, listening to the way your breath hitched in your throat – but you did not back down, remaining still, defiant – a clear sign you did not want to give into your fears.

The edges of Jonathan’s lips quirked upwards. “That’s what you’re afraid of most, isn’t it, detective? Being cast aside and treated as nothing but his plaything?”

You didn’t break eye contact from him. “This isn’t a therapy session, Crane.”

The bite in your voice made him tremble. “I’m merely expressing my professional opinion, detective. Edward will have his fun with you, and when he’s finished, you’ll be broken beyond repair. No one will want a tainted little thing like you.”

You scoffed under your breath, turning to face him again. The burning defiance was still clear in your eyes, across your face – but there was something about that defiance, something about the way you held strong, unbroken and unyielding, that made something in him snap. Something stirred in his gut, a strange sensation, an excitement he had not felt in quite some time – years, perhaps, but enough to make the hairs on the back of his own neck raise in question.

“Maybe I like being a little tainted,” you finally said.

Your statement caught him off guard. He had not expected such an interesting response from you – to declare that you did not seem to care how Edward might have ruined you for anyone else. Perhaps, if you were anyone else, you would be cowering from him right now – afraid, trembling, terrified of what he might do to them. But you stood firm, the defiance written across every inch of your skin – and that was when it clicked for Jonathan.

Ah. There it is, he realized, as the puzzle pieces came to place in his own mind. It was your fire – burning as bright as a dying star, refusing to be smoldered – that had Edward so captivated by you. The way you spoke, carried yourself, a flame never going out, no matter how much damage had been done to you. And there had been quite a bit of damage, Jonathan had come to learn – and yet you were not allowing that damage to break you.

And, perhaps, Jonathan liked that, admired it even. A strong mind was rare to come by.

Crossing his hands behind his back, his excitement growing, he began to circle you, like  a hunter stalking its prey. His eyes roamed over every inch of you, taking in the parts that he had not allowed his eyes to stray to for too long. He was not a man who gave into such…primal desires before, but standing here, listening to your defiance – it excited him, in a way he had not been excited in a very, very long time.

“So, you enjoy the thought of being ruined and tainted by Edward? Interesting, very interesting,” he murmured, making a mental note of every word out of your mouth, how your body language threatened to betray you.

“What does it matter to you anyways, Crane?” you sighed, a sound out of your mouth that somehow sounded both bored and exasperated.

That made him pause, stopping his tracks right in front of you. His gaze roamed over you from head to toe, before landing on the green question mark necklace resting delicately at the hollow of your throat. Jonathan took a step closer, before reaching forward and capturing the pendant between his first two fingers, rubbing at the surface with slow, delicate care. You sucked in a breath, your body going taught, and you began to take a step back, but Jonathan only tightened his grip on the necklace, making you pause.

“I’ve seen the way he looks at you,” he continued, his voice low. “The way he touches you. Edward is positively smitten with you. Now I can see why.”

Your eyes narrowed slightly. You were just inches away from him, enough that he could take in every delicate line on your face. “Let go of me,” you whispered,

He ignored your demand, swirling his thumb along the dips and grooves of the pendant, before his gaze met yours again. “This little trinket says quite a lot more about your relationship with Edward, doesn’t it? That you belong to him?”

The breath hitched in your throat. “So what if I do? Does that bother you?” There was a tremble to your voice now, one Jonathan couldn’t help but notice.

He quirked a brow. “It’s simply an observation, detective,” he said. “But when the time comes for him to discard you, whatever will you do? That’s what scares you the most, isn’t it? That desperate, primal need to be wanted, even if it’s by a man who will never love you?”

You sucked in a shallow breath, as if trying to keep yourself composed. “Stop trying to psychoanalyze me, Crane. If I want therapy, I’ll get it from someone else.”

The bite in your voice makes Jonathan pause, but the corners of his mouth quirk upward. He tilts his head to the side, his gaze roving over your body in fascination, wondering what a dose of his toxin would do to you – what sort of secrets you would reveal, how long it would take for that precious little mind to break. But he could see it in your eyes, the truth you were fighting so hard not to reveal: your true fear was not being eaten alive. It was being tossed aside and unloved, forgotten, unwanted. Jonathan could see it written across your face plain as day.

But you didn’t break your gaze from him, the defiance still written clear as day, as if you were trying to prove to yourself and to him that you weren’t afraid. Excitement bundled in Jonathan’s stomach, a desire, a need, an aching suddenly pooling in his core, to watch that defiance in your eyes fade into nothing but submission and surrender. Jonathan smirked, his thumb continuing to trace circles over the pendant in slow, meticulous strokes.

Your breathing was shallow, but your gaze narrowed, and you finally reached up to swat his hand away, but with his other hand, he grabbed your wrist tightly. You gasped as his fingers dug into your skin, and he nudged you back, until your waist hit the small metal table. His grip tightened on your necklace, carefully yanking your head closer to him, until he was but inches away from you, your breath on his skin.

“Come now, detective,” he said lowly. “Acts of physical violence aren’t tolerated here at the GCPD, now are they?”

“Crane…” you said, a warning in your tone. He could feel you shuddering against him, the terror in your eyes exciting him, even though you fought hard to control it.

He finally dropped the pendant, but his fingers hovered a little too long near your collarbone, before he dropped your wrist as well and dropped his hands back to his sides. Excitement pooled in his stomach, aching deep inside of him. He took a step back, and just as he did, the lights flickered on once more, bathing the room in a bright white light glow. He took a step back and tucked his hands into his pockets, turning away as if the entire interaction hadn’t happened at all, returning to his desk and the vials and reports surrounding him. As he slid back into his seat, he watched you spin on your heels, muttering something vulgar under your breath. Jonathan chuckled lowly to himself, and a moment later, he heard the elevator doors ping out.

“Detective?” Dr. Collins asked from down the hall. “Are you all right?”

Your gaze slid back to him, then to Dr. Collins. “Everything’s fine.”

“He didn’t hurt you, did he?” Dr. Collins asked, lowering his voice, but Jonathan could still hear, listening in.

You were silent for a beat, before shaking your head. “No. I’m fine.” Then you turned and walked away, out of the room, your heels clicking on the way down the hall.

Jonathan returned to his work, smirking. A productive session. He’d already learned enough about you in twenty minutes than he had all week – and what he’d learned had been very, very fascinating. Now he understood what Edward saw in you, what would draw you to him, make him…crave you. Jonathan paused, his fingers hovering over the vials as a hint of something pulsed in his stomach, spreading down to his loins, tightening in the confines of his pants. Crave. That word meant a lot of things. And, the more he began to think about it, the more his own craving for you began to grow into something deeper, into something he had not felt in quite a very, very long time.

Smirking, one thought crossed his mind, Until next time, pet.

It was a good thing Jonathan didn’t mind damaged goods.

The amazing @finzphoenix did a wonderful job of drawing what I imagined a post-Arkham Knight Jon would look like, which you can find here!

[intothedysphoria]

Steve started going to the gym the day after Eddie dumped him.

Technically, the two events were unrelated. Eddie avoided the gym like the plague so it wasn’t like Steve was going out of his way to meet him and they had a 30% membership discount the month of April, so really he was just taking advantage of a good deal.

Honestly, Steve worked out when he was stressed and he really needed that adrenaline hit to stop himself from crawling into the fridge and never coming out again.

He’d gotten up at 6AM, made sure that he looked semi presentable to be out in public and was just settling onto the running machine when the sound of Metallica started blasting from the Pilates room just opposite the regular gym.

After Steve recovered from his almost panic attack thinking that Eddie was actually getting fit, and the confusion at the instructor using fucking Metallica for 6AM Pilates, Steve decided in a bored, sad, slightly horny way, to check out the class.

Well, the instructor definitely wasn’t Eddie.

Eddie didn’t have those muscles.

Eddie didn’t have bleach blonde hair.

Eddie didn’t have a fucking tongue piercing.

Steve quickly decided he was in way over his head and frantically started to back away from the door but it was too late. The guy had already seen him and was gesturing him over.

Fucking shit.

The instructor was called Billy. Which was fun. He’d just moved to Hawkins from Los Angeles (why???????) and he was always up for new students so why didn’t Steve give it a go, he promised the Metallica was just a joke since it never failed to wake everyone up.

Steve was not a Pilates guy. That was all he learned from the hour long session. Well, that and when Billy’s tongue flicked out and did a little corkscrew, he looked like he’d be really good at eating- no Steve. Bad thoughts. No rebound.

Billy clapped a firm hand on Steve’s shoulder on the way out and Steve swore he started developing a semi.

This was not going to work.

He did what he always did when considering bad horny decisions and called Carol. The conversation was short and to the point.

“Babe didn’t Munson dump you literally like yesterday?”

She was popping her gum across the line. It was infuriating. Steve took a deep breath before responding.

“Well yeah but-“

Carol cut him off. She had a habit of doing that.

“Yeah but nothing babe.” Her voice trailed out of his phone like cigarette smoke, dancing across his room. “Either you let me key his dumbass weed van or you give up any dreams you’ve ever had about bouncing on blondie muscleface’s dick. Kay babe?”

Then she hung up.

Steve decided to go to Pilates class every day for the following two weeks. It kind of grew on him. Heather, the assistant instructor was bitchy and fun in a way he liked and her long acrylics reminded him of Carol. He made a mental note to himself to introduce her to Robin.

Things on the Billy side of things had not improved however. They’d gotten significantly worse. He was getting boners in public like a teenager, couldn’t speak in full sentences and his heart started doing that gooey mushy thing, especially when Billy told him he’d done a good job.

It’s a rebound not a crush had become his new mantra. Unfortunately, it wasn’t exactly true.

It was definitely a crush. A big one. Even bigger than the ones he’d had on Jonathan or Nancy or Eddie. And it was a problem.

He didn’t do a Clueless and start wearing revealing athletics wear or anything but he did start flirting just a little. To test out if what he thought had been completely made up in his brain or if something was actually happening.

Billy consistently responded with innuendos so intense, they would make Tommy ask him to cool it.

Ok. So Billy seemed to like him back. All Steve needed to do was ask him to dinner or something. No biggie.

He walked into next Mondays class with a mission which was immediately shattered by Billy wearing a signed Corroded Coffin t shirt. And Corroded Coffin was still small as shit, if Billy had it signed, he was friends with Eddie no doubt.

Running out of the class may not have been the most dignified option but it was the only one his dumbass brain could think of at the time.

He ran all the way back to his apartment onto his bed then cried. After half an hour he decided to check his phone only to be faced with a text from a number Steve must have just thought he’d blocked.

Eddie 💖🖤☺️

Can we talk?

Steve messaged back telling him to go away but five seconds later relented and said sure.

The phone started ringing immediately.

“Hey Steve. Why’d you run out of Billy’s Pilates class?”

Steve wanted to laugh. Or cry. Or both. He decided to keep his tone on the cooler side of polite.

“Did he tell you about that?”

There was a long silence for about five minutes before Eddie answered.

“Look Steve……….I know I wasn’t a gentleman when I dumped you. I shouldn’t have just run from the restaurant. That was a dick move. But I really do like Jason and I know for a fact Billy likes you. And you deserve each other. Really.”

Steve sniffled but didn’t answer

“Friends again?” Eddie’s voice was uncharacteristically quiet.

“Friends.”

Billy looked slightly frantic the next Pilates class. His hair was a mess and he was wearing a hat with a food stain on it somehow. His face visibly relaxed when he saw Steve.

Billy wasn’t a rebound. He was kind and friendly and opened the door to people who were struggling to get out. His hair was a stupid 80s mullet in 2024, his tattoos were atrocious and Steve thought it might be too soon to say it but he was pretty sure he was in love with him.

Dinner was a good start though, Steve thought as Billy laced their fingers together after the class. Dinner was good.

[yanderes-galore]

Platonic yandere Jonathan Joestar with a childhood friend darling, please and thank you ^_^

Ah yes, your new bodyguard. Hope you like this and sorry it took so long!

Yandere! Platonic! Jonathan Joestar with Childhood Friend! Darling

Pairing: Platonic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Overprotective behavior, Slight manipulation, Violence, Blood, Dubious companionship.

I called Jonathan something similar to a bear in his original concept.

Well, that's true here.

Towards you Jonathan is very respectable and polite.

He's also a man who would want to defend the "honor" of his best friend.

Jonathan isn't very popular despite his attempts to be a gentleman.

Everyone always saw him as the rich kid in school.

So he was actually often a target of bullying rather than being popular.

Except with you.

Jonathan met you at school when you were young and you both became childhood friends.

As a result, while you grew up he was often protective.

You were one of his only friends except his dog and his girlfriend, Erina.

Honestly, as much as he wanted to get along with Dio, it wasn't happening.

This made you one of the few people Jonathan still talked to from his youth.

Which meant you were always under his protection.

Jonathan doesn't mind bullies picking on him, but you?

If he sees you being messed with he intervenes.

I'm talking Jonathan would get into huge fist fights if it meant defending you and your honor.

By the time you pull him out of it, he's bloody and you have to drag him off to get cleaned up.

To you both, you're childhood friends.

To others, it looks like he's a bodyguard.

Perhaps he is when it comes to you.

When you two were young you were originally of similar builds.

Although, as you got older, Jonathan's size dwarfed you.

When you're in Highschool, both Jonathan and Dio dwarf you, actually.

Before Dio came along, Jonathan often played with you and Danny outside.

You loved being around him and the dog, when Erina came over you often invited her to join you and Jonathan.

When Dio moved in, there's the canonical clashing he and Jonathan have.

Although the moment Dio slanders you or picks on you in your youth, Jonathan steps in.

Jonathan often keeps you away from Dio due to this.

When you're in the mansion, Jonathan is never far behind.

When you're at school, he's there too.

Jonathan is aware of Dio's tendency to prey on you.

He can't do it without going through Jonathan.

Dio intends to make Jonathan suffer, which often includes sabotaging relationships.

Dio would definitely try his best to make you hate Jonathan.

Yet it's not very successful since Jonathan is always around.

On a more light-hearted note, Jonathan probably likes to carry you around due to his size.

You're more of a sibling to him than Dio.

Jonathan's protective nature towards you continues even after Dio becomes a vampire.

He actually hates the fact he's bedridden due to the fire, you could be vulnerable.

But Erina always manages to meet with you upon Jonathan's request so you can both visit him as he recovers.

Jonathan is still tamer than most JJBA yanderes, just being a bit overbearing.

He'd want to get stronger and take on Dio for the sake of both you and Erina.

He wants to marry Erina and have you alongside him.

As usual, you can imagine he'd be devastated if you were harmed by Dio.

It's not just bullying or teasing anymore.

Dio could easily kill you and take your blood.

Jonathan often worries about you.

He knows his strength should be used to protect those he loves.

You may not like him violent... but he'd do anything to protect you.

Jonathan does not kill out of jealousy.

He does not kill out of sadism.

Even when obsessed with you, he only kills if he'll lose you.

The blood on his hands is for your happiness.

In fact, Jonathan would love to see his best friend fall in love and get married like him.

He wants to support you.

He doesn't want you scared of him, he's protecting you.

If anyone threatens your happiness, he'll be there.

He actually isn't that bad with you.

If you get a partner, then he judges them to make sure they have your best interests at heart.

If they break your heart then he'd probably break them.

Jonathan may be clingy and overprotective... but he's a hero, isn't he?

He protected you from Dio just like he always has.

When you were injured, he stuck by you.

Every hug he gives is caring.

It doesn't matter if he has blood on his hands for you, right?

He just wants the best for you...

So he'll never leave you alone.

[marimayscarlett]

I need more unhinged Richard quotes, like the whole “[coc*ine when you’re young vs when you’re old]” thing or I may simply pass away

Hi Hello 🤗

This ask has been sitting in my inbox for a while, but now I finally come around to compile some more quotes from Richard's interviews (here is 'Part 1' so to speak).

Off to another tiny little round of stuff Richard says (some are interesting, others a little weird or downright unhinged):

I think the quote you mean is this one [from this audio interview]: "It's like, you know, it's like you know when you were young and could do coke for a fucking month and nothing, y'know? When you get old you need to recover from fucking one week." (and the interviewer is seemingly quite lost: "haha..true..👀")

Now, on to the Fellfrosch gem [interview]: Interviewer: Perhaps the disgust at the bitter aftertaste is really just a problem of overly careless personal hygiene? Richard:  "Tastes change too. Much of what seemed too bitter to us in childhood tastes good to us today. On the other hand, we usually find the sweets from the past too sweet. Every fur frog tastes different. Pure question of taste. There is no judgment in the text. We’re not saying it stinks."

His readiness to try out his talents with on-screen eroticism some more [interview]: "After I shot some erotic scenes for a video the other day I could also imagine doing an entire film in that direction. I was quite nervous in the beginning, but the longer we were shooting the more fun I had. Erotic, mind you, not pornographic."

in the same interview, he discloses the two main activities which bring him relaxation: "I love lying in bed, smoking and watching good movies more than anything. That is the only thing where I can really switch of other than sex. Lots of both, please. [laughs]"

And another quote from said interview regarding in which time period he would've liked to live and about his affinity to the middle ages (which for me as a history geek is so lovely to see that he is into that period as well): "I guess the sword and blade time as I always call it. Knights templar, 11th century. I can answer that this well, because I like to watch even stupid movies when they deal with that period. I just have a huge affinity to it somehow and would love to find out how things were going back then."

The way he pressurized/threatened (?) Jonathan Davis to sing a high note for the song "Silent so long" (man Richard must be such a nice fellow to work with 👀) [interview]: "But there was a high note in the chorus that Jonathan couldn't quite get right. So what to do? He said he couldn't sing that high. So I grabbed the receiver and whispered the following into his ear: "Watch out, Jonathan. This is the German way! Now take both your hands, grab your balls and squeeze until you get that damn sound."

Touring is hard, but partying is even harder [interview]: "Touring is not the problem, but partying is. If you went straight to the hotel after the show - no problem. But if you party until six in the morning, it's getting increasingly more difficult to get out of bed."

Being super vague in moments where we need more facts from him like in this interview, about the "Bück dich" performance of Till and Flake: "If Till had to do it to me… I would probably you know, like… uhm.. I'll do… something."

this whole feverdream here: an interview for the promotion of the first Emigrate album back in 2007, where Richard and his alter Ego "Mister Emigrate" answer the questions 'together'. It's has a Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde vibe to it but is kind of cute ✨

On a more serious note, here he talks about the effects of drugs on him: "I took a lot of cocaine. You reach dimensions that you could never reach otherwise. You can edit a bass drum for eight hours."

Thank you for your interest in even more stuff Richard says 😌

[apomaro-mellow]

Based on this art by vivalski

Eddie couldn't believe his luck. Well, luck might not be the best word. He was still a wanted man. Hawkins was still recovering. And he needed blood to live. Not the best situation to be honest. But when that oh so vital resource came from Steve Harrington himself... It's just good to look at the positives.

Eddie had been sustaining himself with blood bags every few days from the clinic but one day Steve offered himself and he never looked back. Sometimes he thought about lying about his thirst just to get his lips on his skin.

Unlike most lore would left you believe though, he didn't go for the neck. Such distinct bite marks would be too noticeable. So most times Eddie bit from Steve's arm. Still, even that felt intimate. Especially when their eyes met during. Eddie tried to keep his gaze away for the most part, focusing on what he was doing so he didn't get lost in it and end up draining Steve. But it was impossible to never look at him.

Eddie swore there was one time Steve looked just as gone as he was. There was no way. Eddie was getting drunk off the fine wine of his blood. Steve was getting leeched off of by a parasite.

Then one day Steve asked a question that knocked him flat on his ass.

"How come you never bite my neck?"

Eddie had been about to drink from his wrist, sitting comfortably on Steve's bed when Steve brought it up. In true Eddie fashion, he didn't just come out and say the real reason.

"You want a hickey from me that bad?", he flashed a grin.

Steve's expression pinched a little, the way it usually did when Eddie flirted playfully at him. "That's just how vampires always do it. Never heard of them getting blood from an arm."

"And you're a vampire expert?"

"I think at this point I can say I know more than the average person, yes. So, how about it?"

Eddie swallowed. "How about what?"

"Keep up, Munson. I'm saying you should try my neck. Maybe the blood is better there. It's closer to my heart and everything. Maybe it's fresher?"

Eddie's brain stopped working because Steve was pulling his hair away from his neck. Vampires were supposed to be the charismatic ones, seducing their victims and having them lose themselves in pleasure. Roles always reversed themselves with him and Steve. He was the one losing himself. Steve was the badass monster slayer.

"Well? Come on, bite me."

Eddie leaned in and once he was in Steve's space, he paused. The blood under his skin smelled good, but so did the man himself. Eddie's eyes fluttered shut as he finally closed in and sank his teeth into his neck. Steve let out a small sigh.

Finally.

Steve had made a gamble. But given his evidence this had probably been his most educated guess ever. At first he thought Eddie was just addicted to blood; that he made those expressions of want with anyone who might feed him. But when Steve had been unavailable, Eddie had taken sips from both Jonathan and Argyle. He didn't start looking at them like he wanted to devour them.

His pulse raced a little as he felt Eddie's lips move against his skin. That was probably for the best. Getting more blood into his system. Steve started to stroke Eddie's hair, which made Eddie loose a little moan, which made Steve release a gasp as he felt the vibrations.

It felt like the most sinful of feedback loops. Steve could feel some blood beginning to drip down his neck and usually Eddie didn't waste a drop but maybe it was too much to gulp down are Eddie was getting used to the angle and flow because Steve could feel more streaming down.

When Eddie pulled back, he was panting and Steve saw the mess of blood around his lips and knew his throat must look the same.

"Shit, sorry. Do you need a towel-wait, of course you do." Eddie was about to move off the bed when Steve grabbed his arm.

"Just lick it."

Eddie froze like he was speaking Russian.

"Didn't your uncle teach you not to waste any food? You can get me cleaner than any towel."

"Y-yeah, I can do that." Eddie couldn't believe what Steve was offering him. It wasn't just his neck, some of the blood had dripped down to his chest. Steve was even pulling his shirt down to keep it from being stained.

"Alright", Eddie said before licking his lips. "Just tell me if it's too much." Wasting no time, he cupped the back of Steve's head and dove back in, licking at the mess he'd made. Eddie was thorough, and he took his time. He wanted Steve to be spotless by the time he was done.

Steve considered this gambit a huge success. But in this instance he couldn't quit while he was ahead. He needed to go all in. He wanted more. He needed to know if Eddie wanted more too. Steve grabbed his face with both hands and before Eddie could think something was wrong, Steve kissed him.

Maybe a little venom got into him or maybe he was just under the influence of the man before him but somehow the flavor of his own blood tasted good on Eddie's lips.

[artiststarme]

The Gift of Not Dying Part 13

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13

Yay, we're done with Starcourt now! I hope you guys like this part and if you do, please let me know in the comments!

~*~*~*~

Steve just wanted to go back to Hopper’s cabin and recover enough from his death, concussion, and whatever the fuck else he had going on so things could get back to normal. So he could go back to just being the kid that worked at Scoops Ahoy that had a thing for the town’s nerdy metalhead. He wanted to go on a date with Eddie and hear Hopper giving him a shovel talk to keep him in line. 

He didn’t want to have to blend in with the crowd to avoid being shot or hide from the Russians in the food court. He just wanted to be a normal teenager for a little while whose biggest worry was taking the boy that he liked on a date. Was that so much to ask?

Apparently so because right then he was anxiously curled up in the fetal position in some random fast food restaurant in Starcourt, trying desperately to silence his heavy breathing to avoid drawing the attention of the evil Russians. How was he supposed to protect his friends against the automatic rifles some of these guys were packing? He’d be fine, with the drugs out of his system, he’d come back. But Dustin, Robin, and Erica? One misplaced bullet and they’d be gone for good. 

Him and Eleven had been practicing his telekinesis but he was still leagues away from being anywhere close to reaching the level of her powers. All he could do was partially crinkle a soda can, there was no way he could fling even one of these guys away in order to escape. Steve wasn’t even 100% certain that he could deflect a bullet under this kind of pressure.

They sat in silence with bated breath for what seemed like forever. They could hear the Russians walking around, some unintelligible dialogue being exchanged. It seemed that they were going to survive this… and then his foot twitched. It bumped a fallen steel tray and the sound was deafening in the silence. Shit, Steve had just killed his friends. They all heard the Russian’s footsteps come closer, waiting in dread to feel the pain of the bullet. But the man never fired. In place of the expected pops of gunfire, they heard a car alarm closely followed by the smash of metal and glass. 

They waited a moment before peeking over the serving counter of the fast food joint. Steve didn’t see any Russians with their guns pointed at them. No, he saw El. Her arm still extended towards the car with a small stream of blood leaking from her nose. His little sister had saved their lives once again. 

Steve ran ahead of his friends to meet the other half of the Party. He saw El climb down the escalator first and swept her up into a hug. “El!”

“Steve! I was worried. Are you… okay?” She asked him, her face smushed in his shoulder. 

“Yeah kiddo, I’m fine. I promise, I’m all good.” He pulled back to smile at her reassuringly. She gave a small smile in response before Dustin was pushing Steve away from them and hugging her himself. 

“You swung that thing like a Hot Wheel!” He laughed. Some of the Party members, specifically Jonathan and Nancy, were looking at Steve in confusion. 

“Lucas?” Erica spoke. 

“What are you doing here?” Lucas asked her, throwing his hands out to his sides. 

“Ask them, it’s their fault!” She pointed at them and Steve couldn’t even defend himself.

“True yeah, that’s totally true. It’s absolutely our fault.” 

“I don’t understand what happened to that car,” Robin said desperately, her brain was scrambling for a logical explanation but it wouldn’t find one. 

Dustin ripped off the bandaid for her and said, “El has superpowers.”

“I’m sorry?” She asked. 

Usually Steve would be nicer and more patient considering he’d reacted the same way just last year. But these were trying times and he didn’t have any more patience to spare. “Superpowers. She threw it with her mind. C’mon, catch up.” 

“That’s El?” Erica asked, her eyes lighting up in recognition. 

“Who’s El?” Robin squinted, still confused with the lackluster explanation she’d received. 

“I’m sorry, who are you?” Nancy said in her passive-aggressive way that was condescendingly polite. 

“I’m Robin, I work with Steve.”

“She cracked the top secret code,” Dustin defended her. 

“Yeah which is how we found out about the Russians in the first place,” Steve added. He wasn’t going to let some twerp upstage him in sticking up for his new best friend. 

“Russians? Wait, what Russians?” Jonathan asked confusedly. 

“The Russians!” Steve wasn’t sure how he wasn’t understanding. There wasn’t a clearer way to say it. 

“Those were Russians?” Max asked.

“Some of them,” Erica answered her, clearing absolutely nothing up for anyone. 

“What are you talking about?” Lucas exasperatedly questioned.  

“Did you hear our code red?” Dustin asked.

“Yeah but we couldn’t understand half of what you were saying,” Mike yelled at him. 

“Goddamn low battery!”

“How many times do I have to tell you with the low battery?!” Steve yelled for emphasis. He’d reminded him so many times to carry extras!

“‘Kay, well everything worked out, didn’t it, Steve?” The little bastard had the nerve to sass him right now?

“‘Worked out’? We almost died!” Erica pointed out. 

“Yeah, but we didn’t, did we?” 

“We were pretty damn close…” Steve trailed off when he noticed Eleven walking away. Her steps were labored and her hands shook at her sides. He saw her bring her hands to her ears for a moment before she whimpered and fell to the ground. “El!” 

He dropped to her side just a second before Mike did. 

“My leg, my leg,” she whimpered. Steve could do little more than to squeeze her hand and pet her hair as some of the kids ran to get supplies. 

Something in her leg was moving and just seeing it in his peripheral had Steve feeling nauseous. Even more so when Jonathan pierced her skin with a cooking knife. “Oh my god, I’m going to puke.”

Jonathan digging around with a knife wasn’t helping anything and El’s screaming just got louder. 

“Stop, stop, I can do it” She turned pleading eyes to Steve but he just shook his head in panic. He couldn’t do it. His telekinetic powers still sucked ass and irrationally, he didn’t want the party to find out about them. They might be fine with El’s but his were so much more morbid, there was no way they’d support them. He felt awful as he watched determination fill El’s eyes. She didn’t deserve to have to perform rudimentary surgery on herself just because Steve was squeamish and hadn’t been practicing his powers as well as he should. 

Nevertheless, with some more screams and the last of her energy, El pulled it from her leg with her powers and threw the disgusting, fleshy tidbit as far from the group as possible. It tried to wiggle away and made some disgusting screeches and squeaks as it moved. But it only scooched a few inches before a boot slammed down on it. Then, there was Hopper. He was holding a gun and glancing between El and Steve with varying ranges of horror. 

“Jesus Christ, what’ve you kids gotten yourselves into this time?” He asked them, already exasperated with the situation despite not hearing any of it. He looked between El and Steve, his eyes focusing on her cut up leg and Steve’s purpling face. “What the hell?”

All of the kids rushed over each other in their descriptions. Steve zoned out of most of it. This was all too much, too fast. His mind was whirring and he almost felt like he was back on drugs. “It destroyed the cabin? Okay, wait. Just to be clear, this big fleshy spider thing that hurt El. It’s some sort of gigantic… weapon?”

“Yes,” Nancy answered curtly. 

“But instead of like, screws and metal, the Mindflayer made its weapon with melted people,” Steve raised an eyebrow to ask if he was hearing that right. 

“Yes, exactly!” Nancy nodded.

“Yeah, okay. I-yeah, I’m just making sure.” He’d gone through some shit but this might be the most disturbing thing he’d ever heard. 

“Are we sure this thing is still out there, still alive?” Joyce asked them all. 

“El beat the shit out of it but… yeah, it’s still alive,” Max told her regretfully. 

“But if we close the gate again…” Will said. 

“...and cut the brain off from it’s body,” Max continued. 

“And kill it,” Lucas finished. “Theoretically.”

Steve was so fucking over this. He thought they were done with this once they beat the Russians. Now there was a fleshy monster killing people with mind powers? He sat on the bench with Robin, both of their minds melting together in solidarity. She’d joined at a bad time. The demogorgon and demodogs weren’t a walk in the park but something about this situation gave him a bad feeling. He didn’t like what was coming. 

Steve let El and Hopper talk for a few minutes alone before he took her place. “Hey Hop.”

“What the hell, kid? I thought you were at work, how did you get roped into this?” 

“I’m innocent! Dustin, man, he dragged me into this shit again. He came into Scoops with a Russian transmission so we decoded it, got stuck in an elevator, Robin and I got tortured by some Russians, I got killed again, and then we got really high and not in a good way. Where have you been?”

Hopper just looked at him blankly for a second before his whispers became furious. “You died again?! Goddammit Harrington! You have to be more careful, you can’t be so reckless with your life!”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I had any control over being literally tortured by Russians!” Steve whisper-yelled, flailing his hands around in his own defense. 

“Why didn’t you come to me about the transmission? The next time you hear something like that, I need you to come to me!” Hopper said, pointing an accusing finger at him.

“Yes Hop, I'll come find you immediately the next time a kid and I intercept a secret Russian communication. Trust me, I’ve learned my lesson.”

Hopper sighed and wrapped a burly arm around his shoulders. “I know, kid. Stay strong, okay? I just need you to give Henderson a ride to his radio tower and then you can recover out of the danger zone. And absolutely no more dying on me, alright? My heart can’t take it, kid.”

“I’ll do my best, old man.”

Hopper scoffed in laughter and ruffled his hair, “alright smartass, get going. Stay safe and I’ll see you when this is over.”

“Sounds good Hop, stay safe.” With another hug in parting, Steve led the way to the Toddfather. The only good thing about this entire situation was getting to drive that beauty. They squabbled on the way there and Steve was able to tune out and let himself think. 

It didn’t feel right to be leaving the rest of the Party there when there were so many chances of things going wrong. Since day one, he’d been the one to lay his life on the line to protect everyone. But now, he was driving away to play chauffeur. It just felt wrong and the pit in his stomach only grew larger for each mile further he drove. 

When they did get to Cerebro at Weathertop, he saw the lights of town start to flicker and the Starcourt portion of the Party wasn’t answering the radio. Steve’s gut was telling him to get back there and it hadn’t steered him wrong yet. He started running to the car, he had to get them out of there.

“Where are you going?!” He only paused slightly to answer Erica’s question. 

“To get them the hell out of there. Stay here, contact the others!” And then he was off once again. He barely noticed Robin running after him or hopping next to him in the car. They each stayed silent on the drive, far too aware of the looming danger that they were approaching. 

Steve pressed on the gas pedal and didn’t lift up when he saw Billy’s camaro heading straight towards the Wheeler’s station wagon with the kids in it. He pressed down harder and didn’t stop until his world snapped black in the collision. 

Steve’s eyes opened to a pitch black world. Shit, he was back in the blank space. While his aches and pains were gone and a feeling of safety blanketed him, there was an undercurrent of panic. Hopper told him not to die again and less than thirty minutes later, here he was… dead from an ill-conceived suicide run. And Robin! Was she okay? He hadn’t wanted her to come with him but there hadn’t been any time for words to be exchanged. He needed her to be alright, he needed his best friend. 

He also needed to wake up. When he focused on finding his body in the blank space, he saw Jonathan, Nancy, and Robin lugging it from the front seat of the Toddfather into the trunk of the Station Wagon. He saw Robin crying where she cradled his head and saw the kids watching on in horror from their spots in the backseat. He needed to wake up now. 

Steve focused all of his energy into touching his own corpse, of forcing his way back to consciousness. And… it worked. The blank space blurred for a second before his eyes were blinking open, staring directly into Robin’s. The whole car let out a sigh of relief. They hadn’t lost him after all. 

For Steve, the rest of the night passed in a haze. He distantly remembered pain, fear, a particularly confusing moment of Dustin singing over the radio, and bright flashes of color. His body went on auto-pilot as his mind lagged behind. However, everything became disturbingly clear again when he was sat on the bumper of the ambulance outside of the still-smoking mall. 

When he saw Joyce hugging Will, the bad feeling that was clogging this throat the entire night sparked to life. It was at that exact moment that he knew Hopper was dead. He would have come out with her to hug El, and Steve, the second he could. For him not to be there, he had to be dead. 

A feeling of bitterness overcame him. What made Steve more deserving of this power than Hopper? Good, pure Hopper that took in two scared and lonely kids. Jim Hopper, the Chief of Police that risked his life to ensure that no one else would have to worry about the Upside Down. Hop, the guy that became his dad even though Steve was a bitch at least half the time. 

Instead of a girl hugging her father, he saw El standing alone in the middle of the chaos. She was watching Joyce and Will embrace with tears in her eyes. She knew as well as he did that Hopper was gone. 

Steve couldn’t let his little sister deal with her grief alone. He pulled his aching body up from where it sat on the bumper of the ambulance and forced himself over to comfort her. As soon as she caught eyes with him, El ran straight into his arms. 

“El, it’s going to be okay.” 

“I am sad, Seven. Hop… he is dead,” her tears wet his already ruined shirt and his streaked down his face to match.

“I know and that hurts. It’s okay to be sad, I’m sad too. But we still have each other, right?” He tried to reassure her but he could tell it wasn’t helping much. 

“Steve, you are okay?” She asked into his chest.

“Yeah, I will be.” He nodded. He had to be. 

Joyce came over to them then and shot a puzzled look at Steve before turning to El. “El, I’m so sorry about your dad but you can stay with us now, okay? We can go back to my house now.”

“But Steve?”

“Steve has to go back to his parents now,” she didn’t seem to notice his sudden pallor but El did. “He should go to the hospital too. Steve, you took some nasty hits so you should get checked out in the ER.”

“Yeah, I’ll go do that Mrs. Byers. El, go with her okay? I’ll see you in a few days, I’ll stop by.”

“No brother, I want to go with you! Hop would-” He cut her off with a gentle shake of his head. 

“El, I have to go get checked out. Mrs. Byers is going to take you home and I’ll call later. Okay, I promise.”

“Promise.” El repeated, staring at him uneasily. 

“Yeah, I promise. Go ahead.”

She was still reluctant to leave him but eventually, Joyce was able to pull her away with one arm around her and the other wrapped around Will. 

Then, Steve was left alone. Despite what he said, he was not going to the hospital. He was pretty sure he had a concussion but it wasn’t like it could kill him. And he certainly wasn’t going back to the destroyed cabin that held too many bittersweet memories or his parents house that he hadn’t been to in months. 

He still didn’t have his car keys so he walked. He walked all the way to the only place that he could now consider safe. The only place he could relax and feel loved. And as the trailer door opened to reveal Eddie Munson, Steve knew that he made the right choice. 

Tag list: @doubleb11 @nburkhardt @counting-dollars-counting-stars @newtstabber @estrellami-1 @thegoblinboy @manda-panda-monium @i-less-than-three-you @joruni @swimmingbirdrunningrock @mentalcyborg @vampireinthesun @spectrum-spectre @goodolefashionedloverboi @grtwdsmwhr @nam-draws @anaibis @zerokrox-blog @renaissan-vvitch @a-huge-nerdy-nerd @labels-are-for-the-weak @amoris-no-smut-allowed @5ammi90 @precursorandthedragon @i-must-potato @valinwonderland @lololol-1234 @wonderland-girl143-blog @tailsfromthecrypt @trippypancakes @ghosttotheparty @thing-a-ling @bleach-the-kitten @pyrohonk @straight4joekeery @carlyv @gregre369 @mentallyundone @lololol-1234

@conversesweetheart @suddenlyinlove @yikes-a-bee @perseus-notjackson @merricatty @maya-custodios-dionach @lumoschild

If you would like to be added to the tag list, let me know!

Part 14

[reignsupreme-inyourdreams]

Is Jonathan turning into a vampire?

I saw someone say that Jonathan's reactions to Dracula in the Piccadilly confrontation make him seem less human, and that has gotten me thinking about the 'Jonathan is turning into a vampire like Mina' theory I've seen others discuss.

Now, I have to pay attention to Dracula Daily/ Re: Dracula going forward because my husband has my copy of the book so I can't dig around for evidence later in the book right now, but here is what I have noticed from entries in the timeline thus far:

Personally, even though it's not explicitly stated, I think Jonathan was bitten on Dracula's final night in the castle. It's his blood that revives Dracula's youth, and I think that is why he reacts violently to seeing the blood dripping from Dracula's mouth.

We also know from Van Helsing that anyone bitten by a vampire will become one. What complicates this is Dracula's blood exchange with Mina, if biting her is enough to turn her then why have her drink his blood? I theorize that having a victim drink his blood allows him to have a connection with or influence on them that he otherwise would not. He seems unaware that Lucy is dead when he gloats about the group's women belonging to him, and as there is no evidence that Lucy received his blood then it would make sense that he doesn't have that connection with her and thus, would be unaware of her true death. Going by this logic, If Jonathan is turning into a vampire then it seems unlikely that he received the Count's blood as he doesn't seem to have any mental link to Dracula either. I have seen the argument that Dracula did have a mental connection with Jonathan that was broken when he began to target Lucy instead, as Dracula Daily made it clear that Jonathan's 'brain fever' broke on the day that Lucy sleepwalked (slept-walked?) to Dracula.

Jonathan is likely Anglican, and says that his religion finds crucifixes and the like 'idolatrous', meaning that it's unlikely he would commonly come into contact with religious items in his day-to-day life. When he was in the convent/hospital he was delirious and in bad physical condition, it's possible that-like Mina with the wafer- he was reacting negatively due to his latent vampirism. Perhaps the early, prolonged exposure to religion suppressed his vampirism, and it fades away as he gets away from it. It could explain his slow recovery in England.

(It is also interesting to note that, while in the convent, Jonathan is being cared for by Sister Agatha. As a recovering Catholic I unfortunately retained some of my religious knowledge, and Nuns take on new names when they take their vows. Usually they take the name of a biblical figure that inspires them; in Sister Agatha's case it would be Saint Agatha who is, amongst other things, the patron saint of rape victims. Vampire bites have a loooooong history of being an allegory for sexual penetration and, with Mina's attack later in the novel being a clear reference to sexual assault, it seems likely to me that this was a subtle nod by Bram Stoker that Jonathan was bitten. Unfortunately it would likely have been censored if he had been more blatant given Victorian censorship laws.)

With this in mind, it's likely that seeing Dracula in London 'unlocked' his suppressed vampirism, and could explain him passing out. Though, admittedly, he does have a history of fainting when confronted with horrific things.

Going back to Jonathan's connection to sacred items, we never see him come into contact with any directly. When the group is entering Carfax Jonathan is handed two vampire deterrents, a wreath of garlic flowers and an envelope with a bit of communion wafer in it. Jonathan makes a point to mention that the garlic is withered however; I have to wonder why it was specifically called out as withered. Could that lower it's efficacy? As for the eucharist, well, it's in an envelope. The Count, a full vampire, reacts badly to it when the envelope is brandished at him. However, Mina, not yet fully turned into a vampire, seems to only be negatively affected when it touches her skin directly.

Another piece of evidence that I find interesting is Jonathan's hair color change. Listening to Re: Dracula made me realize that we have another character whose hair changed color; Lucy after her death. Vampire Lucy is described with dark hair, whereas in life her hair was compared to sunshine (meaning she was most likely blonde). Now we have Jonathan, whose hair was described as dark brown by Seward, turning white. The Characters write it off as shock despite the sudden change (shock/stress would have caused it to grey over time, realistically speaking), but it is interesting to note the link to vampire Lucy.

Jonathan's quick responses to Dracula's presence in the Piccadilly house are also notable. You could argue that it's the daytime so the Count is not as fast as he would be otherwise, but Seward points out that he, Arthur and Quincey are all experienced hunters and yet Jonathan, who Seward described as a 'quiet, business-like gentleman' when he met him 5 days earlier, is the first person to react. Jonathan goes so far as to climb out of the window to follow Dracula when he retreats.

It is entirely possible that Jonathan is in denial of having been bitten; he says himself while in the castle that 'I think strange things, which I dare not confess to my own soul.' He would likely have been bitten on the neck, a place he can not see without a mirror, and Dracula makes a point to destroy the only mirror Jonathan had. Jonathan specifically notes that there are no other mirrors in the castle, either. Thus, if he was bitten but reluctant to admit it, he would have had no way to see if he had a wound and it would further justify his reaction to finding Dracula bloated with blood in his tomb. Denial is a hell of a drug. If he can not confess it to himself, it seems unlikely that he would tell anyone else, especially after his illness that affected his perception of reality.

As I said, I don't currently have access to my copy of the book to check the future dates so I will look for more evidence as we get the daily releases, but I think there is pretty strong evidence that Jonathan is in the process of turning and doesn't realize it.

[vickyvicarious]

Today's entry does not match Lucy ill in London as of her last two diary entries, leaving two distinct options.

Stoker messed up the timeline (Doylist)

Lucy is lying to Mina (Watsonian)

There's no way to have both work at once, not really. I suppose you could try, but it would take a lot more effort to have both be true at once and I'm not really sure how it would work (either you take a halfway approach to shuffling some dates but not all, or you say Lucy isn't outright lying but is exaggerating, I guess?). Nor is this post super interested in that. Instead, I want to take a moment to look at what each interpretation would mean for Lucy.

Doylist

This interpretation is supported by such details as: lots of other timeline weirdness happening in the latter half of September, and the letter being postmarked from Whitby. It would presumably be harder to lie about where you're sending a letter from, after all.

What it would mean for Lucy is that she recovered for a while. She was able to experience true happiness for at least a little bit. And it shows up that she is someone who doesn't linger on her stresses once they are no longer actively bothering her; instead she throws herself fully into her joy with Arthur here. I like this in the context of chronically-ill!Lucy. She might be used to being uncertain about how long feeling well will last, or indeed when it will happen at all, and when she does feel good she tries to seize the day and make the most of it. Also, it seems like her recovery, if this letter is totally honest, is fairly complete/happens fairly quickly. This would mean, too, that her diary entries in London show a much more rapid fall, as opposed to her slowly getting a bit better than feeling worse again. It would have been such an abrupt, scary shock when it happened.

Lucy and Arthur get to spend a lot of time together. They get to be really happy and fall more and more in love, they get to look forward to their future together as they enjoy their present. I love them getting to experience such happiness, I love that the promised fun summer at Whitby gets to come true even if just for a short time. Lucy is full of life and love before she returns to London. And then suddenly, all the illness and fear and loneliness is back with a vengeance that she wasn't prepared for.

Watsonian

If we assume the dates are correct, but that Lucy is lying about the contents of the letter, there's a lot less rearranging to do (there would be a bit of a cascading effect of having to adjust when the Harkers got married/how long the mail took to arrive, etc.). The letter being sent from Whitby is harder to explain, though.

What this means for Lucy is that she has finally taken the next step from pretending she's fine to actively lying about lots of details. It gives a very bleak impression of her in London, scared and alone but choosing not to confide in even Mina after her mother rejected her attempt at seeking comfort. I imagine the reasoning to be an extension of what was going on in Whitby: Mina currently has to care for a very ill Jonathan, and Lucy doesn't want her to feel worried about her as well, or guilty for having her health take a dive after Mina left her side. Continuing the theme of self-isolation driven by love... She also is trying to answer the wishes Mina so sincerely expressed for her in her letter. Mina was looking forward to Lucy's happiness so much that Lucy doesn't want to tell her none of it is coming true at all.

Lucy never gets to be really happy during this time. She has a very brief respite in Whitby when Dracula left before feeling awful again almost as soon as she arrives in London. Maybe Arthur was never able to join her there, and she's only seen him in London. All the activities and joking around listed here, instead of being what really happened, become in this interpretation Lucy's daydreams. Her wishes. This is the kind of life she wants to have, and she's imagining it and pretending she really has it to Mina here. But it's all the more tragic because even as she writes this, she's incredibly weak and in pain.

.

In the past I've leaned more towards the latter, but honestly, both are very compelling in different ways. Especially after writing it out like this, I now feel torn on which I prefer.

[yallemagne]

The way Mina emphasizes Harker. The way Jonathan sounds so vulnerable and scared. The way Lucy sounds just as vulnerable and scared.

She loves the way it sounds: Wilhelmina Harker. In the eyes of God, he's finally hers, and she's finally his.

She's so thrilled to finally wed Jonathan even if it isn't how they imagined, even if he can't stand for the ceremony, even if their only witnesses are strangers. She forgets that she's already referred to him as her husband because she's just so delighted that now it's true.

It doesn't matter to her that it isn't picture-perfect. In all likelihood, she never expected picture-perfect. Even in her immense joy, she still lets slip a little of her insecurity that she has no dowry to provide to him. But dowries, pah! Who cares! He'd marry her no matter what, and the same can evidently be said about her.

I gotta go into Jonathan's whole speech I---

'Wilhelmina'—I knew then that he was in deadly earnest, for he has never called me by that name since he asked me to marry him—'you know, dear, my ideas of the trust between husband and wife: there should be no secret, no concealment. I have had a great shock, and--'

The sound that plays! It swoops down like a bat over his head as he tries to think of what happened to him. There are also his ideas of trust-- they're very similar to Lucy's "A woman ought to tell her husband everything—don't you think so, dear?".

'--when I try to think of what it is I feel my head spin round, and I do not know if it was all real or the dreaming of a madman. You know I have had brain fever, and that is to be mad.'

His voice gets deeper, more solemn. It feels reminiscent of the way Renfield talks. It's very haunting and it shows his dire understanding that, were they in England, he would be denied his right to marriage even if Mina still wanted him.

'The secret is here, and I do not want to know it. I want to take up my life here, with our marriage.' 

Such ease in those words! "With our marriage"! It's like a weeping sigh of relief.

'Are you willing, Wilhelmina, to share my ignorance? Here is the book. Take it and keep it, read it if you will, but never let me know; unless, indeed, some solemn duty should come upon me to go back to the bitter hours, asleep or awake, sane or mad, recorded here.'

The words both read and sound just like wedding vows and the passion he has to muster for them is too much for his mind and body to handle, and he falls back asleep. But then all that uncertainty is deeply contrasted by his firm "I will."

Lucy speaks in a constant whisper, even while she's alone, she's so quiet. It is like how Mina says writing is like whispering to herself, but now, it's less comforting. Lucy's taken to writing in imitation of Mina because she misses her and wants to emulate the same behaviour that kept her friend thinking on her feet, but she really closely resembles Jonathan, noting others' feelings and privately planning what she may do to keep herself safe.

I don't know that she realizes Arthur is concerned for her. I think she believes he's still anxious for his father's sake, but she can't muster the gaiety needed to cheer him up in the same way Jonathan mustered all that passion for Mina. Because Jonathan is recovering, and Lucy is now suffering a relapse in her health. They both have the same beliefs about telling the truth in marriage, but in practice, it is very difficult for both of them. Jonathan struggles to remember, but he at least has his journal to give to Mina should she wish to know. Lucy only hopes that she can at least get well enough that her pretending will prove more convincing.

She says she'll try to persuade her mother to let her sleep in her bed, but she doesn't seem confident that she will. Mina would let her, but they're no longer on vacation together, are they? Her mother will likely scold her for being childish, but maybe if she provides a good enough excuse...?

She at least has to try.

[kiirotoao]

I keep getting asked what I’d like to see / theories for s5, so I’m listing them here!

(In blurb form because I have too many lol)

MORE. WILLEL. OR. DEATH. I’d particularly love some parallels from s1, maybe Will talking to El in the void or something? Because

Will has powers!! I’d love to see him have some kind of time/energy/electrical/celestial powers to mirror his Will the Wise persona

JOPPER WEDDING OR DEATH ALSO THIS IS A NON NEGOTIABLE DUFFERS

Robin being a BAMF and impressing Vickie or vice versa (I’m currently more sold on Robin being the BAMF because if switched that’s just Ronance. Which also. Ronance endgame please and thank you???)

Stonathan endgame or at least bonding. Can you tell that the CGI snippets made me insane

Flickergate duh

Pocketgate!!! And specifically Mike confessing to Will, Will thinking it’s too good to be true, then Mike pulling out the letter to prove it in dear desperation

Based on the “6 little nuggets” anecdote, I think Steve might unfortunately be toast because he has his dream with The Party, y’know

There will be a dragon of some sort based on Will’s painting? Maybe like Vecna, the Mind Flayer, and the demogorgons will combine into one big ugly creature to defeat? Dramatic but I have no idea

The spores might also be more lethal and infect people? Or maybe cause widespread hallucinations? They were everywhere in that finale and that cannot be healthy. Yes I know that Hopper and Dustin didn’t suffer any side effects of them in s2 but Vecna’s still alive so I think maybe they could become a new force

I believe in the Kas theory! But not for Eddie. I’m between Kas being Will, El, or Mike

I hope that Nancy doesn’t end up with anyone or it’s implied that she, Steve, and Jonathan, are happy being single for that time until they completely understand themselves and what they want

Vecna appearing in nightmares!! I’d love to see the subconscious come into play and it would serve to flesh out our main cast even more than they already are (especially Mike Wheeler and his internal gay crisis)

Jonathan, Mike, Lucas, Erica, and Murray in the Upside Down please!! They have never been that’s why, and no, I don’t count the tunnels in s2 because they didn’t flip upside down to enter those so I don’t think it was quite the Upside Down

Full and integrated Hopper-Byers family scene at the end of the season. Like them playing Monopoly or something or just existing together in the same house. Being happy. Please dear God.

Will coming out to his mom or Jonathan or Dustin or Lucas or anyone, really

EVERYBODY WANT TO RULE THE WORLD BY TEARS FOR FEARS preferably in the ending scene but anywhere would suffice and I’m not saying this just because I love this song but the lyrics literally fit so well I don’t think I’ll recover if his song isn’t in s5

A gate may exist at the library - it’s in the center of the earthquake and it’s where Will was taken in s1. I think Henry may want to destroy it because it contains so much information

I’d love a s2 parallel where Lucas talks to his dad again. Maybe about Max, maybe about all the stress, something. More sweet parent moments

Based off of the Byler fights in episodes 3 (s3) and 2 (s4), I think maybe they’ll fight again in s5e1?

And then resolve by s5e5

Wherein Heros (Bowie’s og version) will play when Mike and Will kiss

I just really really want Dustin being the lord of the demodogs. Like d’Art returns and recognizes Dustin and they help to fight against Vecna like fighting fire with fire it’d be so epic you see the vision right?

I’d love to see a return of Kali!! Either as a friend or villain recruited/controlled by Vecna it’d be pretty cool either way

Max lives. Period

[rhaenella]

You & Me - Rhys Montrose x Reader - Part 15

Part 14 | Part 16

Summary: What happens when reader assassin is tasked with killing the possible future mayor of London; Rhys Montrose. Politician by day, Eat the Rich Killer by night. But he isn’t the only person wearing different masks. 

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Violence, murder, immoral sociopathic behaviour, mentions of alcoholism, drug abuse and neglect, smut

Word count: 6.1k

A/N: I’m usually not a fan of spoiling my own work for readers, but I would like to quietly point out that from now on ALL warnings apply to the story. Happy reading ;)

Song: In the Air Tonight – Natalie Taylor

The air was thick around you. Professor Jonathan Moore quietly sat before you with an unreadable expression. You ferociously fought the urge to be the first to break the silence. You were familiar with all of the common tactics to get a person to talk and say perhaps more than they would’ve liked to share. So, you waited. Noting the soft ticking sounds of the antique carriage clock in the corner of the room. 

“Zoe,” Jonathan nodded. “She’s a very talented, young writer. I believe she’s got great potential.”

You took a moment to answer, eyes raking over the planes of his face. Jonathan had set the pace, opting to dance around it a little longer. Fine, you would dance with him. Let’s see how well he could manage before he gave away his true motives. 

“She is,” you agreed. “Although, I must admit she won’t let me read a lot of it. I think she’s a perfectionist in that way. Wanting to get it right before showing her work to anyone.”

Jonathan hummed contemplatively, stroking his beard. “And is that something you share? Being a perfectionist?”

Was he blatantly psychoanalysing you now? The hubris. 

“Oh, I’m not sure,” you chuckled. “That’s probably for my shrink to decide.”

“You seem to share your sister’s intelligence, at the very least.”

To the outside observer that would be a sweet, innocent compliment. Maybe even lingering on flirtation. But you regarded Jonathan with a similar unreadable expression as he shot you a small smile meant to disarm you. If he was under the impression that you would let your guard down around him, he’d have another thought coming. 

“Why, thank you,” you smiled. “But, one wonders, did you have anything specific you wanted to discuss about Zoe? Besides her academic progress, which as you mentioned is exceptional, all things considered,” you said, steering the conversation away from yourself.

Jonathan blinked. “Yeah, yes. I was simply wondering how she’s recovering. I’m not exactly worried about her being behind. I know she’s more than capable of keeping up.”

The fact that this killer had been able to keep such a keen eye on your sister enraged you. There was no way you could keep your sister safely locked away in a cage somewhere, you knew that. But when dangerous men were lurking around her like this, you were almost tempted to. Yet, Zoe’s happiness was the most important thing to you. And you would never in a million years do that to her. Or anyone, really. It was unnecessarily cruel. 

A little torture, a little bit of fun before ending your victims’ lives. Sure. But nothing long-term. Which is why the man sitting in front of you gave you goosebumps. Rhys had told you a fair share of what Jonathan had been up to in his previous life as Joe. And it wasn’t pretty, to say the least.

“I can honestly tell you, she’s doing remarkably well,” you answered with a genuine smile this time. “She was in the hospital for a couple of days before being released. I’ve mainly been taking care of her and her sister since then.”

“That is wonderful to hear,” Jonathan returned your smile. 

He was quiet again, gathering his thoughts. Or, he really just wasn’t much of a talker.

“Do you think she’ll be able to come back to class soon?”

“I think so, we’ve been gathering quite the collection of books that she needs to catch up on.”

“I’m sure Zoe will get through them in no time. It will be good for her to return back to normal,” Jonathan pointed out.

“Yes, definitely,” you agreed. Again, suppressing a massive surge of discomfort at his cordial words.

It felt like a natural conclusion to your conversation so you decided to stand up, Jonathan following your lead. Really, you just wanted to get out of here. The psycho gave you the creeps. 

You draped the strap of your purse over your shoulder, turning your back on Jonathan to let out an inaudible sigh as you quietly made your way to the door.

“Oh, one final thing,” Jonathan called.

You halted, schooling your expression once more before turning around to face him with a questioning frown. “Yes?”

You noticed an indiscernible look pass over him, his posture more rigid now than before. It gave you all the forewarning you needed for Jonathan’s parting blow. The main reason he asked to speak to you in private.

“Do you know Rhys Montrose by any chance?”

“I do,” you instantly replied, sincerely and light. You were certain Jonathan had seen you with Rhys, so the best option was to pretend to be the innocent woman here. 

And you were right, Jonathan didn’t look surprised at all, indeed already aware that you two were acquainted. Fucking tabloids. You briefly contemplated silently killing off their editors. You internally scoffed. Was that Rhys’ influence talking to you? Or was that just you, finally allowing yourself to take matters into your own hands. You shook off the thought for now.

“Are you a fan of his book?” You quipped, deciding that taking the lead in this conversation was the best course of action. 

Jonathan inclined his head, stepping around his desk. “Yes. His memoir was… Well, honestly, one of the best ones I’ve ever read,” he admitted, slightly scornful.

You let a small, amused smirk tug at your lips.

“You know, being a literature professor, that’s high praise. I’ll be sure to let him know,” you jabbed, trying to get a reaction out of him. 

It worked. Jonathan’s eyebrows shooting up as he quickly clenched and unclenched his fists.

“You’re friends, then?”

“We are.”

Silence.

“And you know him well?”

“I suppose I do, yes.”

You opted to answer his short questions with short, truthful answers. You didn’t want to disclose too much information but also didn’t want to seem uncharacteristically closed off. Though, Jonathan was American. Perhaps that would be his take on British culture in general. Nevertheless, you were definitely not telling him about how you and your sisters had been staying with Rhys.

“I see.”

You canted your head. “Why do you seem so interested in him?” You asked innocently, a curious lilt to your voice.

Another beat of deafening silence.

“No reason,” he cleared his throat. “Like you said, fan of his work.”

“Right. You can join the club with the rest of us,” you laughed kindly.

The defeat in Jonathan’s voice had given you the impression that he believed your pretence. More specifically, believed that you thought you knew Rhys, but had in fact not a clue as to his true nature. Which was what you needed. Zoe and Sadie would be safe as long as Jonathan didn’t know you were in on it.

“Well, if that’s all, I’ll be on my way. Zoe may be feeling much better but she still needs to take it easy.”

“Of course, of course,” Jonathan said, absentmindedly. He strode past you to chivalrously open his office door for you. You thanked him as you said your goodbyes, happily walking out of the stifling room.

You shot him one last glance over your shoulder before he closed the door behind you. His shoulders were sagged and a persistent scowl was carving its way onto his face. It confirmed your hunch that you had indeed successfully passed his test. For now.

––

The sky was ablaze with the fire of the setting sun by the time you and Zoe made it to your sisters’ new flat. 

You had prepared a light dinner, a chicken salad. You’d all dug in, and of course you still helped Sadie with cutting up her food. She complained she felt like an absolute baby and Zoe had snickered, saying she was. 

You’d laughed with them, but your mind was somewhere else. You were still going over the conversation you had had with Jonathan, analysing every tiny detail. Trying to imagine how the conversation could’ve progressed if you’d said the one thing instead of the other.

Your sisters even called you out on it, and you had to admit it was kind of ridiculous. You should go with your gut and trust that your instincts were correct. Jonathan was none the wiser. 

After dinner, when your sisters had gone off to their rooms to do god knows what, you’d sat down on the couch, gazing out into the evening sky. It had been such a beautiful day with clear skies that you could make out a couple of stars. You were quite sure it was Venus staring straight back at you. 

This was how you used to cope with your problems. Otherwise sitting on your windowsill, looking up at the stars to try to find the hidden answers to your struggles between them. You sighed, shaking your head. You no longer had to keep all your thoughts bottled up inside of you. There was someone in your life now who was willing to listen. It was still new to you, but you felt a persistent need to tell Rhys. And if you were brutally honest with yourself — you missed him. So, you reached for your phone.

<<< Are you home?

His reply was almost instant.

>>> I am.

<<< Can I come over? There’s something I need to talk to you about

>>> Of course. I’m just finishing up in my office upstairs.

Ah, yes. Tomorrow was the big day. Finally, Rhys Montrose would officially announce his mayoral candidacy. 

<<< Okay, I’m on my way

And with that, you stood up. You knocked on both of your sisters’ doors, opening Sadie’s first. You told her you’d be going out, not knowing what time you’d be back.

“Where are you going?” Sadie asked, taking off her headphones.

“To see Rhys,” you replied apprehensively.

“Oh, then I know full well when you’ll be back,” Zoe shouted from behind her closed door before opening it with a swing. 

She stood in the opening, regarding you with a knowing smirk. “Early morning hours. Perhaps she’ll even stay for breakfast.”

The way she spoke the word ‘breakfast’ insinuated all kinds of things except for a regular cup of tea and some cereal. 

“Okay,” you cut in abruptly. “I’m leaving. Bye, now.”

The echoing laughter of your sisters stayed with you as you descended the stairs and walked off into the night. You hadn’t thought of putting on a jacket, the air still warm enough. 

You took the tube to Primrose Hill, walking the short distance from the station to Rhys’ home. The lights downstairs were out, which told you Rhys was likely still upstairs working. You took out the spare key he had given you and opened the door, slipping into the darkness. Faint music came from up the stairs, so you followed it all the way up to his home office. The door was partially opened and you peeked through. Rhys was sitting behind his desk, typing away on his laptop, probably working on his speech for tomorrow.

You pushed the door open, the ensuing creaking noise announcing your presence. Rhys looked up from his work, the creases in his forehead disappearing when you fully entered the room. The makeshift bed on which you’d slept when you stayed here had already been stashed. Any remnant of you using this space as your bedroom was gone. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Rhys asked, turning off the soft rock music he’d been listening to. He stood up with a sigh, stretching out his back as he walked around his desk to meet you. 

Rhys sweetly kissed your cheek, and you faintly smiled at his gesture. He stepped back, looking at you expectantly. But before you were able to utter a single word, Rhys’ face already hardened. Apparently, he could read the worry on your face as clearly as day.

“What is it?” 

You sighed, looking over his shoulder for a moment before refocusing your attention to him. “I met Jonathan earlier today.”

Rhys was silent, a little surprised at that.

“I went to Darcy College with Zoe to pick up some of her books and we sort of ran into him. He asked if we could speak in private, and I agreed,” you began. 

You recounted what happened nearly word for word, noticing Rhys’ frown deepening and his jaw clench bitterly. His anger was slowly but surely boiling away underneath the surface with every new piece of information you presented to him.

“I don’t think he suspects me. So, we’re good for now,” you concluded.

Rhys huffed. “We’re not good, Y/N. He clearly doesn’t bloody understand what it means to back the fuck off.”

“Like I said, he doesn’t know who I am. How could he, in all actuality, know that I’m ‘off limits’?” You shot back, trying to temper his growing anger.

“That doesn’t fucking matter. He recognised you. Has seen you with me. Figured you could possibly be important to me. And then had the nerve to approach and interrogate you,” Rhys seethed.

You chewed your lip. You had nothing to say to that. Rhys was pissed off, there was no doubt about it. And, to be fair, he did make a good point that wasn’t completely unfounded. 

“You know what? I think someone needs to show him what the consequences are of daring to come near you,” he grumbled. 

Rhys turned to march back to his desk, closing his laptop with force before walking back in your direction.

“What are you gonna do?”

He didn’t answer. 

“Rhys,” you warned. 

He still proceeded to ignore you, walking past you, out into the hallway. You groaned in annoyance, following after him and firmly grabbing his wrist to pull him back to face you. 

He looked down at you with a blank stare, his eyes cold and dark. You quickly recanted your earlier observation. He wasn’t just angry. No, he was fucking livid. A part of you reeled at the sheer projection of dominance and will to protect you, no matter the cost. But this was going to end in a disaster if you didn’t intervene right this second.

“Rhys, listen to me,” you spoke softly, your other hand landing on his tense shoulder. “Didn’t you hear what I just said? He doesn’t know. Let’s keep it that way, yeah?”

“He won’t know a goddamn thing ever again when I cut off his balls and put them right down his gullet,” he said icily, the vein in his neck pulsing menacingly.

“Bloody hell, Rhys. You were the one who convinced me Jonathan would be the perfect pawn in our larger plan,” you accused, starting to lose your own temper. 

“Yes. Until he wouldn’t. Until he would start running his mouth, or in this case threaten you.”

“He didn’t threaten—,” you paused mid-sentence, exasperated with him. His rage was obviously running away with him. 

You let go of Rhys, crossing your arms in defiance. “What about our last warning? Huh, what about that? You can apprise him of the bribe money and the off-shore account being set up in his name. That will make him back off.”

Rhys’ eyes flickered. Somewhere, beneath all the animosity, he knew you were right. He knew that the plan you’d come up with was still the best play. 

“He doesn’t deserve to live after—”

“No, he doesn’t. I’ve frankly never understood why you wanted him to live at all. But now he’s become an integral part to our plan. Or, our back-up plan, really. Nevertheless, we need to be sensible about this,” you implored.

His eyes shifted between yours and you only noticed then how close you were. You’d involuntarily moved into his space when you’d tried to persuade him of some rhyme or reason. But it also accomplished something else, the heat of the moment evidently heightening the slumbering sexual tension between you.

“Rhys,” you stressed, cupping his cheeks, willing him to listen. “You have to trust me. We do this together, remember?”

You felt his jaw slacken beneath your palms and he momentarily closed his eyes in defeat. You knew Rhys was begrudgingly coming to his senses, acknowledging that you were right. The mention of trust and together ultimately convincing Rhys to let the savage urge to skin Jonathan alive rest for now. 

“Okay?” You prompted.

Rhys nodded almost imperceptibly. At last, surrendering to agree with you. You’d successfully been able calm him down with your touch, just like he’d done to you many times before. The realisation made a warmth and fondness spread through you. 

It was then that Rhys seemed to clock how little space actually remained between you. He couldn’t help but longingly glance down at your lips. His anger slowly starting to become overshadowed by another powerful emotion, one which was filled with a deep yearning.

The elastic band of your stirring desires was about to snap, there was no denying it. Your pulse quickened and you brushed your thumb over his cheek to make him look up at you. You needed the verbal confirmation.

“You and me, right?”

The look Rhys gave you made an overwhelming wave of pure need for him crash through you. His eyes darkened once more. Not out of malice this time, but because of an aching want for you. 

“You and me,” he repeated, his own hands moving to cradle your face. 

You sighed softly, leaning into Rhys’ touch. You knew it then and there. You wanted him. All of him. There was nothing holding you back anymore. And frankly, you weren’t willing to let anyone or anything hold you back from getting what you wanted ever again. That time was over. 

You briefly closed your eyes and when you reopened them, you lustfully stared up at him. Rhys was powerless to resist you and without hesitating, he crashed his lips to yours.

Your entire focus zeroed in on him and you forgot about everything else — the outside world and all of its many issues and problems you faced, faded away. His soft lips moved entirely in-sync with yours in a heated tangle, devouring each other as if you’d been waiting for the other for a lifetime. And in a way, you felt like you had. 

The feeling of Rhys’ body rubbing against yours made you moan into the kiss. He groaned in response and started moving you backwards until your back hit the wall behind you. Rhys anchored you in place, deepening the kiss as his hands wandered down your body. You tangled your hands into his hair and tugged slightly, making him groan again. 

Rhys licked your lower lip and you parted your lips without objection, letting his tongue slide into your mouth to beautifully battle with yours. 

It was a possessive kind of kiss. Full of pent-up emotions and untamed desire, fuelled by whatever anger and fear Jonathan had been able to ignite within Rhys at the prospect of you being alone with that man. Even if he hadn’t hurt you. 

Rhys’ hips surged forward and you made a wanton noise at the feeling of his stirring erection pressed securely against your hip. Heat spiralled through you like a heavy, pulsing thing. You arched your back when you felt his hand slide underneath the hem of your dress and start exploring. Fuck, you couldn’t take this any longer, your patience severely lacking. 

“I think it’s time you showed me your bedroom,” you panted into his mouth.

“Mind reader.”

And before you knew it, you were stumbling into Rhys’ bedroom. You weren’t able to take in much of your surroundings, Rhys invading all of your senses. His hands were everywhere, mapping out your curves. 

Rhys bunched up the ends of your dress in his palms, roughly lifting the thin material over your head. You swore you heard the faintest rip of fabric but Rhys didn’t spare you another minute to think about it as his lips were already back on yours, claiming your full attention.

You vaguely registered him unclasping your bra with one hand. Rhys slipped the straps down your arms and tossed the undergarment to the side. His right hand cupped your breast, thumb brushing over your pebbled nipple. You canted your head to the side to give Rhys more access as his full lips descended onto your neck.

You moaned, your hands moving underneath his sweater to explore the chiselled lines of his body. You made a negative sound when Rhys leaned back, taking his delicious warmth with him. A hint of a smirk played on his lips as Rhys held your gaze, slowly dropping to his knees in front of you. The sight alone enough to make you groan.

The air around you was still buzzing with an insatiable want and hunger for the other, but everything seemingly slowed down then. It felt like the world had stopped turning for a moment. Rhys’ fingers delicately traced down your calves to your ankles, fidgeting with the clasp of your sandals. When he managed to unclasp them, he urged you to carefully step out of them and you did. 

Rhys paused, looking up at you with blown pupils. “Are you sure?” 

“I swear to god, if you stop now, I will kill you.”

Rhys grinned. “The big man surely knows you’re more than capable.”

You were about to sassily retort but you bit your tongue when you felt Rhys’ warm hands encircling your upper thighs, slowly trailing towards your hipbone. He hooked his fingers under your panties, pulling them down in one smooth motion.

You were standing in front of him, gloriously naked. Rhys sat back on his heels, savouring the moment as he looked up at you like you were a gift sent from heaven. You confidently gazed down at him as you moved your hand to cup his jaw, brushing your thumb over his lower lip. He obediently opened his mouth, sucking lightly on your thumb. You felt more of that delicious heat rush through you at the sight before you, getting wetter by the second. 

You were certainly losing your sanity and Rhys clocked it, smirking again as he released your finger. He moved forward to lick a wet trail from your stomach to your ribs, all the way between your breasts up to your neck as he straightened back up to his full height. Rhys caressed your cheek with his left hand, his right landing heavily on your waist to pull you even closer.

He pressed a chaste kiss to your lips. “Spread your legs for me, darling.”

And you gladly did as you were told, widening your stance a little. His right hand wandered from your waist, lower and lower towards the place you were aching to be touched. You looked desperately into his eyes, whimpering as you felt his fingers gently part your folds.

Rhys hummed approvingly at the slickness already present between your thighs, shooting you a pleased little smile. His exploratory fingers made you grab onto the back of his neck, forcing his mouth back on yours. Rhys kissed you languorously, his index finger slowly circling your entrance. You moaned into his mouth when his thumb brushed your sensitive clit. 

He took that as an invitation to move his tongue willingly against yours whilst easily sliding a single finger inside of you. Your lips parted on an exhale at the sensation. It’d been too bloody long. You also briefly contemplated if you’d ever been this turned on in your life before. Rhys understood and spoke to your deepest and darkest desires, and it seemed that the sexual ones wouldn’t be neglected. 

The tension between you had been building for the past couple of days. Well, if you were honest with yourself that tension had been there from the start. But it started to crescendo the moment you returned from killing Lockwood. It might be twisted and other people would likely never get it, but you both did. A silent understanding between the two of you. Your bond filling itself with a yearning and desire for the other that ultimately led you to be so fucking wet right now.

Rhys leaned back to watch you when he unapologetically added another finger. His intense gaze solely focused on you as he analysed your every reaction to figure out what you liked — what would ultimately make you see stars. Insistently repeating those touches and angles that made you want to jump two feet into the air if it wasn’t for Rhys’ strong arm wound tightly around your waist to keep you as close to him as possible. 

You gasped at the delightful pressure, eagerly moving your hips to meet the thrusts of his hand. You were already so close to the edge, it was almost humiliating. But you honestly couldn’t give a damn. Not when Rhys was hovering over you, looking at you like that, hand buried deep inside of you. His thumb had been lazily grazing your clit, slowly stoking the heat building within you.

Rhys pressed his cheek to yours. “Are you going to come for me like a good girl?” He rasped in your ear.

You moaned loudly into his neck when he didn’t wait for an answer, instead proceeding to circle your bundle of nerves in earnest. He gradually picked up the speed and you clawed at his back, his fingers pumping inside of you at an unrelenting pace. Apparently, Rhys knew exactly how to make your body sing, giving you what you so desperately needed. It made you shiver when you realised this was only his hand, already starting to anticipate what would come after. 

The combination of his warm breath on your skin, the sureness of his skilled fingers and the sultry tone of his voice as he kept whispering encouraging words into your ear, ultimately teetered you over the edge. 

“That’s it, Y/N. That’s it,” Rhys panted. Your pleasure nearly making him come undone himself.

You bit the juncture of where his neck met his shoulder to keep from crying out, clenching down on Rhys’ fingers that were steadily guiding you through your orgasm. Rhys groaned and he pressed his lips to your neck, leaving behind a wet trail of open-mouthed kisses. The pulsing waves of pleasure just went on and on, seeming like a never-ending bliss you wanted to drown in.

His fingers slowed when you at last started making slight protesting sounds. It was all too much. He was too much. Rhys had arguably just given you one of the best orgasms of your life. 

You felt a little hazy, grateful for his arm around you and him supporting most of your weight. It took you a moment to fully come back to your senses, Rhys using that time to place kisses along the side of your mouth. Your eyes fluttered, feeling his hands wander freely over your body.

You were still drunk on that euphoric feeling when you moved your hands from where they were gripping Rhys’ still-covered shoulders to pull on the ends of his sweater. He was wearing too many goddamn clothes.

Rhys chuckled as he let you ungraciously yank the sweater over his head. “Was that not satisfying enough for you?”

Your hands landed on his now naked chest and you leaned in to brush your lips against his. 

“On the contrary,” you said, softly biting his lower lip. “But I need you inside me. Right now.”

Rhys’ eyes filled with lust, his full lips curling upwards, conveying all of the dirty things he wanted to do to you. Without warning, Rhys effortlessly picked you up and you instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist. You whined when your sensitive and still throbbing core made contact with the rough cloth of his trousers.

“As you wish,” Rhys murmured before refastening his lips to yours as he walked you both over to his bed. He simply couldn’t stop himself from kissing you. You were fucking irresistible.

Rhys lowered you to his bed, quickly straightening again to discard of the remaining clothes he still wore. You let your eyes roam his physique unabashedly, taking in his naked form. You knew he kept himself in impeccable shape, and it showed. Rhys smirked when he crawled over you. 

“Like what you see?”

Rhys pressed his body to yours, making space for himself in between your thighs. You playfully smacked his chest and he pretended to be hurt, which made you softly laugh. His eyes crinkled as he smiled at you, leaning down to claim your mouth again. 

You felt his firm erection pressed to your lower abdomen. You’d already taken notice of the magnificent size of him when he’d self-assuredly undressed himself in front of you, but the feeling of him against your naked body was something else. You rolled your hips suggestively, the friction making Rhys moan into your kiss. He was just as desperate for it as you.

You hooked your leg around his waist and grabbed onto his shoulders before levering the both of you over, rolling Rhys until he was on his back. Rhys breathed out sharply, staring up at you.

Perched on top of his thighs, your hand found his hard and wanting cock. You gently squeezed, eliciting another delightful moan. Rhys regarded you with half lidded eyes when you moved over him, lifting your hips to line him up. You sighed appreciatively when you felt Rhys’ hands gripping your thighs to help stabilise you.

Your hips teasingly circled his cock, dragging him between your folds a couple of times to spread your wetness over his length before you slowly sank down on him. You took him inch by inch, marvelling at the stretch, holding his gaze until he completely filled you to the hilt. Rhys groaned, fingers now digging roughly into your hips. You whimpered at the feeling of being so full, throwing your head back in ecstasy. 

“Fuck, Y/N,” Rhys grunted when you involuntarily clenched your inner walls around him.

“Yeah,” you agreed, planting your hands firmly on his chest. 

You lifted yourself up and then dropped back down onto him, repeating the movements slowly and steadily, allowing your body to adjust to him and his blessed size. After a minute or two, you started to set up a fast and fierce rhythm, shoving yourself down on him with sheer abandon.

Rhys looked up at you in awe, lips parted as he let out soft grunts of pleasure. Your nails raked over his chest, leaving behind faint red lines. He didn’t seem to mind though, instead focusing on lifting his hips in time to meet your thrusts. “Christ, you’re a vision,” Rhys said, his voice rough.

You could only moan in answer to that, continuously shifting your hips to find the one angle that made you want to crawl out of your own skin. Rhys knew exactly when you did. Your nails digging into his chest as you called out his name. 

Rhys unceremoniously sat up, his abs flexing as he wrapped his arms around you, making you sink down on him a little further. “Oh, god,” you mewled, holding onto his shoulders for support. 

“I know, my darling,” Rhys rumbled into your ear. “You feel so fucking good around me.”

Rhys tangled his left hand into your hair and tugged — forcing you to bare your neck for him. His lips descended on your pulse point and you moaned when he sucked a mark on your skin.

You felt him start to tremble beneath you and Rhys’ other hand moved between your sweaty bodies, fingers finding your clit once more. The delicate circles completely at odds with the brutal pace you’d set. It was the combination of those opposing sensory overloads that did it. You came hard for a second time that night, moaning uncontrollably. The rolling waves of bliss stealing your breath.

Rhys followed close behind you, groaning into your hair as his own orgasm ripped through him. He came in long pulses, his body shuddering against yours. 

When you both started to come down from your highs, you leaned back, slowing down your movements. You noted his messy hair and the look of pure bliss on his face. Rhys shot you a lazy smile, untangling his hand from your hair to smooth it back a little. It was probably just as wild and untamed as his. Perhaps worse. 

He started to soften inside you, so you levered yourself off of him with a sigh, collapsing next to him on the bed. Rhys laid back as well and turned onto his side, immediately reaching out to pull your body close to his.

You leaned in to kiss him and he returned it, softly moving his lips over yours. There was a striking gentleness there, wholly different from the utter desperation you’d felt before. Nevertheless, it was no less meaningful. 

“You are something else, Y/N,” Rhys murmured, reverent, propping up his arm to support his head with his hand. You mirrored him, delighted at his words. You traced his chest with your finger. 

“So are you,” you whispered softly. 

His dazzling smile caused an unfamiliar, warm feeling to blossom inside your chest. You acutely realised you truly and deeply cared for him. And that feeling ran much deeper than you’d previously thought.

Rhys shifted his weight then, clearing his throat. You frowned at his sudden change in attitude, running your hand through your unruly hair. The action made him glance up at you, a sheepish look passing over his face. 

Oh, this will be good, you inwardly smirked.

“So,” he pursed his lips. “Do you agree to inform Jonathan on his kind act of sponsoring Lockwood’s latest trip to the Mediterranean, next thing tomorrow morning?” 

He already knew you would. It’s what you demanded from him before. To take a breath, see the bigger picture, and most importantly — stick to the bloody plan. Even so, this was Rhys’ way of giving in, acknowledging he’d been a little overzealous with wanting to choke the professor to death. 

It’s okay, it happens to the best of us, you thought. As long as you were there for each other, to balance each other out, all would be well.

“Yeah, I agree,” you answered with a gentle smile. “And do you agree not to do anything rash?”

“As long as I can keep you here in this bed with me — then, yes.”

You snorted. “Right. I suppose that settles it.”

“Very well,” Rhys said, low.

He reached out to touch you again, running teasing fingertips over your side. You instantly jerked back, smacking his hand away. Rhys’ hand warily strayed back to his side as he narrowed his eyes at you. 

“You’re ticklish?” Rhys smirked, devilish.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Yes. Yes, I am,” you sighed, already knowing that this insight would become the death of you at some point. The teasing and wicked nature of the man telling enough.

“Well, well, isn’t that interesting,” he said, storing away the valuable information for later.

You groaned in annoyance, making him laugh. He really was insufferable. You promptly promised yourself you would find a way to get back at him. At some point. 

Rhys moved over you then, making you look up at him with suspicion. He briefly caressed your cheek before sliding his hands down your body, the simple touch causing want to flare bright and hot inside you once more.

“What? Did you think I was done with you?” Rhys asked playfully when he noted your quizzical expression, his hands pushing your thighs wider as he settled comfortably between them. 

He pressed a lingering kiss to your sternum, fingers cheekily squeezing your nipple. You keened as his mouth slowly trailed down your body, carefully avoiding the area where you needed him most. You felt that pulsing need for him return in ten-fold and without thinking, you callously threaded your fingers through his hair before taking a fistful into your hand. 

“Stop fucking teasing, then,” you demanded, already breathless, trying to steer his head down.

“Patience, my dearest, patience. Good things come to those who wait. And more importantly — behave.”

You scoffed. “I didn’t see you exercising patience when you so much as ripped my clothes off earlier.”

Rhys chuckled, his warm breath fanning over your core as he just hovered there. You stared at him with unfocused eyes, his hands hungrily rubbing your inner thighs, keeping them spread apart. 

“I promise you this, Y/N. One day I will make you beg for it,” he vowed, blue eyes sparkling with sinful desire as he finally bent his head, never breaking eye contact.

–––– 

A/N: My sincerest apologies for the inordinate amount of smut but it’s been a long time coming.

[captaindibbzy]

I've never read any main stream Dracula analysis but I've seen enough on Tumblr to know a lot talks about Lucy being "punished" for being too loose, exchanging fluid with multiple men, wanting to marry multiple men.

But personally I think the idea that it is a punishment detracts from the tragedy of the horror. The true tragedy is that there is sometimes there is nothing you can do to stop it. Lucy could do nothing. Mina could do nothing. Jonathan could do nothing. Dracula's wives could do nothing to stop it. Even Dracula himself is not said to be the original. Once he too was mortal. Once he too was bitten and turned and watched himself slip away. The Change came for them.

There's a metaphor in there for physical illness and disability. It doesn't matter who you are it can come for you, and you can be the most virtuous, healthy, careful individual on the planet and it can still come for you: an accident, an illness, genetics, or even just old age. And maybe there is some special doctor out there, some special cure, something that will help you recover yourself after it happens. Perhaps the right surgery will work for you, or perhaps someone will develop a cure in time, or an experimental treatment, or physio, or anything. Perhaps you can be Mina and not Lucy.

And isn't it a nice lie to tell one's self that Lucy brought it upon herself? By not being the right sort of person, and not doing the right things. A divine punishment is so much easier for outsiders to believe than the truth which is that the true horror is The Change does not care about your puny and mortal reasoning.

[thesinglesjukebox]

POST MALONE FT. MORGAN WALLEN - "I HAD SOME HELP"

You've heard of post-punk and post-hardcore; here's post-wallen...

[4.00]

Wayne Weizhen Zhang: Chipper and catchy, the ideal PSA for male friendships based in toxic masculinity. Can't wait for "Teamwork makes the dreamwork/Hell, I had some help" to play at the cookout before the next insurrection while the bros believe in their hearts that they're the good guys!  [3]

Aaron Bergstrom: The "Blurred Lines" copyright lawsuit was a net negative for music as a whole. It was a cynical cash-grab, it was incorrectly decided, and it set a dangerous precedent for artistic freedom. On the other hand, it's not like people were lining up to defend that song, and there was a pleasant hit of schadenfreude in seeing a lowest-common-denominator vehicle for smug misogyny get its comeuppance, even if it was for the wrong reasons. So, all of that said, on the matter of "I Had Some Help": I'm not saying Tom Petty's estate should get involved here, but I'm not not saying that, either. [2]

Alfred Soto: I can't argue with the confidence of the verses -- that's how you drawl, kids -- and I admire the hint of ambiguity. Morgan Wallen's recorded enough songs in which he can't remember what he said and did before he passed out, what he's going to drink to help him recover from passing out, and the consequences of passing out too many nights a week; I can hear "I Had Some Help" directed at a buddy who let him down as much as at a woman, especially since in the male-male duet tradition he and Post Malone look like they wanna cootchie-cootchie-cool each other in the video. I don't need to hear it again, though it's not like Top 40 radio's helping. Sure hope Martha-Ann and Sam Alito spot the upside American flag in the video. [6]

Katherine St. Asaph: A breakup postmortem presented as an Am I The Asshole post that -- like many Am I The Asshole posts --  is noticeably vague about the specifics of the breakup, about what exactly "all the shit she did" was and how it supposedly counterbalances whatever shit he did. This isn't meant as moral indignation -- the song might well be better if it were more clearly an asshole's POV (and certainly more believable from Morgan Wallen). It's just hard to have an emotional response given nothing solid to respond to; the music certainly isn't contributing much there. [4]

Scott Mildenhall: How would America have felt if, on embracing DHT's "Listen to Your Heart", it had been rewarded with the lesser half of Clubland 4: The Night of Your Life? Delighted, if it had any sense -- wait til you meet Jurgen Vries! -- but you have to take things step by step. Hitting the rest of the world straight with this bottom-of-the-barrel bottom-of-a-bottle country is likewise something of a liberty. If it wasn't for the familiar throat frog of Malone, it would be the kind of wallpaper you can only buy at Home Depot. [4]

Jonathan Bradley: There are engaging stories to tell about two people who take one another to worse places than they could reach alone — John Darnielle has produced an entire song cycle demonstrating as much — but Morgs and Posty speak in such non-specific and evasive terms (count the clichés: throwing stones at glass houses, fucking “teamwork makes the dreamwork”) that I can’t trust them about the source of the toxicity in this relationship. That could well be the basis for a compelling dramatic irony, but it would also require a much nastier song than this breezy Tom Petty facsimile of an arrangement could tolerate. [4]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: Real poptimism has never been tried; if it had, there'd be reams of essays about this track, a true mega-hit floating above all the various pop conversation objects of the late spring. Instead, nothing. No reflections on the grand symbolism of this link-up, no canny narrativization of the continued Post Malone country-turn, no long-form exegesis on Morgan Wallen's fraught relationship with rap music and his own proclivity for racial slurs, no pondering of the state of the charts. We've got a paragraph in the New York Times, a third of a Chris Molanphy article, a anti-Post jeremiad in Saving Country Music, and not much else. This ought to be the "WAP" of dryness, a discourse schelling point, but the commentariat has fallen silent. The obvious conclusion here is that there's nothing to say about "I Had Some Help" — that I've written 120 words of this review without talking about the song perhaps serves as useful corroboration. But that's not quite right; "I Had Some Help," like every one of the great blank chart-topping colossi that these two men have been responsible for, is full of interesting little details if you listen to it enough times— that little "Help!" yelped after the chorus, the surprisingly delicate mandolin and fiddle interplay on the bridge, the way that the two vocalists reach towards harmonies they can't quite nail by the last chorus. Do these details add together to anything of worth? God, no. Perhaps the most intriguing thing is comparing their two approaches as singers — Wallen continues his honking reign of terror, bulldozing those melodies and sounding less like the charming rascal the song wants him to be and more like your best friend's worst boyfriend, but Malone sounds more pitiful and beautiful, leaning on the fucked-up choir-boy warble that has always lent his music a certain pathos. I'd like this more if he didn't have the help. [3]

Ian Mathers: Two great tastes that taste great together! [0]

Taylor Alatorre: Rest easy, reader: our beloved Posty has not gone full Rock n Roll Jesus just yet. What he and Wallen have done is inadvertently craft an anthem that better taps into the mindset of post-Cold War conservatism than any tryhard harangue by the likes of Kid Rock or Jason Aldean. The duo breeze through the nominal relationship angst with such airy detachment that the song's pretext easily outstrips the text: this is little more than an excuse to bring together two imperial-era megastars and have them act out their dented masculine stoicism at the altar of Tom Petty. And wouldn't you know it, each of them happens to be repping a different red state milieu: Post from the affluent North Texas suburb that trended blue so much it had to be redistricted, and Wallen from the rural Tennessee outpost that was side-eying Democrats even before the Civil Rights Act. The result is less musical fusion and more Buckleyite fusionism, with each artist giving up a bit of their distinctiveness so the partnership can coalesce as smoothly and inevitably as possible. This might be a complaint if it didn't end up sounding exactly as seamless as intended, barring some tin-eared Wallenisms like "us a-crumblin'." Everything else is built along a frictionless straight-line path that offers little opportunity for resistance, which is fitting for a song that's essentially about passing one's agency into the hands of another. Post and Wallen want to take us along for a ride in which they too are being taken along by someone, or more specifically dragged under. "Help!" they numbingly shout at us from some unseen subterranean place, sounding at first like punctuation and only over time registering as desperation. There's a hard-to-explain thrill in watching these avatars of white America willingly make themselves into the subaltern for a few minutes, bemoaning their limited range of choices under the accumulated weight of history. Personal responsibility is an overrated concept, they imply -- finally, some bipartisanship! On the one hand, "I Had Some Help" is the cri de coeur of the anti-anti-Trump voter, the kind who has little use for the man except as a corrective lesson, a Mandate of Heaven against the haughty overreaches of the liberal elite. In Swiftie terms, it's "Look What You Made Me Do" for people who either write for National Review or drive lifted trucks. On the other hand, whataboutism is all-American fun; that's why Both Sides Do It™. "You blame me, and baby, I blame you" -- himbo insight, maybe, but ain't that really the truth, in a century where politics on all sides is less and less about improving material outcomes, and more and more about the proper rationing of sympathy and apportionment of blame?  A nation of stadium crowds, 30,000 apiece, all screaming along to a jaunty country rocker about the joys of denying one's own free will -- America, what a country!  [8]

Joshua Minsoo Kim: I cannot deny how propulsive the verses sound here and how much the song suffers when nobody is singing. And just as I’m about to give up on it, the two deliver a bridge that brings it all together. This would go so hard at a wedding — I hope I get to dance to this at one soon. [6]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox]