#if you find a typo no you didn't

[sacredsanguine]

What's In The Bag?

Inspired by VOGUE's "In the Bag" video series.

[minimanic]

JUNE MOVIE ROUNDUP!

Made it 33% of the way through my aspirational pride month list which is a little less than I'd hoped for but not the worst I've ever done. Viewing overwhelming skewed 90s with some notable exceptions.

Handful of unrelated and late additions that I also feel some type of way about.

Opinions and links under the read more

✨In which 90s queer cinema makes me nostalgic for a period of time that I was technically alive during✨

But I'm A Cheerleader (1999) Directed by Jamie Babbit: An absolutely adorable romcom about conversion therapy that handles its premise with more grace than anyone could have possibly expected. None the less, it stressed me out so bad i nearly ground my teeth to dust.

💚 But I'm a Cheerleader available on Internet Archive here, Tubi here

Nowhere (1997) Directed by Gregg Araki: I like to joke about how insufferable i would have been if I'd found Araki's films as a teenager but i think this is the one I would send back to myself if I could. The man takes teenage angst both seriously and honestly and that's a talent and a level of compassion that sets him apart. Also this one has aliens in it.

The Watermelon Woman (1996) Directed by Cheryl Dunye: The drive to find people who were like you within the history of art and culture, especially as a marginalized person, can be a consuming force and it's portrayed beautifully here. Also it absolutely rules to see a classic 90s indie slice of life film about black lesbians.

💚 The Watermelon Woman available on Internet Archive here

Bound (1996) Directed by Lilly and Lana Wachowski: It Just feels Good man. This one was a re-watch but it's a re-watch at nearly 20 years and it hits just as good today as it did when i was 15. If the Wachowski's excel at anything it's a commitment to catharsis.

✨More Pride month flics✨

You and the Night (2013) Directed by Yann Gonzalez: Admittedly, I don't have a ton of experience with low budget french films about supernatural events happening at an orgie but even so I'm confident this is the best of the genre or at the very least the sweetest. An absolute comfort film.

Apocalypse After (2018) Directed by Bertrand Mandico: It resonates. It's also full of goo and fun outfits and practical effects!

Pink Narcissus (1971) Directed by James Bidgood/Blank Narcissus (Passion of the Swamp) (2022) Directed by Peter Strickland: Pink Narcissus is a homoerotic fever dream that appreciates the erotic power of ass more than anything i have literally ever seen. It works completely. Blank Narcissus is equal parts cheap parody and fairly compelling rumination on lost love. It doesn't quite work but i get it.

💚 Pink Narcissus available on Internet Archive Here

El Pico (1983) Directed by Eloy de la Iglesia: I mean... its absolutely the prototype of the don't do drugs kids type dramas of the 90s but its noteworthy that it came out a solid decade before Trainspotting and co.

Lucifer Rising (1972) Directed by Kenneth Anger: Finally found a screener for this movie with more than 4 pixels! I'm gonna level with you. A couple weeks later I have forgotten literally everything about it despite my best efforts. I was certainly enthralled while watching it though. I'll give it that much.

💚Lucifer Rising available on YouTube here

💚 Most if not all of these can be watched through Solidarity Cinema. They're doing really excellent work over there. I use their streaming option through Plex and its been an absolute dream so far.

✨Movie I did not know was queer but oh my god holy shit✨

Anchoress (1993) Directed by Chris Newby: Threw this on for summer solstice and... its a revelation honestly. Part of the Folk Horror box set that came out a few years ago and definitely one of the best. The cinematography is beautiful. The ethos is immaculate. And who among us wouldn't have risked it all for a janky statue of Mary at some point in our life.

✨The Best of the Rest✨

Twister (1996) Directed by Jan de Bont: I am saying, truly and genuinely, with my whole chest: this is the best disaster movie ever made. Every single character is a delight, the effects inspire a mixture of fear and awe, it essentially watches like a road movie, Helen Hunt is trying to get revenge on a tornado. Its the rare perfect film.

Witch's Cradle (1944) Directed by Maya Deren: The best experimental films carry a sense of genuine magic with them and this has that in spades. Absolutely hypnotic.

💚 Watch Witch's Cradle on YouTube here

Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome (1985) Directed by George Miller: I fully forgot how good this movie is. You can really see a lot of the themes and sensibilities that would eventually come to fruition in Fury Road start to form here.

Moby Dick (1956) Directed by John Huston: Appropriately epic and perfectly cast, who doesn't want to watch Gregory Peck fight a whale?

💚 Moby Dick available on tubi here

Dr. Strangelove or: How I learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb (1964) Directed by Stanley Kubrick: First time watching this one all the way through and in a packed theater no less! Tragically, the jokes still land just as hard as they did when it first came out. The whole theater lost it during Ripper's fluoride in the water bit. Kubrick's signature style is wildly successful when employed for comedic effect.

💚 Dr. Strangelove available on Internet Archive here

Galaxina (1980) Directed by Wilim Sachs: Is it a good movie? No absolutely not. Does it inspire a powerful fondness within me? It sure does! Imagine if Space Balls had no budget and periodic delusions of also being a real science fiction movie. That's what you're working with here and it is a delight.

💚 Galaxina available on YouTube here

[inkskinned]

at some point it's just like. do they even fucking like the thing they're asking AI to make? "oh we'll just use AI for all the scripts" "we'll just use AI for art" "no worries AI can write this book" "oh, AI could easily design this"

like... it's so clear they've never stood in the middle of an art museum and felt like crying, looking at a piece that somehow cuts into your marrow even though the artist and you are separated by space and time. they've never looked at a poem - once, twice, three times - just because the words feel like a fired gun, something too-close, clanging behind your eyes. they've never gotten to the end of the movie and had to arrive, blinking, back into their body, laughing a little because they were holding their breath without realizing.

"oh AI can mimic style" "AI can mimic emotion" "AI can mimic you and your job is almost gone, kid."

... how do i explain to you - you can make AI that does a perfect job of imitating me. you could disseminate it through the entire world and make so much money, using my works and my ideas and my everything.

and i'd still keep writing.

i don't know there's a word for it. in high school, we become aware that the way we feel about our artform is a cliche - it's like breathing. over and over, artists all feel the same thing. "i write because i need to" and "my music is how i speak" and "i make art because it's either that or i stop existing." it is such a common experience, the violence and immediacy we mean behind it is like breathing to me - comes out like a useless understatement. it's a cliche because we all feel it, not because the experience isn't actually persistent. so many of us have this ... fluttering urgency behind our ribs.

i'm not doing it for the money. for a star on the ground in some city i've never visited. i am doing it because when i was seven i started taking notebooks with me on walks. i am doing it because in second grade i wrote a poem and stood up in front of my whole class to read it out while i shook with nerves. i am doing it because i spent high school scribbling all my feelings down. i am doing it for the 16 year old me and the 18 year old me and the today-me, how we can never put the pen down. you can take me down to a subatomic layer, eviscerate me - and never find the source of it; it is of me. when i was 19 i named this blog inkskinned because i was dramatic and lonely and it felt like the only thing that was actually permanently-true about me was that this is what is inside of me, that the words come up over everything, coat everything, bloom their little twilight arias into every nook and corner and alley

"we're gonna replace you". that is okay. you think that i am writing to fill a space. that someone said JOB OPENING: Writer Needed, and i wrote to answer. you think one raindrop replaces another, and i think they're both just falling. you think art has a place, that is simply arrives on walls when it is needed, that is only ever on demand, perfect, easily requested. you see "audience spending" and "marketability" and "multi-line merch opportunity"

and i see a kid drowning. i am writing to make her a boat. i am writing because what used to be a river raft has long become a fully-rigged ship. i am writing because you can fucking rip this out of my cold dead clammy hands and i will still come back as a ghost and i will still be penning poems about it.

it isn't even love. the word we use the most i think is "passion". devotion, obsession, necessity. my favorite little fact about the magic of artists - "abracadabra" means i create as i speak. we make because it sluices out of us. because we look down and our hands are somehow already busy. because it was the first thing we knew and it is our backbone and heartbreak and everything. because we have given up well-paying jobs and a "real life" and the approval of our parents. we create because - the cliche again. it's like breathing. we create because we must.

you create because you're greedy.

[wilsons-journey]

Some silly doodles of lovely people from EUs ArtParty (June) ♥

[backmarkerr]

please....can u speak on the conspiracy

So the conspiracy (more like a theory, really) is that Kimi was pushed out of the team starting in 2008 to make way for Fernando, who was more appealing to the big sponsor coming in. Before you click out thinking "Max, that's stupid, no team would throw a championship for a sponsor." I agree! But keep in mind that they didn't throw the championship, they fully expected to win the WDC with Felipe (and almost did) and did in fact win the WCC in 2008 with Felipe and Kimi despite everything. But there were really suspicious things going on. So with that in mind...

It's 2008. Kimi has just won Malaysia, the second race of the season. Three days after his win, there's this:

.

Ok, kinda weird, but whatever. F1 runs on rumours, right? Suggesting that Kimi might retire when he's doing so well is silly. And in the article they seem to be pretty ambivalent over whether it would be Felipe or Kimi to leave.

Fast forward to Spain two races later. Kimi scores his second win of the season and takes the championship lead. The season is shaping up pretty well for the defence of the title, you’d think this would be a good time for him, but again, the story du jour is Ferrari wanting Alonso in Kimi’s seat for 2009.

[x] I guess now we know at least Massa's seat is secure...?

If you’re like me, that sounds stupid. The reigning champion just won the last GP and his contract runs until the end of 2010, so this media narrative makes no sense. Something pretty catastrophic would have to happen for that to ever come to fruition, right?

So anyway, he gets a first row start in Monaco. Great, that's almost a surefire win/points, right? Wrong, he got a drive-through penalty due to the team not fitting the wheels to the car on time before the race start. Not a great race and he ends up outside of the points. Lewis is now ahead in the WDC by 3 points. Not really a disaster, but...

[x] what on earth...

[x] again the talk of retirement.... I mean, it's weird, right?

Zero points in Canada due to being rear-ended in the pitlane, which the team can’t control. Then he’s back to being neck to neck with his teammate and Lewis by the time the British GP is done in early July, with all three drivers on 48 points. Good news, right? Just gotta stay on track and not fuck it up somehow.

[x] sigh... (this one's a little harder to source as it was printed media, but I've seen this exact interview quoted in different pages)

So anyway, they change his front suspension for the next race in Germany. Kimi has always been very sensitive to changes in the car, so he knew something was wrong. Ferrari (via Michael, who was then head of development) say he's just not adapting well to the upgrades. Maybe, sure, but why aren't you bringing upgrades that are geared towards your world champion?

(an interesting remark from Mark Hughes here if you scroll down to the comments, which adds weight to Kimi not being listened to when it came to car development in 2008)

Bar a podium in Hungary, Kimi scores 0 points in 4 out of the next 5 races. It takes until either Monza or Singapore (hello crashgate!) for Ferrari to put his suspension back as it was.

He proceeds to get 3 podiums in the remaining 3 races but it’s not enough to catch up. By Singapore he was already 27 points behind his teammate (reminder this is the old points system) and very much expected to play the supporting role. In the penultimate race in China he very obviously gave up P2 to his teammate:

"I know what the team expects." [x] / [x]

Yet the narrative in the media and from Ferrari themselves is that his motivation is bad and he's not assertive. It was so pervasive that to this day people still parrot it and say he just didn’t care after 2007, despite Kimi always stating he was fully committed and clearly getting annoyed whenever journalists asked about his motivation even years later.

Montezemolo at the end of 2008 even 'joked' that "Kimi in the recent races was replaced two or three times by a friend, but next year he'll be back." Basically saying that Kimi wasn't really present, you know? An interesting thing to say when this absent driver scored 18 points in the last 3 races (three consecutive P3s), while the one who was amazing and had the team's full backing scored 20 (P7, P2, P1).

A whole 2 points' difference, maybe someone should hire that "friend"...

So why did they do this?

Well, the theory is that Santander (I promise this isn’t like the dumb Sainztander takes) wanted a Spanish-Brazilian lineup due to financial interests (Spanish bank, big market in South America with a looming IPO in Brazil), so Kimi was basically being pressured out of the team from early 2008 onwards. Like I said at the start, the team weren’t really throwing away 2008, as they expected to win the WCC with both drivers (they did) and Massa to be able to win the WDC, which would of course be beneficial for their new sponsor. And he almost did. Almost.

[x] they're not in charge of driver selection but this specific driver line-up would good for them. (this archived copy of the article is from 2010, but the text makes it clear it's from 2009)

Of course at this point we have to wonder if a team like Ferrari would bow down to a sponsor's demands. I can't tell you what the internal considerations were or how much money was on the line, but it's also not like Santander were telling them to get rid of Kimi for a bad driver, you know? Fernando is a great driver, so from Ferrari's perspective they were just trading a great driver for another great driver who also appealed to this huge sponsor, and an Alonso-Massa line-up would be solid. And with the previous talk that Ferrari and Alonso had already inked a deal in 2008... It's just difficult to believe there isn't a grain of truth here.

So the alleged initial plan of having Alonso in 2009 was foiled when Kimi activated the renewal option in his contract. It was then that he was bought out of his last year (apparently paid for by Santander).

[from the book The Unknown Kimi Raikkonen]

As we can see, by the end Kimi was also fed up with what was going on, especially people pointing the finger at him and at his motivation, and his frustration is very clear in interviews like here at 2.35 and here:

Publicly, Ferrari said they wanted someone more in line with how Michael used to be (ironic since Montezemolo allegedly didn’t like how Michael made the team his), who could communicate with the team and give better feedback (ironic when Todt, Dyer, Stella and others said Kimi was very clear and precise.) Kimi himself has always stated that he wasn’t the issue, that his motivation was never lacking and that the real reason he was pushed out was politics and money.

[x]

[x]

If it had only been the mechanical stuff, I’d be willing to chalk it up to just bad luck and incompetence. Shit happens. But with all the rumours around it even before things went bad on the track and Kimi stating that his work and performance weren't the reason he was let go it becomes impossible for me to think there wasn’t an actual push going on to replace him.

Hell, even famed Ferrari fanboy Sebastian Vettel didn't think it was realistic for Kimi to return to Ferrary in 2014 precisely because Kimi isn't one for "bullshit" and "politics". Why would he choose to say that specifically? And according to Finnish media Kimi’s 2014 Ferrari negotiations included Montezemolo personally apologising to him. Now why would he apologise if they hadn’t done something wrong?

Personally I think Kimi's "certain people did certain things" refers to this. He never trashed anyone and always said he had no ill-feelings. And I believe him. But it doesn't mean nothing happened, lest we forget how well he handled Lotus not paying him.

The thing that really bothers me is that Kimi got the reputation for having low motivation and not caring about what he was doing (I heard that take just last month from an F1 youtuber, how Fernando was hired in 2010 because Kimi had mentally checked out 🙄), when obviously someone who wasn’t motivated and didn’t care would have simply called it quits under these circumstances. Instead he got P3 in the standings in 2008 (I know he’s talented, but he must have been trying at least a little), trained hard to lose enough weight to use KERS in 2009 (why would he do that if he didn’t care) and took the team’s only win that year despite the car being shit. Interestingly, pundits acknowledged his good performance complicated things when it came to Ferrari’s rumoured hiring of Alonso. So imagine how much more complicated things would have been had Kimi done better in 2008?

Anyway, this is long, but if you want something longer then I definitely recommend this post here. You might not agree completely with the original authors (there are parts where I wish there was more info), but I think they offer a lot of good research and information regarding the overall situation back in 2008/2009, and it's a good jump-off point for your own research.

But yeah. 2008 could have been everything. Or at least better.

[ragzonacamrencruise]

What do you think of an Azutara idea where Azula gets sick and Katara takes care of her?

oooohhhhh it could go smthn like . . . . hmmm . . . okay hear meowt-

***

The time Azula spent in the mental institution only solidified her deteriorating physical condition. Katara knew, that if threatened, Azula could easily take her down with a single blow. But that doesn't hold true when she's literally a walking skeleton, with the constant threat of dismantling and falling in a pile of weak bones.

She won't admit it though. Her bloodcells are fighting for their lives and Katara could practically hear Azula's muscles screaming out in pain when she goes around and performs exceptionally hard katas in the name of training and keeping her body fit.

It's only been two months since Azula was finally allowed out of the institution after two excruciatingly long years of torture with mirrors and chains. She was in no shape to even sit up properly without help when she first arrived.

A weak immune system is only one of the many gifts the institution provided her, along with nail scratches on random places of her body and her unevenly cut hair.

Azula is a morning person, Katara soon comes to find. She wakes up every morning to meditate and practice her katas. She knows it wasn't a luxury she had in the institution so Azula was adamant on continuing it to get back in shape. And Katara was adamant on keeping an eye on her every morning so that she doesn't do anything stupid. Like collapsing on the floor after a spinning kick like she did two days ago, or something like that.

Azula's better now though. She's gained a little weight in these couple of months and is slowly reverting back to her old self again. Colour is back in her face and the barber did an excellent job by cutting her hair in way that the uneven chunks were no longer odd but in place with the rest of her hair precisely. She has her hair up in a top-knot, the rest of it falling freely down her shoulder with her signature strands of hair framing the sides of her face. She looks . . .

Katara struggles to find the exact word to describe Azula as she watches her meditate facing her in an open courtyard built for training and practice.

Different.

Katara settles on that.

Somedays, she even joins her when Azula trained. Simply because she feels the need to get closer to the firebender in case she falls or . . . something Katara wasn't sure about. She just needed to make sure, up close that the princess was okay.

Azula lets out a gentle sneeze and that immediately brings Katara out of her thoughts. She frowns when the firebender lets out a follow up sneeze, but this time stronger than it's predecessor. She sniffs a bit before resuming her disrupted meditation session.

"Your Highness . . ." Katara trails off, worried. She never calls Azula by her name in open spaces like this. She simply cannot when Azula's posture oozes regal elegance. But she's always 'Azula' in her head. Especially during their healing sessions behind closed doors where no one was allowed till the session gets over.

"What?" Azula says softly, still with her eyes closed. Her tone has a hint of annoyance at the disruption to her meditation again, but nothing more.

Katara's face is riddled with worry. "Are you catching a cold?"

Azula scowls. Katara's not sure how she can do that even with her eyes closed. "No. And even if I am, it's no concern of yours."

Katara eyes her suspiciously. These past two months have been hard. Katara's sole job was to break down Azula's walls brick by brick so that the princess would allow herself to be taken care of. Azula's been reluctant in letting Katara do it for her. But Katara, being Katara with her stubborn, adamant self, would take none of the firebender's protests. Azula had given up on day four.

Katara rises up from her seat at the edge of the courtyard to go and plop down right infront of the princess. She runs her eyes over the perfectly chiseled face, looking for anything out of place. However, she gets distracted once with the firebender's full lips, but she steadies her eyes and thoughts, to the task at hand. Focus, Katara . . .

She does find something disturbing, though. "You look pale." She notes. "Have you been eating well?"

If Azula's surprised by Katara's voice sounding so close to her, she doesn't show it on her face. She still has her eyes closed. "Shush! I'm trying to concentrate here, peasant."

Katara's been with Azula long enough to know that that word isn't derogatory anymore. The princess just likes to call her that. Especially after Katara mentioned to her once that she's the daughter of the Southern Water Tribe's chief and the princess just replied, 'I know' with a shrug.

Smiling to herself at the memory, Katara raises her hand to Azula's forehead, intent on checking her temperature. But before her hand could make contact with the pale skin, Azula's jet-like fingers shoot out to her wrist, stopping her ministrations suddenly with a precise grip.

Katara gasps softly at that.

Her eyes are still closed. How did she . . . ?

When she looks up, Azula's dazzling golden eyes are trained directly on her and she feels her face getting warm under the princess's gaze. Her body might be weak; but her eyes still haven't toned down from their sharpness yet. And the waterbender doubts that it ever will. It's still piercing and . . . warm.

No, hot is more like it.

"You should know by now, that invading a fire royalty's personal space without their explicit permission is a crime punishable by solitary confinement for 5 years."

Katara can do nothing but let her lips fall open and shift her eyes between the princess's golden ones, cuz she can't seem to focus on one, cuz they're too damn close.

Then, she finds mirth dancing in those golden orbs and she lets out a sharp breath. "You actually had me there for a second."

Azula lets Katara's wrist out of her grasp and the waterbender immediately misses the warmth the hand provided her with. "I can still have you there for a second. It won't take me a minute to call the guards and let you rot away for 5 years."

Katara's eyes narrow. "You wouldn't do that."

"Wanna bet?"

Katara's eyebrows fall together as she notices Azula's voice getting scratchy. She raises her hand again and this time, the princess lets her, golden orbs watching her intently. She places the back of her palm on her forehead, and then on her neck before letting out a gasp.

"You're burning up!"

"I'm a firebender, peasant. In case you haven't noticed."

Katara wants to face-palm. She really does. But she resists the urge. "Your Highness, you're sick. We need to get you to bed."

Azula's face takes up a 'what-the-fuck' look. "I'm not sick!"

"Yes, you are."

"Move away before I punch you in the face. I need to get back to my training and you're turning out to be a nuisance."

"Your Highness." Katara tries again.

Azula doesn't answer her, closing her eyes and about to rivert back to her meditation. The waterbender rolls her eyes before catching hold of Azula's wrist, tugging it gently. "Come on . . . You know you're sick!"

"Leave me alone."

"Let's go." Katara tugs at her hand again, making a move to stand up. "I'll have the chefs make you some nice, hot, chicken soup with lots of fire-flakes, just the way you like it. Come on."

"No."

"Princess . . ."

"No."

"You're sick!"

"I'm no- a- A- AACHOO!!"

Katara gives her a look and she knows Azula's aware of it, now that her eyes are open from the force of her sneeze. "Your Highness-"

Azula snatches her hand from Katara's grip. "No. No. NO. I'm not sick!"

"You know you are!"

"No, I'm not!!"

"AZULA!!"

The firebender looks at her, stunned. Katara's yell echoes all around the courtyard. Thankfully, no one is there to hear it. Even Katara's a little taken-aback by her own little outburst.

She acts fast, trying not to lose her advantage. "Let's go. Now!" She commands.

She catches hold of Azula's wrist again and this time, the princess follows the waterbender without a word as she makes her way to the royal kitchens.

...

Katara finds herself feeding Azula her soup.

The firebender's neatly tucked inside her bed, leaning against the headboard with the support of a soft pillow. Not a single word was exchanged between them since Katara's outburst in the courtyard that morning.

The servants who popped up to help feed Azula were quickly dismissed by the waterbender who was determined to do the job herself. She avoids Azula's eyes at all costs, as she knows very well that if she ever looks at them, she'll drown.

The princess on the other hand, has no such restrictions as she openly stares at Katara, just as she's feeding her spoonfuls of hot soup. Katara makes sure to blow on them for a bit before placing it on Azula's lips, in case it burns her.

It's silent between them. Katara's well aware of Azula's eyes on her, but she fights like her life depends on it to not look up, and she forces herself to focus on the task at hand.

When the contents of the bowl reduces to only a few more spoonfuls, Azula speaks softly.

"My father used to train me and Zuko."

Katara's hand stills just for a split second, before she resumes her task. She feeds Azula one more spoonful. The firebender swallows it after savouring the taste, then speaks again.

"Zuko and I were not allowed to eat before completing our meditation, katas, training and meditation again, in the morning."

Azula opens her mouth for another spoonful, gulps it down, then continues. "I remember when one day, I hadn't eaten any dinner the previous night as I was mad at Zuko for something stupid he did. So my stomach was growling even before we were through with the first meditation session that morning-" Katara feeds her and Azula drinks the soup hurriedly to complete her story. "I took a chance to ask father if he'll allow us to eat before training that day."

Katara scoops up the last spoonful from the bowl and places the edge of the spoon on Azula's lips as she happily opens her mouth to recieve it. The waterbender then places the empty bowl on the dinner tray kept beside the bed. She bends the water inside the glass on the same tray and turns to Azula. She makes water droplets touch the firebender's lips and around her mouth to clean any soup that might've found their way to her cheeks or chin.

"He told me to silence myself and not speak another word."

Katara frowns as she turns around to the tray again to pick up a hot towel.

"He used the same tone to say my name as you did this morning in the courtyard."

Katara's whole body stills halfway to Azula with the towel in her hand. A pang of guilt grips her heart as tears form in her eyes in a flash. She wills herself to say something. Anything. Apologize. But her throat chokes up and she's unable bring herself to even make a sound as she completes the remaining distance between them slowly to wipe around the lips of the firebender.

She feels Azula's stare on her and yet she busies herself with the task.

"I liked it."

Katara's eyes betray her as they snap up to Azula, wide with shock. The hand wiping Azula's mouth slows down before dropping down to brace themselves on Azula's chest.

"Not in a weird, masochistic way." Azula continues with a soft smile. "I liked it because, you used that same tone to make me do the complete opposite of what my father wanted me to do."

Hot tears leak out from Katara's eyes as they stay helplessly locked on Azula's gentle, golden ones.

"I liked it because, I understood that you genuinely care about my well being and no one has ever done that before. Not even my mother." Azula says, as she rubs the pad of her thumb to wipe the tear on Katara's cheek.

"I liked it because, it showed what my father thinks of me is absolutely immaterial."

Katara blinks, her thoughts racing.

"I liked it because, it made me realise," The princess whispers, fixing her strong gaze on the waterbender, "that I like you . . ."

Katara's eyes widen.

Her mind struggles to wrap the idea around.

Azula likes her.

Azula.

She lets the towel fall from her hand. She doesn't realise what she's doing until she feels Azula's warm breath and an even warmer smile against her lips, pulling her close by the hips.

Katara's hand comes up to hold the firebender's delicate face as she plants her lips on hers again.

And again.

And again.

Until her brain catches up with what she's doing, and the waterbender lets out a raspy little giggle against the full lips that she was distracted by this very morning, overwhelmed with feelings, suddenly shy to look at the princess. "You should be resting, Your Highness." She says, her eyes betraying her to gaze up into those golden pools.

Azula looks at her with such gentleness, Katara feels like she's gonna explode. "Stay with me?"

"Of course."

...

Zuko finds Katara walking into the general meeting room that evening for their daily sessions with the Earth Kingdom officials to negotiate repurcussion terms, with a stupid little smile on her face.

"Someone's in a good mood." He says, eyeing her curiously.

Katara throws him a radiant smile. "Is it that obviou- a- A- AACHOO!!! AACHOOOOO!!!!"

Zuko's brows fall together. "Katara?"

She looks at him with horror. "Oh, no-"

***

i love this prompt sooo much ahhhhhhhhhh

lemme know what you think omg!!!!

[robo-dino-puppy]

there is a LOT of stuff out of bounds in the meridian area of the map! i wanted to compare some spots that exist in both games, but it's kinda long so there are timestamps if you want to skip around - the estate near the end is the most interesting imo :)

the map was clearly copy/pasted but there are updated and missing textures (and ones that weren't updated that say they need to be haha) - was this the start of the rumored hzd remaster? or are the assets just ones that happen to exist in both games and were carried over because we get close to them in the "legal" area of the spire? and it's a small itty bitty thing that will be in a future video, but there's something i came across that definitely doesn't exist anywhere in hfw's map that i remember... (spoiler: it's banuk T_T)

(why are all the handholds missing texture??? that's what i really want to know lol)

[tagidearte]

There's something special about Moon being the only side of the DCA who has canonically (gameverse) voiced his counterpart's name ("No more Sun", which yes it's not him directly saying Sun's name since it's a figure of speech, but still) whereas Sun - the chatterbox - only refers to Moon via "he" or "other me". Moon, the quiet one who mostly laughs vs Sun who mostly uses words. Sun, who is scared of Moon, never utters his name whereas Moon clearly has no problem with it. Both of them using "we☀️/us🌙" prior to Eclipse. Moon, whose only opinion of Sun we can infer is "the other me trapped me in light so now I trap him in shadow", vs Sun's whole thing which is profoundly more fleshed out.

I don't know man, the "no more Sun" line always did things to me. I remember playing Ruin for the first time and getting this... jarring emotion when I heard Moon saying that. It's such a small line but good god did I latch onto it.

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

s5 episode 8 thoughts

after the last few episodes, i took a brief break to ponder life's meaning and other such things. but we’re back. 

initial thoughts upon reading the description: PUSHER LIVED?!?!?! mulder shot him!!! fired the whole clip in ‘em!! granted, it was just one bullet, but he sure did keep going like there were more of them in there.

it’s very rare we see the same monster or bad guy of the week twice, and the first time we met pusher was one of my favorite episodes of all time, so i’m curious to see if they can recreate the magic here. no pressure.

(author's note: while a good episode that followed in the first one's tradition of having the most intense last 5 minutes you ever did see, this one did not beat the original for me. in fact, some parts even bothered me, like the writers' constant need for mulder to always always always be right!! but not the ending. they nailed that)

let’s go!!

we begin with modell, aka the pusher, doing some physical therapy. he is relearning how to walk. but he is still in prison and being re-cuffed into his wheelchair after doing very well. the doctor asks if this is really necessary, and the guards say yes ma’am. you do not wanna mess with this guy. we know this to be true.

they’re talking about him like he can’t hear. and i know his name is bobby modell, but i still kinda wanna call him the pusher. so i’m torn on how to refer to him.

older guard says to the younger guard chuck that you must never, EVER underestimate this man. and believe me. i won't. chuck, on the other hand...

i bet the actor who plays modell was pumped as hell to come back. you know you did a good job when they ask you to return. 

there is a light flashing outside modell’s cell, so the new guard chuck goes in there to investigate, pepper spray in hand. it seems modell’s pressing some sort of medical emergency panic button. and now he’s whispering to the guard…

the older guard is back in the morning, and knows something is afoot because chuck is gone!!! and modell’s cell is empty… except chuck!!!! who cannot form any coherent sentences??

ahhh, yes, in case you forgot, he pushes you to do stuff against your will with his psychic powers. hence the whole showdown last time. that is a very key detail i somehow forgot. but yeah. that was good stuff.

mulder is here, but it is scully leading the way!!!!! a power walk!!!!

into a room where skinner is briefing a large crowd!! he has a funny tie. and mulder and scully are his S.A.C.s! hold on, i need to look that up. special agent…? ah, it means special agent in charge. that’s a title that looks good on them.

they tell the people about the way modell can inflict his will onto others, how technically all of the kills from before were self-inflicted, how he thinks he’s a samurai without a master, and he loves to play games. last time he thought he found a worthy adversary in mulder. this time, i hope he realizes scully is just as worthy. i would like to see this please. and i appreciate the recap for others who, like me, may have forgotten his skill set.

modell was comatose but then just woke up!! “it’s unusual but it’s not unheard of” <- yeah girl you’d know lmao

he still has his cancer in him, though. which i also forgot about: the tumors give him the powers. outlandish? well, yes!

scully is really concerned!!! and says that mulder leading the investigation is exactly what modell wants- he’s playing his game. mulder seems offended and walks away. lmao. i know he thinks he needs to suffer, but girl, c’mon. she is talking sense. he must know that deep inside.

(cue a deep scully sigh as he storms off)

downtown in a random sports store, a guy is watching the news of modell's escape, when in he walks!! this guy goes to grab something to fend him off, but modell turns it into a rattlesnake??? huh?? now he can summon living things??? this is a serious power upgrade. or is he just making the poor cashier imagine that inanimate object is a snake...

YES, HE IS JUST IMAGINING THAT THE BASEBALL BAT IS A SNAKE!!! woah. okay, so that makes a lot more sense than him now being able to create beasts after his stint in prison

modell steals some candy bars (he loves his candy bars!) and watches scully and mulder on the TV!!! you’d think they would try to not be on TV. but sometimes it still happens

the agents are talking to modell's doctor, who says that it is impossible his gunshot wound to the head left him good as new; he couldn’t have been faking his condition entirely. she then looks up and declares “you’re the agent that shot him” and there’s a thick silence until scully cuts in with the observation that he had a visitor in prison yesterday before he escaped. typical scully saving the day. 

the doctor is explaining that she never had a problem with him personally (mulder is mad as hell) when someone runs in to say “agents! it’s modell” so they RUN OUT in great style 

ohhh, he’s on the phone asking for mulder, and skinner is here to run a trace

ohhh!!! scully was so worried modell would suck mulder in with this psychic powers again... they just needed 30 seconds to trace the call, so scully asks for a time check!! and when he starts to get invested, she reminds him to hang tf up!! which he does!!

but i am interested in what he had to say… even if it was all lies…

scully says “don’t let him rope you in” and “mulder, hang up the phone” and him listening right away did a lot for me 

off to the sports store, where mulder finds modell's candy wrapper, but no modell. he’s outside! but is it really him??

mulder is running and running in front of traffic to find this guy… but i have this terrible fear he’s just going to get hit by a car. which wouldn’t be the first time. 

there is a real guy!!! in modell's jacket!! but it’s the poor cashier from earlier who thought the bat was a snake! :( skinner asks him very angrily where modell is and he just says “he had to go” hmm hmm…

modell is looking at a picture. he gets blue paint on it. and blue paint on a lot of things. some guy is covered entirely in blue paint? can you paint yourself to death? (we later learn this man is named bowman)

modell left a huge message in japanese on the wall of bowman's house! “i’m going to take a wild stab here and guess that this is a clue” <- deeply observant as always, mulder

does anyone in the squad read japanese…? now would be a great time to come forward and admit that

scully is investigating paint guy bowman. he swallowed it???? he drank the paint to death?? damn.

THEY DO FIND SOMEONE WHO CAN READ JAPANESE!!! shoutout to this side character. 

and the blue was modell's favorite shade of cerulean omg…

bowman was the one who prosecuted modell in 1996! wait, so… what year is it in this episode? let me guess… 1998? 1999? i honestly do not know. but they’re saying “1996” and not “2/3/4 years ago”, and since i don’t see which year each episode was made in on this devious streaming platform, i am left with only my best guess

he was writing the same thing over and over… "kitsunegari"… it means “fox hunt”!! which i guess is a pretty good description of what they are doing 

LMAO MULDER’S FACE he looks briefly flattered “well, that’s a little on the nose, don’t you think?” <- why is he hunting just for mulder!!! he is underestimating the prowess of scully here.

it seems this paint guy bowman had a wife, who i shall refer to alternatively as "mrs. bowman" and "linda", so they call her. and she isn’t in her office, but the person who picks up says she went to meet a FOX MULDER!!!! a bald faced lie, that was!!! for mulder is here, on the phone!!! so they’re trying to figure out where mrs. bowman and modell went. skinner calls the town’s police department right away. 

these cops are entering this warehouse sort of place… and modell’s in there!!!! but they can’t find him… he is leading them to him!!! this must be some sort of trick…. is cop A imagining his partner is modell???

agents on the scene. wait hold on. rewind. mulder was driving, skinner was in the passenger seat, and scully was in the back. this is amusing to me. anyway, they’re off.

ohhhh no, it IS cop A pointing his gun at cop B, thinking he is modell. poor cop B is screaming. yeah. that's tough.

scully asks the question: what does he want with bowman’s wife??

aww, she thinks he’s here for a tour of the property :( and she’s crying because she just learned her husband died :( poor scully has to ask the hard questions and she is also looking very sad :(

mulder… please call me

ohhh skinner coming in… he kneels next to linda bowman and says that she is safe with them!! usually people saying this means that things will not end well. he says they’ll place her in protective custody :( and he has his hands on her back :( ohhhh skinner…

“find him” “yes sir” <- scully never ever ever forgets to say sir. mulder almost never does it. says so much about their characters in such a small detail. i love it and i love to analyze it.

mulder has his hands in his suit pockets, thinking deeply. why didn’t modell just kill those two cops? hmm. he asks for a radio. 

ohhh modell is watching mrs. bowman being taken away…. he sees mulder…. who is entering the building…. and mulder finds another candy bar wrapper, knows modell is nearby, and pulls out his gun!! 

he’s going in alone… this is a terrible idea!!! everything is so suspenseful!!!

he radios scully, but modell is trying to tell him something. and he keeps telling him to shut up, but no!!! he has his psychic claws in his brain!!

modell is very sick and sweaty… and when mulder walks out, all he says to scully about modell is “he had to go” <- NOOOO 💔💔

okay, no pressure scully, but it seems your partner is down for the count.

ohhh, wait he’s back. okay. so the brain hijacking is really only temporary.

“how are you feeling?” “well, aside from the utter grinding humiliation that comes from knowing i let our suspect go, pretty good” <- lmao awww :( he's embarrased

ohhh, modell had a special message for mulder: “don’t play the game” <- is he talking about the evil alien tricks and traps the FBI has set forth for those two?

mulder thinks perhaps modell has changed… and that he’s involved with this whole case, but not the killer… scully wants to know how he knows if it’s really his own opinion!

“what do we still agree on here? that modell was pursuing linda bowman?” <- this was, for once, a masterful act of avoiding conflict. i’m almost shocked. usually for the last 5 seasons, these nerds would get into a cat fight over the logistics of how this could or couldn’t be possible, but he totally shifted it to "what do we both need to know and how can we find it?". i’m gagged. mulder, you’ve changed! this is character development!

linda is at the safe house, being questioned by the agents. ohhhh she is saying her husband thought mulder should have just killed modell, and it would have saved the taxpayers the cost of a trial. girl, he shot him in the HEAD, he was doing his best to kill him!! scully is watching him as she says this to gauge his reaction

OHHH... linda said “brush”, and i was thinking, hmm that’s suspicious after earlier activities, and now she just said “paint him as that” and i am INCREASINGLY suspicious… and mulder says back “he was true-blue” ohhh they’re speaking in riddles… 

so what does the part about only being married two months and two days mean….? anything at all?

(author's note: yeah it didn't mean a damn thing <3)

mulder seems to think that linda killed her husband! scully is shocked to hear this. perhaps, mulder posits, it was her game he warned against playing, and modell was there during paint time, but not involved.

OHHH scully tells him that she does not agree at all..... and SKINNER SUSPENDS HIM!! he cannot be trusted after modell had access to his mind! skinner takes his gun!!!! but you have to remember, this mulder guy usually has a slay little ankle gun in his sock. so he might not be down for the count.

linda comes out and asks for water… they lock eyes and he says he’ll prove it. “GO FETCH HER SOME WATER”, he yells back at skinner. see? about what i said earlier? no “sir” there. 

mulder goes back to visit modell's doctor, who says that a nun once described modell as a “conquered warrior”. OH he thinks the nun might be linda!!! but the doctor can’t find her glasses to make an ID!!!!

OH MY GOSH??? she’s on the phone and says “oh yeah, he’s here” (why are they talking about him??) and then she GRABS the electrical box and fries herself!! he’s calling for help!!! he is doing some CPR, but idk if it’s looking good for her….

modell is being taken into jail. allegedly. who knows if it’s really him or not? he tells this guard to go home. and this does happen.

someone is now approaching linda… it’s modell!!! he locks the door behind him as he enters the safe house!!!! 

mulder calls scully to say that it must have been linda on the phone with the doctor ordering her to fry herself, because she might have identified her, and he tells her to cut off any access she has to a phone. hmm. 

NOOO they might have fallen for a trap…. scully tells all the agents to get back in the trucks…. 

skinner is seemingly alone with linda at the safe house, trying to enter the locked room. OHHH he kicks down the door!!! modell announces that he has a gun. skinner says get on the floor NOW and modell doesn’t, so skinner shoots!! he is a man of action 

linda is here too, and modell points to her on the floor…. as if to implicate her for the crimes!

mulder is back after previously having been booted, and skinner does not seem happy to hear him. mulder is trying to explain that hearing modell say he has a gun makes one sort of just appear in his vision. and that really modell was unarmed. so skinner just killed an unarmed guy, oof.

mulder thinks that modell is taking the fall for linda, and scully is asking, well why the hell would he do that for the real estate lady? and she went home anyway; she clearly wasn't a threat

mulder says he needs to be the first person modell talks to when he gets out of surgery…

i want mulder to be wrong so badly and just blaming this whole elaborate scheme on some random lady. he’s right too often. so he’s just standing there over modell at the hospital, lmao.

BUT IT TURNS OUT THE NURSE AT THE HOSPITAL IS LINDA!!! who uses her ability to walk right past mulder. so did she come to modell in prison to learn his secret power or something? are they having an affair?

she gets on his bed and grabs his hand. “why did you do it? i didn’t ask you to come after me” 

she says she’s going to finish what he started, but he asks her to stop……… 

she uses her mind tricks to try and alleviate his pain… and then she starts tricking him into dying?????? so he dies and she lays her head on his chest. i'm receiving mixed messages here on if these two even liked each other.

mulder sees someone running into the room and realizes modell died without talking to him!!! and linda left an address on her little index card that said “nurse”.

so he goes there…… and he hears scully?? but is it really her?

SHE HAS A GUN.

“you were right about her, mulder. she’s making me do this” <- HUH???

MULDER MAKE HER STOP, SHE BEGS. HE’S YELLING. HE’S YELLING. SHE PUTS THE GUN TO HER HEAD?? AND FIRES??? AND HE’S SCREAMING???

he’s cradling her head but there is only a tiny drop of blood… was it fake? but the rest of the blood follows soon

OHHHHH NOW “LINDA” IS SAYING THAT SHE’S SCULLY AND SHE’S NOT DEAD…. oh my gosh the mind games….. he sees scully bleeding out behind him, but is it really her? he has his gun up and he’s yelling “you killed her” at "linda", and i recognize this scene from a gifset i have reblogged before without context… 

“YOUR MOTHER IS TINA. YOUR SISTER IS SAMANTHA. modell warned you. don’t play her game” <- OHHHH (“linda” shoots at someone behind her)

(he turns and realizes that it really is scully he’s talking to, and she shot the real linda, who asks “you think you can hold me?”)

(see, if i were scully, i would have pulled out some more niche mulder facts than his family members' names to prove it was me. i would have gone for "YOU WERE TERRIFIED OF STICK BUGS AS A CHILD AND SCREAMED A GIRLY SCREAM AT THEM" but i understand that it was a very intense situation and perhaps that thought was not on her mind)

wait, i need to rewatch that. hold on. hold on….. 

the way he watches “scully” in distress, thinking that it’s really her. she's begging him to make her stop as she clicks the gun, screaming his name as she turns the gun to her own head… and how he screams “NOOO!” and cradles what he thinks is her dying body...

and then he talks to real scully, but he sees linda, and he growls that he’s going to kill her… he looks down and sees scully’s dead body…..

he keeps screaming at her to shut up… with this animalistic, out-of-body fury in his eyes…

and then scully saves the day and shoots the real linda, who was standing behind him….. and he sees it’s really scully standing in front of him… and she gently grabs his arm… before calling an ambulance…

that was a very intense scene that deserved such a rewatch.

(screams into my hands real quick at the angst)

(she says “we’d like an ambulance” and i think that’s interesting that she uses “we” to refer to them both as a duo even to a total stranger, but i can imagine that possessiveness is still high in her bloodstream after almost watching him kill her, thinking he was avenging her own death)

so, wrap up time with skinner. linda too had the advanced temporal lobe tumor that modell had… they were TWINS??? but they only found out 6 months ago. and scully guesses she wanted revenge for what they did to her brother

(skinner turns to mulder) “anything you want to add to that?” “no, i think that covers it” <- (visible confusion on skinner’s face) ohhh you know it’s bad when mulder actually shuts the fuck up.

OHH but skinner wants to see him after… mulder nods at scully that he is okay to handle whatever this is alone…

SKINNER WANTS TO JUST TELL HIM HE DID A GOOD JOB?? “you were way ahead of me” “i almost killed my partner” <- yes, and this will haunt him forever just the way i like it.

“you won her game” “how come i feel like i lost?” (skinner does not know what to say as mulder sadly leaves)

bro, he was trying to be nice to you… 

this episode wasn’t as good as the original, but it is hard to live up to such high expectations. however! it was still VERY good.

i liked the first one so much because they were so in sync about everything. they were even in constant close physical proximity to hear modell's phone calls. and the joking!! and her falling asleep on his shoulder!! mixed with the angst!! it was the perfect recipe.

this one felt like another “mulder is the specialist boy of all time and he is so smart, he sees what everyone else cannot” episode, which we get an awful lot of. STILL, he was tricked in the end, and the angst was delicious. i liked that they were both wrong- her about linda being evil, and him about scully being dead.

what i was really hoping for was that at the halfway point when mulder had modell get into his brain, that he would be down for the count for the rest of the investigation, and modell would shift his target to scully, realizing she was also a worthy adversary. and then the same things could happen just in a different direction. someone let me know if that is a fic.

but, just because it wasn’t as good as the first does not mean it wasn’t good at all!! okay?? i mean that!! him screaming at her thinking she was her own murderer??!! i mean come on!! where else do you get that?

and skinner overtly complimenting him, for like, the first time ever?? mulder has always seemed like he wants skinner to let him in so bad, in a way that is too much to want from your boss that probably comes from being raised the way he was. and it finally happens where skinner says "you did it son", and he’s all, "no i didn’t, i almost killed scully". he’s too wrapped up in his own eternal labyrinth of guilt to acknowledge that skinner is giving him approval. chef’s kiss

oh, and scully screaming his mother and sister’s names, begging him not to shoot… i wish we could have seen gillian anderson act that out, BUT it contributed to the illusion to not see that. and her whole faking scully’s death scene was amazing anyway, so i can’t complain with what we did see. 

scully was really worried about him, and it makes total sense, especially if you recall last time her screaming “DAMN IT, MULDER” as pusher made him hold the gun to his own head, and then as she watched him try and shoot him like a million times despite there only being one bullet. it makes sense that she wanted him to go home and stay away from the case. it makes total narrative sense. she was looking out for him, she was scared. when we see him in the OG episode, it’s probably the most overtly terrified we ever see him! i think of that scene where he’s shooting at the range, so terrified he has to brush up on his aim. so her protectiveness makes sense. but still.

i get annoyed with the “only mulder can solve this case” episodes after like, 5 seasons of them. i wouldn’t complain if the ratio was more even between them. but like. when bigfoot exists in this world and mulder’s like “bigfoot is real” and she’s like “don’t be ridiculous” and then bigfoot IS real, we get a lot of him being right already. it feels that, despite this, the narrative wants to keep convincing me that he is the smartest boy, as if i forgot. and i did not forget. i do not see why we need to emphasize how smart he is and not do the same for scully.

i was also hoping for any sort of acknowledgment about last episode, but they just kinda ignored it which is fine too i guess lmao. i mean sure, we can just give scully a baby, kill her off, and act like nothing happened /s

anyway, rereading this episode's notes was a funny experience because i fully fell for mrs. bowman's tricks. lmao. it is also funny that they were twins separated at birth, but it turned out that her husband put her brother in jail. the very sort of shenanigans you expect from such a show!

[arklay]

RESIDENT EVIL → THE WESKER FAMILY

To the public, little is known of the families behind some of the world’s most renowned bioterrorists, but the question remains: did they play a role in causing their children to walk down the path that they did? Or are these individuals simply ambitious criminals with delusions of grandeur?

For Diana Wesker (née Afanasyeva), her introduction into the bioweapons black market trade was upon discovering her employers were using her research into limb regeneration with salamanders to further their experiments in creating enhanced soldiers, instead of developing human therapies with which she was recruited for. Although the prospect of using biological weapons in the military did not appeal to her, the concept remained fascinating for her own selfish endeavours. Born on the 27th of October, 1963 in Sydney, Australia to Russian immigrant parents, Diana had harsh expectations placed upon her at a young age, ones that no matter how hard she tried she could never live up to. Her mother, Tatyana, was an unfeeling woman, absent for long stretches of time with little regard to how it affected her daughters, much more concerned with her craft as an accomplished opera singer. Viktor was no better. A strict man whose role as father and ballet master blurred, he pushed his girls to one day follow in his footsteps. Whilst Sofia enjoyed ballet, and went on to become a professional ballet dancer, Diana’s heart was set on going into the field of biology. She wished to make a name for herself, separate from her family – to which she succeeded.

Diana was married to former U.S. Marine, Dave Monroe, for only a year until he was declared dead in 1992 after succumbing to injuries sustained in a horrific car accident. Foul play was ruled out while Diana played the role of the grief-stricken widow, but in reality, she had snapped after years of mistreatment at her husband’s hands, and opted for something she could pass off as an accident to be free of him. For years she believed he was dead – and he was, legally – but that proved to not be the case when he found his way back into her life again in 1999. Unbeknownst to her, she had been lied to by the police and coroner, who were paid off by her employers when they took Dave’s body for themselves and used him as one of their first test subjects in developing supersoldiers. Before he could ever hurt her again, Diana’s second husband, Albert Wesker, tracked the man down, captured him and tortured him, before allowing Diana to get her violent and bloody revenge.

The origins of Albert Wesker’s involvement in bioterrorism, alongside his twin sister, Alex, are much different than that of Diana’s. The two hail from London, Canada, but unfortunately, they hold no memories of their lives there, nor what happened to their biological parents when they were eight years old. Agents of Oswell E. Spencer, an aristocratic billionaire and eugenicist, took the twins from their home and executed their parents as per Spencer’s orders. Albert and Alex were then placed in a home funded by the Spencer Foundation where they were given new names and a privileged upbringing. They had access to the best education possible, free to pursue whichever field they decided, but it was by no accident they both went into virology and bioengineering; at home, their adoptive parents – agents whom they believed to be their real parents – instilled them with the beliefs of Oswell E. Spencer, harbouring disdain for war and pestilence, and believing humans to be an evolutionary dead-end in need of a rebirth. They were only two of the hundreds of children “adopted” as part of what is known as Project W, a plan intended to develop an advanced race of human beings. The most promising candidates were headhunted by Umbrella Pharmaceuticals, the twins amongst them, where they went on to create bioweapons for the company founded by none other than the man who had handpicked them for his plan. The final stage of this was to infect the thirteen Spencer saw fit, however, only two survived; Albert received the intended effects, now possessing superhuman abilities, however, Alex was only offered more time to live due to her terminal degenerative illness.

In the summer of 1995, Diana was working undercover within Umbrella to gather development data on their projects for her company. Here, she had a chance encounter with Albert, an intelligence officer at the time, which permanently altered the course of her life. The two were never seen far from one another’s side, marrying in 1998, and they went on to become notorious in the bioweapons industry. The development of the Uroboros virus was where things took a turn for the worst. Although Diana’s infection was successful and she bore abilities that rivalled her husband’s, the plan itself did not succeed as they had hoped, and almost cost Albert his life at the hands of his former subordinates.

Now, they work within the shadows, with Diana declared missing and Albert believed to be dead. Their legacy, however, lives on with the mark they left on the world. As visionaries in their field, they influenced bioterror attacks carried out by countless individuals and organisations. In turn, they also inspired others to fight against such atrocities. One such person happens to be Albert’s son from a former relationship, Jake Müller, whose existence he was unaware of.

[bizaar]

Cruel Summer - Part 8

First - Previous - Next

pairings: Eddie Munson x fem!reader

summary: After breaking up, you and Eddie do your best to soldier on with your lives, but you slowly begin to discover that there is a stronger line of connection keeping you together than just history…

word count: 12k

warnings: swearing, mentions of Chrissy's death, fluff, just really saccharine fluff, sappy love, if you know you know

A.N.: Babysitter!reader part eight, newly formatted to make jumping between chapters easier! Mean!Girl Steve is in full force, and I kind of love it, Dustin finally learns the truth.

When you finally get back to Benny’s, the parking lot is full, indicating that with the passing of mid-morning into afternoon, the masses have finally descended.

The diner is swamped with regulars and newcomers, a whole host of the same onlookers you’d seen standing around gawping back at the trailer park. They’d been staring at you then, trying to get a good look while you were being forcibly removed from the Munson trailer and unceremoniously interrogated, and they’re staring at you now, whispering amongst themselves as you push through the doors and stalk across the diner floor.

Your coworker is running back and forth like a freshly decapitated chicken, berating you for leaving her to fend for herself, but you don’t stand around long enough to listen to her dig into you for abandoning your post.

You’ve wasted enough time as it is. 

You’d been detained by the Hawkins’ boys in blue for the better part of an hour, and the walk back had been unceremoniously long. With the weight of Wayne’s money sitting heavy in your pocket and his words even heavier on your shoulders, you’d walked, repeating them to yourself like they were the lyrics to a song you were trying to memorize, a desperate attempt to ward off the paralyzing fear they stirred in you.

You said them over and over again until that fear subsided and gave way to something more grounded, over and over until it was all you could think: Find Eddie, get out of town, don’t come back.

You’re muttering the words to yourself as you slip into the hallway between the kitchen and the dining room, where a short row of beat-up lockers stand beside the punch clock.

There you find Earl, looming in the doorway behind you with his thick arms crossed over his barrel-chested form, staring tiny holes into your back as you snatch your things from the locker you’d stashed them in that morning – jean jacket, bag, car keys, find Eddie, get out of town, don’t come back.

“– Are you even listening to me?” Earl snaps.

You twist at the waist to blink at him, stupidly you imagine because you had not heard a word he’d just said, so caught in the mire of your thoughts as you were. 

“No,” You answer honestly, followed directly by, “I’m leaving.”

The tone of Earl’s flesh deepens until he’s turned nearly purple and is all but frothing at the mouth as you skip back through the diner. He follows, as any self-respecting employer would, you imagine, hurling threats at your back.

You’ve already made it to the door by the time he manages to get out from behind the counter, making one last-ditch effort to stop you.    

“You step out that door and you’re done here, Missy!” He shouts.

The proposed loss of your income does nothing to deter you. 

You don’t miss a step as you shove the door open with a familiar chiming bell that you imagine you will be hearing for the last time.

Fine — Good riddance. 

Your triumphant exit is, however, not punctuated by the cheers and swelling music you’d always imagined it would be. It is, in fact, wholly uninspired as you leap down off the curb with Earl still shouting at you how you best not come crawling back, blah blah blah, and make your way across the lot to your little Toyota, left all but abandoned.

It is only after you slide into the driver's seat and jam the keys into the ignition that you discover, much to your chagrin, at some point over the last couple of hours your car’s battery has died.

Just fucking typical.

You don’t have time to run around trying to find someone to jump it for you, so you shoulder your bag and bid a silent farewell to your trusty little car before starting up the road towards town at a swift jog.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you know it is going to be a problem when eventually you find Eddie and have to figure out how you’re going to get him out of Hawkins without the use of a car, but you’ll just have to cross that bridge when you come to it. 

You’ll get this done if it kills you, one Sisyphean hurdle at a time.

Of course, you have no earthly idea where you are even meant to start looking for Eddie, and it is only by sheer dumb luck that you somehow miraculously find yourself headed past Adam’s house.

Miraculous, considering you’d only cut into the neighborhood in a panicked attempt to avoid the cop car you’d seen nestled in its speed trap on the shoulder of the road, but all the more so because, like a stroke of divine intervention, you’ve somehow found yourself stumbling across an honest to God, Corroded Coffin jam session.

What are the odds? 

Like nothing has changed and somehow the encroaching cloud of doom has not yet reached this part of town, Jeff, Adam, and Gareth are all there, standing huddled together in the open garage like they were waiting for you.

The coincidence of it all drives you a little crazy, especially considering Eddie is not with them. You can’t help the pang of bitter disappointment you feel as you have to remind yourself it was never going to be that easy – nothing with Eddie ever is.

The band, sans its frontman, stands staring at you wide-eyed and gawping like they’re seeing a ghost as you bolt up the driveway, shouting their names and waving your arms for their attention as you come screeching to a halt.

Your body is surging with enough adrenaline to almost make you forget how your lungs are burning. You’ve done more running today than you have all year, and your body is not happy about it – funny how quickly you get out of shape once things like regularly mandated physical education become thing of the past.

“Whoa, holy shit, Dude!” Jeff squeaks out, stumbling over your name and the chord of his electric guitar as he moves towards you, “H-hey! It’s been a minute,”

You don’t let him finish, you don’t have time for a game of catch-up. 

“Where’s Eddie?” you demand, well aware of how you are starting to sound like a broken record even if only to yourself. “Have you seen him?”

The question seems to shock them. Adam and Gareth exchange nervous glances, meanwhile Jeff makes a harsh sound in the back of his throat that is a little closer to disgust than you like and recoils like you’d threatened to slap him.

The reaction might have confused you if not for the fact that you are well aware of the way he’s always had a big crush on you and the tension it has created between him and Eddie as a result.

You are not in the least bit surprised to see that it has not changed, but you have neither the time nor the patience to be nice to him about it.

You don’t care about Jeff’s feelings, you only care about finding Eddie. 

Gareth has to elbow him in the ribs to stop him from saying something snide as he answers you.  

“Not since Hellfire last night–” He begins, lamely fumbling for the excuse he doesn’t get the chance to trot out before Jeff cuts him off with a scoff.

“I saw him.” He says matter of factly, garnering horrified reactions from his friends.

Gareth’s eyes widen as his head whips around so fast you half expect to see it spin all the way around.

He and Adam are staring daggers, silently willing him to shut up, and suddenly you get a strange, sinking sense of betrayal like they are grappling with something big and unwieldy that is not for your eyes.

You swallow it, you can process it later if your feelings are still hurt.  

“You did?” You gasp. 

Jeff nods.

“Dude— don’t.” Adam hisses.

He narrows his eyes and shoots Adam an unimpressed look.

“What? It’s not like she isn’t gonna find out.” He says, sounding almost like a mocking reference to a conversation they’ve had before. Adam glares at him but says nothing, and Jeff looks almost smug as he turns back to regard you, “I saw Eddie,”

Your heart is in your throat and you can’t quite decide if it’s for excitement or nerves. You’re practically vibrating for it and you have to ball your hands into fists to stop yourself from grabbing Jeff by the front of his shirt and shaking him.

“Where?” 

He shrugs.

“In the school parking lot after the game. He was headed out with…”

Jeff trails off under the chorus of Adam and Gareth swatting at him and telling him to shut him up. It sets the band to bickering aggressively and your skin to crawl.

You can’t stop yourself from bouncing up and down in a near panic as you try to reign their attention back in.

“You guys, come on, please focus! I have to find Eddie, it’s an emergency!” 

It is enough to silence them.

“Jeff — you saw Eddie in the parking lot after the game…” You prompt him.  

After a moment's hesitation, Jeff averts his gaze and clears his throat. It causes your stomach to churn with dread. Despite how fairly certain you are you already know what he’s going to say, you suddenly aren’t sure you want to hear him say it.

He nods in a way that is almost halfway sheepish, like he’s only just realized what it is he’s about to say and who he is about to say it to.

“... I saw him getting into the van with Chrissy Cunningham… you know, that cheerleader?” 

Bingo.

Stupidly, it hits you like a fist to the gut, winding you ever so slightly.

You suppose you already knew that Eddie and Chrissy had been together last night in some capacity — how else would she have ended up dead on his living room floor — but in the midst of the morning’s panic, you hadn’t allowed yourself to consider the reasons why they were together, and now your insides are burning as your mind races with the suggestion of hideous possibility. 

You swallow hard and clench your teeth – it’s stupid to be jealous of a dead girl, you know this, and yet…?

Gareth pipes up then, grabbing your attention before you can go down the tantalizing road of bitter self-destruction by imagining Eddie and Chrissy together in any kind of intimate capacity.  

“What’s going on?” He asks tentatively, “Why do you need to find Eddie so bad?”

You open your mouth to speak before you’ve decided what you should or should not tell them about what you know. Do you tell them the truth or do you make up a sanitized version of things to try and save face, to protect Eddie?

You’re suddenly so conflicted that you feel as if your throat has filled with cotton, rendering you speechless. 

It takes you half a minute to finally force something out, settling on, “He’s in trouble.” 

Which, in the grand scheme of things is a relatively banal statement. Eddie is always in some kind of trouble, but you hope your presence is enough to clue the band in on the gravity of the situation as you swallow hard against the tightness of your throat and the black pit of jealousy forming in your stomach. 

Gareth’s brows come together over his eyes. 

“What kind of trouble?”

The worst kind.

You shake your head, partially because you don’t know where to begin but mostly to try and banish the image of Chrissy’s gaunt, screaming face from where it has shouldered its way to the front of your mind.

You set your jaw and breathe out a slow, shaky breath, but you don’t get the chance to gather your thoughts before they’re scattered to the wind again. 

“Oh, shit…” Adam mumbles, “Is it that bad?”

You don’t answer, though only because you don’t expressly know how to answer. It is that bad, and it’s worse.

After a long moment of silence, he blows out a harsh breath and shrugs.

“You know, you’re not the only person looking for Eddie,” Adam says, sending a pang of white-hot fear lancing through your midsection for what that could possibly suggest, until, “Dustin Henderson called about twenty minutes back asking basically the same thing.”

Your heart leaps into your throat as a cool wave of relief washes over you. In spite of yourself, you feel a bright and dangerous hope welling in your chest, banishing the black pit swirling there.

Dustin! Of course, wonderful, sweet, amazing Dustin would know where to look!  

The bright feeling lasts only the briefest of moments before it is dashed to oblivion because Gareth is giving you a very tense look, like he’s busy putting the pieces of a puzzle to paint a terrible picture of the truth.

“This doesn’t have anything to do with that girl who got killed… does it?” He asks.

It’s shocking, like the clanging of a bell ringing in your ears and deafening you.

You feel your heart seize in your chest and are aware of how your jaw falls open ever so slightly, betraying any discretion you might have hoped to keep regarding the situation at hand. 

Trust Gareth to always see straight through to the greater underlying truth. 

Adam and Jeff exchange nervous glances as you fail to answer. You feel suddenly very small under their collective gaze as words fail you, and all you can do is stare back at them. 

Unfortunately, your silence speaks for itself, and you watch Gareth’s jaw flex as the gravity of the situation finally starts to sink in.

You suspect they must have imagined it was just the typical Eddie trouble and no real emergency. What are you if not their friend’s ex-girlfriend, banging down the door and demanding to know where he is after he goes off with some cheerleader for God knows what – you think you can probably make a pretty good guess for what — don’t go there, don’t do that to yourself…

It makes sense that they would close rank around their friend, “bro-code” being what it is – it’s bullshit, but in the fucked up logic of the masculine brain, you suppose it’s bullshit that makes sense.

It doesn’t mean you have to like it. 

“…It’s Chrissy…isn’t it?” Gareth asks then, his voice trembling and so soft you would not have heard him had he not been standing so close, “The dead girl?” 

The silence that falls over the garage is deafening.

Your stomach bottoms out and you are struck with a wave of cold nausea. You wire your jaw shut, suddenly reluctant to answer on the off chance that despite being Eddie’s friends, somehow their collective consciences lead them to the same terrible conclusion you are certain everyone else in this backwater town is going to jump to. 

You would protect him from that if you could, in spite of everything, be his shield, but your body betrays you, and you’re nodding before you can stop yourself.

They react with varying degrees of horror, faces blanche, swears are uttered, Adam covers his face in his hands and you can hear him muttering “Jesus Christ” to himself over and over. It leaves you wondering if he’s swearing or praying.

Gareth takes you by the arm, then, and leads you away from the cloud of hysteria you have created among them, back towards the drum set crouching in the shadows of the garage. 

He doesn’t immediately speak to you, he can hardly even look at you, which is not expressly fair considering you’re only the messenger. The color has drained from his face, and for half a second you think maybe he’s about to keel over or throw up, or something.

After a very long moment, he finally makes himself breathe out a harsh, shaky sigh. His hands are shaking as he cards them through his hair – he glances back at his friends, at his feet, and then at you, like he’s trying to decide what to say. 

You can’t blame him. What does someone say to something like that?

You imagine if you hadn’t been so single-minded in finding him you would be reeling too – you’d seen Chrissy’s body, afterall.

“He-he didn’t…? Fuck– did Eddie—”

“Stop.” the word wrenches itself from somewhere deep within you in a breathless gasp. You can’t bear to hear him say it, “Don’t you dare ask me that…”

Gareth sets his jaw and levels you with a strange, hard look before finally giving a short nod. You’re not sure what it means, but you don’t like the jagged edge of the way he’s looking at you. 

You do your best to steady yourself, but your voice is trembling as you speak.

“Look, I know this seems really bad, I get it, but… but Christ, G, this is Eddie we’re talking about, okay? It’s Eddie. We know he’s not like that, he would never do something like this… I mean, come on … he won’t even kill a spider.”

Gareth is shaking his head, but somehow you don’t think he disagrees with you.

It is, after all, a point of favored teasing among the group – Gareth in particular. Big tough Eddie Munson is scared shitless of spiders … and all flying bugs, you might add, but now is neither the time nor the place to offer that little tidbit of information.

Still, your brain offers you the rather unhelpful mental image of Eddie last January, leaping up out of bed and literally sprinting to the safety of the trailer’s front porch, where he’d stood shivering in his boxers as you quickly relocated a particularly large wolf spider from the nest it had made in a dark corner of his bedroom.

You wish you were back there now, arguing with Eddie as he refused to be coaxed back into the trailer, despite the subzero temperatures, instead of standing here in this terrible moment, wondering where in the hell he could possibly be.

“What happened?” Gareth sniffs, squeezing his eyes shut like he hates to ask but he has to know.

You cross your arms over your chest and cast your gaze down to your grease-stained keds.  

“I don’t know,” You mumble, “But it’s only gonna get a lot worse if I don’t find Eddie right now.”

A sticky silence blooms between you, but it barely has a moment to settle before it is whisked away.

“Uh oh,” Adam calls from the front of the garage. “Jerk alert,”

“Jesus, what are they doing here?”

A cursory glance toward the front of the garage reveals Jeff and Adam staring at something out on the street.

You follow their gaze to see the butched-out Jeep Cherokee that has pulled up to the curb and your heart seizes in your chest as you come to recognize it and the great many basketball players that begin to spill out of it – the Hawkins Tigers, with Jason Carver at the lead. This is bad, this is very bad.

Since graduating, you don’t keep up with the interconnected gossip of the Hawkins social elite, like who is dating who, but it occurs to you all too late that you are, in fact, very well aware that Chrissy Cunningham had been Jason Carver’s girlfriend.

At least until last night.

Adrenaline spikes through your limbs and you’re struck with the same nagging urge to run that you’d woken up with that morning. 

If Jason is here, then it can only mean that news of her death has reached him, though more importantly, it means Jason knows who Chrissy was with when she died. 

You have to find Eddie, now.

Before you can even think to move, Gareth grabs you by the sleeve of your jacket and drags you deeper into the garage, leading you to the wall where a dozen boxes are stacked up against a disused side door.

He begins pulling at them, doing his best to dislodge the cardboard barrier standing between you and your escape. He speaks with a hushed urgency as he works, looking back over his shoulder at the scene unfolding at the mouth of the garage.

“Go.” He says, wrenching the door open as far as it will budge, “Find Dustin, if anyone’s gonna have a line on Eddie, it’ll be him. We’ll try to buy you some time.”

It’s a tight squeeze, but you hold your breath and manage to push through with the meager sacrifice of two buttons from the front of your dress and only the slightest amount of scraping.

Before you can slip out the other side, Gareth catches you by the wrist and says your name.

His brows are pulled tight over his eyes as you glance back at him. 

“He didn’t mean it.” He says thickly – you don’t have to ask to know who he means, “Whatever he did with… with Chrissy?”

Gareth trails off then, shaking his head like he isn’t sure he ought to even say her name, let alone try and make excuses for whatever did or did not happen. 

You dismiss the notion with a quick shake of your head. The jocks are getting closer, and you’re running out of time to escape. 

“It doesn’t matter–”

He cuts you off.

“No, it does. Just… just let me say it, in case he’s too chicken shit to do it himself.” He huffs, “Eddie’s been fucked up over you all year, okay? Trust me, whatever he did, whatever happened between you? He’s killing himself over it… he still loves you, Man, he’s just too stupid to do anything about it.”   

You swallow hard to try and stop any kind of reaction from spilling out of you.

You don’t have time to fall apart, but the coincidence that he would use those exact words? He still loves you? What could possibly have possessed Gareth to tell you that, why now?

How much had Eddie told them about what he’d said to you that night last August?

Before you have time to consider the notion, to muster any kind of proper feeling about it, Gareth pushes you through the door and shuts it behind you.

You stagger gracelessly into the grass on the other side of the wall, only just managing to stay on your feet as you hear the telltale scrape and thump of Gareth putting the boxes back in place.

You’re off and running again as the first of the jock’s voices reach you, body surging with adrenaline despite the way your legs are trembling as you go. 

Find Dustin, you tell yourself, You’ve got to find Dustin.

+++

This is the fourth time Dustin has tried you at home over the last hour, and yet again the phone rings and rings and endlessly rings with no sign of picking up.

Behind him, Max and Robin pace back and forth, dialing every number they can get their hands on, attempting to oh so casually inquire after Eddie to any of the citizens of Hawkins who might happen to have some inkling of where he could be.

So far no dice.

Not even getting Adam on the phone had drummed up any kind of result, except for Dustin having to make a very rushed, very lame excuse about why he couldn’t stay on the phone and reminisce about the previous night’s awesome session.

It had been awesome, and under normal circumstances, he would have loved the opportunity to relive the glory of Vecna’s defeat, but Dustin has to find Eddie as soon as humanly possible, and before he can do that, he has to get a hold of you.

Both of those things are seeming more and more improbable an outcome as the minutes tick past.

The phone continues to ring, and Dustin watches Steve with a misplaced vehemence as he skirts around the floor, assisting and suggesting and being an overall excellent Family Video employee like he was going for goddamn employee of the month or something.

He is very obviously doing everything he possibly can to avoid assisting in the search for Eddie, and it is very un-Steve of him.

In Dustin’s opinion, he is being very uncool about this whole thing, about looking for Eddie but also about getting you on the phone.

“You’re wasting your time,” he’d said the second time Dustin had tried your number, in that same cryptic way he always referred to you when the subject of Eddie came up.

Dustin had no patience for it today. 

“Steve, quit being such a douche,” He’d said, hurrying to finish his thought before Steve could get pissed about it, “I’m telling you — she’s good at this stuff, finding lost things? You don’t have to be her friend, just try to be nice to her for once, okay? She’s our ace in the hole.”

To his credit, Steve just huffed out an annoyed breath and rolled his eyes, which was a win considering he was within his rights to bite Dustin’s head off over the insult.

“Not if the lost thing is something she doesn’t want to find.” He'd muttered.  

“What does that even mean?”

But by then a slender brunette had walked in through the door and Steve had completely lost interest in the conversation.

The phone is still ringing, and Dustin has to remind himself for the hundredth time that it does not automatically indicate that you’ve been arrested, as Max suggested.

You’re probably at work, even though your mean coworker had already informed him that you’d gone running out the front door without a word, like a bat out of hell — headed for the trailer park, if I had to guess, she’d said.

It makes Dustin’s stomach curl to imagine it – you, mixed up in whatever weirdness was going on down there, with Eddie – his two missing friends.  

It makes no goddamn sense.

On the ride to Family Video, Dustin and Max had unanimously agreed that said weirdness very likely had something to do with the Upsidedown, which stresses Dustin out to no end, considering the fact that half of their party is presently all the way in California and unable to help if another gate has cropped up; not to mention how tirelessly he has worked to keep you safely removed from all that, and yet there they were, and here you were not. 

The phone is still ringing.

With a dejected sigh, Dustin resigns himself to the fact that you’re still not home. Just as his fingers have come down to rest on the switch hook, ready to end the connection, there is suddenly the telltale click of the receiver picking up.

Dustin’s heart leaps to his throat as he snatches his hand away from the phone and finally — finally, your voice comes through the line. You answer, loud and breathless, like you’ve just finished running for your life as you all but shout into the mouthpiece. 

“Eddie!?” You gasp at the same moment that Dustin bleats your name with a similar fervor. 

It confuses him, though not nearly as much as the rush of relief that floods your voice as you course correct and immediately begin speaking a mile a minute.

“Dustin!” You shout, “Oh, thank God – Did you find him? Have you heard from Eddie?” 

It leaves him more than just a little bit stunned.

“No, not since last night…” he hears you heave an overloud sigh of frustration and is quick to continue in a juvenile hope of pleasing you, “B-but we’re calling around and asking everybody we can think of…” and then a thought worms its way to the front of Dustin’s mind, “Hold on a second, how do you know Eddie—”

You don’t let him finish. Over the phone, Dustin can hear a cacophony of crashing and banging, the rustle of clothing and you swearing harshly under your breath, like you’re busy ransacking your apartment.

“Where are you right now? Are you home?”

“No, I’m at Family Video, Max and I—”

“Don’t move. I’ll be there in five minutes.” 

And then there is the hard clang of the receiver being slammed into place followed by the monotonous droning of the dial tone, and just like that you’re gone.  

Dustin drops the phone from his ear and stares at the receiver as he tries to understand what the hell just happened.

You’re very clearly not sitting in a jail cell, that much is clear, but somehow you’re already out there looking for Eddie?

He can’t decide if it’s fortuitous or just plain bizarre.

It’s fortuitous because it means he doesn’t have to waste any time trying to convince you to help, but it’s wholly bizarre because up until this point Dustin had been under the impression that you don’t even know Eddie.

How did you know he was in trouble? And why do you sound so stressed about it?

Dustin supposes it doesn’t really matter if the means add up to his intended end, but it’s just one more thing in a long list of things stacking up to make today unbearably weird.

His confusion does not go unnoticed.

“Hey, what happened?” Robin asks softly, craning her neck towards Dustin and holding the phone just far enough away from her ear so as not to mix conversations. 

He blinks at her as he tries and fails to untangle it himself, then shrugs and puts his phone back on the hook.

He explains as much as he knows: you’re on your way over, you’ll be here in five minutes.

It’s closer to ten by the time he finally spies you through the front windows, darting across the street and only just avoiding the passing traffic as you cross.

You’re flushed and jumpy as you push through the door with a loud clanging of the bell.

The sound of your arrival brings Steve whipping around a shelf from the romance section, eyes bright with possibility and diving into his bullshit spiel before he sees who has come in through the door.

“Hey there, welcome to Family — oh, it’s just you.” His face visibly falls as he turns on his heel and heads back towards the counter with a sigh, “Dustin, your babysitter’s here.”

He says it’s like a dirty word, gesturing to you with a flippant jerk of his thumb that makes Dustin’s skin feel hot and prickly with indignation – he’d told him to be nice.

Dustin knows very well that you and Steve don’t like each other, and he doesn’t precisely know why, except that it has something to do with something that happened back in High School, before Steve came around and joined the team.

He has tried and failed on many occasions to plead his case, to convince you that Steve is not all that bad, but you would not relent in your opinion of him.

You’re speaking before Dustin can make any sort of effort to defend you. 

“Eat shit, Steve,” you huff, taking the words right out of his mouth and looking very agitated as you follow him across the carpet to the desk.  

You greet Robin with an absent wave when she gives you a big, friendly smile. 

She either can’t or won’t speak for the tension between you and Steve, but she likes you just fine and as far as Dustin can tell, you have no issue with her.

Of course, this isn’t about your mysterious feud with Steve, this is about finding Eddie, so he does his best to ignore the way you’re staring daggers at each other.

“Where’ve you been?” Dustin demands once you reach the counter.

He can’t help but notice the way you’re gripping the edge of the linoleum so tightly your knuckles have turned white.

“I’ve been calling you all morning! Max said—”

You shake your head.

“It doesn’t matter,” You say, which Dustin finds to be particularly outrageous because of course it matters when Max is out here spreading rumors that she’d seen you getting arrested.

You’re talking again before he can voice any of those concerns.

“Where’s Eddie? What do we know?” 

Not much, unfortunately, and he hates to admit it.

Dustin’s cheeks puff out with a heavy breath as he turns his attention back to the long list of crossed-out names and phone numbers they have been meticulously calling for what feels like hours now.

All this time and all those people and still they are no closer to Eddie. 

“Only what Max saw.” He says simply.

Your eyes widen and your head snaps around to the redhead, pacing back and forth behind the counter as she talks on the phone. She casts a sidelong glance your way and scrunches her nose as if to say ‘quit staring at me’. 

It takes a very long moment before you finally turn back to Dustin. 

“What did she see?” You demand.

He doesn’t know why, but having your undivided attention like this makes his stomach tighten with anxiety – you’re just a little more intense than he is comfortable with right now, and strangely he’s nervous about telling you the truth.  

“Eddie and Chrissy together at his place.” He explains slowly, bracing himself for your reaction.

You clench your jaw and something indiscernible flashes across your eyes, but you prompt him to continue with a short nod.

Dustin takes a breath.

“Then a little while later the lights go wonky and she hears him screaming like he’s being killed, next thing she sees is Eddie hauling ass to get out of there.” 

He feels oddly proud, in the grand scheme of things, saying it all out loud helped to make it seem like they knew a lot more than he'd previously thought, but disappointingly you heave a dejected sigh and your shoulders fall. 

“So, she didn’t see anything,”

It leaves Dustin feeling strangely indignant. 

“She saw Chrissy.” He posits, deflating a little when the information fails to impress you. 

“Yeah,” you say bluntly, “So did I.”

Dustin doesn’t know what that means, but he can’t shake the feeling that there is some terrible reality behind that.

You’ve got this far-away look in your eyes, and you bodily shudder. He can’t imagine what must have happened to Chrissy to send Eddie running for the hills, big tough Eddie who everyone was so afraid of, who wasn’t really all that big or tough at all once you got to know him. 

A sharp pang of protectiveness lances through his midsection and Dustin finds himself eyeing you warily as he sees how your brows have come together, an angry scowl etched into your features.

He suddenly can’t stop thinking about the conversation you’d had with Eddie on the campus phone, how quickly it had turned before you’d inexplicably hung up on him – it leaves Dustin wondering just how you know Eddie, why you’d never mentioned him before, and suddenly he is very worried about your opinion regarding his guilt.

You want to find him, that’s for sure, for whatever reason that may be, but wanting to find him doesn’t expressly mean you want to help him, particularly if your opinion of Eddie is any shade of similar to your opinion of Steve.

Dustin hates to be suspicious of you, normally he would swear you don't have a mean bone in your body, but it's been a long time since you've been normal...    

“You know he didn’t do it.” Dustin says firmly, “...right?”

He watches you carefully as your head snaps up and you regard him with a strange look.

“Eddie.” He clarifies, “He’s innocent.”

Then your brows come together over your narrowing eyes, pulling a face that is somewhere within the realm of the same familiar look you always get when he says something you think is stupid or outrageous.

It’s oddly comforting, despite the way it makes his stomach clench with instant regret.  

“Of course, he didn’t do it,” you snap. “Dustin–”

He puts his hands up in surrender before you can admonish him for whatever it is that has offended you.

“Okay! I just wanted to make sure we’re all on the same page here–”

“Well, hold on,” Steve interjects, rocking up to lean beside you on the counter. You shift away from him, “We can’t just say Munson’s innocent and call it a day just because Princess Daphne here has got a major hard-on for him.” 

He jerks his head towards you and you recoil like he’d reached out and slapped you. 

“Excuse me?” You snap.

And Dustin can’t say he feels any different, he can’t believe what he is hearing.

“Steve, what the hell?” He yelps, trying his damnedest to be outraged and not to think of you dressed as Princess Daphne, which is easier said than done now that the image is in Dustin's head.

Even Robin is unimpressed, glaring at him from behind the counter. 

“What happened to innocent until proven guilty?” she huffs.

Steve, in turn, immediately goes on the defensive, throwing his arms wide and raising his voice like he can’t believe no one is agreeing with him. 

“Oh, come on, people, he fled the scene! That’s pretty much an admission of guilt right there”

You level him with a hateful look. 

“He didn’t do it.”

Steve stares at you a moment before shrugging and giving you a halfway apologetic look, almost like he hates to say it, but in a very condescending way. 

“Well, of course, you’d say that,” he says matter-of-factly. “You’re biased,”

Dustin watches warily as you bristle.  

“Biased.” You mimic, curling your hands into fists.

“Completely,” 

For half a moment, he thinks you might swing at Steve, and you wouldn’t be wrong for doing so, he’s being a complete and total douche.

To your credit, you take a deep, steadying breath before you come back with your rebuttal.  

“You don’t think maybe I’d say that because I have just a little bit more insight on the matter than you do?”

Steve scoffs, and just like that, all sense of diplomacy has gone out the window. 

“Oh, okay, insight? Is that what we’re calling it?” He prods, crossing his arms and staring down at you, “Insight?”

Once a mean girl, always a mean girl. 

“Fuck you.” you snap, and Dustin takes it as his sign to intervene.

He does his best to separate you, but unfortunately, he’s on the wrong side of the counter to do much more than reach out and grab the both of you by your sleeve. 

“Okay guys, take a breath.” he urges, rather helplessly considering how you and Steve have gotten into each other’s faces now.

He’s halfway to panicking because he doesn’t know what he’s going to do if you start to fight, like, really physically fight.

Dustin doesn’t think Steve would sink so low to hit a girl, he’s got principles even when he’s being an unhinged half-reformed mean girl, but he can also hear you berating him for being a sexist at the notion – “Girls can get in fights too, Dustin, don’t be such a –” 

“I think I’ve got a lead.” Max says suddenly, slamming her phone down into the cradle and mercifully cutting the tension enough to draw everyone’s attention. “Some guy called Reefer Rick? Apparently, he’s Eddie’s dealer and I guess he crashes at his place sometimes,”

For half a moment no one reacts, and then Robin snorts with laughter. 

It is almost loud enough to cover the harsh sound of indignation you make. 

“Reefer Rick? Is that his legal name? Like, do you think it says that on his driver’s license?”

Max just rolls her eyes. 

“Did you get a last name?” Steve asks then, leaning over the desk on his elbow.

“What, suddenly you care?” Dustin scoffs, “Two seconds ago you were ready to call the cops.” 

“Listen, I’m just trying to be realistic, you little creep — any way you’re biased too, you’re obsessed with the guy,”

The comment goes largely ignored, as Robin slides into the computer chair and immediately begins typing. 

“Maybe if we can find this Rick guy, he can point us in the right … direction…?”

Robin trails off when she notices how you’ve spun on your heel and started across the lobby.

“Where the hell is she going?” Steve asks, reaching across the counter to shove Dustin for his attention when he doesn’t answer right away. 

“How should I know?”

Steve narrows his eyes in a way that would have left Dustin half inclined to slug him were he the type of person with those types of inclinations.

He’s really in rare form today, and Dustin is almost certain at this rate someone is going to punch Steve by the end of the day. 

“She’s your babysitter.” He drawls.

Again, he says it like a dirty word, and Dustin bristles.

“What, so like I can read her mind or something?” He snaps, scrambling out from under the desk and nearly tripping over his feet in an attempt to go after you. 

You’re out the door in an instant, the chiming of that stupid bell signifying your escape.

Dustin staggers out after you, blinking against the sun and shouting your name. He has to say it three times before you slow enough for him to catch you.

“Where are you going?” Dustin gasps, winded from having to dash after you so quick.

You’re practically vibrating, eyes bright as you stare back at him.

“I know where he is!” You say.

“Who?" He demands, then feels his brain melt a little, "Reefer Rick?”

Your brows come together and you roll your eyes. 

“Oh please,” You scoff, turning to leave again.  

Dustin grabs you by the sleeve of your jacket and holds you there, stopping you from dashing off to the odd corner of the world. 

He doesn’t notice the strip of paper that falls from your pocket, too busy fixating on you. 

“Stop!” He pleads.

You pull against his grip and glare at him, the slightest twinge of annoyance coloring your face as you jerk your arm out of his grasp. 

“Dustin!” You start, swinging hard into your serious babysitter voice, “I have to go!” 

He knows this, despite how annoying it is, but he’s desperate to make you stay, anyway he can. 

“Just – wait a second, will you? You don't understand how goddam stressful this whole day has been, first with Eddie, then you–"

Your eyes go wide as you gesture to yourself incredulously.

"Me?"

It sets Dustin's teeth on edge.

"Yes, you! I've been trying to reach you all day. Max said you were in jail and when I couldn't get a hold of you..." He trails off as he realizes just how whiney he sounds and feels his cheeks burn for it.

All that talk about how he was too old for a babysitter and here he is wailing and moaning like a little kid.

You stand a moment, searching his face before your features grow soft in the strangest way. Dustin’s heart leaps up into his throat as you surge forward and embrace him.

"It's gonna be okay, Dusty, I know where he is now." You say against his ear.

Only at that moment, Dustin could not have guessed who you were talking about or what they'd all been doing only moments before if his life depended on it. Eddie? Eddie who? All he can think about is you and how good you smell.

It’s a quick hug, much to his chagrin, and it leaves him standing struck dumb enough that he doesn’t notice you skipping away until it’s too late. 

You’re halfway up the street by the time he comes back around. 

“Where are you going!” Dustin shouts, 

You twist around and offer him a big bright smile, one he hasn’t seen in what feels like years. 

“To find Eddie!” You call, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world,

The sound is lost to the afternoon traffic, and as quickly as you’d arrived, you’re gone again. 

Off to whatever corner of Hawkins Eddie is hiding in, he supposes. Dustin doesn’t know how he feels about it.

For some reason, his insides feel cold and squirmy, like they’re about to jump up into his throat. It feels like jealousy, but he can’t rationalize why he would be jealous.

You don’t know Eddie, except apparently you do, well enough to come running at the first sign of trouble. He can’t wrap his head around it.

He’s not worried you won’t find him, he’s only worried that after you do, he won’t be able to find you, like somehow you’re on the cusp of slipping through his fingers and he’s never going to see you again.

With a dejected sigh, he turns on his heel and starts back toward the video store, then he spies the long strip of paper lying on the pavement where you’d just been standing. 

Dustin stoops to retrieve it, guessing you must have dropped it in your rush to leave. He turns it over in his hands and his heart seizes. 

It’s a photo strip, one from the many kiosks they’d had at the Starcourt Mall before the Mindflayer took care of it.

The pictures are all more or less the same: it’s you and Eddie. 

Eddie giving you bunny ears and you sticking your tongue out, followed by Eddie pretending to bite your face while you laughed, followed by Eddie kissing you, and you kissing Eddie, and… and and and …oh God.

Dustin feels like he’s going to be sick.

So that’s how you know each other… that’s why you’d been down at the trailer park this morning, why you are so desperate to find Eddie. 

Finally, here is the missing piece of the puzzle, landing perfectly in place with an earth-shattering crash, threatening to knock Dustin off his feet. 

Your stupid boyfriend, the one who had plagued Dustin’s life for years, skulking around the periphery of his brain, slowly pulling you away from him, the one who had so callously broken your heart and left you sobbing pathetically on his couch last summer, who Dustin had sworn to avenge you against… is Eddie.

Of course it is, it makes perfect sense now that he really thinks about it, and Dustin hates every second of just how much it makes sense.

Who drove around in a shitty panel van blaring over loud rock music? Your stupid boyfriend — Eddie. Whose silver ring with the dark stone had you been wearing up until last summer? Your stupid boyfriend’s — also Eddie, as Dustin had noticed during his first session at Hellfire and done an incredible feat of mental gymnastics to convince himself that it wasn’t the same ring.

Who had he seen picking you up outside his house that night he’d torn down his curtains in a jealous rage? Who had he seen lean over the center console to kiss you? Your stupid boyfriend — Eddie Eddie Eddie. All signs point to Eddie, and Dustin’s mind is reeling for it. 

Now he knows why you’d never once mentioned Eddie or Hellfire in all your hours of doomsday prepping, and why Eddie had been so periodically weird and sulky and withdrawn. Dustin had long suspected it was a breakup that was ailing Eddie, especially considering Mike had acted the exact same way in the weeks following Will and Eleven’s departure for California. 

Behind him, the door to the video store chimes as it whips open, and Steve calls out to him. 

“Hey! Come in man, we’ve got a lead here!” 

Dustin crumples the photo strip without thinking and stuffs it into his pocket, hoping somehow he might forget he ever saw it, forget he knows what he now knows.

He whirls around and does his best to stuff down all the big unwieldy feelings threatening to burst out of him, making his way back toward Family Video. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming. Keep your wig on.” Dustin mumbles, swallowing hard to keep his voice from trembling as he goes.

+++

Eddie doesn’t know what happened to Chrissy, but he knows somehow it is his fault.

At least that’s what everyone is going to say.

He was there, he had his hands on her, trying to snap her out of whatever terrifying fugue state had suddenly gripped her, sure, but fingerprints are fingerprints, and his are all over her.

She was there, and then suddenly she wasn’t; now she is dead.

It all happened so fast, and yet it won’t stop playing in his head in a constant loop, like a slow-motion instant replay scorched into the backs of his eyelids that he’s destined to relive every time he closes his eyes until the end of his days.

He’s never seen anything like that, never heard anything like it – he didn’t know a person’s body could bend like that, that bones could make that sound.

When he was thirteen, his father purposely slammed his arm shut in a car door in the weeks leading up to his final arrest. Why he did it didn’t matter – that was just the old man for you – what mattered was how Eddie had heard the bones in his forearm break and sat staring in the blissful ignorance of shock at the bend in his arm that didn’t belong before he ever felt any pain.

That was nothing like the noises that had rung out when Chrissy’s arms and legs snapped up out of place or the unnatural way she’d hung there, limbs bent out of shape.

He hopes Chrissy wasn’t present enough in those final moments to feel any pain. 

He can still see it when he closes his eyes like the image is forever burnt into the back of his eyelids. He doesn’t know if he’s ever going to stop hearing that sound.  

And now he’s hiding out in Rick Lipton’s boat house, which is probably the most incriminating place he could have chosen to hole up considering the circumstances, but it’s not like Eddie had a lot of options. 

It’s dark, dingy, and full of all kinds of nasty dust and debris that hurts his lungs to breathe, and all of that would be positively fine if it weren’t for the spiders. So many goddamn spiders in this shitty crumbling boat house.

Normally he would have bolted straight for the safety of the house at the first sight of them, but things are anything but normal right now, and Rick is supposed to be in jail.

In spite of being currently half out of his mind, Eddie knows well enough that it would do him no good to draw someone’s attention with signs of life in the house, so there he sits, miserable and terrified and itching with the sensation of phantom legs crawling up and down his body.

He would say that things could not possibly get any worse, but he’s worried he’ll jinx it. 

And then, like it was just waiting for its cue, a sudden commotion startles Eddie into leaping up to his feet.

A crashing bang of metal and glass out in the yard causes him to damn near leap out of his skin. Trash cans, he rationalizes, but what knocked them over?

Eddie balls his hands into fists and tries to convince himself it’s just raccoons, he's heard them skulking around outside the trailer for years, causing a ruckus, but he could have sworn he heard someone swearing under their breath.

Last time he checked raccoons don’t go around muttering “Goddamn— son of a bitch,” 

He crosses his arms tightly over his chest and hugs his biceps protectively. He holds his breath, listening hard for any kind of sound. 

It’s faint, but it’s there. 

The telltale crunch of gravel, moving from one end of the building to the other, footsteps, drawing closer with each passing second. 

Fuck. 

There’s someone outside. 

Oh fuck.

They’ve found him.

Fuck fuck fuck shit oh fuck.

Eddie’s head is on a swivel, looking for somewhere, anywhere to hide – there are dozens of places, plenty of dark corners and tarps he could tuck himself into, but the threat of spiders keeps him frozen to the spot.

Move or die, Man! his inner voice screams, now is not the time for irrational phobias, but his legs have turned to jelly frozen in concrete. If he moves they’ll shatter and he’ll fall. 

The footsteps are getting closer. 

Eddie’s mind races with every terrible possibility, his subconscious whispers hideous things to him and urges him to run, but he still can’t move.

He knows he needs to get as far away from here as he can as fast as humanly possible, but the tiniest, nagging thought has him paralyzed — where is he going to go? 

Who’s going to help him?

Wayne’s bound to be tied up in police tape by now, Rick’s in jail and so is his father, not that he would ever dream of going to the old man for help, his mother is dead, and his friends all think he’s an asshole, so who is there in the world left to help him?

Chrissy was the only one left around who was even halfway nice to him and he saw what happened to her. She’s the reason he’s in this mess.

Who would even believe him if he tried to explain it? 

He’s tired — so goddamn tired he can’t think straight, and he doesn’t want to run anymore.

He’s been running all night, hasn’t closed his eyes to so much as blink for fear of seeing Chrissy’s face again, and he’s dead on his feet… so incredibly fucking tired that he tries to tell himself he doesn’t care what happens to him now despite how untrue that is.

He ought to just give himself up. 

The footsteps are closer now, nearly to the door. 

So what if someone is out there? So what if he’s found? He knows he didn’t do anything, but how far is his word going to take him in this town?

How much is he willing to bet the court system will take one look at his name and decide his guilt without so much as a thought for things like motive and evidence? 

What’s the worst that can happen? Prison. Just like his father.

His heart sinks at the thought, despite how he tries not to care.

Of course, like always, the problem is that Eddie cares too much— how unfair it is that he’s spent his whole life doing everything he can to get off that train, be good (as good as he can, considering it all) stay out of trouble, and keep his head down, only to end up in this mess.

Worse than getting picked up for carjacking or possession or just because the cops in this town just plain don’t like him, if Eddie goes to prison for Chrissy’s murder, he knows he’ll never get out again. 

Not alive, in any case. 

If he runs he’s going to spend his whole life running, if he stays he’s going to die. What kind of options are those? He suddenly feels like an animal in a trap, presented with the prospect of chewing off his own leg to survive. 

Does he have the fortitude to do something like that? He doesn’t know. 

The footsteps have stopped, and Eddie realizes with a burst of hot stinging adrenaline that whoever is out there skulking around is right outside the doors and he doesn’t know what to do. 

You would have known what to do… wouldn’t you? Probably not, but it would have made him feel a whole lot better not to be doing this on his own. Not to have to do any of it on his own.

Instinctively, Eddie jumps forward and grips the door handle, the cool metal bites into the flesh of his palm and sends a shiver up his spine. He tells himself it’s to stop anyone from entering if they try the door, but apathy is clawing at him, urging him to twist the handle, open the door himself.

Better to get it over with, he thinks, and in a moment of despair he makes his decision. 

He doesn’t want to run anymore…  

He takes a deep breath in through the nose and out through the mouth, and another, and then one more for good measure as he tries to gather his courage.

He grits his teeth, and whips the door open. 

In an instant, all the air has left his lungs in the form of the loud, terrified shout that he is powerless to stop as it tears itself from somewhere in his chest cavity.  

You scream too, leaping damn near out of your skin and covering your ears like you always do when you get scared like that.

It’s you — holy shit, it’s you — clutching your chest like you’re attempting to recover from the mini heart attack he’d just given you.

The feeling is mutual. 

Eddie suddenly thinks he might pass out as he feels his heart seize erratically in his chest before dropping into his stomach. His vision goes spotty for the briefest of moments and his legs tremble under his weight. 

“Jesus—”

“—Christ!” You gasp, like you’re finishing his curse for him. “God, Eddie!”

You stomp your foot when you say it, like he’d jumped out and scared you on purpose, and the way you say his name makes Eddie’s heart thump painfully in his chest. 

“You scared the hell out of me.” You breathe, shaking your head and fisting your hands in the front of your shirt — his shirt, he realizes with a start.

It’s inside out, funny enough, but he doesn’t miss the faded Metallica logo, backwards and staring up at him from between your fingers.

It’s painfully endearing, and his heart is beating so fast it makes his chest hurt looking at it, at you, two of his favorite things, long since written off as lost, mourned and now miraculously found again. 

All this time and you still had it.  

He tries to breathe but it catches in his throat. 

Holy shit holy shit. 

Out of everything and anything he could have imagined he would find on the other side of that door – police, national guard, an army of angry hicks, the re-animated corpse of Chrissy come to feast on his flesh – Eddie never once never imagined someone would be coming to help him.  

He never imagined it would be you standing there. 

Somehow his mind is simultaneously going ninety miles an hour and moving at a snail’s pace. He can’t think, and yet he can’t stop the tide of thoughts and feelings and everything he suddenly needs to say to you fighting for real estate at the front of his brain. 

For half a moment, it’s all either of you can do but just stand there staring at each other. 

Finally, you gesture awkwardly into the room.

“Can I…?” 

It takes him a moment too long to realize you’re asking to come in, and Eddie all but leaps out of your way, staggering to the side to make room as you jump up over the threshold and shut the door behind you.

You make a wide circle around him, surveying the room, and he watches you carefully as you do, still not entirely convinced he hasn’t just been breathing toxic chemicals all day and is now hallucinating you. 

You cast a sidelong glance in his direction and he thinks he sees the corners of your mouth quirk humorously.

"Take a picture, Eds, it'll last longer." you hum.

"...Sorry." he mumbles.

He knows he’s staring at you, but he can’t stop.

He can’t believe what he’s seeing. After all those months he’d spent dreaming about you, imagining he was hearing your voice or seeing you turn a corner, always there but just out of sight?  He doesn’t trust it — he can’t.

You try again to make idle conversation.

“Rick’s boat house, huh?” You say, glancing at him over your shoulder in a way that is enough to make his knees tremble. 

His throat closes before he can even think to answer you, and it forces Eddie to settle on a meager response, nodding stupidly.

He doesn’t know what else to say about it and it’s driving him crazy. 

Eight months of memorizing all the things Eddie thought he would say to you if he ever saw you again and suddenly here you are and he can’t remember a goddamn word of it. 

He tries to speak, but words fail him. Still, he tries, opening and closing his mouth in an attempt to force the words out, gawping stupidly at you like a fish out of water.

He wants to ask what you’re doing here, how you found him, but he realizes in an instant that he doesn’t care how you found him, he only cares that you’re here.

Your eyebrows come together in stark concern and you finally take a step toward him.

He’s this close to panicking about it. 

This was not how he’d imagined reuniting with you would go. His palms have become sweaty and he resists the boyish urge to wipe them down the front of his jeans.

Eddie makes himself swallow hard to try and wet his throat where it has suddenly bloomed with cobwebs. 

He can’t keep staring at you like this. He’s got to say something — anything. He blurts the first thing that comes to mind. 

“That’s my shirt,” he chokes, for lack of anything better to say. 

His voice cracks and his mouth slams shut. He doesn’t know why he’s so nervous. 

You blink at him, like you have absolutely no idea how to respond.

“You left it in my room.” You say petulantly.

It’s almost enough to break the tension hanging heave between you … almost. 

He left a lot of things in your room, most of which you’d given back to him, but he won’t say that, for fear of sounding like he isn’t happy to see you, it’s just with the way you’re staring at him, he can’t make any kind of coherent thought come through the fog of his mind. 

“What are— h-how did you—?” 

You shake your head and heave and airy sigh, giving him this strangely pained look, smiling with your nose scrunched and your eyebrows turned up.

“...Heard you were in trouble.” You say, your words punctuated by a wet sniffle, and then you shrug and roll your eyes, like you always do when you’re halfway embarrassed by what you’re about to say, “Came running.”  

Jesus–

You might as well have stabbed him for how his lungs flatten in his chest. 

Eddie rocks back a step, without really meaning to, shaking his head in awe of the specter of you, miraculously standing there in the dingy light of a place you by all rights have no business being, staring at him in too close a shadow of the way you’d looked standing at the bottom of his front steps last summer.

Eddie finally makes himself breathe, sucking greedily on a sharp intake of breath before he realizes the distance he’s put between you, that he’s still putting between you, and something in him snaps. 

He needed you and you came running. 

“—Oh, my God.” 

Eddie surges forward and seizes you, crushing you against his body.

He curls his arms around you and hugs you so tight you’re bent nearly backward. You make a faint sound as his embrace forces the air out of your lungs, almost like a whimper and Eddie buries his face in your hair as he presses his cheek to the crown of your head.

The movement kicks up the familiar hint of your shampoo and conditioner, cutting through the murky, mildewy tang of the boathouse like a breath of fresh air.

He breathes deep — your perfume is different, something soft and faintly floral, but it is not enough to mask the subtle sweetness of your flesh.

Christ, he’d nearly forgotten your smell, and now he’s forgotten everything but you.

His mind is caught in a flurry of spinning thoughts and feelings that are quickly overwhelmed by a strange calm, seeming to radiate outward from your point of contact and bleeding down into his limbs to react with the adrenaline still surging there. It brings with it a sensation Eddie has only felt very few times in his life;

Walking home from the diner hand in hand with his mother while the setting sun guides them home, climbing the steps of Wayne’s trailer the last time it was ever just that and the first time it was home, laying in your bed at three o’clock in the morning with your head on his chest, watching your lashes flutter and listening to the slow pace of your breathing, a deep breath in followed by a slow breath out.

Little moments that live like glittering jewels tucked safely away in the spot behind his lungs lead him to one, gentle, all-encompassing feeling: he’s safe. 

Somewhere, very far back in his mind, Eddie knows he isn’t, that there are people looking for him who think he’s done something terrible.

There is still the faintest alarm trilling danger, danger, Will Robinson! in his deep psyche, but how can he make himself think about anything else with you in his arms? How is he supposed to care about anything besides the fact that, somehow, in spite of everything he’d said, everything he’d done to hurt you, you’ve come back to him?

Eddie breathes out a shaky sigh he hadn’t realized he’d been holding as he feels your arms snake up around his body — for a brief, terrible moment he’d worried you wouldn’t reciprocate, that he was really well and truly kidding himself that you were here for him, but those fears dissipate the moment he feels the press of your skin beneath his jacket and vest.

The warmth of you burns him even through the thin fabric of his shirt, and it is such a relief to be under your touch again. You hold him so tight that he thinks at any moment you could slip beneath his skin and live there, and he’d let you do it because now that he’s got you again, he’s never going to let you go.

Then suddenly you’re carding your fingers through his hair, stroking his face, looking up at him with your big pretty eyes, and speaking softly to him.

“Hey—” you’re saying, “It’s okay, Eddie... hey, look at me — you’re okay, I’ve got you.”

He sniffles and dips his head to wipe his cheek on the soft denim covering his shoulder because there’s no way in hell he’s letting you go for something as trivial as wiping his face.

He almost whimpers when you take your hand away from where it’s been resting on his side, and when you reach up to brush the pad of your thumb across his cheekbone, he realizes with a start that his face is wet, he’s trembling under your touch, body heaving – he’s crying.

He doesn’t even have the presence of mind to be embarrassed about it, he’s too busy looking you over, trying to commit your face to memory in case this is just a terrible hallucination and he’s never going to see you again.

He takes your face in his hands and reverently compares what he sees now to what had lived in his mind before, trying to decide what, if anything, is different.

Your hair maybe? Your clothes? He doesn’t know, he suddenly can’t remember anything before this moment.

"You’re here, you’re really here…" He hadn't meant to say it out loud, but running on nothing but adrenaline has his brain all but malfunctioning.

Your face scrunches up in the most heartbreaking look, much too similar to the way you’d been looking at him when you pounded on his door last summer as your hands come up to shadow his on either side of your face.

“Oh, Eds…”

It makes him feel sick — his skin is suddenly hot and prickly with it. 

He never wants to see that look on your face again. 

“What are you doing here?” He finally manages to choke out, “You — you shouldn’t be here,” 

Eddie regrets saying it as soon as it tumbles past his lips. Particularly with the way your face ever so briefly contorts with the shadow of the same look you’d given him when he’d told you he didn’t love you, when he'd lied to hurt you — even with you here he feels his heart break all over again just at the thought of it.

He’d meant you shouldn’t be here in the sense that it wasn’t safe for you as much as it didn’t make any sense, because hadn’t you moved away? Left Hawkins behind? Left him behind? 

You shift backward, like you mean to step away from him and Eddie feels himself grow panicky about it. 

“Do you want me to–” You start, but he doesn’t let you finish that terrible thought. 

“No!” He cries, surging forward to catch you, “No, please don’t go, just… just…” 

Eddie grips you tightly by your shoulders like he needs to hold you there so you won’t disappear, but it’s not enough.

His hands move, scrabbling higher and higher even still until they come up to grace the curves of your throat. He’s desperate for more of you, desperate to kiss you, but he doesn’t dare.

He can’t shake the sense that your being here is balancing on the edge of a knife, and any wrong move will send you running for the hills. 

In spite of that thinking, you lean into his touch and his heart thumps painfully in his chest. 

“How’d you know I’d be here?” Eddie asks. 

Your face softens as you take his hands in yours.

“I always know where to find you, Dummy.”

He doesn’t know why that’s the thing to set him off, but it does. 

Eddie chokes on the steadying breath he’d been trying to take as the dam breaks, wrenching it out of him in a hiccuping sob.

He tries to cover his face with his hands but you don’t let him hide, you take his wrists and pull them away to wrap around you instead, and you hold him. 

He doesn’t deserve this, doesn’t deserve this chance with you, doesn’t know how he got so lucky to even have it, but he’ll take every moment he can get while it lasts. 

Eddie clings to you, weeping pathetically into your hair and babbling incoherently, apologizing for anything— everything— an endless tide of all the things he’s wanted to say to you all year, since the moment he’d stood there and watched you leave that terrible night in August. 

He should have fought harder for you, he should never have let you go. 

Eddie tells himself he’s got to stop crying, to stop talking, to try and pull himself together, but it is just another thing he has no power over. 

His brain had all but switched off after what had happened to Chrissy, and his body has been operating on primal instinct in a desperate attempt just to try and get somewhere safe — he’s held it together up until this point, but he’s never been so scared in his goddamn life.

“God, I’m sorry,” he whimpers, “I’m so sorry, Baby, I don’t know why I said any of that stuff, I’m a fucking idiot, I didn’t mean it— I swear on my life I didn’t mean a goddamn word of it. I love you. I love you so fucking much it hurts, Jesus Christ, I’m just so fucking sorry—”

As much as he’s talking, you’re nodding, pushing his hair back, stroking his face, and all the other lovely little gestures you’d always done before when things were still fine, when you were still his. 

“I know,” you tell him, pressing your cheek against his temple and carding your fingers through the hair at the base of his neck. “I know, Baby. We’re gonna figure this out, okay? Me ‘n you, whatever it takes. We'll fix it.”

He can’t help the startled, watery laugh that bursts out of him to hear you say that.

It fills him with a bright and dangerous hope that maybe this is real, maybe you can pick up the pieces where you left them, maybe you still love him. 

“Yeah?” Eddie sniffs, brushing your hair back out of your face. “You promise?”

You catch his hand on your cheek and bring it down to draw an x over the left side of your chest, smiling sweetly and sincerely at him as you do.

"Hope to die."

Without the use of his higher functions, all Eddie knows how to do is love you, deeply, to his very core, and to hold you is not enough. 

He knows he has no right, but he cannot help himself.

Eddie presses forward and kisses you, a wet, forceful thing that you can barely move against as he frantically crushes his mouth against yours.

He kisses you with a desperation he’s never felt before, and he blesses you for how you lean into it, fisting your hands into the front of his shirt and doing your best to pull him that much closer to you.

It’s all scraping teeth, ragged breath, and reverent groping hands, only breaking apart in the briefest of intervals when the need to breathe and tell you how sorry he is outweighs the need to make up for all the time Eddie has spent not kissing you over the past eight months.

He tells you he loves you, again and again, breathing the words into your mouth, whispering them against your lips. 

He chases it hungrily, starved and greedy for your love, and wonders how he could have ever forgotten how much he needed it? How did he ever survive without it? Without you?

He would remind himself that he hadn’t been doing a very good job at it, but his mind is blown wide and bleached of all thoughts but you. 

Had he been able to really think, Eddie might have been afraid he would hurt you like he’d somehow hurt Chrissy, but the only thing he can muster is relief, because you’re here and that means something. Maybe there is at least the slightest chance you still love him. 

Thank you thank you thank you–

Even when you finally part, he does not release you, only holds you that much tighter. He presses his forehead to yours and he loves, loves, loves, bursting with the feeling like your touch has miraculously restored him after having been so wretched for so long. 

For the longest time, all either of you can do is lean against one another, swaying ever so slightly like you’re drunk on the euphoria of being together again.  

After a while, he lets you coax him into the house, and you collapse against one another on the sofa as exhaustion creeps into Eddie’s bones.

He can barely keep his eyes open, laying back with you spread over him, your face tucked into the crook of his neck where every now and then you’ll leave a gentle little kiss. He hums in response to each press of your lips, and he would thank you for each and everyone one, but his limbs are quickly turning to cement.

He’s so goddamn tired, but he fights against it, afraid that if he falls asleep he’ll wake up and find that he’s dreamt this whole thing. He's worried if he submits himself to Morpheus's embrace, you'll be gone when he wakes up, despite the way you’re tracing lazy patterns across his chest, how he can feel your steady heartbeat thumping in time with his own, the gentle rise and fall of your body with every breath in and out, in and out, in…

 A burst of soft, lilting laughter bubbles up from inside you, and Eddie startled awake, feeling himself light up for his favorite sound in the world, his favorite feeling as you smile against him. 

“What’s so funny?” He asks, thick and groggy.

He pushes up a little higher on the couch in the hopes it might stave off the need for sleep a little longer and pulls you with him.

You shift to accommodate this higher position, sitting on your knees and pressed into his side. 

You shake your head and laugh against the way your eyes are suddenly brimming. 

“I just can’t believe you’re here,” you sniffle, tilting back ever so slightly so you can look at him. “I was so scared I wouldn’t find you,” 

Eddie doesn’t know how to respond to that, so he pulls you into his lap and hugs you tight.

He’s still having trouble wrapping his head around the concept that you’d been out there looking for him in the first place, that you’re here now, after all the time he’d spent wishing for this, how he would have given his right arm just to hold you again.

He doesn’t know how you knew he needed you, what kind of unearthly force intervened to send you to him, but he’s so goddamn thankful you came running.

“But I did it,” you continue, sounding so endearingly proud of yourself, “I found you.” 

Your hands come up to stroke his face and brush at the dried tacky lines of salt left struck down his face. And then you say again, quieter this time like you’re in awe of it. 

“I found you…” Your eyes are bright and sparkling with admiration and tears and relief and a hundred different happy emotions that spill out of you and into Eddie.

He can’t help but laugh, a thick, watery sound dripping with relief and half muffled by your lips as he dips forward to kiss you. Once, twice, three times for the sentiment, precious little thank yous because he can finally breathe again. He’d spent the last eight months drowning and you finally pulled him up to break the surface. 

You saved him, just like you always do. 

“Yeah, Sweetheart, you did,” he sighs, letting his eyes slide shut as he holds you tight and breathes a deep, contented sigh, “You found me.” 

Taglist: @harrys-tittie @r-a-d-i-0-n-0-w-h-e-r-e @itsrainingbisexualfrogs @thicksexxualtensionaltension @ganseysgff @scoopsr0binn @peanutbutter-y-jams @audhd-dragonautagonaut @clilxlxx @alexandriaemily200 @averagestudent03 @but-vanessa @cosmictime45 @timelordfreya @forever-war @munsonzzgf @chervbs

@irisabrams

[ontheseconddayitrains]

Be sure to incorporate them into your vocabulary

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

every single book I read in 2022. all 129 of them.

jesus christ

let's start with the best of the best; everything else will get listed beneath the read more because I'm not an animal. even just picking out my favorites is honestly probably going to get pretty lengthy, even though I'm trying to keep the synopses short.

batmanisagatewaydrug's noteworthy books of 2022

Complaint! (Sara Ahmed, 2021) - necessary for anyone doing diversity work in higher education, tbh

America is Not the Heart (Elaine Castillo, 2018) - achingly gorgeous novel of heartbreak and healing.

The School for Good Mothers (Jessamine Chan, 2022) - honestly? I feel very good calling this my favorite book of the entire year. sensitive, smart, chilling.

Black Feminist Thought (Patricia Hill Collins, 1990) - truly ashamed to say I didn't read this sooner. Collins' clear-eyed analysis remains crazily spot-on 30+ years later.

Hurts So Good: The Science and Pleasure of Pain on Purpose (Leigh Cowart, 2021) - I read this book so early in 2022 and literally have not stopped thinking about it since.

Batman: King Tut's Tomb (Nunzio DeFillippis, Christina Weir, José Luis García-López, and Kevin Nowlan, 2009) - dare I say the most fun I had with a comic all year.

You Made a Fool of Death with Your Beauty (Akwaeke Emezi, 2022) - a romance unlike any other. queer, fun, sexy, bold as hell, and joyfully life-affirming.

The Dangers of Smoking in Bed (Mariana Enríquez, trans. Megan McDowell, 2021) - DELICIOUSLY creepy short stories that will lurk in your brain forever.

Lesser Known Monsters of the 21st Century (Kim Fu, 2022) - if a more perfect short story collection exists I am yet to find it.

The World We Make (N.K. Jemisin, 2022) - I normally hesitate to include sequels on a list like this, but god DAMN Jemisin is the queen of modern spec fic for a reason.

We Do This 'Til We Free Us: Abolitionist Organizing and Transforming Justice (Mariame Kaba, edited by Tamara K. Nopper, 2021) - excellent collection of Kaba's abolitionist writings, drawing on years of organizing experience and wisdom.

Jade City (Fonda Lee, 2017) - look out! new favorite doorstopper fantasy series alert!

Priestdaddy (Patricia Lockwood, 2017) - about the best damn memoir I've ever read. heartbreaking and hysterical in turns, poetry the whole way through.

Batman: The Long Halloween and Batman: Dark Victory (Jeph Loeb and Tim Sale, 1996 and 1999) - it's always so exciting when something much-hyped lives up to the hype in every way. Batman at his grim and moody Batmaniest with a Gotham that’s deliciously bleak.

Station Eleven (Emily St. John Mandel, 2014) - I didn't think I'd like this book much at all, then ended up proposing on the second date. oops!

I'm Glad My Mom Died (Jennette McCurdy, 2022) - you will also be glad McCurdy's mom died, and also experience every other known human emotion along the way.

Kaikeyi (Vaishnavi Patel, 2022) - SPLENDID mythology retelling + political fantasy.

My Body (Emily Ratajkowski, 2022) - haunting haunting haunting personal essays about Ratajkowski's life as a model and subsequent alienation from her own body.

Batman: Bruce Wayne, Murderer? (Greg Rucka et al, 2002) - genuinely what can I say I'm a messy bitch and I love when the Bats are having a terrible time.

The Batman Adventures Vol. 2 #1-17 (created by Dan Slott, Ty Templeton, Rick Burchett, Terry Beatty, and Bruce Timm, 2003) - a continuation of the Batman: The Animated Series universe that frankly just fucking rules.

Little Rabbit (Alyssa Songsiridej, 2022) - a potent and erotic adult coming of age story.

The Right to Sex: Feminism in the Twenty-First Century (Amia Srinivasan, 2021) - thorny, difficult, vital essays.

Fearing the Black Body: The Racial Origins of Fat Phobia (Sabrina Strings, 2019) - jaw-droppingly thorough research into the role of fatpobia played and plays in the project of race-making.

On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous (Ocean Vuong, 2019) - yeah so it turns out no one was REMOTELY exaggerating. Vuong really is That Good.

Hench (Natalie Zina Walschots, 2020) - wild fun with a ruthless protagonist and her sex villainous beetle man boss; what more could you ask for?

Love Your Asian Body: AIDS Activism in Los Angeles (Eric C. Wat, 2021) - learning about queer history makes me feel like I’m holding something so vibrant and fragile and precious right in my little queer hand. this book is an emotional journey in such a shining way.

Never Have I Ever (Isabel Yap, 2021) - EXCITING short story collection centered on girls having Just The Weirdest Time.

and everybody else:

fiction:

Light From Uncommon Stars (Ryka Aoki, 2021)

Our Wives Under the Sea (Julia Armfield, 2022)

A Tiny Upward Shove (Melissa Chadburn, 2022)

A Prayer for the Crown-Shy (Becky Chambers, 2022)

Disorientation (Elaine Hsieh Chou, 2022)

The Laws of the Skies (Grégoire Courtois, trans. Rhonda Mullins, 2019)

The Monster Baru Cormorant (Seth Dickinson, 2018)

The Tyrant Baru Cormorant (Seth Dickinson, 2020)

Greenland (David Santos Donaldson, 2022)

Dead Collections (Isaac Fellman, 2022)

The Halloween Moon (Joseph Fink, 2021)

A Dowry of Blood (S.T. Gibson)

Nightmare Alley (William Lindsay Gresham, 1946)

The Vegetarian (Han Kang, trans. Deborah Smith, 2015)

The Metamorphosis (Franz Kafka, trans. William Aaltonen, 1915)

Before the Coffee Gets Cold (Toshikazu Kawaguchi, trans. Geoffrey Trousselot, 2019)

Woman, Eating (Claire Kohda, 2022)

Long Division (Kiese Laymon, 2014)

Jade War (Fonda Lee, 2019)

No One is Talking About This (Patricia Lockwood, 2021)

Portrait of a Thief (Grace D. Li, 2022)

Elatsoe (Darcie Little Badger, 2020)

A Snake Falls to Earth (Darcie Little Badger, 2021)

Glitterati (Oliver K. Longmead)

Gideon the Ninth (Tamsyn Muir, 2019)

Harrow the Ninth (Tamsyn Muir, 2020)

Nona the Ninth (Tamsyn Muir, 2022)

The Memory Police (Yoko Ogawa, trans. Stephen Snyder, 2019)

Even Though I Knew the End (C.L. Polk, 2022)

100 Boyfriends (Brontez Purnell, 2021)

Flowers for the Sea (Zin E. Rocklyn, 2021)

Any Way the Wind Blows (Rainbow Rowell, 2021)

Interview with the Vampire (Anne Rice, 1976)

Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe (Benjamin Alire Sáenz, 2012)

Aristotle and Dante Dive Into the Waters of the World (Benjamin Alire Sáenz, 2022)

Into the Riverlands (Nghi Vo, 2022)

Siren Queen (Nghi Vo, 2022)

Strange Beasts of China (Yan Ge, trans. Jeremy Tiang, 2020)

short story collections:

The Memory Librarian: And Other Stories of Dirty Computer (Janelle Monáe, Yohanco Delgado, Eva L. Ewing, Alaya Dawn Johnson, Danny Lore, and Sheree Renée Thomas, 2022)

Walking on Cowrie Shells (Nana Nkweti, 2021)

Terminal Boredom (Izumi Suzuki, trans. Polly Barton, Sam Bett, David Boyd, Daniel Joseph, Aiko Masubuchi, and Helen O’Horan, 2021)

nonfiction:

Gender Trouble: Feminism and the Subversion of Identity (Judith Butler, 1990)

How to Read Now (Elaine Castillo, 2022)

Playing the Whore: The Work of Sex Work (Melissa Gira Grant, 2014)

What We Don't Talk About When We Talk About Fat (Aubrey Gordon, 2020)

White Tears/Brown Scars: How White Feminism Betrays Women of Color (Ruby Hamad, 2020)

Belly of the Beast: The Politics of Anti-Fatness as Anti-Blackness (Da'Shaun L. Harrison, 2021)

Some of My Best Friends: Essays on Lip Service (Tajja Isen, 2022)

One Day We'll All Be Dead and None of This Will Matter (Scaachi Koul, 2017)

How to Slowly Kill Yourself and Others in America (Revised Edition) (Kiese Laymon, 2020)

Sister Outsider (Audre Lorde, 1984)

Conversations with People Who Hate Me: 12 Lessons I Learned from Talking to Internet Strangers (Dylan Marron, 2022)

Cultish: The Language of Fanaticism (Amanda Montell, 2021)

World of Wonders: In Praise of Fireflies, Whale Sharks, and Other Astonishments (Aimee Nezhukumatathil)

Histories of the Transgender Child (Jules Gill-Peterson, published as Julian Gill-Peterson, 2018)

Yoke: My Yoga of Self-Acceptance (Jessamyn Stanley, 2021)

A Queer History of Fashion: From the Closet to the Catwalk (edited by Valerie Steele, 2013)

Transgender History: The Roots of Today's Revolution (Revised Edition) (Susan Stryker, 2008)

The End of Policing (Alex S. Vitale, 2017)

The Trouble With Normal: Sex, Politics, and the Ethics of Queer Life (Michael Warner, 1999)

Read My Lips: Sexual Subversions and the End of Gender (Riki Wilchins, published as Riki Anne Wilchins, 1997)

poetry:

Short Talks (Anne Carson, 1992)

Content Warning: Everything (Akwaeke Emezi, 2022)

Prelude to Bruise (Saeed Jones, 2014)

Alive at the End of the World (Saeed Jones, 2022)

Bright Dead Things (Ada Limón, 2015)

Motherland Fatherland Homelandsexuals (Patricia Lockwood, 2014)

Nature Poem (Tommy Pico, 2017)

Night Sky with Exit Wounds (Ocean Vuong, 2016)

Time Is a Mother (Ocean Vuong, 2022)

comics:

Batman: One Bad Day - Mr. Freeze (Gerry Duggan, Matteo Scalera, and Dave Stewart, 2022)

Spandex - Fast and Hard (Martin Eden, 2012)

Harley Quinn: The Animated Series: The Eat. Bang! Kill. Tour (Tee Franklin, Max Sarin, and Marissa Louise, 2022)

Batman: Whatever Happened to the Caped Crusader? (Neil Gaiman and Andy Kubert, 2009)

The Sandman: Preludes & Nocturnes (Neil Gaiman, Sam Keith, Mike Dringenberg, and Malcom Jones III, 1988)

The Sandman: In the Doll's House (Neil Gaiman, Michael Zulli, Mike Dringenberg, Chris Bachalo, Malcolm Jones III, and Steve Parkhouse, 1989)

The Sandman: Dream Country (Neil Gaiman, Kelley Jones, Malcolm Jones III, Colleen Doran, and Charles Vess, 1991)

The Sandman: Season of Mists (Neil Gaiman, Kelley Jones, Malcom Jones III, Mike Dringenberg, Matt Wagner, P. Craig Russell, George Pratt, and Dick Giordano, 1992)

The Sandman: A Game of You (Neil Gaiman, Shawn McManus, Colleen Doran, Bryan Talbot, Stan Woch, and George Pratt, 1993)

Run, Riddler, Run (Gerard Jones and Mark Badger, 1992)

Catwoman: When in Rome (Jeph Loeb and Tim Sale, 2005)

Batman: Year One (Frank Miller and David Mazzicchello, 1986)

Batman: One Bad Day - Penguin (John Ridley, Giuseppe Camuncoli, Cam Smith, and Arif Prianto, 2022)

Batman: Bruce Wayne - Fugitive (Greg Rucka et al, 2002)

Batman: One Bad Day - Two-Face (Mariko Tamaki, Jaiver Fernandez, and Jordie Bellaire, 2022)

Batman & Robin Eternal Vol 1 & Vol 2 (James Tynion IV and Scott Snyder, 2015 and 2016)

Batman: Their Dark Designs (James Tynion IV, Guillem March, and Tomeu Morey, 2020)

The Joker War Saga (James Tynion IV and Jorge Jiménez, 2021)

Papergirls Vol. 1-6 (Brian K. Vaughan and Cliff Chiang, 2016-2019)

Real Hero Shit (Kendra Wells, 2022)

Poison Ivy #1-6 (G. Willow Wilson and Marcio Takara, 2022)

and some gaming guides!

Monster of the Week (Michael Sands, 2012) - great game. so cool. cannot wait to actually play it someday.

Thirsty Sword Lesbians (April Kit Walsh, 2021)

special shame zone because I want you to know how bad this sucked, do not read this:

Rethinking Sex: A Provocation (Christine Emba, 2022). patronizing, puritanical, reductive, painfully cisheteronormative. weirdly afraid of group sex. not actually that provocative, just aggressively Catholic.

and last but most certainly least, a comic that I want to remind you all fucking sucked just one more time before the year is done.

Batman: One Bad Day - The Riddler (Tom King and Mitch Gerads, 2022)

Tom King, go fuck yourself. Mitch is cool though, the art slapped.

[american-duchess]

it's wild how badly choices fans will bend over backwards to defend cheating, and acting like the books that come out have been wildly different, and not the same smutty affair books.

am i crazy for not being okay with all the cheating-based plotlines and abusive relationships that they're romanticizing??

it'd be one thing if they actually let the characters be morally grey, but they're acting like the the MC's and LI's are never in the wrong because the person they're screwing over (usually a woman) is a little bit mean or also doing something bad, even if they didn't know it while they were cheating.

if you're gonna make a story about cheating, at least go all in and make it messy and human. maybe it'd at least be a little interesting that way.

[ragzonacamrencruise]

Thoughts on Azutara but featuring either Katara or Azula drinking a love potion?

ooohhh yesss soo many thoughts!! okay hear meowt-

Everybody thinks it's safe to assume that Katara is the one who'll fall for Ty Lee's old trick of making everyone drink love potion intead of the supposed drink she's handing them. But Katara knows better than to gulp anything that Ty Lee gives her, having heard all the hilarious but embarrassing stories that come along with it.

So, she doesn't think much when one night, she finds Azula staring at her from across the courtyard in Ozai's Ember Island House. It's a full moon night and Katara has never been able to get much sleep whenever there's a full moon. The Gaang had just finished their meal around a campfire, all of them now soundly asleep.

Or, so she thought before she made out the silhouette as Azula's against the rising moon across the courtyard. The dying campfire flickers in Azula's eyes, and Katara's never seen it be so . . . golden.

"Couldn't sleep either, huh?" Katara asks softly, as she starts walking towards a cliff that sits on top of a hill that gently rolls down right outside the courtyard near Ozai's house. Azula doesn't answer, but Katara can feel Azula following right behind her. Katara sits at the edge of the cliff, dangling her feet in the air, with the house behind her and the rising moon in front of her, basking in its soft glow, filling her to the brim with power and a rare sort of energy she hasn't yet experienced. It's new and urgent and she just needs to cool it off before she does something stupid.

But that plan goes down the drain when she feels Azula come up behind her to take a seat right beside, golden eyes scrutinising her with wonder, making Katara's stomach flip uncomfortably.

Okay, she should not be feeling this way about Azula.

She blames it on the full moon hormones.

"Anything in particular that's keeping you awake?" Katara tries again. "For me, it's the full moon."

When Azula doesn't respond, Katara turns to look at her with a slight frown, wondering what's going on inside the fire princess's beautiful mind.

Did she just call her beautiful? God damn it-

She blames it on Azula's change in hair-do with just a ponytail and her bangs framing her face. She looks like she jumped to ground directly from the Sozin's Comet, burning hot. And it doesn't help when Azula's looking at her like this too, with her golden eyes softened in the glow of the full moon.

"Did Toph offer you something to drink?" Azula wonders at Katara finally breaking her long held silence.

"Yes." Katara answers eagerly, glad to make some kind of conversation. A few seconds more of this excruciating silence and she would've gone mad for sure. "But it was just watermelon juice. I made sure to check."

"Are you sure it was just watermelon juice?"

Katara squints her eyes. "Are you suggesting it was something else?"

Azula shrugs, her eyes still unable to waver from Katara's. "I donno. She offered me some too. And I haven't felt this weird since that one time in the Royal Fire Academy for Girls."

Katara's frown deepens. "What do you mean?"

"When we were little, Ty Lee learnt this secret to boil down a love potion that makes you incredibly infactuated with the person the potion demands."

Katara nods. "Yes, I'm aware of it."

Azula lets out a short huff in irritation before continuing. "Ty Lee tricked me into drinking love potion when we were in the Academy and I think she convinced Toph into her little devious plan cuz it felt just like how weird I'm feeling right now."

Katara knows she shouldn't be doing this. She shouldn't be asking questions like this, but something foggy in her brain just lets the query fall from her lips like rain on a hot day. "How weird are you feeling right now?"

A moment of silence passes between them as Azula lets those words hang in the air. "Weird enough to do something I've always wanted to do since I laid my eyes on you." The firebender's hair moves with the breeze, against her steady dialated eyes on Katara.

You see, Katara is not the one to miss an opportunity where she can be bold. Bold enough to say-

"Then do it."

And before she can even blink, Azula is upon her. Her hands find Katara's hips and she's a goner. She lets herself get drowned completely when Azula leans in to place the softest lips Katara has ever known on her mouth, claiming her once and for all. She's always dreamed of how it'll be when Azula finally gets over her resolve and avows her like she's doing right now, but she never came close to even fabricating the real thing.

The urgency Katara felt before hits her back with a force she can only describe as 'waterbending-bomb like'. She desperately grasps onto Azula's top collars, finally getting what she's wanted since she saw Azula in those Fire Nation party outfits when they went to watch the Ember Island Players again.

Azula runs her hand through Katara's hair and her braids fall helplessly open, springing Katara's wavy locks free from its confines. She cluches it in her fingers, pulling Katara's head back with it to gain more access to her.

An involuntary noise escapes Katara as she feels herself completely submit to Azula's needs and desires.

That seems to pull Azula out of her daze, as she quickly halts their ministrations, untangling herself from Katara's body. "We shouldn't be doing this."

And Katara's gut bottoms out. Just when she thought she had a chance, Azula goes and breaks her heart like this. She shoulda known better than to-

"The love potion's still in our systems." Azula continues and Katara looks at her with wide eyes. "Come find me tomorrow if you still think this is what you want when the love potion is out."

And with that, Azula stands up and leaves a reeling Katara still dumbstruck over her luck at finding gold in the middle of a desert.

***

okay . . . i didn't mean for this to get this looongggg, but, how do you like that?? tell me tell me tell me :)